Keepsake (35 page)

“Rob, I don’t know—”

“You’re okay,” he said, and, supporting her tightly around the waist, helped her step into the shower. She shivered as the
warm water struck her naked body; he held her close. He gathered up a bar of soap and gently began massaging her back with
it. She pressed herself against him and shuddered, and then she began to cry.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

Her body convulsed against his into loud, wracking sobs. He held her close, continuing the gentle massaging of his soapy hands
over her neck, her scalp, and the supple muscles of her back.

When she’d cried herself out and seemed more relaxed, he soaped up a washcloth and smoothed it over her body from head to
toe. He tried to prevent himself from becoming aroused, but this was impossible. He wondered if the
killer had become aroused at the thought of killing her, and the idea that he might have made Rob feel dirty, too. He scrubbed
his own body as well; as if it could wash away the evil that had enveloped them all.

“Daddy?”

The voice was low and groggy, a little plaintive, a little uncertain, but Christian leapt to his feet. He leaned over her.
One of her hands was moving, and her eyelids, barely visible in the swath of head bandages, were fluttering.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here, I’m here.”

“Daddy, where am I?” She sounded scared. Her eyes came open, then shut again against the bright ICU lighting. “My head hurts.”

“You’re in the hospital. But you’re going to be okay, Kate.” Christian sat on the edge of her bed and took her small hand
in his. Her fingers clutched convulsively.

“What am I doing in the hospital?” She sounded astonished by the idea.

“Never mind, sweetie, just rest. We can talk about it later.”

“I want to know now,” she insisted, and Christian found himself smiling with relief. She was, thank God, her normal contrary
and impatient self. She sounded alert and clearheaded.

“You got shot, Kate,” he told her. “Probably by the same guy who murdered your grandmother. Fortunately, in your case, his
aim was off. The bullet grazed your skull, which is why your head hurts. But it didn’t cause any significant damage.”

“Someone tried to murder me?” She thought about it for a moment. “Wow.”

“Do you remember anything, Kate?”

Her expression changed from wonder to fear. “April. What happened to April? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s okay. Your going to her apartment when you did put you in danger, but it probably saved her life.”

“She’s not dead? You’re not lying to me, Daddy, are you?”

“No, I swear to you. April’s fine.”

“And I saved her life?”

He smiled and kissed her gently on the cheek. “You did indeed. You’re quite a heroine, as a matter of fact.”

“You think so?”

Oh, God!
Did she think he wasn’t proud of her? Hearing the uncertainty in her voice, he remembered the ways he’d failed her, the ways
he simply hadn’t been there for her. Things were going to be different from now on. “I’m very proud of you, sweetheart,” he
said.

She broke into a smile. “I love you, Daddy.”

He hugged her as tightly as all the tubing and monitors would allow.

April stood at the window in her office looking out over the city. In the background one of Rina’s audiotapes was playing.
In an earnest, upbeat tone Rina was saying:

What a mistake we make when we believe ourselves to be buffeted by fate! The truth is, our destiny is in our own hands. We
become who and what we are because of the choices we make. Not big, momentous choices, but the little unconscious habitual
decisions that we make over and over every day.

We make these decisions because of our beliefs about ourselves and each other. If, for example, I believe for whatever reason
that I am lazy, disorganized, and incompetent, I will act in a manner that is lazy, disorganized, and incompetent. What you
are to be, you are in the process of becoming. The role you act is the role you own.

The place where you have arrived in your life is entirely logical. You placed yourself upon the road that led there a very
long time ago. There is no mystery about the condition
of your finances. There is no mystery about your professional success or your personal relationships. Where you are now is
where you ordained yourself to be.

And if you are not satisfied
—
as most of us aren’t, at some point in our lives
—
there is only one person who can do something about that. That person is you. You can change your life. You can reshape your
destiny. You can take control of your own power and recognize the joy and the vitality of your own existence. You can change
all your negative beliefs about yourself. You are not trapped, you are not helpless! As long as there is breath in your body
and determination in your heart, you can still have everything you’ve ever dreamed of and be whatever it is you really want
to be!

