A Motive For Murder (25 page)

“He deserved exactly what he got,” Lane burst
out.

“Oh?” Auntie Lil leaned across the conference table
and scrutinized her foe. “If you don’t explain that remark, I will
be forced to form my own conclusions.”

“Form whatever you like,” Lane said abruptly. She
rose and marched toward the door, plodding forward as gracelessly
as an all-terrain vehicle. “I have an important luncheon
engagement. This interview is terminated.”

Auntie Lil watched her go, then heard the slam of an
office door farther down the hall. Lane had chosen to barricade
herself behind her corporate walls, where she felt safest. So let
her, Auntie Lil thought to herself. She had found out the two
things she needed to know most. One, she was still on the board,
and two, Lane had taken a most definitely personal interest in
Bobby Morgan and had been rebuffed. Hell truly hath no fury like a
woman scorned, Auntie Lil reflected. Especially a divorced, proud,
and lonely woman like Lane, who seldom put her heart on the
line.

She rode the express elevator back down to the lobby
and reminded herself not to feel sorry for the woman. Lane wallowed
in her own unhappiness, and this self-indulgence robbed her of the
joy everyday life had to offer. Auntie Lil loathed professional
victims. There were too many unwilling victims in this world more
worthy of her sympathy. She would not waste her time on the
self-involved.

But she
would
waste her time on a cappuccino,
she decided, especially if it allowed her to determine whomever it
was that Lane planned to meet for lunch.

The lobby of Bartlett Brothers had been an
architectural wonder when first built. An entire wall was taken up
by an artificial waterfall. Auntie Lil loved the sound of the water
gurgling downward and the feel of the fine spray on her face. She
ordered a large cappuccino and settled in at a small table to spy
on the entrance. Half an hour later she saw Ruth Beretsky enter the
lobby and start toward the elevators before hesitating as if
deciding whether or not to turn back. Auntie Lil was out of her
chair with the agility of a woman several decades younger.
Abandoning her cappuccino, she waylaid Ruth before she could choose
a final path.

“What are you doing here?” Ruth asked in alarm as
Auntie Lil grabbed her elbow.

“I visited Lane and tried to talk to her,” Auntie Lil
said. “She’s not talking.”

Ruth removed her arm from Auntie Lil’s grip and
rubbed petulantly at her elbow. “What’s there to talk about?” she
said.

Auntie Lil sighed, then seemed to change the subject
entirely. “How often has Lane stood you up for lunch?” she asked a
startled Ruth.

“What? Why do you want to know?” she answered.

Auntie Lil shrugged. “I just wondered. A relationship
is an interesting exercise in power, don’t you think? The way the
power shifts so subtly, from one person to the other, according to
the tiniest of events. Like how one person is always treating a
friend worse than they expect to be treated themselves. And doing
things like standing up their friends for lunch. It’s a way of
showing that you are the superior person, I think—and that your
friend is someone who can be pushed around.”

Ruth stared at her suspiciously. “So what?”

“Ruth.” Auntie Lil put an arm around her shoulders
and guided her away from the elevators toward the outer doors. “How
long have you been Lane’s friend? How long have you endured being
bossed around by her? Stood up for lunch? Kept waiting? Poked fun
of to amuse her other friends?” As Auntie Lil talked Ruth’s back
tightened, telling her she was on the mark. “I don’t want to tell
you what to do, dear, but I will say that I do not treat my friends
the way Lane treats you.”

“She’s my mentor,” Ruth insisted. “She got me on the
board. It was a coveted spot. She has helped me a lot in my
career.”

“She has helped her own career quite a lot, thanks to
you,” Auntie Lil pointed out. “Who gets credit for those neatly
typed agendas, for the comprehensive board reports, for the
meticulous planning of all the meetings and functions?”

Ruth was silent.

“Come, dear,” Auntie Lil prodded her. “I know you’re
the one doing the work. But she’s the one getting the credit.”

“She made fun of me!” Ruth suddenly cried out, her
hands clenching into fists at her side. She wore her trademark big
bow at the base of her neck and it drooped forlornly, as if sensing
its owner’s sorrow.

They had reached the outer door. The sun shone
brightly, forbidding unhappiness on such a fine day. “I know a
wonderful outdoor cafe,” Auntie Lil said. “Do something different
with your life. Stand Lane up for a change. Let me treat you to
lunch. Here comes a cab now.”

