14

 

After striking out with Julia, and kicking herself for wasting precious time, Jane sat in her car and phoned Cordelia. She needed to wheedle information out of her without appearing to do so. “Hey, where are you?” she asked when Cordelia finally picked up.

“Hatts and I are crossing the street to my architect’s office. I was hoping they could come over to the theater, but they want me at their place so they can show me the model they built.”

“For what?”

“I’ve decided to turn part of the first floor into a small, seventy-five-seat experimental stage. Octavia wanted to rent it out to a retail store, but I nixed that. We’ve already got a coffee shop going in, and a New York–style deli. That pretty much covers my periodic espresso crises and my lunch debates.”

“Is Octavia meeting with you and Hattie at the architect’s office?”

“Nah. As usual, she has more important fish to fry. She’s over at the theater as we speak. They’re putting the finishing touches on her office today.”

“I thought she was moving into the broom closet.”

“Very occasionally I may exaggerate. She said she has to be there to make sure everything is perfection itself. What are you up to?”

“Still working with Andrew and Eric.”

“I have to say, I’m having a hard time letting Hattie out of my sight.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a hundred thousand dollars lying around that you’d like to donate to a good cause?”

“They received a ransom note?” she cried. “When do you need the money by?”

“The end of business today. I’m going to call my dad, see what he can do.” Jane had no intention of calling her father. He’d been having his own financial problems and she wasn’t about to burden him with something else to worry about.

“Good idea, Janey. Wish I could help. I might be able to put together part of the cash, but it would take way longer than that.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You call if you need me. Cordelia Thorn may not provide drive-through financial services, but she has many other fine qualities. I’m taking Hattie for a haircut when we’re done here, and then I’ll be back at the theater.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Jane rang off, delighted that she’d been able to find the information she’d been looking for without tipping her hand.

After a short drive downtown, she parked in the lot behind the theater and took the elevator up to the second floor. She found a workman in the hallway and asked him where Octavia’s office was located. Trying to settle herself, to mute the festering in her stomach, she approached the door. If Octavia said no, Jane had nowhere else to turn. The lives of two children were riding on this conversation. She had to get it right.

Knocking on the open door, Jane scanned the room. Seeing Octavia’s blond head pop out of the door in the back, she plastered on a quick smile.

“Jane, hi. Come in and see my new digs.”

She stepped across the threshold, breathing in the smell of new carpet, new furniture, and fresh paint. Unlike Cordelia’s office, which was being decorated in Gilded Age elegance straight out of an Edith Wharton novel, Octavia’s was sleek and modern. Neither sister was a minimalist, although they treated their grandeur requirements in different ways.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” asked Jane.

“Why so serious?” She smirked. “Love that line. Don’t get a chance to use it as often as I’d like.”

Jane nodded to a couple of metal chairs that looked like modern art exhibits. “Let’s sit.”

“You really are in a black mood. Can I offer you anything? A brandy? A coffee? A few minutes of free Freudian—or I should say Octavian—therapy?”

Patience had never been one of Jane’s saving graces. Cordelia was her best friend, which meant Jane generally had no problem putting up with her lame wisecracks. She was even charmed by some of them. Cordelia’s little sister, however, was a another matter entirely.

“I need one hundred thousand dollars,” said Jane.

Octavia blinked. “Don’t we all, darling.”

“I’m not joking. Two boys were kidnapped on Tuesday night from a small town in southern Minnesota. A few hours ago the parents received a ransom note. If they can’t produce one hundred thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills by tomorrow morning, they’ll never see those kids again.”

“And this is my problem … why?”

“Because I’m making it your problem.”

Her finely plucked eyebrows arched.

“Look, Octavia. You’re the only person I know who could give me that money and never even miss it.”

She digested that a moment, rearranging herself in the chair, brushing her fingertips across her short, razor-cut bangs. “And?”

“And what?”

“Forgive me, Jane, but you failed to explain the most important part. What’s in it for me?”

Jane’s first thought was that Octavia and Julia had been separated at birth. Her second thought was even less charitable. “What do you want?”

Her eyes flashed. “I’d think that would be obvious.”

Jane had no idea what she was talking about. “I guess you’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

“A simple act of kindness.” She smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile.

“Meaning?”

“Cordelia and I put you on the board of this theater, a ten percent voting share. We did it for a reason, one you’re quite aware of. If the two of us come to an impasse over an issue, you would be the tiebreaker.” She held Jane’s eyes. “I’ll give you the money gladly. I’m always interested in helping a good cause. In return, the next time I need it, you will agree to cast your vote with me.”

Jane felt like she was in a foxhole watching a grenade drop next to her feet. “You’ll give me the money if I agree to betray my best friend.”

