Daddy's Gone a Hunting (12 page)

Gretchen loved that house the way other women loved their children. In a moment’s notice she would pull out pictures of it to show off: inside and out, pictures in every season. “It’s like I’m living in heaven,” she would say to any new admiring audience.

That kind of happiness was what Lottie and Gus had wanted for their only child, especially as they themselves aged. But it was also exactly why Lottie now told Gretchen not to talk about her house at the wake and to leave her pictures home. “I don’t want to see you show them to anyone,” she cautioned. “I don’t want anyone to wonder where your father and I got that kind of money to help you out. And you know, Poppa should have paid gift taxes on everything he gave you.” Lottie draped the blue tie over the suit hanger and laid it on the bed, next to where Gretchen was sitting. “I know he didn’t pay enough, so if you don’t want to be socked with taxes you can’t pay yourself, just keep your mouth shut.”

“Mama, I know you’re upset, but you don’t have to talk to me like that,” Gretchen snapped back. “I don’t know why you’re rushing poor Poppa into his grave. Why don’t you have a proper funeral service for him at church? He went every week and was an usher there.”

As she spoke, Gretchen had moved slightly and was now sitting on the arm of the blue suit that Lottie had just put down.

“Get up,” Lottie snapped. “And get dressed.” Her voice broke. “It’s bad enough having to put Poppa’s clothes together. It’s bad enough to know that he won’t be here tomorrow or next week or ever. I don’t want to argue with you, but I also don’t want you to lose your home. Poppa gave up too much for you to do that.”

As Gretchen stood up, Lottie opened the dresser drawer to get out underwear and socks and a shirt to send to the funeral parlor for Gus. In a torrent of words, she asked bitterly, “And as far as rushing your father into his grave, can’t you see what you’re reading in the papers? They’re all but saying that Poppa met Kate to set that fire. He was upset about being fired. His work was as good as it ever was when that Jack Worth let him go. Kate was the one who insisted he be given a year’s salary beside his pension. The way the media and those fire marshals see it, Kate wanted the place burned down and she asked Poppa to make it happen. If reporters get wind that there’s a wake today, they’ll be all over the place with their cameras, and crowds of gawkers will come just because it’s exciting to try to get in the media pictures. Now
get dressed
.”

Finally alone after Gretchen went back to get dressed, Lottie closed the door. Oh, Gus, Gus, why did you go meet her? she lamented as she selected an undershirt and boxer shorts. I told you it would be trouble. I knew it. I warned you. Why didn’t you listen? What’s going to happen to us now? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

At three thirty Lottie arrived alone at the Walters Funeral Home. “When I spoke to you earlier I said that I wanted the casket closed,” she said quietly to Charley Walters, the funeral director. “But I’ve changed my mind. I do want to see him.” She was wearing her good black dress and the string of pearls Gus had given her for their
twenty-fifth anniversary. “And did you remember to order flowers from me and Gretchen?”

“Yes, I did. Everything is ready. Shall I take you to him?”

“Yes.” Lottie followed Walters into the viewing room and walked to the casket. She nodded in satisfaction when she saw the floral arrangement with the ribbon that read
BELOVED HUSBAND.

She waited silently while the director lifted it off, laid it on a chair, and opened the top half of the casket. Without saying anything else he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Lottie sank onto the kneeler and carefully studied her husband’s face. Only his hands were burned in that fire, she thought. He looks so peaceful, but he must have been so frightened. She ran her fingers along his face. “Did you know it was dangerous to go there when you kissed me good-bye?” She whispered the question. “Oh Gus, Gus.”

Ten minutes later, she got up, walked to the door, and opened it. Charley Walters was waiting for her. “Close the casket now,” she directed. “And put the flowers back on it.”

“When your daughter delivered Mr. Schmidt’s clothing she said that she wanted to see him,” Walters said.

“I know. I convinced her it would be a mistake. She’d be hysterical, and she admitted it. She’ll be coming in a little while.”

Lottie did not add that it would be just like Gretchen to blubber her thanks to her father for his generosity to her. When Lottie had gotten out of the car, she had spotted two men sitting in a car parked across the street from the funeral home. She could see an official-looking placard attached to the visor on the driver’s side. They’re not here to pay their respects, she thought. They want to get a line on who shows up here and maybe question them about Gus.

I have got to keep them away from Gretchen.

28

A
fter seeing Kate in intensive care and running into Hannah in the hospital Friday morning, Douglas Connelly had gone home. Sandra had left the apartment sometime during the night. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gotten a text from Majestic or whoever that scruffy-looking rapper was, but he didn’t care.

Should he have told Hannah that Kate had apologized to him for the fire? Would it have been better to say nothing? But Hannah had known right away that he had been lying when he said that Kate had whispered to him she loved him. But then Hannah had looked aghast when he told her that Kate had said she was sorry about the fire.

