Forever (88 page)

'Gu/,' Zaza said. 'At least that is
settled.' She glanced around again. 'Do any of you have any other
questions?'

Stephanie nodded; something was still
bothering her. She said, 'When I was in Rio, I kept getting
anonymous phone calls. All the person kept whispering was, "Die!"
Do you know anything about that?'

Zaza said, 'That, Liebling, was me.'

'You!' Stephanie stared at her. 'But. . .
whyV

'I wanted to save your life,' Zaza
explained. 'When I overheard Lili and Colonel Valerio plotting your
death, I hoped I could frighten you away.'

'You scared me half to death!'

Zaza nodded 'That was the idea,' she sighed.
'But I should have known better than to think I could frighten you
away so easily. You are far too stubborn a young woman for
that.'

Stephanie frowned. 'What I can't understand
is, if you were trying to frighten me away, then why did you give
me the OPUS number?'

'That was my alternate plan. If I couldn't
chase you away for your own good, the least I could do was help you
accomplish your goal.'

Stephanie was astounded. 'You knew all along
who I was?'

'No. Not who you were. But I had a good idea
what it was you were after.'

'But how did you know I wasn't going to
misuse what I might discover?'

'I didn't. I had to trust my instincts.
After all these years, I have learned to judge character quite
well, you know. I knew from the start that your search was
selfless. I would never have encouraged Eduardo to pursue you,
otherwise.'

Stephanie could only sit there in amazement,
trying to digest it all.

Zaza said, 'At least now you know why I
poisoned my own sister, her lover, and that evil doctor. I feel
remorse and sadness, yes. But even more, I feel immense guilt. Not
for killing them; I should have done that long ago. What I will
never forgive myself for is having let the horror continue for all
these decades. Can

you imagine what it is like to live with
such a burden? With the weight of thousands of lives on my
conscience?'

it's all over now,' Stephanie said softly.
'You must stop blaming yourself.'

Zaza looked shocked. 'My dear, I am as
guilty as they are! My love for my sister led me to condone it. I
fully understood the horror, but allowed it to happen. I am by far
the guiltiest of all.'

There was a long silence.

'And now,' Zaza said, 'I think I will have a
drink. All this talking has left my throat feeling parched.'

Stephanie reached for the bottle of
tangerine liqueur.

'No, thank you.' The old lady shook her
head. 'I myself am not particularly fond of that liqueur.' She put
her wheelchair in gear and rode over to the table en chiffoniere,
which held the drinks tray. Lifting a decanter, she unstoppered it
and poured herself a small glassful. Then she stoppered it
again.

'What is that?' Stephanie asked.

'This?' Zaza held up her glass. 'An almond
liqueur.'

'I've never tasted that. Could I try
some?'

Zaza smiled. 'I fear you would not like it.
It really is an acquired taste.' Then she lifted the drink as
though in a toast. 'To the natural order of things,' she said. 'To
life and to death - and eternity be damned!' Then she raised the
glass to her lips and drained it.

'Nooooooooo/' There was a guttural bellowing
roar as sudden comprehension dawned on Eduardo. He leaped from his
chair and lunged at Zaza, knocking the glass out of her hand. It
flew to the parquet and shattered, but it was too late.

Tlie glass was already empty.

Zaza convulsed. 'Forgive me, menino: she
whispered, and then she clutched her throat and a vast shudder
distorted her face.

'Grandmother,' Eduardo whispered. 'Oh,
Grandmother. Please, do not leave me alone!'

Zaza lowered her hand and gripped his arm
tightly. The pain was gone from her face, and she looked serenely
at peace. Her voice was raspy but soft. 'Do not be afraid of death,
my child,' she said. 'For what is more beautiful than eternal
peace?'

THIRTY

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Stephanie had never been so glad to see a
city as when the
Chrysalis
steamed into Rio the following
morning. She couldn't help but think of the yacht as a ship of the
dead. Knowing the four bodies were stored in the on board morgue
chilled her.

She couldn't wait to get off.

'I just talked to Eduardo,' she told Johnny
when she came out on deck as the yacht was getting ready to dock.
'The official story being handed out is food poisoning.'

'Think the authorities'll believe it?'

