Harlem Redux (31 page)

“Are you sure?”

His expression hardened. She went on.

“As cliche as it might sound, it’s fair to say that your fate is at the mercy of my pen. If you’re nice to me, I’ll make sure no one knows who I’m writing about. Think it over.”

“There’s nothing to think about. A little notoriety never hurt anyone.”

“It would destroy you.”

“I would survive.”

“Not without help.” She sighed, exasperated. “My God, why do I like you so much? Think, David.
Think.
Someday, they’re going to find out, whether I write about it or not. Someday, you’re going to need my help. The moment you came back to town and confirmed where you’d been—the moment you stepped foot on that train in Philadelphia—you put yourself in danger. You can’t stay in Harlem—not for long—not without a protector. I can be that person. I can be your advocate.”

“And what would Nikki say? Or do you have a
deal
with him too?”

“Don’t be cynical. It doesn’t fit you.”

“Nella, I am not for sale—not at any price. I’ll get what I need from someone else, some other way.”

“There is no one else. There
is
no other way. And payback is always a bitch.”

“Your bill is paid, lady. I got information on my sister and you got information on me. We are
even.”

He grabbed his hat and went to the door.

“You make it hard to be your friend,” she said.

Something in her tone stopped him. He paused in the doorway and turned around. He saw her standing there in the middle of her vast, overblown room and it was as though a veil had lifted. He saw her for what she was: Not just a spoiled dilettante craving illicit attention, but a lonely figure surrounded by the cold baubles of wealth. He understood her frantic partying, drinking, and socializing with blacks: Like him, like Gem, she was trying to escape her demons by taking flight into an alternate reality. He also knew the answer to his earlier question: Nikki had indeed been away too long, and if he guessed right, that was often the case.

David slowly recrossed the room. They stood for a moment, facing one another. Then he took her by her shoulders and a little light of hope entered her eyes. He drew her to him and then kissed her very gently––on her forehead.

“Good night,” he said. “And sweet dreams.”

She leaned against him and moaned. But when he pulled away, she didn’t try to stop him. At the door, he turned back once more and gave her a little smile. This time, he tipped his hat and said:

“When Nikki comes back, would you tell him something for me?”

She looked at him, a little sad, a little surprised. “Yeah. What’s that?”

“That I said you’re a hell of a woman ... and that he’s a fool.” He thought of Rachel. “He can take it from me: It takes one to know one.”

21.
 
The Lost Weekend

On Wednesday morning, Annie knocked on Sweet’s office door. “Mr. Jameson, this here letter just come for you.”

He nodded, giving her permission to approach. He still hadn’t made up his mind what to do about her. She moved about the house with the familiarity of a family member. Her presence was pervasive. He’d realized early on that if not handled properly, she could be a threat. He’d hoped to make her closeness to Lilian work to his advantage. He’d even rehired the old woman after she had been fired. Now, Annie would be loyal to him too, he’d thought. She’d seen how sick her mistress was. She could testify to Lilian’s mental state as having deteriorated to a dangerous level. Should the need arise, she could also testify to his husbandly devotion. Who’d be a better character witness than the woman whose dedication to Lilian was long-proven?

Of course, he’d only need such a witness if questions were raised. But why should anyone doubt that Lilian had committed suicide? Lilian’s own behavior made her suicide likely. Lilian was a witness against herself.

He’d been shocked when Annie found David’s address and he’d never anticipated David’s tenacity. Worst of all—and he could’ve kicked himself for this—he’d never foreseen David’s attachment to the house.

In hindsight, it seemed obvious. Once Annie found that address, the battle for the house was inevitable.

Sweet told himself that he really wouldn’t have any trouble if the matter went to court. His legal claim was straight and clear. But he would—
naturally
—prefer to avoid court if he could.

Sweet took the letter, thinking that this could be the answer. He dismissed Annie with a curt nod, watched her leave, then ripped the envelope open. It was a response from the operative in Philadelphia. He leaned forward into the light and read the opening lines.

They were good. He smiled. Very good.

Charlie Epps seemed to be out of town. He was certainly never home. It was Thursday. David had been by Epps’s house three times now—morning, noon, and night—and never gotten an answer.

He’d been back to the Renaissance Pharmacy, too, but the drug analysis still wasn’t ready. In the meantime, he’d had another couple of nasty run-ins with Sweet and he’d received the distinct impression that Sweet was up to something. He was tempted to simply have someone come, pack Sweet’s things, and move them to a hotel room. But as inviting as the idea might be, it would be only a temporary solution. He needed something permanent. That led his thoughts back to Lilian ... and Gem. He telephoned Nella and she agreed to see him late that evening.

“Let’s make a new deal,” he said at her apartment. “You think you’ve found a story in me—but your story doesn’t have a context and it doesn’t have an ending. I’ll give you both. I’ll talk to you, if you talk to me.”

“So you
are
willing to sell yourself.”

“To sell my history, yes. But
not
my name.”

