Mortal Friends (30 page)

I didn’t think this comedy routine was remotely funny, given the sadness and the seriousness of these crimes.

“I guess when you deal with murder and mayhem every day, like you all do, you develop an unfortunate and inappropriate sense of humor to protect yourselves,” I said.

Peterson’s face darkened. He grew serious. “Look, George Gunner’s a great detective and a good man. But he is a severely misguided man at the moment. He knows damn well he shouldn’t be talking to you or anybody else in an official capacity because he
has
no official capacity right now. Now, I like George. Life dealt him a bad, bad blow. But that doesn’t mean he can go around breaking the law.”

He glanced at his watch. I got the hint.

“Well, thanks very much for seeing me,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“Listen, if George comes around again, you tell him you’ve been to see me and that we know what he’s doing, okay?”

“And what about this latest murder?” I asked.

“Truth? This gal’s murder isn’t really like the others at all. The reporters exaggerated the similarities in order to sell papers—as great a shock as that must come,” Peterson said. “We’re expecting to make an arrest in that case shortly. Not for publication, okay? But just so’s you know it’s nothing to do with any serial killer. It’s a domestic situation.”

Just before I left, I stopped at the door and turned to Peterson. “You won’t prosecute Detective Gunner or anything, will you? I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

“I’m sure George didn’t say or do anything that broke the law. You guys were just kidding around, right?” He pinned his eyes on mine.

“Right,”
I said with a knowing nod.

“But it’s gotta stop—
now
…. By the way, good tip about the blanket. Thanks.”

Joy came in to say good-bye to Peterson. I waited outside in the hall. It was clear to me at this juncture that I had a lot of trouble seeing people as they really were—to put it mildly. First Violet, now Gunner. Was anyone close to me
ever
who they claimed to be? Was there anyone I could really trust?

As we drove back from the police station, Joy asked me if I’d gotten everything “sorted out.” I said yes, and thanked her very much for setting up the appointment. I wanted her to feel like she’d been helpful. It was the least I could do in return for such a big favor. But the truth is, things were far from “sorted out.” If anything, I was more confused than ever.

Joy and I gabbed about the Washington social scene and how the players had certainly changed in the past ten years. Like everyone
else in the world, Joy knew the whole story of Grant leaving Violet for Cynthia and then ditching Cynthia to go back to Violet when the bad publicity hit the fan. She’d written about it in a blind item on her blog, in fact. She asked me how Violet was doing, and I told her that she and Grant were back together, working things out.

Joy was no Cynthia fan herself. She revealed that when Cynthia first arrived in town, she’d asked her to do an interview for her blog to talk about being a self-made woman and the art of philanthropy.

“I thought it would make a really interesting conversation. But Ms. Rinehart let me know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested in what she called my ‘little blog.’ She made me feel really insignificant. Hate that, don’t you? Bet she’d do an interview now if I asked her,” Joy said with a touch of glee.

Joy dropped me off at my shop. I gave her one of my signature scented candles to thank her. As we air-kissed each other good-bye, I told her how cute I thought Chief Peterson was, and she let drop that he’d asked her out.

“Who knows? We might even start dating again, and this time it might work out,” she said brightly.

I told her some good deeds
do
go unpunished.

T
he next day I was in the garden at the back of my shop, rearranging some wrought-iron furniture, when Gunner appeared. He looked beat. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been crying or drinking, or both. But he still took touching pride in his appearance. Everything was neatly pressed and polished.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“No, that’s okay. I was just setting up this display. I’m almost done…. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” he said.

“Where were you?”

“Outta town. Checking something out.”

“You don’t take your cell phone with you?”

He ignored the question. I knew Chief Peterson was right. He’d probably been mourning his stepdaughter all over again in the wake of Wardell’s confession. But I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t want Gunner to know I’d found out about him.

“So, have you decided whether or not you’re gonna help me with Violet?” he said.

“I don’t know…. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Why’d you call?”

“I read about that girl they found up in Bethesda. And I had this very weird encounter with Bob Poll the other night.”

I explained the whole episode in detail. Gunner didn’t say a word. He just stood silently, like he was appraising me.

“That all you gotta tell me?”

“Yes. Why?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant.

“Nothing else? You sure?”

“No…. Why?”

He pointed at me. “I once told you, you were a lousy liar.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Okay, so lemme ask you: If I came into your shop and talked to Polo about you, would he tell you?”

“Sure,” I said, uncomprehending.

