Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too (29 page)

He carried a bag from a local doughnut shop.

“You shouldn't have come,” I said when he reached the bottom of the porch steps.

“Rawlins showed up?”

“Not yet.”

He came up the steps, giving me a look. “If I had a bunch of crazy women looking for me, I'd probably hide, too. Let's go inside where it's warm. You're shivering.”

“No, I don't think that's wise.”

He held up the doughnuts. “What, you're on a diet?”

“It's just better if we stay out here.”

He smiled wryly. “Afraid somebody will listen to all our secrets?”

Shaken, I said, “What?”

“Is Clark Kent here?”

“No, he's not.”

He reached past me and opened the door. “Inside.”

I couldn't stop myself from obeying.

“I'll make coffee.” He followed me into the warmth of the kitchen. “And you can tell me what you know. Any clue where the kid might have gone last night?”

“His girlfriend said he was supposed to meet her, but he never arrived.”

“A girlfriend,” Michael said, closing the door. “That's progress.”

“Rawlins isn't as innocent as you think.”

“Oh yeah? He's jaywalking now?”

“He had a brief encounter with one of the Cupcake girls.”

“How brief?”

“Brief.”

With a grin, Michael said, “Welcome to the modern world of dating.”

But I wasn't listening. An idea had hit me, and I suddenly realized where Rawlins could have gone. “Good heavens,” I said. “Clover!”

“Huh?”

I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it before. But I had seen Rawlins with Clover outside Verbena's tea shop. Perhaps, despite his protests, my nephew hadn't been completely unaffected by the pretty girl's come-on. “Clover Barnstable. The Cupcake Rawlins knows. They bumped into each other when I—good grief, I wonder if . . . ?”

Michael unzipped his jacket. “You going to start making sense soon?”

“Sorry. I just thought of a place to look for Rawlins.”

“So let's get going. After I have some coffee.”

On a different sort of morning, I would have made him some breakfast, given him a chance to relax. But just having him in the house made me fear he could divine my condition by breathing the same air.

And then I saw my mistake. The bottle of prenatal vitamins sat on the windowsill beside my Christmas cactus.

Michael followed the direction of my terrified glance. “What?” he said. Then, “Oh.”

He went to the window and reached.

I held my breath.

He picked the diamond ring off the cactus and looked at it in the light from the window. “I thought you were going to sell this thing.”

“No,” I said, shaking as if a high wind had just torn through the house.

He appeared to study the facets. “You could probably fix the roof for what it's worth.”

“Take it,” I said. “I don't want it here anymore.”

Without a glance at me, he dropped it into his shirt pocket.

“Michael,” I said, more calmly, “let's not turn this into a social occasion.”

He had ambled over to the freezer and pulled it open. “You're worrying too much. Rawlins may be innocent as cherry pie at home, but he's got a few street smarts.”

“We can find Rawlins on our own,” I said. “Emma and I are managing just fine. Besides, you've got another missing boy to worry about.”

He had located the pound of coffee he'd left behind when he'd moved out at Christmastime. Closing the freezer, he looked at me across the kitchen, no longer amused. “So you believe everything you read in the papers now?”

“Tell me it isn't true.” Holding my ground, I asked flat out, “Did you kidnap Little Carmine Pescara?”

He looked down at the coffee label as if he might find a response printed there. “You never asked that kind of question before.”

“I never thought I had to. Richard says—”

“Richard,” Michael echoed. “Now I get it.”

“We're not going to talk about Richard right now. Are you holding Little Carmine hostage, Michael?”

He glanced around the kitchen. “Okay, you really want to talk about this? First, let's make sure it's just you and me. Where's the transmitter?” He dropped the coffee on the counter and began to prowl the room.

“I can't believe you're behaving this way, Michael. I thought I knew you. I didn't think I was stupid, but—”

“You're anything but stupid.”

“Naive, then.” I dashed a tear from my cheek. “God knows what you did before. I didn't care because I thought you'd put it all behind you. You were sorry, and you were helping people like Rawlins to—to atone or something. But now it's kidnapping? Or is there something worse going on?”

He checked the telephone receiver first, then the light switches, and finally he pulled out a kitchen chair and climbed on it to examine the chandelier. His search was businesslike and thorough, but I could see he was angry.

At last he got down from the chair and said, “Little Carm can take care of himself. When you grow up the way he has, you grow up fast.”

“He's growing up the way you did,” I said. “I get that. If he's so much like you, why aren't you more sympathetic?”

“I'm plenty sympathetic.” Still looking for the bug, Michael hunkered down in front of my kitchen sink. “I'm a hell of a lot more sympathetic than you think.”

“Is he alive?”

At that moment, Michael opened the cabinet door beneath the sink. As he did, three Jiffy Pop pans fell out onto the floor with a rattle and a bang. A dozen more were clearly visible inside the cupboard, tucked beside my recycling can like a stash of empty bottles hidden away by a secretive alcoholic. Michael reached to retrieve the fallen pans.

I took an involuntary step forward. “Wait—”

On a short laugh, he said, “What's this? You had a big popcorn craving last night?”

I couldn't come up with a quip. No clever, diversionary explanation came to mind, and for a split second, I let my guard down too far. He piled the pans on the kitchen counter. He hesitated, puzzled for only a heartbeat by my silence, and then he noticed the pharmacy bottle on the windowsill. He reached for it, and when it was in his hand, I saw the revelation hit him like a lightning bolt.

He said, “Nora?”

From across the room, his gaze met mine and sharpened.

“I—I like popcorn,” I said.

