For Every Evil (13 page)

“Ivy … I …” Again, he sniffed. “Thanks.”

An hour later, Louie was seated behind the Micklenberg kitchen table watching Ivy make an omelette. “I don’t know why I merit this kind of attention.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Just lucky, I guess.”

He smiled. It was the first time all day he’d allowed himself to relax. “She’s going to be buried at Lakewood. It’s what she wanted. The funeral is next Monday.”

“Is there anything I can do to help with the arrangements?”

He shook his head. “Sarah’s sister is inviting everyone over to her house after the service. She’s taking care of all that.”

“Good.” Ivy placed the omelette on the plate with two pieces of toast. Turning off the gas, she crossed to the table and set the food in front of him. “Now. Eat.”

“I don’t know if I can.” He put his hand on his stomach.

She eyed him cautiously. “You know what you need? A stiff shot of brandy.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Well, I think today is an exception.” She left the room and returned a moment later carrying a bottle of Armagnac. “This is Hale’s favorite. I’m sure it’s good.” She got down a glass from the cupboard and poured several inches. “Come on now,” she said, handing it to him, “bottoms up.”

He stared at it suspiciously. Finally, closing his eyes, he took a gulp. “Agh,” he said, making a sour face. “How do people stand this?”

“Just wait.” She gave him a patient smile. “One more time.”

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

He lifted the glass and took another sip. “Well, that was a little better — I guess.” He began to feel a pleasant, warm sensation in the pit of his stomach. “I will say, the food does smell awfully good.”

She sat down across from him, resting her chin on her hands. “You’re going to be all right, you know.”

He nodded, taking another swallow. “It’s hard to admit this, but —”

“But what?”

“Well.” He closed his eyes. “I’m … glad she’s gone.” There. He’d finally said it. “She was suffering so terribly these last few years. And I —”

“And you’ve been a saint.”

“Don’t say that.”

“No? You never stopped loving her — or taking care of her. The personal cost to you had to be immense. Of course you’d feel relief. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.”

Louie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She actually understood. He covered his eyes with one hand and started to cry. “I’ve felt so guilty these last few months. I just wanted it to be over.”

She reached for his hand. “You were a wonderful husband. Don’t ever forget that. Nobody should have to live forever in a situation that makes them miserable.”

He wiped away the tears. “No?” He took another sip of his drink, realizing he was beginning to feel unnaturally loose, his normal reticence dropping away. “What about you and Hale?”

She withdrew her hand. “What about us?”

“You aren’t happy. I know about you and Max. Why don’t you just divorce the bastard and get on with your life?” He couldn’t believe he’d said it, though he knew she’d been unhappy for years.

She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” He poured himself more brandy.

“You remember that prenuptial agreement we signed?”

“The one your father insisted on? Sure, I helped draw it up.”

“Well, when we were first married, I was the one with the money. I had the trust fund. I own this house. I put him through school. I supported us for years while he looked around for the right job. But now, as they say, the shoe is on the other foot. His art investment company earns millions each year. If I divorce him, we both walk away with only what we brought into the marriage. That means I get the house and the trust fund — which, by the way, is almost gone — and he keeps IAI. Get the point?”

As a tax attorney, Louie could hardly miss it. “But you’re not happy! Doesn’t that outweigh everything else?”

“God, you’re more naive than I thought.”

That stung.

“I want it
all,
Louie. Max and the money.”

“But, how? I don’t see —”

“Eat your omelette before it gets cold.”

He looked down at the plate. “Right.” He took a bite, then another sip of brandy. As his eyes strayed to the window, he noticed Hale’s car pull into the drive. “I think we’re about to have company.”

Ivy stood and walked to the door. “Damn. I was hoping his plane would crash.”

“Don’t say such things!”

“Why not? It’s the truth. You know Louie, you suffer acutely from being born a Norwegian Lutheran. It’s Minnesota’s most common birth defect. You’re too
nice.”

For some reason, her comment struck him as hilarious. He burst out laughing.

Hale puffed into the kitchen carrying a suitcase. “What’s going on? What’s so funny?” His eyes fell to the bottle of Armagnac.

“My wife just died,” said Louie, wiping a hand across his mouth.

Hale glared. “Really? And I suppose mass starvation sends you into giggling fits.”

Louie steadied himself on the table, trying to regain his composure. “No,” he said softly.

“I’ve invited him to spend a few days with us,” announced Ivy. ‘This is a hard time. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Hale grunted, dropping the suitcase next to the refrigerator and removing his coat. “Listen, Louie. Be a good boy and disappear for a few minutes. Ivy and I have something we need to talk about.”

“We do?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Of course,” said Louie. He scrambled to his feet.

“Why don’t you take the bottle with you. It will help ease your … sadness.”

Louie squared his shoulders, ignoring the sarcasm. “Don’t mind if I do.” He grabbed the brandy, realizing for the first time how light-headed he’d become. His body felt positively fluid as he glided into the living room. ‘Toot, toot,” he whispered, chugging around the coffee table. He stopped in front of an easy chair and dumped himself into it. Then, leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. So many emotions were pulsing through his brain, he couldn’t focus on just one. But the pain had definitely eased. The relief was so intense, he felt almost giddy. Remarkable that he’d never tried brandy before. Ivy was right. He was too much of a puritan. Well, things were going to change. He wasn’t sure just how, but the life he’d known for the last ten years was over.

