A Hell of a Dog (28 page)

Her eyes opened wide, and she shook her head, as if by doing so she could make what had happened to hurt her no longer true.

I nodded, then got up and moved to the couch, touching her hand after I sat down next to her. “Tell me about it.”

“He's why I couldn't go.” Her voice sounded small, almost inaudible. One tear rolled down her cheek.

“You met some months ago, when you spoke together.”

She nodded, looking into her lap.

“We fell in love,” she said, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “No, that's not true.
I
fell in love. Martyn only fell in lust.”

“He didn't say he was married?”

“Oh, he did. But he told me it was a bad marriage and that his wife was a very weak person, neurotic, he said, and that she was in therapy and he was hoping that when she got stronger he would—”

She paused, looking behind her, out the window to a small garden. There was a light on outside, shining on the little bench and the ivy that surrounded it, a pristine place to sit when the weather was warm enough.

“It sounds pretty lame, doesn't it?”

I nodded. “He can be pretty persuasive, can't he? And he's a very charming man.”

She nodded.

Then she looked suspiciously at me. “Is that why you're here? Are you and Martyn—?”

“No, Tina.”

“I'm so ashamed, Rachel. Not only did I follow him from seminar to seminar, but now it's all over, and I'm still acting like a jealous—”

“Don't do this to yourself, Tina. You're sincere, so you made the assumption that he was too.”

“He
seemed
to be,” she said.

I picked up the napkin from next to her teacup and handed it to her. She blew her nose and held it crumpled in one hand.

“He encouraged me to come to his talks. He even paid for one of my tickets. ‘Come to Denver,' he said. “
Be
with me.' Then ‘Come to Minneapolis.' But then—”

“Did you tell him about the baby?”

“How did you know that?”

“Just a guess.”

“I did tell him.”

“And what did he say?”

Tina began to sob. I slid closer and put my arm around her, rubbing her back. I felt her tears running into my neck, felt how thin she was beneath her nightgown.

“What did he say, Tina?”

“‘What are you trying to pull?' he said. ‘I've had a vasectomy. It can't be mine.'”

“Good Lord.”

“He'd said he loved me, then he was so cold. I couldn't face going to the symposium, knowing he'd be there. And I couldn't tell Sam I'd been such a fool.” She pulled away and looked at me. “Did Sam send you? Is that why you're here?”

“Tina,” I said, ignoring her question, “did Beryl know about this?”

She nodded. Then I looked to see if the door to the garden had blown open, because suddenly I felt very cold.

“What did you tell her?”

“That I'd take care of it. But I was so grateful, with all of this, that she was going to take care of calling Sam for me, that I didn't have to do that as well.”

“Tina, I know it's late,” I said, “but can you make us some tea? There's something I need to tell you, and I need a minute to think.”

She stood up and bent to pick up her cup. “I still don't know why you came, Rachel, but I'm awfully glad you did.”

I stood and hugged her, my heart feeling as cold and hard as stone, knowing what I had to say next and what it would do to this vulnerable woman.

I watched her walk away, not an ounce of fat on her. Then I looked around the room.

Beryl didn't have a grandchild. There was no tricycle in the garden, no Dr. Seuss on the coffee table.

Nor was there a grandchild on the way. There was no Dr. Spock, no
What to Expect When You're Expecting
, no bag of knitting, and no saltine crumbs next to where her teacup had sat.

Tina had taken care of it, as she'd promised Beryl. But not in the way that Beryl had imagined, had dreamed.

And clearly Beryl had taken care of her end of the deal. But not in the way Tina had imagined. Nor anyone, possibly not even Beryl.

But why the other two?

In order to get that answer, I suspected I was going to need a little help from my friends.

29

WE TOOK SEPARATE CABS

I rang the bell next to the wrought-iron gate and waited for Chip to come and open it.

“This is Tina Darling,” I said when the gate swung open. “Beryl's daughter. She's staying here tonight.”

