Dead Giveaway (18 page)

“You want me?” Hal looked surprised. “The last time we played, you said I didn't have the brains that God gave little green apples.”

“That was only a figure of speech, so don't get your underwear in a bunch. Are you playing, Vanessa?”

“I haven't decided yet. Is Laureen bringing brownies?”

Laureen began to smile. Vanessa loved her brownies and it was a perfect way of getting back at her. “Nope. I've only got one batch left in the freezer and I'm saving those for Alan.”

“In that case, I'll pass.” Vanessa got up and yawned. “All this packing has given me a headache. I'm going to sit in the Jacuzzi for a while and then I'm going to bed.”

Hal couldn't resist a parting shot. “What's the matter, Vanessa? Afraid we'll all find out what a lousy actress you are?”

Vanessa turned to give him a withering glance. “I told you, Hal, I have a headache. And don't wake me when you come in. Not that you'd have any
reason
to.”

Everyone was silent until Vanessa had left. Then Grace broke the awkward moment.

“Hal? I know I'm butting my nose in, but why don't you two just split up? You fight all the time.”

Hal nodded. “It's complicated, Grace, but the bottom line is we can't.”

“You can't get a divorce?” Moira raised her eyebrows. “Come on, Hal. You certainly have enough grounds.”

Hal gave a bitter laugh. “Don't I know! But I did a really stupid thing when we got married.”

“Don't tell me.” Grace sighed. “You forgot to have her sign a prenuptial agreement?”

“No, I'm not quite
that
stupid. She signed one. I drew it up myself.”

“Uh, oh.” Marc groaned. “What did it say, Hal?”

“It said that if she filed for divorce, she'd end up with nothing but a small monthly allowance.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Absolutely nothing. But I neglected to put in what happens if
I'm
the one to file for divorce. And since I didn't stipulate otherwise, the Nevada divorce laws apply.”

“I get it.” Marc nodded. “If you're the one to file for divorce, Vanessa gets half of everything you earned during your marriage.”

Hal nodded. “And you all know I've made a lot of money since then. Naturally, Vanessa won't file for divorce. And I can't file either. So here we are, stuck together like glue, and there's not a damn thing either one of us can do about it.”

Laureen gave a deep sigh. She finally understood why Hal hadn't done anything drastic when she'd told him about Vanessa's affair with Alan. “Well, don't let it get to you, Hal. If she keeps on being so obnoxious, maybe somebody'll help you get rid of her permanently.”

Alan looked shocked. “Laureen!”

Laureen got to her feet. “Come on, everybody. Let's stop by our place so I can pick up my reading glasses.”

“Good idea, honey.” Alan grinned at her. “I remember when you got
The Joy of Sex
and you acted out
The Joy of Cooking.
”

“And I spent the entire five minutes trying to figure out what sex had to do with Laureen stirring something and licking her fingers.” Moira stopped and her face began to turn red. “Oh, sh . . . shucks! I don't believe I said that!”

Marc laughed. “I don't either. I've got a jug of wine I can bring, if you don't mind stopping at my floor. And while I'm there, I'll just check my . . .”

“Answer phone?”

They all spoke in unison and Marc laughed. “I keep forgetting. Well, I just hope you all can read my mind like that when it's my turn to do a charade.”

 

 

There was a determined expression on Vanessa's face as she pulled on a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks. The game of charades would keep everyone busy for at least two hours, which gave her plenty of time.

She reached up to take off her earrings and reconsidered as she caught her reflection in the mirror. The sparkling diamonds lent a touch of elegance to her all-black outfit. The heart-shaped earrings had been a present from Hal for their first anniversary, the last present he'd given her, but she was about to cash in for a whole lot more.

The call had come the morning the avalanche had hit. Since Hal was working, Vanessa had taken the message and she'd been immediately suspicious. When she'd asked, Hal had told her that a Swiss bank was handling some property he owned over there, but of course she'd heard all about those numbered Swiss bank accounts, and she was positive that Hal was hiding his money from her.

