The Cruel Ever After (22 page)

“You’re twisting my words.”

“Listen to yourself. The closer we get to actually having a real conversation about the issues in our marriage—our lives—the higher you build a wall. You cut off all discussion by saying that I don’t love you, or that I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t.”

“Irina—”

“I know where you’re headed. We’re talking about Dusty now, right? You don’t think I’m taking care of him properly. You think I’m losing my grip on reality.”

“Not losing, Irina.
Lost
.”

“Okay, so let’s talk about the real issue here. The one we’ve been skirting since the day he was born.” She hesitated, knowing that when she said the words out loud, she could never take them back. “You’re not his father. You know it and you hate me—and Dustin—for it.”

She couldn’t read his expression, but when he started to laugh, she got angry.

“You think it’s funny that I slept with another man? His name is Chess Garrity. I met him on the trip I took last year to Istanbul.”

That stopped him. “You actually … you mean—”

“I love him and he loves me.”

“This is for real?
He’s
for real?”

“He’s an antiquities dealer, an American who lives in Istanbul and Amsterdam.”

“Antiquities,” he repeated, a frown forming. “A friend of your mother’s?”

“She knew him, but not that we were in love. As a matter of fact, he’s here in town right now. He came to ask me to marry him. I gave him my answer this last night. He loves me, Steve, which is more than I can say for you. He’s proud to have such a handsome son.”

There it was again, the look she couldn’t read. Not that she cared. Not everything she’d told him was the absolute truth, but it was close enough.

Misty burst through the front door looking flushed and buoyant. “I picked up Mom’s wheels,” she said, pointing out the window at the Audi Roadster parked in front of the house, behind Steve’s truck. She rattled a set of keys. “Drives like a dream. Think I’ll keep it.”

“Who told you you could have Mom’s car?” demanded Irina.

“Nobody,” said Misty, giving Steve a wink, “but it was going to get a ticket if it sat there on Grand much longer.” She dumped her two sets of keys on the coffee table in the living room and headed into the kitchen.

Irina picked up both sets. She recognized the one that had belonged to her mother because of the custom leather key fob. Misty had only three keys on hers. A house key, a key to her trashy Cougar, and, much to Irina’s surprise, a key to the gallery.

Her sister sauntered back into the living room, taking a swig from a can of beer. “What did I miss?” she asked, throwing herself onto the couch. “You two look supremely jolly.”

“Walk me out to my truck,” said Steve.

Misty glanced at Irina, stuck out her tongue, then got up and followed him out.

Irina watched through the front picture window as her husband, clearly upset, talked animatedly to her sister. Before he climbed into his truck, the two of them embraced. They were generally civil to each other, but this was the first time she’d ever seen them express any physical affection. It startled her. It startled her even more when the embrace went on long past the point of a simple cheer-up hug.

25

“Still
married
?” Cordelia choked the last word through the phone line. “Is this a joke?”

“I wish it were,” said Jane, holding her cordless between her shoulder and ear as she searched through the refrigerator, trying to figure out if she had the makings for a quiche Lorraine. Apparently, outrage made her hungry.

“This rarely happens to me, Janey. I’m speechless.”

“I’m sure your ability to communicate will return momentarily.”

“Stop all that rattling.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to make something to eat.”

“At a time like this?”

“Nothing I learned from my dad changes the fact that I’m hungry.”

After showering and changing into fresh clothes, Jane had come downstairs into the kitchen and called Cordelia. She’d needed a reality check. Okay, so Cordelia wasn’t necessarily the best choice for that, but she was home and therefore available to talk.

“What are you making?”

“A quiche Lorraine. I’ve got everything but Swiss or gruyère. I do, however, have an excellent Grafton Vermont cheddar, which should do just fine.”

“Not if you run into a French chef.”

“There aren’t any French chefs around the house at the moment, and besides, French cooking is all about theme and variations. I think the Cordon Bleu would even approve, or at the very least grant me a dispensation.”

