Murder Melts in Your Mouth (28 page)

“It didn't happen like that,” she said, but there was no vehemence in her voice. Brandi looked at the water.

“All right, out of the goodness of his heart, Hoyt got you a job here in Philadelphia.”

“Yes. But I've tried to make my own way ever since. I did my job, and I even tried to be active in the community. Hoyt helped me a little, I guess. He got me on the Music Academy board. But my boss at the TV station keeps saying that I have to improve my on-air performance or he might have to fire me. And they had to buy this expensive van for me, and now he says I need to think about their investment. How can I do a good job under that kind of pressure valve?”

“I know what you mean.”

She swept on as if I hadn't spoken. “My salary is pathetic. I have lots of expenses. Do you know how much it costs to keep your hair looking good for television? And all the other women—even the ones younger than me!—are getting face-lifts. So I needed more money from Hoyt.”

“He opened an investment account for you?”

“Yes.”

She had pressured him with her knowledge of his secret. Over and over, he must have paid for her silence. It must have been infuriating. But surely not a dire drain on his finances—not if he had stolen nearly a hundred million dollars.

Brandi said, “At the meeting at Lexie's office, they told me my account was empty. I couldn't believe he'd do that to me—irregardless of how I got the money in the first place. So I went back into the office to ask him why. But he was very upset. I guess it was the wrong time. He snapped.”

“And then what happened?”

“Why do I have to tell you? Lexie already explained, right? That's why you were so upset when you left her house the other night. I saw you. I saw you have the fight with that man outside her house.”

Brandi must have witnessed my argument with Michael, I realized. “You were watching?”

She nodded. “Lexie said you were asking questions, trying to figure out what happened.”

Surprised, I said, “You've spoken with Lexie?”

“A couple times. She wants me to keep quiet.”

“I don't understand.”

“She told you, didn't she?” Brandi turned to look at me again, her dark eyes wide.

With dread building in my chest, I said, “How about if you tell me, too?”

Brandi shook her head as if to dispel an ugly memory. “It all happened so fast. Lexie called all of Hoyt's clients to a meeting, so I went. And when she said he'd taken all our money, people got really upset. When Hoyt came into the room, everybody started yelling. I could see he was sorry for what he'd done. He really was. Giving all that money to charity? It was an ego thing, that's all. Who doesn't want to feel famous once in a while? He was doing nice things for people!”

“So everyone shouted at him…”

“Yes. That's when Hoyt punched her painting.”

“Why did he do that?”

“I don't know, but he did. And Lexie went crazy. She told everybody to get out of the room. But I stayed.”

“You stayed with Hoyt?”

She nodded. “And when Lexie came back—”

“Wait, Lexie left the room?”

“Yes, she went to call the police, and when she came back, Hoyt was—okay, he was really mad at me.”

“About what? Blackmailing him?”

“No, no, I said he should get some help. That he'd had problems all his life—you know, because of being a girl? Maybe he needed to see a doctor. And he said he was seeing plenty of doctors now. He didn't need any more doctors. Anyway, I kinda got hysterical. So he—he slapped me.”

I tried to imagine the scene. Shouting clients in the next room, Lexie leaving to phone the police. Brandi and Hoyt arguing.

Brandi said, “He was very upset. He grabbed my dress and—and pulled me partway out of my chair. He hit me.” She touched her face where Hoyt's hand must have struck her.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Lexie came back just as he slapped me.”

“Wait a minute—”

“She saw what he did.” Brandi dashed a tear from her eye. “It happened really fast. I don't know what she thought, but—”

“You're lying.”

“You know I'm not! She told you, didn't she? That's why you're trying to find somebody else to blame.” Brandi had begun to cry. Her face was blurred with tears. “But it wasn't me. I didn't do it. And it wasn't really her fault, either. It just happened.”

I knew what Lexie thought she'd seen as she reentered her office. A powerful man hurting a young, helpless woman.

“So you have to stop,” Brandi was saying. “You can't ask any more questions. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't my fault. You're just making it worse. And now that Hoyt's gone, I need to get money from someplace. So Lexie has to stay out of jail.”

“Brandi—”

I think she meant to hit the steering wheel with her fist. But she missed and struck the hand controls of the van. The vehicle jumped forward and crashed against the chain-link fence of the boat launch. Brandi grabbed the accelerator to stop it, but she pushed the throttle the wrong way. The engine roared, pushing the fence to its limit. The river rushed just beyond the hood of the van.

