SEVENTEEN

 

Angie closed the door to her room with a heavy heart. She kicked her shoes in a heap, then remembered the bloody mess she’d stepped in and gave the footwear a disdainful glance. As recently as a month ago, disposing of those shoes would have consumed her thoughts. Tonight, too little energy and too much sadness made her pull her gaze away and heave herself on the bed.

She’d wanted so badly for Trynne to be innocent. Not that she’d known Trynne for a lifetime; she’d originally been Val’s friend. But Valerie was gone, and Angie and Trynne had hit it off, becoming as close as—well, as close as Angie had ever felt to anyone, besides Val. She sighed. Maybe she was just too quick to trust people. Trust came naturally for women. Trust provided the impetus to get out of bed in the mornings. Trust that things would flow smoothly, that their loved ones would be healthy and—faithful.

Faith. Another version of trust. Without that, where were people? Divorced, that’s where.

At the window she looked out at the sleeping city. City skylines were beautiful; buildings in different shapes and sizes stamped across the black horizon, golden stars twinkling on the inky backdrop, the tiny sliver of moon curved upward—like a bowl. Angie was suddenly in her Gramp’s lap in the creaky old rocker on the old front porch. Her parents were fighting again. Angie’d run the two miles just to be held, to hear familiar words. She and Gramps sat in that chair long into the night. “Cast your wishes to the sky,” he always said. “God will catch them and store them in that golden cup. You’ll always know where to find them.”

Again it came back to trust. You had to trust that’s where your dreams could be found. Why did people keep going, keep dreaming, keep trusting? Why bother if life just shot you back down? She turned away from the memories. Will’s cheating had made her too suspicious and judgmental, too fearful of a relationship with Jarvis. What would Grampa say about that? “Forget and forge forward, let the relationship blossom.”

Where was Jarvis now? Still waiting for authorities to question Donna? Or had they gone on to the hospital to await news on Pedar’s condition? If Pedar survived it would be a miracle; he’d lost so much blood. Although, Angie had seen people in far worse condition pull through.

Forge ahead.

Easy for Gramps to say, Angie’s annoying little voice, interrupted. Mistrust and suspicion were the elements that made a good detective. Question everything. Weigh alternatives. Sort through lies. Construct scenarios. Angie got better at it all the time. And worse at relationships.

What did she want with her life anyway? Was it more important to satisfy her baser needs by becoming a successful detective, or her physical and emotional needs with a man who obviously cared for her? She wasn’t getting any younger. Did she want to spend her waning years alone? Of course not. Nobody did. Thinking about Jarvis hurt. She forced her mind to the case—to Trynne.

Maybe Trynne had found out about Donna and, what—wanted John for herself? Couldn’t stand to see him happy? Felt threatened by his intelligence? Wanted the three million? Angie couldn’t imagine her friend that petty. Then again, she couldn’t imagine Trynne placing those cameras.

Possibly Trynne wanted credit for producing the red. Angie shook her head. She’d already achieved immeasurable success and was renown in the woolen industry. It hadn’t gone to her head. As a matter of fact, she rarely mentioned accomplishments she’d made. It was Blake who showed off her awards, and always under protest from Trynne.

But there were no other logical suspects.

Except Blake. John’s understudy. He would’ve had plenty of time to slip away and do what needed to be done. The backs of her thighs were sore from standing so long. She flexed her legs, wanting suddenly to go jogging, to work out kinks and frustration at the same time. She jogged in place for several steps then stopped. Way past bedtime. Producing adrenaline wasn’t a good idea right now. Angie’s head hurt. It hurt all the way down her neck and into her spine. She undressed in the bathroom.

Possible that they were dealing with a totally unknown person. Any number of people who, if they knew about Rhapsody in Scarlet, might be willing to steal it. If only there were more clues, something that would break this case wide open. That would satisfy her urges. Then, she vowed, she’d leave detecting to the professionals. One clue, that’s all it would take.

She slapped a palm on the sink. There was a clue! Angie hurried to the closet and fumbled in the pocket of her blazer, and came up with the object she’d taken from Pedar’s fingers. She laid it on the table and turned on the lamp. There, swollen with impending life, ready to spring open with the least provocation, an iris bud. It had just a nub of stem still attached. The cut had been made with something sharp.