“Should we put out a contract on Chess’s life?”

“I knew you’d come up with a workable plan.” She looked through a drawer for a cheese grater. “Did I tell you somebody jumped me last night as I was about to get in my car? I almost got my nose broken.”

“Last night? I saw you last night when I brought Val to the restaurant.”

“It happened later. When I was on my way to my car. The guy was looking for Chess. Since I’m still his little woman—”

“You think they know that?”

“The guy called me his wife.”

“I’m coming over. We need to figure out a plan of attack.”

“No plans of attack, remember? I’m letting Nolan and the police figure this one out. I’ve got enough on my hands trying to protect my assets from from a lying ex-friend.” The cell in her back pocket vibrated. “Hold on. I’m getting another call. Hello,” she said, pressing the cell to her other ear. Both ears were now covered.

“Jane, hi, it’s Julia.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Who is it?” demanded Cordelia.

“Just stick a sock in it until I’m done.”

“What?” said Julia.

“I was talking to someone else.”

“Are you alone?”

“Actually, I am.”

“And you’re talking to someone?”

“To explain would take too much time.”

“Explain what?” said Cordelia.

“Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to come over, see my new loft tonight,” said Julia. “If you haven’t eaten, I could make us dinner. Nothing elaborate. Maybe a Caesar salad. Bread. Wine. It’s a beautiful evening. We could eat on the balcony. I guess I’m feeling a little lonely and thought it might be nice to have some company.”

Several responses presented themselves. First, Jane could say, “Are you kidding? Cordelia says you’re a predator and I should stay away from you.” Or she could say, “I’m the last person on earth to help you with your loneliness.” Or she could simply grab the nearest crucifix and hold it in front of the phone.

“Tell you what,” said Jane, thinking the invitation sounded just dandy. She needed to get out of the house, stop grinding her teeth, and try to develop a little perspective. “I’m making a quiche. What if I prep it here and we bake it at your place? I assume the new loft came with an oven.”

“New loft,” said Cordelia. “Who has a new loft?”

“Yes, Jane, I have an oven.”

“Whoever it is, get rid of them,” said Cordelia. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Great,” said Julia. She repeated the address and then said good-bye.

“You’ll be
where
in half an hour?” demanded Cordelia. “I thought I was coming over.”

“Julia’s invited me to see her new loft.”

“And you’re going? Janey, you need to see a doctor. Bumps on the head can be dangerous.”

“I got bumped on the nose. What does the Mayo Clinic say about that?”

“I’m going to come over there to sit on you.”

“I’ll be gone before you get here. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t you hang up.”

Jane hung up.

*   *   *

While Julia finished up in the kitchen, Jane stood on the balcony, breathing in the night air and enjoying the last rays of the peach-colored sunset over Lake Calhoun. It had been the right decision to come. She needed to change gears, to put some psychological distance between herself and Chess’s betrayal. Julia wasn’t part of the problem, and that made a certain amount of relaxation possible.

Stepping back inside, Jane found Julia sitting at the piano, paging through some sheet music. “I haven’t heard you play in years,” she said, sitting down on one of the matching love seats.

“I’m out of practice.”

“That’s what you always used to say.”

“It was never truer than it is right now.” She thought for a moment. “Here’s something.”

Jane picked up her wineglass and leaned back against the cushions. She didn’t recognize the piece but enjoyed watching Julia. How could there not be a connection after the kind of love they’d once shared? It wasn’t love anymore—and yet it was something. It
meant
something.

When the last note sounded and Julia removed her hands from the keys, Jane asked what the song was.

“Mozart. One of his piano sonatas. I have a book of them my mother left me.”

“I’ve never heard you play so beautifully.”

“It’s the piano.”

“Only partly.” She’d noticed a certain strain in Julia’s eyes during dinner. “Are you feeling okay? You just picked at your food. Or maybe you don’t like my cooking.”

“I have a headache. I’ve been having a lot of them lately.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Several. And I’ve had tests done. So far, everything has come back normal.”

