Читать книгу Obsession, Deceit And Really Dark Chocolate - Kyra Davis - Страница 8

I would rather burn in the fires of hell than spend eternity in heaven listening to a bunch of religious zealots say I told you so.

—C’est La Mort

It was like a black-and-gray sea of St. John and Brooks Brothers suits. I looked down at my own dark brown Old Navy dress as Mary Ann, Leah and I found seats in one of the rows toward the front, and then eyed their designer black dresses with undisguised resentment. “I thought you said earth tones were the new black when it came to mourning.”

“They are,” Mary Ann said slowly, “but being in mourning and attending a funeral are different things.”

“Oh?” I regarded her skeptically. “Don’t people come to funerals to mourn?”

“Really, Sophie.” Leah let out an exasperated sigh. “People mourn on their own time. They come to funerals to get credit for mourning. There’s a huge difference.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “I see your point.”

“I didn’t expect them to have an open casket,” Mary Ann whispered. “Gosh, it’s so sad,” she added, tugging at the ends of her hair. “And look, they put way too much blush on him.”

“Is anyone sitting here?” I looked up to see two men, both wearing the prerequisite gray suit. The one who had spoken was probably in his late thirties and was smiling down at Mary Ann. Or at least his mouth was smiling. His eyes were far too red to twinkle. He seemed fairly calm at the moment, so I wasn’t sure if the redness was due to a morning of crying or a night full of drinking. Still, he was cute in a teddy bear kind of way. His hairline was receding but he had a healthy tan that hinted at a love for the outdoors and a pug nose that automatically gave him a youthful air, despite his conservative attire. The other man was younger, taller and maybe in his mid-twenties. His dishwater-blond hair was cut a little too short for his round face and he was fidgeting with the knot in his tie in a way that made me think he wasn’t accustomed to wearing one.

Mary Ann scooted over enough to make room for them. The older man nodded his appreciation and slid in first; the younger sat at the aisle and pulled out the prayer book in front of him.

“I’m Rick,” the older said, presumably addressing all of us, although I noticed that his gaze lingered a little longer on Mary Ann. “And this is Johnny.”

“Hi there!” Johnny chirped, then immediately looked a little abashed as if his tone had been too cheerful for the occasion.

“I’m Mary Ann,” she said, “and this is Sophie and her sister Leah.”

“Sophie…” Johnny looked at me and his eyes widened with recognition. “You’re that novelist…the one who found him!”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Rick did a quick double take while Johnny kept talking. “It must have been horrible. The newspaper said you didn’t see the crime actually happen, but surely you must have seen something, the make of the car driving away, perhaps? It doesn’t seem possible that someone could do something like this and not leave any evidence behind.”

“Probably not, but if there was an eyewitness it wasn’t me.”

“So it’s true, all you really saw was Eugene,” he said glumly. He looked like a kid who had just been forced to witness a Harry Potter book burning.

“I can’t imagine what that was like for you,” Rick said. “You must have been terrified and—”

“Did you know Eugene well?” I asked, cutting him off before he could miscast me in the role of innocent damsel in distress.

“I spent time with him every day. I’m Flynn Fitzgerald’s main strategist. Johnny here is Fitzgerald’s personal assistant.”

So he was that Rick! Perfect! Networking made easy.

“Flynn Fitzgerald?” Mary Ann asked. “He’s a writer, right? I think I might have read one of his books a long time ago. Didn’t he write about parties and socialites?”

Rick knitted his brow and studied Mary Ann as if trying to determine if she was joking.

Leah cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mary Ann, you’re thinking of F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

Rick nodded in agreement. “I actually love F. Scott Fitzgerald. I just reread Tender Is the Night last month.”

“He was a great writer.” I patted Mary Ann’s knee. “But I’m fairly sure he doesn’t need an assistant or strategist.”

“Why not?” Mary Ann asked innocently.

Even sitting several feet away I could tell that Johnny was working hard to stop from giggling. “Well, for one thing, he’s dead, Mary Ann,” I explained.

