The Old Deep and Dark (32 page)

“Brilliant reverse psychology. If he admitted to the murders and was laughed out of the interrogation room, what better way to prove his innocence.”

Jane wasn't convinced.

Cordelia dug energetically through the popcorn, looking for the pieces with the most butter. “So, back to my initial point. We need to get him to admit what he did—this time, in real, believable terms.”

“How?”

“That's what we have to figure out.”

“You willing to work on this?” asked Jane. “Now? For as long as it takes to come up with a plan?”

“You never butter your popcorn enough. We need sustenance. Brain food. I'll make us two of my world-famous omelets.” Rising to her full height, she charged off into the kitchen with the dogs trotting after her.

Sometimes, when Cordelia came to the house in the middle of the night, Jane had the sense that the Marines had landed—in every sense of the word.

 

36

Without an alarm clock to wake him, Jane's father slept until almost ten on Friday morning. When he dragged himself into the kitchen, wearing his son's striped bathrobe, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawning, Jane and Cordelia were still working at the kitchen table. Jane had gone out earlier to buy fresh bagels, cream cheese, and lox for their breakfasts. After returning home, she'd thinly sliced a tomato and a red onion to go along with it, and made a pot of coffee, strong and black.

“You two look like the cats that ate the canary,” said Ray, pouring himself a cup.

“Dad?” said Jane. “Are there any local judges who owe you a favor?”

He scanned the food on offer. “Yes. Probably. Why?”

It all tumbled out, mostly from Cordelia. How she'd put it together that Archibald was responsible for the notes, and if that was true, it followed that he was the murderer. Ray talked over their ideas with them, did his best to poke holes in their arguments, but in the end, agreed that Cordelia had made a significant connection. And then, hesitantly, Jane sketched out their strategy for trapping Archibald. “All you'd have to do is call the judge,” said Jane. “Archibald's already admitted to Jordan's murder. I think that was a significant error in judgment. Cordelia and I are fairly certain he never intended for DePetro to believe him and actually arrest him. It was just one more way to muddy the waters and prove to Kit that he was her hero. But,” she said, getting up to pour herself more coffee, “it gives DePetro probable cause to search his house.”

“Good thinking,” said Ray. “Yes, you can leave all that to me.”

“Promise you won't go back to your place today,” said Jane. “I'll handle everything on that end. We don't want to tip our hand.”

After giving Jane his word, her father headed upstairs to shower. Jane and Cordelia were left alone in the kitchen.

“Can we really do this?” asked Jane.

“There will be only one seriously dangerous moment. And you won't even be there. It's all on me. Cordelia M. Thorn, private eye.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“No way.” She searched through her digital address book until she found Archibald's number.

“Put him on speakerphone so I can hear, too,” said Jane.

She made a couple of taps, then set the phone down on the table between them.

“Hello,” came Archibald's voice.

“Hey, babe, it's Cordelia. Have I got an invitation for you.”

“You do?”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Actually, I'm not. I have plans.”

“Look, Hattie will be with me at the theater until seven thirty or so. Could you come after that? Eight? Even nine would work. You've been so incredibly helpful with all the research you've done. Since you don't want money, I thought this might be a way to give you something—an experience you'll never forget.”

Jane thought she was laying it on a bit thick.

“I'll even throw in a bottle of chilled Cristal,” said Cordelia. “To add to the celebration.”

“Celebration? Can you give me a few more details?”

“I don't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say this will be mind-blowing, especially for a theater lover like you.”

“It does sound intriguing.”

“More than intriguing. This will be a first. A debut. And you'll be in on it. Part of history in the making.”

“Oh, hell, why not. I can get my business done by nine, I'm sure of it. Consider it a date.”

“Splendid,” said Cordelia, her arms shooting up like she'd just scored a goal.

*   *   *

While Cordelia drove back to her house to change clothes and make a few more phone calls, Jane headed back upstairs to change into dark clothing. For what she had to do tonight, she needed cover.

On her way up the stairs, she met her father coming down. He'd changed into one of Peter's shirts and sweaters, and had on a pair of his jeans. “You look great in jeans,” said Jane. “You should buy yourself a pair.”

Her father gave her a sidelong glance. “Thanks. Not really my style.”

He was carrying his laptop under his arm.

“Can you work from here today?”

“That's the plan.”

On an impulse, she sat down on one of the steps and patted the space next to her. “Can we talk—just for a minute?”

He sat down next to her. “Having second thoughts?”

This close, Jane could smell that he'd even borrowed some of Peter's Old Spice. “No, not at all. I think our plan will work—with a little luck. What I wanted to say was that … I appreciated you opening up last night about your feelings for Mom, for Marilyn and Elizabeth. It helped me sort through some of my own issues.”

“Nothing in life is ever easy.”

“I agree, but has it ever occurred to you that we have similar romantic trajectories? We both got it right with our first partner, though after that, we've been less successful.”

“There certainly is a parallel, Janey. But a parallel isn't a prophesy.”

“No, I know that.”

“Problems with Avi?”

“Like you said last night, I don't want to make my problems your problems.”

Turning to her, taking her hand in his, he said, “I never want you to feel that way. I'm here for you, sweetheart, as you are for me. That's one reason I like the idea of us working together. You have an absolute right to your privacy, as do I. We both have active, busy lives, but those lives, more often than not, take us away from each other instead of bringing us closer together. Maybe that didn't bother me so much when I was younger, but it does now. If you ever want to talk something over, I'm here to listen. The more you're around, the more chances we'll have to listen to each other. There's nothing more important to me than that.”

“Oh, Dad,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn't imagine a life without him in it.

“I can tell what you're thinking,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I won't be around forever. That's simply the way of the world.”

She rubbed an arm across her eyes.