“Except you’ve still got the headaches. Must be frustrating.”

“Everything about being sick is frustrating. I took something for the pain, but it’s not helping much.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Moderate.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“I’ll have the headache either way. No, stay. I had another reason for asking you to come by tonight.” She nodded to a wooden box on the coffee table. “I bought myself a present this morning. I wanted to show it off.”

Jane leaned forward and opened the box. Inside was a piece of carved stone, about two inches high and maybe three-quarters of an inch thick. “Looks old.”

“It is. It’s a Sumerian cylinder seal.” She explained everything she knew about it, ending by saying that she’d bought it from Chess. “I met him at your dad’s birthday party the other night.”

“And he used the opportunity to sell you this?” She wondered how many other people he’d cornered.

“He said he sold antiquities, so I asked him to come by the loft yesterday morning. He didn’t twist my arm, if that’s what you’re thinking. I got it appraised this morning.”

“Where?”

“The Morgana Beck Gallery in St. Paul. It’s highly reputable. I asked around, called a few people. The woman who did the appraisal encouraged me to take it over to the Institute of Arts to have one of their curators give me a second opinion.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Chess had proof of provenance. Irina Nelson, Morgana Beck’s daughter, does this all the time. She’s licensed. Very professional.”

Chess was accused of murdering Melvin Dial. The police were trying to connect the murder of Dial to Morgana Beck. This was sounding more and more fishy, not to say coincidental. “If you don’t mind my asking, how much did you pay for it?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You act like I got taken.”

Jane looked down at the seal cradled in her palm. “I don’t know how to say this, other than to just come right out with it. Chess is not somebody I’d trust.”

“What do you mean? He’s staying with you. You’ve been … friends for years.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“That and a lot more.”

“Like what?”

Julia hesitated, rising from the piano bench and picking up her wineglass. Folding herself onto the love seat across from Jane, she said, “He said he could tell that I cared about you, so he confided that he was worried about you, that you seemed … lost.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get angry. He loves you a lot. He told me you two had once been married.”

“What?”

“Was he lying?”

Jane moved to the edge of her seat. It was all she could do not to get up and start screaming. “No, he wasn’t lying. He was manipulating. Gaining your confidence with a confidence of his own.”

“Are you telling me that the seal is fake?”

“Honestly, Julia, I have no idea. I’m not sure you do either.”

“But the appraisal—”

“Morgana Beck was murdered on Wednesday night.”

Julia stared back blankly. “I didn’t know that. But what’s it got to do with the seal? And with Chess?”

“Another man, a collector, was murdered the night before. His name was Melvin Dial. Chess is being held on suspicion—”

“He’s in jail?”

“The police think he murdered Dial, and they’re trying to link it to the murder of Morgana Beck.”

“But … that can’t be. If he murdered her, why would her daughter be so friendly with him?”

“It’s a good question, one I can’t answer.”

Julia looked around the room, pressing a couple of fingers against her forehead. “He wanted to sell me something else. The Winged Bull of Nimrud. He showed me a picture.”

Jane almost laughed out loud. “Sounds like something from a Harrison Ford movie.” Then she remembered one of the questions her attacker had asked last night. Something about a bull.

“He gave me a picture of it,” said Julia.

“Can I see it?”

“You can have it.” She nodded to a small brass box on an end table.

Jane removed a snapshot and leaned toward a row of candles on the coffee table. “He said this thing was real?”

“And enormously valuable.”

“How much did he want for it?”

“A million two hundred and fifty thousand.” Her eyes hardened. “Nobody swindles me and gets away with it. I’ll cancel the check. There’s nothing he could do with it today because it’s Sunday.”

“You wrote him a personal check?” It must be the one her father had told her about—Chess’s financial ace in the hole. Now Julia was about to cancel it. Jane felt like a kid at Christmastime who’d just been give the biggest, baddest gift in the world.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll call my bank.” Julia finished her wine. “Tell me something. Did he ever talk to you about me?”