Hush Hush (23 page)

“Is that what Alanna wanted to know when she came to see you? If she had, indirectly, caused her sister’s death?”

“Actually, what she wanted to know was if there was a deal.”

“A deal?”

“She believed that her parents had an arrangement. They both benefited if Alanna didn’t take the stand. It would hurt Stephen’s reputation if the affair got out, but it would also hurt Melisandre’s defense. She had decided that her parents worked it out together—what it would take to get a mistrial before Alanna was called to the stand.”

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth. That I wasn’t exactly close to her father around the time of the trial, that he had fired me and stopped taking my calls. I said she should ask him these things directly. The filming had started for the documentary, and I had decided on my own not to tell that part of the story, even if asked. But they didn’t ask me, which I found interesting. After all, Melisandre knows, right? And she was acquitted, so she can’t be tried again. Interesting, like I said. Like she was holding it back for some reason. Or, maybe, as Alanna suspected, there was a deal. Anyway, I called Stephen and gave him a heads-up. About Alanna, about how the filmmaker didn’t ask about us.”

A heads-up
. Tess lifted her gaze from Elyse, surveyed their surroundings. “Why would you do that? He had been pretty cruel to you.”

“I was—I was thinking about Alanna. I didn’t want him to be blindsided, or to say anything that would hurt her.”

“So you called Stephen, out of the blue, and said, ‘Hey, your oldest daughter is beginning to ask a lot of questions about what really went down twelve years ago. She knows you’re a piece of shit, but now she thinks her estranged mother, back on the scene, is a piece of shit, too, that she was in on the perjury?’”

“I didn’t say that exactly.”

“I’m sure you didn’t say a lot of things
exactly
.” Tess got up, walked over to a rack of dresses, looked at a price tag. That was a lot of Spanish olive oil. “You probably didn’t say, Give me money or I will talk about the affair. But he gave you money, didn’t he?”

“He offered me a gift when he heard I was getting married. I thought it was kind, under the circumstances.”

“Did Alanna believe you? That you didn’t know anything?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because, once upon a time, when she was a little girl, her mother was sick and you slept with her father?”

Elyse was a feisty one. She blushed, but it was more in anger than in shame. “I was in love. And maybe I was silly and stupid—okay, I was—but I thought it was real. I thought I meant something. Stephen used
me
.”

“You must have been really angry with him.”

“For a time. Yes. But clearly I got over it.” She gestured at the dresses.

“Was fourteen thousand enough?”

“What?”

“Fourteen thousand. That’s the federal limit on gifts last I heard. The amount that the donor doesn’t have to declare on his taxes. Will
that even pay for the dress you had on?” When Elyse didn’t answer right away, Tess said, “Any money he paid you, it’s going to come out. Even if he handed you a paper bag of cash. One penny over fourteen thousand and there will be a record.”

“It wasn’t—Look, leave me alone.”

“Oh, I don’t need to have anything more to do with you. But I’m going to tell the homicide detectives what I know, and they’re going to come talk to you. Does your fiancé know how you’re paying for your wedding?”

“Not the whole wedding. Just—some extras. Some things I couldn’t have afforded, like a custom-made dress, better food. Steak instead of chicken.”

“Steak instead of chicken.” Tess’s echo was meant to mock, demean, provoke. It worked.

“Look, do you know what it’s like to be close, really close, to money, but not have it? The Daweses were good to me, but I was good to them, too, and I stood by Stephen during the worst time of his life. Then, just like that, it was over.
Oh, Ruby’s starting prekindergarten, we’d be wasting your time. Here’s a bonus, go back to school, finish your degree
. When I saw Alanna the other day, all I could think was how easy she was going to have it. She has a
Mercedes
. Seventeen years old and she pulls up in a bright red Mercedes. Okay, fine, a tragedy happened, but she was barely five. She has everything—money, family, those looks. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t feel bad for her. And I wasn’t going to give her an opportunity to feel any more sorry for herself. So I told her I didn’t know anything about what her parents might have done, or not done.”

“I’ll ask you again—did she believe you?”

“What?”

“I mean, she knows you. Maybe she saw through your lies. I’ve known you less than fifteen minutes and I can tell you—you’re not a very good liar.”

“I don’t know where Alanna is.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s the one thing I do believe.”

