An Eye for Murder (28 page)

When I finished, he steepled his hands in front of him.

The veins on his forehead protruded. “Is that everything?”

I nodded, relieved that someone besides me finally knew
everything
. “Someone’s going after all the people who knew Skull. You knew him in Lawndale.”

“Why? What do they want?”

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s apparently worth killing for.”

“And you think it’s Marian and this Gibbs character?”

“I’m not sure. If it weren’t for the fact that we know Skull was trying to find Lisle, I’d say there were two different situations.”

He ran his tongue over his lip. “I don’t like it. I want you to quit working for this woman.”

“Dad, I’ve got to finish the video.”

“Ellie, this is your life we’re talking about. Who the hell cares about a goddamned movie?”

“But she’s already paid me.”

“So let her sue.”

“Dad, listen to me. Why would Marian Iverson be coming after me in a tan Cutlass? She doesn’t need to. She sees me all the time.”

“But this Gibbs person was talking to her about eliminating you. How much more proof do you need?”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m a tough old bird, Ellie. But you. You should make yourself scarce. Stay out of sight. Especially Marian’s. Until we can figure out what to do.”

“I can’t. I have responsibilities.”

“Your responsibilities are to me. And your daughter. You need to keep yourself alive.”

I didn’t have a comeback.

Chapter Forty

After a mostly sleepless night, I cut across the yard at dawn. The grass, still wet and slick from dew, chilled my bare feet. I looked both ways down the street. No one was there. I grabbed the paper. Lamont had filed an innocuous story about Giant City. Back inside, I brewed coffee and made a decision. A compromise of sorts, for Dad. I would finish editing the tape at Mac’s; I wouldn’t go downtown. That would take two or three days. Then I’d regroup and figure out what to do.

I was rinsing my cup in the sink when a red Honda roared around the corner. David parked and climbed out, casually dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt. My pulse started to pick up. I opened the door before he knocked.

“How was your trip?”

“Fine,” I lied, stepping outside. “Until I got home.” I explained about my father.

Shock swept across his face. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.”

I considered telling him about the men in the Cutlass. But David didn’t know anything about Skull, except for exchanging a brief E-mail. He didn’t need to be worried.

“Is he still in the hospital?”

“They’re keeping him another day.” I walked over to uncoil the hose. “Really. He’s okay.”

He nodded. An awkward silence followed. Then, “I went down to the steel mill the other day.”

“Iverson’s?”

“Yesterday. It was surrounded by a chain link fence. But I climbed over and poked around. Looked through some windows.”

I turned on the hose, imagining him crawling through dirt and dust, a little boy exploring forbidden territory. I almost smiled.

“It was strange, you know. I almost thought I sensed my mother’s presence. Being in the same place she’d spent so much time.” His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glowed. I had to look away. “Iverson must have been some businessman to build the place from the ground up.” He stepped over the hose. “You’ve been looking into him. What was he like?”

I waved the hose over the impatiens. “I don’t know. Sort of a twentieth-century robber baron, if you ask me.” I adjusted the spray of water.

“Do you have any pictures of him?”

I tightened my grip on the hose. “You know, I don’t think I do.” Why was he asking me questions? Why was he here at all? He’d made it clear what kind of relationship he wanted— or didn’t want from me. I don’t do “friends” well. He should go back to Philadelphia. I looked up. “David, there’s—”

As if he sensed my thoughts, he interrupted me. “Ellie. That’s not the reason I’m here.”

Here it comes. The girlfriend. The fiancée. “I want to explain about the other night.”

I looked away. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes. I do. There isn’t anybody else, Ellie.” I froze.

“It’s just that, well, I’m a middle-aged man. I never expected to meet someone like you at this point in my life. And with all this attention on my roots and my parents, I was afraid to trust—oh God, this is hard…”

The hose spat water on the dirt.

“Your father. Your daughter. You attract people. It’s as if they’re the moths and you’re the flame. You create a sense of family around you.”

“I don’t—”

“Let me finish. It’s not just your father. Or your daughter. Even your gardener—”

“He’s my friend.”

