An Illustrated Death (20 page)

C
HAPT
ER
F
ORTY-
N
INE

“Y
OU HAVE TO
tell me,” Bianca insisted. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

I shifted in the green vinyl visitor’s chair. Even though Bianca was out of danger, they were keeping her in the hospital to monitor her for infection. She was still paler than normal, and her ice blue eyes were tugged at by lines I had never noticed before.

Earlier that morning I had given Marselli a detailed statement of what Eve had said in the studio. But as he had pointed out to me, Eve had said very little that was incriminating. I had been the one making accusations and she had never denied them. They were holding her for stabbing Bianca. Because the autopsy found that Gretchen had been drugged, they were checking Eve’s pharmaceuticals to see if any matched what had been found in Gretchen’s system.

“She was upset about your father and Sonia,” I told Bianca now.

“Really? I thought that was over. It was just a flirtation on his part. I guess she took it more seriously. My father could have that effect on people. Sometimes he seemed larger than life.”

There was the scrape of feet on linoleum outside the door, and I turned to see Claude and Lynn staring at me. Claude grasped his wife’s arm as if marshaling the strength to rescue his sister.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I want you out of here now!”

“Wait outside please, Claude,” Bianca said. “We’re talking.”

“But you don’t know what she’s done.”

“You mean saved my life? After Mama stabbed me?”

“It wasn’t Mama. She—”

“Claude, I
know
what happened. I was there, okay?” Her cheeks had developed two bright red circles that were not a healthy color. “Wait outside. You too, Lynn.”

Claude scowled, but they disappeared from sight.

“He keeps insisting it was me,” I complained. It sounded childish as soon as I said it.

“Of course it wasn’t you. It was my mother. But it was an accident. She must have seen the lights on in the studio and thought an intruder had gotten in. She had the knife to protect herself. It was the first time you had stayed until dark. Unfortunately she was holding the knife when she ran into me. Why don’t the police believe that? Puck said they arrested her!”

“They didn’t arrest her. They’re questioning her. After all, you almost . . . didn’t make it.” I was sure Eve hadn’t meant to hurt Bianca so badly. But I had seen her flash of pique, her anger at Bianca’s role in my being there, as she pressed the knife toward her.

“How can they blame someone for an accident?”

I looked at her and knew she wasn’t strong enough to hear the truth. She looked so thin and insubstantial in her hospital gown. “They need to ask her questions about Gretchen.”

“Bessie . . .”

“Bessie may have helped by carrying the body downstairs and out to the pool. But your mother . . .”

Bianca reared back. “That’s impossible. Did Bessie blame my mother? I thought she loved Mama.”

Not enough to go to jail for her.
The problem was, as soon as Bessie had been released from questioning, she and her whole family had headed south. Their neighbors told police that they had relatives in Mississippi, but no one knew any names or places—at least none that they were willing to share.

“My mother would
never
hurt Gretchen.”

“Bianca, I never said that. But she did pour lye down Sonia’s throat.”

“What are you talking about?” Now she looked puzzled. “Sonia drank it herself. My mother wasn’t even here when it happened. She was down in Charleston. My grandfather had had a heart attack and she flew down. She was there for a week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I was here when it happened last May. It was a terrible accident, but my mother didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Had I gotten everything wrong?

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY

W
HE
N
I
CAME
into the hall, Claude and Lynn were leaning against the pale yellow wall. Both of them looked tired. He pushed up from the wall like a coiled spring.

Quickly I said, “Claude, Bianca needs to tell you something.”

He gave Lynn an I-told-you-so look and bumped past me.

As soon as he was gone, I said to Lynn, “I have to talk to you. It’s important.”

She didn’t look surprised. “I’m already late for the shelter, but—you could come there in about an hour. It’s called A Safe Haven. In Sag Harbor.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Let me give you directions. We try to keep the location a secret. Woman in trouble have a phone number they can call.” She told me how to find the shelter, then added, “Come around eleven-thirty. Before noon anyway. I’ll be in my office.”

A
S
AFE
H
AVEN
was located on a residential street of large homes in Sag Harbor. With its widow’s walk, the cupola where an anxious wife could stand and scan the harbor for signs of her husband’s ship, there was little to distinguish this house from the other sea captains’ homes. Most had historic plaques by the front doors.

I went up wide wooden steps flanked by fading pink hydrangeas, and knocked on the paneled door.

Lynn herself answered and brought me down a hall. We passed a large room, its pocket doors slightly ajar. I was startled to hear feral grunts and cries from inside.

Lynn laughed. “It’s a self-defense class.” She kept going until we came to a small parlor near the end. The bay window on the side facing the house next door gave the room a formal feeling, but the stiff Victorian furniture had been changed out for soft hand-me-downs. Several framed prints from
Godey’s Lady’s Book
made the room feel reassuring. I sank into the sofa and Lynn took a chair on my right.

“We had an incident last year that made us super-careful. We keep our location secret, but an ex-husband followed his wife, his former wife, home from a prenatal visit and shot her on the steps outside.”

“My God! Did she . . .”

