Chapter 24
IT WAS THE morning after Penny’s awkward dinner party, and Matt hadn’t phoned. I wondered if I was living under some kind of a curse. Romantically speaking, I’d been alone for five years after the death of my husband, Ian. Six months ago I’d finally worked up the courage to start living like a grown-up woman again, and what happened? Twice in those six months I’d made love with a man—and both of them promptly vanished from my life, either literally, like mysterious Nico Andreades, or figuratively, like Matt.
Magic was still curled where he’d slept on the pillow next to mine. I reached down to give him a few loving strokes. “I guess it’s still just you and me, fella.”
Magic’s response was a wide, pink yawn.
A few minutes later, as I was about to leave the apartment to meet Link for our Thursday morning breakfast, the phone rang. My pulse quickened with anticipation. I snatched up the receiver—but it wasn’t Matt on the other end of the line.
“Morgan, it’s Arnold.”
That was a surprise. “Hello. How are you, and how is Didi?”
“Didi is still in great distress, as you can imagine. I’m calling because I understand you went to Boston.”
“Who told you?”
“Cathy Chatsworth.” I heard the distaste in his voice as he pronounced the name of the Boston gossip columnist. “Vile woman.”
“I’m not too fond of her myself.”
“She said you were investigating Veronica. I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Nancy’s been accused of murder,” I said sharply. “I thought if I knew something about Veronica I might be able to develop a theory as to who really killed her.”
“And did you?”
“I learned about some people who didn’t like Veronica. One of them might have killed her. If Nancy’s actually put on trial, other possible names will at least let her lawyer plant reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. I’m sorry if you’re upset, Arnold.”
On Arnold’s end of the line, I heard a heavy sigh. “All Cathy Chatsworth knows are a few . . . about certain activities Veronica wasn’t proud of. She never knew who my wife really was. I did.”
“Then tell me about her, please. I would have gone to you in the first place, but I know how hard this must be for you, and Didi.”
“It’s terrible,” he said softly, “but I’d like to talk about Veronica. After spending time with that bitch in Boston, your opinion of Ronnie is probably negative. I want you to know about the woman I fell in love with, who gave me Didi.”
I looked at my watch and decided that I had to see Arnold while he was willing to talk. Later, he might change his mind. “What are you doing right now? I could come over to your place—”
“No! Didi’s resting. I have an appointment on the West Side this morning. I could come to your apartment first. Say, in twenty minutes?”
“Perfect.”
As soon as we said goodbye, I dialed Link’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Hi, it’s Morgan. Something’s come up. I’m sorry, but I can’t meet you for breakfast. How about an early lunch in my office? Tommy will be away at an Affiliates meeting.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “What I want to talk about can wait a few hours. If I can’t see you this morning, I’ll go to the gym.”
“Thanks, Link. I’ll tell Betty not to interrupt us.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that,” he joked, adopting an exaggerated version of the tone he uses when his character is about to make love to a woman in our story.
With affection, I said, “You’re a nut,” and hung up.
Walter was in the kitchen, getting ready to make scrambled eggs. Magic sat on the stool next to the counter, watching him intently.
“Use a bigger bowl,” I said. “I’m staying for breakfast, and we’re going to have company.”
WALTER SET OUT a great spread: eggs, toast, muffins, fresh orange juice, and a Variety Pack of dry cereals, but all Arnold wanted was juice and coffee. The three of us sat at the kitchen table; Walter and I ate quietly while Arnold talked.
“When I met Ronnie I was in my senior year at Harvard Law. On scholarship. She’d just made her debut.” He glanced at Walter. “That means she was presented to society at a grand ball.”
“I know,” Walter said. “I’m from West Virginia, not Borneo.”
Arnold had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m used to explaining things to juries.”
“No offense taken,” Walter said.
I refilled Arnold’s coffee mug. “Go on.”
“I saw her picture in the paper, and must have said something about how beautiful she was. One of my classmates knew her, and introduced us. Much to my amazement, she agreed to go out with me. She didn’t care that I had very little money. She was happy eating pizza and renting videos. We fell in love . . .”
Arnold paused for a moment, as though trying to keep his emotions in check. I sat still and silent, letting him take the time he needed. When he continued, his voice was stronger. “I made top grades, Law Review, all that, so after graduation, I had my choice of several major firms. I wanted to do criminal defense, and the best offer for that was in New York. Ronnie urged me to take the opportunity. We got married and she moved here, leaving all her friends and everything familiar and comfortable. She was fascinated by my work—wanted to know everything about the cases I took . . .”
There was a dreamy expression on Arnold’s face—a look I would never have associated with that lion of the courtroom. It was as though he was reliving the past in his mind. I saw that he really had loved her. Perhaps, as Nancy feared, he had fallen in love with her again.
To keep him talking, I said, “I’m not surprised she was interested. Criminal law is an enthralling profession.”
