For Every Evil (2 page)

“Perhaps I should run upstairs,” offered Louie. “See if I can hurry him along.”

“No, stay put. If we’re late, his grand entrance will simply have a larger audience.” She could feel Louie’s eyes boring into her back. Such bitterness was hard for him to take. Especially now, with his wife so ill.

Suddenly a small pane of glass next to her left shoulder burst inward. Then another. Before she could react, Louie screamed, “Get down!” She felt him lunge at her from across the room, pulling her to the floor. Another shot came through the glass, hitting the mantel.

“Be quiet!” he ordered, dragging her away from the window. “Someone out there’s got a gun!” He reached up and switched off the overhead light. For a moment they lay motionless in the semidarkness. “Are you all right?” he rasped.

“I think so.”

“Just stay down.”

Carefully he crawled over to the front door. He turned off die hall light and then took a quick look outside. “I can’t see anyone.”

“Maybe they’re gone,” said Ivy. She realized her body was quaking violently. Tiny pinpricks of blood welled up as if by magic on her bare arm.

“Or hiding in one of those fir trees,” he whispered. “I’m going to call 911.”

“What about Hale?”

Louie crouched near the phone and glanced up the stairs. “I can’t believe he didn’t hear those shots.”

“We’ve got to warn him not to come downstairs!” Ivy made a move to get up.

At that same moment, Hale came through the swinging kitchen door into the dining room. “Hey … what’s going on? Who turned off all the lights?”

“Get down!” shouted Louie.

Ivy began to crawl toward him. “Someone took a shot at me!”

Hale bumped into the edge of the huge mahogany table, nearly losing his balance.

She pulled him to the carpet.

“What the hell?” He seemed terribly concerned that his suit might get wrinkled. “Stop it!” He squirmed away from her.

“Some idiot out there’s got a gun,” said Louie, picking up the receiver and poking in the numbers. “They took several shots at your wife. Didn’t you hear anything? Look at the front windows!” Clearing his throat, he spoke clearly and calmly into the mouthpiece, giving the address and a short description of what had just happened. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he called to Ivy.

“No. Just some small cuts.”

He repeated her answer and then urged the person on the other end to send a police car immediately.

Hale crawled a bit farther into the living room. In the soft light streaming in through the windows, the glass littering the Oriental carpet glittered like diamonds. He seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

“I thought you were upstairs,” said Ivy, leaning her back against the edge of the dining room arch. She drew her knees up close to her body.

“I … was.” He paused. “I came down the back steps into the kitchen. Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked. He was beginning to sweat.

“I’m fine. Just shaken.” For Ivy, the full magnitude of the situation was just starting to sink in. Those bullets had been
close.
She could have been killed!

“For God’s sake, man,” said Louie, his disgust all too apparent, “your wife needs you! Put your arm around her.”

Hale’s head shot up, looking as if he’d just been slapped. “Of … course.” The hesitation in his voice spoke louder than any words. He eased himself over to where she was sitting.

In an instant, Ivy felt trapped, pinned to the wall by his heavy body, bruised by the smell of his cologne. She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

“That’s better now, isn’t it, dear?” Hale tightened his grip around her shoulders.

Desperately she fought down a wave of nausea. “Much,” she whispered. In her entire life, she’d never felt so alone.

Attempting to rein in her growing impatience, Rhea sipped her red wine and watched the other restaurant patrons talking, laughing, and enjoying their food. Agreeing to meet Ben for dinner had been a mistake. She couldn’t understand why she’d let him talk her into it. To top it off, he was late. She was never going to make it over to the Chappeldine Gallery for that art reception if she didn’t order dinner soon. Taking one last glance at the front entrance, she opened the menu and began studying it. It would serve him right if, by the time he finally arrived, she was halfway through her meal.

The cannelloni stuffed with scallops and fresh asparagus looked promising. During their short marriage, Luciano’s had become their favorite restaurant. Ben loved Italian food. He often said he could eat pasta morning, noon, and night. Since Rhea was too busy with her own career to cook very much, they’d eaten here often. She hadn’t been back since —

“I recommend the tagliatelle in walnut sauce,” said a voice she recognized immediately.

“You’re forty-five minutes late!” Any vestige of politeness Rhea possessed had dissolved into her third glass of merlot.

“Good evening to you, too.” Ben gave her his most irresistible smile and took a seat, extending a single, red rose. “I see I can still count on you for a prompt recap of my sins.” His fair skin looked flushed, his blue eyes a bit more intense than usual.

Rhea took the flower, holding it to her nose as she studied him. “What? That’s it? Don’t I even get an explanation?”

He slipped on his reading glasses and picked up the menu. “I was in St Paul doing … a shoot.” Again, he grinned. “The freeway was a madhouse. I really am sorry. I intended to arrive at the stroke of seven. Ah, here comes my peace offering.”

A waiter approached the table with two tall champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice.

“I’ll pour,” he said, lifting the bottle from its cradle.

“I hardly think our final divorce papers merit this kind of celebration.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.” He held his glass high, gazing at her seductively. ‘To us.”

Somewhat reluctantly, she clinked her glass against his and took a sip.

“I’m glad you wore your hair down. You look unbelievably lovely tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“Well?” he asked after a moment.

“Well what?”

“Don’t you want to tell me I look lovely, too?”

Even after all that had happened, she couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe she hadn’t lost her sense of humor after all. The fact of the matter was, he did look pretty good. “What are you up to? You never did tell me why it was so important to get together tonight.”