“Oh!” Mary Ann put a gentle hand on Rick’s arm. “And you loved him! So much loss in such a short time! When did Scott pass away?”

For a second Rick just looked stunned, but then his expression changed and it was clear that he was amused despite himself. “I never actually met F. Scott Fitzgerald,” he explained. “Just Flynn Fitzgerald. The one running for the House of Representatives.”

“The man Eugene worked for!” Mary Ann smacked her hand against her thigh, the whole situation becoming clear to her. “That would explain how you knew Eugene.”

Rick broke out into a full grin. “Yes, that would explain it. Were you acquainted with Eugene?”

Mary Ann shook her head, causing her perfect chestnut curls to bounce around her face. “No, I’m just here to support Sophie.”

“That’s a shame. Eugene would have liked you.”

She cocked her head to the side. “What makes you say that?”

“Eugene liked sweet, compassionate, genuine people.”

Mary Ann blushed slightly. “That’s one of the nicest compliments anyone’s ever paid me.”

“They’re flirting,” Leah whispered in my ear. “They’re flirting at a funeral.”

I glanced over at our three other companions. Johnny was engrossed in the Bible and Rick had his head bent toward Mary Ann in a rather intimate fashion. I could make out that he was telling her about Eugene, but his voice was too low for me to really eavesdrop effectively. I would grill Mary Ann later. I shrugged and turned to Leah. “I had sex after your husband’s funeral,” I whispered.

“That’s different. You were bereaved, and bereaved people can have sex after a funeral. It’s a coping mechanism.”

“But I wasn’t all that bereaved….”

“Well you would have been if my husband hadn’t been an adulterous parasite. The point is that you and Bob were family, and any person who’s related to the deceased is allowed to have sex with someone after the funeral.”

“Melanie actually told me about this guy. Eugene was a friend of Rick’s family, which means they were almost related, so he should be able to almost have sex…or at the very least flirt.”

Leah clucked her tongue in disapproval. Just then a distinguished-looking couple walked down the aisle toward the front row where Melanie was sitting. The man was in his early forties, and was wearing a perfectly fitted, very expensive-looking suit. The woman on his arm was about ten years younger, dressed equally well, with sandy blond hair coifed in an elegant updo.

“There’s the boss man and the missus,” Johnny said, finally looking up from his reading. “I should probably sit with them. Never know when Fitzgerald might need his personal assistant.”

“At a funeral?” Leah asked skeptically.

Johnny shrugged. “Maybe he’ll need me to provide him with Kleenex.”

I started to laugh but checked myself when I noted that Johnny wasn’t joking. He jumped up and took a place at Fitzgerald’s side.

“Johnny’s very enthusiastic about his job,” Rick noted.

“Clearly,” I said, but I didn’t have a chance to add more since the priest had just taken his place at the pulpit.

The funeral consisted of one long-winded speech after another. Flynn Fitzgerald spoke, as did his speech writer, who claimed to have been close to Eugene. Neither of them said anything that would make me think someone would want to kill the man they were eulogizing. It was a full hour into the service before the priest called up Rick Wilkes. Rick walked to the front of the room and adjusted the microphone. His initial statements were basically the same as everyone else’s, just reworded. I was beginning to drift off when Rick started talking about Eugene’s previous vocations.

“Eugene excelled at everything he did. My father continually told me that Eugene was one of the best agents in the FBI, and everyone working on Fitzgerald’s campaign can tell you that he was a star….”

“Did you know about that?” Leah asked in a hushed voice.

“No!” I said a little too loudly. The woman in front of us shot me a mean look and I slipped down lower in my seat. “I can’t believe Melanie didn’t tell me,” I said in a much softer whisper. “If he was in the FBI, he could have been dealing with any number of unsavory types.”

“Maybe Melanie didn’t think it was important because he wasn’t that kind of agent,” Mary Ann whispered. “Maybe he was like a…a travel agent for the FBI.”