“Brandi, stop!” I unfastened my seat belt and lunged at her.

“I'm trying!”

The fence collapsed with a scream, and the van hurtled sideways down the concrete ramp, throwing me back into the passenger seat. The wheelchair came unmoored and slammed sideways, pinning me to the seat. Brandi thumped against me, too—deadweight as the van plunged down the launch ramp.

We hit the river with no splash, just a tremendous hissing roar. The nose of the van sank fast, and Brandi and I tumbled against the dashboard. Black water began to gush through the open window. Brandi screamed.

In slow motion, the van nose-dived into the darkness. The lighter rear end of the vehicle rose, tumbling both of us in a tangle against the windshield. Around us, the water sloshed as if in a washing machine. I lost all concept of up or down, just thrashed against the weight of Brandi and her heavy chair and the gushing black water. Libby's rubber boots filled with water, sandbags on my legs. I kicked free of them and strained for air.

“Help!” Brandi unsnapped her seat belt just as the water closed over her head.

Then the can of Diet Coke hit me in the head. I grabbed it without thinking.

But the water enveloped us. I took a breath just as it seized me.

I'm not sure how I found the half-rolled-down window. Maybe it was by the tiny red glow of the dashboard lights. But with one hand splayed against the window, I brought the can hard against the glass. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't see.

But I smashed the can with all my strength against the window. Once. Twice.

Again and again. With a slamming blow that took all my strength, it broke. Underwater, there was no sound of breaking glass, only an explosion of glittering chunks like puzzle pieces that swept past me on a surge of water. I smashed the remaining window with the can until it burst in my hand, instantly turning to flimsy aluminum, and the water ripped it from my grasp. Then a concussion—the engine or the water or my own bursting heart—as the van struck the bottom of the river with a terrible, shuddering impact.

My lungs were exploding. Brandi's hand clung to my ankle. But I felt her grip weaken and begin to slide away.

I coiled back and grabbed her arm. I kicked her free of the wheelchair. I dragged myself through the window and tried to yank her with me.

The darkness. The cold. The confusion of water, movement and heavy, heavy weight.

“My first husband proposed to me at a Burger King,” Libby said.

Michael's voice. “I promised him a beer later.”

“Can I go to Beverly Hills?”

“But here,” Tierney was saying, “I'm some kind of freak.”

“Maybe you and the Love Machine get all googly-eyed with each other, but that's not my style.”

“Thank you,” Lexie said. “For believing in me.”

S
omeone with strong hands pulled me from the water. I heard his voice, but not his words. I sucked in hot air as he dragged me up onto the concrete ramp. I flopped like a fish. The blackness cleared from my mind, but I couldn't quite see yet.

I heard Brandi choking, coughing. She was alive. Someone ripped her from my grasp. I heard her crying, saw her white, helpless legs.

“I called 911!” Another voice, hysterical. “I saw the van go into the water. I couldn't believe it!”

“Take it easy, miss.”

A person wrapped a dirty shirt around me. It smelled like sweat. I said, “I left my shoes in Libby's car.”

Maybe I fainted. I know my brain stopped functioning for a while. Strangers can be very kind, though. I remember someone petting my hair. Someone else brought me a pair of blue Keds without the laces. They were too big on my feet. I wondered what happened to Libby's rubber boots.

A police car came. And an ambulance. The red lights flashed on the water, but they might as well have been pulsing in my brain. Then huge, colorful explosions burst in the sky—fireworks, I realized. For tomorrow. The Fourth of July. They were louder than thunder. Everyone stopped moving to look up. Just for a moment. And then they were kind again.

I said to someone, “I lost my sister's boots.”

The paramedics carefully placed Brandi on a stretcher and fastened straps around her. They talked to her and asked her name and talked about television news. They were excited to have a celebrity in their care. I heard her voice, not crying anymore.

“Come on, miss.” Someone put his hand under my elbow. “Let's go to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“No, thank you. I'm fine. My friend lives close by.”

The paramedic insisted. It was only because Brandi's hysterics bubbled up again that he left me. And I slipped away.

The Schuylkill River runs down past Fairmount Park to Boathouse Row, where all the houses were lit up with tiny lights. Most nights, it's very picturesque. But the rowing clubs were quiet this evening. No parties. With the fireworks over, the night was strangely silent.

