The Mirror and the Mask (20 page)

“Tell me about Sunny,” said Annie.

“What about her?”

“You know what I'm saying.”

He looked confused. “No, honestly, I don't.”

“What happened last night when she got home? You were pretty pissed.”

“Sure I was angry. I called her all day, but she never called me back. I didn't know what to think.”

“She's okay, right?”

“Of course she's okay. Jesus, what do you take me for? Come on, Annie. We're just spinning our wheels here. Tell me what the hell you want.”

She paused for effect, then dropped the bait. “Money.”

Like the sun coming up over the mountains, a smile spread across his face. “Now we're getting down to it. How much?”

“You're not going to like it.”

“Just give me the figure.”

“I want half a million dollars now, the other half in, say, two years.”

He folded his arms, ready to bargain. “Too much.”

“It's not enough.”

“I don't have it.”

“Of course you've got it. In fact, I doubt you'll even miss it.”

He stroked the side of his face with the back of his fingers. “In return, I get what?”

“My silence.”

“Why should I trust you? You could use me as a bank for the rest of my life.”

“Would that be so bad? You owe me, Johnny. This way, we both get what we want. You get to be Mr. Big Shot and I get some stability. I'm not greedy. I just want a little financial peace. I plan to live in the mountains. As far as I'm concerned, that's where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I need that money, Johnny. I'm not leaving without it.”

He seemed pleased, as if they'd ventured at last into territory he could understand. “Maybe you did learn something from me after all. Let's say I could get it in a few days. You'd leave?”

“Not right away. Because of Curt. He's hurting. I want to stick around until he has a better grip. Susan's death hit him hard.”

“And you know just how to help ease the pain.”

She clenched her teeth, rose from the table, and slipped her jacket off the back of the chair. “Do we have a deal?”

“Let me think about it.”

“You've got one minute. I'm not playing games.”

This time, he grinned. “All right, already. I'll call you when I've put it together. With the police crawling all over my life, I have to be careful. Just . . . stay calm. Play with Curt. You're not in love with him, are you?”

“No.”

“Didn't think so.”

Sliding the title and the car keys back across the table, she said, “You can keep the bribe. What's it get? Two gallons per mile? Takes a real meathead to buy a car like that these days.”

He smiled, stretched his arms over his head. “Sticks and stones, Annie. Sticks and stones.”

 

 

 

C
ordelia had been hiding in her bedroom since the wee hours of the morning, when Octavia had fallen asleep midsentence. She took the momentary lull in her sister's soliloquy as her cue to tiptoe up to bed and hope like hell that Octavia kept on snoring. On the off chance that she could get her to listen to reason about Hattie, Cordelia decided not to drop-kick her through the front windows, though remaining cool in a situation like this was not part of her usual idiom.

But now, lying in bed staring up at her semi-Sistine ceiling—the hand of God reaching out to touch the gloved finger of Minnie Mouse—just thinking about Octavia's sudden appearance sent her into paroxysms of outrage.

Jane had once called Cordelia and Octavia “two peas in a very strange pod,” but Octavia surpassed even Cordelia when it came to strangeness.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Cordelia pulled the quilt up past her nose. “Vampira wakes,” she whispered to no one in particular,
her eyes zigzagging from one side of the room to the other. There was nowhere to hide.

“So, back to what I was saying,” said Octavia, lifting the quilt and flumping down. “What am I going to do?”

Cordelia heard a crunch. She turned and saw that Octavia was eating an apple.

“Well?” said Octavia, examining the fruit for imperfections. “You think you're the heir to the Dear Abby franchise. Give me the benefit of your accumulated wisdom.” She elbowed Cordelia in the ribs. “And don't hog the quilt.” She yanked it over her, revealing Cordelia's red flannel pajamas.

“You are
such
a blanket hog,” said Cordelia, yanking it back. Octavia had on her mink coat. She didn't even
need
a blanket. Oh, the selfishness. The narcissism. “Not to change the subject, but I'm not sure that's the best hair color for you.”

“It's called Chocolate Raven.”

“Seems more like a pelt than a raven.”

“Just stay on point. What am I going to do?”

Cordelia bunched the quilt up under her chin and asked the most obvious question. “How many husbands did Elizabeth Taylor have?”

“Ah, good point. Let me think.” She counted on her fingers. “Eight marriages to seven husbands.”

“Richard Burton twice.”

“Of course.”

“Well, then, at that rate, you've got two more to go before you reach her. I'd say she's the gold standard, wouldn't you?”

“But,” said Octavia, turning on her side, “is that really a record I should shoot for? Or will my fans think ill of me for being so incurably romantic?”

“Or unlucky.”

“Yes, luck has a great deal to do with it.”

“Most women,” said Cordelia, warming to the subject much more than she had last night, “don't marry everyone they have affairs with. That's your basic problem.”

“Too true. But I've always been essentially monogamous, until it was clear there was no hope. You can't fault me there.” She propped her elbow next to Cordelia's pillow. “You know, Radley wants to adopt Hattie. He adores her. But that was where I drew the line.”

Cordelia had already heard some of this from one of the private investigators she'd hired, the woman who'd infiltrated Octavia's house in Northumberland as a cook. “I agree, it wouldn't be wise to allow the adoption.” She tried to keep her voice calm. “But if you divorce him, where will you and Hattie live? You've still got that mansion in Connecticut.”

“That mausoleum?” She shivered. “No way am I ever going back there.”

“Okay, then there's your apartment in New York.”

