Suspicion of Guilt (25 page)

She looked straight at him for a moment. "Did you know that the police believe Althea Tillett was murdered?"

Ehringer's expression became the dark side of a remote planet. "Yes. I know. If it's true, this was a barbarous act." His hand tightened to a fist which beat slowly on the arm of his chair.

"You knew her well?"

For a time Gail wondered if he had heard her. Then his face softened. "I shall always remember Althea with great fondness. If you believe passion is only for the young, you are mistaken. Love does not wither. Except among the less educated, its flame is in the heart and intellect, which grow cold only when the body is extinguished. There was one summer in 1958, on Mykonos. The Aegean was brilliant, like crystal, like ... nothing you can imagine. The sand was hot, the sky so blue and endless it would make you weep. We stayed in a small
pension
on a cliff—by God, what a woman!"

For a moment he stroked the red silk scarf at his neck, his head sinking deep into his shoulders. Then he gripped the silver wheels of his chair and propelled himself to the linen-draped table. He pressed a button. "Dinner! Fresh salmon, with some sort of tropical sauce my chef has invented. Here, Gail. Hold my wine for a minute. I want to show you my backyard. See if you remember it."

He turned a polished knob on the French doors and pulled. The humid night air fluttered the gauzy curtains. Gail could smell flowers and hear the murmur of a fountain. She followed him down an incline to the tiled terrace, which she had seen from the living room. He flipped a switch and lights came on above. Pots of orchids, bromeliads, and miniature trees crowded shelves and hung from the beams. Ehringer's wheels glinted as he pushed himself around a bentwood rocker, going deeper into his jungle of tropical plants.

"Wasn't there a goldfish pond?" Gail asked.

"Yes! On the other end, by the fountain." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Do you remember the spotted white carp you fed tea biscuits to? It leaped up and scared you, and you ran to your grandmother. Remember that?"

Gail laughed. "No, I'm glad to say." She ducked under an immense staghorn fern. "Your father built this house, didn't he?"

"As a botanical garden," he said. "He and Mum had the house in Palm Beach and a cottage on Brickell, but they would come out here and putter. She had the kitchen done, and pretty soon they lived here, during the winter anyhow." Ehringer laughed. "Country living! Ha! You can hear the traffic now, and airplanes going over. And gunfire! There is some excitement on a Saturday night in these parts, Miss Gail!"

The terrace was screened, and flowering vines twisted around the supporting rock columns. He unlatched a door and rolled onto an open patio. The sky was sickly brown, the anticrime lights reflecting off the clouds. Trees blocked the view fifty yards north, but she saw a glimmer. "The river is through there, isn't it?" Gail asked.

"It is. When I was a boy," said Ehringer, "I used to swim in it. The Indians had a camp near here—a tourist trap is what it was. They'd take you for a ride in their dugout canoes. But those days are gone. I had to put up a fence. Not even a fish would swim in the Miami River now. Ha. They're too smart for that. Go somewhere else, fishies."

"You're still here," Gail said, giving him back his glass of wine.

"I'm not a fish!" He laughed, his mouth a dark hole in his ancient face. He downed a swallow of wine, then looked sharply at her.

"You wonder why I stay, don't you? Why don't I get out, live somewhere clean and safe? A Greek island. Hawaii. Montana! My dear young woman! I
love
Miami! Europe is going under, New York is filthy and cold, and one petrifies with boredom in Palm Beach. Why
not
live here? The medical facilities are adequate. The air is breathable. The climate is delightful—except for our vicious summers, and thank God for those, or we really would be overcrowded!"

Sanford Ehringer wheeled around. "Look up there. You won't remember that. I had it built in 1973."

It was a shaft of rock that extended up beyond the roof of the house, with windows canted outward like an airport control tower. "It's air-conditioned and bulletproof. There's a telephone. I've got a videocamera to preserve my observations. I'd spend hours up there, if I had the time."

He stared upward. "I'll tell you what I see. Miami, boiling with growth and change. Immigrants pouring in, new values. Traditions buried, others being born. I see America, fifty years from now,
fin de siècle.
Oh, yes. Upheavals of the social tectonic plates. The things I see! I feel like an astronaut in a space capsule."

Above, the city lights twinkled in the dark glass.

