The Edge of Ruin (10 page)

She focused on his hands with their long, slender fingers, and listened to the deep hiss of an indrawn breath followed by the floating ring of his voice, and wondered why she hadn’t been granted even a modicum of musical talent.

Richard opened his eyes and, as if sensing the scrutiny, turned his head to look at them. Dagmar drew in a steadying breath.

Maybe outsiders can’t be dispassionate
, Pamela thought with bitter irony.

Dagmar began applauding. “That was absolutely exquisite.
Im Haine
, ‘In the Woods,’ poem by Franz von Bruchmann, music by Franz Schubert.” Then she leaned in close to Pamela and the judge and added in an undertone, “Well, I’d wondered why Kenntnis gave the company to an unknown. Now I think I understand. I’ll just keep reminding myself that I’m a married woman and the mother of two lest I succumb as well.” Dagmar’s tone was bantering, but the judge took it badly.

In a hissing undertone he said, “I’ll thank you not to say such things.”

The COO gave him a startled look. “Sorry.”

Richard rested a hand on the piano and, wincing, levered himself to his feet. He nodded to Dagmar. “Thank you, but it wasn’t that good. By the way, who are you?”

“I’m Dagmar Reit—” Dagmar began, but the judge ran over her.

“What are you doing wandering about?” he demanded as he walked to Richard, and handed him the crutches with the air of a drill sergeant offering a recruit a rifle. “Angela will flay me alive if you break open that wound.”

“I couldn’t think anymore,” Richard answered. “I thought music might clear my head.”

“Well, we’ve brought you someone who might help,” Pamela said as she moved to stand next to the judge. “This is Dagmar Reitlingen, the COO of the company.” She indicated Dagmar with a sweep of the hand.

Richard got the crutches tucked under his arms and went swinging toward Dagmar. He stopped, rested on the supports, and held out his hand. “Richard Oort. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Richard gave Dagmar a sharp look. “And I said something wrong. What did I say wrong?”

Pamela looked from one to the other in confusion. Her father had an expression that she bet was similar to hers.

“Maybe you ought to loan me one of those crutches now that I’m in my dotage,” Dagmar said in faltering accents. “Ma’am? When did I become a ma’am?” But then she threw back her head and laughed, and Richard relaxed and also smiled.

It was one of the things Pamela had always hated about her brother. He was always hyperaware of the people around him. Pamela thought it was a way to garner attention, being so sensitive and so attentive to people. A ploy so that people would always talk about how nice he was.
As opposed to you
, came a little voice that partook a bit of her older sister, Amelia, and her mother. Pamela pushed the thought aside.

“Actually, pleased doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m ecstatic to meet you. Thrilled. Delirious with joy.”

“Don’t be so silly,” the judge said sharply. Dagmar gave him a startled, disapproving look, and he added with his rather ponderous humor, “You sound like you’ve swallowed a thesaurus.”

Richard ducked his head. “Sorry, but I really am in over my head here, and I desperately need help.”

“And I’m happy to do that, but before we get started could I get something to eat? I’ve been in the air or sitting in airports for the past thirty-one hours, and the food in either place is not of the best,” Dagmar said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me,” Richard said. “Please, let’s go into the kitchen. I don’t think the breakfast buffet has been cleared yet.”

They all followed Richard as he hobbled through the formal dining room with its cut crystal chandelier like a frozen waterfall over the polished cherrywood table. Dagmar didn’t spare a glance at the china and crystal in the buffet, or the magnificent silver centerpiece that featured winged horses and women in diaphanous gowns.

Probably just old hat to her
, Pamela thought. When she had first arrived in New Mexico she’d inspected the living quarters very closely on the theory that you could tell a lot about a person by the items he owned, and she was highly suspicious of a man who would leave anything to her brother. Given the rarity of the other objects in the penthouse, Pamela could only assume that the champagne flutes etched with bees and an elaborate
N
had belonged to the Emperor Napoleon. The china was Royal Crown Derby, and it was an antique pattern. She had found other china in a storeroom off the kitchen, not all of it European design. Her best guess, as she held the almost translucent plate with its pale willow pattern, was that it was Chinese and very old. She glanced back at the living room. The sunlight seemed to be haloing the priceless objects on the tables and drawing the colors from the paintings.

