Sidney Sheldon (3 page)

“Certainly.” Detective Greenburg pulled out his ID card and showed it to her.

Diane glanced at it, handed it back, and then slapped Greenburg hard across his face. “Does the city pay you to go around trying to scare honest citizens? My husband is not dead! He’s at work.” She was shouting.

Greenburg looked into her eyes and saw the shock and denial there. “Mrs. Stevens, would you like me to send someone over to look after you and—?”

“
You’re
the one who needs someone to look after you. Now get out of here.”

“Mrs. Stevens—”

“Now!”

Greenburg took out a business card and put it on a table. “In case you need to talk to me, here’s my number.”

As he walked out the door, Greenburg thought,
Well, I handled
that brilliantly. I might as well have said, “Are you the widow Stevens?”

W
HEN DETECTIVE EARL
Greenburg left, Diane locked the front door and took a deep, shivering breath.
The idiot! Coming to the wrong apartment and trying to scare me. I should report him.
She looked at her watch.
Richard will be coming home soon. It’s time to start getting dinner ready.
She was making paella, his favorite dish. She went into the kitchen and started to prepare it.

B
ECAUSE OF THE
secrecy of Richard’s work, Diane never disturbed him at the laboratory, and if he did not call her, she knew it was a signal that he was going to be late. At eight o’clock, the paella was ready. She tasted it and smiled, satisfied. It was made just the way Richard liked it. At ten o’clock, when he still had not arrived, Diane put the paella in the refrigerator and stuck a Post-it note on the refrigerator door:
Darling, supper is in the fridge. Come and wake me up
. Richard would be hungry when he came home.

Diane felt suddenly drained. She undressed, put on a nightgown, brushed her teeth, and got into bed. In a few minutes, she fell sound asleep.

A
T THREE O’CLOCK
in the morning, she woke up screaming.

I
T WAS DAWN
before Diane could stop trembling. The chill she felt was bone deep. Richard was dead. She would never see him again, hear his voice, feel him hold her close.
And it’s my fault. I should never have gone into that courtroom. Oh, Richard, forgive me…please forgive me…I don’t think I can go on without you. You were my life, my reason to live, and now I have none.

She wanted to curl up into a tiny ball.

She wanted to disappear.

She wanted to die.

She lay there, desolate, thinking about the past, how Richard had transformed her life….

D
IANE WEST HAD
grown up in Sands Point, New York, an area of quiet affluence. Her father was a surgeon and her mother was an
artist, and Diane had begun to draw when she was three. She attended St. Paul’s boarding school, and when she was a freshman in college, she had a brief relationship with her charismatic mathematics teacher. He told her he wanted to marry her because she was the only woman in the world for him. When Diane learned that he had a wife and three children, she decided that either his math or his memory was defective, and transferred to Wellesley College.

She was obsessed with art and spent every spare moment painting. By the time Diane graduated, she had begun selling her paintings and was acquiring a reputation as an artist of promise.

That fall, a prominent Fifth Avenue art gallery gave Diane her own art show, and it was a huge success. The owner of the gallery, Paul Deacon, was a wealthy, erudite African-American who had helped nurture Diane’s career.

Opening night, the salon was crowded. Deacon hurried up to Diane, a big smile on his face. “Congratulations! We’ve already sold most of the paintings! I’m going to set up another exhibition in a few months, as soon as you’re ready.”

Diane was thrilled. “That’s wonderful, Paul.”

“You deserve it.” He patted her on the shoulder and bustled off.

Diane was signing an autograph when a man came up behind her and said, “I like your curves.”

Diane stiffened. Furious, she spun around and opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, when he went on:

“They have the delicacy of a Rossetti or a Manet.” He was studying one of her paintings on the wall.

Diane caught herself just in time. “Oh.” She took a closer look at the man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was about six feet tall, with an athletic build, blond hair, and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a soft tan suit, a white shirt, and a brown tie.

“I—thank you.”

