Kane (7 page)

Melville opened his eyes wide. “You talking about this bunch of New York pinstripe lawyers?”

“Wiseass,” Kane said amiably. “I'm talking about Regina Dalton, and you know it.”

“Yankee woman's got your thinking so screwed you're not sure how to place her, that it?”

Kane shifted a hard shoulder. “I can't believe what my instinct's telling me. Or don't want to believe it. She doesn't seem the type to con an old man.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is. She is. She says one thing, but I see something else in her eyes.”

“Oh, man,” Melville said with a quick shake of his head. “This one I've got to meet.”

“Suit yourself. But I can handle her and I will, one way or another.”

“You're sure of that, are you?”

Kane gave him a jaundiced stare.

“Right,” Melville said, speculation joining the bright amusement in his eyes. “I'm dying to see how it turns out.”

“So am I,” Kane answered. “So am I.”

 

Regina stood to one side of the window and carefully shifted the drape so she could see out. The car was still there, across the street from the motel.

Her chest felt tight, and her tension headache drummed behind her eyes. It had been bad enough fending off Sugar Kane Benedict's insidious questions and comments all day. She didn't need this added trouble.

For a few seconds, she played with the idea that Kane might have posted the man to watch her. Then she dismissed it. For one thing, she'd given him no reason to think it was necessary. For another, he seemed too open and aboveboard for such tactics. The best reason, however, was because he'd proven that when he wanted something, he went after it himself. As he was after her.

That was exactly what was behind his attention. She had suspected it when he first showed up this morning, but after the hours they had spent together, she was positive.

If Kane hadn't posted the man across the street, then who had? Lewis Crompton, perhaps? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened. Of course, the watcher could also be after someone else entirely, such as a girlfriend sleeping around on him, a straying wife, or a drug connection.

There was one other possibility.

Swinging away from the window, she moved to the bed and sat down beside the phone on the bedside table. Drawing a deep breath, she closed her eyes and touched the pendant at her throat for luck and reassurance. Then she picked up the receiver.

The phone on the other end rang once, twice—distant, strident sounds. Then the voice of her cousin's houseman and bodyguard came on the line. “Gervis Berry residence. Who may I say is calling?”

“Regina, Michael. Let me talk to him.”

“Good. He's anxious to hear from you.”

The hold button clicked and strains of a Mozart concerto came on to pacify her while she waited. She listened impatiently, thinking it was just like Gervis to put something so foreign to his own personality on his phone system in pretense of a cultural background he secretly despised. At the same time, she could imagine the houseman stalking through the rooms of the spacious 72nd Street co-op, knocking on the door of the study.

She began a mental countdown from ten, betting with herself about how long it would take her cousin to answer the phone. He wouldn't pick up at ten or nine because he had to impress on her that he was a busy man. He wouldn't answer on eight or seven because he'd want to make her anxious so he'd be in control. He wouldn't get it on six or five because he enjoyed having people wait on his convenience. He wouldn't touch it on four or three because he liked thinking he could master his own urges. He would answer before one, though, because he couldn't stand to wait for what he wanted.

Five, four, three—

“Gina, baby, what's going on down there?”

Right on time.

“Not a lot,” she answered, her voice carefully neutral. “I've made contact with Mr. Crompton and have an agreement to do a full appraisal of his jewelry.”

“Forget the damn jewelry. I want to know what you've found out.”

“I haven't had time to—”

“Well, make time, because I don't have all year. Get your fanny in gear. Why else do you think you're down there?”

“It's crossed my mind to wonder,” she said tightly. “Gervis, you didn't send someone to check up on me, did you?”

“Come again?”

“Some goon has this motel staked out. I think he may be watching me.”

There was a small silence on the other end. Then her cousin spoke in pained disbelief. “Jeez, Gina, you don't think I have anything to do with it?”

“I don't know. That's why I'm asking.”