“That’s what I mean. You turn everyone into family. And I…I want to be part of it.”

My heart thumped furiously.

“But I was—I mean—after what happened between your father and my mother, I was—”

“You know about them?”

“When a man loves a woman, it’s hard to disguise it. It was all over your father’s face. That’s why I left the other night. I didn’t know how you felt about it. Whether you cared. I was afraid.”

The water from the hose pooled around the impatiens, and the run-off spilled across the front step. I bent down and turned off the water. “Let me understand. You were afraid how I might react then, but now you’re not?”

“I’m terrified. But I decided if there was a chance—any chance you had feelings for me—despite what happened with our parents—I’d take it.”

Goosebumps danced on my arms. I went to front door, opened it, and held out my hand. He took it and followed me in.

Chapter Forty-one

By evening, we were both starved. At least I was. I threw on his T-shirt and scrounged in the refrigerator. With Rachel gone, the choices were limited.

As I cracked eggs into a bowl, I heard his step on the stairs. I turned around. He was wearing pants but no shirt, and the hard cut of his muscles made me groan with desire. As if reading my mind, he drew me into his arms. I traced the line of his neck with my finger, remembering the feel of his body on mine. How we touched each other gently at first, then more insistently. How we found our rhythm quickly but made sure to go slow. How we came together at the peak of passion, and then did it all over again.

“I hope eggs are okay.” I turned to the stove. “It’s all I have.”

“Eggs are perfect.” He nuzzled my neck from behind.

A shiver ran through me, and I arched into him. “You keep doing that, there won’t be any eggs.”

“You win.” He dropped his arms. “I’m hungry.”

I took out English muffins and put them in the toaster. Then I got silverware out of the drawer. As I was setting the table, he grabbed my hand. Smiling, I flicked my eyes over, but when our eyes met, my smile faded. His face was shadowed in sorrow.

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t say anything. “David?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Forget it.”

My stomach started to churn. “You can’t do that.” I withdrew my wrist. He still didn’t say anything. “David, this isn’t the way it works. We’re supposed to talk to each other. Communicate.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay.” He twisted around in the chair.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Linda Jorgenson?”

I froze. “Who?”

“Linda Jorgenson. The woman who knows the history of Chicago steel companies.”

I turned back to the stove and poured the eggs into the skillet. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember when you waved me off the police? And told me they wouldn’t be much help?”

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“But not about Linda Jorgenson.” I pushed the spatula through the eggs.

“You knew I got her name at the library. When we finally connected, she said someone else had called her about Iverson recently. A woman. Who was making a film for his daughter’s campaign.”

I blinked.

“Here’s a woman who might have valuable information about my mother, and you’d talked to her. But you never mentioned her to me. In fact, you tried to talk me out of calling her. I just want to know why.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“Communicate, Ellie. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?” Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

“You know I’ve been looking for answers to my past. I thought I could trust you to help me.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” I clutched the spatula. My voice sounded small and puny.

His voice was quiet, not accusatory. “If I thought that, I would never have brought it up.”

I turned away. Why was he being so reasonable? He knew I’d lied to him, deceived him, and yet he made passionate love to me. What was wrong with him?

“Ellie, I’m not angry. I just want to—”

“Why not?” I spun around. “Why aren’t you angry?” How dare he treat me so well? “Who are you, David Linden? Are you always this forgiving? This blind to people’s faults? Or—” I waved the spatula—“are you so desperate to be accepted that you’ll overlook anything a woman does?”

He flinched.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “That was out of line.”

But he was already out of his seat, pushing the chair under the table. “I thought we’d be able to talk about this reasonably. But I see I made a mistake. You’re someone I wanted to get close to. I’ve never done that before. Maybe now I know why.”

“Damn you.” I hacked the spatula through the eggs, which had turned rubbery and dry. “Damn you, David Linden.”

He turned away from me, his face sad but calm. Somehow, his coolness, his rational control made my temper spike. Fuck him and his patronizing attitude. “Well, maybe it’s not so strange.” I brandished the spatula. “Considering Lisle Gottlieb was your mother.”