Who had he been, this man who had stormed into her brother’s life and changed everything?

And not just Richard’s life. The unknown Kenntnis had turned Pamela’s and her father’s lives upside down. Maybe the COO could tell her who he had been, answer her questions and lay her doubts and concerns to rest. She brought her attention back to Dagmar in time to see her father almost tread on the woman’s heels because he was walking so close behind her. The way the judge crowded in on her made Pamela think of stalking predators. Dagmar abruptly stopped, and the judge actually bumped into her.

“I won’t hurt him. I promise,” the woman said. Richard also stopped and looked back inquiringly. Her father and Dagmar measured looks for a long moment; then the judge gave a sharp nod.

No
, Pamela corrected herself,
not a predator. A protective parent guarding its young
, and the realization gave her a strange little jolt. The reaction was gone before Pamela could fully grasp the fleeting emotion.

They entered the kitchen, where the sunlight poured in like honey through bay windows surrounding the breakfast nook, and sent searchlight beams down through the skylights, to dance on the lids of the silver chafing dishes lined up on the center island and drew blue fire from the opals embedded in the chocolate brown granite of the countertops. Vases filled with large sunflowers were strategically placed so they would reflect in the brushed chrome surfaces of the appliances and add to the genial air of the big room.

“Oh, good,” Richard said. “They haven’t cleared breakfast yet. Please help yourself. It’s been sitting for more than an hour, so I can’t speak to the quality.”

“I’m certain it will surpass the McDonald’s in DFW,” Dagmar replied.

Her father pulled out a chair for Richard and, once he was situated, made sure the crutches were within easy reach. Pamela’s attention was split between watching her father fuss and Dagmar pile her plate high with eggs Benedict, bacon, a waffle, fruit, and a wedge of cheese.

“You should have a little something,” the judge said. “You didn’t eat much at breakfast. Pamela, get him something.”

Pamela felt her spine going stiff. Richard shot her a nervous glance. “I’d really rather not. I’m a little nauseated from the Vicodin,” Richard said, and this time he split the nervous glance between Pamela and their father.

Dagmar set down the full plate, remarking brightly, “My husband, Peter, is very high-strung and nervy, too. He’s also a musician. A violinist. Professional, though.” Dagmar returned to the buffet, filled a cup with coffee, and poured in a large dollop of cream. “Although I think you are good enough to have performed professionally,” she continued. “Did you ever consider it?”

Now it was her father’s turn to go rigid, and for Richard to go red. Dagmar returned to the table, sat down, and gave them all a bright smile. Pamela was surprised when Richard was the first to respond.

“You play the role very well,” her brother said. “But I’ve seen the books, and I sincerely doubt someone as disingenuous and ditzy as you’re pretending to be would actually have become the COO of Lumina, so why don’t you cut the crap.”

Pamela watched her father’s brows twitch together in a sharp frown. He hated profanity, and none of the Oort children cursed. Obviously that was something else Richard had learned as a cop.

“
Bitte
?”

“Just ask your questions and stop trying to stir the pot,” Richard answered.

“All right,” Dagmar said, and her tone was suddenly less jocular. “But let me fortify myself a bit first.”

Pamela found that her leg was vibrating with anticipation. To occupy herself she began loading dishes in the dishwasher. Richard sat perfectly still. The judge, seated next to him, was equally composed, and for the first time Pamela saw the resemblance between the two men. Before she had only seen her mother reflected in her brother’s features.

“So.” Dagmar pushed the now empty plate aside. “Why in the hell
did
Kenntnis put you in charge of Lumina?”

“Well, it’s certainly not for my business skills.” Richard paused, head cocked slightly to the side. “I suppose to protect it,” he said slowly and thoughtfully, almost as if he were answering a question for himself.

“Protect it from whom?”

“Maybe from you,” the judge said, suddenly entering the conversation.

“Me? Do I look like an untrustworthy person?” Dagmar said. She sounded more surprised and puzzled than angry.

The judge was not disarmed. In that precise, dry way of his he said, “We haven’t had a very good run with CEOs, COOs and CFOs over the past few years—Enron, Global Crossing, Tyco.”