“So what makes you think that when you come into my shop and talk to people about me, they don’t tell me?”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“No, I—” I stopped myself. It was no use pretending under his withering stare. “Okay…. When I read about that girl, I tried to call you, but I couldn’t get in touch with you. I really thought Bob Poll was up to no good and that someone should know about it quickly. So my friend Joy took me to see Chief Peterson. She used to go out with him.”

Gunner nodded and lifted his brow, “Yeah, I know. Norm called me…. Shit, Rev. You really complicated my life.”

I stared at him incredulously. “I complicated
your
life?
You’ve been lying to me this whole entire time!
”

“Listen, a smart French dude once said, ‘Treason is a matter of dates.’ I
was
on that task force. I’m just not on it now. I rearranged the dates. That doesn’t mean I’m not right. Norm told you about Dinise, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“So now you understand why I need to keep doing what I’m doing?”

“I guess. He told me Wardell confessed to her.”

Gunner breathed a tremulous sigh. “Yeah. He’ll confess to Liza Cooley eventually. He’s just holding out for a deal. There’s a warrant out for him in Arizona. They suspect him in a murder there. Arizona’s a death penalty state.”

“Will he confess to Nancy Sawtelle?”

“You know, he just might if he thinks it’ll help him. That’s what I’m afraid of. And if he does, all my hard work goes to hell.”

“And you’re still convinced about Violet?”

Gunner bowed his head and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He seemed nervous, as though what he was about to say was difficult for him.

“Look, Reven, maybe it was wrong me dragging you into this. But, hey, they got Wardell on account of your tip. And they would never have gotten that tip if I hadn’t gotten to know you. See, I
need
to find out who really killed Mary Lou. If I can prove that she wasn’t Wardell’s, it gives me a chance to get back on the force. When Wardell killed Dinise, he killed my wife too. And a part of me. The only thing I got now is knowing I’m a good detective. It’s all I have left.”

I reached out and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry, Gunner…or should I call you George?”

“Nah, George sounds like some nerd accountant…. When you decide to help me, just let me know.”

“But Chief Peterson says you can get in real trouble if you keep going on with this.”

Gunner shrugged. “Yeah? And what are they gonna do? Hang a dead man? They can’t hurt me.”

I
’m not quite sure why I decided to continue helping Gunner. Maybe it was because I felt sorry for him, or maybe it was because I wanted to prove to him that he was wrong about Violet—at least wrong about her being a murderer. Or maybe it was because I wanted Violet to know that I was onto her at last, that she couldn’t fool me anymore, and that if our friendship was to survive, she had to finally start being honest with me. But I needed to see her one more time before I put Gunner’s plan into action.

Violet, Peggy Myers, and I resumed our ritual lunch at Café Milano. I was so nervous about seeing Violet again that I got there early and had a glass of wine, trying to prepare myself.

Violet and Peggy arrived, bubbling with fresh news about Cynthia. The whole town was buzzing about the hearings and about how Cynthia was having to divest herself of all her assets.

“Well, I can tell you one person who’s very happy about this,” Peggy said.

“You mean aside from me?” Violet said.

Peggy just smiled and said, “Leonid Slobovkin. We’ve renewed his contract. No Nelson Mars, thank God! In fact, everyone at the center is breathing a sigh of relief. Carmen, Kyle, even Jed Jimson—who is stepping down as chairman.”

“I heard that Cynthia was angling for that job,” Violet said.

“Oh, yes, she was! But now it’s been offered to a brilliant guy from New York. Head of the Beaufort Group. I just hope he accepts,” Peggy said.

Freed from discretion by Cynthia’s downfall, Peggy now filled us in on all the scenes and demands Cynthia had made during her reign at the Kennedy Center. Feasting on the carcass of her enemy, Violet relished every single detail. In fact, she could talk of nothing else. I found it interesting that Grant was somehow secondary in all this. Violet’s venom clearly outweighed her victory. I wondered if that had something to do with the fact that Cynthia was not what she represented herself to be—just like Violet.

As Peggy and Violet chattered on, I studied Violet closely, thinking, This is the woman who has lied to me for twenty years. Did she look different? No. Did she act different? No. But she
was
different. Now that I knew the truth, everything about her rang false. Instead of thinking of her as my best friend, I viewed her as an actress playing a part. Had she been playing the part of a best friend too? I wondered, What
was
real about her?

We all ordered the same lunch, as usual. Then Violet took out a small, prettily wrapped package from her purse and put it down in front of me. She put a flat square package in front of Peggy.

“Go on, open them, girls,” she commanded us.