He took a look at Tina, stepped closer, put an arm around her shoulders, and walked her to the cottage. I locked the gate and followed behind them, Dashiell and Betty circling around me, sneezing with joy that I'd returned.

Tina was so exhausted, she could hardly keep her eyes open. I took her upstairs to my room, turned down the covers, and when she sat, I bent and slipped off her shoes. Without saying a word, she lay back on the pillow, drew up her knees, and closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to leave Dashiell with you?” I asked.

She nodded without opening her eyes.

He'd followed us up, his nails ticking on the oak stairs. He stood at the side of the bed, watching her, his forehead wrinkled with concern, dowsing for where she hurt. But this wasn't a stomachache or a pulled muscle. The hurt Tina felt was everywhere, leaving room for nothing else.

I patted the bed next to her, and Dashiell hopped up, snuggling against her. As I pulled the cover over both of them, I saw her arm reach out to embrace him.

Downstairs, I poured two glasses of wine and joined Chip on the couch. “Chip, when Sam called to ask you to speak, did she tell you you'd be covering a spot left by another speaker who had seemed to abandon ship?”

“She did. She said Tina had agreed to teach, but that at the last minute, she was unable to reach her for a confirmation.”

“I was able to buy that one. She'd been after you for a long time. And the topic is one any number of people could have handled.”

“But none as brilliantly as I did.”

“Correct.” I took a sip of wine. “But for that speaker's other slot, we have a situation that tests credibility. Tina's forte is breed temperament. She contracts to deliver this important talk, the opening talk of the program, then fails to respond to all of Sam's attempts to reach her. So far, it's not too bad a stretch. But then, the day before the symposium, the only other person who could do as brilliant a job on the talk, someone who had refused repeatedly to come to the States to lecture, calls Sam and volunteers to speak on the very topic that is her specialty and that happens to be going begging.”

“How do you know it was at the last minute?”

“Because the evening before, Sam had asked me if I'd cover it, because she hadn't been able to reach Tina, and she had to be sure everything was covered for the students.”

“You would have been spectacular.”

“This is true. But I never thought I'd be giving that talk. I assumed Tina would show, that she'd been away or something, which would explain her not getting back to Sam. I figured she'd be back just in the nick of time. Sam even saved a room for her, 303, the room on the other side of mine, just in case.”

“But she didn't show. And now you know why.”

“She'd had an abortion,” I said even more softly than I was already speaking, wanting to be absolutely sure my voice didn't carry up the stairs to Tina.

Chip didn't say anything right away, but he reached for Betty, who was lying on the other end of the couch.

“Martyn?”

I nodded, watching him get it.

“But aren't we back where we were before? Why the others? Why Alan and Rick, too?”

“That's what I've yet to find out.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I thought I might ask Beryl,” I told him.

“You've got to be kidding.”

“Not at all. Sometimes if you ask in the right way, you get whatever it is you're after.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Good boy.”

As he reached out for me, the same look in his eyes that Dashiell gets when I order in pizza, we heard the bedroom door open, and a moment later the bathroom door closed.

“I never knew it could be like this.” He sat back, shaking his head.

“I find it often is. I've been thinking of hiring a personal assistant to do for me all those things I no longer get the chance to do—converse, eat out, go to the movies, have sex.”

“It sounds like marriage,” he said.

Strings of light were coming in through the slats of the shutters. Chip reached out and took my hand. Sitting there quietly, we heard a lone bird begin to sing. While we waited for Tina to come downstairs, I told him what I planned to do, and asked if he would help.

I fed the dogs while Chip showered and dressed. Then he took them out for a walk while Tina and I got ready. Afterward, he made breakfast, while I made some urgent phone calls.

We took separate cabs. Chip and Betty took Tina with them. Dashiell and I rode with each other, he watching the city slip by on one side of the backseat, me leaning against the window on the other side, thinking about how sometimes even the best of intentions go hideously awry and wondering what would become of Tina when all this was over.

