Suspicion of Betrayal (14 page)

Astonished, Gail looked at him. "For what?"

He looked back as if his feelings were hurt. "It's what I always charge. Fifty minimum to show up, plus twenty-five every half hour. It took some time."

She held up her hands. "Okay. Is everything working?"

"Like new." Charlie Jenkins extended an arm toward the kitchen, and she went to see. Lynn and Karen trailed behind. He opened the refrigerator. The fight was on, and the motor was humming obediently; Then he flipped a switch, turning the light in the ceiling on and off. "All right?"

Gail nodded wearily. She noticed Karen getting the box of kitten chow out of a lower cabinet, holding Missy around the belly with her other hand. The cat could not possibly be hungry.

She said to Jenkins, "What was the problem?"

"A short in the wall. I had to replace the wire. You got those old cloth-covered wires. Looks like something bit it, probably a rat. You'll find out in a day or so. They rot pretty fast in this heat we're having."

"Oh, wonderful." Gail retrieved her purse, finding eighteen dollars and change. She put that and the rest of the cash on the kitchen table. "That's eighty-three. Come on, Charlie, let me write you a check this time."

He sucked in some air through his teeth. "Well, you know my policy, Ms. Connor. Cash only."

"I'll make the check out to cash," she offered.

"I really hate banks. Hate to walk into those places, standing in line."

"Why is this happening? I'm supposed to be visiting someone at Mercy Hospital right now."

Lynn said, "I have some money."

"Would you?"

Charlie Jenkins took out his receipt book. "Your lucky day." He bent over the table, belly hanging, and began to write.

The doorbell rang. Karen sprinted for the living room. A second later her high voice rang out. "Daddy's here. Bye, Mom."

"Wait just a minute! Lynn, get the receipt, okay? Karen!" Gail ran after her.

Dave stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual fashion of boat shorts and Island Club shirt and billed cap. Gail pulled him onto the porch and closed the door, leaving Karen inside. "Dave, I'm sorry, but there's been some confusion. Karen shouldn't have called you. We made plans for dinner tonight."

"All I know is, she said you weren't here, she didn't know where you were, she was in the house with strangers, and please, Daddy, come get me."

"She knew very well where I was. I had an emergency with a client. And my receptionist is not a
stranger."

"What are you telling me? You won't let her come with me? Or what?" Dave's nose was sunburned, as if he had been outdoors all weekend. Karen had returned with her legs toasty brown, then white below the level of her tennis socks.

Gail momentarily closed her eyes. "I can't deal with this right now. All right, fine. You take her." When she opened the door, Karen rushed past, leaping into his arms, putting on a show. "Daddy!"

He whirled her around, bell-bottom jeans and clogs flying. "Hey, princess." He kissed Karen's cheek, then turned her toward his pickup truck, parked along the street. "Go get in the truck, honey. Daddy wants to talk to your mom for a second."

With a last wary look at both of them, Karen walked through the grass, picking her way around the roof tiles. The kids were still out there. The boys had come closer to the truck, a shiny new white one with double rear wheels and a boat hitch. Payton Cunningham was doing circles on his bike, skidding on the gravel.

Dave said, "I called Dr. Fischman and set up an appointment for Karen. One o'clock Thursday. I can pick her up from day camp."

The suddenness of this surprised her. Gail said, "You were going to call me. I can't make it Thursday. We were supposed to do this by mutual agreement."

"There was a cancellation, and if I didn't take it, we couldn't get in for two weeks."

"Karen shouldn't be dragged out of summer camp—"

"I'm not dragging her anywhere—"

"—to a psychologist, to be interrogated on a choice she is incapable of making—"

"Interrogated? I talked to Fischman myself on the phone. He's a great guy, very concerned about kids." Dave's face was turning red, making his eyebrows appear even blonder. "I love Karen. If I thought this would be traumatic for her, I wouldn't go near his office."

"Just don't make her feel it's her
fault
that she has to be there."

"None of this is her fault," Dave said.

"I know that. It's ours."

"Fischman wants to see us too." He laughed softly. "I don't know what to tell the man. Lay my guts out for him or what. Jesus. If he asks me why, I don't know what to tell him."