“Yes, and she left behind a two-year-old. We still don’t know how he knew about her doctor’s appointment. It really made us ratchet up security though.” She looked pensive, then added, “You said you had something important.”

“It’s about Sonia.”

Her mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “It’s not like I’m a priest or therapist, but—I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Sonia came here after she was beaten up by the man she lived with. Not the first time. He was older than she was, an important figure on Broadway, and she had come here from Minnesota to act. So she put up for him too long. The old story, he was obsessive and then abusive. Meanwhile, she had no money. She needed a job and a place to stay, and Bianca needed someone to help with Morgan. I thought it would be a perfect match. Except that . . .”

“She got involved with Nate.”

“So you know about that. I still don’t know how serious he was. He was flattered and she was completely smitten. And she was accessible, living right on the compound. When Eve had to go down to Charleston for a week, Sonia was in the studio every night. Everyone knew it.”

“Even Rosa.”

Lynn laughed and pulled at a thread on the arm of the chair she was sitting in. “Even Rosa. I tried to talk to Sonia about being more discreet, but she was over the top. She was so sure they would be together forever. She assumed he would tell Eve to go back to South Carolina, but I knew that would never happen.”

“The lye?”

“Nate had a thing about animals, all kinds. I think I told you that. He was certain that Rosa’s stuff was attracting vermin, so he had a rat poison, lye-based, that he secretly mixed and poured outside her cottage. That night he had a coffee can of it on his table to use later.”

I started at that, afraid of where the story was headed. Sonia had told me Eve had poured the lye down her throat, but she had been in Charleston and couldn’t have. If Lynn told me
Nate
had actually been the one who made Sonia drink it, I could never look at another of his illustrations.

“It was the night before Eve was coming back, and Nate told Sonia that as wonderful as it had been, things had to end. He hinted that she might have to leave Adam’s Revenge. Of course Sonia was frantic at that, she grabbed the can from his table thinking it was turpentine and said if he didn’t love her she didn’t want to live. It was just a gesture, she only drank a little, but it wasn’t turpentine, it was pure caustic. She passed out from the pain and woke up in the hospital with her life ruined.”

“She didn’t want to go home, wherever that was?”

“Minnesota. No. I helped her all I could. She needed a place to stay and a way to get around, so we worked that out. Nate bought the cottage for her outright. He was devastated. And she helps with my quilts.”

“She told me Eve poured the lye down her throat.”

Lynn sighed. “She hated Eve. And she was probably embarrassed to admit that she had done it herself. And I’ve probably talked way too much.”

“I think it’s great that you’re helping her.”

She gave me her warm smile. “Someone did it once for me. I was engaged to a guy I met in college, but he turned vicious and I couldn’t break away from him. I was heavier than I am now, I think I felt that no one else would ever want me. But after he nearly choked me to death I got rid of him and a year later met Claude. I know, Claude seems a little . . . eccentric to you, but he would
never
do anything to hurt me. Ever. He loves me. When I see how gentle he is with the dog, it reminds me why I married him.”

“He’s a good man.”

We sat there thinking good thoughts about Claude.

Then I left to confront Sonia.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY
-
O
NE

B
ECAUSE
I
WASN’T
sure what to do next, I called Marty on his cell phone.

“Campagna!”

“Hi Marty, it’s Delhi.”

“Delhi who?”

“Ha. I’ve finished the appraisal and you’ll
love
these books. And you can afford them. They’ll probably go for auction at Phillips. Anyway, you should at least talk to Susie.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to open your shop. Because she’s good and I can’t do it. I said I’d help get things started, but we need to sit down and figure out how this is going to work. It’s going to be great.”

“Explain to me again why I’m bringing her in.”

“Because you are. How about tomorrow at two at the bookshop?”

“I’m not making any promises.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

As I suspected, Susie’s schedule was flexible enough for her to meet with us anytime.

I
COULDN’T PUT
off talking to Sonia any longer.

On the drive over to Amagansett, I wondered if she would be home. What time did her shift at the Shake Shack start? What a comedown, washing dishes instead of following her dream of acting. She hadn’t seemed bitter . . . but I wondered.

When I reached Bluff Road, I saw only a few cars parked in front of the beach houses I passed. The VW with the daisy was in front of the cabana as well. I didn’t want to pull in behind it, so I squeezed the van as far onto the sand as I could without getting stuck. I wasn’t sure what the regulations about street parking were, but perhaps it didn’t matter as much in late September. I didn’t expect to be long.

I wasn’t even sure what I was going to ask her. Start with why she had lied about Eve and take it from there.

When I reached the little house, I rapped on the front door, but no one answered. I listened and could hear no one moving around inside, then knocked again. Finally I reached out and tried the knob. The door opened halfway.

The light inside the room was a watery gray, the stacks of quilting material against the walls like a shadowy congregation. “Sonia?”

I stepped inside. The white laptop stood open on my right. I glanced at the icons, curious, but didn’t move toward the machine. I hadn’t come there to snoop.

Actually I had. I just didn’t expect to get the chance.

Next to the computer was a list. I glanced down at it.

Toothpaste

Herbal Essence conditioner

Paper towels

Blue thread

Dan’s Papers

Milk

Something about the handwriting was familiar, something about the way the O’s slanted and looped at the top. Where had I seen O’s like that recently? And then I remembered.

