Little Death by the Sea (8 page)

Instead, she’d come home to shower and eat
alone. She fingered the brief postcard absently. A bill from
Macy’s, the electric bill, and a postcard from Cyprus.

It was just like she’d told Darla. She’d been
stupid and she’d gotten hurt. She looked at the postcard again.

Dear Maggie -Hope this finds you well. Having
a bit of a holiday in

Cyprus...and an adventure too, I must say.
How is little Nicole?

Doing well, I trust? Take care of yourself,
then—

Best regards, Roger Bentley.

Maggie caressed the little dog-eared
postcard, an artist’s pretty blue and white rendition of the city
of Paphos in watercolor on the picture side. Even bloody Roger felt
pity enough to drop her a line, she thought.

The phone rang and she debated whether to let
the answering machine handle it. She was in no mood to have to be
polite or social. On the other hand, it could be some poor,
unsuspecting telemarketing rep and that might prove to be just the
thing for her current temper. She picked up the phone before the
answering machine engaged.

“Yes?” she snapped into the receiver.

“Mademoiselle Newberry? This is Margaret
Newberry?”

Maggie held her breath, then,

“Laurent?”

“
Comment?”

“Who...who is this?”

She sat up straight on the couch, the
postcard fluttering from her fingers.

“
Je m’ap
...I am Gerard Dubois. You are
knowing me, yes? I am Elise’s boyfriend?
Votre
...your
sister?”

Good God! Gerard. Was he in Atlanta? Maggie
stood up slowly, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, the
hand holding the phone was immediately clammy.

“What do you think I want, do you think?” The
voice was high and nasty. Maggie dully detected a fuzziness to it
too, as if alcohol had been the
aperitif
to the call. “I
want my little
bèbè
that you and your family stealed from
Gerard. You are surprised, yes? You are not thinking Gerard would
come for his little girl?”

“You can’t prove anything.” Maggie felt the
panic creep over her like a painful acid. This cannot be happening,
she thought with horror.

“I am not needing to prove anything,
Mademoiselle. I have talking to
Monsieur
Roger Bentley, yes?
You are familiar, yes?
Monsieur
Bentley?” Maggie’s eyes
flicked automatically to the postcard on the floor. “He is telling
me that you have Nicole. Is true,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Maggie suddenly understood why he was calling
her. This phone call had nothing to do with getting the child back.
It had to do only with how much the Newberrys wanted to keep
her.

“You want money.”

“And Elise said you were so stuupeeed.”

“Shut-up about my sister, you filth!” Maggie
was trembling with rage and almost didn’t hear the click as the man
disconnected the line. “Hello?” Shaken, she dropped the receiver
back into its cradle and sat down hard onto the couch.

Oh, God, now what was she going to do? She
couldn’t contact him and he was going to try to take Nicole away
and she couldn’t even go to the police. (“Exactly how did the child
come into the United States, Miss Newberry?”) She covered her eyes
with her hands and hunched over her knees.

The phone rang again and she snatched it
up.

“Yes?”

“I will not have you speaking to me like
that. You are a pig, comprenez? Pig? That you steal
m’enfant
. And now, you will give me five thousand American
dollars from your rich
papa
, I do not care...you will give
me it
ce soir
. Immediately! You are understanding me?”

Maggie’s mind raced: her father would still
be at the club. Did he have that kind of money lying around? The
banks wouldn’t open until nine tomorrow.

“Where?” She watched the hands on her living
room clock spasmodically twitch off the seconds across its face. It
looked vaguely malevolent to her now.

A high-pitched giggle assaulted her from the
other end. Then:

“You will come with the money to the car park
at the Lenox Mall, you understand?
Les grandes magazins
? The
shopping stores?”

“How will I--?”

“Park your automobile. Gerard will find you.
Perhaps when I find you, I will screw you first, eh? And then you
give me the money. Ha! Ha! You will pay Gerard to be screwed!”

Maggie felt perspiration form on her face.
The man might be insane, she thought. Could he have somehow gotten
into the country with a gun? Could he have gotten one since
arriving?

