Jane was sitting at Cordelia’s computer, examining the CD Nolan had given her, when her cell phone rang. She hoped it would be a cop from Eagle Ridge with good news.
“Is this Jane?” came a tentative voice.
“Yes? Who’s calling?”
“This is Brandy Becker. You saved my life.”
Jane felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Are you okay?”
Brandy explained that Gordon had tied her up in the kitchen of her house yesterday afternoon. When she heard the police outside her back door a few minutes ago, she’d tried to make as much noise as possible so they’d break down the door. She’d been sitting in the dark all night, waiting for Gordon to come back. She was sure he was going to kill her.
“That won’t happen,” said Jane. “He’s dead.”
Silence. “Dead?”
“He was shot and killed last night here in Minneapolis.”
“Lord, why?”
“We’re not sure. Did the police tell you about the body they dredged from Whitefish Lake?”
“Yes. That’s why I had to call—to thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t warned me about him. You’re a very special woman.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“Someday I’ll find a way to thank you properly.”
They talked for a few more seconds and then said good-bye. As Jane set the cell phone down next to the computer, Cordelia dragged through the front door.
“Another crisis,” she said, sinking down on a chair, narrowly missing one of her cats.
Jane looked over at her. “I don’t even want to ask.”
Cordelia explained about dinner, about Joanna backing out of the production.
“That’s it? That’s the crisis?”
“No, no. Give me a chance, will you? I have to do this in a linear fashion. I’m too tired to explain it any other way.”
Cordelia finally got to the point—the shattered mirror and the message. “This is way too weird for me. Makes me feel like moving to Iowa.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t. What are you reading?”
Jane explained about the files, then told her about the body found in Whitefish Lake—about how ironic it had been that Joanna had essentially caused Luberman to come back into her life. She’d jumped to a wrong conclusion about the flowers, and that had become the first domino in a long chain that eventually led to Luberman and the guard’s murder.
“I hate irony,” said Cordelia. “It so ironic.”
“Why don’t you get out your reading glasses and help me look through this file?”
“No, no. We’ve got to talk about the mirror thing! That file is a waste of time. Reading about people in South Carolina or Arizona, I mean, who cares? Whoever got into Joanna’s apartment while we were all having dinner must’ve had a key. It’s got to be someone in
this building. We need action, Jane! Instinct, and pure, hard, cold logic.”
“I think you’re right about the key. But with the amount of sleep we’ve both missed, I doubt we have the brainpower between us to open a can of soup.”
“Piffle.” Cordelia got up and, as usual, began to pace. “Let’s think this through. How could someone get a key to that loft?”
“You go first.”
“Well, I have one. Tammi Bonifay, the woman who owns the loft, gave me two sets when she agreed to sublet. I gave both to Joanna, made myself an extra set—it’s on my key ring in my desk drawer, right in front of where you’re sitting there. And, of course, there’s a master key down in the Tenants’ Association office. But that’s kept locked, and the keys themselves are in a safe.”
“Cross that off, then,” said Jane.
“Unless we’ve got a stalker psychic.”
Cordelia always came up with such useful ideas. “Who would have access to your set of keys?”
“You. Hattie. Cecily.”
“What about while you’re at work?”
“Who’d be interested in my keys at the theater?”
Jane shrugged. “Just a thought.”
Cordelia stood in front of the windows and looked down at the city. “Think, Jane!”
“I am!”
“Think harder. Whoever got into Joanna’s apartment had a key.”
“Where’s Bonifay?”
“Madrid. I wonder if she ever gave a key to anyone. You know, like someone to water her plants if she happened to be gone.”
“What if she gave it to another tenant in the building?” Jane felt as if a light switch had just burst on inside her. “That’s it, Cordelia. Whoever knifed Luberman met him on the stairs. I didn’t see it before, but you’re right. It had to be someone who lived in the building.
The police thought it was David, but what if it was one of the other tenants? This person knifes Luberman, then slips back to his apartment and nobody’s any the wiser.” Except, thought Jane, there was one big hole in that theory. How did this person get his hands on her Global knife? Unless it was David. “Do you have a number for Bonifay in Madrid?”