She sounded so positive, April thought. She believed what she was preaching. She spoke as if she had been there, done that.
As if she had intimate knowledge of exactly what it felt like to be powerless.

How could this be?

April reached out a finger and pressed the button to stop the tape. Then she rested her chin in her hands and stared at the
faded photograph in the tin frame that her mother had left to her. She had been ridiculously attached to the picture. She
carried it to work with her in the morning and home at night, setting it carefully on the table beside her bed. She studied
it often, as if it were the key to the mystery of Rina de Sevigny.

Mother and daughter. Waitress and brat leaning against their dilapidated summer cottage. Had Rina felt powerless then, during
the summer when she’d successfully seduced the president of the United States?

Had she felt powerless when she’d convinced Armand
de Sevigny, scion of a wealthy, snobbish family to take her as his wife?

When had Rina ever felt powerless?

Why had she started Power Perspectives in the first place? Why had she needed it?

Dammit, I need to think!

April got up, went to the closet, and grabbed a nylon athletic bag. She removed a T-shirt and a pair of running shorts and
changed into them. Then she pinned up her hair and covered it with a Boston Red Sox cap.

She left her office. Blackthorn’s orders were that she should stay in. Ever since the attack in her apartment five days ago,
he and his staff had hovered over her constantly.

But it was a beautiful summer day, and she was so tired of looking over her shoulder and being afraid.

Carla’s gaze followed her as April passed her post and headed for the elevator. She did a double take and jumped up. “Hey!
Almost didn’t recognize you in that get-up. Where’re you going? You didn’t tell me you were going out today.”

“I didn’t know,” April replied as she stepped into the elevator car.

Carla followed her. She patted her pocket—probably checking her gun. “So where are we headed?”

“Central Park. I need some exercise.”

“No way,” Carla said. “Too dangerous.”

“Look, I can’t stay cooped up forever. It’s been nearly a week and there’s been no sign of the guy.”

“He’s out there,” Carla said grimly. “I can feel it.”

“Well, you didn’t recognize me for a minute there. Let’s hope he doesn’t, either.”

“You need exercise, we’ll secure a gym for you, for chrissake.”

“I’m going to Central Park.”

Muttering, Carla followed.

The park was crowded as usual during the warm bright days of summer. April walked fast, got well out in front of Carla, then
quickly put on the rollerblades that she’d hidden in her athletic bag. Then she folded up the nylon bag and stuffed it into
her back pocket.

As she was getting ready to move, she caught sight of Carla entering the park behind her from Fifth Avenue. Giving her a jaunty
wave, she pushed off. Carla yelled something at her and began to run.

“Gotcha!” April called over her shoulder and pushed off.

It felt terrific as she skated by a crowd of teenage bladers who were performing for each other. She cruised along a drive
with bikers and other rollerbladers toward the center of the park. On the broad expanses of Sheep Meadow, college-age kids
were playing Frisbee. Others were lying about, absorbing the summer sun.

She doubled back past the band shell where a single would-be actor was reciting Shakespeare to an indifferent crowd, past
the fountain and the boathouse on the pond, and pumped up the slope that led toward the Ramble. The park there was sheltered
and wild. Almost forestlike, with trees thick with their summer leaves. If someone wanted to attack her, this would be an
ideal spot. But she was moving very fast, and unless he was on skates himself, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. Carla
had long ago vanished into the distance.

To hell with him! I won’t live the rest of my life afraid!

The rhythmic feeling of her own muscles alive and at work was very calming. She got into the rhythm and let it carry her.
The rhythm helped her to center herself and bring the world back into focus.

Seize your own power! Let go of fear!