“What time?” she said, her stomach twisting
in nausea.

“Three hours.
Exactement
.”

Maggie looked at the wrought iron clock
again.

“Twelve o’clock,” she said.

He hung up.

Maggie took a deep breath, then picked up the
phone again and dialed the number of her father’s club. Would he
have the money? What if he didn’t have it handy? Should she call
Brownie? How can our customs and immigration people let such scum
into the country? Don’t they have eyes? Does this Gerard-monster
look normal? Does he look like some sort of safe, boring French
tourist or something? Should she bring a gun? Her dad would have
one. God! She thought suddenly: she couldn’t tell her father the
full story behind why she needed the money. He’d never let her meet
this creep all alone in a darkened mall parking lot.

“Hello? Cherokee Country Club.”

“Yes, could you please see if my father is
there tonight? John Newberry?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Newberry is upstairs.
One moment and I’ll connect you.”

“Thanks.” How were they going to make sure
Gerard Dubois didn’t bother them again? How were they going to get
him out of their lives permanently?

Then, her dad’s strong, gentle voice was on
the line.

“Hello, sweetheart? What’s up?”

3

The towers surrounding Lenox Square, the
Southeast’s once super-eminent shopping mall, loomed over all
avenues leading to the retail complex. Mingling with the massive,
full-leafed trees that lined nearly every street in Atlanta were
the “me-too” office structures, strange testimony to an
architectural confusion the city seemed intent to promote. The
combination of trees and towers gave the part of Peachtree Road
that led directly to the front of Lenox Square a feeling of
secrecy, as if anything could be hiding behind them, from an
upscale book store to a fast food restaurant, to a maniac with a
hunger for killing.

Maggie left the lights and late-night traffic
of Piedmont Avenue and, turning right, drove slowly down the
subdued stretch of Peachtree Road in front of the Financial Center
and the Swissotel.

She glanced briefly at her purse in the seat
next to her. Five thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills.
Almost like her father had expected to need it handy one day.

“Are you sure this will be enough to help
your friend, Maggie?”

“Yes, Dad. I’ll be able to give you full
details later.”

“I understand.”

“It has to do with Elise, Dad,” she’d
blurted.

“I understand, Maggie. I trust you that you,
personally, are in no danger?”

“Of course not.”

“Very well. Call me when it’s done.”

And he hadn’t wanted any more than that.

Maggie shivered. A part of her was sorry that
he didn’t want to know it all. That he hadn’t demanded the truth.
But he really didn’t want to know. He wanted to throw money at it,
to trust Maggie that this would be the end of it or, if not the
end, then that money would handle it again next time.
Did she
really believe that about him?
She stared at the slightly
winding, too-dim road ahead. Elise would have believed it.

Maggie waited at the light and glanced up
briefly at the Swissotel which ascended to the west of the shopping
complex and wondered if Gerard Dubois was registered there. More
likely, he was settled in at one of the pimp-cribs downtown where
shootings and drug overdoses were as prevalent as clean towels.
Probably more so.

Sitting at the traffic light, a movement
caught her eye, like shifting vapors behind the trees whose unruly
branches were so long they reached out and nearly touched her car.
Would Gerard come on foot, she wondered? She stared into the somber
web of trees and thought she could make out the form of someone
standing there, watching her. Within seconds the light changed and
the half-seen figure dissolved into the deepest shadows until she
wasn’t sure she’d seen anything at all. Slowly, she turned into the
nearest parking area of Lenox Square.

Her eyes darted to the full width of the
parking lot as she drove cautiously to the building entrance. There
were only a few other cars in the lot, the mall having closed two
hours earlier.

She decided she was too nervous to park very
far away from the mall itself. Even as a darkened, abandoned hulk,
it seemed to serve as a source of security to her, perhaps from
years of mindless, depression-solving shopping junkets there. She
peered closely at the nearest car—about a hundred yards away—as she
parked her Mitsubishi. There didn’t appear to be anyone in it, but
of course, he could be hiding, crouched down on the floor
boards.