Leah started giggling and the woman in front of us shot us another glare. We all fell into silence as Rick continued to wax poetic.

When the service was over I tried to get a moment with Rick, but he was whisked away by other friends. I tried again during the wake at Melanie’s house, but while he took pains to check in with Mary Ann a few times, he never got more than a few words out before someone else took him away to discuss something. Flynn Fitzgerald was equally unavailable.

I was fiddling with my necklace while listening to Mary Ann and Leah discuss the wisdom of serving fondue at a buffet when Johnny sidled up to me, offering me a glass of wine. “I have a confession to make,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’ve read every one of your books. I just finished C’est La Mort. You’re one of my favorite authors.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet,” I said, referring to both the compliment and the wine.

“I’m an author, too, you know.”

“Really?” I asked. “What have you written?” My eyes sought out Melanie. She was in the middle of a group of women engaged in what looked like a friendly but somewhat somber conversation.

“I haven’t actually written anything, but I do have a book. It’s all up here.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger.

I managed not to roll my eyes. I had long since lost track of how many people (from lawyers to waiters) had told me that they were really writers at heart. As far as I was concerned that claim didn’t mean a lot until you wrote something. It was a detail that most of these unrecognized “authors” didn’t seem to be willing to address.

“I was a computer science major in school,” Johnny babbled. “But computers aren’t exciting. I mean, can you see me as a computer geek? Not my thing. I’m still amazed I didn’t flunk out due to intense boredom. Then I got my master’s in poly sci and somewhere along the line I said to myself, hey, I can write political thrillers! I still think that’s my true calling, but for now I’m a personal assistant. I love my job and Fitzgerald’s great, but I don’t think I want to go into politics. I want to be a writer like you, or maybe a journalist.”

I wrinkled my nose ever so slightly. Johnny was a spaz. Maybe he could write scripts for the Wiggles or something.

“Look at poor Melanie. I feel so bad for her. I bet she’s feeling kind of alone. Maybe I’ll invite her to come to church with me on Sunday. I’m not Catholic, but maybe she’ll come. It might make her feel better. Just look at her standing in the corner by herself! Doesn’t she look sad?”

“By herself?” I looked back at Melanie. Sure enough, she had managed to extricate herself from the crowd and was now enjoying a rare moment of solitude.

“Leah, hold this.” I turned and handed my glass to my sister, who was standing a few feet behind me as she and Mary Ann continued to chat about the buffet.

Johnny started to say something but I ignored him and made a beeline for Melanie, who greeted me with a fragile smile. “Sophie, thank you so much for being here.”

“Don’t you think you should have mentioned that Eugene was in the FBI?”

“Is it relevant?”

“Of course it’s relevant! What if someone whom he investigated while at the bureau decided to get revenge? Maybe that’s why he’s dead!”

Melanie shook her head. “Eugene hasn’t worked for the FBI in over twenty years. If someone wanted revenge, they would have gotten it by now.”

“Are you sure? I mean, come on, Melanie, my theory has to be as good as the one you have.”

“I don’t really have a theory.”

“My point exactly.”

Melanie sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I know, I know. I’ve given you nothing to go on. I suppose I’m not thinking straight these days. It’s just that nothing seems to make sense anymore.”

“Melanie,” I said, cutting her off, “I just need to know if Eugene was involved in anything or anyone else that might have led to his death. Is the FBI thing the only bit of information you were keeping from me?”

“That’s it…really.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Melanie gave me a pained look before turning her attention to a couple of well-wishers who apparently had no qualms about interrupting our conversation. I marched back to where Leah and Mary Ann were standing. Johnny had moved on.

“I can’t believe you just handed me a wineglass like I was hired help,” Leah spat.

“Sorry, I wanted to catch Melanie while she was alone, and I knew that was probably going to be my one and only opportunity to do so today.” I checked my watch. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting late and I’m not finding anything out.”