“I wouldn’t put it in such Faustian terms. I’m merely asking for a favor.”

“What if I give you the money back? That way, you’re not out a penny.”

“Ah, there’s the rub. For that to happen, you’d need me to give it to you in the first place. My offer stands. If you manage to retrieve the cash, consider it yours. Give it to your favorite charity. Take a trip to Tahiti. Frankly, Jane, I’d happily pay you for your vote, but you wouldn’t take it.”

Jane couldn’t help herself. “You suck, Octavia. You really, really suck.”

She laughed. “Sticks and stones.”

Two boys’ lives trumped just about anything Jane could think of, even her loyalty to Cordelia. She didn’t see that she had a choice.

“Do we have a deal?”

Looking away, Jane said, “We do.”

“Wonderful,” said Octavia. “I’ll call my banker. You’ll have the money by this afternoon. I’ll give you a call when it’s ready for you to pick up. This feels good, Jane. Friends helping friends. I hope we can find a way to do it more often.”

*   *   *

Walking down the hall to her new office, praying that Nolan was a hundred miles away, Jane unlocked the door and then ducked inside, feeling like a gallon bucket of movie slime had been dumped all over her. How was it possible that she knew so many narcissists? They were falling out of trees, clogging the rivers and streams, eating up the ozone layer. They seemed like the twenty-first century’s equivalent of the living dead, except that they smiled a lot, and instead of finding their way through the world with their arms outstretched, they used sarcasm to navigate, bouncing it off the foreheads of unsuspecting humanoids like a bat wielding its sonar.

Easing down on the couch in the waiting room, Jane took out her cell phone and punched in Andrew’s number. She reached his voice mail. “I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ll be down later in the day with the cash. Stay strong, okay? We’ll do everything in our power to get those boys back.” That finished, she typed a text message to her niece, Mia—the one who’d been abducted two years ago. Jane needed to see her, to spend some time with her.

“Hey,” she texted. “Let’s get together. Horseback riding? Lunch? New art exhibit at Walker? U name it. Hugs and love, J.” Mia was deaf. Their preferred method of communication these days was e-mail or texts. It had been over a month since Jane had seen her. Much too long.

Finally, searching the extensive contact list on her iPhone, she located the other number she needed. A few minutes later, as she was about to say good-bye, the door opened and Nolan wheeled himself in. He nodded to her as he rolled into his office.

Stuffing the phone back into her pocket, Jane stood at his door and watched him remove a briefcase from his lap. Underneath were the two local papers. He set those on the desktop and then turned to open the blinds. “Afternoon,” he said, a bit too casually.

“How’d you get here?” she asked.

“Cab.”

“Want some coffee?” She’d smelled some brewing in the break room.

“I could be persuaded.” He looked good, dressed more comfortably today in jeans and a red polo shirt. His forehead was beaded with sweat, which he patted off with a white handkerchief.

Jane ran down the hall and came back carrying two mugs. “Cream, two sugars,” she said, setting his down in front of him. Pulling up a chair, she continued, “So how do you like this place?”

He took a sip before responding. “It’ll do.”

“Oh, come on. You can only push these miserly comments so far before it seems like a pose.”

He laughed. “Okay, you got me. I like it. In fact, I more than like it.”

She was relieved by the declaration.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asked, glancing through one of the newspapers.

“I’ve got a case.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Actually, she did, though she didn’t want to go into detail. “What do you do when a client wants to act in a way that might be against his best interests?” She was having second thoughts about not letting the local police know about the ransom note.

“Try to talk them out of it.”

“Yes, but what if you’re not sure what the right move is? I mean, maybe they made the right call. I can’t act against their wishes, can I? They’ve confided in me. I have proprietary information that I’m obligated to keep private.”

“Like a therapist and a patient. Sure, I look at it that way, too. Thing is, you can’t let them walk into a situation that’s way over their heads. That’s what you’re there for.”

“What if it’s over my head?”

“What kind of case?”

“Involves a couple of kids. They’re missing.”

“And?”

“They received a ransom note.”

He hesitated a moment. “They don’t want to go to the police because they were threatened, told they’d never see the kids again if they called the cops. Listen to me, Jane: Everyone’s out of his depth on a case like that. The outcome rides on too many details you can’t control.”

“But, if it were you, you’d try to convince the family to talk to the police.”

He stretched his arms high over his head. “Believe it or not, I’ve never worked an abduction. I know a few cops who have. One made a total mess of it. Hurts even to think about it. Another one did everything right and the little girl was never seen again. To answer your question: Yes, I always think it’s best to go to the police.”

“Even in a small town? Even when they don’t know what they’re doing?”

“Was an Amber Alert issued?”

