The Third Sin (12 page)

One more twist of the pocketknife and the door swung open. He could see the dull sheen of the unpolished silver service on the lower shelf. Reaching in, he took out a silver tray with shaking hands. His grandmother had used this to serve afternoon tea for the family.

Jorge recalled how Esperanza's wedding gifts had been laid out on covered card tables so her guests could admire them. Many of the relatives had given family treasures, saying that they wanted the bride to remember her homeland.

In his memories, Jorge heard Elenora whispering resentfully to him, as she had on that day, “Esperanza has charm as well as beauty, and I know it is impossible for you not to love her. But she is greedy and uses her charm and beauty to get what she wants.”

How pleased Elenora would be to have these beautiful things restored to Brazil, to polish them back to life and be able to hand them on to their children.

Absorbed in photographing each precious piece, Jorge failed to hear the light footsteps behind him. He had no idea he was being watched until he was startled by Bella's harsh voice demanding, “What the hell are you doing?”

How long had she been at the door? No matter. Now was as good a time as any to settle with her.

“Hello, Bella, my condolences on the death of my nephew.” He always spoke to her with the cold tone he used when disciplining servants and he never referred to Wade as “her husband.” He knew that it irritated her to have him call Wade “my nephew,” and he used it to remind her that she had not been accepted by the Dias family. He wanted there to be no mistake—he wanted her to be aware of her lower-class standing. They were not equals. In Brazil, he would not even have acknowledged her. In Brazil, she would never have been permitted to marry Wade.

“What are you doing with my things?” Bella stepped farther into the room, looking closely at the silver that Jorge had spread out on the table in order to get clear pictures. “In fact, what are you doing here at all? When did you get here?” She paused. “Were you here last night?”

“When I arrived is not your business. I will stay here to arrange family matters with my nephew's estate. I am beginning with an inventory of the Dias family heirlooms.”

“Listen to me, old man,” Bella said angrily. “This is not São Paulo, so you had better drop the fucking superior attitude. I want you out of this apartment. You have no permission to even touch my things, never mind take pictures. Now leave or I will call the police and tell them that you are trying to steal from me.”

Jorge rose and stepped toward her. “You will do nothing. Read the agreement you signed before you married my nephew. You own nothing but your personal belongings.” Jorge spoke with conviction, intending to settle the issue. “I will decide later if you can remain in this apartment. You know it was purchased by the Dias family and is in our name. Now leave me alone and go mourn my nephew, as you should.”

Bella laughed harshly. She glared at Jorge, and he began to think that she would not be easily intimidated. “Watch what you say to me. With my husband dead, everything's changed.”

Jorge's heart began to beat faster and he felt the familiar pain in his chest. He fought back the weakness—he would not appear vulnerable in front of her. “Whatever you think you are entitled to get, you already have,” he said, pleased that his voice held steady and strong.

He took a deep breath, fighting the pain, and struck back. “Isn't it strange that he died so suddenly? I saw him just hours before, and he was well and happy.” Jorge felt a clutch in his chest and was forced to sit in one of the dining chairs.

Bella watched him. “Not feeling well?” She started toward him and he was surprised to find that he detected some sympathy in her expression.

“I am fine, thank you.” He would never accept help from this woman.

“It's strange,” she said, standing still again, “that just before my husband was to send the diamond to the auction house, you show up and he dies. You brought him sleeping pills and you wanted the auction stopped. I wonder what the police will say about that.”

“What are you saying?”

Bella looked at the ornate pieces on the table. “Don't bother to put these away. Go back to your apartment and don't come in here again.” She pointed to Esperanza's portrait. “You can have that. I give it to you willingly. I never want to see it again.”

Jorge said nothing. The pain told him he must leave and rest, before he fainted. He had the photos of the antiques. He would deal with Bella later.

Wade was dead, and Jorge swore to himself, on his family's honor, Bella would get nothing.