Tess left the shop. Elyse’s friends had become more boisterous; a third bottle was upended now. Maybe a private-eye stripper could be hired on the spot. She helped herself to a puff pastry filled with some creamy mushroom thing. Steak instead of chicken indeed.

The view from Melisandre’s apartment was greedy. That was the only word for it, she decided, as she stood at the glass windows and stared into the all-gray day—gray skies, gray water, gray buildings. Her view—Stephen’s view, the one he had created for this apartment—took in the cityscape along the harbor, but it also had the depth and the breadth of the bay beyond. Her view was Baltimore, past and present and future.

But even in its sweep, there was something melancholy about the view, a sense of a place past its prime. To think that this had been one of the biggest cities in the United States when Melisandre was born, that this harbor had been a bustling beehive of activity. They had made things in this city once. Not her father’s people. She was never quite sure from where their money derived, simply that they had lots and lots of it. Why had her mother, a London beauty, fallen in love with a Baltimorean, rich as he was? She could have had anyone. And he was older, too, already losing his looks. Yet her mother swore it had been love at first sight. He had arrived in London that very day and was persuaded to go to a party to counter his jet-lagged body’s desire to sleep. On such small decisions, a life was made. Go to the party. Go to the regatta. Flirt with a man. Marry him. Have his children. Outlive him.

The charges against Melisandre were going to be dropped. She
was sure of that. She had never doubted that. The trade-off would be that Alanna would be charged. As an adult, Tyner had explained. Even if the case were moved to juvenile court, which Tyner thought unlikely—this state’s attorney would never miss a chance to prosecute a rich young white girl—Alanna’s name would be out there. Right now, missing, not even officially a person of interest, she had privacy, of a sort. But she was going to be found and then she would know the pain that Melisandre knew. Which meant Melisandre was a failure as a mother. The job of a parent—even a parent who had been denied the right to be a parent—was to forestall, as long as possible, all sadness, general and specific. Boo-boos, disappointments, heartaches.

Being in the public eye as an accused killer.

But Alanna would be acquitted. Melisandre also had no doubt of that. The case against her was circumstantial at best. And even if Alanna were convicted, it would be of a lesser charge, with possibly no prison time. It would be understood that things had happened in anger, that there was no plan, no premeditation.

But she wouldn’t be convicted. She wouldn’t be convicted. She could not possibly be convicted.

Where are you, Alanna?
She should have some insight. She had known her daughter so well once. She had known every inch of her body, every mark, down to the tiny birthmark on the left knee, the one that looked like Australia. But she also had known everything that went on inside her. Alanna had been transparent, as see-through as a jellyfish. Ruby was the complicated one, even at age three. Alanna was the one who wore her heart on her sleeve. Had that changed?

All Melisandre really wanted was a family, her family. Was that too much to ask? Like someone cheated out of her fortune, she had come back to stake her claim. At least she would have Ruby. She could be Ruby’s mother. And maybe Alanna would come to love her when she saw how Melisandre stood by her during the trial. She was
going to pay for the lawyer, too, this Bustamante woman who Tyner had recommended, although Melisandre found her coarse and unattractive. Gloria Bustamante claimed they had known each other, back at Howard, Howard & Barr when they were young associates, but Melisandre had no memory of her.

She felt bad about the film. She hadn’t meant to disappoint Harmony, and she had been sincere about the project. It wasn’t really her fault that all of this had happened. True, Harmony had seemed to hope that Melisandre would dissuade her from leaving, but if Harmony hadn’t quit, Melisandre would have ended the film on her own. Besides, she didn’t play those games. People should know their minds. Her lips crimped, imagining how others would mock those words in her mouth. But she did know her mind now. She had won her mind, at great cost and effort.
Out of one’s mind
made no sense as a bit of imagery. To Melisandre, to be out of her mind was to stand back, have clarity. She was never more sane than when she was out of her mind.

A thought tantalized her, like a scent or a bar of music. It was urgent, important. What was it?
Harmony’s film
. She needed to get
everything
back. She had checked the Dropbox today, and two videos were missing. Strangely, they were the ones she had shot. Where were they? She didn’t mind Harmony having the interview with Stephen, but there was no need for anyone to see the one with Tyner. Had Harmony made copies behind her back? Why would she care about those interviews? Melisandre liked the girl, but these videos were hers, she had paid for them. A little face-to-face intimidation might be required. And it might have to trump the search for Alanna. What were the odds that Tyner’s dim little niece could find her, anyway? Tyner had terrible taste in the women with whom he surrounded himself. That lawyer. His so-called niece. She wasn’t his blood, and they bickered as if they hated each other. His wife, although she was attractive enough. For a bookstore owner.