“Everyone thought the boys had run away because one of them had tried it before. The thing is, the cop in charge never even looked at the boys’ bedrooms.”

“Not smart. I’ll bet you did.”

“Only one. So far.”

“You find anything?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure because I haven’t had time to pursue it.”

Leaning into the desk, Nolan made a bridge of his fingers. “It’s the parents’ call. That being said, let me give you a piece of advice. First, do they have the money?”

She nodded.

“How much?”

“A hundred thousand.”

He winced. “Okay, listen carefully: Up until now, the kidnapper’s held all the cards. As soon as he knows you have the cash, he begins to have a dog in the fight. He can feel that money in his hand, taste it, smell it. You could say he wants that money almost as much as you want those kids back home. So work with that. You hear what I’m saying?”

“I think so.”

He folded his hands on the desk and tried again. “Now that you’ve got a card to play, stand up to him if he asks you to do something you know is flat-out stupid. Chances are, he’ll give you some latitude. I can’t predict when or how this might take shape, or why you’d need to make a demand of your own, but remember, you’ve got some leverage now that you’ve got the cash.”

“I get it. Thanks.”

“What I’m here for. You believe in prayer?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I do. I’ll send up a few smoke signals on your behalf. You’re gonna need them.”

*   *   *

Shortly before two, Jane stood outside Avi’s apartment in the saunalike heat and buzzed her apartment. She’d given Avi a key to her house, but because of her roommate, Avi hadn’t felt comfortable doing the same.

“Yes?” came a woman’s voice over the speaker.

“I’m freezing out here,” said Jane. “Let me in, let me in.”

“Who is this?”

“Georgia?” Jane had thought the voice belonged to Avi.

“Oh, Lawless. Yeah, you better join us in front of the fire.”

When the buzzer sounded, Jane bounded up the stairs to the second floor. She’d been hoping Georgia would be out—or had suddenly moved to Pittsburgh—though she was always around these days, studying for the bar exam.

Avi opened the door, dressed in her usual bartending drag. Black everything.

“On your way to work, I take it,” said Jane, glancing at Georgia, who was seated at the dining room table, her work spread out in front of her. Georgia gave Jane a smile and a prom queen wave.

“Afraid so,” said Avi.

“Do you have a minute?”

“For you, more than a minute.”

Jane nodded to the hallway. Personal conversations while seated in the stairwell weren’t exactly the height of comfort or privacy, but with Georgia able to eavesdrop on virtually anywhere in the apartment from her perch in the dining room, it was their destination of necessity. As always, Jane’s first impulse was to grouse about Georgia. Knowing it did nothing but frustrate Avi, she did her best to rein in the choice comments she was devising and instead get to the point, her reason for coming. First, she gave Avi a long, slow kiss.

“That was nice,” said Avi. “You’ve come bearing news?”

Jane pulled away, tilted her head. “How could you possibly know that?”

“The way you’re fidgeting. You’re pumping one leg. Rubbing your palms together. You always fidget when you’ve got something important to say.”

Jane didn’t like being so transparent.

“Come on, out with it. Otherwise I’ll be late for work.”

She stopped rubbing her hands and instead, sat on them. “You said last night that you’d completed the final draft of your new novel.”

“I said I wasn’t happy with it.”

“I know, but you’re never happy with anything you’ve written.”

“You have a point.”

Jane started again. “A few years back, I authored a cookbook based on the food we serve at the Lyme House. I used an agent in New York to make the deal. Her name is Constance Riley, part-owner of Riley Moreland Literary Agency. I got to know her pretty well. She’s a real foodie, even flew out to Minneapolis to eat at the restaurant. Anyway, I called her a little while ago.”

Avi turned and gave Jane a heavy-lidded stare.

“She represents all kinds of writing, although I wasn’t sure if she did fiction. Turns out, that’s her major interest. I told her about you, that I’d read a couple of your unpublished novels and thought they were wonderful. She agreed to look at the new one. Couldn’t say exactly when she’d get to it, but soon.”

Avi’s eyes darted right, then left. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just send it as a Word doc, that way she can download it onto her iPad. She reads on the train going to and from work.”

“I am … utterly speechless.”

Jane removed a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to her. “That’s all the info you’ll need.”

“But it’s not ready.”

“Are any of your books ready?”

“Well—”

“Send the manuscript, Avi. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She hesitated. Then, suddenly, she stood up and whooped.

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“You are a freakin’ miracle worker.”

“I got you a read. It’s the book that will make or break the deal. I’m betting on the former.”

Avi gave Jane a quick peck on the cheek and then dashed back to her apartment, calling, “I’ll thank you properly later.”

“I’m counting on it,” whispered Jane, unable to suppress a self-congratulatory grin.