She'd spent all last night searching for some sort of evidence. She knew that if she found the number to Hal's Swiss bank account, she could fly over there and clean it out. She'd seen a movie just like that. But she hadn't found the number, even though she'd gone through everything in the apartment. And then, just this morning, while they were in Clayton's unit, she'd realized that Hal might have given the number to Clayton to keep for him. Vanessa gave one last glance in the mirror and turned to go out the door. Clayton had given her a key before Rachael had moved in and he'd forgotten to ask for it back.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she reached for the elevator button. Then she remembered that the elevator shaft was right outside Moira and Grace's living room. If Hal heard the elevator running, he'd realize that she was awake, and he might come up and find her.

Vanessa turned on her heel and headed for the stairwell. Clayton's unit was only two floors up. She felt proud of herself for thinking it through. Maybe her luck was changing and she'd find what she needed to get away from Hal for good.

Jayne was watching the oven timer impatiently when Paul came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

“Do not look at it, Jayne. A watched clock never ticks.”

“It's a watched pot that never boils, but you've got the right idea.” Jayne turned and kissed him. “The smell's killing me and my stomach's growling worse than a grizzly in heat.”

They both turned to look through the oven window. It had all started when Marc said he was dying for pizza and wished a delivery truck could get through. Laureen had remembered the refrigerated pizza dough she was testing for her cooking show, and offered each of them a batch for individual pizzas with toppings of their choice. If anyone was interested, they could have a contest to see who could come up with the best pizza. Laureen would be the judge, along with Alan. There were no hard-and-fast rules. If you didn't have what you needed, you could borrow from someone else. And everyone would have plenty to eat.

“Your pizza is giving a delicious aroma.” Paul studied Jayne's entry, which was browning nicely. “I think you will surely win the contest.”

Jayne shrugged. “I doubt it, not with plain old sausage and cheese. But I figured somebody in this family had to make a pizza that's edible.”

“Is this a personal criticism, Jayne?”

Jayne giggled. “I don't know. I've never had a sardine and cream cheese pizza before.”

“But you say you like lox and bagels. My pizza is almost similar, except for the difference in fish.”

“Some difference!” Jayne giggled again. “And lox and bagels aren't served hot.”

“I fail to see why they could not be. And this will not squeeze from the sides when it is bitten. Is it baked enough, Jayne?”

“Two minutes to go. Why don't you get out that big basket in the cupboard?”

Paul had just finished lining the basket with towels when the stove timer rang. Jayne lifted out the pizzas and set them inside. “All set and rarin' to go. Let's hustle over before they get cold.”

As they walked down the hallway, Paul was smiling. “What type of pizza will Ellen and Walker bake?”

“Ellen'll bring pineapple and Canadian bacon. She told me that was her favorite. I don't know about Walker, though.”

“Watermelon pizza?”

“Paul!” Jayne was shocked. “You shouldn't say things like that!”

“I do not understand why. Walker does not seem to be sensitive about his race. I am sure he would smash up if I told him that joke.”

“Crack up, not smash up, and no, he wouldn't. That's how racial problems get perpetuated. Everyone starts believing those awful stereotypes.”

The elevator stopped at the eighth floor, and Walker and Ellen got on, bearing two pizzas wrapped in a towel.

Jayne inhaled as the elevator started to descend again. “Whatever that is, it really smells good. What did you bring, Ellen?”

“Canadian bacon and pineapple. Walker made his own creation with his favorite things on top.”

Jayne gave Paul a warning glance. “Like what?”

“Oh, the usual.” Walker grinned at her. “Chitlins and collard greens. I was going for the watermelon when Ellen stopped me.”

Paul laughed and turned to Jayne. “You see? I was correct.”

Both Walker and Ellen looked puzzled and Jayne sighed. “It's a little complicated. Paul was going to tease Walker about watermelon pizza, but I assured him that it was in bad taste.”

Walker nodded solemnly. “It certainly would have been. I tried watermelon pizza once and it was awful.”

 

 

At the sound of a key in the lock, the Caretaker flicked off the light and pressed himself against the kitchen wall. The footsteps headed down the hallway toward Clayton's office and he followed silently in the semidarkness. The hallway had floor-to-ceiling windows and the lights from Betty's suite above reflected harshly against the freshly fallen snow.