Had Rina believed what she had preached? There was every indication that she had. Everybody who’d come in contact with her
since the beginning of Power Perspectives insisted that she had been sincere. It must be true. Why else had she cared about
people like Kate and Jessie Blackthorn? How had the same woman who had abandoned her daughter inspired so much loyalty and
love?

There is no mystery about your professional success or your personal relationships. You can reshape your destiny.

If what she said was right, then there was no mystery about the people who loved Rina… nor about the one who had killed her.
No mystery at all.

The place where you have arrived in your life is a logical one because you placed yourself upon the road that led there a
very long time ago.

Why had Rina been successful? Why had she been killed? Were the answers to the two questions related somehow?

There was sense to be made of this, surely, if only she looked at it the right way.

No one attacked April in the Ramble. She continued to move fast, but she did not look over her shoulder. But when she emerged
safely on the east side of the park, near the Metropolitan Museum of Art, she looked back at her imaginary pursuers and laughed
out loud with the joy of taking a risk and winning.

Winded from the hilly run, April sat down on a bench and took off her rollerblades. She unfolded the nylon athletic bag and
dropped the rollerblades in it. She exited the
park and walked down Fifth Avenue at a leisurely pace. What had happened to Carla? She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought
of Blackthorn’s assistant struggling to keep up with a wildwoman on skates.

As she passed the museum she noticed that one of the side doors was open and a truck was pulled up there. Crates were being
carried into the place—a traveling exhibition, probably. One crate, made of simple wooden slats, contained nothing but empty,
although ornate, picture frames. She was reminded of the framing demonstration she and Kate had witnessed at the museum on
the afternoon they’d visited together. Kate, thank God, was home from the hospital and doing fine. “Why did you stay in my
kitchen after I’d told you to leave?” she’d asked her.

“I figured you had a lover,” Kate said calmly. “I was investigating to find out who he was.”

As far as she knew, the identity of her lover was one mystery that Kate had not yet solved.

“Dammit, woman, how could you take such a risk?”

“Don’t yell at me, please.”

“You deserve to be yelled at,” Blackthorn said that night when he arrived at the office to take over from the still-very-angry
Carla. “You deliberately ran out on Carla, making it impossible for her to do her job.”

“I needed to get some exercise. Can I help it if Carla couldn’t keep up?”

“You’re acting like an idiot!”

“No, I’m not, Rob. Even if he knows how to rollerblade, which I doubt, I’m sure the killer wasn’t conveniently carrying a
pair along with him. I’m sick of huddling indoors and I’m tired of having a panic attack every
time I venture into the fresh air! I can’t live like that. I won’t. It’s time we brought this whole thing to a head. It’s
time to confront them and see who cracks.”

“If they haven’t cracked so far, there’s no reason to think—”

“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe this isn’t just as stressful for the murderer as it is for me. More so, maybe. Besides,
I’m beginning to think my mother was right about some of the things she preached. Seizing your power. Taking control of your
own destiny. Dammit, Rob, if I’m going to continue in this job, I’ve got to find out once and for all whether I believe in
her principles.”

“Believing in her own principles brought Rina de Sevigny to an early grave.”

“Maybe so. But if we’re to believe what she says about her own personal transformation, she would have died a lot sooner if
she hadn’t found something to believe in. She was going to kill herself, remember? And it occurs to me now that we know that,
but we don’t know why. She supposedly had everything. But she wasn’t happy. She had to transform her life, for godsake. Why?”

Blackthorn shrugged. “Good point. You’re right. We don’t know the answer to that. I’ll bet her autobiography would have told
us why.”

“Exactly. And maybe the killer knows that. Maybe the manuscript is important not for what it reveals about Rina’s clients,
but for what it reveals about Rina herself.”

“Maybe. But there are too many damn maybe’s in this case. Too many theories and not enough facts.” He glanced at his watch.
“I hope you’re through here for the day because it’s getting late. I’m hungry and I want to go home.”

He was definitely in a pissy mood tonight. But April
was determined not to be cowed. She was still in a good mood as a result of “seizing her power” this afternoon.