Tell Me No Secrets (42 page)

“I’m afraid I can’t make it,” Don said coldly.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Rick said, his smile belying his words. “How about you, Jess? I could show you a real good time.”

“You won’t show her so much as your shadow. Ever again,” Don stated. “Is that clear?”

Rick Ferguson fell back, his hand on his heart, as if he’d been mortally wounded. “You’re a tough man, Mr. Shaw,” he said, quickly straightening up, “but hell, if that’s the way you want it, that’s the way you’ll have it. I’m just feeling so good right now, I wanted to spread some of that good feeling around.”

“Go home, Rick,” Don said. He grabbed Rick roughly by the elbow and guided him toward the elevators, one obligingly opening as they neared. But just as they were about to step inside, Rick Ferguson scrambled free of his lawyer’s grasp and darted back toward Jess.

Jess held her breath as he approached, determined to hold her ground. Surely he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her now, not here in the courthouse, not with his lawyer fast approaching.

“Want to know how good I feel, Counselor?” he was asking, staring directly into Jess’s eyes and speaking so quietly only she could hear. “I feel just like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

For a second, Jess couldn’t find her voice, could barely find her breath. “You bastard,” she whispered.

“You bet,” Rick Ferguson told her. “And don’t worry,” he added, seconds before Don wrestled him to the floor, “you won’t even see my shadow.”

J
ess drove her rental car to Evanston, pulling into her sister’s driveway at five minutes to six o’clock. Her father’s blue Buick was already in the driveway. “Great,” she whispered, wishing she’d had time for at least one drink before she had to meet the new recruit. “Now just stay calm. Smile. Look happy.”

She repeated these simple phrases to herself until they became meaningless, and she went on to new ones. “Be nice. Be gracious. Don’t fight.”

“Don’t fight,” she said again, nodding her head up and down until it felt in danger of dropping off, trying to work up the necessary courage to get out of the car. “Be nice.” The front door opened and Barry appeared, motioning for her to come inside with a giant sweep of his hands. Could her brother-in-law really have sent her that awful letter?

Don’t be ridiculous, she said to herself, careful not to let her lips move. Barry didn’t send you that letter. Rick Ferguson sent it.

Now you’re
really
being ridiculous, another voice argued. Rick Ferguson didn’t do anything. He isn’t guilty, remember? There’s simply no hard evidence linking him to any wrongdoing of any kind. You did not prove him guilty. Therefore, he is innocent.

Innocent and out there just waiting for you, she thought, opening her car door, stepping out, then slamming it shut, refusing to be intimidated. Tomorrow she’d attend her final class in self-defense, learn how to disarm a would-be attacker. She doubted Rick Ferguson would do anything before then. That would be too obvious, even for him. If anything happened to her, he’d be the immediate suspect.

Big deal, Jess thought, realizing she had forgotten to bring either a bottle of wine or gifts for the kids. Rick Ferguson had been the immediate, and
only
, suspect in the murder of Connie DeVuono. That had seemed obvious enough too. And yet the state hadn’t been able to produce enough evidence to bring him to trial. Undoubtedly, he’d be just as clever in dispatching her, although now that the charges had been dismissed, he had no reason to harm her.

Except that he would enjoy it, Jess understood, knowing Rick Ferguson fully intended to come after her. He’d bide his time, play with her a little more, like a cat worrying its prey, and then he’d strike. No witnesses. No evidence. Nothing to connect him to any wrongdoing. She’d probably just disappear one day, never to be seen or heard from again.

Like mother, like daughter, she thought, finding a curious comfort in the irony in her situation, as if fate had brought her full circle.

Her father appeared in the doorway behind his son-in-law, and for the first time, Jess was grateful that he had a
new woman in his life. It would make it easier for him when the inevitable happened.

“Christ, Jess,” Barry called out. “Could you walk any slower? Get the hell in here. It’s freezing.”

As if to underline his point, the wind blew an extra gust of cold air in from the water, shaking the bare branches of the trees. Jess noted the blue lights that were laced through the small evergreen shrubs against the front of the house, wondered if they’d turned blue from the cold. They looked mournful, sad. A circular green paper wreath decorated with a bright red bow hung in the middle of the doorway.

