Innocent Little Crimes (13 page)

He hoped Cynthie was all right. He never
should have taken his darling on this stupid weekend.

Chapter 15

“Intrude!” Lila’s raspy voice showed an edge
of irritation, but Peter was used to it. He carefully balanced the
tray of pastries and coffee and pushed open the heavy wooden door
with his foot. Lila sat curled up in her window seat, her knees
tucked up under her pink caftan, exposing matching painted
toenails. From the lofty height of her castle turret she commanded
a breathtaking view of the islands that lay across the expanse of
water like scattered stones. Wind whistled recklessly through the
cracks in the walls. The view apparently gave her little joy.

“Here you are, your highness.” Peter spoke
with alacrity, setting down the tray beside her feet. “Get it? Your
‘high’-ness?” Peter gestured to emphasize the altitude.

Lila sneered at him. “Making bad jokes is my
department. Stick to what you do best.” She bit into a cheese
Danish and slurped from her mug. “Ugh. When are you going to learn
how to make a decent cup of coffee? Or are you slowly trying to
kill me?”

Peter wondered at Lila’s bad mood.
Downstairs, the weekend guests were indulging in her hospitality
and essentially trashing the house, but she was turning her back on
it all. Her anticipation of this reunion puzzled him. Over the past
two years, working each day with Lila, he rarely found her this
agitated. She was like a race horse in the starting gate, snorting
and chomping at the bit.

“Lila, dear, what else can I do for you?”

She pouted. “You could start by leaving me
alone.”

“What’s bothering you, Li?” He sat on the
chintz-covered seat next to her. “I think these ordinary people are
delightfully refreshing. They’re so boring, so wrapped up in their
mundane problems. Sure makes me appreciate the life I have with
you. Never a dull moment . . .”

“Peter, shut up.”

He abruptly closed his mouth.

Lila picked at her toenails. “You think these
people are harmless. You’d be surprised how much damage such
mundane, boring people can do.”

“Li, come on . . .”

“Let’s just say these wonderful, boring
people are responsible for who I am today. And for that—I intend to
make them pay through their collective noses.”

Peter grew uneasy at the tone in her voice.
He watched an undercurrent of rage ripple across her face.

“I thought you brought them here to show off
your success. To gloat. Because they never thought you’d amount to
anything. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Do you always believe everything I say?”
Lila snorted. “You’re a fool.”

Peter let the comment slide. It was his
unstated duty to avoid taking offense. That’s why Lila had kept him
on this long. No one else in his job had survived more than a few
months in the wake of her verbal abuse.

“Lila, these people are harmless, even
pathetic.”

“Tonight. You’ll learn the whole truth
tonight, when we play a little game. Now get lost.”

Peter reached to touch her hand. She slapped
it away.

He steadied himself. “What is it with you,
Lila? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“You’re trying my patience, Avon.” Lila never
called him by his last name. “Push me too hard and I’ll do to you
what I did to all of them. Don’t forget you’re just another leech,
sucking my blood.” She kicked the wooden tray to the floor, sending
the dishes flying. Peter backed away.

“Now go.” She turned to look out the huge
picture window. Rain splattered against the pane. “After dinner, I
throw them to the wolves.”

Quickly bypassing the guests in the living
room, Peter set to work in the kitchen preparing dinner. On the
center island a pot of pasta boiled, steaming the windows. Gusts
rushed through the branches of madrone outside, followed by a crack
of thunder. The overhead lights flickered briefly and then went
dead. By the dim light of the winter sky, Peter had trouble reading
the recipe for Pasta Primavera in the scant light.

“Want some help?” Cynthia carried a tray of
dishes to the sink. Peter smiled. A friendly port in the storm. He
didn’t want to admit to himself how good it felt.

“Sure. How ’bout holding the flashlight.” He
read while she shined the light onto the page.

“Does this happen a lot?”

“What?”

“The power going out.” As she finished
speaking, the lights blinked back on.

Peter shrugged. “I’ve never been here in a
storm. We usually come in the summer.”