“Fine with me,” Leah said. “Liz isn’t expecting me for another few hours, but I like the idea of showing up early to make sure she’s not doing anything she shouldn’t. I think her boyfriend may be stopping by for the occasional visit while she’s watching Jack, which is completely unacceptable. I will not have Jack exposed to his babysitter’s love life.”

Yes, God forbid Jack be exposed to a healthy relationship between a man and a woman. Given a frame of reference he might come to understand how romantically challenged his mother and aunt really are.

“If you’re worried about your babysitter why didn’t you leave Jack with his grandma?” Mary Ann asked.

“Mama’s on a three-week cruise to Baja with her Jewish seniors’ group,” I explained.

“Baja?” Mary Ann repeated. “Wow, that sounds like a fun vacation.”

“Yes,” Leah confirmed. “Sophie and I have been enjoying it immensely. Now, let’s get our coats, shall we?”

“Did I just overhear that you were leaving?”

We all turned at the sound of Rick’s voice.

“We have to get back to the city,” Mary Ann explained.

“I see, well it was good to meet you.” He looked deep into Mary Ann’s eyes. “Thank you so much for talking to me. You made today a little more bearable.”

“It was good to meet you, too,” I said, although it was exceedingly obvious that he wasn’t talking to me. “I know this isn’t the place to ask for a professional favor, but I recently pitched an idea to…um…the National Review for an article dealing with the inner workings of political campaigns,” I lied. “I’d love to interview you for it…and Flynn Fitzgerald, of course.”

“The National Review?” Rick shifted his weight back on his heels. “That’s a fairly conservative periodical.”

“Yes, I guess it is.” And Microsoft is a fairly big computer company.

“Forgive me if I’m out of line, but Johnny was just telling me about your books. He said they were quite good, but he also said that your protagonist is a committed Democrat. I had assumed that you were a Democrat, as well.”

“Um…yes, I am, but a very conservative one.”

Rick cocked his head. “You must be if you’re writing for the National Review.”

“I’m like the John McCain of the Democratic party.”

“Really?” Rick sounded incredibly skeptical.

“Yes, I really think we should lower the income tax and I just love the idea of…school vouchers.”

“Is that so? Do you have children?”

“No, she has a nephew, my son Jack,” Leah said, eyeing the door longingly. “He’ll be attending Adda Clevenger Junior Preparatory and then I plan on sending him to the Bay School of San Francisco. I’ve spoken to people in the admissions offices of Harvard and Yale and everyone agrees that a Bay School education will be beneficial.”

Rick nodded appreciatively. “How old is your son?”

“Two. I’m truly sorry, Rick, but I have to pick him up now. Do you think you could give my sister your card so she can contact you later to set up an interview?”

“An interview?” Johnny had just popped up from nowhere. “Are you going to interview somebody? Are you researching one of your books? Can I help? I would love to help you research an Alicia Bright novel!”

“I’m actually writing an article for the National Review,” I muttered. I should have said that I was researching a book. That would have been a much easier lie to pull off.

“So you’re a journalist, too? That’s so cool!” Johnny gushed. “Who do you want to interview? Can I help?”

“This article is about the campaign process, so I’d love to talk to any of the top people on Fitzgerald’s team. You know, the people Eugene worked with.”

“I suppose I could help you with that,” Rick said, pulling out his card and pressing it into my hand. “Even when I’m out of the office I always check my messages.”

“Good to know.” I smiled at my companions. “Shall we?”

“Bye!” Johnny called after us.

When we got out to the car I threw my arms around Leah’s neck. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. All that stuff about making college plans for your two-year-old was perfect.”

Leah broke away and looked at me. “I didn’t make that up. My son’s going to Harvard. Yale’s just his backup.”

“Oh…right, of course.” I bit my lip as I got behind the wheel of my car and waited for Mary Ann and Leah to get themselves settled. I love my nephew, but I didn’t see him going to Harvard so much as I saw him going on Ritalin.

