The Night Visitor (27 page)

Junior’s eyes in his sunken face were focused on his mother.

Sylvia let out a long breath. She looked up, met Auburn’s eyes, and arched an eyebrow.

At his mother’s touch, Junior shifted his head against the pillow and his eyes rolled in their deep sockets.

She told him, “It’s not your time yet, Junior. It’s not your time.”

58

It was night. Evelyn was at her desk in her office Googling herself on her laptop, wasting time. In a folder were the documents for her and Rory’s trip to the clinic in Manzanillo, Mexico. Everything had been arranged. Transporting Rory was still a problem, but the clinic had assured Evelyn that they’d help. They had lots of experience with such cases.

Now there was another problem. Rory was missing.

Evelyn turned at the polite knocking on her open door. “Rosario. Please come in.”

“I brought you some tea and a sandwich, missus.” The housekeeper set the tray she was carrying on a coffee table.

“Aren’t you sweet? Please sit with me. I can use the company.”

Rosario perched on the edge of a chair upholstered in a bold floral print. “Have you heard anything about Miss Rory?”

“Nothing. I even notified the hospital where Junior is, just in case she gets some harebrained idea to go there.”

“What about the police?”

“They’re not concerned. She hasn’t been gone twenty-four hours yet. I don’t want to make a big deal of it and have the media get hold of it. Know what Dr. Ostermann calls what Ro did? Eloping. Polite way of saying that her facility let my daughter disappear.”

“Does Miss Rory have any money?”

“Not that I know of.” Evelyn reached to pour tea from the pot into a cup.

“Or clothes?”

“Just what she was sleeping in at the Casa del Fuente.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Someone has got to be able to figure out what’s wrong with my daughter. She’s getting worse. If I could just get her away from Junior Lara. If I could just get her away from here.”

“I understand.”

Evelyn blew on the hot tea before sipping it. “I forget how quiet this house is when there’s no one here. I never used to be here much, but my invitations to dine have dried up. When you think of all the dinners and parties we had and all the people who ate our food and drank our booze…It only took a hint of something amiss with the Tates, and they’ve scattered like rats. Just like that, we’re no longer fashionable.”

“They weren’t really friends.”

“You’re right, Rosario. They weren’t really friends. But they had an advantage over real friends. They were less trouble. When it stopped being fun, you moved on. No muss, no fuss. Not like with family. You can never shake them. They’re part of you forever.”

Rosario didn’t respond.

“I must sound like a shallow bitch, Rosario.”

“No, missus. I feel bad. No one’s life is perfect. You have so much to be thankful for. Your family. Your husband. A beautiful home. The good things you do for others. The charities.”

“How could I forget all that?” Evelyn tossed her head back and laughed in the throaty way she’d made famous, imitated by countless impersonators. “You’re a good woman, Rosario. Salt of the earth. If I lived a million years, I’d never be as good as you and Hector.”

Rosario picked up the plate with the sandwich and offered it to Evelyn. “Missus, please eat something. It’s egg salad with chives. Your favorite.”

Evelyn took a wedge of the sandwich on white bread, which had been sliced into quarters with the crusts cut off, the way she preferred. “Thank you, Rosario. Without you and Hector, I would be lost in this house, trying to make a life here.”

Rosario nodded. “We are happy to do it. You and Mr. Richard are like our family.”

“How are your kids, Rosario?”

“They’re doing very well, thank you.” She lived in the carriage house on the villa property with her husband and two children.

“You go ahead and go home to your family. If anything happens, I’ll call you.”

“Thank you, missus. Good night.” Rosario headed out.

Evelyn ate a single sandwich wedge and finished the cup of tea. She looked at the teacup and decided she’d like something stronger, just to take the edge off. She went downstairs and crossed the ballroom to the bar. There was an open bottle of merlot. Evelyn pulled out the cork with her fingers. The bottle made a hollow pop. She poured some into a glass and took a sip.

The glass slid from her fingers and shattered on the parquet floor.

“Missus?” Rosario ran into the room. She’d put on her sweater and had her purse. “Are you okay?”

Evelyn was transfixed, her empty hand retaining the shape of the glass. She was staring at the wall above the fireplace.

Rosario began picking up larger pieces of broken crystal from the floor. She inhaled sharply when she saw what Evelyn had seen.

The portrait of Boo Tate that had hung above the fireplace was gone, leaving only a dirty outline.

“Where is it?” Evelyn looked accusingly at Rosario.