"You know how most people suffer," he said. "Oh, it breaks your heart. Poverty, violence, despair, perversions of every kind praised as normal! What can we
do?
We are only flecks of foam on the surging tide of evolution. And yet—"

Ehringer grasped her hand, shaking it for emphasis. His fingers were hard and dry. "There is a new world coming, Gail. Already you can sense it in small ways—people getting tired of crime and sloth and the degenerates on our streets. People wanting some values back, dammit! Let's have responsibility, chastity, integrity. We want to aim for excellence again! Each of us who has the brains to think must choose: either add to the dead weight of mediocrity or reward those who can lead us out of it."

His voice deepened, trembling with emotion. "We and people like us have preserved the seed of excellence through centuries, but it isn't only for us, Gail. It's our gift to the world! Most of us are deaf and blind, but some of us—" He held her hand against the soft velvet of his coat. "Some of us can hear the music of that far-off day."

Before she could reply—if she could even have thought of an adequate reply—Ehringer turned his chair to face the black silhouettes of the trees.

"If that seed can take root here, in this city poised between good and evil, then I shall die with hope that the world will not sink back into darkness for another two thousand years." His head was a pale dome. "That is why I stay. I am morally required, by whatever power God has granted me, to push us toward the light."

Gail could only stare at him.

Ehringer laughed. "Inside with you. Our dinner is waiting. By God, what that chef can do with crême brulée! I am being wicked, and my doctor would scold me if he found out. Hang him, this is a special event!"

Gail held the door and let Ehringer wheel past. She shot another look at the tower, then went inside the screen.

A rustling behind some bushes stopped her cold. In her mind she saw the dripping jaws of one of Ehringer's dogs. She backed away. A round face peeked out. It was the boy she had seen before on the stairs. Walter. The branches closed, and she heard a soft laugh.

"Gail! Roll me up this ramp, will you? My wheel is stuck on a rock or some damn thing."

It was on her lips to ask Sanford Ehringer about this odd boy, but asking could get Walter into trouble.

Dinner was on the table when they returned to the study, and three tapers burned in a silver candelabrum. Ehringer dropped a CD on the player—Schumann, he said—and instructed Gail to leave the doors open: the orchids were blooming. With some effort, he swung himself from his wheelchair into the carved and embroidered mahogany chair at the table. He said a brief grace, head bowed, then shook out his napkin.

For a while they ate, commenting only on the food, which was—as Thomas Quinn had promised—superb.
Potage germiny
—cream of sorrel soup—followed by crisp romaine and watercress salad with raspberry vinaigrette. Fresh, steaming bread and sweet butter. An Asian woman in a starched apron came in as if magically summoned to clear the plates for each course and pour accompanying wine.

Sanford Ehringer's eyes twinkled over his forkful of salmon
tamarinde.
"Tell me, Gail. What do you think of my crackpot social theories?"

"Crackpot or not, I wouldn't know," she said. "It's all beyond me. These grand ideas about the tide of history and all that—"

"Beyond you? Oh, my dear. No. By blood and education, you are among the elite."

"I doubt that."

"But you are! Admit it! Don't be afraid others will call you elitist. Without an elite, we would still be picking berries off trees and sleeping in caves."

She paused over her julienned
haricots verts.
"I prefer to believe that societies tend to move toward equality."

"Dear God, can it be? Another victim of mushmouth liberal hogwash. There is no equality! Don't they teach Plato in school anymore? There are people who have the capacity to advance and those who do not."

"That's rather depressing."

"The truth, my dear, is never depressing." He raised his glass. "It is only the truth."

The woman brought in a tray with dessert: custard topped with a delicate crust of carmelized sugar, lying on swirls of greengage plum sauce. She took their dinner plates and went out.

A movement at the open French door caught Gail's eye, and she turned her head. It was the boy again. He was older than she had guessed, perhaps twelve. He was half hidden by the door, smiling at her.

"What is it?" Ehringer turned around in his chair, then laughed. "Who do I see out there? You're a curious cat, aren't you, Walter? Always wanting to know what's going on."

He looked back at Gail. "My grandson, Walter."

Smiling at the floor, Walter approached with a hand behind his back. Ehringer said gruffly, "All right. What have you got? Let's see."