“In the Tenants’ Association office in the basement.”
“What are we waiting for?” asked Jane. “Let’s give her a call.”
Downstairs in Joanna’s loft, the phone rang. Joanna was lying on the couch, a cool washcloth draped over her forehead. Freddy rushed in from the kitchen, where he’d been heating them mugs of cocoa in the microwave. Answering the phone, he said, “Yeah, what?” He wasn’t in a good mood.
“This is Abbott Northwestern Hospital calling for Joanna Kasimir.” The woman’s voice had an Indian accent.
“Hospital?” repeated Freddy. “What’s this about?”
Joanna sat up.
“I’m an emergency room nurse. Indrani Azim. We just admitted a woman who is asking for Ms. Kasimir. The woman is in serious condition. We were hoping Ms. Kasimir might be able to come down to the hospital.”
“What’s the woman’s name?” asked Freddy.
“Cordelia. That’s all we know.”
“My God! What happened?”
“We believe it was a suicide attempt. Do you need directions to the hospital?”
Freddy glanced down at Joanna. “Do you know where Abbott Northwestern Hospital is?”
“Sure? Why?”
“We’ll be right there.”
“What?” said Joanna.
“The nurse said they just brought Cordelia in. She tried to commit suicide?”
“Not possible. We just saw her.”
“But that was over an hour ago.”
Joanna’s instincts told her it was a ruse to get her out of the building. She grabbed the phone out of Freddy’s hand and punched in Cordelia’s number. She let it ring and ring. When the voice mail picked up, she cut the line. “I still don’t believe it. Did the nurse give you her name?”
“Indrani Azim.”
“I’ll bet you Abbott Northwestern’s never heard of a Indrani Azim.” She called directory assistance and then waited while she was connected. “Emergency room, please,” she said, looking up at Freddy.
Two rings. Three. “Emergency,” said a male voice.
“Do you have a nurse named Indrani Azim working tonight?”
“Let me check.” A moment later, the man came back. “Yes, but she’s with a patient at the moment. Can I take a message?”
Joanna couldn’t believe it. “Did you just admit a woman named Thorn?”
“Sorry, we can’t give out that information. If you’d like, I could have Indrani call you back.”
“No,” said Joanna. “It’s okay. Thanks.” Her eyes rose to Freddy’s.
“The nurse is for real.”
“If something really did happen to Cordelia and she’s asking for you—”
“I know,” said Joanna. “I know.” She looked down at her nightclothes, unsure what to do.
“The nurse said she was in serious condition.”
That did it. “Call Nolan. See how fast he can have a car and driver for us.”
Rushing back to her bedroom, she threw off her nightclothes and changed into jeans and a sweater. She was scared to death to leave the building, but if Cordelia was asking for her, she had to go.
Down in the basement of the Linden Building, Cordelia and Jane searched through Bonifay’s file until they found a piece of paper with a number for her in Madrid.
“What time is it there?” asked Cordelia, sitting down behind the desk.
Jane looked up at the clock on the cement wall, did a quick calculation. “It’s just after ten here, so that means it would be just after five in the morning in Spain.”
“So even though Tammi likes to party, she should be home by now.” Cordelia punched in the number using the phone on the desktop, then hit speakerphone so they could both hear.
Jane sat on the edge of the desk. It was the first time she’d ever been in the tenants’ office. It was a depressing room, made even more depressing by the fact that it was tiny and windowless. Cordelia always made being president of the tenants’ association sound as if it was just one rung lower than being president of Microsoft. So much for Cordelia’s ability to hype what was essentially unhypable.
After several odd-sounding rings, a voice answered. “Hello?”
“Tammi?” shouted Cordelia, as if she had to yell across the pond to be heard. “It’s Cordelia Thorn.”
“Who?”
“Cordelia Thorn. Back in Minnesota.”
“Wait. Let me turn on the light.” After a few seconds she was back. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Late here. Early there. I suppose I should say good morning.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?”
“I need to know if you’ve ever given your key to one of the other tenants.”
“Why? Did something happen to my loft?” Now she sounded upset.