“Ah, New York.” She sighed. “How I long to return to civilization. But the apartment is too small. And I've sublet it. No, that wouldn't work. Another apartment, perhaps. Something overlooking the park?”

“Where would Hattie go to school? She'll be entering kindergarten next fall.”

Octavia frowned. “Will she?”

“Do you ever spend
any
time with her?”

“Well, of course I do. But I've been very busy this past year. I did that film in Italy. And then the radio work in London for the BBC. When it hit me that my marriage wasn't working, I took a long trip back to the Italian countryside to think about my life. You can't expect me to do that with a child hanging around my neck.”

“You know,” said Cordelia, trying to be as low-key as possible, “Hattie could always come back here to live with me.” As soon as Hattie was under her roof again, Cordelia intended to petition for custody.

“No,” said Octavia, waving away the idea. “I don't think that's
such a good idea. She got awfully attached to you while she was here. You're not her mother, you know. I am. It was confusing for her.”

Octavia was so gargantuanly jealous of Cordelia's relationship with Hattie. “I've always thought of myself as the Auntie Mame in Hattie's life.”

Octavia reared up. “What does that make me? Mame's ward was an orphan.”

One could only hope.

“You're not helping. Do I or do I not divorce Radley?”

“Do you love him?”

“Not anymore. He's let me down, just like every other man has when it comes right down to it. And he's become so judgmental. He used to worship me, but now it's nitpicking from morning until night. I mean, does
anyone
expect
me
to live with
that
?”

“I don't know much about English law,” said Cordelia. “Is nitpicking grounds for divorce?”

Octavia flew off the bed and began to pace, fists pressed to her hips. “I want out. You've helped me see that. But he's going to fight me, I just know it.”

“Does he still love you?”

“Of course he loves me. What's not to love?”

“Does he want your money?”

“Thank god, no.”

“Then what?”

“Hattie. He wants Hattie. Even if we divorce, he wants to keep her with him.”

Cordelia sat up because her heart had lodged so firmly in her throat she thought she was going to choke. “But you're not—”

“Of course not.”

Closing her eyes, Cordelia asked, “Have you found someone else?”

“There are always men buzzing around me, pursuing me.”

“Anyone in particular?”

A dreamy, faraway look passed across her face. “Oh, I can tell you're going to drag it out of me sooner or later. Yes. An Italian count. Penniless, of course. They all are. But so beautiful.”

In other words
, thought Cordelia,
another playboy loser
.

“He wants to marry me. Desperately.” She whispered his name. “Conte Giacomo Basalmo.”

“And you want to marry him?”

“At his family's villa in Abruzzi. Next spring. You know what that means, don't you? I'd become a
contessa
. It suits me, don't you think? I spent a week at the villa with him in January. I could hardly tear myself away. England is so dreary.”

“But back to planet Earth. What if Radley won't give you a quick divorce? What if he threatens to string it out for years?” Steeling herself, Cordelia continued, “Would you allow him to adopt Hattie as a last resort?”

“No. Never.”

Meaning, yes, probably
.

“Why don't I fix us some breakfast,” said Cordelia, planting her bare feet squarely on the wood floor.

“Breakfast would be nice. You always know how to cheer me up. But then I must get going. I have a plane to catch. I stopped here on my way to California. I have a meeting with a producer next week in Hollywood.”

And if you don't make it
, thought Cordelia,
if you disappear without a trace, who really cares?

 

Kristjan spent Saturday morning at the Maplewood Mall, drifting around with no particular purpose other than getting out of the house and away from Barbara. They'd barely spoken since yesterday afternoon. He still couldn't believe she'd inserted herself into the
conversation with the police the way she had, lied about him being home. She might have thought she was being helpful, but in truth, she was only digging him in deeper.

Shortly after the police left, Kristjan remembered that he
had
bumped into someone he knew on Wednesday afternoon. It was another agent, Morton Alseth—not an agent from his office but a man he'd taken his initial training with many years ago. Kristjan had been on the way into the Caribou Coffee in Stillwater as Morton had been on his way out. They'd spoken for only a few seconds, but if Morton found out that Kristjan was maintaining he'd been home from three on, Barbara's lie would blow up in both their faces.

For the past two nights, Kristjan had slept on the couch in his study. He was bewildered and angry, grieving for Susan, but also wondering if his relationship with Barbara had finally gone off the rails. The fact that she insisted she still loved him only made things more difficult. The irony was, the stress from their tanking financial situation had damaged their relationship, perhaps beyond repair, while at the same time had been the major impetus for keeping them together. Why think about divorce if you couldn't afford to live apart?

Kristjan ate an early lunch in the food court, sitting alone at a table. He arrived at his car dealership in West St. Paul shortly after noon. His intent was to keep his life as normal as possible. It wouldn't be long before Jack was arrested. A circumstantial case could easily be made. But patience had never been Kristjan's strong suit.

While his car was hoisted up in one of the bays and the oil changed, he sat in a room directly off the showroom floor and read a magazine. It always took longer then expected because the mechanics always found something extra that needed to be repaired. Free oil changes were the most expensive thing going. It was nothing short of a scam. And that set him off on another internal rant. In fact, his temper had barely been under control since the morning he'd met with Susan in her office.

After writing out a check for $374.19, he drove around for a while, again with no real purpose, ending up at the Mall of America. He parked on the south end by the movie theaters and took the elevators up to the top floor. Nothing much appealed to him, but he eventually decided on
Jumper
, mainly because Diane Lane was in it.