 

Chapter
15

F
RIDAY NOON

Irina's bedroom

Irina knew her voice was shrill and growing louder but she couldn't stop. “What do you mean, ‘missing'? How can it be missing? A stone like the Braganza doesn't just get mislaid. Someone has stolen it and we'll never get it back.” She held her head in her hands and rocked against the sofa. “Oh no, god, no, no, no.”

Harold put his arms around her and spoke quietly. “Mother, please be calm, everything will work out. But first, you must tell me where you put it.”

“Harold, please believe me, I don't have the Braganza, and I don't know where it is. If I did, I would tell you.” She pulled away from him as she felt him stiffen with anger.

“Mother, don't play games with me. I have an appointment with the attorney to discuss Wade's will at three this afternoon. He's already asked about the diamond. If I tell him it's missing, he'll call the police and the insurance company. That means more police and more questions about Wade's death. It'll keep the story alive and reporters will be all over us. You don't want that, do you?”

The last thing Irina wanted was reporters waiting on the sidewalk to question her. She broke away from him. “I told you, Harold. I don't have it.”

She gathered her confidence; a flick of her hand dismissed him. Irina rose and went to the window overlooking Central Park, signaling that the conversation was over, but Harold followed her across the room and stood towering above her.

“I don't believe you, Mother. I know you would do anything—anything—to keep that stone.”

She looked out at the gently falling leaves, wishing she could be in the park, sitting on a bench and enjoying the soft air. She remembered a day many years earlier, when Harold's nanny had been ill. The little boy had cried to go out, so Irina had dressed quickly and simply, with no makeup, and taken him to the park. Harold had been happy playing beside her and she had enjoyed that time with him more than she'd thought possible. But soon she'd begun to worry that one of her friends or worse, a photographer, would see her, and she had taken Harold back inside.

“Mother, are you listening? I am deadly serious.” She looked at him and smiled.

“Harold, please, if I had the diamond, I would tell you. Now calm down and let's discuss who might have taken it.” She smiled brightly at him.

Harold brushed her off. “Stop it. Don't try your charm on me. I've had enough. Just give me the stone. As the executor of Wade's will, I demand it. I'm warning you, you'll be in serious trouble if you don't hand it over.”

“I am your mother!” Irina said, offended. “Don't you dare speak to me like that! I won't let you treat me so rudely.” She rushed into the bathroom, slammed the door and turned the lock, then leaned against the wall.

She knew his habits. He was smart, but predictable. In a few moments he would regret his rudeness, then sit down and wait for her. She sighed.

He had been a difficult child most of the time and was more difficult as a man. He knew how important her antiques were to her and she suspected that he secretly coveted them. When she asked him what he thought, he would say he had no opinion, but when he visited her, Irina often saw his gaze wandering around the bedroom that had become her sanctuary. She could tell from the way he touched her Marie Antoinette bed that it fascinated him.

Apparently, her orderly, exquisite room, so different from Blair's messy kitchen, appealed to his engineering mind. Yet he never gave her a single compliment.

But he did love her, she knew. The night after Douglas died, Harold had surprised her by offering to spend the night in her room. He said he would not mind sleeping on the chaise or even the floor. She had been touched, and had thanked him, but said she was content to be by herself.

Several days later he and Blair had suggested that they move into Irina's apartment “to ease her loneliness.” At least that was Harold's excuse; Blair said nothing. Irina knew the real reason behind their plan. They were short of money.

Her first instinct had been to tell the truth—that she wanted peace and quiet after the struggle of Douglas's protracted illness and death. That she preferred her personal life to remain hidden from his difficult wife and stepdaughter. It was bad enough having Wade living downstairs in the connected apartment.

The more she considered the offer, however, the more it appealed to her. Having Harold near would mean she could talk to him every day and reignite the warm relationship they had once had. Not wanting to appear too eager, she had waited a week before agreeing, and within days, they had moved in.

