Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too (34 page)

I whispered, “I'm sorry.”

“Shh,” he said again.

“It's my fault. I should have done something different—”

“It is not your fault.”

“Don't say it wasn't meant to be, okay?”

“No,” he said. “Because it was.”

I touched his face and we bumped foreheads, and then we both wept a while, alone together in the dark. The soft sounds of the hospital—the quiet beeps and sighs and murmurs of life and death—pulsed around us. We held each other and wished for things that would not be.

At last I propped myself up on one elbow. “Are you okay?”

“Yes and no.” His voice sounded thick.

“Did Darla get what she wanted? The cop killer?”

Michael ran his hand down his face—wincing only when he touched the bruise—as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He said, “My uncle. Lou Pescara. He's dead.”

“Dead!”

“Maybe it's right—I don't know. One of Darla's guys shot him tonight. The thing went bad. It turned into a stupid confrontation, and I couldn't stop it. Now it's over, and maybe that's okay, but it feels—I don't know. I should have done something, but I don't know what.”

“Your uncle Lou killed the police officer?”

“Yeah.”

The whole mess finally made sense to me. Michael had pretended to go back to his family to help discover who among them had killed the cop last winter. He'd taken matters into his own hands again. He hadn't trusted the police to arrest the right man. I said, “You tried to do the right thing.”

“I don't know. You can't go around killing people, no matter who you are. And a cop—that's more wrong than wrong. But now there's family stuff, too. The Pescaras thought they could get away with it. They were mad at me for not helping cover it up back when it happened, but now that Lou's dead . . .”

“I'm sorry, Michael.”

“I know. Me, too. It's—I didn't expect anybody else to die. I don't like people dying, Nora.”

“I don't like Darla.”

He allowed a grudging smile. “Me, neither. She was assigned to make sure I played by their rules. You know that now, right?”

I kissed him again. “I think I always knew it. What about Little Carmine?”

“He had nothing to do with anything. He deserves something different.”

“Is he safe now?”

“He will be.” Michael hesitated, unwilling to give me more bad news just yet. “What about Rawlins? I hear he survived his brush with the Cupcake?”

“Clover tricked him, tried to use him to make a videotape. And she heard about the attention Little Carmine was getting, so she faked her own kidnapping.”

“And she killed her grandfather?”

“Yes. She used her friend to get money from him. And when that ended, she thought she'd inherit his estate if he were dead. She wanted to use it to become famous.”

“If there's a worse thing than being famous,” said Michael, whose life had become the stuff of headlines, “I don't know what it is.”

He found my right hand in the bedclothes and touched it gently. The IV was taped to the back of my hand. Above me, the machinery ticked. Michael glanced up at the IV.

“Please,” I said, already aware that he had somewhere else to go. “Tell me what you still have to do tonight. Is it dangerous?”

“Not much. But after, I have to go away, Nora.”

“No—”

“Things have to cool down,” he went on. “Darla and her cowboys are pissed, which is bad enough, but my father and my Pescara cousins—they need time to get used to what happened. If I stick around, it'll get explosive. Tomorrow's newspapers are going to be bad. I need to go away for a while.”

“No,” I said again, my voice strangled.

“If I stay, it will be harder for you, too.”

“For me?”

“Nora.” He took my hand in both of his, elbows on the bed beside me. “In my whole life I've never been as scared as I was today.”

“Losing this baby had nothing to do with you, I promise. It was—”

“I don't mean that, although it's part of what you need to understand. I'm never going to be Richard D'eath, Nora. He can keep you safe. Just being with me is too dangerous for you.”

“I don't want to talk about Richard.”

“I can't put you in jeopardy again. And if we're together, it's going to keep on happening.”

“But you're out of that life now. I know you went back to your family to expose the killer, but now that's over. You can—”

“I can't change who I am, Nora. I'm always going to be Big Frankie Abruzzo's son. And that makes me dangerous to be around.”

“I need you now.”

“I need you, too,” he said. “But I can't be with you.”

“Don't say that,” I whispered.

“Richard's the right guy for you.”

“He's terrible in bed.”

Michael smiled, but didn't make a wisecrack. He said, “You'll help him.”

“Don't go.”

“I'll stay until you fall asleep.”

“I won't,” I vowed.

He kissed me good-bye and murmured, “Have a nice life, Nora Blackbird.”

I don't remember when I slept. The anesthetic put me under again, and once I was in that dark place I didn't want to leave it. I tried to catch him, to slide myself into his slipstream and follow, but I couldn't do it.

 
In the morning, Lexie Paine arrived lugging a huge spray of pink lupine and roses in a Steuben vase probably worth more than my monthly paycheck. I was sitting in the chair by the window, looking at the toast and eggs on my breakfast tray and wondering if I was ever going to choke down food again.

“Sweetie,” she said, hugging me with concern. “I'm so sorry. What can I do?”

“Keep my spirits up?” I mustered a smile.

“I'll bring gallons of chocolate ice cream this afternoon, I promise.”

“Actually,” I said with complete truth, “that sounds really good. But they're sending me home at noon. Nobody gets to stay in a hospital for long anymore.”

“Are you sure it's wise to leave so fast? Sweetie, you're so pale.” My friend cupped my cheek. “Maybe I should speak to someone—”

I caught her hand before she stormed off to do a Shirley MacLaine at the nurses' station. I was grateful to have someone so willing to jump to my defense. “No, I'm ready. I'm tired of feeling sick. I want to go home and dig in my garden and eat ice cream around the clock.”

“Sound medical advice, if you ask me.” Lexie shoved the other flower arrangements aside to make space for her more spectacular offering. She plucked a card from a vase of particularly funereal lilies and read the message. “Who in the world is Darla DeAngelo?”