Ruth stared at the approaching taxi with the wide,
grateful eyes of a maiden being rescued. Her glance darted to the
elevators, then returned to the cab. “I
will
join you for
lunch,” she said, waving the taxi to a halt with an extravagant
gesture. “It will serve Lane right.”

Fifteen minutes later they were seated at a prime
sidewalk front table where Auntie Lil could watch the foot traffic
in Greenwich Village go by. She had known the restaurant’s owner
for years and had been a regular patron ever since it first opened
its doors. That, combined with her overtipping, made her a favored
customer.

“They sure like you here,” Ruth observed as a waiter
rushed to fill their water glasses. “Whenever I go out to eat with
Lane, she bosses everyone around and pretty soon you can’t find a
waiter anywhere.”

“You must eat a lot today,” Auntie Lil decided,
casting a disapproving eye on Ruth’s skinny frame. “You’re far too
thin.”

“I have a nervous stomach,” Ruth confessed. “I have a
nervous everything, in fact.” She laughed in an uncertain manner as
if she were trying on a new sense of humor and wasn’t quite
convinced it fit.

Auntie Lil smiled. “In that case, we’ll begin with
black-bean soup.” The restaurant specialized in Cuban food, and
before Ruth could fathom what had happened, Auntie Lil had ordered
a three-course lunch for them both, complete with roast pork,
avocado soup, fried plantains, and beans and rice. The sheer excess
of this order made Ruth’s eyes widen; the bottled beer that quickly
arrived made her relax.

“I feel like I’m playing hooky from school,” Ruth
admitted. “Look at me. I look ridiculous compared to the rest of
the world.” She glanced down at her unflattering brown business
suit, comparing it with the colorful dress of the Greenwich Village
natives parading by. Though the air was cool, many still wore their
brightly hued summer clothes and matching sandals.

“What did you mean when you said Lane made fun of
you?” Auntie Lil asked once most of Ruth’s first beer was gone.
Given her weight and inexperience at drinking, it was probably
enough to start her talking.

Ruth blushed. “My mother and sister tell me she’s no
good for me,” she admitted. “They don’t like Lane at all. They say
she thinks she’s too good for the rest of the world. But Bobby
Morgan, he didn’t think she was good enough.”

“He rejected her?” Auntie Lil guessed.

Ruth nodded happily and Auntie Lil wondered if, in
some deep recess of her lonely heart, Ruth had harbored a flame for
Bobby Morgan as well. “She was always throwing herself at him,”
Ruth explained. “It was embarrassing in a way. But I liked seeing
Lane embarrass herself,” she added defiantly. “All the other women
on the board whispered about it. I overheard them talking about it
sometimes.”

“This was during
Nutcracker
rehearsals?”
Auntie Lil asked. “It went on for over a month?”

“Oh no,” Ruth said, gulping the last of her beer.
Auntie Lil signaled for more. “Much longer than that. Lane met
Bobby Morgan at a charity ball that the Metro held in Los Angeles
last year. She made a fool of herself that night. First of all, she
had on a Grecian gown, one of those flowing white things, you
know?” She draped a napkin over her shoulder to demonstrate. “I
know I’m not Miss Fashion Sense, but Lane is kind of big and, well,
hulking, to be wearing curtains draped over her body.”

“Quite,” Auntie Lil said grimly.

“Anyway, we went to the fundraiser together. It was
very exciting for me. I had never been on the West Coast before.
But when we got there, Lane kept trying to pretend that she wasn’t
with me. I don’t know why.” Her face flushed slightly. “I thought
my dress was much more appropriate than hers. It was a long blue
gown covered with these little bows that—”

“I’m sure it was lovely,” Auntie Lil interrupted.
“Now, about Bobby Morgan?”

“Lane met him at the fund-raiser and went crazy over
him. I could tell you the exact moment it happened. Being her slave
has its advantages, you know.” She gave a half grin. “I see
everything she does. He kissed her hand when he first met her and
she almost went through the floor. But he was just kissing her butt
because she was chairman.” Ruth looked up in alarm. “Please excuse
my language.”

Auntie Lil dismissed it with a wave. “It paints an
accurate picture. Do continue.”