“I don’t know, missus. Maybe Mr. Tate took it?”

“Why would he take his beloved Boo down?”

“Chela worked in this room today. Maybe she thought it needed cleaning.”

“On her own? I just had it cleaned. No one is to touch that painting, Rosario. No one except you and Hector. You know that.”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it.” Rosario carried the pieces of crystal to a wastebasket tucked behind the bar and dropped them in with a clatter.

“I’ll call Chela at home, missus. Don’t touch the mess.” Rosario headed toward the ballroom steps. “I’ll get a dustpan and mop. Don’t worry, okay?”

Evelyn remained staring at the blank space above the fireplace.

The house phone rang. Rosario rushed from the corridor to a wood cabinet built into a wall. She opened the door and picked up the receiver of the vintage phone inside.

“Tate residence.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, hello…You say
who
is calling? Say again, please? One moment.” She held the phone out to Evelyn with one hand over the mouthpiece. In a low voice, she said, “Missus, I think it’s Rory.”

Evelyn walked over. “You
think
it’s Rory.”

“She asked for Mrs. Tate, but…but she said she was Junior Lara.”

Evelyn rushed to take the phone. “Rory, baby?”

“Mrs. T.?” It was Rory’s voice but with a strange inflection.

“Darling, it’s Mommy. Where are you? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Mrs. T., this is Junior Lara. Rory asked me to call you.”

“Rory, stop this. What’s wrong with you?”

Rosario pressed her hand against her mouth as she listened, wide-eyed.

“Nothing’s wrong with me. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

Evelyn stared at Rosario, struggling to grasp what she was hearing. “Yes. Don’t hang up. Tell me where you are.”

“Rory knows you’re worried about her. She wants you to know that she’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait! Jun…” Evelyn stumbled over the name. “Junior, where are you? I have to talk to you in person.”

“I’m only calling because Ro asked me to. She’s okay, but she’s taking off for a while. She needs a break.”

“When’s she coming back?”

“When she’s ready, I guess. Oh yeah, and she loves you. That’s the message.”

“I love you too, baby,” Evelyn cried, losing her composure. “I mean, tell her I love her too.” Evelyn let out a small sound and clutched her stomach. “I need to see you, baby. Ah…Junior. Let me come see you.”

“That’s not gonna solve anything. I can’t do it right now anyway. I have to finish something.”

“Yes, it will. It’ll help. I promise. I’ll come now. Where are you?”

“In my loft at the Killingsworth Building. I’ve gotta go.”

Evelyn looked at the phone. The hum of the dial tone sounded lifeless. She slowly placed the handset in the cradle.

She shakily walked to the bar. She twisted the cap from a bottle of mineral water and drank from it, staring straight ahead.

Rosario asked, “Where is she, missus?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“Would you like me to call Mr. Tate? Is he at the club?”

“No. Thank you, but that’s not necessary. Go home to your family, Rosario. There’s nothing for you to do right now.”

59

Five Points was quiet, but the lights in the Killingsworth Building were ablaze.

Evelyn parked across the street from Kwik Kwality Kut and Sewing. She got out of her car and looked around at the dark, empty street, pulling the belt of her trench coat more tightly around her.

“Hey, Mrs. T.”

Evelyn swiveled to look behind her. There was no one there.

“Up here.”

Evelyn looked up to see Rory leaning over the low wall that bordered the roof of the Killingsworth Building.

“I’ll send the elevator down.” Rory moved away from the wall and disappeared.

Evelyn looked from the roof to the glass doors of the building. The steel gates that secured them at night were pulled open. She swallowed hard and headed across the street. Hearing a noise, she shoved her hand into her coat pocket and whipped around to see a rat scurrying from a Dumpster. In her pocket, she tightened her hand on her husband’s pistol, which she’d seized before leaving the villa.

She went into the building and crossed the lobby, forcing her footsteps to be firm and assured. Through the windows of the elevator door, she saw that the car was on the lobby level. She pushed the door open, stepped into the dim vestibule, and closed the door and the scissor gate. She pressed the button for the sixth floor. The gears loudly turned and the car slowly ascended.

“I’ve made mistakes,” she muttered. “Who hasn’t? But I don’t deserve this.”

She crept to a corner and watched the ancient brick of the elevator shaft passing by. When the car passed the openings to each floor, she looked into eerie darkness.