'The de Veiga billions say they will. Half
the government's probably been on the payroll sometime or
other.'

'Right,' he said. 'I keep forgetting. They
practically own the country.'

'Also, Eduardo thinks it's just as well we
don't attend the funeral, and understands why we want to fly home
as soon as possible. He offered the use of a private jet.'

'What I hear, it's the only way to fly.'

'Well, I declined.'

Johnny shook his head and leaned on the
gold-plated railing with his good arm. He stared towards the quay.
'Already depriving me of the good life.'

She came up beside him and leaned her head
gently against his good shoulder and smiled at shore. 'And I was
always under the impression you were the world's oldest living Boy
Scout.'

'Yeah. Why use matches when you can rub two
sticks together.'

She glanced sideways at him. 'Anyway,
everything's arranged. A courier's already on his way from Si'tto
da Veiga with my passport, which Colonel Valerio had appropriated.
Someone will bring it on to the apartment. Now all that's left for
me to do is go there and pack, and then it's arrivederci, Rio.'

'Dock and fly,' he teased. 'Depriving me of
the Girl from Ipanema, too.'

She elbowed him in the side. 'I catch you
staring at one of those little chickies in their/zo dentals, you'll
have both arms in a sling.'

The
Chrysalis
was now a hundred yards
from the quay, lined up lengthwise with it, and the underwater
thrusters slowly moved the giant yacht sideways towards it.

'The marvels of technology,' Johnny
murmured. 'Whatever happened to tugboats?'

'Didn't you hear? They went the way of
LPs.'

'And telexes,' he said. 'Speaking of which,
while you pack, there are a few things I need to do, too. We'll
meet at the apartment later, okay?'

'And where are you off to?' she
demanded.

'Seeing to our airline tickets,' he said.
'You know, super-saver, super-discount coach? Plus, there're a few
other personal odds and ends I've got to take care of.'

'My, my, but you're a whirlwind of
activity,' she remarked drily. 'You must be making a speedy
recovery.'

'What can I tell you? Can't have my girl
saddled with a chain around her neck, right?'

Stephanie said, 'Do I detect your old
chauvinistic self making a comeback?'

'To know me,' he said, 'is to love me.'

The
Chrysalis
nudged sideways against
the quay, protected by rows of giant, sausage-shaped, white foam
fenders. Within moments, the big yacht was secured and the
blue-carpeted gangplank bridged ship with shore.

Stephanie waited until the police and morgue
attendants had boarded. Then she disembarked.

Eduardo caught up with her before she was
halfway down the gangplank.

'Stephanie!' He sounded breathless from
running.

She stopped and turned around, one hand
poised on the railing.

His eyes were moist and implacably sad. 'I
do not want us to part like this,' he said in a low, tortured
voice. 'Not after what we have shared . . . and been through
together.'

She stared at him wordlessly, a pain
wrenching her gut. It was all she could do to keep from crying.

He said, if it is all right with you, when
your passport arrives I will deliver it personally to the
apartment. We deserve to say our goodbyes the way they should be
said.'

Stephanie nodded, if you're sure,' she said
softly, it looks like you have your hands full here.'

His smile was fleeting, sad and wistful.
'Nevertheless, I could never forgive myself if I did not drop by. I
do not want you to remember me by what happened on the island and
on board this yacht. What we shared was much more than that.'

She looked deep into his dark eyes. 'Yes,'
she said huskily, 'it was.'

'I am glad you feel that way.' He glanced
past her, down at the quay, and cringed. It was especially busy,
with police cars parked this way and that, ambulances and
limousines waiting, a crowd of onlookers and reporters held at bay.
'How quickly the vultures smell blood,' he murmured. Then he drew
his gaze back in and looked at her questioningly. 'What will you do
once you get back to New York?'

'What will I do?' She turned and stared off
into the distance, at the white highrise buildings packed like
stacked sugar cubes at the feet of the humpbacked emerald hills
covered with favelas. A faraway look came into her eyes. 'I'll try
to pick up where I left off,' she said softly. 'I'll try to be my
old self again.'

On the way to the apartment, Stephanie first
had her driver stop at Grupo da Veiga's pink-and-white mansion in
the Centro district. She told him to wait while she hurried inside
to her office. She cleared out her desk of personal items and put
them in two shopping bags she found in the closet.

