Murder in the Air (19 page)

A long pause. “Where are you?”

“At the River Bend Casino south of the Twin Cities. You know the place?”

More silence. “I don't have twenty thousand here.”

“How much do you have?”

“Well, I could get you half of it.”

“Tonight.
I've got to have it tonight.”

“All right.”

“You can get me the rest tomorrow. How long will it take you to drive out here?”

“Give me an hour. And I don't want to hand you the money in the casino. Too many interested eyes.”

“That makes sense. I'll be at the front door in one hour. We can pass the package outside.”

“Fine. And listen, Valentine. Don't make me wait. I don't like driving around in the middle of the night.” “I won't be late. You can count on that.”

At the appointed time, Valentine stood alone near the front doors, eyeing the frozen drive in front of the casino. After another couple of drinks and a whole lot of sweet talk, he'd managed to convince Mandy that he wasn't going to take off on her. He'd ensconced her at a roulette table, given her a couple of hundred to play with, and told her he'd be back shortly.

Towering bright lights illuminated the parking lot. It looked a lot emptier now than it had when he'd arrived. He figured it must be the wee hours of Tuesday morning, which was just fine with him. He always felt more alive at night than he did during the day. As soon as he got the dough in his hands, maybe he and his new lady would find a place and grab a bite to eat. A meal would steady him. He'd need all his wits about him to win the kind of money he intended to win.

A dark sedan came rolling down the off-ramp from the highway a few minutes later. The car parked twenty or so yards from the front door, switched off its lights, and waited.

Valentine took it as his cue. He plunged through the doors into the frigid night air. Since he didn't plan on staying outside, he hadn't brought his coat. He trudged quickly out to the car and stood rubbing his hands, waiting for the door to be unlocked. Instead, the electric window came down.

“All right. So, where is it?” he demanded.

“Get in.”

“Just give me the money.”

“Not here. We'll drive a short ways—away from the lights. There's a convenience store about a mile down the road. I'll give it to you while we're driving and then drop you there. You can get a cab to bring you back.”

Valentine looked around the lot. There wasn't a soul in sight. “Damn it, just give it to me!”

The window went up.

Valentine banged on the hood as the car backed away. “Stop, for chrissake. Wait.”

The car stopped.

Valentine flipped the lapels of his thin jacket up around his neck. The night wasn't fit for man or beast. His hands and ears were already going numb.

The window eased back down. “Are you coming?”

Valentine knew he had only seconds to decide. “You say there's a convenience store around here?”

“A 7-Eleven. Just up the service road.”

He couldn't see any lights. The hills were probably blocking his view.

“Do you want this money or not?”

Valentine's eyes darted back to the casino entrance. Two people were coming out, running, not walking, to their car. He had to think fast. “Oh, shit,” he said, throwing open the passenger-side door and jumping in. “Let's make it fast.”

April 17, 1959

Dear Mother:

I can't tell you what it meant to me to receive your letter. So much is in my heart. I promise, I will respond to everything you've written, but first, I have to get this note off to you right away.

You must listen to what I'm about to tell you. Even if you don't believe me, it's imperative that you do as I say. I had no idea he would go this far. When you mentioned that the house was being watched and that you were being followed
—
even to the library!
—
my blood turned cold.
You've got to promise me, Mom. You mustn't go out alone. Stay away from those men across the street at all costs. They've not with the FBI. I can'tprove it, but I know it, more profoundly than I've ever known anything before in my entire life.

I thought that if I left the country, promised to stay away and never return, he would leave you alone. I can see now that I was wrong. It drives me crazy that I can't be there to protect you. I thought my silence would keep you safe. We simply have to wait this out, Mom. I don't know what else to do. In my more rational moments I don't think he'd dare touch you. And yet, he's a ruthless man. I plan to write him and tell him that if a hair on your head is harmed, he can forget his own life. I'll end it
—
one way or another. If that sounds cruel, all I can say in my defense is that this is a cruel game, and not one of my own making.

Be careful, Mom. Please!

Justin

17

Bram was startled awake by the sound of a ringing phone. Disengaging himself from the blankets, he glanced over at the other side of the bed and saw that Sophie was gone. She must have gotten up sometime during the night.

Wondering who had called, he fumbled for his bathrobe and headed out of the room. He could smell the results of Sophie's sleepless night long before he saw it.

Bram found his wife in the kitchen, standing amid piles of freshly baked Christmas cookies. She usually baked them in huge batches before the holidays and then gave them away
as gifts. With all the overtime she was putting in at the hotel this year, he didn't think she'd have time for this longstanding tradition. He never counted on Rudy getting sick. Whenever Sophie was worried, needed some quiet time to think, or simply couldn't sleep, she always baked.

“It's John,” she whispered, holding her hand over the phone.

Sleepily, Bram shifted his gaze to the clock on the stove. It was just after seven
A.M
. Last night's crisis had barely left his consciousness. He and Sophie had stayed at the hospital until after two. Rudy was back in his room by then, resting comfortably. The doctor seemed fairly confident that he was out of immediate danger. More tests had been ordered for this morning.

“I'm so glad you called,” said Sophie, leaning against the sink. “How is he?”

Ethel dragged herself into the kitchen and nudged Bram's leg, gazing up at him with undisguised gloom. She wasn't a morning dog.

“Yes,” said Sophie, making notes on a pad. “I understand. Did you just get there?” She paused. “John, you must be exhausted!” She put her hand over the receiver and whispered, “He never went home.”

Bram wasn't surprised.