I dropped Mary Ann off first and then started toward Leah’s babysitter’s family home, which was conveniently located across the street from Leah’s. “How’s work?” I asked as I idled my car at a stoplight.

Not long ago Leah had been a stay-at-home mom married to Bob Miller. Now Bob was dead, which should have been sad except he had been such an incredibly awful and emotionally abusive man that pretending to be mournful over his early demise was kind of like shedding tears over the retirement of stone-washed jeans. So no one blinked an eye when Leah quickly pulled herself together, sold her large Forest Hill home for $3.4 million dollars, along with most of Bob’s things and bought a $1.6 million two-bedroom in Laurel Heights. She used some of her excess cash to get herself set up as a freelance special-events coordinator. Her Junior League friends helped out by funneling business her way, and it quickly became apparent that Leah was born for the job. Whether it was a corporate retreat or an elaborate birthday celebration for a debutante’s shih tzu, my sister managed to make the event an elegant affair to remember.

“Work’s fine,” Leah said as she adjusted the clasp of the new Tiffany charm bracelet she had recently bought herself. “I’m currently planning the retirement dinner for Delcoe’s CEO. I’ve convinced them to have it at the Marines’ Memorial to honor the years he spent in the service.” She paused a moment before changing subjects. “Do you realize that today was the first time I’ve seen Melanie since Dad’s funeral? Odd that it would take another death for our paths to cross again.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t like thinking about Dad’s funeral.

“You almost never talk about Melanie anymore,” Leah added.

“Melanie and I have both been busy living our lives in different towns and in different social circles. We still talk on the phone every once in a while and she’s still important to me.” I opened the moon roof to give us a little more fresh air. “You’re probably wondering why I agreed to investigate Eugene’s death for her.”

“I know why you’re doing it,” Leah said, “although I seriously doubt you know why you’re doing it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the reasons that you have allowed your relationship with Melanie to fade into the background of your life are the exact same reasons why you continue to care about her so much. But of course you can’t examine any of that because that would require you to revisit painful memories that you’ve pushed into your subconscious.”

I gave Leah a questioning look as I turned onto her block. “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Exactly my point. Aha! That’s Liz’s boyfriend’s car! That’s why that little harlot asked if she could watch Jack at her parents’ house, because she knew Bruce would be welcome there! And to think I bought her line about wanting Jack to be able to play with their new puppy! Let me out here. I swear, if either of them so much as has the top two buttons of their shirts undone I’m going to have them arrested for indecent exposure in front of a minor.”

“Mmm, that will go over well in a city that allows men to parade in G-strings during Carnival.”

Leah glared at me right before she shot out the door to scare a couple of overeager teenagers into a life of abstinence. As I drove home I made a halfhearted attempt to make sense of what Leah had said but quickly gave up the effort. Leah was a lot crazier than I was, so it seemed foolhardy to take her psychobabble seriously.

When I got back to my neighborhood I began the arduous task of looking for parking. After fifteen minutes with no luck I finally accepted the fact that I was going to have to give Anatoly’s block a go. Anatoly lived all of three blocks away from me, and over the past two months I had spent an exorbitant amount of time trying to avoid him. I would never make that mistake again. From now on if a man lived so close that it would make honoring a restraining order a challenge I would not get involved with him. I turned onto his block and, as Murphy’s law would have it, there he was at the other end of the block, crouched over, examining the front of his Harley.

It occurred to me that maybe this was why I hadn’t heard from him. It wasn’t that he had moved on, it was that he had been standing on his corner in the hopes that I would eventually drive by and pick him up.

But if that was the case he should have noticed my car by now, and he definitely had not. He was too absorbed with his tire.

I slowed the car from ten miles an hour to two. Something about Anatoly’s crouched position reminded me of certain things he used to do to me. Just drive by. If I stopped and talked to him I was bound to do something stupid, or he would do something that would make me feel stupid, and then I would be thrown into a downward spiral of lost pride and low self-esteem.