As he surveyed the room, he decided the first order of business was a little eavesdropping. He was curious about what Hale had to say to Ivy. Never before would he have even considered doing something so — so unethical. Well, what the hell! This was the new and improved Louie Sigerson. He crouched down and crept silently back to the kitchen. As he oozed to the carpet and peeked through a crack in the door, he could hear Ivy speaking:

“They
what?”

“I said, the police picked me up as soon as my plane landed!” Hale cracked a knuckle.

“They were actually waiting for you at the airport?”

“You’re damn right they were. And they took me downtown for questioning. Me! Riding in the back of a squad car!”

“What did they want?” Ivy leaned against the counter.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what they wanted.”

“Look, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“No? You don’t remember those shots fired at you the other night — or the Lasix that got into your pillbox? Seems the police think I’m trying to murder you. Your friend Max’s been talking to them. From what I could gather, he’s been pretty convincing.”

Ivy stared at the half-eaten omelette. “What did you tell them?”

“That I’m completely innocent! I demanded to have my lawyer present. Except, he was in court and couldn’t be reached.”

“But they don’t have any proof.”

He snorted. “Oh, that’s just a minor technicality. This is too delicious a story to simply let drop. Just picture it. ‘Wealthy art critic makes two vicious attempts on loving wife’s life. Details at ten.’ “

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think? Find the best private detective in the business. Have him prove you’re setting me up.”

“Why would I do that?”

He gave her an evil sneer. “You presume I don’t know about you and Max? I’m not blind!”

“But it’s not true! I had nothing to do with it. I was the victim!”

“Cut the crap, Ivy. Maybe you’re even behind that Ezmer Hawks shit at Chappeldine.”

“The what?”

“Those cute little camp scenes? Reminiscences of Camp Bright Water. And that kid who calls us all the time, reciting his favorite poem? Nice touch, sweetie, but it won’t work.”

“I had nothing to do with that! I got one of those calls, too, in case you don’t remember. The night of John Jacobi’s opening.”

“So what? It’s just a cover.”

Her eyes opened wide. “You think this has something to do with — with Eric?”

“You’re damn right I do. Except he’s dead. And the only other person who knows the truth is you.”

“I’ve spent my life protecting you!”

“You were protecting your future, sweetie, not me.”

“How can you say that!”

“As I think about it, it makes more and more sense. You’re behind everything. You get rid of me, and in the process, get your hands on my entire estate.”

Ivy began to back toward the door. “You’ve lost your mind! You’re like talking to a crazy man.”

“I never thought of you as having a very subtle mind, Ivy. Maybe I should reconsider. But just remember I’m onto you, sweetheart. You try anything else and I’ll break your arms. I’ll break your boyfriend’s arms, too. If you think that’s an idle threat, try me.” He picked up his suitcase. “I’m sleeping in the gate house from now on. I can’t stand to be in the same room with you. Tomorrow, I’m going to file for divorce.”

She gasped.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised?”

“I … but —”

“You want that musclebound surgeon? Well, you can have him. But you’ll leave this marriage with nothing.”

“The police were right! You are behind those attempts on my life! You can’t stand the idea that I’ve found someone who really cares about me.”

His smile was full of bitterness. “Maybe so.”

“But you must be reasonable!”

“Why?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Because … what about the party tomorrow night?”

He laughed. “Always the perfect hostess. Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you. As a matter of fact, I intend to play the loving husband all evening. In the end, I’m going to look like the wronged party, not you. And it’ll be the truth — because that’s what I am!”

She groped for the edge of the counter. “That’s ridiculous. When everything comes out about all your women Mends —”

“What women friends?”

“How stupid do you think I am? I know you’ve been sleeping around for years.”

“You’re nuts!”

“Am I? Where were you all those nights and weekends when you couldn’t be reached?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“See! You admit it.”

“I admit nothing. You may not believe this, Ivy, but I’ve been faithful to you. To our marriage.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“That’s your choice.”

“You never loved me!”

“And what if I didn’t?”

“Say it! Say you never loved me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important!”

He glared at her.

“I hate you!”

“‘For every evil under the sun — ’ “

“Don’t!” She ducked her head, covering her ears.

“Can’t even take a simple nursery rhyme? You’re getting soft, darling.” He started for the door. “By the way, just for the record, I did love you. Once. More than anything in the world.”

“Get out!” she shrieked.

As the door slammed behind him, she picked up a bowl of oranges and hurled it at the wall. The fruit fell to the floor with a dull thud. Sinking into a chair, she wrapped her arms protectively around her chest. Her sobs came in small fits. “Damn you,” she repeated, over and over again. “I’ll get you for this. I’ll get you!”

“How do I look?” asked Bram, brushing a piece of lint off his otherwise immaculate tux. He tugged on his French cuffs. “Well?”

Sophie handed her coat to one of the Micklenbergs’ hired staff. Piero della Francesca’s birthday party was in full progress. Turning her attention to her husband, she raised an eyebrow suggestively and whispered, “Straight out of
Masterpiece Theatre.”