30

ONE DOOR CLOSES

When we got out of the cab, Dashiell looked at me and then looked over toward the park, sending a message without saying a word. But I headed for the hotel instead. It was six-forty-five, time for us to get to work.

Sometimes killers play games with the cops, I thought, using the service entrance around the corner. They write notes, or leave maddening, conflicting clues on purpose.

Some killers want to show how smart they are, and so they brag.

Some are dumb as pigeon shit. No matter what they do, even tying their shoelaces, they fuck it up royally.

But this killer was one smart cookie. She'd done everything she could not to get caught, staging the crime scenes so that they appeared to be other than they were, accidents or suicide instead of calculated murders.

Had she killed the other two to muddy the waters, so that the death she needed wouldn't stand out and eventually point to her?

Or worse, her daughter?

One door closes, I'd told Chip, talking about the inability I'd felt to go back to the profession I so loved after my divorce. Had I felt I didn't deserve even that?

Another door opens. I'd become a detective.

A door also closed the night I'd gone for ice. Cathy's door.

She'd opened it, hoping to see Martyn. Was she thinking she could rewrite history? Whatever she'd been thinking, she'd come to her senses and closed it without peering out to see who was there, to see that it wasn't Martyn. It was only me.

But then another door opened.

Martyn was tired. He unlocked his door and opened it. He wanted to go to bed. Why didn't he?

Was it because Beryl's door had opened?

But how the hell did she get him up to the roof?

I handed the package I'd brought from home to one of the waiters. When everything was ready, I headed for the elevator. Getting out on four, I told Dashiell to drop and wait. Then I knocked softly on her door.

“Have you had your breakfast yet?” I asked, holding the tray in front of me.

“Oh, brilliant,” she said. “You've brought tea and scones. Come in, Rachel. Come right in.”

She'd already been out for a walk. I could see where the dew had taken the shine off her sturdy nun's shoes.

“Here, let me put that on the dresser,” she said. Then she pulled her chair close to the window seat. “Which would you prefer?”

“Either is fine.”

“Save the chair for me,” she said. “It'll remind me to keep my back straight. Shall I serve, dear?”

Without waiting for an answer, she walked back to the tray and lifted the lid off the teapot. “How did you get them to use loose tea?” she asked. “I've been trying unsuccessfully all week.”

“I brought my own from home,” I whispered to her back.

“Clever thing,” she said.

Cecilia was scratching at the doorjamb, then turning around to try to catch Beryl's eye. But Beryl didn't notice. She was pouring tea.

I walked into the bathroom.

“My mother always told me,” she said, loud enough for me to hear her over the sound of the running water, “keep your back straight, Beryl. Head high. The rest will take care of itself. Now, isn't that the silliest thing you ever heard?”

I came out and took my seat. Beryl was smiling when she turned around, my cup in one hand, a plate with a raspberry scone in the other. I took them and placed them carefully next to me on the window seat. Beryl went back for the napkins, cream, and sugar. And again for her own cup and scone.

“Isn't this cozy?” She poured some of the heavy cream into her thick, dark tea, stirred, and took a sip. “Just like home.”

“Sam was so thrilled when you decided at last to come and speak here, to be part of her symposium.”

“Yes, she was. She seemed de
lighted
to hear from me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, I saw a wonderful article in the
Gazette
, Rachel. It sounded like something one couldn't afford to miss.”

“And it has been quite something, hasn't it?”

“Well, much more exciting than anyone dreamed,” she said, leaning toward me over her cup. “Poor things, those men who died.”

She was looking down at her lap now, and I could clearly see that there was no hearing aid in either ear, yet she'd heard me when I'd whispered. I gave it one more try.

I broke off a piece of my scone and took a bite. “I feel so sorry for their families,” I said, rudely talking with my mouth full.