Cynthia put down the flashlight and reached
for a knife.

Peter watched her delicate hands slice an
onion. How refreshing to be around someone quiet and refined. He
fumed over Lila’s rancorous treatment of him. How dare she call him
a leech? If only she realized what he had to put up with every day.
He worked hard, dammit, and deserved at least a little respect.
Yes, there was definitely something going on, something very wrong.
He stirred the noodles, muttering quietly.

“So, Peter—tell me. How did you stumble into
this job?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear this story.”

“Sure I do.” She urged him with her eyes.

“Okay. Well, it’s really quite simple. I was
doing some catering in Laurel Canyon and Lila went crazy over my
spanikopita. She told me to come home with her and be her cook. So
I did.”

Cynthia laughed.

“Except, I never got to cook. It was one
thing after another and pretty soon I became more of a ‘gofer’ than
anything else. She’s got Jean-Louis for a chef now, but every once
in a while I make the spanikopita for her. Good thing, too. It’s
one of the only dishes I know how to make well.”

“But, then why were you in catering?”

“Oh, that was my partner’s thing. He was a
fabulous cook. The cheesecakes alone would make you fall to your
knees. I used to help him on his parties. I was trying to make it
as an actor, so I’d moonlight with Andrew in between jobs.”

Cynthia finished chopping and washed her
hands, tears starting to stream down her face.

Peter looked at her, questioningly. “Oh, come
on, it’s not that sad a story.”

Cynthia laughed, pointing to the pile of
chopped onions.

“Oh. I thought for a minute I had really
moved you.”

“So, what are your plans? Are you going to
stay with Lila indefinitely?”

He hesitated. Was Cynthia sensing his doubts?
He shrugged and studied her with deliberation. She was so young—oh,
to be that young again, with your whole life ahead of you. Peter
was only in his thirties, but he already regretted so much. Every
day he scrutinized the lines forming on his face and searched his
hair for signs of gray. In his circle of friends, he was past his
prime.

He sidestepped her question. “I’m sorry
you’re having a lousy time here.”

Cynthia shrugged. “Now what?” She gestured at
the meal preparations.

“Oh, you’ve done more than enough. I can
finish up.”

Peter had looked forward to coming to Lila’s
castle to “cater” once more, but it was unsettling to be going it
alone. The last time, Andrew was already too ill to stand, so he
directed Peter from the chair—talking him through the steps,
nagging him so everything would be just right. A perfectionist to
the end. Peter wasn’t prepared for the emotional wash of memories
this weekend triggered. Two years wasn’t long enough to erode away
the pain and guilt. But, maybe it was only Lila’s mood that
darkened him. If only he could cheer her up.

“You know, Cynthia, I like you. You’re not
contaminated by all the rotten people in the world.” He paused.
“It’s great to have a big heart, but if you’re not careful you’ll
be a walking target for all the losers in the world. Don’t be too
trusting.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always believed that
if you’re a good person, good will come to you. That’s my
philosophy. And it’s worked so far.”

Peter thought of something his mother used to
say to him: “Why does God waste energy on the young, instead of
giving it to the old, who have the wisdom to know what to do with
it?” Somehow, standing next to Cynthia, he felt unbearably old.

In the fading afternoon light, Davis
clambered up a steep buttress of rock, carefully watching his
footing. Twice he had slipped and scraped his knee. He knew he was
foolish to climb around the island half-drunk, but when he returned
earlier, he found Cynthia back at the house reading off in a corner
by herself. He tried to tell her she was right about the weekend,
but she brushed him off. He sat next to her, but she got up and
said she was going to help in the kitchen. Rebuffed, he joined the
guys and helped polish off a fifth of Jack Daniels. Then Jonathan
dragged him outside again for some male bonding.

Now Jonathan panted behind him, muttering to
himself. Davis smirked. He was in better shape than Jon, whom he
figured never spent any time in a gym. It gave him a small sense of
satisfaction to know he could hold the lead, be on top. It was
petty, he had to admit it, but he still felt a twinge of anger at
Jon for backstabbing him in college. Jon and Della—pretending
nothing was going on between them. So Davis pushed on a little
harder, leaving Jon further behind as he approached the crest of
the bluff.