"Tell him you want an all-American lifestyle for your daughter," Gail said.

Dave's thin mouth drew in, and he shifted his weight to the other hip. His thumbs were hooked over his belt. "I'm taking her Thursday. You make your own arrangements."

Gail felt a rush of heat up her throat. "She's almost eleven. She's about to go through puberty, and she needs a mother. What you've done is unforgivable. She isn't going to live with you, Dave. I won't allow it."

The blue eyes grew frosty. "You won't allow it. What Gail Connor wants, well, that's the way it's going to be. Guess what. Karen wants to live with dear old dad. If she wasn't afraid you'd blow up, she'd tell you." "That is such a lie."

"Yeah? Let's see what Fischman has to say about it." With a phony smile Dave stepped off the porch. "I'll bring her back tonight by nine-thirty. Try to be downstairs instead of in bed with
el macho,
like last time."

"Oh, really; Up yours, Dave."

"Nice language. You talk like that around Karen?"

He turned around and crossed the yard, got into his truck. The engine started with a deep growl. Karen waved from the passenger side. Gail waved back, smiling. She wanted to fall into one of the wooden chairs on the porch and cry.

Mercy Hospital had been constructed in a Mediterranean style, with a long portico along the front and a red tile roof. A modern parking garage had been added to one side. This time of day it was jammed with cars, and it took Gail awhile to find a space. The sun was lower but still shining brightly. She walked quickly to the main building under a covered walkway, caught her breath riding the elevator to the fourth floor, then took a right and a left to the end of the hall.

She glanced at her watch: 7:32. Bad, but not terrible.

As she had expected, the corridors were full of people, although the rules said only two visitors per patient. Most of the patients were Cuban, which meant that entire families would show up, bringing food and making trips to the cafeteria for espresso to stay awake, because they also paid no attention to the rule about leaving by eight o'clock.

Ernesto Pedrosa had a private corner room. Gail saw Anthony's cousin Betty in the hall, and they exchanged a kiss on the cheek. Betty said Anthony was inside. Gail peered around an older woman standing in the way. A City of Miami police officer in a dark blue uniform was posted by the door, which Gail found odd. He glanced at Gail without interest as she went through.

She saw the end of the bed, but Pedrosa was blocked from view by Aunt Gracida, fixing the pillow. Digna Pedrosa sat with other relatives on the sofa. Across the room a group of men were conversing in low tones. Most stood; a few were sitting. She saw a neatly creased trouser leg, a dark sock, and an expensive laced shoe of Italian design. She recognized the shoe. One of the men moved, revealing Anthony in profile—the long nose and full lips, the brown hair that waved back from his forehead. The collar of his shirt was open, his tie loosened. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, and he gestured slowly as he spoke. The light caught the emerald on his last finger.

He looked up when another man in a dark business suit came over to see him. Then the quick smile that showed his lovely teeth. The handshake. But he didn't bother to stand, even for the mayor of Miami. The men spoke in rapid, colloquial Spanish. Gail understood now the presence of the police officer. The mayor, a fellow Cuban, had come to say good luck to Ernesto Pedrosa and, as long as he was here, to pay his respects to the heir to the throne.

Gail suddenly felt queasy. The aspirin, she thought. Bad to take it on an empty stomach.

A pair of dark-framed glasses that she hadn't noticed before suddenly gleamed with reflected light, and Hector Mesa leaned over to whisper to Anthony.

It took only a second for Anthony to locate Gail by the door. No smile. No indication that he wanted her to join them. He looked at her for only an instant—not even long enough for anyone to notice that his attention had been momentarily drawn away—before he resumed his conversation with the mayor.

The shock of this dismissal stunned her, and she was suddenly aware that she had not moved for several seconds, and that the other people in the room were behaving quite normally.

Hector Mesa seemed to be watching her, though it was impossible to tell. Gail abruptly turned her back on him and maneuvered through the visitors to Pedrosa's bedside.

Sitting nearly upright, the old man saw her and lifted one pale, spotted hand. She took it and bent to kiss his cheek. He had been shaved, and his lined face was smooth and soft. His pajamas had a design of fleur-de-lis and blue piping—not hospital-issue.

