Slice and Dice (25 page)

Rapson:
Sure. Laurie Lippert. She owns her own business now, the House Cleaning Company. Very successful. Probably has a couple dozen employees. Actually, I use one of her people to take care of the loft. The woman comes in once a week and does a bang-up job.

M:
So it’s a local company.

Rapson:
Right here in St. Paul. Just look in the phone book

M:
I guess that’s about it, Mr. Rapson. Thanks for your time.

Rapson:
My pleasure.

M:
Oh, and don’t forget. If you can call me with an address for Beverly Custerson, Constance’s best friend, I’d be very grateful. You’ve still got my number at the Maxfield?

Rapson:
I do. And I promise, I’ll get on it right away.

Sophie spent Wednesday morning in her office at the Maxfield, handling tasks she should have addressed yesterday. She needed to read a report about a new idea that one of the staff had generated concerning the hotel’s deluxe amenities for guests. Sophie had seen refillable dispensers at other hotels — dispensers that hung on the bathroom walls and were used for shampoo, hair conditioner, body lotion, body shampoo, etc. — but she wasn’t sure she wanted to make such a radical change at the Maxfield. The report was intended to convince her that it was not only wise ecologically but also that it would save tons of money.

As she stared at the words on the page, she willed herself to concentrate, but the meaning wouldn’t penetrate. She would read a paragraph over and over, and each time she had only the vaguest recollection of what it had said. She hadn’t slept well since Saturday night, and her increasing tiredness was taking a toll. No matter how hard she tried to stay on point, her thoughts kept drifting back to Nathan.

She’d called his room at least a dozen times during the morning, left several messages, but still hadn’t heard from him. The words that George Gildemeister’s elderly neighbor had said to her yesterday evening kept swirling around in her mind. Nathan had been in George’s apartment the night he died. Sophie needed answers, but Nathan wasn’t around to explain. What worried her most was her fear that, when they finally did talk, he wouldn’t tell her the truth.

After a short meeting with the housekeeping supervisor, Sophie worked the front desk until two. She was dead on her feet, making silly mistakes that frustrated the guests checking in and out. She wanted to take a nap but couldn’t. She had an appointment at the Times Register Tower and knew that missing her first staff meeting would be unacceptable.

Thinking that she might as well change into something more comfortable — nobody dressed particularly formally at the paper — she stopped by Hildegard’s office to let her know where she’d be for the next few hours. After a brief conversation, she walked briskly to the elevators. The briskness was an effort to convince herself that she wouldn’t fall asleep midstride.

As she got off on her floor, an idea struck her. Perhaps Nathan was in his mother’s room, or someone there knew where he was. She got right back on the elevator and descended to the tenth floor.

Standing in front of the door to Constance’s suite, she lifted her hand to knock, then stopped. Anxiety rose in her chest. She wanted to talk to Nathan, wanted to clear the air, and yet she could feel a heavy tension coiling itself around her shoulders. She’d already decided to phrase her questions in such a way so that if he was going to lie, she’d know immediately. Should she then go to the police with what she knew, or should she give him a second chance to explain? Could she really implicate Nathan in a murder? This wasn’t about the titillating advances of an old boyfriend any longer. It was about life and death.

Summoning her courage, she knocked on the door. A moment later Arthur opened it. “Sophie, what a nice surprise. Come in.”

She glanced into the room and saw that he’d been sitting at the desk working on a laptop computer. A cigarette rested in an ashtray, a trail of smoke rising into the air. A jumble of books and papers clustered around the base of the chair. “If I’m interrupting something —”

“No, not at all. I assume you came to find Nathan.”

“Actually —”

“Please.” He gestured to the living room. “I’m afraid nobody’s here but me, but I’d like to talk to you if you’ve got a couple of minutes.”

“Well, sure.”

“How about some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

Even dressed casually in soft corduroy pants and a blue oxford cloth shirt turned up at the sleeves, Nathan’s uncle appeared formal. Sophie remembered now that he’d always been fastidious about his appearance.

Once upon a time she’d counted Arthur Jadek as a good friend. She’d always been at ease in his presence. With his gentle, inquiring gaze, she felt like a favored child when he talked to her. He liked to talk, but he was also a good listener, and that was rare. “No thanks. I’ve got to be at a meeting at three.”

“Then we’ll make this short.” He picked up his cigarette before he sat down and tapped off the ash. “Everyone except me drove out to New Fonteney this morning. I didn’t go along because I wanted to get some work done, although I hear it’s a lovely spot. I probably should have gone just for the fresh air.”

“It is lovely,” she agreed. “Nathan and I took a drive out there on Monday.”

He nodded, giving her an appraising look. “I suppose I should preface what I want to say by telling you that I feel very protective of my nephew, Sophie. You undoubtedly know that. Nathan is a fine man. I don’t want to see him get hurt. To be honest, I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been the last few days. He tells me it has a lot to do with you.”

She looked down at the wedding ring on her left hand.

“You’re married, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. And I love my husband very much. I think Nathan’s got the wrong idea about us. I tried talking to him last night, but we didn’t have much time, and he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

Arthur smiled. “He’s like that when he’s excited. Still a boy.” The smile faded slightly. “What you’re telling me is, there’s no chance for the two of you.”

1 m sorry.

“I am, too. I know you’ve always represented a huge unresolved issue in his life.”

“I was hoping to talk to him about all that today.”

“He’s going to be terribly disappointed.” Arthur sat back in his chair and gave a heavy sigh. “Bad timing,” he mumbled.