“Tyler made it in nursery school,” Barry said proudly as Jess maneuvered her way up the poorly shoveled front steps, feeling as if lead weights had been attached to her ankles. “Where’d you get the car?”

“I rented it this afternoon,” Jess explained, stepping inside and allowing her father to take her in his arms. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Let me look at you.” He pushed her an arm’s length away, careful not to let go of his hold on her, then drew her back into his embrace. “You look wonderful.”

“What kind of car is that?” Barry was asking.

“A Toyota,” Jess said of the small red car she had newly leased, strangely grateful to have something so mundane to talk about.

“Shouldn’t be driving Japanese cars,” Barry scolded, helping her off with her coat and hanging it in the closet. Jess caught sight of a black mink coat she knew wasn’t her sister’s and wondered fleetingly how mink meshed with Birkenstock sandals. “The American car industry needs all the support it can get.”

“Which explains your Jaguar,” Jess said, dropping her purse to the floor.

“My next car will be American,” Barry assured her. “I was thinking of a Cadillac.”

“Cadillac’s a good car,” Art Koster said, the look in his eyes imploring Jess to leave it at that.

Jess nodded. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately, Daddy,” she apologized, delaying her entry into the main part of the house.

“I understand, sweetie,” her father told her, and Jess could see from the compassion that shaped his soft brown eyes that he did.

“I’m so sorry if I hurt you,” she whispered. “You know it’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

“I know that. And it’s unimportant. No harm done. You’re here now.”

“I’m sorry I forgot to bring anything for anyone,” Jess apologized again, seeing Maureen appear in the foyer holding one of the twins, Tyler wrapped, as tight as cellophane, around her legs. The entire Peppler clan, Jess noted, was dressed in festive red and green. Maureen and the baby were wearing almost identical red velvet dresses; Tyler and his father wore dark green trousers, matching red cardigans and wide murky green ties. They looked as if they had just stepped off the front of a greeting card. Jess felt distinctly out of place in her black-and-white argyle sweater and plain black slacks.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Maureen said, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I was afraid you might call at the last minute and. …” She broke off abruptly. “Come on inside.”

Art Koster put his arm around his younger daughter and brought her into the living room. The first thing Jess noticed
was the enormous Scotch pine Christmas tree that stood in front of the grand piano, waiting to be adorned. The next thing she saw was the Madonna figure sitting next to it on the rose-colored sofa holding a baby in a red velvet dress.

“Sherry,” her father said, leading Jess to the sofa, “this is my younger daughter, Jess. Jess, this is Sherry Hasek.”

“Hello, Jess,” the woman said, handing the baby to Jess’s father, as she stood to shake Jess’s hand. She was as slim as her father had described and even shorter than Jess had imagined. Her black hair looked surprisingly natural and was pulled back with a jeweled clasp at the nape of her neck. A large black onyx heart hung from a long gold chain around her neck. She wore a simple white silk blouse and charcoal gray pants over solid black leather shoes. No Birkenstocks anywhere in sight. Her handshake was firm, though her hands were ice-cold, despite the fire roaring in the fireplace.

She’s as nervous as I am, Jess thought, telling herself not to cry as she shook the woman’s hand. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to meet you,” Jess told her sincerely.

“These things happen,” Sherry Hasek said.

“What can I get you to drink?” Barry asked. “Wine? Beer?
Coca-Cola?”
he asked pointedly.

“Can I have a Coke?” Tyler asked immediately.

“You can have milk,” Maureen answered.

“I’ll have some wine.” Jess said, lifting the baby from her sister’s arms, thinking her sister was right—the twins really had grown in the last two months. “Hello, you sweet little thing. How are you doing?”

The baby stared at her as if she were a creature from outer space, her eyes crossing as she tried to focus on Jess’s nose.

“They’re really something, aren’t they?” Barry said proudly, pouring Jess a glass of white wine and holding it toward her. “I’ll take Chloe,” he said exchanging the glass of wine for his infant daughter.

“I always wanted twins,” Sherry Hasek said. “And girls. Instead I got three boys. One at a time.”

“My friends all say that boys are more trouble when they’re young,” Maureen said, sitting down, a baby in her arms, a small boy clinging to her knees, “but girls are worse when they hit their teens.”