"Señor, ¿cómo está?
I'm so sorry to be late. A client of mine called, and I thought she might kill herself, she was so upset. Her husband had just left after beating her up, and I had to make sure she was all right. She has three children." As Gail babbled on, she realized that it wasn't really Pedrosa she was explaining this to.

"You were on a mission of mercy." Pedrosa spoke as if it was an effort to do so, and Gail noticed how carefully he formed the words.
"No te preocupes por—
Don't worry about being late." He swallowed and took a breath. "I will be here tomorrow."

"Is that a promise?"

"Oh, yes."

"Don't you need some rest? There are so many people here."

Digna Pedrosa, who had rejoined her husband, smiled at Gail across his bed. "The nurses will come and chase them all out very soon."

A slender hand went around Gail's elbow, and Elena Godoy lightly pressed their cheeks together. "There you are, Gail. We were starting to worry about you. How does he look? Very strong, no?"

"A tiger," Gail said.

"Did you get my message today about Lola Benitez?"

"Yes. I didn't have a chance to call you back. Saturday morning would be fine, if you still want to go." Gail managed a smile, although she was in no mood to think of wedding dresses.

"Nena wants to come too. Is that all right?" Without waiting for an answer, Elena asked her grandmother, "Nena,
usted quiere ir con nosotras el sábado, ¿verdad?'"

"SÍ, si,
I would love to go with you. Gail, why don't you ask Irene to come too? I like her so much, but we don't see each other."

"Yes, she said she wanted to come," Gail replied.

She felt the light pressure of an arm against hers an instant before Elena said, "Anthony, we're going with Gail to look at wedding dresses on Saturday. But you can't come, of course. It would be bad luck to see the dress before the wedding."

He made a slight shrug. "Then I'll have to wait."

Pedrosa's grin was sly. "Women always make us wait.
Para ponernos deseosos en la noche de boda."
To make us eager on the wedding night.

"¡Abuelo!"
Elena lightly slapped his wrist.

Anthony was looking at Gail. "Where is Karen?" "With her father."

"Ah." He nodded toward the door. "Come with me for a moment?"

"Oh, dear." Gail said to the faces around the bed, "Will you excuse us? I think Anthony wants to scream at me. And I'm trying so hard to be
cubana"

She heard him exhale through his teeth.

The others exchanged glances. Digna raised her silvery eyebrows and made a slight nod. Gail turned around and walked through the door, not waiting to see if Anthony was behind her.

He was. In the corridor he took hold of her arm and pulled her close so no one could hear them. "Why did you say that to my grandparents? It was inconsiderate. It was embarrassing—for everyone."

"Was it? As rude as the way you treated me when I came in?" She took a ragged breath to ease the tension. "I should probably leave."

"Not yet." He led her down the hall, smiling at a couple of people but not stopping. It went through Gail's mind to jerk her arm away and leave him staring at her back as she stalked toward the elevator. Around the corner was a vacant room with two neatly made beds, both empty. They went inside, leaving the door open.

She threw her purse onto a chair and pushed her hair back with both hands. "What do you want me to do? Apologize to them? I will if you—"

"Harry Lasko called me." Anthony let that sink in, then added, "Would you like to know what he said?"

Gail dropped her hands by her side. "So that's why you're so mad. I was going to tell you."

"Were you?"

"Of course I was! Did you expect me to bring it up in there? Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

"Big deal?" Anthony's voice was still soft, but the words were clipped, and his Spanish accent became more evident. "I told you I am in the middle of plea negotiations with the U.S. attorney's office. I told you not to contact Harry Lasko."

"I didn't! You weren't there, Anthony. Don't tell me what happened."

"Why didn't you call me? You have a telephone."

She laughed. "Call you? He just started talking! I didn't ask him to!"

Anthony tensed his mouth, and shadows undercut his cheekbones. "You didn't arrange a meeting at Jamie Sweet's house for the purpose of speaking to Harry?"

"If he told you that, it's a lie. No, Jamie called both of us this afternoon, and we independently came to see if she was all right. Wendell had just attacked her."

"Did you know Harry would be there?"

"Stop it, Anthony." Her voice rose. "Stop it. I hate it when you get like this."

He looked past her, and she sensed a presence at the door, knowing who it was before she turned around.