The Mortal Groove (28 page)

“Very funny.”

“So has Peter become the total political animal?”

“What do you think?”

What Jane thought was that this was a terrible time for her brother, that his internal terrain had blurred and he couldn't get his bearings, so he'd turned his attention instead to rescuing a
child. None of which she could say to her dad. What she also couldn't say was that she thought Peter was too high strung, too easily wounded, too decent for the brutality of politics.

Her father continued, “Peter got a call from a station manager in Chicago, so he flew down there for an interview.”

“Wow, that's great news.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. I don't know, Janey. I guess I was hoping that he might really get into campaigning with me. You know, jump into the thick of it. Introduce himself to people, talk to them about our ideas, get them excited, take some initiative, look around and see what needed to be done and then do it. Instead, I mean, he just stood in the background, waiting for someone to tell him what to do.”

“He's not like you, Dad. He doesn't like the spotlight. It's not a moral failing.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wish he had more confidence.”

“He's got plenty of confidence,” said Jane. “Except when he's around you. You're kind of a tough act to follow.”

“It doesn't seem to bother you.”

“I'm not living in your shadow the way he is. He's your son. Like it or not, it makes a difference. And he's got different pressures on him—whether real or imagined, it's his reality.”

“You're a good sister, Janey.”

“It's funny, we were always pretty tight, but we've gotten even closer in the last few years.”

“I know,” said her father. “That's the way it should be. I don't mean to put him down. Maybe I do expect too much of him sometimes.”

“Trust me, Dad. You do.”

“Okay, enough said. I'm going home, take my beautiful girlfriend out to dinner, and spend the rest of the night relaxing.”

“And tomorrow?”

“We don't hit the road again until next week. Memorial Day weekend will be the busiest so far. I don't remember how many stops I'm making. Ten, twelve. The state convention is just a few weeks away.”

“Get some sleep.”

The doorbell rang.

“Sounds like you've got visitors,” said her dad.

“I'll talk to you later?”

“Let me know if you hear anything from Peter about the job in Chicago.”

“Will do,” said Jane.

“Bye, honey.”

Jane rushed into the front hall and looked through the peephole. Cordelia was standing outside wearing one of her favorite costumes from the Allen Grimby costume department: a Julius Caesar red toga with gold trim and gold sash, gold wrist cuffs, and golden laurel crown. She only wore it on special occasions.

“ ‘Beware the ides of March,' ” said Jane, opening the door. Cordelia charged inside.

Mouse trotted out of the kitchen to greet her, but he stopped several feet away and sniffed the air. Apparently, he found Cordelia's Roman “idiom” suspicious.

“I've got news!” announced Cordelia, quivering with excitement. She drew Jane into the living room and made her sit on the couch. Standing over her, she said, “What's the best thing you can think of?”

There were so many possibilities that Jane found it a frustrating question. “World peace? An end to global warming?”

“Oh, come on. You can do better than that.”

Jane wasn't sure she could. “Give me a hint?”

“I
am”
she screeched, pointing at her hyper open eyes.

“You finally decided to get glasses?”

She flung her arms in the air. Flopping down on the rug, she proceeded to do a dying scene—complete with clutching at her throat and thrashing around—and then she lay back, her breathing labored, one arm slightly raised, suggesting that death was imminent.

Jane couldn't help but laugh. It had to be Melanie, and from the excitement in Cordelia's eyes, it also had to be good news. But Cordelia was so into her game of charades that Jane decided to make her work for it. “How many words?”

Cordelia held up four fingers. She tapped the fourth finger to the wrist of her other arm and sat up.

“Fourth word,” said Jane.

Cordelia nodded. She pointed to her eye.

“Eye,” said Jane.

She pointed to both eves.

“Eyes?”

Cordelia gave an eager nod. She held up her second finger.

“Second word.”

She picked up a small wooden curio box off the end table, held it in front of Jane's nose, and opened it slowly.

“Wood box?”

Cordelia shook her head furiously. She closed the box again and opened it even more slowly.

“Open?”

She socked Jane on the arm and grinned. Next she held up her first finger.

“First word.”

Cordelia took a pillow in her arms, gave it a slow, seductive smile, caressed it tenderly, and then kissed it with great passion.

“You're in love with my pillow?”

Cordelia threw it at her, turned away, and mimed banging her head on the mantelpiece. She whirled around and grabbed the pillow back. Again, she kissed it.

“Someone you love,” said Jane.

Cordelia nodded. She pointed to her eyes and held up the box.

“Someone you love opened a box with their eyes?”

Cordelia dropped the pillow and the box on the floor and grabbed Jane by her sweatshirt. She shrieked with her lips pressed together.

“Give me a second to think about it,” said Jane. “Someone you love open . . . opened their eyes?”

“Yes!”

“Melanie? Melanie's awake?”

“I've been at the hospital all day.”

“Dressed like that?”

“What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?”

“Nothing,” said Jane. “Nothing at all.”

“Melanie opened her eyes four or five times before they stayed open. She's looking around now, moving her arms and legs. She even smiled at me.”

“Is she talking?”

“A little. I think she's kind of confused. She doesn't remember what happened. The doctors said not to push her. Apparently, it may come back to her or it may not. Time will tell. I guess she's not entirely out of the woods, but this has to be a good sign.”

“Cordelia, that's great news.”

They looked at each other until their smiles faded.

“What about Larry Wilton?” said Cordelia.

“That's why we've got the bodyguard.”

“When Mel does finally remember what happened, I mean, she can pick Larry out of a lineup. He'll go to prison for sure.”

“Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.”

“Yeah.” Cordelia thought about it a minute more, then shot to her feet. “I'm going back to the hospital.”

“Remember, you're not supposed to push.”

“I won't. Well, not much. I just need to be with her right now.”

