Too Damn Rich (90 page)

"But why would he—"

"To tell us. Not to thumb his nose, just to
let us know. Like leaving a calling card."

"I'm still gonna have to put out an APB on
him."

"If that's what you have to do, fine." She
wrapped her arms around him. "But not before you give me one more
nice big kiss."

They were too wrapped up in each other to
notice the EMS gurney with Zandra and the baby rolling past.
Karl-Heinz was hurrying alongside it, and Sofia and Erwein were
trying to keep up.

"But ... but that's impossible!" Sofia was
screaming. "You're lying!" She was tugging on the tail of
Karl-Heinz's jacket. "It's a plot! You're all conspiring against
me!"

Robert, bringing Dina her purse, stared at
Sofia. "What in all hell—?"

"Oh, that," Dina said dismissively. "It's
proof, sweetie. That's all."

"Proof?" His bushy eyebrows drew together.
"Proof a what?"

And Dina, deciding against her tranquilizers
and getting out her compact instead, said: "That all's well that
ends even better!"

Late morning the following day was crisp and
cool. The cerulean sky was dabbed with feathers of clouds, and a
brisk ocean breeze had scrubbed the air crystal clear.

Hurrying purposely down Madison Avenue to
Burghley's, Kenzie looked up at the sky. Of all the clouds, there's
one only I can see, she thought with elation. And that's the cloud
I'm on.

She was on cloud nine.

Yesterday's nightmare was far from forgotten,
and she knew it would haunt her for days, weeks, and months to
come. Years, even. A hostage crisis wasn't the kind of thing one
got over quickly. But good news negated the bad.

Before leaving the apartment, she'd called
Lenox Hill. Zandra and the baby—my godchild!—were doing
splendidly.

Moreover, the hours she and Charley had spent
tumbling between the sheets last night, affirming life after
staring death in the face, had been the first step in the healing
process.

The second would be their appointment at City
Hall this afternoon. They weren't exactly going to the chapel, but
they were getting married.

"We'll meet at City Hall at one," Charley had
told her. "Count on it, babe."

Oh, you can, Kenzie thought happily, you bet
your sweet patootie you can!

And she loved the way he'd put it: "I'm gonna
make an honest woman outta you, Kenz."

So trite and old-fashioned, and yet so ... so
Charley.

She thought of the things he'd promised her.
A rose garden. "How's a house in the 'burbs sound? White picket
fence? Rug rats? PTA meetings?"

And she could still hear her own laughter.
"Well, I don't think I'm ready for the 'burbs and the picket fence,
but roses on a terrace ... oh, I might be able to live with
that."

One o'clock. City Hall.

Kenzie tried out variations of her new name,
saying them softly as she walked: "Mrs. MacKenzie Ferraro ... Mrs.
Charles Ferraro ... Charles and Kenzie ... Charley and Kenz."

She sailed into Burghley's and headed
straight for her office, shutting the door so she wouldn't be
disturbed.

For a moment, she just stood there and
stared. Smack dab on the center of her desk was the most massive
flower arrangement she'd ever seen. She wondered from whom it could
be.

She unpinned the little envelope and slipped
the card out of it and read:

I'm far from the reach of the long arm, but I expect
you have already guessed that.

We won't be meeting again, Kenzie, but what we shared
was special.

You added sparkle.

I wish you and Charley the best. Don't get
sidetracked, you won't find a better man. Take the plunge, no
matter what.

Oh, if Charley is wondering why his car has 240 extra
miles on the odometer, I borrowed it a few nights ago.

Hannes

Kenzie smiled and slipped the card into her
shoulder bag and began cleaning out her desk. She glanced at her
watch and ascertained that it was almost noon.

She'd have to get a move on if she was to
meet Charley on time. Meanwhile, she still had her letter of
resignation to write. There was a tentative knock on her door.
"Come in," she called.

Kenzie didn't care who it was. Nothing would
deter her from the path she had chosen. No amount of raises or
perks could make her stay. She had her own agenda to think
about.

I won't end up like poor Mr. Spotts, so
obsessed with paintings that nothing else exists. I'm packing up
and getting myself a life!

She glanced up as the door opened hesitantly.
A thin old woman in a trench coat with a slouch hat pulled low and
big sunglasses over her eyes was standing there. "Can I help you?"
Kenzie asked politely. "Miss Tarna?"

That voice! Kenzie was momentarily struck speechless,
and it was all she could do to nod dumbly.

"Vell? Do you, or do you not vant to come and
appraise my collection?" asked Lila Pons.

Three Months After Hostage Drama,

Goldsmith Packs It In

Special to the New York Times

NEW YORK, Feb. 8—Robert A. Goldsmith announced his
intention to sell his majority stake in Burghley's, the auction
house. The plain-talking, tough- dealing tycoon, best known for
GoldMart, Inc., the discount giant, owns 32.5 million shares of
Burghley's.

"Retailing is dog-eat-dog, but the auction business
is a real killer," he said at a news conference today, wryly
referring to last year's hostage drama during the Rebecca de la
Vila auction.

He cited various factors having helped influence his
decision, including the start-up of Dina's Corner, a new chain of
women's apparel shops named after his wife, and a foray into
television shopping.

"It's exciting," he said. "I love building something
from scratch. It's like giving birth and then watching your baby
grow."

And as for Burghley's?

"I'm a discounter at heart," he conceded bluntly.
"Burghley's is too rich for my blood. Just too damn rich!"