Chapter 25

I was at home. I had told Sonny I simply couldn’t take any more of Mark’s—probably genuine, but still self-serving—remorse. If I were to be of any use to Sonny tonight, I had to get away from the whole mess and try to recoup some of my early morning sanity.

Cindy had listened with interest and sympathy to my account of Mark’s and Richard’s actions, and asked only one question: Why did Mark try to place Ellen at the scene?

I shrugged. “He hates all gays. If Ellen had no alibi for that time period, we would at least have had to give her some serious thought, especially since she and Charlie were going through some rough waters at the time.” I lit my hundredth cigarette and cringed at the taste.

“Sonny won’t question her, will he?”

“No, there’s no reason. I hope she never even hears about Mark’s tale. She’s had enough.”

She stood and came over to me and held me tight for a moment. I felt I could have stayed there forever, but she backed away slightly and put on her I-will-be-obeyed voice. “Now, darling, I want you to mix yourself one stiff drink and have it while I make you some scrambled eggs and toast. You have to eat something. And then take a nap. We are going to enjoy tonight, even if World War Three is announced on the six o’clock news.”

It all sounded good to me, except—the way things were going—I thought we might skip the news.

Cindy woke me gently about five o’clock, whispering in my ear, “The two furballs are outside terrorizing the squirrels, and the phone is turned off.”

I yawned. “What amazing good luck.”

We took full advantage of our fortuitous privacy. By six, we were beginning our toilettes for the big night and had forgotten all about what might be on the news. In any event, it was a slow night, with the lead story about a boat chartered by the Loyal Order of the Moose that had managed to run aground near Plymouth, with no casualties. Even the weather was cooperative, the forecast calling for clear skies and a brisk, but not cold, breeze. Ayup!

Our sartorial efforts were not in vain. Cindy actually had her dark curls under some kind of control, piled atop her head, the better to display her long and graceful neck. Her off-white dress had a scoop neck and a rich red and gold sash just below the waist. Her only other touches of color were a sizeable single-ruby necklace of my mother’s and red pumps with her signature stiletto heels, which I suggested should be registered as dangerous weapons.

I felt pretty sharp myself, in my tux with a single-button jacket and the traditional stripe down the trousers. Instead of a tie I wore a white shirt with a frilly jabot, so heavily starched I felt it would break before it would bend. My black slip-ons were as brightly polished as Sonny’s favorite boots.

I was not carrying a weapon, unless you counted the jabot. I figured, if I hugged somebody tight enough, I would probably stab them to death. Otherwise, I was pretty harmless, and the sleek lines of my tux were undisturbed. I even carried a slender cigarette case in the breast pocket.

Driving over to the Tellman Gallery, Cindy chattered happily about who would be there and how they might look. Her monologue required only the occasional “Umm,” and “Oh?” for answers, which was just as well. I was going over Sonny’s carefully detailed plan in my mind, and that was what worried me. Too many details, too much that might go awry.

What if the light blue Toyota wouldn’t start and the rental company sent a black one? Would everyone realize only the color had changed? What if someone actually had a heart attack? The EMTs and their ambulance couldn’t remain aloof, waiting for Zoe. What if Gerald and Rick looked in their briefcase to find that Reed had filled it with one-dollar bills? What if the key to the barn didn’t work? What if they accidentally gave Zoe an overdose and killed her?

“What?”

“For the third time,” Cindy said with some asperity, “Where do you want to park? It’s seven o’clock, as your dear brother requested, and we certainly have a wide choice of spaces. I think he and Trish are the only others here, except the security people. Oh, no, there’s one other car, and one next to it with Mitch and Pino getting out. They actually have on tuxes. Why do they still look like cops? I’ll bet Sonny won’t.”

“Because they feel like cops disguised in tuxedos,” I said. “Sonny simply feels gorgeous. Park by him. I don’t want either of us anywhere near that Toyota.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the so-called getaway car. If there’s going to be a screw up, that’s probably where it will be.”

“Okay.”

As we walked across the parking lot, I noticed a few other cars coming up the road. I was glad. I didn’t want to be conspicuous, glued to the bar, awaiting the switch of the briefcases. On the other hand, if I had to be stuck somewhere, the bar was certainly preferable to the entrance to the men’s room.