“No, Tammi, your loft is fine.”
“Stop yelling,” whispered Jane.
“Hey, is someone else there with you?” asked Tammi. “Is it the police? What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing. Your … loft … is … fine. How many ways can I say it?”
“Then why did you call?”
Cordelia huffed. “Have you ever given your key to one of the other tenants?”
“Yeah,” she said finally. “I gave it to Milan Mestrovik once so he could deliver some wine while I was out. But he gave me the key back. No big deal.”
“Anyone else?”
“You know, like, to water my plants, pick up my mail downstairs? It’s not illegal. I know you think that ever since you were elected president of the tenants’ council that you’re the fucking Gestapo, but you’re not.”
Cordelia stiffened. “Who did you give the key to?” she demanded.
“Don’t take that high-minded tone with me. I gave it to Faye, okay? She’s right across the hall. I mean, she offered. It’s not like I twisted her arm or anything. And for your information, if a woman wants to do a little coke in the privacy of her own home, it’s none of your damn business. Is that what this is all about? Kasimir found some of my stash?”
“Thanks, Tammi. Go back to sleep now.”
“Yeah, like I can sleep after you got me all riled up.”
“How’s the coke in Madrid?”
The conversation ended with a dial tone.
“Actually, I always suspected she was a doper,” said Cordelia with a satisfied sigh. “With the hideous decorating in that loft, you have to be medicated or you couldn’t survive.”
“We got our answer,” said Jane.
“Two of them,” said Cordelia. “Now what?”
Across town, Joanna and Freddy walked into the bright lights of the emergency room.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” said Joanna.
Freddy gave their names at the desk, explained that Indrani Azim had called them, that they were waiting to see Cordelia Thorn. A young dark-haired nurse in blue scrubs finally came out, introducing herself as Indrani.
“How’s Cordelia doing?” asked Freddy.
“Can we see her?” asked Joanna.
The nurse gazed at them sympathetically. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I’m afraid she’s very weak. She cut her wrists. The police brought her in. I’m not sure where they found her exactly, but I was told it was in an alley somewhere in Richfield. She didn’t have any identification on her, but she gave the name ‘Cordelia’ to one of the paramedics. Wouldn’t give us any other information, except to call you. She kept repeating your number.”
“Richfield?” said Joanna, giving Freddy a confused look. “What on earth was Cordelia doing there?” For a brief moment, she wondered if the fact that she’d pulled out of the production at the theater had prompted this moment of insanity, but then she remembered Cordelia’s reaction to Eugenia’s name. Maybe it was the problems over Hattie that had caused a mental break. “I need to see her.”
“As I said, she’s very weak. I can only let one of you in at a time.”
“You go,” said Freddy.
Joanna followed the nurse back through a locked door. The patient cubicles circled the main emergency desk. When she finally entered the room, she saw that a curtain had been drawn around the bed. The lights were low.
Pulling the curtain back, the nurse said, “I’ll be right outside. Anything you need, just ask.”
Joanna was about to say thanks when she realized the woman lying in the bed wasn’t Cordelia. “Who—” She turned to the nurse, but she’d already gone.
“Don’t go,” came a tiny voice.
The woman was hooked up to all sorts of monitors. She was being given blood through a tube taped to her hand. Her skin looked deathly pale.
“Who are you?” asked Joanna, keeping her distance. She hated hospitals. Her first reaction on seeing that it wasn’t Cordelia was to bolt.
She couldn’t be sure this wasn’t a setup, a way to draw her out of the loft into the open. And yet, staring at the strange woman, it hardly seemed possible.
“You don’t remember me,” said a tiny, flat voice. “Why would you?”
Joanna could hardly hear her. She took a couple of steps closer. “Have we met?”
“Hillary. The journalist. Remember? Flying Cloud? We talked. You were nice to me. I thought … we were friends.”
Joanna looked down, shook her head. And then she remembered. “Of course.” As her eyes met Hillary’s, she realized she had absolutely no idea why she was here. “Why did you have the hospital call me?”