Peggy opened hers immediately. It was a scarf—not a particularly pretty scarf, but polite Peggy acted as if it was the most beautiful scarf she had ever received. She unfurled it and tied it around her neck.

I hesitated to open my present. Violet and I were always giving each other little gifts—like girlfriends do. The gifts I gave her had to be chic and well chosen, precisely because they also had to be relatively inexpensive. Violet, on the other hand, had unlimited funds at her disposal. And while you’d think it would be fairly easy to buy a present for a girlfriend when you have all the money in the world, somehow that never stopped Violet from presenting me with some of the most hideous objects imaginable.

A person would have to look long and hard for that sterling silver hand mirror in the shape of a panda she gave me for one birthday. Or that jadeite Statue of Liberty purchased at great expense from a Hong Kong auction in honor of my being from New York. Or that Victorian carved owl clock with a pendulum in the shape of a claw she gave me one Christmas—to name but a few. And of all Chanel bags in all the world—why a pink canvas one covered in clear plastic with the word
Chanel
scrawled umpteen times across it in bright green script? A lot
of the things she gave me invariably looked like cheap knockoffs, but they weren’t. Unlike Violet, her presents were the real thing. Was money ever so badly spent? And worse, I had to pretend I liked these atrocities.

Today I felt guilty about accepting any present from her at all, hideous or not. But she kept insisting, so I finally opened the little box. Inside was a small burgundy leather jewelry case tooled in gold. When I opened it, I was horribly surprised. I say
horribly
, because for once in her life, Violet had bought me something truly beautiful: an antique crescent moon pin made of ten perfectly graduated rose-cut diamonds set in gold. I didn’t know what to say. I just knew I couldn’t accept it—at least not before I’d come clean with her about what I knew, and what I suspected.

“Oh, isn’t that lovely?” Peggy said.

I was speechless.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” Violet asked.

“I…I…I don’t know what to say. It’s amazing. Incredibly beautiful. But I can’t accept it,” I said.

“Are you kidding? Why not?” Violet said.

“I just can’t. It’s too much.”

“Listen, Rev, I understand a lot better what you tried to do for me when you went to see Grant. You were just trying to protect me. You were being a really, really good friend. In fact, you’re my bestest friend in all the world, Rev.”

She gave me a little pat on the shoulder and a sweet smile. I forced myself to smile back, but apparently as Gunner said, I wasn’t that good an actress. Violet looked disappointed.

“You don’t like it, do you?”

“No, I love it! But it’s much too extravagant.” I put the pin back in its fitted case and snapped the lid shut.

Violet furrowed her brow. “No…something else is bothering you, Rev. What is it?”

“Nothing…. I just have a lot on my mind—with the shop and everything.” I pushed the little case toward her.

Violet continued to stare at me. She made me so nervous I had to look away.

“What is it? What’s the matter with you?” she pressed me.

“You know…I don’t feel that well,” I said.

Violet and Peggy glanced at each other. “Can we do anything?” Peggy asked.

“No, thanks…. Um…I’m just not hungry…. I think I better go home and lie down. Excuse me, will you, girls?”

“We’ll come with you,” Peggy said, concerned.

“Yeah, we’ll all go,” Violet said.

“No, no, that’s okay. I’d rather be alone, thanks. Really.”

I got up. Violet called after me. “Reven! Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes! Call you later!”

As I walked out, I heard Peggy cry, “Your pin! You forgot your beautiful pin!”

That’s when I made up my mind to confront Violet on my own—without telling Gunner. Although my first reaction had been that I needed Gunner there to protect me, I felt I owed it to Violet to do it alone. Besides, now that I knew Gunner was a fraud of sorts as well, it put a whole different cast on the situation. I was as wary of him and his motivations as I was of Violet.

I wasn’t afraid of Violet. I needed to find out why she’d lied to me all these years. I wanted to see how she’d react when I told her I knew the truth about her. While I understood I was hardly the best judge of character at this point, I didn’t think she was capable of committing murder—not even to protect her position in life, which was so important to her. I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t entirely sure. I never thought she was capable of making up her whole life either. But she had. So I really didn’t know her, did I? And yet, I felt I did know her in my heart. Plus, I still had this gnawing suspicion in the back of my mind that Bob Poll was somehow connected with these crimes, and that maybe he’d killed Mary Lou after all.

I decided to meet Violet alone, just the two of us, on neutral ground. I would bring the tape recorder Gunner had given me so that whatever she said would be preserved. Well, anyway, that was my plan.