She reflected. “All right, but there’s one thing you should learn about me. I have ears everywhere. So don’t try to hold out on me.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“I heard about your meeting with Adrian,” she went on, “and I know what was said. I also know that you went to Newark to check Sweet’s whereabouts the night Lilian died, and that you’re having a druggist test the medicine Sweet gave her. One plus one equals two, my boy: You’ve got it in for Jameson Sweet.”

He refused to give her the pleasure of showing either surprise or dismay. Instead, he asked: “Did you suspect what Snyder told me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “It surprised the hell out of me. The little bitch lied to me—and I believed her.”

“You still know Gem better than anyone else—even better than Snyder. Can you figure out why she left him? Snyder loved her. He’s attractive, urbane, witty. He has money and position—”

“But he would’ve never gained acceptance among Harlem’s elite—”

“All the more reason. Gem is a rebel and she loves mavericks. Why did she reject him? And why did she insist that the breakup be so public?”

“I really couldn’t say—but even if I could, I wouldn’t tell you, not until you tell me what’s going on inside that handsome head of yours. What have you got against Sweet and how did you get it?”

“I believe Sweet killed Lilian. His motives: greed for Lilian’s money and love for Gem; his method: an as-yet-unidentified poison; and his opportunity: one lonely weekend when everyone, including his victim, thought he was away at a Movement conference.”

“Your proof?”

He glanced away. “I don’t have any. Not yet.”

“So you have nothing but bitter suspicions.”

He looked back. “Suspicion, supposition: Without them, no investigation would ever begin.”

“Listen to me. Lilian is dead. You can’t bring her back. You want to prove she was murdered and you want to blame Sweet. That’s all very well, but if you’re honest, you’ll admit that there’s more evidence—hard evidence—for suicide than for murder. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that Lilian
was
murdered. Do you really want to dredge up the whole thing? It would mean a lot of unpleasant publicity. How do you think the Movement would feel about having one of its most talented attorneys accused of such a miserable crime? Given your history, do you think Harlem would stand by you or stand by him? Then take Sweet. He’s a dirty player. If I could find out about you, so could he. Is that what you want? What would it do to that proud family name of yours? Lilian’s death would be forgotten in the scandal over your crime.”

“I have to get at the truth.”

“The truth? Don’t disappoint me by turning into a hypocrite. People who live in glass houses should never throw stones.”

“Are you really telling me that I should let him get away with it?”

“I told you: I’m your friend. I only want to make sure you know what you might be getting into.”

“I do know.”

“I don’t think so.”

There seemed to be no point in staying longer. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. He took up his hat and coat and thanked her for her time. He was almost out the door when she asked: “Do you like bedtime stories? I’m good at them.”

He turned around; she chuckled wickedly at his expression.

“Don’t worry. I’ve lost interest in you. You’re no good to a live woman, anyway. You’re too busy with the dead. Sit down. Over there.” She waved imperiously toward the divan across the room. “If you won’t let me tuck you in, at least let me give you something to dream about.”

David glanced at the divan, then at Nella. Slowly, he crossed the room and sat down.

“Listen carefully. What I’m about to tell you could save you a lot of trouble.”

She lit herself a fresh Chesterfield and played with her lighter.

“After Gem left, I became curious about Lilian and her husband. I invited them to dinner. Gem had told me that she and Lilian were identical twins, so I should have been prepared. I wasn’t. I was shocked and intrigued. I’m afraid my manners weren’t very good. I stared at Lilian the whole evening. At first, it was as though Gem were there, but of course, she wasn’t. She was thousands of miles away, across the sea. It didn’t take long to see the differences. As Gem said, it was mainly a matter of personality. Lilian was shy and diffident. She let her husband speak first and never contradicted him. A couple of times, she opened her mouth to comment and he silenced her. It took no more than a glance and she would simmer down. It was terrible. I could have hated him myself—almost. But I have a weakness for good-looking men. And when they can be disarmingly charming, well then ...”

Nella flicked a bit of ash from her dress.

“Anyway, Nikki invited Sweet to sit by the fire and enjoy a coffee. Lilian and I retired to another room. I hoped that she would open up when we were alone. But she was even more reticent, if that’s possible. She answered my questions with monosyllables and wouldn’t look me straight in the eye. I decided there must be something seriously wrong. I told her that if there was anything I could ever do for her, she should call me right away. She nodded but said nothing. I left it at that.

“I was surprised to hear from her about two months later. It was in May, I believe. Remembering my promise, I asked her if anything was wrong. No, she said, there wasn’t. She sounded quite gay, actually. She asked if she could come out and visit. I was thrilled and very curious. I told her I was giving a party in Amagansett that evening. She was welcome, of course. Given what Gem had told me about Lilian—and what I’d seen myself that evening—I didn’t think she’d come. You can’t imagine my surprise when she did. She was dressed beautifully. Her style was entirely different from Gem’s, but it was every bit as effective. She had a touching innocence that made one want to protect her. In her own way, Lilian could be as devastatingly manipulative as Gem. It was a wonderful discovery.