He brought out a brown and white hamster, and his eyes disappeared into his grin. "She can have him. I have another one."

"Oh, I couldn't," said Gail. "He's yours." She petted the little furry head. The whiskers and pink nose quivered. "Thank you for showing me."

Ehringer shook the boy's shoulder. "Come here and give your grandpa a hug, you." The boy leaned his head on San-ford Ehringer's chest.

"Grandpa."

"Yes, Grandpa." He squeezed Walter tightly, knuckling his scalp until the boy squirmed and giggled. Softly Ehringer said to Gail, "He will never understand the world. At times, when he realizes this, he becomes sad. Luckily his attention span is short" He kissed his grandson. "What a good boy you are, Walter! Do you want a sweet? Look, a chocolate mint. Now you must promise to brush your teeth after."

"I promise to brush my teeth."

"Yes. Go on now. It's late. Where's Maggie? She'll tuck you in."

Gail smiled at him. "Goodnight, Walter."

"Bye."

When the door had closed behind him, Ehringer said, "My daughter's child. She died in the same car accident that left me in this chair."

"I'm sorry."

Ehringer nodded. "He's a dear boy. When I'm gone, I think he will miss me."

"Do you have other grandchildren?"

"No." He glanced toward the door, his eyes lingering. "I was only blessed with one. You have only one child, do you not? Karen. She must be a comfort to you."

Gail nodded. "Yes. She is."

He gestured toward her dessert plate. "How was the crême brulée? Didn't I warn you? Heavenly." He leaned to press the button. "There's coffee. A liqueur? A sip of port?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You won't mind if I have a toddy? Helps me sleep." Ehringer swung himself back into his wheelchair.

Gail laid her napkin by her plate and followed him across the room. "I think I know what you're doing," she said. "You want to persuade me that Althea Tillett's money shouldn't be thrown to the winds. Spending it on the poor would be useless. You'd rather it go as her will said—to the arts and education—even if the will was forged." She sat on the end of the sofa, her hands clasped at her knees. "Well?"

"By God, I must be slipping," he said. "I used to be more subtle."

The door opened. Ehringer told the Asian woman what he wanted. He wheeled himself to his humidor and selected a cigar after Gail said she didn't mind.

He clipped off the end of it. "Here's a question I'm almost afraid to hear the answer to. Have you considered what this lawsuit would do to the reputations of some very good people?"

"Yes. It has been a painful consideration."

Ehringer clicked a gold lighter and puffed on his cigar, the flame dancing in his black eyes. "Good. Such decisions should be painful, if we are honorable men and women."

"I'm a lawyer, Mr. Ehringer. Patrick Norris came to me for help, and I intend to help him. There's honor in that"

"How much would it take to ransom my unfortunate friends?'

"Ransom?"

"A bad choice of words. I am referring to Mrs. Simms and Mr. Adler. As for the others—" He waved his cigar. "The devil take Rudy Tillett and his sister."

Gail hesitated. "Maybe I'm naive. I'll ask directly. Are you talking about a settlement of the case, or ... a payment to me?"

"Good God! A
bribe?
I wouldn't insult you with such a suggestion. I mean a decent settlement, perhaps as much as three million dollars, payable immediately. And bear this in mind, Gail." He took a slow pull on his cigar. "Your chances of winning this case in court are very slim."

"Then why offer a settlement at all?"

"Because a trial—even if you lose—will have consequences. Our local media, with their tabloid mentality, will rush in like piranhas. Reputations will be sullied without regard for the truth. People will be hurt."

Gail asked, "Did they forge the will, Mr. Ehringer? Is that why you want to protect them?"

The pale summit of Ehringer's head seemed to float in a blue haze. "Whether they did or they didn't, I neither know nor care to know. It is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant. But it was necessary." She finished the thought. "It's what Althea Tillett would have wanted."

Gail crossed her legs, sinking farther into the sofa, which gave off the dusky aroma of old leather. "I've learned some things about the Easton Charitable Trust," she said. "It was founded in 1937, you are the current chairman, and its members are prominent in society. They do good works, yes, but how else might they use the trust? Maybe a quiet contribution to city commissioner X's campaign fund. Or a family member on the payroll, or interest-free loans from donations. Are these the people I should worry about hurting?"