Hannah told him that she had hired her friend Jessie to represent Kate if she was accused of setting the explosion.

What about Gus? Would his wife hire a lawyer to defend his reputation as well?

Doug pondered these questions when he returned from the hospital shortly after nine o’clock. The spacious eight-room apartment on East Eighty-second Street where he had raised the girls was just off Fifth Avenue and around the corner from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Now both girls had their own apartment. He didn’t need all the space, but he liked the location on Museum Mile, and the restaurant in the building. The apartment was filled with Connelly
Fine Antique Reproductions and exquisite in its own way, although even he admitted he found the totally formal atmosphere and the furniture not particularly comfortable.

In fact, it was a daily reminder that Kate was entirely right. Either multimillionaires bought original antiques for investment, or they chose a mixture of antiques and comfort. Decorating with reproductions of fine furniture, even high-quality ones, just was going out of fashion, even for five-star hotel chains that had been their best customers. Doug recognized the truth of this when Kate furnished her own apartment, even if it was done in a sense of rebellion. Not even one end table had come from the plant.

Doug reflexively clenched and unclenched his hand. To steady his nerves, he went into the library and poured himself a vodka despite the early hour. Sipping it slowly, he settled in his one comfortable chair, a leather recliner, and tried to make sense of what was going on. Should he get a lawyer? He didn’t need one to know that the insurance company wouldn’t pay any claims on the original antiques or the whole complex if it was proven that a member of the family had set the fire.

Without the business, even if it is losing money, I’ll run out of cash in two months, he thought. Maybe I can take a deposit on the property with the understanding it won’t be available until any lawsuits are settled. A sudden shiver made his body go clammy with sweat. Not now, he thought as he closed his eyes knowing he was about to relive the moment years ago that changed his life forever—the moment the boat he was steering hit that cable. It was as though they had sailed off the end of the earth. The bow of the boat was sliced off and the rest of it slipped under the water. He was at the helm. The others were in the cabin below.

They never knew what happened, he thought to himself. The crew on the tanker never knew we’d hit the cable. He had grabbed a life jacket and pulled it on. Then he had managed to throw out the
life raft, grab the bag with his wallet, and jump in as the boat sank. Doug closed his eyes, willing the memory to pass. And it did as suddenly as it had come over him. He resisted the impulse to pour a second vodka. Instead he reached for his cell phone and called Jack Worth. They had not spoken at all since yesterday, when they met at the hospital.

Jack answered on the first ring. When they had been at the complex, he always called Doug “Mr. Connelly,” but when they were alone it was “Doug.”

“How is Kate?”

“No change.”

“Did you get over to the property yesterday?”

“No, I intended to. But I went to the hospital twice and then the fire marshals were here last night. You went over, didn’t you?”

“I went straight there from the hospital. Those marshals got pretty rough about the lack of security on the premises.” Jack Worth’s voice was worried. “I got the feeling that since I was running the place, they think I should have insisted on having security cameras. I told them the place was up for sale for the right price.”

Doug didn’t like the undercurrent of panic he heard in Jack’s voice.

“Some of the guys at the plant called Gus’s wife,” Jack said. “You know how popular he was with them. She told them that there’ll be visitation today at the Walters Funeral Home in Little Neck between four and eight. Gus had no use for me or you after he was fired, so I don’t know whether or not to go.”

“I think you should go,” Doug said adamantly. “And I will, too. It will show our respect for Gus.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll get there around six.” He considered for a moment, then knew he was not interested in having dinner with any of the women listed in his address book. “Why don’t you get there around the same time and we’ll grab a bite to eat afterward?”

“Fine with me.” Jack Worth hesitated, then added, “Doug, watch what you drink today. You tend to run off at the mouth when you have too much.”

Knowing it was true, but angry at the suggestion, Douglas Connelly said curtly, “I’ll see you around six,” and turned off his phone.

29

L
awrence Gordon, chairman and CEO of Gordon Global Investments, whose college-aged daughter, Jamie, was murdered two years ago, had directed Lou, his chauffeur, to pick him up at his Park Avenue office at three fifteen on Friday afternoon, but it was more than an hour later before he was able to get away.

The breaking news had been that three major companies were planning to make public their fourth-quarter projections and all had fallen seriously short of their expectations. This revelation had sent the stock market into a sudden plunge.

Lawrence had stayed glued to his desk to monitor the developments. By late afternoon, the market had stabilized.

With a sigh of relief, Lawrence Gordon finally got into his car and commented to Lou, “At least we’re a shade ahead of the five o’clock rush.”

“Mr. Gordon, the five o’clock rush starts at four o’clock, but you’ll be home in plenty of time before the rest of the family arrives,” Lou replied.