“Sure, that's no problem. I'll get dressed right away. I can be there in less than an hour. Is Rudy awake?” She listened, wrapping the phone cord around her finger. “I see. And when did the doctor think she'd be in to talk to us? Okay, that's fine. Yes, I'll see you soon.” After she'd hung up, she turned and leaned her head against Bram's shoulder as he took her in his arms. “They're about to do another test. It seems the current theory is that he may have a bleeding ulcer.”

“Then it's not HIV?”

She held him tight. “I won't feel confident of that until we get the results of the blood test.”

He could read the worry in her face. “You look tired. Did you get any sleep?”

“I'm fine.” She pulled away and wiped her hands on her
apron. “Just think, if I didn't need to sleep, look how much I could get done.” She swept her hand to the mounds of cookies. “Don't eat them all while I'm gone.”

“Sophie, I'm worried about you.”

“Why? I said I was fine.” She busied herself turning off the oven and switching off the lights.

“You were already exhausted before this happened. You're going to get sick if you keep pushing so hard.”

She turned her back to him. Resting her hands on the side of the sink, she said, “I can't have this conversation right now. I've got to get dressed.”

“You're going to crash and burn, sweetheart. You're not superhuman. Rudy needs you whole and healthy. So do I. Promise me that you'll come back here this afternoon and get some sleep.”

“Sure,” she said, turning around. Her smile was full of fake lightness. “I promise.”

He didn't believe her, but knew it would only add to her stress if he pressed the point. “I'll hold you to it, Sophie.”

“Good. You do that.”

Following her into the bedroom, he asked, “What else did John say? I mean, it seems pretty strange that someone Rudy's age would get an ulcer.”

She stood in front of the closet and lifted her jeans off a hook. “According to the doctor, some ulcers are caused by a virus. She'll be in to talk to us as soon as the procedure is over. It only takes an hour.”

Bram had already pulled on his jeans. As he buttoned up a fresh shirt Sophie said, “Don't you have a
Dallas Lane
rehearsal this morning?”

“Sure, but this is an emergency. Dorothy will understand.”

“No. We're not at emergency status yet. I'll be fine driving over by myself. And I won't be alone. John will be there.”

“But—”

“I'll call you with any new developments.”

“All right,” he said hesitantly. “If that's what you want.” He knew it was useless to argue. Sitting down on the bed, he
watched her dress. “Sophie? Is something wrong? You seem … I don't know … kind of distant this morning.”

“My son is in the hospital and I'm terrified he's got a disease that will kill him. Fm sorry if you think I'm being distant.”

“Sophie … I love him, too.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“Then don't shut me out.”

“I'm not.”

“It feels like you are.”

She turned around, her eyes narrowing in anger. “It's all my fault, right? I'm not paying enough attention to you. I'm not home enough. I'm a failure as a wife
and
a mother.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn't need to.” She pressed her lips together. Turning her head away, she put her hands up to her face and started to cry.

In an instant Bram was by her side. “I know this is hard on you, sweetheart.” He held her, stroking her hair.

“God, it's all my fault. Fm his mother, Bram. I didn't even know he'd hurt his back until John told me. I've been so busy, I haven't seen him in weeks.”

“He's been busy, too, sweetheart. It's not a one-way street.”

She bit her trembling lip. “That's no excuse. I'm the parent. I should have talked to him about having another AIDS test.”

“It's not your fault that he's sick.”

“Then why do I feel like it is!”

All he could do was hold her in his arms until she stopped crying. He had to fight back his own tears. Rudy was such a great kid, with so much to look forward to. Thrashing around for some words of comfort, he noticed Ethel drag herself into the room, a leather leash clasped between her teeth.

Sophie heard the movement, too, and looked around. “I guess she wants to go out.” She sniffed.

“We're kind of busy, Ethel. Go find a tennis ball and guard it.”

Pulling away, Sophie said, “You better take her out.”

“I'd rather stay here and hug you. Besides, it's ten below zero out there.”

She gave him a crumpled smile. “I guess she doesn't watch the weather report as faithfully as you do.”

“Well, she should.”

Wiping her nose on a tissue, Sophie tried another smile. “I love you.”

“You better.”

She brushed his graying brown hair away from his forehead. “Be patient with me, honey. This has been a rough couple of months.”

“I know. We'll work it through.”

Ethel dropped the leash at his feet.

“You better get going,” said Sophie, moving over to their bureau and lifting a sweater from the top drawer.

“You
will
call if you need me, right? Someone can come get me out of the rehearsal room.” He drew her close one last time and kissed the top of her head.

“Don't worry. I mean it.”

“All right.” He sighed, grabbing Ethel's leash. “Come on, Ethel old girl. Let's go take a brief walk by the mighty Mississippi.”

“Put a sweater on her first,” said Sophie. She disappeared into the bathroom.

“Which one?”

She stuck her head out of the door. “I think her Thank God I'm Swedish' sweatshirt is clean. It's by the front door.”

Ethel was the only dog in the known universe who needed to make a fashion statement before breakfast. Hooking the leash to her collar, he dragged her out of the room.

Bram arrived at the station half an hour late. Since he'd only had four hours of sleep, it was the best he could do under the circumstances. As he headed down the hall to the conference room where the rehearsals were held—now referred to by one and all as the greenroom—he saw everyone milling around outside the door. Surely Dorothy hadn't postponed the entire rehearsal just because he was half an hour late.

“What's up?” he asked, approaching Mitzi Quinn. She
was sitting next to the water cooler, paging through a fashion magazine.

“Oh, morning,” she said with a vague smile. She adjusted the collar of her red dress and gave a resigned shrug. “What else? We're waiting for Valentine to get here.”

“Where is he?”

“We don't know,” said Mitzi. “Dorothy called over to the hotel, but he wasn't there. I guess she figures he's on his way, so we're just waiting until he arrives.”