“Pull yourself together, gal. You’ve gotta—”

The elevator stopped with a jerk that sent Evelyn staggering on her high heels. She fumbled to open the scissor gate and struggled to push open the sticky pocket door. The car had landed several inches below the floor. Evelyn braced her hand against the doorway and stepped up to enter the loft.

The loft didn’t look like an abandoned murder scene but as if someone were living there. The furniture was arranged comfortably. Fresh flowers in a glass tumbler and an open bottle of beer were on the big library table, which was surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs that were all in place.

In an open area were two easels with their backs toward the room. On one was a large framed canvas. The other easel held a canvas of the same size but it was unframed. Between the easels were metal television trays that held tubes of pigment, jam jars with murky solvents, and coffee cans filled with brushes. Lights suspended from the ceiling illuminated the area like daylight.

“Welcome to my castle, Mrs. T.”

Evelyn saw only Rory’s lower body behind the unframed canvas as she leaned close to it. She was wearing white cotton worker’s pants that were paint-splattered, the many pockets filled with brushes and rags. The pants were too large for her and the legs were rolled up. A leather belt held them around her waist, the buckle of no use, the belt ends tied in a loop.

Rory stepped to the side, dropped the brush she was holding into a coffee can, and began sorting through the tubes of paint while holding a palette in her other hand. She was wearing a T-shirt advertising the band Los Lobos. Her hair was in a ponytail.

“Rory, let me help you. We can work through this together. I’ll drive you back to the hospital, my darling baby.”

“Mrs. T., Rory’s not here.” Rory grabbed a foil tube of paint and squirted a wet coil onto the palette. She added a hue from another tube, selected a brush, and used it to mix the paints. “Give me a second. I’m almost finished. Make yourself comfortable.” Rory bent toward the painting with the brush.

Evelyn raised her arms toward Rory, letting them hover in the air before flinging her hands to her face. She swung around as if seeking help. Gathering herself, she took a deep breath, tugged her trench coat smooth, and raised her head.

“Is this where you’ve been staying?”

She marched across the floor and looked behind the screens that separated the bedroom. The bed was made up with sheets, blankets, and pillows. She recognized Rory’s T-shirt and pajama bottoms, which were thrown across a chair.

Returning to the other side of the room, she watched Rory, who was absorbed in her work. She didn’t seem to be quite her daughter. It wasn’t just the clothing. Her entire demeanor was different. Evelyn watched until she could stand it no longer and blurted, “Rory.”

Rory set her tools onto one of the trays, then took a rag from a pants pocket and wiped her hands on it. She stood with her legs wide and her posture slouched, her body language not hers.

“Mrs. T., how about a beer?” Rory walked to the open bottle of beer on the library table. She grabbed the bottle by the neck between two fingers and swung it to her mouth. She took a long drink, still in that wide-legged stance that wasn’t hers.

As Evelyn watched her daughter, she felt her resolve fading.

“Mrs. T., I know you don’t like me. Problem is, you’ve never spent five minutes trying to get to know me. If you did, you’d find out that I’m a hardworking guy. I’ve earned every dollar that’s passed through my fingers. And I have plans. Dreams. Had them, anyway. I did more than just talk about them. I was working hard to make them come true.”

Rory drained the beer and set the bottle on the table. She looked around, taking in the space from floor to ceiling. Her eyes were sad. “At least I lived my dream for a little while. That’s more than a lot of people can say. People joke that shit happens. I couldn’t have ever imagined what that meant for me. Still, I’m lucky in that I’ve been able to accomplish some things before I say the big adios. Tie up a few loose ends.” She held out her hand to indicate the easels. “Like this.”

Evelyn’s voice was rough. “I want my daughter back. How can I get her back?”

Rory returned to the painting she was working on. “This mess all started when Anya hired me to paint a nude of her. I wasn’t going to do it, because I thought it would upset Rory, but Anya threw a lot of money at me and Rory told me to go ahead. So, Anya came and posed for me, I worked on the painting, and it turned out great. Anya loved it too. When it was finished, Anya showed up and goes, ‘It’s all wrong. I’ve changed my mind. I need something different.’ I said, ‘What do you mean, it’s all wrong?’ She said, ‘I’m giving it to my boyfriend as a gift. It’s going to hang in a prominent spot in his house—our house. I was just over there, looking at the portrait that’s there now, and it hit me what the perfect portrait of me to replace that old one should be—a copy of that other one with me as the model. Can you do that for me? I’ll pay you twenty-five grand, the same as I paid you for the nude.’