“When did you begin painting?”

“When I was a child. My mother was a painter.”

He smiled. “My mother was a cook, but I can’t cook. I know
your
name. I’m Richard Stevens.”

At that moment, Paul Deacon approached with three packages. “Here are your paintings, Mr. Stevens. Enjoy them.” He handed them to Richard Stevens and walked away.

Diane looked at him in surprise. “You bought three of my paintings?”

“I have two more in my apartment.”

“I’m—I’m flattered.”

“I appreciate talent.”

“Thank you.”

He hesitated. “Well, you’re probably busy, so I’ll run—”

Diane heard herself saying, “No. I’m fine.”

His smile widened. “Good. You could do me a big favor, Miss West.”

Diane looked at his left hand. He was not wearing a wedding band. “Yes?”

“I happen to have two tickets for the opening of a revival of Noël Coward’s
Blithe Spirit
tomorrow night, and I have no one to go with. If you’re free—?”

Diane studied him a moment. He seemed nice and was very attractive, but, after all, he was a total stranger.
Too dangerous. Much too dangerous.
And she heard herself say, “I would love to go.”

T
HE FOLLOWING EVENING
turned out to be delightful. Richard Stevens was an amusing companion, and there was an instant compatibility. They shared an interest in art and music, and much more. She felt attracted to him, but she was not sure whether he felt the same way about her.

At the end of the evening, Richard asked, “Are you free tomorrow night?”

Diane’s answer was an unhesitating “Yes.”

The following evening they were having dinner at a quiet restaurant in SoHo.

“Tell me about you, Richard.”

“Not much to tell. I was born in Chicago. My father was an architect and designed buildings all over the world, and my mother and I traveled with him. I went to about a dozen different foreign schools and learned to speak a few languages in self-defense.”

“What do you do? For a living?”

“I work at KIG—Kingsley International Group. It’s a large think tank.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“It’s fascinating. We do cutting-edge technology research. If we had a motto, it would be something like ‘If we don’t have the answer now, wait until tomorrow.’ ”

A
FTER DINNER, RICHARD
took Diane home. At her door, he took her hand and said, “I enjoyed the evening. Thank you.”

And he was gone.

Diane stood there, watching him walk away.
I’m glad he’s a gentleman and not a wolf. I’m really glad. Damn!

T
HEY WERE TOGETHER
every night after that, and each time Diane saw Richard, she felt the same warm glow.

On a Friday evening, Richard said, “I coach a Little League team on Saturdays. Would you like to come along and watch?”

Diane nodded. “I’d love to, Coach.”

The following morning, Diane watched Richard working with the eager young ballplayers. He was gentle and caring and patient, screaming with joy when ten-year-old Tim Holm caught a fly ball, and it was obvious that they adored him.

Diane thought,
I’m falling in love. I’m falling in love.

A
FEW DAYS
later, Diane had a carefree luncheon with a few women friends, and as they left the restaurant, they passed a gypsy fortune-telling parlor.

On an impulse Diane said, “Let’s have our fortunes told.”

“I can’t, Diane. I have to get back to work.”

“So do I.”

“I have to pick up Johnny.”

“Why don’t you go, tell us what she said.”

“All right. I will.”

Five minutes later, Diane found herself sitting alone with a sunken-faced crone with a mouth full of gold teeth and a dirty shawl over her head.

This is nonsense,
Diane thought.
Why am I doing this?
But she knew why she was doing it. She wanted to ask if she and Richard had a future together.
It’s just for the fun of it,
she told herself.

Diane watched as the old woman picked up a tarot deck and began to shuffle the cards, never looking up.

“I would like to know if—”

“Shhh.” The woman turned up a card. It was the picture of the Fool, colorfully dressed and carrying a satchel. The woman studied it a moment. “There are many secrets for you to learn.” She turned up another tarot card. “This is the Moon. You have desires you are uncertain about.”

Diane hesitated and nodded.