The figure darted into Clayton's office and when he reached the door, he saw the glimmer of a penlight traveling across the floor, stopping at Clayton's file cabinet. The drawer opened almost noiselessly and the intruder propped the light on the handle of the drawer above to shine down on the files below.

Delicate hands, small-boned. It was a woman, but which one? And what did she want?

They'd all gone to their own kitchens to bake the pizzas, and any one of them could have come here on the pretext of borrowing something from Clayton's refrigerator. Then he noticed a wedding ring, which eliminated Ellen. And Grace and Moira. Jayne had long, strong fingers from years of practicing the piano. And Laureen's hands were larger, he recalled from close-ups on her cooking show. It certainly wasn't Betty, which left the nurse and Vanessa.

He watched as she located a file and flipped through the contents, pulling out a single piece of paper. As she sat down in Clayton's chair to study it, he could almost make out her face. Something glittered by her left ear, reflecting the tiny glow from the penlight. It was a diamond earring shaped like a heart. Vanessa had heart-shaped diamond earrings. But why was she so interested in Clayton's files? He took one step closer, and then another. When he got close enough to make out the label on the file, he smiled. Vanessa was going through Hal's papers. That was nothing to worry about, but he'd keep an eye on her until she left.

Vanessa almost laughed out loud. Hal had moved over four million dollars into his numbered Swiss account. He was a real bastard, and a dumb one at that. His birth date was the access code. Jack had once told her how common that was, when she'd asked him about the security business.

She put the file back in the drawer and closed it. Now she'd act perfectly normal until the access road was cleared, then take off for Switzerland on the very first flight.

Vanessa smiled. Switzerland. She'd always wanted to go there and she might just do that once she'd gone to the bank and cleaned out Hal's account. They had wonderful skiing, and she'd always wanted to shop in the boutiques at St. Moritz. Best of all, there wasn't a thing Hal could do. There was nothing illegal about a wife making a withdrawal from her husband's Swiss bank account. That's exactly what had happened in the movie she'd seen.

She shined the penlight all around the office, checking to make sure she hadn't left anything out of place and then she headed for the door. If Hal decided to check up on her, she wanted to be in bed, sleeping like a baby.

Vanessa was nearing the end of the hallway when the lights in the rose garden came on. She whirled and bolted for the door before remembering that Clayton had them on a timer. There was no need to be so jumpy. She stopped and took a calming breath as she looked out at the garden. It had been beautiful the first time she'd seen it, with tiny sparkling lights and a white latticework gazebo. Two round wrought-iron tables, painted dazzling white, were surrounded by eight matching chairs. Darby had been fond of having her morning coffee in the garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of her beautiful roses.

Things were a lot different now that Darby was dead. The paint was peeling off the wrought-iron tables and the roses looked as if they were growing wild. Nevertheless, one perfect pink rose bloomed on a bush in the back. It would look lovely in the silver vase she had in her bedroom. Hal hadn't given her roses in at least a year and they were her favorite.

Opening the French doors, Vanessa stepped into the garden. It was lovely out here in the climate-controlled dome. There was something magical about flowers blooming in the dead of winter. Roses in the snow. A great title for a movie and now that she was about to become a wealthy woman, she might just decide to finance it.

She grabbed the clippers from the nail in the gazebo and headed for the perfect rose. It would only take a moment. As she took a detour around two bushes that had grown together in a tangle of branches, her sandal sank into a patch of soft ground. Someone had been digging out here and the soil was loose. Had Clayton hired a new gardener? Vanessa bent over for a closer look.

 

 

Lines of concentration creased Betty's forehead as she tried to make sense out of the talk show. The host had a towel wrapped around his head and the audience laughed every time he spoke. Betty didn't think he was very funny, but the people did. Perhaps you couldn't appreciate him when you had a disease like hers.

She was watching the regular channels now because Nurse would be back in a minute to give her the needle and put her to bed. It had been a pretty good night for television, and she'd enjoyed the charades on forbidden channel two. The cowgirl had been very good and so had that nice colored man. Betty seemed to remember that
colored
was an obsolete term. Now they wanted to be called black, or maybe Afro-American, she wasn't sure which. When the colored man came to visit her, she'd just say hello and avoid calling him anything. That was the smart thing to do.