Tendering our invitation to the security fellow at the door, we entered the main gallery, where Cindy was immediately cornered by a middle-aged couple I assumed were her customers at the bank.

Smiling vaguely, I continued toward the bar, stopping now and then to give a closer look to this or that painting. One large pastel caught my eye with favor. Three young women were in their garden, one clipping flowers, the other two holding out baskets to receive the bouquets.

The colors mere muted, lines indefinite, the costumes suggested rather than detailed Edwardian design. The overall effect was serene and innocent. I liked it and looked closer. Then I saw that one girl’s hair was combed forward, partially to conceal the fact that she had no ears. A second figure lightly held her friend’s arm, and her smiling face revealed no eyes. The third—by now I knew what I was looking for—was drawn with her face in shadow provided by a large, period straw hat, and of course, she had no mouth.

“You like it?” a high-pitched English voice asked. It was Tweedledum, alias Gerald.

“Very powerful,” I said. “It’s also lovely, and your moral is quite definite. You’d have to be blind or deaf these days not to hear evil, or to see it. And you’d have to be mute not to speak evil. We all do it from time to time, even though we may try not to. Yes, I like it. Is it your work?”

He actually blushed. “Yes. Not everyone understands. They just think it’s freaky. I will make you a gift of it. I’m leaving anyway. I want someone who understands it to have it. What’s your name and I will tell Betsy you will pick it up after tonight.”

“That’s very kind. It will be particularly meaningful after tonight. Are you sure about this? It would probably sell easily.” My fingers reached out of their own accord and stroked one girl’s cheek.

“Very sure.” He nodded. “Your name?”

“Now don’t scream and go flying out.” A waiter approached with a tray of champagne glasses. I took two and handed one to Gerald. “My name is Alex Peres, but I’m only here to watch out for Zoe. Dana called me, and I don’t want Reed to take advantage of Zoe, or make himself out some hero to the crowd.”

He swallowed half of his champagne in a gulp. “Good. Reed’s a rotter if I ever met one. I’m glad you’ll be with her. Dana says you’re good stuff.” He looked at his watch. “Reed should be here in about ten minutes. When I see him I’ll go in the office, ring the barn, and Rick will come down with the briefcase for him.”

I nodded, and we both set our glasses on a convenient table. “We’d better separate. In case Reed is early, he shouldn’t see us together. Thank you again for the picture. I’ll treasure it.”

We shook hands and he walked away, leaving me feeling as if I should model for a portrait of Judas. I had to resist an almost overwhelmingly strong urge to go tell him to beware blue Toyotas and have Cindy slip the keys to her red Civic into his pocket.

I checked my watch and walked a few feet from the bar, ostentatiously studying a piece of statuary that looked to me like the cornerstone of a building, or possibly the headstone of a grave. Quickly dropping that thought, I looked over and saw my mother, shackled as usual by Choate Ellis. She looked desperately at me for help, but I simply smiled and waved and walked back to the bar. I knew she would love that.

I took another glass of champagne. I nodded and smiled and waved to various people and spoke to a few who came to the bar for hard drinks or beer. But I didn’t move. My mother looked worried, and the last thing I needed was a parental visit to my guard post.

I managed to catch Trish’s eye and pointed at Mom. Trish frowned, then her face cleared. She took Cindy and started across the floor to assure my mother—I hoped—that I would not shortly be falling-down drunk.

I turned back to see Reed standing nearby, ordering a double Scotch straight up and placing a briefcase at the end of the bar. We nodded to each other, but apparently neither of us could think of anything to say, and I wandered back to my statuary, where I could keep an eye on him.

He finished his drink and ordered another one. I hoped it didn’t make him nasty. About the same time, Rick sauntered up to the bar with his attaché case, placed it near Reed’s and ordered a Perrier. Smart. Reed tossed off his second drink, picked up Rick’s case and started for the door. I patted my marble mystery good-bye, set my glass on top of it, swiped a red and a green cherry from the bar and placed them artistically in the glass, to the amusement of the bartender, and went into my bloodhound act. I passed a smiling Rick as he picked up an obviously weighty case and sidled toward the back door.