“He was sucking up to everyone he thought was
important and people were sucking up to him right back. The
celebrity turnout was sort of low. Bobby Morgan was about the
biggest thing there. I guess no one is really into ballet out in
Los Angeles. Not snappy enough, I suspect.”

“No doubt,” Auntie Lil agreed.

Ruth sighed. “I could tell he was just flattering all
the women, but Lane took her compliments seriously. On the plane
home, he was all she talked about. I got quite bored with it, you
know. I wanted to sleep. Six months later, when Lane found out that
Mikey Morgan wanted to dance in
The Nutcracker,
she got it
into her head that it was all because his father wanted to be near
her.” She gave a bitter laugh. “As if! For once, I wasn’t the
pitiful one!”

“What happened during rehearsals?” Auntie Lil
prodded.

“Lane made a regular fool of herself. Always hanging
around the halls, trying to talk to him. It was easy because he was
hanging around, too. She thought he was waiting for her. But one
day I saw him with his arm around another woman, way at the other
end of the hall.”

“What did she look like?” Auntie Lil asked.

Ruth shrugged and gulped at her fresh beer. “I
couldn’t tell. She was tall and had long dark hair pulled into a
bun. I only saw her from behind.”

“Straight or curly hair?” Auntie Lil asked.

“I don’t know,” Ruth admitted. “It was pulled back
too tight. But she was a dancer, I think. She was tall and
thin.”

It didn’t narrow things down much. Of course the
woman had been a dancer. It was a ballet company. “Were they an
item?” Auntie Lil asked.

Ruth shrugged again. “I didn’t hear if they were. But
I did know then for sure that Bobby Morgan didn’t even care who
Lane was, much less have a thing for her. It made me happy, to tell
you the truth.” She looked at Auntie Lil as if daring her to
protest her ill will. “I was sick of Lane and her theories about
why they weren’t together yet. She was like a lovesick teenage
girl. Only meaner.”

“Meaner?” Auntie Lil asked.

Ruth nodded miserably. Her soup arrived and she eyed
it suspiciously.

“That’s just avocado in a chicken broth,” Auntie Lil
explained.

Ruth took a sip and seemed pleasantly surprised.
“Could I have another beer?” she asked.

Auntie Lil signaled for more beer, wondering if she
would have to pour the woman into a cab when they were done. “How
was Lane mean?” Auntie Lil reminded her.

“A couple of days before the opening night of
The
Nutcracker,
I overheard her talking to Bobby Morgan in the
hall,” Ruth explained. “They were at one end of the third-floor
hallway, near the shoe room, and I was coming up the connecting
steps from the second floor. I heard my name, so I stopped and
listened.” Her voice dropped to a lower pitch and grew pompous as
she imitated Lane. She was saying, ‘Bobby! How nice to run into you
again. We seem to be on the same wavelength, don’t you think?’ He
mumbled something and she gave this phony laugh and said, ‘That
silly Ruth, you know, the ghost of a girl who follows me
everywhere, poor thing. She doesn’t have a life and just worships
me. I try to help her, but you know how it is. If you haven’t got
it, you just haven’t got it.’”  Ruth’s face threatened to
crumple and Auntie Lil hastily pushed the fried plantains her way
in an attempt to distract her. Ruth bit her lower lip and
recovered. “She went on to tell him that I had seen him at the end
of the hall with someone in the company and then she reminded him
that fraternizing with corps members was a bad idea.”

“What did Bobby say to that?”Auntie Lil asked.

“He gave this really mean laugh—and I was glad—and
said something like, ‘Unless, of course, I’m fraternizing with a
board member, is that it, Ms. Rogers?’ He would never call her
Lane, you know. He didn’t even want to be that familiar with
her.”

“What did Lane say to that?” Auntie Lil asked.

“She got all stiff and offended and said something
like, ‘I have no idea what you’re implying, Mister Morgan. No idea
at all.’ Then she huffed off. I would have felt sorry for her
except for the nasty things she said about me. She was making fun
of me, her only real friend, just to try to look better for some
sleazy, oily agent from Los Angeles who was getting fat and wearing
too much gold jewelry. And then she expected me to be loyal and
follow her every command—even after I told her I had heard
everything!”

Auntie Lil recalled the conversation she had
overheard between Ruth and Lane at Lincoln Center. “You were at the
meeting yesterday, weren’t you?” she asked Ruth. “When Lane tried
to vote me off the board?”