“Does this involve a man?”

“Yes.”

The old woman turned up the next card. “This is the Lovers card.”

Diane smiled. “Is that a good omen?”

“We will see. The next three cards will tell us.” She turned over another card. “The Hanged Man.” She frowned, paused, and turned up the next card. “The Devil,” she muttered.

“Is that bad?” Diane asked lightly.

The gypsy fortune-teller did not answer.

Diane watched as the old woman turned up the next card. She shook her head. Her voice was eerily hollow. “The Death card.”

Diane got to her feet. “I don’t believe in any of this,” she said angrily.

The old woman looked up, and when she spoke, her voice was macabre. “It does not matter what you believe. Death is all around you.”

Berlin, Germany

T
HE
POLIZEIKOMMANDANT
, OTTO
Schiffer, two uniformed police officers, and the superintendent of the apartment building, Herr Karl Goetz, were staring at the naked, shriveled body lying at the bottom of the overflowing bathtub. A faint bruise circled her neck.

The
Polizeikommandant
held a finger under the dripping tap. “Cold.” He sniffed at the empty liquor bottle on the side of the tub and turned to the building superintendent. “Her name?”

“Sonja Verbrugge. Her husband is Franz Verbrugge. He is some kind of scientist.”

“She lived in this apartment with her husband?”

“Seven years. They were wonderful tenants. Always paid their rent on time. Never any trouble. Everyone loved…” He realized what he was about to say and stopped.

“Did Frau Verbrugge have a job?”

“Yes, at the Cyberlin internet café, where people pay to use the computers for—”

“What led you to discover the body?”

“It was because of the cold water tap in the bathtub. I tried to fix it several times, but it would never turn completely off.”

“So?”

“So this morning the tenant in the apartment below complained about water dripping through his ceiling. I came up here, knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, I opened it with my passkey. I came into the bathroom and found…” His voice choked.

A detective came into the bathroom. “No liquor bottles in the cabinets, just wine.”

The
Kommandant
nodded. “Right.” He pointed to the liquor bottle on the side of the tub. “Have that tested for fingerprints.”

“Yes, sir.”

The
Kommandant
turned to Karl Goetz. “Do you know where Herr Verbrugge is?”

“No. I always see him in the morning, when he leaves for work, but—” He made a helpless gesture.

“You did not see him this morning?”

“No.”

“Do you know if Herr Verbrugge was planning to take a trip somewhere?”

“No, sir. I do not.”

The
Kommandant
turned to the detective. “Talk to the other tenants. Find out if Frau Verbrugge seemed depressed lately, or if she and her husband quarreled, and if she was a heavy drinker. Get all the information you can.” He looked at Karl Goetz. “We will check on her husband. If you think of anything that might be helpful—”

Karl Goetz said tentatively, “I do not know whether this is helpful, but one of the tenants told me that an ambulance was parked in front of the building last night, and he asked if anyone was sick. By
the time I went outside to see what was happening, the ambulance was gone. Does that help?”

The
Kommandant
said, “It will be looked into.”

“What—what about her—her body?” Karl Goetz asked nervously.

“The medical examiner is on his way. Empty the tub and throw a towel over her.”

I
’M AFRAID I
have some bad news…killed last night…we found his body under a bridge….

For Diane Stevens, time had stopped. She wandered aimlessly through the large apartment filled with memories and thought:
Its comfort has gone…its warmth has gone…without Richard, it is only a collection of cold bricks. It will never come alive again.

Diane sank onto the couch and closed her eyes.
Richard, darling, the day we were married, you asked what I would like as a gift. I told you I didn’t want anything. But I do now. Come back to me. It doesn’t matter if I can’t see you. Just hold me in your arms. I’ll know you’re here. I need to feel your touch once more. I want to feel you stroking my breast…. I want to imagine that I can hear your voice saying that I make the best paella in the world…. I want to hear your voice asking me to stop pulling the bedcovers off you…. I want to hear you telling me that you love me.
She tried to stop the sudden flow of tears, but it was impossible.