“I should think the point would be obvious.”

“The divorce?”

“Partly.” He leaned closer, his dark hair glistening in the candlelight. “I’m a free man now. I can date anyone I choose.” He paused for effect. “And I choose …
you.”

This was preposterous. “We’re kaput, darling. Dissolved. In case you forgot.”

“Exactly. We don’t have to live together any longer. I think that calls for another toast.” Again, he held his glass high. ‘To … the future. Yours, mine … and ours.”

This time, she let her glass remain safely on the table. “Ben, I think —”

“All right, all right. Still, you have to admit, physical attraction was never our problem.”

“No.”

“And I, for one, am still attracted.” His gaze moved lazily over her body.

She was beginning to feel certain warmth she couldn’t entirely attribute to the wine.

“Our problems were about money, Rhea. Plain and simple. That dance ensemble of yours is like a sponge.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you abuse my career!”

He held up his hand. “I didn’t mean to be argumentative. I realize my studio isn’t quite on its feet yet, either. I’ve been scrambling as hard as you. But yesterday I think my luck may have finally changed. Rhea, I closed the deal of a lifetime.”

“Really? Do tell.” She said the words with little enthusiasm.

He poured himself more champagne. “Hale Micklenberg —
the
Hale Micklenberg — has just asked me to do his newest catalogue. That company of his — International Art Investments — makes a mint every year. I had it checked out before we shook hands. Actually, I’m supposed to start shooting some of his most recent acquisitions next month. The month after, I may be flying to Europe. I’ve already ordered a ton of new equipment.”

Rhea was genuinely happy for him. Even during the worst moments of their marriage, she could never bring herself to hate Ben. He was a good man; he deserved a break. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little jealous. As a dancer, she was in her prime. For the past five years she’d tried every avenue she could think of to drum up financial backing. A national tour was what she wanted most in the world. But without money, it was just another pipe dream. Like her marriage.

“Ever met Hale Micklenberg?”

Rhea pushed the champagne away and returned to her glass of merlot. “Several times. I found him … attractive.”

“And he, no doubt, returned the compliment.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you know him pretty well.”

Ben’s smile faded. Finishing his champagne in one stiff gulp, he said, “I first met our illustrious Minnesota prairie critic when I was nine years old. I’m sure he doesn’t remember me. It was at an arts camp my parents sent me to. Camp Bright Water up near Silver Lake.”

Rhea cocked her head. “What was Hale Micklenberg doing at a summer arts camp? Doesn’t sound like his style.”

Ben laughed. “Remember, this was over twenty years ago. He was a young man then. His wife, Ivy, was there, too — but I don’t think they were married yet. They were both on the teaching staff. Ivy taught painting and drawing. Hale” — he stopped long enough to pour himself more champagne — “well, let’s just say Hale was already doing his art critic routine. He just didn’t have it down to a science yet.”

The bitterness in his voice intrigued her. Ben rarely held a grudge. He was too good-natured. “What do you mean? What did he do to you?”

“To me? Nothing. I was smart enough to stay out of his way. But he was an arrogant bastard. I saw him humiliate more than one kid during my two-week stay. Even the other camp counselors weren’t immune to attack. I never wanted to go back. Actually, I wouldn’t have been able to. They closed the place shortly after my group left. It was never reopened.”

“Why?”

“A kid got lost.”

“Lost? You mean like in the woods?”

He shook his head. “His name was Eric Hauley. Someone said they saw him on the main road, hitchhiking into Silver Lake — the closest town. Nobody ever heard from him again.”

“That’s awful!”

“Yeah. I knew him pretty well. He was a couple years older than me. Nice kid. Talented dancer. You probably would have liked him.” He held her eyes for a long moment.

This was becoming ridiculous. “Ben, look. I know you didn’t ask me here tonight to swap camp stories.”

“No, you’re right.”

“Then what?”

He looked down into his glass. “Rhea, I miss you. Not the arguments … but
you.”

She hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t playing anymore. His sincerity had caught her off-guard. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’re not hungry.”

“What?”

“Say that you don’t really want to go to that stupid gallery reception.” He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Come home with me.”

She felt the temperature in the room zoom up several degrees. Perhaps it was merely the wine mixed with candlelight. They’d spent so many wonderful evenings together in this restaurant. Loving him here was like breathing. It felt completely natural.

“What do you say?”

The words burst out before she could stop them. “I miss you, too.”

He grinned. “God, you’ll never know how much I wanted to hear that.” He motioned to the waiter. “Let’s leave your car in the lot. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“All right.” If this was a mistake — well, it wouldn’t be her first. Or her last. She finished the merlot while Ben tossed some cash on the table. Then, slipping on her coat, she followed him out into the cold February night.

After a mad dash from St. Paul to Minneapolis in rush-hour traffic, Sophie managed to speed through a less than satisfying dinner of cold cuts and day-old focaccia and then race upstairs to wiggle into something a bit more formal than her usual business attire. All of this in preparation for the opening tonight at the Chappeldine Art Gallery. Since she was the managing editor of one of the best-known arts monthlies in the Midwest, she felt it incumbent upon her to put in an appearance. And besides, the owner, Kate Chappeldine, was a good friend. After leaving a note on the kitchen table for her husband, Bram, she’d sprinted out the back door to her car. Standing now in front of a small pencil drawing, she was glad she’d made the effort. This was truly one of the best shows Kate had mounted.