When the charades had stopped, Betty had switched through the other forbidden channels. There had been a lot of cooking shows on tonight and she didn't feel like watching those, but she'd found something very interesting on channel five.

That pretty young actress was back, searching for something. She seemed to be typecast in the role of searcher. When she left the room where the papers were kept, Betty had assumed the movie was over. She had been about to switch the channel when she'd seen the actress open the doors to the garden, the same one she'd seen in the funeral movie. Would the undertaker appear? Betty hoped so.

There he was! Betty had clapped her hands together in delight. He was her very favorite actor, unless you counted Jack, who was in the hospital. They didn't run many hospital movies now.

Betty reached for a blank disk and put it into the machine, pushing the button to record. She'd start a collection to show Jack when he came back home. While the undertaker series wasn't as funny as the movies that Jack had recorded for her, it was still very exciting. She gasped as the sharp metal thing crashed down. You'd never guess they made those things out of Styrofoam so they couldn't hurt anybody. Then the actress had crumpled to the ground very gracefully, and since she was pretending to be dead, she hadn't moved at all.

Would the undertaker bury her in another funeral? Betty had leaned forward to peer at the screen intently. No, he just put the Styrofoam shovel back in the gazebo, wrapped the pretty actress in a big plastic tarp, and carried her down the hall to the stairwell. Once they'd gone through the door, Betty had known that the forbidden channel five movie-of-the-night was over, but she might be able to catch the rest of the film on another channel.

She had been looking for the ending of the movie when she'd heard Nurse coming with the warm milk and cookies she always had before bedtime. She'd barely had time to switch to a talk show before Nurse had come into her room with the tray. It had been a close call. Very close. She had to remember to be more careful in the future now that Jack wasn't here to remind her.

The man who loved Budweiser beer was rolling his eyes at something Johnny had said and the audience was laughing again. Betty frowned. She liked the forbidden channels much better. Should she take a chance and scan them to see if she could find the end of the movie?

There was water running in the bathroom. That meant Nurse was fixing her face. Nurse took a long time every night in the bathroom. She'd explained it all to Betty. When people got older, their skin dried out. That meant they had to use moisturizers. Nurse put a pink cream on her face every night that had to stay there for five minutes. Then she washed it off and put on a moisturizer. Betty hadn't said what she'd been thinking out loud, that nothing could help Nurse from looking like one of those big black birds.

Betty took a chance and reached for the remote control. She had to find out where the undertaker would bury the actress. It was a very important part of the movie.

There he was again on forbidden channel one, carrying the searcher into a room of ice. There was a word for a place like that, but Betty couldn't think of it. She winced as he rolled her out of the tarp, then chuckled at her own foolishness. Of course they'd stopped the cameras to put in a mannequin just like the doll-lady made, so the actress could go back to her dressing room to rehearse her next scene. It looked so real, it had almost fooled her. Movie magic was wonderful!

When the water stopped running, Betty put on the talk show again. She was laughing at the towel around the host's head, it took a certain amount of courage to appear on television in a silly-looking thing like that, when Nurse came in with the bedtime needle.

 

 

They all sat on pillows covered with Royal Stewart plaid, the tartan Moira claimed she was entitled to use since her grandfather's name had been Stewart. The pizzas were arranged on the living room table, a huge, round knee-high slab of black marble and the only furniture in the room. The walls were still white, the windows bare, but Moira had lit a cheerful blaze in the black marble fireplace and the cavernous room was a perfect place for games. When Paul had inquired, Moira had called the effect her Terminally Lazy Look and sworn she'd finish with her decorating just as soon as the roads were clear.

Laureen and Alan sat at one end of the table, passing slivers of pizza back and forth. There were the standard varieties: Jayne's sausage and cheese, Ellen's Canadian bacon and pineapple, Moira's was Italian meatballs and fresh tomato, and Walker's was pepperoni and onion. There were also some very unusual creations like Paul's sardine and cream cheese, Hal and Grace's feta cheese and Greek olive, which they'd made together in Grace and Moira's kitchen because Hal hadn't wanted to wake Vanessa, and a strange concoction which Marc refused to name. When they'd tasted them all, Laureen looked at Alan with a question in her eyes. He took another bite and nodded.