“Someone I'd like to forget, as a matter of fact. And you know how I hate lilies. Will you find those another home?”

“Of course.” Lexie perched on the edge of my bed, her ankles crossed, her legs swinging cheerfully, which did not conceal her compassion. “You're going to miss the museum party tonight, you know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not. I'll tell you all about it, though, so you'll have something to put into print when you feel up to it. Delilah's already on-site, working like a demon. She has little Keesa with her. What an adorable kid. And I've already heard from scads of people who are coming tonight. It's going to be a smash, just you wait.”

I tried to smile. “I hope so.”

Lexie stopped swinging her legs. “You want to talk now, sweetie? Cry? Throw some dishes or something?”

“All of the above.”

“I'm truly sorry, Nora.”

“Thanks, Lex.”

“You've had a hell of a couple of months.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. About the baby, I mean. I wasn't sure—I was afraid I might lose it, and I couldn't face . . .”

“I understand completely.”

“Tell me about Boy,” I said. “Did Emma hurt him?”

“If she did, he's not pressing charges. But even Kirby can't save his political career now. Boy helped Verbena cover up a murder. They knew Clover did it, and they tried to throw blame on Delilah. Boy planted the earring and Verbena made the anonymous phone call. They're both in custody now, charges pending.”

“And Verbena confessed to the murder to save Clover?”

“Looks that way. She tried to shut up ChaCha temporarily by making her sick while Verbena tried to get rid of Zell's new will that gave much of his property to ChaCha. Her plan fell apart when Libby took the cupcakes instead.”

“So ChaCha inherits Fitch's Fancy as well as Cupcakes?”

“I think so. The police want to talk to you about it all, but Emma is keeping them at bay until you're stronger.”

“Where's Libby?”

Lexie shook her head in wonder. “She's fine. Emma says she managed to find herself a handsome fireman. Trust Libby to find a date during a disaster.”

“And Rawlins?”

“Rawlins is looking a little shell-shocked, but he's fine, too.”

“Did he make it to the Spring Fling?”

“A little late, I hear, but yes. He's got photos for you to see.”

I smiled, but it didn't last. “And Clover? Jane? Where are they?”

“Clover has been arrested for Zell's murder. And Jane? Is that the shy girl? I don't know where she is.”

Jane would need help, I thought. “You should meet her, Lex. She's going to need someone to talk to.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”

I touched the IV bandage on the back of my hand. “I don't want to turn into one of those women who just stares into space, but I feel as if I've been hit by a bus.”

“You're allowed to stare for a day or two, but for after that, I have a better idea. Take my mother's yacht.”

I laughed. “Just like that? And go where?”

Lexie grinned—relieved, I think, to see me smile. “You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Mother wants to take a Mediterranean cruise in May, so she's having the dinghy moved from Venezuela to Turks and Caicos for its annual checkup. You could jump aboard at any island you choose in between and go along for the ride. What do you think?”

“Are you going?”

“Unfortunately, I have my job to keep me warm, and things are very hot right now. I might be able to join you next weekend, but that's about it. You could take anyone you like to keep you company, sweetie. Emma or Libby. Take Delilah. Take Richard, if you like.”

“To tell the truth,” I said slowly, “I'd rather be alone right now.”

Although she kept smiling, there was concern in her face, too. “Well, then, what could be more perfect than your own private yacht? It would just be you and the crew and the deep blue sea. Even the chef will be aboard, so you won't have to think about a thing but your tan lines. Pack a few books and a bathing suit. I'm a firm believer in the restorative power of the sun. Let me take care of your banker while you're away. I've been known to have some influence with those guys. Relax on the boat for a week and see how you feel.”

I felt the prickle of grateful tears in my throat. “You're very kind.”

“So you'll go? You said yourself there's a lull in the social scene right now. The timing's right.”

“I don't know. . . .”

I had to talk to Richard. And there was Libby's insanity to settle. And I wondered if Emma was still working at the Dungeon of Darkness or if she had started coaching Pointy Fitch instead. There was so much to do. I put my chin into my hand, feeling tired just thinking about all the difficult conversations I needed to have.

Lexie came over and touched my shoulder.

I said, “I'm going to break up with Richard.”

Lexie waited.

“He was using me, Lex.”

Lexie didn't show surprise. “His story about the Abruzzo family came out this morning. It certainly lacked . . . facts. It barely made sense. One of the uncles murdered a cop? The boy is missing, presumed dead? And lots of innuendo about Michael.”

I didn't want to read what Richard had written. I understood the truth now, and I no longer cared what the rest of the world knew. Least of all Richard.

At last, Lexie said, “Do what you think is best, sweetie.”

“It's best if I don't see him again.”

“And Michael?”

When I didn't answer, Lexie smiled a little. “You've danced on the end of the diving board long enough, Nora. Is it time to take the plunge?”

I shook my head. “He's too much for me, Lex. I'd like nothing more than to come home every night to sew buttons on his shirts and raise his children, but he's not that kind of man. He'll never be the kind of man I should be with.”

“So? Sweetie, Cary Grant is dead. And it's not about
should
anyway. For most of us it's about
want.
And you want him.”

“No, I need a quiet life.”

“If you say so.” She checked her watch and got up. “I've got to run or the entire Chinese economy will collapse. But keep the yacht in mind, will you? I'd love to do you a good turn, and your very own Caribbean cruise might be exactly what you need right now.”

I got up to give her a hug and reminded her to take the lilies. Lexie breezed out, but she left a surprisingly palpable charge of energy in her wake. Good friends might be hard to find, but the likes of Lexie Paine stuck around for good.