“I remember the last time I saw my mother. She was old and ill. I'd come over to her house to help her get some lunch. I kissed her before I left and then walked over to the door. When I turned to smile at her, the look on her face was so intense, it stopped me. She was trying to memorize me, Janey. That was a hard moment. I realize that I sometimes look at you and Peter that way now. I don't want to forget a thing.” Again, he squeezed her hand. “Don't worry about those notes, honey. I'm going to be around for a long time.”

“Promise?”

His smile was gentle. “Promise.”

*   *   *

Later that morning, Jane drove across the river to her father's home in Saint Paul. She took a couple of passes past his house to make sure Archibald wasn't watching the place. Convinced that he was nowhere around, she entered through the back door and quickly pulled the shades in the living room. After turning on a couple of lamps, she made sure the patio door leading out to the back deck was unlocked.

Finally, in her father's office, she placed his daily calendar in the center of the desk, circled the date, and wrote, in big block letters, “Overnight Trip to Chicago.” She wanted Archibald to be able to get into the house easily and see that her father wouldn't be home until tomorrow. Armed with that misinformation, he would be free to join Cordelia at the theater.

On her way back to Minneapolis, where she intended to spend the bulk of her day at her restaurant, she decided to stop by Avi's apartment. She figured she owed it to her to be honest about her intentions. It would likely be a difficult conversation. Thinking that this was already a day for hard conversations, she pulled up outside the apartment and headed up the walk.

Avi welcomed her in, this time with both a kiss and a generous hug.

“Am I interrupting your work?” asked Jane.

“No, this is great,” said Avi. “I made us a pot of soup.”

“I can't stay,” said Jane. She felt like a coward for using such a trite excuse. It wasn't that she
couldn't
stay. She didn't want to.

“Okay,” said Avi. “Can you at least sit down for a few minutes?”

They sat in the dining room. Jane sensed a tension she'd never felt around Avi before.

“Have you thought any more about what we talked about the other night?” asked Avi, getting right to the point. “About having a child together?”

“I have.”

Taking Jane's measure for a few seconds, her eyes fell to the kitchen towel in her hand. “You don't have to spell it out. I can see what your answer is.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sure.” She pushed her sweater sleeves up her arms. “So. Does that mean we're over?”

“I don't see how we can go on when we have such different needs.”

“What if one of my needs is you?”

“Honestly, Avi. I don't know what to say. This sort of thing is never easy.”

“You mean telling your girlfriend you don't want to have a baby with her. You've done that a lot, have you?”

“You know what I'm saying. This is hard for me, too.”

“Spell it out.”

“I could never ask you to choose between me and a child. So, yes, I think we're over.”

Avi seemed to be about to say something. At the last second, she thought better of it and stayed silent.

“I only want what's best for you,” said Jane. “I hope you give this idea of yours more thought. It's a huge decision.”

“You think I don't know that?”

“You're right. It's your business, not mine.”

“Just leave.”

“Avi—”

“What?”

“Will you stay in touch?”

“Oh, screw you,” she shouted, looking up defiantly. “Get the hell out of my apartment before I really lose my temper, you useless, self-righteous … old woman.”

Under other circumstances, Avi's stinging rebuke might have upset Jane. Today the words seemed simply flailing and feeble. She rose and stood over Avi for a few seconds, wishing she could touch her, though understanding that she'd lost the right. She remembered Cordelia's words. She hadn't been put on this earth to make everything right for Avi, especially when it had all become so terribly tangled and wrong.

“Bye,” said Jane, closing the door quietly on the way out.

 

37

As the light faded from the sky, Jane sat in her CR-V, a quarter of a block from Archibald's home, waiting for him to come out and get down to the business of murder. She listened to an old Eurythmics CD. As the song “Sweet Dreams” came on, he appeared. He walked resolutely out of his front door dressed all in black, carrying a briefcase. She let him drive off, then, when he seemed to be heading in the direction of the freeway, she allowed him to pull a block ahead.

The silver Audi eventually took the Lexington Avenue exit. Jane stayed several car lengths behind until they were two blocks from her father's home. Archibald drove past the house several times. Jane hoped the lights she'd turned on inside would give the impression that her dad was there. She needed Archibald to go in and find the calendar entry.

Parking half a block away, he slipped out, no longer carrying the briefcase, and darted through one of the front yards toward the alley. Jane drove past his car and turned the corner. She pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and parked. From the angle she'd chosen, she could see her father's back deck.

Archibald took his time. He stayed out of sight for several minutes, no doubt casing the exterior, finally emerging in the backyard. He edged swiftly up the deck stairs to the sliding doors. A second later he was in.

Jane switched off the music so that she could concentrate fully on her anxiety. Five minutes went by. Then another five. Growing frustrated, she began to drum on the dashboard. She stopped when she saw him creep back outside. He rushed down the steps and headed through her father's front yard straight for his car. She waited a full minute, then inched her SUV forward.

Turning the corner, she saw the Audi's red taillights speeding away in the darkness. She followed, again at a distance, as the car headed back to I-94. She assumed, since it wasn't yet eight, that he'd phone Cordelia from his cell to tell her he'd be able to come over earlier than expected. But just as they were about to pass one of the U of M exits, he pulled off and appeared to head back to his house. She wondered if something had gone wrong.

Parking in the driveway, he got out and carried the briefcase inside. In less than a minute, he was back outside and driving off. This time Jane didn't follow him. Instead, she called Cordelia.

“Speak to me,” came Cordelia's voice, low and somewhat muffled.

“Where are you?”

“If I told you I was hiding under my desk, would you believe me?”

“Listen up: Archibald's heading your way. With the traffic on the freeway, I'd say maybe fifteen minutes to the theater.”