Angie squeezed the bud. Soft/solid as she’d originally noted. Dark olive green at the stem end, fading to palest, almost translucent green at the tip. Angie gently pried back one of the immature petals. Her sharp intake of breath made her dizzy and she sat on the edge of the bed cradling the flower-to-be in her palm. She let a moment pass and looked at it again, just to make sure her eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on her. No doubt about it; Pedar Sondergaard had been clutching a red iris bud. Was this the reason someone tried to kill him? Or had he taken it from the potential murderer?

She needed to talk to someone. Jarvis would be still at the hospital, or the police station, or he would be here. Gloria would be asleep, but this was important. She dialed the number and waited for the connection to click through. The image from the meeting room—Pedar lying on the floor, blood puddling in the corner of his mouth—grew so strong Angie’s legs buckled. Not because of the blood and horror, she’d seen enough of that through the years, but because, as she stared down at him, her own face became superimposed over his.

Angie literally shook off the vision, scrunching her eyes tight and shaking her head so hard her teeth hurt. “Come on, Mom, answer.” On the fourth ring, the voice mail clicked on. Angie hung up. 2 a.m. Where was she? Angie tried again. No answer.

She began pacing, the urge to speed to the airport grew to monumental proportions. She sat in the nearest chair and crossed her legs. She turned on the television. She turned it off, then got up and paced again. Maybe Mom had returned by now, even though only twelve minutes had passed. Angie put the flower bud in her purse, got in bed and found a movie to watch.

The phone was ringing. Angie groped on the bedside table, knocking something to the floor. The clunk and thud brought her head off the pillow and eyes squinted open. The clock radio lay upside down on the carpet. The phone rang two more times before she said, “’Lo….” as she sat up. “Yeah, okay.” She fumbled the phone back into the cradle.

Pounding began on the door. Angie staggered from the bed, feet tangled in the bedclothes. She flung open the door and flopped back on the bed, pulling the sheet up over her head.

Jarvis sat on the edge of the bed. “Jesus, you had me scared to death.”

She lifted an edge of the sheet and peeked out. “Huh?”

“Do you have any idea how long I banged on your door? Woke two of your neighbors. I finally called downstairs to have them ring you. I swear if it had rung one more time—”

“Gimme a break, will you?” He made a sound that signified disgust. “I’m fine. What time is it?” she asked.

“Four thirty.”

She sat up, pulling the bedclothes around her naked breasts. “How’s Pedar?”

“He didn’t make it.”

“Damn.” She came alert. “Did he say anything before he died?”

Jarvis shook his head. “But it looked like he was trying to say something to you last night.”

“Yes, but I couldn’t make it out. Too much commotion. I had the idea the word started with either a P or a B. Or maybe even an M. How is Donna?”

“Sedated. At the hospital she fell apart completely when they gave her the news.”

“Not that I don’t care what’s happening, but why were you pounding on my door at this hour? What’s so important it couldn’t wait till actual daylight?”

“I was worried about you.”

Jarvis’s arms folded around her in an embrace that told all. She melted into him, finally able to realize he hadn’t woke her to impart information. He needed to be held, just as she had earlier. She hugged him back, her right arm around his waist, left palm flat against his chest. The muscles beneath her hand were tense and tight, like thick ropes. Angie began to massage, moving her thumb in ever widening circles. She went to work on his biceps, then got to her knees and moved behind him to knead the fingertips of both hands into his back and shoulders. She worried her thumbs along his spine, feeling the knuckle-like shape of each vertebra and the sinew on either side.

Gradually he relaxed as Angie’s hands worked on his shoulders. She felt the play of muscle against muscle, his head lolling from side to side as he helped work out the kinks. In total submission, Jarvis drifted onto his side. Angie lay down beside him, fitting her length along his. She put her cheek against his left shoulder blade. Her nipples grazed the cotton shirt and came erect and tingly. His buttocks nestled into the crook of her hips; delicious sexual energy shot in all directions. The tops of her thighs melded to the backs of his, her toes bent upward against the backs of his heels. This could only get better if he were naked. She settled for unbuttoning his shirt and draping her right arm around his waist and letting her fingers tangle in the dark triangle of hair just above his navel. His breathing grew deep and measured, he snored gently. Angie could feel it as a low rumble beneath her cheek. That’s when she remembered the iris bud.

She lifted her head, looked at him, and decided the flower could wait. She lay there for a very long time, staring at the far wall, unable to stop seeing Pedar’s pale face as his lips formed the first letter of a word. P, B or M. On television, when someone’s dying, they always try to implicate their killer. Which suspects’ names began with those letters? Blake, of course. And John Bloom. Well, it obviously couldn’t be him since he was already dead. Blake and Trynne’s last name started with M—McCoy. But if Pedar had been trying to implicate Trynne, wouldn’t he use her first name?