F
ROM THE TIME
Diane realized that Richard was dead, she spent the next several days locked away in their darkened apartment, refusing to answer the telephone or the door. She was like a wounded animal, hiding. She wanted to be alone with her pain.
Richard, there were so many times I wanted to say “I love you,” so that you would say “I love you, too.” But I didn’t want to sound needy. I was a fool. Now I’m needy.

Finally, when the constant ringing of the telephone and the incessant sound of the doorbell would not stop, Diane opened the door.

Carolyn Ter, one of Diane’s closest friends, stood there. She looked at Diane and said, “You look like hell.” Her voice softened. “Everyone’s been trying to reach you, honey. We’ve all been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry, Carolyn, but I just can’t—”

Carolyn took Diane in her arms. “I know. But there are a lot of friends who want to see you.”

Diane shook her head. “No. It’s im—”

“Diane, Richard’s life is over, but yours isn’t. Don’t shut out the people who love you. I’ll start making calls.”

F
RIENDS OF DIANE
and Richard began telephoning and coming to the apartment, and Diane found herself listening to the endless litany of the clichés of death:

“Think of it this way, Diane. Richard is at peace….”

“God called him, darling….”

“I know Richard is in heaven, shining down on you….”

“He’s passed over to a better place….”

“He’s joined the angels….”

Diane wanted to scream.

T
HE STREAM OF
visitors seemed endless. Paul Deacon, the owner of the art gallery that displayed Diane’s work, came to the apartment. He put his arms around Diane and said, “I’ve been trying to reach you, but—”

“I know.”

“I’m so sad about Richard. He was a rare gentleman. But, Diane, you can’t shut yourself away like this. People are waiting to see more of your beautiful work.”

“I can’t. It’s not important anymore, Paul. Nothing is. I’m through.”

She could not be persuaded.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY,
when the doorbell rang, Diane reluctantly went to the door. She looked through the peephole, and there seemed to be a small crowd outside. Puzzled, Diane opened the door. There were a dozen young boys in the hallway.

One of them was holding a little bouquet of flowers. “Good morning, Mrs. Stevens.” He handed the bouquet to Diane.

“Thank you.” She suddenly remembered who they were. They were members of the Little League team that Richard had coached.

Diane had received countless baskets of flowers, cards of condolence, and e-mails, but this was the most touching gift of all.

“Come in,” Diane said.

The boys trooped into the room. “We just wanted to tell you how bad we feel.”

“Your husband was a great guy.”

“He was really cool.”

“And he was an awesome coach.”

It was all Diane could do to hold back her tears. “Thank you. He
thought you were great, too. He was very proud of all of you.” She took a deep breath. “Would you like some soft drinks or—?”

Tim Holm, the ten-year-old who had caught the fly ball, spoke up. “No, thanks, Mrs. Stevens. We just wanted to tell you that we’ll miss him, too. We all chipped in for the flowers. They cost twelve dollars.”

“Anyway, we just wanted you to know how sorry we are.”

Diane looked at them and said quietly, “Thank you, boys. I know how much Richard would appreciate your coming here.”

She watched as they mumbled their good-byes and left.

As Diane observed their departure, she remembered the first time she had watched Richard coach the boys. He had talked to them as though he were their age, in language they understood, and they loved him for it.
That was the day I started to fall in love with him.

Outside, Diane could hear the rumble of thunder and the first drops of rain beginning to roll down against the windows, like God’s tears.
Rain.
It had been on a holiday weekend…

“D
O YOU LIKE
picnics?” Richard asked.

“I adore them.”

He smiled. “I knew it. I’ll plan a little picnic for us. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon.”

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Richard had arranged for a picnic in the middle of Central Park. There was silverware and linens, and when Diane saw what was in the picnic basket, she laughed. Roast beef…a ham…cheeses…two large pâtés…an assortment of drinks and half a dozen desserts.