I walked. Along the side of the curving highway, I trudged in a stranger's blue Keds, stumbling on the gravel sometimes, and feeling the whoosh of air as cars went by.

The lights blazed inside Lexie's house.

She answered the door. “Nora!” Surprised to see me. “Is Michael with you?”

She came outside and got a closer look at me, and her voice went up an octave. “Oh, sweetie, what's wrong? What happened?”

“There was an accident. I went in the river.”

“Oh dear God, God, God. Are you okay? Is anyone hurt? Come inside.” She put her arm around me and pulled me into the house. The air-conditioning hit me like a winter blast. On the floor, my sandy, dirty shoes made a crunch.

Four suitcases stood by the newel post. An umbrella leaned against the tallest one.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Oh, sweetie.”

I faced her. She was dressed in summer-weight trousers, flat sandals and a black T-shirt. Her airplane clothes, I recognized. Her hair was combed. Her makeup flawless. Her diamond earrings reflected the same dark emptiness that shone in her eyes.

I said, “You can't leave.”

Her face filled with pain. “Nora, I have to.”

“Lex,” I said. “You were protecting Brandi. You thought you were doing the right thing. Tell me you did it for Brandi. Not for the firm. Not for the money.”

My dearest friend said, “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” I said. “You're like a sister. I understand you. At least, I always thought so.”

“Sweetie.” She sounded tired. “You're my sister, too. But this is something I have to do on my own.”

“So you killed him.”

She put her palms together and rested her hands against her forehead, as if she were praying. Her voice was hollow. “I don't know why, if that's what you're asking. Maybe you can tell me, because I—it's still incomprehensible.”

“He hit her. Hoyt struck Brandi. You saw it.”

She nodded, unable to look at me. “Yes. He'd just ruined my painting, so I was still angry. Funny thing, I realize now he did that for the insurance money. He knew my Vermeer was worth a fortune and the insurance company would pay off—probably enough to repay all the money he embezzled. I didn't understand that at the time. But when he slapped that girl, I—something inside me…exploded.” She lowered her hands and looked dully at me.

“So you pushed him.”

“Yes. Away from her. Onto the balcony. And he—he went over the railing.” She shook her head to dispel the memory, but she couldn't do it. “I know what I did. I'm not pretending it didn't happen. But part of me has been waiting for you to find someone else to take the blame.” She smiled wanly. “That's not going to happen, is it?”

“The police will figure this out. If you touched him, there will be fingerprints.”

She laughed shortly. “Oh, yes, there will be fingerprints. Mine will be all over him. And Brandi watched me do it, so there's a witness. She offered to keep it to herself. Did she tell you? For a price, of course.”

Someone knocked on the door behind me. Two raps.

“Sweetie,” Lexie said to me. “I wish you hadn't come.”

She opened the door, and Michael walked in from the darkness, very tall and looming. He was still dressed in his jeans and white shirt, with my father's belt, but he looked like a criminal again. Something in his face. He had his car keys in hand.

At the sight of me, he dropped the keys on the tile floor. “Jesus,” he said. “What happened?”

From far away, Lexie said, “She went into the river, she says. An accident.”

“Libby and Emma?” he asked, grasping me by the shoulders. “Are they okay?”

I nodded, shivering.

“Get her a blanket,” he said to Lexie. “She's in shock.”

He eased me down to sit on the step. He buffed my arms to get my blood pumping. But his hands were cold, too.

My teeth began to chatter. “She did it. Lexie pushed him.”

“I know, love. I'm sorry.”

Lexie returned and slung the bedspread from her bed around my shoulders. I clutched at it, my fingers trembling.

I peered up at her. “You can't leave, Lex.”

She stood back, arms folded across her chest, irritated. Or maybe detached. “Sweetie, please.”

“The police will figure it out. It's only a matter of time.”

“And time is running out.”

“There's Brandi, too. Once she asks you for money, it won't stop. Blackmail never does. We can help you.”

“Dear Nora.” She gave me a grim yet forgiving smile. “I've ruined my life. There's nothing anyone can do for me now.”

“So you're going to run away?”

“Yes.”

I looked up at Michael. “And you're going to take her? You're going to help her run from the law?”

Before he could answer, she said, “Don't blame him. This is my decision.”

“This is wrong,” I said, voice stronger as a white heat started in my chest. “Think it through, Lexie.”

“I have. I've lost everything—my reputation and my business. My clients. What's left?”