“I trust you like nobody else, you know that. It's probably nothing, some reporter or something.”

“All right.” She dragged air into her lungs and let it out again. “I guess I'm getting a little crazy with this whole thing. You have to hear what happened.” In a few succinct phrases, she told him about being locked in the coffin.

“I can't believe this stuff,” Gervis said, irate for her sake. “What kind of people are they down there?”

“Intelligent ones who don't mind going a little over the edge,” she answered. “They are also very careful, especially Kane Benedict.”

“Come on, baby, you know you can run rings around this guy.”

Her cousin meant he thought he could, Regina thought. He fully expected his team of lawyers to squash the competition like stepping on a poison-drugged cockroach. She had felt virtually the same way before coming to Turn-Coupe. Now she wasn't so sure.

Speaking distinctly, she said, “You may have to rethink this situation.”

“What makes you say that?” His query was sharp. Gervis didn't miss much, even if he was going a little soft as he let the good life he'd made for himself get to him.

“Crompton's grandson didn't shut me up in a casket for fun, no matter what he said to pass it off that way,” she replied, hearing the strain she couldn't help in her voice. “He suspects something, suspects me.”

“Now why would he do that?”

“Because he isn't some Southern bumpkin without brains or imagination, a point you might remember for future reference. Because I turned up at his grandfather's house a bit too conveniently to suit him, and because he caught me smiling just a little more than I should while his grandfather and I were looking at the jewelry. I just don't know, Gervis. I didn't like this from the start, and now I have a bad feeling about it.”

“You're shook, that's all. Take my word, it'll get easier once you get used to it.”

“I don't want to get used to it!” Regina cried. “If I had known what it would be like, I'd never have agreed. I can't imagine what you were thinking to ask me.”

“You have the credentials, baby. You're a natural.”

“Yes, but to send me down here with so little advance preparation was criminal. You didn't tell me nearly enough about Crompton's grandson!”

“Who knew he was a maniac? Anyway, you think I wanted to send you? I care about you, kid. But there was no one else, especially no one I can trust the way I do you.”

The words sounded sincere. They gave her the courage to say what she was thinking. “I'm not sure I can go through with it. I'd really like to come home.”

“Don't get cold feet on me now, baby. We've got them on the run. They're offering to settle.”

Relief washed over her. “You're going to accept?”

“Not on your life. They're caving. They know they can't win. All I have to do is reach out and take it all.”

“You don't understand these people, Gervis. The settlement may be like a—a peace offering because they prefer to be fair. Throw it back in their faces and you'll be sorry.”

“So now you're an expert on Southern gentlemen? Just what happened in that casket, baby?”

“Listen to me, Gervis. I've met Lewis Crompton and Kane Benedict, talked to them, seen them in action. You haven't. They aren't playing games, and they won't run. You'll be fighting this battle on their turf, before a judge and jury they understand but about whom you don't have the first—”

“Yeah, yeah,” her cousin interrupted. “We got that covered.”

“I'm trying to tell you—”

“Well, don't, because I'm not listening. You got a
job to do down there. You said you'd do it, and now I want results.”

“Gervis, please.”

His voice softened as he said, “You owe me, Gina. You know you owe me.”

Old guilt, as predictable as it was inconvenient, rose inside her. Wincing at its sting, she said, “You've been more than generous, done more for me than I can ever repay. I know that. But this is different.”

“You and me against the world, Gina. We're family. We stick together. We help each other out. That's how it's always been, how it'll always be.”

The words triggered a thousand memories, each of them colored with gratitude and fleeting affection. The two of them lying on the grass in Central Park and eating cotton candy, taking in movies, staring out at the world from the top of the Empire State Building, going to ball games at Shea, riding out to the beach at Fire Island. All the rare treats of her childhood had come from Gervis. Later, he had held her hand, stayed close after the terrible time with that creep, Thomas. He'd been there at the hospital, been there for her every time. He was always there for her, as she should be for him.