Her relationship with Harold had improved … but Irina knew his money troubles had persisted. Had he taken the Braganza and decided to try to blame her for its disappearance? Perhaps she had failed to realize how deceptive and greedy he was.

Ready now to deal with her son, Irina took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator in her bathroom and poured herself a glass. She returned the bottle to the fridge, then picked up the glass and opened the door. As she anticipated, he was sitting and waiting for her.

“You are being ridiculous,” she said, speaking as calmly and clearly as possible. “Tell me what would be the point of my taking it? I couldn't wear it, couldn't sell it. It is ridiculous to think I have it. Besides, I asked your grandfather Max to buy it for me and he promised that he would.”

“That's hard to believe,” Harold replied with sarcasm. Irina ignored him.

“Who could have my beautiful Braganza? We must find it. Maybe Wade hid it. Let's look everywhere in his room. Everywhere.

“Maybe Bella has it. Maybe Blair.” She took Harold by the arm, urging him to his feet.

“Mother,” he protested, “don't be crazy. You know that's not so. Blair doesn't know the combination for the safe.” He rose and moved away from her.

The phone rang. Irina froze for a long moment, afraid of more bad news, then went to answer it. A woman spoke, a voice Irina had heard many times before, always with the same news. She replied, “Thank you. I know he has been unwell. Tell him I will call to check on him later in the day.”

She hung up and turned to Harold. “Max is sick. He's got a fever … it could be flu.” She knew her fear was clear in her voice when Harold came and gently guided her to the chaise. She looked at him, eyes wide and mouth quivering. He knelt beside her, took her hand, and held it against his cheek.

“He's your father, go to him and make up for all these years. You may regret it if you don't.” He gave a strained laugh. “And stop calling him Max.”

Irina took a sip of her water, pleased that her hands were not shaking. She tried to get control of herself, to remember that she had been through this so many times before. But Wade's death had unsettled her, disturbing her usual calm. “Harold, you'll never understand what an actor Max is. He takes to his bed every time I ask for something. He wants me to suffer. I could tell you a million stories of the cruelties he inflicted on your grandmother. I hate him for killing my mother, and he hates me for knowing that he did it. I will never forgive him.”

To Irina's irritation, Harold took his grandfather's side. “Mother, you have no evidence that he killed my grandmother. And he's been very generous to you. Without the money he settled on you, you would not be living in this luxury.” He swept his hand around the room. “My grandfather deserves some thanks for that, at least. Believe me, I know what it's like to be without real money.”

She refused to respond to his shot about the settlement. “Don't fool yourself, my dear. I got it because I kept my mouth shut. But his money is not so important now. With Wade dead, there's no reason to sell the diamond.”

“Oh, yes, the diamond.” He laughed loudly. “Yes, poor Wade is dead, so now where, oh where, could that little stone be? Shall we go on a ‘treasure hunt' to find it?”

Irina shouted, “Harold, there is no cause for your nasty attitude!” Needing a moment to get control again, she took another sip of the water.

“My guess is that Bella has it, that she got the combination to the safe from Wade. I'm afraid she will send it to Brazil to have it cut into smaller stones so that she can sell it. If any of her family is coming to the funeral, that would be the way to get it to São Paulo.” She felt that she had convinced Harold.

“Well, Mother, that's one possibility, of course … if not a very good one. Blame it on Bella. Or Jorge. Or whoever.”

Irina could not stop her hands from shaking.

“Let's go, Mother. Let's look around Wade's apartment to see if there are any hidden diamonds. Isn't that your idea? But watch out. The police may want to come back, and we wouldn't want our prints all over his things, would we? So let's go see if you've got any latex gloves in your closet … or better yet, you go look while I'm off to the attorney.”

She had never seen him this way. He reminded her of her father—hard and cruel.

“Go?” she roared. “Harold, I don't need your sarcasm. I won't have you treat me this way.”

“Shut up,” he shouted as he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.