The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (20 page)

He thought back to other times he had seen Harold Baines—at functions, banquets and parties.
 
Each time, the man kept to himself and his wife.

“You saw Baines at the opening of Redman International,” Louis said.
 
“What’s your opinion of him?”

Vincent shrugged.
 
“I only noticed him while he was with Leana, but he seemed to be having a fine time.
 
He spun her around the dance floor once.
 
They laughed and had a drink afterward.”

“So, he was outgoing?”

“Very much so.
 
Why?”

“Each time I’ve seen Baines, the man has been anything but outgoing.
 
In fact, he’s always been completely withdrawn.”

“That’s not the Harold Baines I saw,” Spocatti said.
 
“But maybe he knew he was expected to have his party hat on.”

“Maybe.”

“Want me to run a check on him?”

“If he’s as close to Leana as you say he is, it couldn’t hurt,” Louis said.
 
“Put your best man on him and tell him to dig.”

“Anything else?”

“That depends.
 
Are she and Baines talking now?”

“I can call and find out.”

Louis nodded toward the phone on his desk.

“So, call.”

Spocatti reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone.
 
He dialed.
 
Louis moved to the windows behind him.
 
The sun, not yet above the towering skyscrapers, cast the city in shadow.
 
He checked his watch.
 
Soon, Michael would arrive for their meeting. He wondered how his son would react once told what was expected from him next.

Vincent snapped the phone shut.
 
“They’re talking,” he said. “And you’re going to want to know what they’re talking about.”

“What’s that?”

“It appears that more went on the night of the party than I originally thought.”

“Go on.”

“Eric Parker beat Leana Redman with a belt.
 
Her face is a mess.”

Louis paused.
 
“He beat her with a belt?”

“Like her sister, he thinks Leana gave me that message.
 
He accused her of setting him up, of destroying his relationship with Celina.”
 
Spocatti shrugged.
 
“He was drunk, he lost control, he took it out on her face.”

Louis shook his head.
 
“Redman saw his own daughter like that and still he kicked her out of The Plaza?”
 
He laughed.
 
“What a bastard.
 
Didn’t he at least question what happened to her?”

“He did more than question it,” Spocatti said.
 
“Redman asked her if Eric Parker was responsible, but Leana’s not talking.
 
It seems that Parker threatened to have a contract put out on her if anything happened to him.
 
The guy’s smart.
 
If he hadn’t threatened her, his ass would be in jail.”

“How did Baines react to all this?”

“He’s furious.
 
I told you, Leana’s like a daughter to him.
 
He wants Parker to pay for what he’s done.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

“Nothing,” Vincent said.
 
“Baines promised to keep quiet.
 
He’ll keep his word.”

“He’d better,” Louis said.
 
“Because if he becomes more involved than he already is, he’s going down with the rest of them.”

There was a knock at the office door.
 
Michael.
 
Louis called for him to come in.
 
The door swung open and Michael stepped inside.
 
He hesitated in the doorway and looked across the room at Spocatti, then at his father.
 
By the expression on Michael’s face, he obviously thought they’d be alone.
 
Louis wondered how Michael would react if he knew that it was Spocatti who butchered his dog.
 
Probably not pleasantly.

He made introductions.
 
“Michael, Vincent Spocatti.
 
He’ll be working with us.”

Spocatti took a few steps forward and shook Michael’s hand.
 
“It’s a pleasure,” he said.
 
“I’ve read most of your books.”
 
And then his smile faded into a grimace.
 
“Sorry to hear what happened to your dog.
 
Your father told me.
 
Terrible thing.”

Louis caught Michael’s glance and motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. Later, he’d tell Spocatti to keep his mouth shut.
 
“Why don’t you sit down, Michael?” he said.
 
“This won’t take long.”

“Was it bad?” Spocatti asked.
 
“I mean, about the dog?”

Michael turned to leave.
 
Louis glared at Spocatti and called Michael back.

“Please,” he said.
 
“Vincent is just concerned.
 
He has a dog of his own.
 
I promise this won’t take long.
 
I know you have other things to do.
 
Would you like coffee?”

Michael would have loved coffee—but not from this man.
 
He shook his head and sat reluctantly in the leather chair.

Louis turned to Spocatti.
 
“How about you?
 
Do you want coffee?”

“I’d love some.”

“I thought so.”
 
He pressed a button and spoke into an intercom.
 