Arnold snapped back into the present. “It was more than just interested. We’d been married for a year when she confided to me that she had always wanted to become a lawyer. Her father told her that she’d been brainwashed by television shows, and that law wasn’t at all the right career for her.”
“What did he want her to do?”
“Nothing.” Arnold’s mouth hardened and his tone turned bitter. “Her father was a king of the leveraged buyout, and did a lot of lavish entertaining while making big deals. He told Ronnie that she’d just waste time in college, because she’d only get married one day and have a husband to take care of. In the meantime, because her mother was dead, he insisted it was Ronnie’s duty to be his hostess.”
“That’s pretty medieval,” I said.
“She wasn’t strong enough to go against his wishes—at least not until she married me.” Arnold laughed, but it was a sound without a trace of mirth. “That was her first rebellion. The old man didn’t approve of me—I was poor then, I wasn’t well connected, ‘not of their social set.’ He wouldn’t come to our wedding, and he didn’t come to the hospital when Didi was born. I think marrying me was Ronnie’s revenge on her father for not letting her have the life she wanted. In a way, she tried to have a law career through me, by helping me. She was a wonderful hostess—charmed the partners in the firm where I worked. As I got more important cases, my income grew, and finally I could give her all the material things that she’d turned her back on. I insisted we have live-in help, and that she hire caterers when we gave parties. When I took a high-profile criminal case out of state, I’d have to be gone weeks at a time, and I couldn’t fill her in on the day-to-day business of preparation and trial. Worst of all—and I’ll never forgive myself for this—when Didi started kindergarten, Ronnie told me she wanted to go to law school. I thought she was joking, and treated it that way. I didn’t know how badly I’d hurt her until she got her revenge on me by having an affair. I wouldn’t have known about it, but she told me. I was furious, of course. Told her she broke my heart, that I’d never be able to forgive her. She left me; took Didi and moved back to Boston. At the time, I didn’t put her affair together with her frustrated ambition.”
“When you divorced, did she try to go to law school?”
Arnold shook his head. “I’d made her feel ridiculous for wanting to. She plunged back into the social whirl, entertaining again for her father. Joined the charity committees he asked her to. When the old man died, she inherited a fortune.”
Before I could frame a tactful version of the question, Walter asked boldly, “Who inherits her money?”
“Didi. Everything is in an unbreakable trust, to be administered by Ronnie’s personal attorney, in Boston.” Arnold stiffened and glared at Walter. “I’m a wealthy man. Are you implying that I might have killed my wife for her money?”
“Just asking,” Walter said calmly. “The police think they got the killer, but the question about you is prob’ly gonna occur to Miss Cummings’s lawyer.”
Arnold’s voice was close to a snarl. “I’ll be happy to show him my bank statements.” He tamped his anger down and added, “When Ronnie and I divorced, she took nothing from me, and I took nothing from her. However, I insisted it be put in writing that I was to pay all of Didi’s expenses—personal and educational—through graduate school, if she wants to go. In a week or so, Ronnie’s will is going to be a matter of public record. You can read it for yourself. And I’ll make our divorce papers available to anyone. I will gain nothing from Ronnie’s death, nor from Didi’s trust.”
To get things back on a cordial footing, I said, “From what I’ve seen, you’re a wonderful father.”
That seemed to mollify Arnold. “I love my daughter more than anything in the world,” he said. “Naturally, I was very happy when she and her mother moved back to New York. Ronnie and I had long ago gotten over our hard feelings and become friends again. I bought an apartment for them in my building.” Arnold’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Morgan, I’m ashamed to say this, but with Didi and Ronnie back in my life, I was unkind to Nancy. I loved Nancy . . .”
I caught the past tense. “Loved? You don’t love Nancy anymore?”
“It’s complicated.” He shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t stop loving Nancy, but—I’m not proud of this—I found myself falling in love with Ronnie again, too.”
“That’s crap!” Walter said. To me, he added, “Excuse my language.”
Arnold stood up. “I behaved atrociously to Nancy before . . . before Ronnie was killed. But please believe that I never meant to hurt her. Right now, I have to focus on getting Didi through this, but if there’s anything that I can do for Nancy, all you have to do is let me know.”
“I will,” I said.
Politely, Walter stood up. Arnold gave him a curt goodbye nod, and squeezed my hand lightly.
When I returned from showing Arnold to the front door, Walter was clearing the kitchen table. “What do you think?” I asked.
“After the personal things he told us about her, Veronica Rose isn’t just a victim anymore. I feel kinda sorry for her.”
“Me, too. Maybe she behaved the way she did because she never got to live her own life.”
“Or she wasn’t strong enough to tell her father and husband to go to hell,” Walter said. “You know Arnold Rose. Did you believe that—how he felt about his wife?”
“I’m furious at him for hurting Nancy, but I think he’s sincere about his feelings.”
“Yeah, I believed him, too. But just for the record, I don’t buy it that a man can be in love with two women at the same time. Your friend Nancy’s well rid of that guy.”