The wind pressed at his back as he breathed
hard, getting his dizziness under control. The clouds parted to
reveal a spectacular panorama. To the northwest on Orcas Island,
Mt. Constitution towered into the blanket of clouds. To the south,
he made out a ferry boat plying the channel, navigating the dozens
of islands arranged like a maze.

Up there on top of the world, Davis thought
about Della’s words in the ferry terminal. About how he could have
made it as an actor. Maybe he should have stayed in acting, maybe
he would have been a star. With his good looks, charm, and talent
at persuasion, he could have been rich, and famous as well. But his
father had scoffed at a career in acting and made it clear, in few
words, that if Davis wanted to go to Hollywood to pursue his dream,
then he’d be cut loose. No more bankrolling him like he did through
school. If only his father hadn’t dangled that lucrative offer in
front of his face—with all those strings attached. To inherit his
father’s company, he had to do it his father’s way, meaning long,
hard hours and a lot of work.

When his father died last year, amid all the
grief, Davis was somewhat relieved. He didn’t have his “boss”
looking over his shoulder anymore, eyeing him, evaluating his
decisions. Catching his careless mistakes and not-quite-legal
shortcuts. Even now, a twinge of guilt rushed through him, but he
brushed it aside. In this day of cutthroat development, he would be
a fool—even worse, he would risk his fortune—if he followed the
old-fashioned ethics of his father. How many times had Davis been
reminded that the firm was built on integrity and reputation? How
many deals did his father lose from refusing to underbid, which
necessitates scrimping on quality and time?

Davis thought about his Mount Tam mall
project and the northern Marin subdivision. The project that was
destined to make him one of the richest real estate holders in
Marin. He was damned lucky that a big investor jumped aboard at the
last minute and saved his ass. He had already cashed in some of
Cynthia’s T-bills to cover his miscalculation of the costs. If she
found out, she would be furious. He promised her he was putting her
money away, where neither of them could touch it. It was slated to
go for their kids’ college fund and future retirement. But he had
been in a bind, until that last investor miraculously turned up.
Now the condos were being built, retailers were being lured in to
lease, even as Davis sat perched on the rock ledge. Not as good as
fame, perhaps, but money was money. And he wanted his future kids
to have everything, the best of everything. To have it easy growing
up, like he’d had.

Jon pulled himself up onto the ledge and
collapsed next to Davis. “You and your brilliant suggestion,” he
forced out the words in between gasps. “ ‘Let’s climb to the top
and watch the sunset.’ You can’t see any sunset with all these
clouds. And I, for one, don’t want to try to make it back down in
the dark. What is it with you—got some sort of death wish?” Jon
thought for a minute and then laughed and coughed, the cold air
searing his chest. “I get it. You’re paying me back for taking
Della away from you in college. Okay, but don’t bother. I already
paid for that mistake, that’s for damned sure.”

Davis handed Jon a small silver flask. He
took a swig and winced. “Just what I need—more whiskey.”

“It’ll warm you up.”

“What—the climb didn’t? I’m sweating
like a cow.” He thought about his expensive silk shirt, now
probably stained at the armpits. There goes $250. Why was he
killing himself climbing rocks when he should be schmoozing with
Lila? He had mulled it over and over in his head. Lila
had
expressed excitement over his
project, hadn’t she? Well, he knew she was clueless about the story
idea, but he and Lila had a history and she owed him. That’s right.
He fixed the thought in his head.
He
had directed her first show.
He
was the one who “discovered”
Lila, who knew talent when he saw it. Lila must be tremendously
grateful. There was no way she’d refuse him. Besides, the option
cost him a fortune. He was taking a big chance on her gratitude.
Thank God he never made fun of her to her face back in the old
days. Instead, he always assured her that she was doing a great
job. At least that was how he remembered it.

Davis sat quietly, admiring the view. “So,
give me the gory details. What happened with you and Della?”