“Judy, would you bring us two black coffees?”

“I take cream and sugar in mine,” Spocatti said.

“Today you don’t.”

Louis sat at his desk and looked up when Judy arrived with the coffee.
 
She was wearing a crisp white suit that accented her trim figure, and the new diamond bracelet he gave her that morning.
 
As she poured, Louis could smell the faint, lingering scent of her perfume.
 
It reminded him of the perfume Anne used to wear.

When she left, Louis looked across the desk at Michael.
 
The resemblance to his mother was uncanny.
 
From the dark hair to the blue eyes to the square jaw line—it was all the same.
 

“I telephoned Santiago earlier this morning,” he said to Michael. “We’ve worked out a deal.”

Michael straightened. “What kind of deal?
 
What did he say?”

Louis gauged his words carefully.
 
“Among other things, he said he had nothing to do with your dog.”

“And you believe that?”

“No,” Louis said.
 
“I’m sure Santiago is responsible.
 
I’m also sure it would have been you lying dead on that floor if you hadn’t been here talking with me.
 
We can all be thankful for that.”

Michael dismissed his father’s concern.
 
“What’s the deal?”

“In exchange for my word that he’ll get his money, he’s willing to let you live…for a while, at least.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I haven’t given him my word that he’ll get his money—at least not yet. Right now, you’re living on borrowed time.
 
A little less than three weeks to be exact.
 
But I wouldn’t count on even that much, Michael.
 
After what happened to your dog, I think its safe to assume that Santiago can’t be trusted.”

“Can you?
 
If I do what you ask, will you give him the money?”

“Of course.”

“How come I doubt that?”

“Probably for the same reason I doubt whether you’ll complete your end of the bargain.
 
We’ve been apart too long, Michael.
 
We don’t know each other.”

“This is some way to get to know each other.”

A shadow of anger crossed Louis’ face.
 
“I never asked you to leave, Michael.
 
Until your first novel came out, I didn’t know where you were living, how you were, or if you were even alive.
 
You dropped me for sixteen years, you changed your name and now, after all this time, you come asking me for help.
 
Don’t think you’re going to get it without helping me.
 
It doesn’t work that way.”

Of course, it doesn’t.
 
“Tell me what you want from me.”

“You already know what I expect you to do to George Redman.”

Michael said nothing.

“But before that happens, there’s something else I want you to do.”

“And what is that?”

Louis locked eyes with his son.

“I want you to marry Leana Redman.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“If you won’t stay here permanently, then, for God’s sake, Leana, at least let me give you some money. You’ll never find a decent apartment in this city with what little you’ve managed to save over the years.
 
Do you want to live in a dump?”

“If I have to, yes.”

Harold Baines made a face and turned away from the window at which he was standing.
 
The early afternoon sun cast a warm glow against his graying hair, the checked shirt he wore, the khaki pants.
 
He sighed.
 
“This new-found pride and determination of yours is wearing me out.
 
Do you want a drink?”

“Too early for me.”

“Not for me.
 
I’m going to recreate one of your martinis.
 
Sure you won’t join me?”

Leana said she was sure and watched her father’s best friend cross to the bar at the opposite end of the library.
 
He seemed thinner to her.
 
At the opening of The Redman International Building, he looked exhausted one moment, vibrant the next.
 
She wondered again if he was ill or if the strain of acquiring WestTex was just taking its toll on him.
 
She was going to bring it up but then thought better of it and allowed her gaze to sweep the library.
 
This was, by far, her favorite room in this house.

Its great length of floor-to-ceiling windows looked out across Fifth to the entire Met, which was jammed with people on the wide expanse of steps, now golden in the sun.
 
Turning, she noted the many photographs in silver frames that rested on the table beside her.
 
Besides the pictures of his own family, two photographs were of her—one as a child, the other taken last summer at a Paris cafe.
 
It had been just her and Harold on that trip, a long weekend in their favorite city.
 

Next to the photo was the Degas sculpture she had purchased for him at auction in London.
 
It was of a ballerina, her feet in the fifth position, her hands cupped behind her back, the original pink ribbon in her hair.
 
A week before the auction, Harold remarked that he would love to own that particular sculpture because it reminded him of her when she studied ballet as a child.
 
Now, as Harold took the seat opposite her, Leana realized again just how much he meant to her, and how she felt more at home here than in her own home.