Donna’s last name was Marks. Another M. No doubt Donna’s grief had been real. Angie wished she could see the police report, read the statements from witnesses. Right now, only Donna’s word said she’d been seated near the back of the room. Perhaps she’d been the one to beckon him from the sidelines.

What if Pedar hadn’t been trying to say someone’s name? What if he’d been trying to tell her where Rhapsody was hidden? Storage facility, suitcase, hotel, airport locker, Amsterdam, vault, rental truck. Might as well have disappeared into thin air. All the places she could think where the red might be—and none of them started with those illusive three letters.

Angie squinted one eye open to see the clock—8 a.m. She reached around to pull the sheet tighter, and realized the other side of the bed was empty. The muffled roar of the shower penetrated the hotel wall. It went on for such a long time she drifted back to sleep. The squeak and thunk of the faucet being turned off roused her again. After a moment, Jarvis appeared in the doorway, thick white towel wrapped low on his waist. He raked fingers through curly hair that dripped down his neck, carving wavy rivulets along his chest, and becoming lost in the tangle of dark hair. She lost sight of the beads of water, yet let her eyes follow their imaginary path over his flat brown nipples, down the gentle swell of his pectorals, and dipping into the puckered circle of his navel and into the baby-soft downward pointing triangle.

He cleared his throat. She dragged her gaze to his face, swallowed and said, “After last night, I imagine Trynne’s an even bigger suspect.”

“Far as I’m concerned, she’s our only suspect.” Jarvis dropped the towel on the floor. This time she didn’t let her eyes move south. Forge forward, she heard Gramps say.

“What about Blake?”

“Been thinking about him.”

Angie rose, dragging the sheet with her, and padded past him, to the bathroom. Before she could pull the door shut, she felt it being jerked out of her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?” Jarvis asked.

“Besides that?” she asked without looking down.

“Yes, besides that. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I have to go home. I have a bad feeling about my mother. I want to go home.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Like it’s safe here?”

Jarvis sighed. “You’re impossible. Our plane leaves in two and a half hours.”

He took a pair of jockey shorts from the dresser top. She watched him put them on and tuck himself inside. It looked like a painful operation and was glad when he turned away to remove slacks off a coat hanger hanging on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?” Angie asked.

“Police headquarters. I’m hoping they’ll share what they found out last night.” He wove a braided leather belt through the loops of his slacks.

“Hey, where did you get clean clothes?”

“Where do you think?”

“I didn’t hear you leave.”

“You were too busy snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

Jarvis smiled indulgently and took a pale blue shirt from a second hanger.

“Well, I don’t.”

“Whatever.”

She slammed the bathroom door.

A few minutes later, he knocked on it. “I’m leaving now. Please. Please stay here. I called down and had breakfast sent up.”

She ate some of the breakfast while dressing. She paced and paced. And called her mother. Still no answer. Angie dried and curled her hair, put on makeup. Still no answer on Gloria’s cell. Angie wished she knew Bud’s number. That’s it, she couldn’t wait any longer. She dialed Jarvis’s number and talked to his voice mail. “I can’t stand it any longer. Mom’s still not answering her phone. I’m going home.”

She caught a cab to the airport for the 9:35 flight to Manchester. Angie dialed Gloria’s number from the cab, then again as she boarded the plane. Still, no answer. The second time, Angie left a message: “I’m on the way.” She sped into the Alton Bay Motel in a rented compact at quarter past noon. The clerk said they’d checked out yesterday.

Bud’s black SUV was in Jarvis’s driveway. Gloria’s rented car wasn’t there. Angie parked the rented Ford and ran into the house. Empty. Where were they? Angie made a more sedate trip through. Their luggage lay on the bed. She opened the suitcase. Still packed. She dialed Gloria’s cell one last time. It rang. Angie frowned, hearing an echo. At first it seemed like a bad connection. Then she heard something. Sure enough, Mom’s phone, buried beneath two pairs of Bud’s slacks, was ringing.

“Shit.” She flipped her phone shut. Before she got it back in her purse, it rang. Jarvis’s cell number appeared on the caller ID. She poked the TALK button and spoke fast hoping to belay the expected tirade. “Look Jarvis, I’m sorry I ran out on you. You can yell at me when you get home. For now, just help me figure out what’s going on. Mom and Bud checked out of the motel. I’m at your house. Their luggage is here, Bud’s SUV is here. Mom’s car is gone. There’s no note and I have no idea where they went.”