Michael stared at me, bottle in hand, but transfixed by the fact that clarified in his mind.

I hugged myself and had the fleeting thought that I had never been so stupid in my life. But my brain couldn't downshift, couldn't gather the words to save me.

He dropped the bottle and came across the kitchen with the speed of a springing panther. I backed up instinctively to escape, but collided with the pantry door.

He stopped before me and said, “You're pregnant.”

“I—”

“You are,” he said, stunned.

I expected something different from him. Maybe joy. Maybe rage. Maybe some kind of loud Abruzzo fertility ritual that involved rolling out pasta dough and drinking a bottle of wine before noon.

I didn't expect him to grab both of my arms, his grip biting deep as he pushed me hard against the door. His eyes burned bluer than butane. “Jesus Christ, who knows about this?”

“What?”

“Who have you told?”

“Are you kidding?”

He shook me. “Nora, it's important. Who knows? Your sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Who else?”

“Michael—”

“A doctor? Nurses?”

“Why are you—”

“What about D'eath?”

“Richard? Yes, he knows—”

“Yes?” Michael demanded. “Dammit, Nora, you've told half the world but not me?”

“Stop it!” I glared up at him. “Michael, this child has nothing to do with you. I—I slept with Richard.”

He released his hold on me and stepped back.

“Don't,” he said, shaking his head.

“I'm sorry if that hurts you. You and I were finished, and I was trying to move on, so Richard and I—”

Michael put out one hand to stop me from speaking. “Don't bother. Don't bother even trying, Nora. You're carrying our child, not his.”

“This child is none of your business, Michael.”

His face was suddenly, truly ugly. “The hell it isn't.”

I retreated, putting the kitchen table between us. “You made it crystal clear that we're not sailing into the sunset together, so I—I started something new with Richard. We've come a long way in a couple of months. We're very happy together.”

Michael put his head back and laughed.

Which made my blood boil. “We're not just happy,” I snapped. “Richard proposed last night. We're getting married.”

He sobered fast. “No.”

“Yes,” I said, just as firmly. “We're starting a family right away.”

He threw the kitchen chair out of his way and came after me again. “You are not going to marry Clark Kent. Not now.”

“What's my other option?” I cried. “You? What kind of family life can you offer?”

“You don't love D'eath. He's just convenient.”

“Convenient, maybe, but also safe and kind and—and he loves me. And best of all, he doesn't get himself arrested on a regular basis!”

“I haven't been arrested in months! And even then the charges were bogus.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I cried. “Richard is a law-abiding, upstanding citizen with—with many good qualities. He's going to be around to tie shoes and play baseball and help with homework, not spend years locked up in jail for—”

“Fuck Richard,” Michael exploded. “That smug asshole is not going to teach my kids how to tie their shoes!”

We'd both been shouting. With an effort, I controlled my voice. “Richard wants to marry me, Michael. And he's not running a crime syndicate. He's not kidnapping children or—or whatever the hell you're doing with all that cash in the trunk of your car. He doesn't have to check for hidden microphones or cameras wherever he goes.”

Michael's expression hardened.

“You know he's a good man,” I said. “The kind of man you'd want to raise your child, Michael. Admit it. If it were your decision, you'd choose Richard to be this baby's father.”

A full minute ticked by during which neither one of us could breathe.

“Get your coat,” Michael said at last, voice low again.

“What?”

“We're leaving.”

“No. Look, I appreciate your willingness to help. But I have to—Rawlins is probably—”

“I don't give a damn about Rawlins right now.” He slipped one hand under my elbow and pulled. “We have to get out of here.”

“What do you think you're doing? Let me go!”

He hauled me across the kitchen to the peg where I kept my gardening jacket. He threw it at me. “Put this on. Is there—what else do you need?” He hesitated at last. “Any kind of—I don't know—baby stuff?”

“This is ridiculous. I'm not leaving!”

“Never mind, we can buy whatever you need. Come on.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

We slammed out of the kitchen and into a ferocious March wind. I fought him the whole way out of the house and down the porch steps. The wind whipped at us and roared in the branches of the oak trees overhead. I managed to break out of his grasp on the sidewalk and spun around to face him. “Stop this! I'm not leaving with you!”

He strode forward, chasing me up the walk to his car. “I'm not giving you any more choices.”

“You can't bully me!”

“I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you if that's what it takes. One way or another, we're out of here.”

“I'm not going anywhere!”

“Dammit, don't you understand? It's not safe for you to be alone.”

“What are you—”

Over the wind, he shouted, “Your whole house is broadcast central! Everybody from here to the Atlantic Ocean probably knows you're pregnant with my child. Everybody but me, that is.”

“This isn't—”

“Don't you see how vulnerable it makes you?”

I caught my shoe and stumbled. “Vulnerable?”

“The Pescaras already think I snatched Little Carm. They're looking for a way to retaliate!”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You still don't get it? Look around! Don't you see how easy it would be to grab you? You're alone, sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, getting fat with the one thing I'd protect at any cost!”

“I am not fat!” I cried. “I'm pregnant.”

He caught me in his arms, more gently this time, almost hugging me. “I know, I know. You're beautiful. You're smart and strong and you always try so hard to do the right thing. You're perfect. But you're so damn stubborn sometimes I can't stand it. I'm begging you now, Nora. Please, please, let me take you out of here. We can figure everything else out later. Let me take you someplace safe right now. Before something terrible happens.”

I looked into his face, not handsome or refined, but battered and a little broken and nuanced in ways I understood deep in my heart.

“Trust me,” he said. “Please. Just this one more time.”