Jane opened the door and followed her out to her new convertible.

“You be careful,” said Cordelia, slipping into the front seat. Just then, a truck pulled around the corner and drove slowly past them. Inside the house, Jane heard Mouse bark. She looked over and saw him pawing furiously at the front window.

“Evening, ladies,” said Larry, nodding and smiling. “Nice night, isn't it?”

The truck turned at the corner and disappeared into the night. “Well that does it,” said Cordelia. “I am now completely and totally freaked.”

“Want to move back in here? There's strength in numbers.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Cecily's back. Octavia kicked her out. She's moved in with me.”

“Any word on Hattie?”

“Octavia's still dug in, so no change.”

“What about the new PI you hired?”

“Nothing so far.”

Jane looked around to make sure the truck wasn't coming back for a second pass.

“Remember, Janey. Linden Lofts is a security building. Why don't you and Mouse come stay with us until Wilton is arrested?”

“Maybe we will.” The idea of a security door appealed to her right about now.

“You got a key, right? I'll see you when I get home. Ciao, babe.”

“Give Melanie my love.”

“Will do,” shouted Cordelia as her car zoomed off, leaving Jane standing alone in the dark street.

 

Everyone in ICU knew that Cordelia was a famous local theater director. Most of the staff probably guessed at her relationship with Melanie. In Cordelia's mind, that was both good and bad news. The good part had to do with the fact that nobody had challenged her right to be with Melanie or had tried to toss her out when visiting hours were over. The bad part also had to do with the nurses hands-off policy. They obviously felt Melanie's condition was critical enough to warrant their decision not to deny her visitors. Maybe they even thought she might not make it. But Cordelia refused to give credence to that prognosis. Not only was Melanie going to get better, she would leave the hospital one day soon, move in with Cordelia, and live happily ever after.

“And the earth is flat,” mumbled Cordelia, sitting by Melanie's bedside. It was going on one in the morning. Still early for Cordelia, although her usual wee-hour agenda generally meant partying, not sitting in a darkened hospital room. Hospitals were gloomy places. As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep the gloom from seeping inside her.

While she was finishing off the last of her Coke, Melanie opened her eyes.

Cordelia shot to her feet. “Want some water, sweetheart?”

“Cordelia?”

“It's me. How are you feeling?”

“Kind of . . . strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Floaty.”

“That's good. You're not in any pain, right?”

“Not much. Tell me . . . again. What . . . happened?”

“You were hurt. But you're going to be right as rain.”

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don't talk to me . . . like I'm a child.”

“I didn't mean—”

“I know it's bad.”

“Okay. It's bad. But the doctors are taking great care of you. I really think—”

Melanie turned her head and looked at Cordelia full in the face. “We're back together, huh? Can you beat that.”

“Do you remember our dinner together?”

“We . . . argued?”

“Yeah, well, sure. We argued. We always argue.”

“I remember being at your loft. You have a little daughter. Can't remember her name.”

“Not a daughter, a niece. Her name is Hattie.”

“How did I mix that up? Why is everything so . . . garbled?”

“It must be the medication. You need to rest. That's how you'll get better.”

“Rest. Right.” She tried to wet her lips with her tongue.

“Here,” said Cordelia, lifting the water glass closer, placing the straw in her mouth. “Better?”

“Yeah.” She looked around with unfocused eyes. When she tried to move her arms, she grimaced.

“Don't,” said Cordelia, leaning closer, stroking her face. “If you need something, I'll get a nurse.”

“Where's my mom?”

“She went home. It's late. Night is the only time I can be with you when she isn't around.”

When Melanie nodded that she understood, Cordelia thought she saw the briefest smile.

“I love you, Mel.”

“I love you, too. Never stopped.”

And then Melanie closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.

Cordelia stayed for another hour. Melanie didn't wake up again, but those few conscious minutes meant everything.

 

On the way back to her loft, Cordelia's cell phone began playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” She couldn't imagine who would be calling her at this time of night.

“Thorn,” she said, pulling over to the curb.

“Ms. Thorn, this is Nicola Stark, the private investigator you hired—the Berwick on Tweed Agency in Northumberland?”

“Oh, yeah.” Her heart began to thump harder inside her chest. “What is it? Have you found something I can use?”

“Well, not sure about that. But here's what I know. I saw an advert in the local paper that your sister and her husband needed a new housekeeper. I used to do that sort of thing in my younger days, even had some references, so I applied. I didn't want to tell you about it until I knew I had the job.”

“And?”

“I started Saturday. Believe me, Ms. Thorn, when I tell you it's a complete dog's dinner in that house.”

“Pardon me?”

“The mum isn't very good with your Hattie. She's not abusive, mind you, just not very involved. The little girl sits in front of the telly most of the day. The Mr., now, he's a different story. He plays with her every chance he gets, takes her for walks, buys
her presents. He's busy with his work, but he makes time for her. Apparently the old nanny got the sack. They've hired a temporary nanny, but she's more of a minder and between you and me, she's a tuppence short of a shilling.”

“What else?” said Cordelia.

“Well, yes, the nitty-gritty as you call it. The Mr. and the Mrs. aren't getting along. For one thing, the Mr. wants to adopt the little girl, but the Mrs. is having none of it. They fight about it all the time. He wants to know why, if she loves him enough to marry him, she won't let him go a step further and adopt the child.”

“Has Hattie heard any of this?”

“Expect so. They can get pretty loud. Yesterday was the worst. They had a huge row before lunch. I heard the whole thing with my own two ears. The Mr. said he was ready to call it quits. The Mrs. backed down a bit, but still wouldn't give on the adoption. And that's when he shouted something like, ‘You never spend any time with her. What is it you're after? Ownership?' ”

“What did Octavia say?”