I'm glad Lia's not in, she thought. I hate
farewells. There's something so final about them.

Stephanie felt a twinge of guilt. She also
hated disappearing like a thief into the night. The least a
co-worker deserved was a personal note of thanks. She nodded to
herself and quickly scribbled one to Lia. She decided that when
Eduardo came over to the apartment later, she would recommend he
promote her assistant to the position she herself was vacating.

Lia will make a good replacement, Stephanie
thought. And the

promotion will be the best goodbye present I
could give her.

Leaving the note on Lia's desk, she weighed
it down with a paperweight and lugged the two shopping bags of
personal things out to the limousine.

'Avenida Atlantica,' she told the driver
when she was settled inside the car.

'The scenic route or the fastest?' he
asked.

She leaned her head back on the headrest.
'The fastest,' she said wearily, and shut her eyes.

She didn't want to see any more of Rio. The
city had lost its lustre.

In her mind, she was already long gone.

Stephanie unlocked the penthouse door. The
terrace doors in the living room were open, and a sudden
cross-draught rushed through the apartment, banging the door shut
behind her.

'Hel-lo-oooo?' she called out, putting the
shopping bags down. 'Barbie? Waldo? Anybody home? I'm
baaaaa-aaaack.'

Silence.

For an instant, the silence made her feel an
irrational trickle of fear. And then a familiar voice squawked,
'Steph! Steph! I love you, Steph! Waldo wants a crack-ER!'

Stephanie smiled. Good old Waldo, she
thought, dropping her keys on the foyer table. She went through the
living room, pushed aside the billowing floor-length curtains, and
stepped out through the open sliding doors. She could see Waldo's
cage at the far end of the lushly planted terrace. Smiling, she
headed towards it, past the tooth-edged Japanese aucubas and the
thriving kentia palms and potted citrus trees.

Her clicking heels slowed on the terracotta
tiles as she neared the cage, a frown suddenly marring her
features, her nerves inexplicably quivering. Something was not
quite right. Waldo should have been climbing the bars excitedly.
Should have been ruffling his feathers and preening. Should have
been eyeing her intently, head cocked to one side.

'Hiiiii . . . hiiiii . . .' Waldo's
strident, ear-piercing screech continued even as Stephanie reached
the cage.

Suddenly she clapped a hand over her mouth,
stifling the low, strangled moan which rose from deep inside her.
Her stomach lurched and she felt weak and dizzy; a giant bass drum
seemed to pound relentlessly in her ears.

For there at the bottom of the cage was her
pet parrot - her

Waldo - lying motionless on his back, his
stiff legs straight up in the air.

'Aw, nooooo,' Stephanie said aloud. 'Nooooo
. . The trickle of fear she had felt when she had first come into
the apartment had swelled to icy, full-blown terror. Her legs
wobbled, seemed to want to give out under her.

' Waldo wants a crack-er! Wal-do wants a
crack-er! Eh-eh-eh-eh- eh-eh-eh -

She spun around, stood there swaying
uncertainly. If Waldo was dead, where was his voice coming
from?

'Steph! Steph! How are you? How are
you?'

Stephanie turned around slowly, her eyes
sweeping the tame jungle of potted trees and plants.

'I love you, Steph!'

His voice was coming from there - behind
that thicket of palms!

Every instinct told her to get away from
here! To run -flee!

' Waldo wants a crack-er!'

She quailed outwardly. It was as if someone
had clamped a strip of steel around her chest and was inexorably
tightening it, trying to crush her. Air. Why couldn't she get
enough air? Why was she rasping and wheezing, fighting for every
breath.

'Steph! Steph! I love you, Steph!'

Flee! Run! Get off this terrace, out of this
apartment -

No. First she had to find out where his
voice was coming from! I have to see for myself', she thought. She
found her legs and stumbled past the palm fronds -

'Hiiiii. . . hiiiii -': the volume
earsplitting.

She uttered another involuntary cry. A tape
recorder! Waldo's words and squawks were coming from a cassette
recorder! Heedless of the razor-edged palms, she lunged at the
cassette player and punched frantically at all the buttons until
she hit STOP.