My hand hovered over the paper. I wanted to snatch it up, slide it in my bag, take it to Marselli. But I knew that would make it worthless as evidence of anything.

Instead I turned to the laptop screen.

There were few icons on the desktop. One of them was labeled “What Happened.”

A metallic noise rang into the room and I jumped. It was only the older-style refrigerator in the kitchen alcove. Sighing, I waited for my heart to resume its usual workaday rhythm, then moved back to the door and looked out. Sonia was nowhere in sight. Either she had gone for a walk on the beach or someone had given her a ride into town.

The only flash drive I had with me was the one with the information about Nate Erikson’s books. Even as I reached for it, I had a terrible fear that inserting it in Sonia’s PC might ruin it, erase the content somehow. It would likely happen at the same time as someone was breaking into my van and stealing my laptop, the only other place I had the information.

But what was more important—losing two weeks’ work or knowing the truth?

Holding my breath, I pressed my flash drive into the USB port and waited. In a moment the icon labeled “Erikson” flashed on the screen. I reached out and dragged the “What Happened” folder onto it—just as I heard a scraping on the stoop outside.
Come on, Come on.
I begged it.

There was squeak of the door being pulled open. Without even knowing if the file had finished copying, I yanked the flash drive out of her machine and dropped it in my bag. Then I turned to face an appalled Sonia.

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I came to tell you something important. I got cold waiting outside.”

She was wearing a black hoodie with St. Olaf’s College and a prancing lion on the front.

Think, Delhi.
“Eve Erikson has been arrested for Gretchen’s death. And Nate’s.”

She looked at me, taking in the words. And then she gave me a smile, the vindicated smile of Laurey when she realizes Curly loves her after all.

She turned to her computer to write a response, then stopped and frowned at me.

I moved over to see.

The message I had come to hate, the image of a red octagonal with a white exclamation point in the center, was still on the screen: “The disk was not ejected properly. If possible always select Eject before unplugging or turning it off.”

Damn.
There had been no time to eject my flash drive properly. “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “It’s nothing. I get that message all the time.”

But Sonia was too smart for my lie.
What did you copy?
she typed.

“I didn’t touch your computer. I—”

Before I could imagine it happening, she had whirled and grabbed my arms just above the elbows. She shoved me back against the entryway wall and held me pinned there.

“What did you copy?” It wasn’t a voice, it was an unearthly mouse squeak, harsh and breathy at the same time, a terrible sound that I could never have deciphered if I had not guessed what she was saying. It was the sound I imagined someone being strangled to death would make in protest.

Sonia’s hold on my arms was effective. I remembered the self-defense class I had passed at A Safe Haven, and wondered if she had learned it there. I fought hard to get loose, but she was younger than I and very strong. Unexpectedly she pulled me toward her, then banged my head against the wall.

For a moment the room blurred.

Another rush of strangled sounds
. Give it to me?

What else would she be asking? I tried kicking out at her, but she stepped back and my foot grazed her leg. With our faces so close, hers was terrifying. Something primal had taken over. Gone was the pretty, hopeful ingénue who evoked everyone’s sympathy. Her blue eyes glittered and her mouth was slightly open almost in a smile, as if she were enjoying our struggle. Enjoying putting her expertise to use. There was an element of teasing, like an older sibling torturing a younger one. Yet I knew she wouldn’t suddenly laugh, let me go, and say,
Don’t tell Mom, okay?

She knew what I had taken. She had to get her confession back, even if one of us died. And she knew it would not be her.

The back of my head was already aching. If she pulled me forward to bang my head again, I was ready for her.

But she didn’t. She unclamped my arms and immediately brought her hands up to my throat. She pressed her thumbs into the center and I gagged. Desperately I tried to reach her face to scratch her and kneed her in the groin hard. In the momentary distraction that loosened her hands, I shoved my body against hers. We fell to the floor, Sonia banging her head on the opposite wall on the way down.

I had a millisecond to get away. Jamming my hand over her eyes and nose, I pushed myself up. The pressure had to be excruciating and she shrieked, a terrible sound. I was half standing when she grabbed at my leg and I nearly went back down. But I managed to kick at her and pull away, get the door open, and take two steps before I bumped into a solid form.

“Delhi, what are you doing?”

Lynn.

Sonia must have been right behind me, because Lynn said, “Sonia, are you okay? What’s going on? Write it for me.”

Lynn didn’t realize that she had just saved my life. Sonia could not go on attacking me in front of her mentor. But she cried, “Stop her! She stole something from me.”

As Lynn blinked, confused, and I moved around her and whispered, “Meet me in Starbucks in East Hampton.”

Then I took my sore body and aching throat and half-limped, half-ran to my van.

But Sonia’s unearthly howls pursued me. When I turned, I saw that Lynn was trying to hold Sonia back, pressing her against the door frame, Sonia had nearly broken free.

In the next moment she had. Perhaps I imagined the hiss and thud of someone running on the sand but I could feel her behind me.

Why had I parked so far away?

If she caught me, and I knew she could, Lynn could not save me again.