“What?”

Shit. I picked up the skillet, intending to scrape the eggs into the disposal. But I forgot it was hot. It dropped from my hands and clattered to the floor. “Damn it to hell.”

He stepped back into the kitchen. “What did you say?”

“Forget it. I didn’t say anything.” I yanked on the cold water and stuck my singed fingers under the faucet.

Suddenly David was in back of me, swinging me around to face him. The cords on his neck were taut, and his grip on my arm was strong. His eyes glanced at the skillet and then my fingers, as if making sure I wasn’t hurt. Then, “What do you mean, considering Lisle Gottlieb was my mother?”

I tried to shrink from his touch. “Nothing. I was angry.”

His jaw worked, all his coolness and composure gone. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

I felt a sick twisting in my stomach. “You don’t want to know.”

“Ellie. If you have information about my family, anything at all, you have to tell me.” He shook me. “You have to.”

I heard the refrigerator motor kick on, smelled the butter from the skillet. He was clutching my arms. I choked back a sob. “I didn’t want it to happen this way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The look in his eyes said it was too late. I went into the family room. He followed me in. I dug the Movietone newsreel out of my bag.

“This is a newsreel from the Forties. About Rosie the Riveter. Your mother is on this tape,” I said. “So is Paul Iverson.” I tried to look the other way, but his face swam before me. “Your mother had an affair with Paul Iverson. During the war. While Kurt was overseas.”

His eyes narrowed. Disbelief spread across his face.

“They lived together in an apartment in Lawndale.” I paused. “She got pregnant, David. Kurt Weiss isn’t your father. Paul Iverson is.” I handed him the tape. “It’s all here. You look exactly like him.”

His sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room.

He stared at the tape in his hand, then studied my face. I looked away, not trusting myself to go on. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Tell me all of it,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

“Your mother left Iverson at the end of the war and went back to Kurt,” I whispered. “A week or so later, Iverson killed himself.”

He waited.

“But before he did, I think he killed Kurt Weiss.”

Chapter Forty-two

A high, thin cloud layer leached the color out of the sky the next morning. I called David’s hotel room as soon as I woke up, but there was no answer. Feeling heavy and dull, I dragged myself to a meeting with Pam Huddleston.

She said we’d bought ourselves some time. The papers she’d sent over supported our position that the account had been closed during the divorce proceedings and that I had no knowledge of any new activity on Barry’s part. Pam had convinced the Chicago Corp to wait until their PI found Barry before proceeding further. A continuance would be filed.

After the meeting I stopped off at Mac’s, where we recorded a scratch track for the video. I’d hire a professional narrator for the finished version, but I hadn’t decided on a female or male voice. For now, my voice would do.

When we’d finished laying down the track, Hank and I screened the Giant City footage. Mac had shot plenty of Broll. We had cheering crowds, smiling faces, and colorful shots of Americana. Hank and I discussed the pacing. We were aiming for the illusion of momentum, success, maybe even a feeling of inevitability. We listened to library music that would reinforce those themes, and he promised to have a rough cut by the following week. I left him paging through the logs.

I picked up Dad at the hospital and took him home, then got Chinese takeout for dinner. When he fell asleep on his chair, I quietly let myself out. Back home, I called The Ritz again. This time I asked for the front desk. David had checked out. I tried him at his office, but it was after five on the East Coast, and he wasn’t there. I called his home; his machine picked up. My heart skipped a beat just hearing his voice.

“David, it’s me.” I cleared my throat. “I…I wouldn’t blame you if you never speak to me again. There’s no excuse for what I did. I could tell you I’m under a lot of stress. That I’m panicked about half a million dollars that my ex-husband lost in the stock market. That I don’t know how to tell Marian Iverson about her father. Your father. That I’m still spooked about my father. And a break-in at my house. And a kid who was shot in a drive-by a few weeks ago. I should have told you about all of this a long time ago. But I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t know how, and…well…it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t excuse the fact that I lied. Or the pain that I’ve caused you. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”