“Actually I think it more likely that
you
are a crook,” Dagmar replied. “Your son is given control of a fantastically valuable company, and suddenly we have the whole family.”

I was right
, Pamela thought.
She did think we were carpetbaggers.
Then she noticed how the edges of her father’s nostrils went white, and his spine became even stiffer.
And it didn’t occur to Papa.
For some reason his lack of acuity bothered her. She quickly pushed aside the thought. Of course it wouldn’t occur to him. He was the most honest and just man she knew.

“We are not opportunists or thieves. I resent the implication.”

“And I resent your accusation. I’m not the female version of Dennis Kozlowski except with dancing boys.”

Pamela saw the woman steal a glance at the indentation at the base of Richard’s throat.

Oh, not you, too.

Richard laid the tips of his fingers lightly on the judge’s wrist. “Papa. I may not have known Kenntnis long, but I got a good sense of him in that time. He read people very well. If he hired Ms. Reitlingen, then I have confidence in his decision.”

“With one glaring exception,” the judge said.

Her brother’s long golden lashes fluttered down to cover the pale blue eyes; the fair head bowed. For a moment Richard seemed discomfited. Then he looked up. “Are you talking about me or Rhiana?”

“Rhiana, of course,” the judge snapped a little too quickly.

“She was a unique circumstance, Papa.”

“And who in heaven might Rhiana be?” Dagmar asked.

“Who in hell is the better question,” her father said as he pushed back his chair and stood. He moved to the buffet and prepared a plate for Richard. “Well, I’ve had my say.” He looked back at Dagmar. “Just know that Richard has resources beyond you. We will be keeping an eye on things.” He returned to the table and set down the plate in front of Richard. “Eat. Pamela, shall we finish what we were working on?”

The order was heard and understood. Pamela followed him out of the kitchen. She looked back once to see Dagmar staring at her father’s back. The older woman’s expression was not warm.

R
ICHARD

I
listened to my father’s retreating footsteps, but I waited until I heard the faint whine of the elevator before I turned back to this woman who was now my employee. If it had been hard to give an order to Kenntnis’s personal secretary, Jeannette, I couldn’t image giving Dagmar Reitlingen an order.

I was startled by her expression when I met her gaze. She looked like she wanted to give me a hug. I felt like I should offer her one instead. “Look, don’t worry. I know that might have seemed rude—”

“Seemed?”

“Okay, it
was
rude, but we’ve all been under a lot of stress. My father really is a remarkable man.”

“I’ll agree that having all the cards on the table is better than not. And always say something to my face, Mr. Oort. I can tell your father is a …” I watched as she paused and seemed to search for a word. “A stern fellow.”

“Looking for your English or looking for something less … rude?” I gave her a smile, and got one back. One front tooth was slightly crooked, giving her an impish quality. She had a nice face that was framed by light brown hair with blond streaks, and I liked her eyes. They were sort of sherry colored. “I know he’s tough, but he never expects more of others than he expects of himself,” I added.

I didn’t want to face the rather ironic look in her eyes, so I looked out the window. What I had just said brought a cascade of memories.
Huddled at the top of the stairs and gazing down through the bannister rails as Papa put on his overcoat. I could hear the rain thundering at the windows of the house and the wind moaning under the eaves. My mother’s soft pleadings. “Please, Robert, you’re sick. Call Judge Manley. He’ll understand.” My father’s firm head shake. “No, we have the momentum now. I can win this.”

Later I learned he’d been running a hundred and two fever, but he was fighting against a large developer and the city in defense of a man protecting his pharmacy. He had won, and it had become part of our family’s oral history. It meant he expected the same dedication from his kids. I couldn’t count how many times I’d delivered papers when I had been sick, or played Little League with a sprained wrist or ankle. You didn’t let people down who were counting on you.

I turned back from the window after briefly noting how the rabbit bush and dried, seared ragweed were starting to twitch in a rising wind.

I took a deep breath and said, “Look, you said you liked getting things out front, so I want to be completely honest about the Herculean task you’re about to undertake.” I gave Dagmar a smile, and I had a feeling it was singularly shit eating and apologetic. “I …” I coughed and took a sip of water. It was so hard to say this. “I never balance my checkbook.”