A cold wave of fear fluttered over her.
Carefully, while scanning the dimmed parking lot, her fingers
fumbled for the small leather-encased tube of mace she kept at the
end of her key chain. The parking area was almost quiet. Only the
faint hum of traffic from Piedmont came filtering down to her in
the little cement valley.

Don’t these places have mega security
?
But there seemed to be no activity, no movement anywhere, as if,
when the doors had closed at ten and the last shopper had finally
been expelled, the whole shopping arcade had been vacated by
managers, restaurant workers, maintenance and clerks as well.

She had tried to call Brownie earlier but
there was no answer. Probably on one of those “sexless” dates he
insists he has, she thought. She was sorry now she hadn’t left a
message on his machine. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and
felt the knots in her stomach clench and unclench and clench
again.

Would this be the end of it? Would he just
take the money and fade away? Was Roger okay? What about Laurent?
Does Gerard know Laurent too? Her stomach tightened again.

She heard the car before she saw it. Sitting
bolt upright, clutching her mace tightly, she held her breath as
the car approached. It crept slowly towards her, its headlights
turned off. Inside, Maggie could see two people, one
head—considerably lower than the driver’s—looked like it belonged
to a small child. For one irrational moment she thought:
my God,
he’s taken Nicole
! The dark-colored car pulled up next to her
and stopped.

Maggie gaped at the car’s driver. His face
was illuminated by one foggy streetlight overhead and Maggie could
see, with surprise, that Gerard was handsome. She was stunned that
the man who would destroy her sister, torment her niece, and
blackmail her entire family—could actually be something other than
physically repulsive. Even reminding herself of Ted Bundy’s
precedent didn’t change the mixed feelings she now had as she
looked at the man.

“
Mademoiselle
?” His voice broke the
silence. High and ugly, it distorted his pleasant face and created
a leering visage of wickedness. “Gerard is here,
n’est-ce
pas
? You have the money?”

Afraid to take her eyes off him, Maggie
fumbled for the packet of bills in her purse and tossed it through
her window into his hands. Instantly, she started her car and
pushed the gear into place, ready to peel out and away from the
man.

“
Attendez
!” he shouted at her and she
thought for a moment he was going to get out of his car. The form
next to him, huddled in the shadows, hadn’t moved at all.

“You don’t have to count it,” she said
breathlessly. “Now, leave us alone, do you understand?” Maggie knew
her voice sounded frail and she hated herself for it.

He laughed, a shiny web of spittle forming on
his lips. How could Elise have loved this? Slept with this? Maggie
shivered, the hand on her stick shift still holding her tube of
mace.

“I give you a little something too, eh?” He
pushed his face through his driver’s side window, so close that
Maggie could smell the wine on his breath. She was suddenly angry
to think he had been out having dinner somewhere, enjoying a glass
of wine or two, while she’d been scraping up five thousand dollars
and worrying her father.

“Never contact us again. Do you understand?
We’ll call the police next time.”

He spat at her, a fleck of the spume grazed
her cheek as it splattered against her car door. Her foot slipped
from the clutch and the car stalled. Before she had time to
re-start it again, she saw Gerard lean over the child seated next
to him in the car, jerk open the passenger side door and push the
form out onto the parking lot tarmac.

“A little something I don’t want anymore.
Maybe you will like it now, no? With the compliments of Gerard
Dubois!” He slammed the door shut and drove off with a squeal of
tires. Maggie watched, shocked and aghast as he drove away, leaving
the lumpish bundle of clothes, arms and legs in a heap on the
ground. She stared at the body. It twitched slightly and then
moaned.

Quickly, Maggie jumped out of the car and ran
to the body of the woman on the ground. For now it was clear that
it was not a child at all.

“Hello, can I help you?” Maggie knelt next to
the woman and touched her shoulder gently.

The woman moaned and struggled to raise up on
one elbow. Maggie could see she’d scraped her arm in her forced
exit from Gerard’s car, but her hair hung in tangled sheets of
brown snarls, obscuring her face.