But of course, there was a parking place just a few feet in front of him.

Beads of sweat dampened my brow. I had two seconds to figure out what was more important to me—my dignity or parking. My God, it was like Sophie’s Choice. Of course, if I lost my dignity I could always turn to my friend Smirnoff for some much-needed comfort. But if I gave up the parking spot I might be stuck driving around my neighborhood for days, and there would be no solace since there are laws about drinking before you parked your car.

I took a deep breath and made the only logical choice by pulling into the empty space. Anatoly looked up as I did so and I felt his eyes boring into me. Here it comes. This is the part where he walks up and tells me that we should put our differences aside and indulge in safe, casual, early-evening sex.

Anatoly nodded in greeting as I pulled up on the emergency break and then returned all of his attention to the bike.

Okay, self-esteem gone.

I got out of my car. Turn around and walk away. I walked over to him. “Nice tire. Do you usually come out here to pay homage or is today a special occasion?”

“Someone hit my bike while it was parked here. The front fairing is seriously damaged.”

“I hate it when people try to screw with my fairing.”

“This is going to cost me at least twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“Seriously?” I tapped the part that he was examining. “It’s a flimsy piece of metal. How can that possibly add up to twenty-five hundred?”

“It’s not just a piece of metal, it’s the front fairing.”

Two months. We hadn’t spoken in two months and he wanted to complain to me about his fucking fairing? I felt my hands ball up into fists. “Well, good luck with this.” I turned and started to walk away.

“Doesn’t that hurt your palms?”

I slowly pivoted. “Excuse me?”

He had straightened up and was wearing that little half smile of his. “Whenever you’re angry you make a fist, and I’ve always wondered if your nails dug into your palms. They’re long enough that it seems like they should.”

“This is something you think about?”

“Occasionally I wonder.”

“Huh, what else do you wonder about?”

“Lately, I’ve been wondering how you are.”

“I’m fine.” I waited a beat before adding, “If that’s really been on your mind so much you could have given me a call.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to call.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked.

“Because you told me not to.”

“Oh…and you listened to me?”

“Didn’t you want me to?”

Of course I hadn’t wanted him to. I had wanted him to fight for me, to ask me to come back to him and to tell me that he was hopelessly in love with me and couldn’t live without me. “Yes, I wanted you to listen…I’m just surprised that you did.”

Anatoly nodded, then looked down at the bike again. “My insurance won’t cover this.”

And we were back to the fairing. “I’m sure one of your clients will give you an advance if you ask them to.”

“Business has been slow lately.” Anatoly stuffed his hands into his leather jacket and smiled wryly. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who needs a private detective.”

Shit. This was the moment of truth. Was I a good person or a selfish bitch who would rather avoid a potentially uncomfortable social situation than give a man in need the opportunity to make a living? “I don’t know anyone who needs a P.I.” Selfish bitch it was.

“Not a single person?” By the tone of Anatoly’s voice I could tell he wasn’t really asking a question but underscoring the desperate state of his finances.

“Not a soul. All of my friends’ significant others have been annoyingly faithful lately.”

“Ah, well.” Anatoly shrugged and then looked me over carefully. “You look good.”

“Thanks.”

“Really good.”

And here comes that self-esteem again.

“There’s one more thing I’ve been wondering about.”

“Oh?”

“Last time we talked you said you wanted more of a commitment.”

“I did say that.”

“That was two months ago and we’ve both had some time to think.”

I felt my heart pick up in speed. He had reconsidered. He wanted to be in a relationship with me. Suddenly I saw my future and it was filled with emotional growth!

“I’ve missed you, Sophie,” he said, taking a step forward. “If you were willing to let go of this idea of improving on what was already a good thing, we could go back to the way things were.”

And we were back to feeling like shit. I stepped forward and ran my finger across his pecks. “Anatoly?”

He smiled his sexy half smile and leaned in closer. “Yes?”

“Take your front fairing and stick it up your ass.”