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, well, Nathan’s been somewhat depressed these last couple of years. Seeing you pulled him right out of it, but now I’m afraid he’ll be even more down.”

“I didn’t know. Is there some specific reason why he’s been depressed?”

Arthur lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke out slowly through his nose. “I don’t know,” he replied. “We’ve always been close, but it’s something he won’t talk about. I’ll admit I’m worried. Has he said anything to you?” He watched her carefully.

She wasn’t going to betray Nathan’s confidence, not that he’d been all that forthcoming about his problems. “Nothing specific. Look, Arthur, tell me the truth. How worried are you?”

“I suggested an antidepressant, but like most people Nathan has an instinctive distrust of pills, and the idea that he has a condition that could be considered psychological, emotional, or, worse,
mental,
scares him to death. He’d rather tough it out than get help.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Depression can be treated, Sophie. It’s often just a chemical imbalance. If you had asthma or diabetes, would you be embarrassed to go to a doctor, or tell your friends about your condition? But mental problems — anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, even schizophrenia — all of these can be helped, both through talk and drug therapy, but there’s a stigma attached when your brain chemicals get out of whack. It’s what keeps people from seeking treatment and, often, from getting the help they need to keep themselves alive.”

“You think Nathan is that depressed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I just wish I knew if there was some precipitating event in his life, some personal issue that’s causing it.”

“And you think if I tell him there’s no chance for us, it will make his condition worse?”

Arthur ground out his cigarette. “I’m certainly not telling you to lie. He can’t hold on to a pipe dream as a way of keeping his head above water. I’m here for him, Sophie. I have a great deal of experience in these matters. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Sophie was relieved to hear it. “He’s lucky he has such a supportive family.”

Arthur flicked his eyes to her and then away. “Yes, he is.”

“I’ve hardly seen Paul and Emily since they’ve been here. They seem in good spirits.”

“Oh, Paul’s his usual swaggering self. He’s only happy when he’s got something to complain about. But there’s always plenty of that to keep him occupied.”

She smiled. “I remember.”

“He’s very concerned right now about New Fonteney. He doesn’t want his mother to buy it. He thinks it’s a bad investment and the wrong place for a new campus. But he’s fiercely loyal to Constance and to what she’s created. He’s not saying it just to annoy Nathan, although I’m not sure Nathan sees it that way. I respect Paul for his integrity.”

“What about Emily?”

He smiled warmly. “She has two beautiful children, you know. Twins. But it’s funny. She’s been so quiet on this trip. Perhaps she’s tired. She worked very hard on the photographs for Connie’s newest book. This was supposed to be a vacation of sorts for her, but I’m not sure it’s turning out that way.”

Sophie decided to do a little fishing. It couldn’t hurt. “I’m curious. Have you ever heard Nathan speak of a man named George Gildemeister?”

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“He’s an old friend of mine. It’s not important. I’ll talk to Nathan about it later.”

“I know he’s hoping to have dinner with you tonight. Has he talked to you about it?”

“He mentioned wanting to prepare a meal, but we never discussed a date or a time.”

“If you do get together this evening, it might be a good opportunity for you to break the news to him… gently.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I think it might be better just to sit down and talk when there’s no other agenda. No wine and roses and soft music. You understand.”

He leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Please, Sophie, tell me if I’m becoming too personal, but I sense some ambivalence in you. Are you sure that you’ve really examined your feelings on the matter, that you’re not just reacting out of a sense of obligation to your husband?”

She tugged at her blazer and shifted in her chair. “Of course I have an obligation, one I take seriously. It’s called marriage. But I also love my husband. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.”

“And there’s no doubt that you don’t love Nathan?”

How was she supposed to answer? “I loved him once, a long time ago. But I haven’t seen him in so long. How can I say I love the man he’s become?”

“But he hasn’t changed, Sophie. Surely you’ve discovered that by now.”

She shook her head. “Okay, so sometimes it’s like we’ve never been apart. We banter just like we used to. There’s still an easy rapport. And, of course, there’s still a physical attraction. But I won’t turn my back on my marriage and the life I’ve built with my husband just for that.”

Arthur seemed so dismayed by her response that Sophie thought she should say something more. “Maybe Nathan hasn’t changed, but I have. We can’t turn back time.”

He gave her a long, hard look. “It’s sad. I suppose I’m a hopeless romantic, but I always thought the two of you were fated to be together. Then again I understand. You and Nathan are in very different places in your lives right now. Most important, you aren’t free. But give me this much, Sophie. If you were free, would you still believe you’d changed too much to love my nephew?”

For old times’ sake, she supposed he deserved an honest answer. “I don’t know, Arthur. But as you said, I’m not free, so the point is moot.” She had to get going, but she didn’t want to leave on such a negative note. She decided to introduce a new subject — briefly. “What are you working on?” She nodded at all the books and papers.

“Oh.” His eyes shifted slowly from Sophie back to the computer. “It’s a pet theory of mine. One day it may be a book, or it may end up in the trash heap.”

“What’s it about?”

“You’re sure you want to know?”

“I was always fascinated by your ideas.”

Again his smile was gentle. “It’s about the concept of free will, the cornerstone of Christian theology. I’m afraid I no longer believe it exists, at least not the way we usually think about it. I’ve been playing with this notion for years. I’m building my theory brick by scientific brick. When I’m done, perhaps I’ll have a house. Or perhaps I’ll have a structure I can blow over with one breath.”