A lump rose in her throat as she said, “I know, Gervis, really I do. I'm just not sure this is going to work.”

“You're doing fine. Sounds to me like you've got the old man's grandson running after you because he's interested instead of suspicious. You could be thinking about how to use that, you know.”

A note of impatience could be heard beneath the surface approval. He was getting ready to hang up. “It
doesn't mean anything,” she said despairingly. “He thinks I'm up to no good.”

Gervis laughed, a coarse sound. “Then you'll have to change his mind, won't you? It shouldn't be hard. You can string him along as well as the old man.”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me, baby,” her cousin said, his voice hardening. “I heard every single word. But I don't think you're really trying. You're holding back, Gina, and that's not good. I've got millions riding on this suit, you hear me? I don't have time for excuses, can't sit around while you wring your hands and worry about everything under the sun except my problems. I need you to get your job done. I need it now.”

He was right, she had been thinking of herself. “I'll do my best, but it takes time to get close to people.”

“I don't have time, baby. Maybe you should concentrate on Benedict since you've got him going your way. Find out what strategy he plans to use in court, what tricks he's got up his sleeve. I want every detail you can wring out of him or pick up when you're around him, right down to whether he means to wear Skivvies to the trial. I want it all, you hear me? Every last scrap. But most of all, I want the dirt on Benedict's old granddad, the secrets he'd off his own sweet mama to keep. You find out for me, or—”

“Or what, Gervis?” she asked, holding the receiver so tightly her fingers were numb.

The only answer was a dial tone.

 

Dudley Slater watched the light go out in the motel room. He yawned and stretched, trying to work the kink out of his back. He was getting too old for this
crap. What he wouldn't give for a nice, soft bed. Especially if it had that red-haired piece in it. She'd be a handful, he figured. He wondered what color her nipples were, if they were pale pink to go with her pale skin, or more a light brown. Yeah, and if she was as red down there as she was on top. He'd give a lot to find out. Wouldn't take much. He'd opened the cheap lock on her door once already today, and nobody the wiser. Doing it again would take maybe ten whole seconds. Then it would be, “Hello there, honey pot. Drip some of it on old Dudley.”

Couldn't chance it. That'd spook her, and Regina Dalton had other, more important, uses.

She was his ticket out of this crummy life: living out of his car, nickel-and-dime scut work, taking orders from bastards like Berry. He was going to trail her right to the goods, let her sniff out the story for him. She had the cover after all, and he didn't.

Man, he was going to make it big on this one. Then he was headed for fun in sunny Florida. He'd sprawl on the beach while some hot little thing in a thong bikini brought him piña coladas and spread warm oil in all the right places. Now that was his idea of living. Hell, he might even work on that novel he'd had in the back of his head for years.

Berry was a real hard case. Holding him up for a wad of cash was going to take some doing. But Dudley Slater was no softy, either, no sir. It'd be pure pleasure to take that manipulating, egotistical little SOB, Gervis Berry, for a pile. He'd have to be careful, though, Dudley thought as he scratched his itchy beard. Had to keep it on the up-and-up. He couldn't afford any slipups, sure didn't want to be looking over
his shoulder the rest of his life. Berry was mob connected, he'd bet his last pint of blood on it. If he wasn't, it was only because the
Cosa Nostra
couldn't stand the arrogant bastard, either.

Dudley shifted position again and cursed raggedly as he let out a groan. God, but his back was in bad shape. He was going to have to make a move soon, in more ways than one. That red-haired witch had given him a once-over before she went inside; he was sure of it. He thought he'd attracted the attention of the dude in the pickup, too. That was the trouble with dinky little towns. Too hard to blend into the woodwork.

He was hungry enough to chew the steering wheel. The BLT he'd had for lunch was long gone. Steak and a baked potato, that's what he needed. Fat chance. Junk food was all he could afford, timewise. Couldn't risk missing anything.