She stopped talking and prepared herself for a lecture. But all he said was, “Damn.”

That single syllable sent shiver of apprehension through her. “You can’t be thinking something’s happened to them.”

“I want you to sit there and wait for me. I’ll be there in a few hours. Promise me you will.” When she didn’t respond right away, he said, “Promise.”

“All right, I’ll do it.”

“I mean it,” he said.

“Didn’t I say I would?” She exhaled heavily and repeated after him, enunciating each word, “I promise to sit down and wait for you. Good-bye.”

Angie went out to her car and drove to her apartment. From the apartment parking lot, everything looked all right. No flat tires on her Lexus. No scraped paint. No dead cats hanging on her door. No anonymous brown paper packages on the stoop. Worst of all, Gloria’s car was not there. She went inside and stood in the hallway for a moment, absorbing the aura and aroma of the place. A place she’d come to love. A place that, if she married Jarvis, she’d have to give up. She chuckled. If he wanted to marry her after all the times she’d gone against him.

It didn’t feel like anyone had been here. Still, she tiptoed through the entire place, opening closets, looking behind furniture. She even opened drawers, checking to see if her precise arrangement of things had been disturbed.

She took an orange from the refrigerator and sat at the table to eat. Angie laid the iris bud on the table. The outer skin had shriveled, the stem rippled and dry. The whole thing felt rubbery, like a butterfly cocoon. “Damn.” She picked up the flower and examined it closely. Then swore again.

It had been in her possession since around 10:30 last night. At that time it had been fresh and full of life. Had Pedar, or his murderer, just cut it from the parent plant? If so, that meant one of them had brought the entire red plant to Philadelphia. The last words Mary Grayson had spoken rang in her mind: “Pedar Sondergaard is going to reveal the red this weekend.”

How long did it take a bud to wilt? Angie cleaned up the orange peels, then retrieved her handbag and keys. Outside, she gave a wistful glance at her precious Lexus but got into the Ford and drove to Donna Marks’. Donna’s driveway was empty. Probably the little blue car sat under a veil of frost at the airport awaiting its owner’s return. Angie drove all the way into the yard and got out. A glance around told her the tall stockade fence hid her from view of the street. She tried the greenhouse door. Locked. Everyone Angie knew kept a key hidden somewhere in case of a lockout. Donna was no exception. It took Angie only a few seconds to locate it on the narrow ledge above the door. The lock and the door, opened silently. She gave one quick peek around before going inside. The air smelled damp and like soil. It didn’t take long to find and pluck two young buds, about the same size as the one in her bag. The color wasn’t important. Angie dropped them into her pocket and got the hell out.

At home, she put one of the flowers back in her pocket. The other she wrapped in damp paper towels and put it in a baggie. She wanted to see how long it took for each of them to wilt. It was 1:30 in the afternoon.

What to do next? Although it had been less than an hour, she couldn’t help checking the iris buds. Both still looked fresh. Something niggled at the back of her mind. And it was probably important.

Less than an hour till Jarvis’s ETA. She’d have to get back to his house soon. She sat in her favorite chair, leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the mental video of the suspect’s faces take over. Trynne first. Tall, dark and slim. Pretty. A little domineering but that had probably developed through the years in reaction to Blake’s perpetual nice-guy, agree to everything, personality. Blake, with his cocoa brown hair and baby blue eyes, made larger by thick lenses. A gentle man, friend to all. He and Trynne made a handsome couple.

Donna Marks. Blonde, a little chunky, but she carried the weight well. Angie didn’t know her very well, but had the idea she would be a good friend, loyal and dependable. Had she masterminded the theft? Since Pedar was so nervous prior to speaking engagements, perhaps Donna had given him the red bud as a good luck charm.

Then there was John. The very handsome John Bloom. The possibility that he’d stolen his own flower remained. Of course, he couldn’t have murdered Pedar, unless he’d been working with someone who took over after his death. Again Donna Marks’ face loomed large. Sondergaard himself could have stolen the flower. The bud was clutched in his fingers after all.

Trynne’s face appeared again. It hovered in the air, then zoomed closer, so close her features blurred, became larger and almost grotesque. Suddenly she wore a mustache and had an iris bud clutched between her teeth. Red teeth. Scarlet red teeth. Angie’s cheekbones throbbed. Her mouth went dry as dust. Her eyes flashed open and she flew out of the chair. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be that obvious.

