The 8th Circle (30 page)

“Not this time, Linda. I quit.”

“I know, darling, but you didn’t really. You have a contract, and I won’t let you out of it.”

“I think you will,” Danny said. “I think you’ll tell Steinman I’m leaving.”

“And why would I do that?” She blinked those predatory eyes at him again, preparing for a fight.

“Because I’m done. I need time to think, to begin something new. I have a mission. I don’t like adults who think it’s acceptable to use children for sex.”

“Do you think I’ll let you just walk away and hand something like that to the
New York Times
?” She looked at him not with anger but a tinge of sorrow.

“Yes, I think you will. If not for yourself, for Andy. Because I have more evidence. Much worse evidence that no one wants brought to light.”

She put her hands to her face, and he realized she wore no jewelry. He’d never seen her hands without adornment.

“Andy always believed you were his mitzvah. I always looked at you as something else. A lost son, I suppose. Andy wasn’t alone in wanting another son. You were everything I wanted Michael to be.” She dropped her hands. “I have to live with that too. Atone. So be it.”

Danny wanted to tell her to stop talking, but he couldn’t. It was too late. He already knew what she was going to say.

“I shot Michael.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and he had to lean close. “We fought. He made me watch that video. The children. It was hideous. I knew Andy would be charged with conspiracy at the least. I begged Michael, but he laughed and told me how much he hated me. Something . . . snapped. I didn’t mean to shoot him. I tried to get him to come with me to the hospital, but he ran. He ran.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose I blame him. But it was an accident, Danny. Kate was there. It happened at her apartment.”

“At Kate’s apartment?” Kate had told him Michael was there that night. She had just left out a few convenient details.

“I knew he’d show up there eventually, and I told her to call when he did. He was raving. He threatened us with a .22. Here’s a lesson for you, Daniel. Never pull a gun unless you’re willing to fire. He came at Kate, and I shot him. I only meant to wound him.” Linda paused and took a breath. When she looked at him,
her face was flushed with anger. “Damn it! Why did you have to fall apart? He would have gone to you first, and you would have handled him. Do you really believe I wanted to kill my child?”

“No.” Did it matter what he believed? In the end, he wasn’t sure anyone cared. “I believe you wanted to save your husband.”

“We cleaned up the blood, and I bought her that rug just in case.”

“You thought of everything.”

“I knew Michael was up to something. I thought Kate and I could reason with him. Since you’d been gone, he grew so despondent. He started visiting clubs, and by God, he stumbled into the wrong one. I’m sure that’s how he discovered those discs. He needed money for membership, and he went into Andy’s safe. The best part was that he left everything there until he was ready to come to you.”

It made sense. Michael could screw his father by finally producing a huge story. “He wanted Kate to tell him it was okay.”

Linda nodded. “She was kind to him.”

Danny took Linda by the shoulders. “Listen to me carefully. There’s still more evidence, and if anything happens to me or my family. Anything. I will bring down a world of hurt.”

Linda nodded. “Nobody wants trouble. I think that’s a safe bet.” She reached up and touched his face, letting her fingers rest on his cheeks. She kissed him briefly on the lips. “You must remember the good times. Andy would want that. Now, it’s getting late, and I have a few things to finish. You’re free to stay, of course, but I know that’s not your plan. You’ll forgive me if I don’t see you out.”

She smiled, but her face was as pale as her scarf, as if purging herself had drained the life from her. When she walked back into the house, she seemed ethereal, and he supposed Linda had become yet another ghost.

He walked down to the beach to stare out at the ocean and wonder if a door had opened or closed.

Danny smelled citrus, stronger now, and for a moment he swore he heard a child’s laugh borne on the wind. It seemed so
peaceful, only the waves that caressed the shore, the rustle of palms. Still, he could feel the rapid cadence of his heart because he knew that peace was an illusion. A dream. And monsters would always prowl the dark corners of his dreams.

Sunlight caught the edge of a cresting wave. It flared like a beacon—crimson, bright yellow, and then deep violet—before the wave crashed and rushed toward the beach.

S
o many people have been there to support me on this long and very twisted road to publication. First, thank you to my husband, Howard, and children, Alexandra, Michael, and Mary, who have always understood Mom’s need to retreat into her writing corner.

Thank you to Gary Zenker and the kind and supportive folks at the Main Line Writers’ Group. Special thanks to my very special critique group: Tony Conaway, Matthew Fisher, Brian Mahon, Matt McGeehan, Elizabeth Stolar, and especially Paul Popiel for all his generous help editing and formatting, and Lorinda Lende, my intrepid partner in crime; a talented, funny lady; and an extraordinary friend. You guys rock and write.

Thank you to Julie Duffy, creator of the StoryADay May flash fiction challenge, for giving me a creative kick start when I needed it.

Thank you to Dragon Queen Rebekah Postupak of Flash! Friday for your enthusiastic and generous support.

Thank you,
Philadelphia Daily News
political columnist John Baer for taking the time to read the doorstop and to offer so much encouragement.

Thank you, Susan Settaduccato, for reading many drafts of this novel and remaining supportive, kind, and just amazing. You’re a word artist, my friend.

Thank you to my wonderful agent, Rene Fountain, for believing.

Thank you to the delightful people at Crooked Lane Books, especially Matthew Martz and Nike Power, for taking on this book, editing, and wringing out the story.

Last, but never least, thank you to my dear, dear friend and fellow traveler Maria Hazen Lewis, an amazing writer who has spent hours reading, commiserating, hand holding, and just being there. You are quite simply the best.