Gazing up at Joanna with a strangely satisfied smile on her face, Hillary whispered, “You came. I knew you would.”
Joanna might be a little slow on the uptake, but she got it now. “You gave the nurse Cordelia’s name because you knew if I thought she was in the emergency room, I’d come.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
Joanna was at a complete loss. The summons was a ruse. Was the suicide attempt a ruse too? “Why did you … do it?”
Hillary closed her eyes. After a long moment, she said, “I couldn’t stop.”
“You couldn’t stop what?”
“Cutting.”
“You wanted to end your life?”
A nod.
“Is it that awful, that hopeless?”
“I’m hopeless,” she whispered. “Worthless. Nothing I want ever comes true.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing very much.” Looking up at Joanna, she bit her lip. “A small thing, really. I want you to love me.”
“What?” Joanna felt like someone had just hit her with a brick. “We’re strangers.”
“No, we’re not. You listened when I talked about my dreams. You understood. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Well—”
“Will you hold my hand? Just for a minute. I won’t ask for anything else. Please?” Her eyes pleaded.
“Hillary, I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. You know me. You are me. We’re sisters.”
Before Joanna could stop herself, she’d moved up to the bed and covered Hillary’s hand with her own. “How’s that?”
“Good,” she whispered. Looking up at Joanna with tears in her eyes, she said, “It’s really you, right? I’m not dreaming this?”
“It’s really me,” said Joanna, a bewildered look on her face. “I’m sorry you felt you had no other choice but to … I mean … the cuts … you didn’t do it just to—” No, thought Joanna, that was way the hell too far beyond the pale.
“Yes,” whispered Hillary. “That was part of it.” Turning her head away, she withdrew her hand. “You better go. You’re important. You’ve got important things to do.”
“I can stay a few more minutes.”
“No, I want you to go.”
“Why?”
“Because … because I’m pathetic, that’s why. You think this is the first time I’ve tried it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“I told you, I’m worthless. I bought all these clothes so that when I interviewed you, you’d think I was cool. But then you nixed it because you knew I’m not any of that. I’m an impostor. I hate myself. I’m not like you at all. I just pretend. It works for a while, but then … I know inside what I really am and I want to puke my guts out!”
“Hillary—”
“Do you have any idea how much I love you? I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
Joanna felt crushed by the weight of the comment. How could
something so empty feel so heavy? “But don’t you have other relationships—a boyfriend? A family?”
“All my boyfriend wants from me is sex. As for my dad, I’d be happier if he were six feet under.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because of what he did—what he is.”
Joanna felt she knew what was coming next. But she had the sense that Hillary wanted her to ask. “Did he molest you when you were a child?”
“What? Christ, no,” she rasped. “If he’d ever touched me I would have killed him. It’s what he did to my girlfriend. We were thirteen. He raped her. She said it was all her idea, but I knew she was just lying to make it all go away.”
“How do you know he raped her?”
“I heard her crying, walked in on them. I never told anyone. Just like my friend. I took the easy way out. But I told you now. I trust you, Joanna. You’re the only one who knows my secret. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“Where was your mother when it happened?”
“At work. I hated her, too. She’s dead now and that’s just fine with me. My job sucks. I don’t have a single friend I care about. All I care about is you, and you’re too goddamn important to give me the time of day.”
“Hillary, you can’t actually expect me to … I mean, if all the people who consider themselves fans of mine expected me to love them … it’s impossible.”
“So go. Get out.”
“You have to be reasonable, think about this rationally.”
“No, I don’t. I think with my heart. That’s who I am. I thought we were soul mates, but I see now that we’re not. You’re cold, Joanna. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
“That’s not true.” She didn’t know why, but she felt like she was pleading for her life. “All I am is an actor. I’m not the parts I play in movies. I’m not heroic. I can’t be expected to take care of people I
don’t even know.” She felt like she was in a cage with a herd of wild animals all trying to rip chunks out of her flesh.
The nurse burst back into the cubicle. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got to keep your voice down.” She gave Joanna a stern look.
“I can’t do this,” said Joanna, feeling as if every fuse in her brain was about to blow. Turning, she rushed out of the room.