“Your friends! Your family!” I threw off the bedspread and got unsteadily to my feet. “And there's Crewe and—”

“And what? Jail? I couldn't stand it.”

“It wouldn't be forever! You were protecting someone! You need to stay and fight.”

Lexie said, “I'm going to leave, Nora. I'm going to run away and save everyone the agony.”

“Don't. Please don't,” I begged. “That's what my parents did, and look what's become of them. Their friends hate them for being petty crooks. Their children don't trust them. They haven't learned a thing.”

She winced at the mention of my parents.

“I know how far you've come,” I said. “I know how hard it was for you to put that awful experience behind you and make this beautiful life here. But maybe you shouldn't have tried so hard to forget. You've found money and power and—and your art, too. But it's all so cold. You have to stop running away from the past, Lex. It's not too late.”

“I have to go.”

A dam burst in me. “I can't lose you!”

“You don't need me any more, Nova. Not like you used to.”

She stepped away. “Michael, these suitcases—”

“He won't,” I said. “I won't let him.”

I blocked his way, but Michael had turned to stone.

I seized her hand. “Lexie, I'll go to the police with you. So will Crewe. We'll find you a lawyer who will understand that you've got all these issues, that you were a victim, too.”

“No,” Lexie said, clipped. “I'm not weak.”

“It's not weakness. Your cousin hurt you and it's affected everything since! He shut you off. He made you feel helpless.”

She yanked out of my grasp and put her hands over her ears. “I can't go to jail, Nora! It would be too awful, trapped like that. I wouldn't survive.”

At last, Michael said, “It's not so bad.”

Lexie turned away from me to stare at Michael. He had gone very white, as if he'd been punched. His voice sounded strange.

Gently, as if speaking to a child, he said, “You need time to think, Lexie. To figure out your life. A prison isn't such a bad place to do that.”

I caught my balance on the newel post and gulped back a sob.

He said, “Can you live with what you did, pushing your partner to his death?”

Lexie wobbled, too. She flinched as if she were the one being pushed until her back hit the balcony rail. She put her hands up to fend off a blow or the thought that she must forever remember that awful moment when she lost her head.

Michael said, “You don't just forget. But if you do your time? It can be a penance. And you come out of it absolved, with a new life. A second chance.”

He took a breath. “Look how Nora loves you. If you run away, you'll lose that. And listen, I know what it's like to live alone, without that kind of love. It's worse than any prison.”

“Stay, Lex,” I said.

She began to cry. I took two tottering steps and wrapped my arms around her.

We held each other, clinging. I tried to give her what strength I had left.

“I'll be with you,” I said. “Every step of the way.”

“I don't think I can face it.”

Michael said, “Talk to the lawyers. See what they can work out for you. It's not the end.”

“I don't know,” she said.

I said, “Lexie, don't you want a normal life?”

“I don't know what that means,” she whispered.

“Then you've got to find out.”

“I don't know…”

She wept in my arms, messed up her makeup and her hair and sobbed until she couldn't breathe. It was a storm that left her too weak to stand. We helped each other to the sofa. Michael brought her a glass of water.

Lexie regained her composure at last. Withdrawing inside herself, perhaps. “Okay,” she said to Michael. “I'll talk to your lawyers. I hope they're as good as I think they are.”

Michael made the call. Lexie found me something to wear in her closet. I took a hot shower and put on her clothes.

Cannoli himself came. He was courtly. She was self-possessed. It was a kind of summit, almost ceremonial.

They spoke for several hours. Michael listened and contributed, stepping outside onto the deck to take phone calls. Cannoli telephoned for another associate, who arrived at one a.m. in a suit and tie.

Almost sure she was convinced not to run, I curled up on Lexie's bed after that, too exhausted to think straight.

When Michael came in at dawn and shook me awake, I felt as though I'd slept only a minute. But I sat up quickly, afraid.

“Call Crewe,” he said. “She should see him this morning.”

So I telephoned Crewe, who arrived looking frantic.

Michael went out for groceries, and the two of us cooked breakfast for everyone—eggs and bacon and the works.

Crewe came into the kitchen later, and when I hugged him, he wept.

I had known Lexie. We played with dolls together—cutting all Barbie's hair off and tearing her clothes so she'd look more like Madonna—the strongest woman we knew.

School, parties. Little spats. Sneaking champagne at high school graduation. The bond I felt for Lexie was stronger, perhaps, than the ties to my own sisters.