“What about it, Art?” Barry asked. “How were your girls as teenagers?”

Art Koster laughed. “My girls were always perfect,” he said graciously as Jess fought down the image of her mother’s tearful face.

I don’t need this, Jess. I don’t need this from you
.

“I don’t think we were perfect,” Jess said, quickly raising her glass to her mouth. “Cheers, everyone.” She took a long sip, then another.

“Health and wealth,” Barry toasted.

Jess tried to concentrate on Sherry Hasek’s oval face. Her eyes were dark and wide apart, but the rest of her features were curiously crowded together, as if there wasn’t quite enough room on her face for everything else. When she became animated, her mouth seemed to jump all over the place. And she talked with her hands, using her long, manicured fingers for emphasis, creating the impression of an alert, if cluttered, mind.

Not at all like her mother, Jess thought, superimposing her mother’s wider face over that of Sherry Hasek, recalling her mother’s blue-green eyes, her soft skin, the nose
in perfect proportion to the mouth, her cheekbones high and prominent. It was a face that created the illusion of calm, made those around her feel safe and secure. There had been something so soothing about the delicate balance of her features, as if the serenity she projected was the result of a deep inner peace.

Her mother had always been that way, Jess realized, so comfortable with herself that she had effortlessly been able to make those around her feel comfortable too. She rarely lost her temper, almost never yelled. Yet there was never any question as to how she felt about something. She was never coy, had no patience for second-guessing. She said what she felt and expected the same courtesy from others. She treated everyone with respect, Jess thought now, seeing her mother’s face streaked with tears, even when those around her were undeserving of that respect.

“Earth to Jess,” she heard Barry say. “Come in, Jess. Come in.”

Jess felt the glass of wine slipping through her fingers, and squeezed it tightly before it could fall to the floor, feeling the fragile glass crack and collapse inside her fingers, her hand becoming sticky and wet. She looked down to see her blood mingling with the white of the wine to create a delicate rose, her ears suddenly open to the sounds of horror and concern that were filling the room.

“Mommy!” Tyler cried.

“My God, Jess, your hand!”

“How the hell did you do that?” Barry rushed a napkin under her hand before she could drip blood on the carpet.

One of the babies started crying.

“I’m all right,” Jess heard herself say, though in truth she
still wasn’t sure what had happened, and therefore couldn’t decide whether she was all right or not.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there,” her father was saying, gently opening his daughter’s fist to examine her injured hand, carefully extricating two small triangles of glass, softly wiping the blood away with his white linen handkerchief.

“My eagle’s claw,” Jess said.

“Your what?” Barry asked, patting the carpet down with soda water.

“I’ve been taking self-defense classes,” Jess muttered, wondering if she was really having this conversation.

“And they’re teaching you how to protect yourself from a glass of white wine?” Barry asked.

“I’ll get some antiseptic cream for that,” Maureen said, efficiently depositing both babies into Jolly Jumpers that stood side by side near the doorway. The twins bounced happily as their mother left the room. Tyler was still crying, clinging to his mother’s feet.

“I’m really sorry,” Jess said.

“Why?” Sherry asked. “Did you do it on purpose?”

Jess smiled gratefully. “It hurts like hell.”

“I’m sure it does.” Sherry examined the small cuts that mingled with the natural lines of Jess’s hand. “You have a good strong life line,” she observed in passing.

“What the hell were you thinking about?” Barry asked, getting to his feet as his wife reentered the room.

“I thought you didn’t allow swearing in the house,” Jess reminded him.

“Here, let me rub some of this on.” Maureen rubbed the, soothing salve into Jess’s palm before Jess could protest. “And I brought some gauze.”

“I don’t need gauze.”

“Keep your hand above your head,” Barry instructed.

“Really, Barry, the cuts aren’t that deep.”

“Maybe we should call a doctor,” Maureen said. “Just to be on the safe side.”

At the mention of the word
doctor
, Tyler started to wail.

“It’s all right, Tyler,” Maureen assured him, reaching down to scoop the frightened child into her arms. “The doctor’s not for you.” She turned to Jess. “He hates doctors because the last time he was sick, you know, when everybody had colds, the doctor stuck that thing down his throat to have a look, and it made Tyler gag. He just hates throwing up.”