Focus on Alanna. Alanna is the top priority
. She would be okay in the long run. Tyner said everything would be okay. Tyner always said the right thing, unlike some people. But Alanna needed to surrender. The detectives’ arrogance was in their favor. Reluctant to admit they might be wrong about Melisandre—more reluctant to see their error reported in the press—they would not issue a warrant for Alanna. Felicia, coached by Tyner, had been told to say that Alanna often disappeared. It helped that Alanna had no plausible way of knowing that Ruby was going to talk to the police, that Tyner could make the case she wasn’t on the run out of fear. But they were looking for her. Where was she?

And just like that, Melisandre knew where her daughter would be found, at least once darkness had settled in. She had all but sent up a flare. Melisandre called Tyner—she made it a point never to speak to his not-really-niece directly—and shared her sad intuition with him.

Alanna, the track star, had no talent for running when the destination was not fixed. Irony, much? But where could a homeless seventeen-year-old girl go? She had taken three hundred dollars out of an ATM, using an emergency card her father had given her. Her father—No, don’t think about it. Don’t think about him. Be strong. Besides, that was before anyone would have started looking for her. When had they figured out she wasn’t coming home? The calls had started Thursday evening to her cell—Felicia, Ruby, some local numbers she hadn’t recognized.

Fuck you, Ruby
.

Of course Ruby had recognized the source of the notes. Those books were burned into their heads, line by line. Alanna hadn’t even
seen those books in years, didn’t realize that Ruby had kept them, but she would never forget them. She had read them to Ruby. Did people remember that Alanna could read at age five, that she had been the smart one once? Not every word, not at age five, but those books had formed the core of their bedtime ritual. She hadn’t known, at the time, that those were going to be the good old days. Did anyone recognize good times while they were happening?

Why had she written those notes? She couldn’t have seen where things were leading, how awful everything was going to get. She had expected her mother to get it, to recognize the source, to see that Alanna was onto her.
And then what?
She no longer remembered what the point was. She no longer was sure of anything. All she knew was that she couldn’t keep driving. The motels that took cash weren’t places she wanted to stay. She had slept in the car last night, but it was terrifying. And she had parked somewhere so obvious that she couldn’t believe she wasn’t found. Was anyone even looking for her?

She got drive-through Wendy’s for dinner. Fast food used to be a glorious indulgence. Felicia had kept a healthy kitchen, and her father—Alanna choked back another sob. If she had never confronted him, would this be happening? Had she once again set everything in motion? What was wrong with her? She was like some bizarre angel of death.

She was the Lonely Doll.

She pulled into the parking lot, the only car here at this hour. Could she really manage another night in this place? It had gotten so cold, about three this morning, that she had run the heater off and on, worrying it might kill her with fumes. Hoping it would kill her. Why not? This was her alpha and omega, the place where everything began and ended. She had finally found the courage to face it. X marks the spot. Here is where the world ended on August 8, 2002.

Her mother and father, beneath the tree. Her mother beneath the tree, her sister in the car. The air shimmering, as it does on a hot
August day in Baltimore. Like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, her mother had cooked Isadora. But had she known what she was doing? And if she was crazy, did that mean Alanna would be crazy, too, someday? Should she claim she was crazy now? Would that make everything better? Would anything ever be better?

A rap on her window. She screamed and jumped so hard she almost hit the car’s roof. Then she looked up into a vaguely familiar face. Oh,
that
woman, the woman who had come to the house to speak to Felicia.

“Alanna,” the woman said through the glass. “I’m here to get you to your lawyer, okay? I’m on your side.”

“You work for my mom,” she said, edging away from the window. She had longed to be found, but now she felt even less safe.

“I work for your mom’s lawyer. But there’s a criminal defense attorney, a good one, ready to meet with you. We’ll come up with a good cover story for why you’ve been missing for twenty-four hours. But I’m afraid you will have to talk to the police. Not tonight, but by Monday. Sooner, if you want to go to the funeral, but we’re going to try to work out a deal. They know, Alanna. About the notes, about the sugar bowl, about Tony, about Friday night.”

“The Sugar Bowl? I don’t even know who’s playing.”

The woman smiled as if Alanna were trying to be funny.