“There’s enough for a small army! Who’s going to join us?” And an unbidden thought popped into her mind.
A minister?
She blushed.

Richard was watching her. “Are you all right?”

All right? I’ve never been so happy.
“Yes, Richard.”

He nodded. “Good. We won’t wait for the army. Let’s start.”

While they ate, there was so much to talk about, and every word seemed to bring them closer. There was a strong sexual tension building up between them, and they could both feel it. And in the middle of this perfect afternoon, it began to rain. In a matter of minutes, they were soaked.

Richard said ruefully, “I’m sorry about this. I should have known better—the paper said no rain. I’m afraid it’s spoiled our picnic and—”

Diane moved close to him and said softly, “Has it?”

And she was in his arms and her lips were pressed against his, and she could feel the heat racing through her body. When she finally pulled back, she said, “We have to get out of these wet clothes.”

He laughed. “You’re right. We don’t want to catch—”

Diane said, “Your place or mine?”

And Richard suddenly became very still. “Diane, are you sure? I’m asking because…this isn’t just a one-night stand.”

Diane said quietly, “I know.”

H
ALF AN HOUR
later they were in Diane’s apartment, undressing, and their arms were around each other, and their hands were exploring tantalizing places, and finally, when they could stand it no longer, they got into bed.

Richard was gentle and tender and passionate and frenzied, and it was magic, and his tongue found her and moved slowly, and it felt as though warm waves were gently lapping at a velvet beach, and then he was deep inside her, filling her.

They spent the rest of the afternoon, and most of the night, talking and making love, and they opened their hearts to each other, and it was wonderful beyond words.

In the morning, while Diane was making their breakfast, Richard asked, “Will you marry me, Diane?”

And she turned to him and said softly, “Oh, yes.”

T
HE WEDDING TOOK
place one month later. The ceremony was warm and wonderful, with friends and family congratulating the newlyweds. Diane looked over at Richard’s beaming face and thought of the fortune-teller’s ridiculous prediction, and smiled.

They had planned to leave for a honeymoon in France the week after the wedding, but Richard had called her from work. “A new project has just come up and I can’t get away. Is it all right if we do it in a few months? Sorry, baby.”

She said, “Of course it’s all right, darling.”

“Do you want to come out and have lunch with me today?”

“I’d love that.”

“You like French food. I know a great French restaurant. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

Thirty minutes later, Richard was outside, waiting for Diane. “Hi, honey. I have to see one of our clients off at the airport. He’s leaving for Europe. We’ll say good-bye and then go on to lunch.”

She hugged him. “Fine.”

When they arrived at Kennedy airport, Richard said, “He has a private plane. We’ll meet him on the tarmac.”

A guard passed them through to a restricted area, where a Challenger was parked. Richard looked around. “He’s not here yet. Let’s wait in the plane.”

“All right.”

They walked up the steps and entered the luxurious aircraft. The engines were running.

The flight attendant walked in from the cockpit. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Richard said.

Diane smiled. “Good morning.”

They watched the flight attendant close the cabin door.

Diane looked at Richard. “How late do you think your client is going to be?”

“He shouldn’t be very long.”

The roar of the jets started getting louder. The plane began to taxi.

Diane looked out the window, and her face paled. “Richard, we’re moving.”

Richard looked at Diane in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Look out the window.” She was panicking. “Tell—tell the pilot—”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“To stop!”

“I can’t. He’s already started.”

There was a moment of silence and Diane looked at Richard, her eyes wide. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re going to Paris. You said you liked French food.”

She gasped. Then her expression changed. “Richard, I can’t go to Paris now! I have no clothes. I have no makeup. I have no—”

Richard said, “I heard they have stores in Paris.”

She looked at him a moment, then flung her arms around him. “Oh, you fool, you. I love you.”

He grinned. “You wanted a honeymoon. You’ve got it.”