Sure it could, her little voice said.

“But it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

The hall clock chimed. She had to hurry to get to Jarvis’s before he arrived home. Her mouth felt full of cotton. How in the world could a single clue—two clues really—be connected to this crime, to Alton Bay, to any number of things? Where did the pieces fit into the whole? Man, this would blow Jarvis’s mind.

At his house, the light on the answering machine blinked—two messages. Why didn’t she notice before? Because she’d been racing around like a lunatic. She punched the PLAY button. The machine’s mechanical voice said the first call had come at 1:33 a.m. Gloria’s voice sounded clear and strong, “Angie, you didn’t answer your cell phone, and you didn’t say which hotel you’d be staying at, so I couldn’t phone you. All I can do is hope you call home to check your messages. We’ve had an emergency. Bud’s missing.”

The machine beeped. The mechanical voice told her the second message had come an hour and a half later. Angie’s heart stopped beating at her mother’s next words. “I found him, we’re at the hospital.”

Angie leaped into the rented car and broke every speed record getting to Lakes Region General. Her heart had finally started pumping again, but now it did double-time. Things were really unraveling. Please Bud, don’t die. Please.

Her cell phone rang. Angie skidded to the shoulder of Route 11A and pushed the ON button without looking at the caller ID. Jarvis’s voice yelled, “Angelina, where the hell are you?”

“On the way to the hospital. Bud is there. I think I know who’s responsible for this whole thing.” Before the phone landed on the passenger seat, she’d squealed the tires back onto the roadway and was zooming northward. Even as she said the words to Jarvis, she wanted to scream that it just didn’t make sense. How many times would she say those words before this ended?

Her growing theory still lacked a sufficient motive. Hell, it lacked any motive. But right now it had to be put on hold so she could deal with this emergency.

Angie’s heart pounded so loud she thought she heard it echo in the cavernous elevator. The elevator stopped and she leaped out, then stopped herself. Tyson, she needed to tell him. She dialed—he seemed to be the only one answering his phone today. He said not to worry, he’d manage with rehearsal, and use Jarvis’s understudy just in case.

Angie ran to ICU. Through the large glass wall she spotted Gloria seated beside Bud’s bed. She had her head bowed, his left hand in hers. If Jarvis didn’t hurry, he’d miss this final good-bye. Her shoe made a scuffing sound as she stepped inside the doorless room. The slow blip of the heart monitor and the whoosh whoosh of the oxygen, were the only sounds.

Gloria and Angie embraced. Gloria had held together well; her face was calm, her voice steady. “He’s been unconscious since we brought him in.”

The elderly man looked pale and small. His eyes, surrounded by dark circles, seemed to have sunk deep in his skull. The white hair looked as though many people had run their hands through it. An IV snaked into each arm, a heart monitor sat on the side table, its yellow line zigzagging a short line. His chest rose and fell in slow motions.

“Tell me what happened,” Angie said softly.

Gloria spared him a glance before taking Angie’s arm and steering her into the hallway. “We got back at the house about nine. I went to take a shower. When I came out he was gone. I searched the house, and the yard. His car was there. I checked everything again, even the cellar. Even though his coat was there, I thought maybe he’d gone for a walk. You know, just in his sweater—or maybe he had a jacket—I don’t know. Anyway, I took my car and went looking.” She took a breath. “I didn’t know what else to do. I called the police. We searched and searched—for hours. I drove up every street in town at least a dozen times. It got dark and I couldn’t see a thing. Angie, I was frantic.”

Angie hugged her mother.

“Then I remembered the answering machine and thought maybe he’d called. I went back to the house. And found him lying on the ground beside his car. It wasn’t an awfully cold night, but too cold for a sick old man.”

“Was he conscious?”

“No. He hasn’t been at all.”

Together they walked back down the hallway, arms around each other. Jarvis appeared in the doorway. Gloria pointed him into the room. He went in.

“Did they say how long he’s got?”

Gloria shook her head gravely. “I’m just glad Jarvis got here in time. What I started to say: Bud wants to see you.” She didn’t say what they’d both been thinking—if he wakes up. “He asked if you’d do him a favor and go get his briefcase, first. It’s at Jarvis’s.”

“Mom, it’s a half hour each way.”

“He specifically asked if you could get it.”

Angie started down the hall praying there’d be enough time. She was waiting for the elevator when Gloria called to her in a loud whisper. Jarvis stood beside her. Tears glistened in his eyes. “He’s gone.”