Beyond Eden (37 page)

“What about the prince?”

“Sergeant Kinsley has checked. Sure enough, the prince is here in New York. He cleared customs on Sunday. He's staying with his wife. If the motive is money, the police will discover it soon enough.” He felt her become rigid, felt the awful fear come into her, saw it in her eyes.

“It's okay. I'm afraid, too, but let me tell you something, Lindsay. If that man tries to come near
you, I'll hurt him. Please believe me, because I'm telling you the truth.”

“Like you hurt Demos?”

“Lots worse.”

“I'll look real silly in a wedding veil right now.”

“Once you're unwrapped and rid of your cocoon and feeling back to normal, we'll do it again. I love you. Will you marry me tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Lindsay closed her eyes. Married to Taylor. She saw her father's face. Saw his rage, for he would be enraged because he'd see himself unable to coerce her once Taylor was her husband. Had he tried to have her killed? She saw Holly and knew she was as furious as her husband. Both of them hated her, blamed her for somehow making her grandmother leave her everything. Lindsay still wondered, she still couldn't figure out why her grandmother had left her the money. She was very tired. Her face throbbed and pressed heavily down. Her ribs rubbed and gnawed. She hated the sound of the soft hissing. The doctor had said perhaps tomorrow she would be unhooked from the lung machine. But Taylor had agreed to marry her. Everything would be all right.

Taylor kissed her and left, telling her he'd be back in a couple of hours.

He'd hired a private nurse, Missy Dubinsky. She entered the moment he left, big breasts bouncing, full hips straining at the white pants, smarmy big smile. Lindsay knew it was wise that she never be alone, but the woman was simply too cheerful and so thrilled to be taking care of a beautiful model. She oozed goodwill. Lindsay ground her teeth and kept silent.

Jesus, she thought. Beautiful—she touched her
fingertips to the thick bandages that covered her head and the right side of her face.

Yeah, some beauty she was now. She hadn't believed Dr. Perry. She wasn't stupid. Taylor had spoken easily about her career, questioning her about the future and what she wanted. No, she wasn't stupid. He was preparing her. She just prayed she wouldn't look like a freak, with one eye lower than the other. She just prayed Taylor wouldn't feel revulsion once the bandages were off and the stitches taken out. She prayed Taylor really loved her.

At least she was alive.

Who had tried to kill her?

It was a lovely wedding. Never mind that the bride was propped up in bed wearing a hospital nightgown beneath a satin bed robe—white, of course—holding a bouquet of roses in her right hand and her head wrapped in white bandages.

Still, Gayle Werth and Sheila Sackett had gotten together and in the space of twenty-four hours, along with the help of the nurses and orderlies and doctors, had turned the room into a flower garden of red roses and white carnations. They'd even draped the bed and windows with pink and white crepe paper. The one Monet print on the wall opposite the bed had a big white bow on it.

The staff had done even more. The nurses had given Lindsay a huge box of condoms and wrapped her lung machine with a huge red bow. The card on the condoms read: “Soon to be replaced.” The card on the lung machine read: “Soon to be gone.”

Dr. Perry had given her an antique mirror-and-brush set, telling her as she opened it that she was going to be beautiful very soon again and he wanted her to have a mirror close at hand to admire herself and to admire him. Demos and Glen weren't to be outdone. They'd provided for home delivery of two dozen gourmet meals from La Viande. Demos said, “Well, I know for a fact that all
Lindsay can manage is a salami sandwich. She said you were the cook, Taylor, but I didn't believe her.” He turned to Lindsay and took her hand. “I want my models to suffer to stay thin. Did I say that all the meals were seven courses?”

As for Taylor, he laughed at the condoms and was grateful for the meals, since he could count his own ribs now. As for Lindsay, she was a stick. He prayed that Dr. Perry would have a fine life for his kindness.

It was Enoch who remembered one dark wool suit. He had it cleaned along with a white dress shirt, and brought it to the apartment an hour before the wedding at the hospital.

“Cufflinks,” Taylor said, scrambling through the dresser drawers.

“Here,” Enoch said, and handed him a gold pair in the shape of unicorns. “I thought you'd be too nervous to think about anything on your own. These were my dad's. Sheila always said he was into fantasy. Then she always smiles. It's tough thinking about your parents making out, you know?”

“Thanks.” Taylor turned to give his friend a distracted smile. “Thanks too for the piano lessons from you and your mom. How did you know that I wanted to learn and Lindsay already played?”

Enoch tapped the side of his head. “Mom says our brains go back to before the
Mayflower.
”

“Yeah, right. Hey, Enoch, do you see any pigs taking off outside?”

In the taxi Enoch said, “Look, Taylor, try out a smile on me. You're getting married, not going to a funeral.”

Taylor said very quietly, “I'm scared shitless.”

Enoch patted his hand and nodded wisely. “Look, I know you never wanted to get married
again, not after Diane, and here Lindsay is probably richer than Diane was, but—”

“I'm scared shitless about the maniac out there trying to kill her.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It's all right.” Taylor sighed. “Funny thing is, I probably should be scared about remarrying, but I'm not. I love her and can see both of us together until my brain gives out into mist and my body folds up into bones. It's strange, but there just aren't any doubts. As for her money, we'll deal with it.”

“Do you think you'll keep on with the business?”

Taylor turned to look fully at the man who'd been his friend for six years. “Why do you ask?”

Enoch looked embarrassed. He shrugged. “You're rich. You don't have to be a working stiff anymore.”

“No, Lindsay is rich. I'm still just me. Now, don't get me wrong. I think a man who scoffs at his wife's money and insists she's to live on his salary alone is an ass.”

“That was your attitude with Diane and her money.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm trying to be mature about this, Enoch. Lindsay can do whatever she wants with the money. If she wants to make it part of the common pot, so be it. Hey, we might decide to invest in pork bellies or pinto beans. Or we'll buy Kauai. How about a helicopter business? You got any suggestions?”

Enoch laughed. “She's a great woman, Taylor. She's changed a lot since back in November. Come to think of it, you have too.”

Taylor remembered the night she'd come back from San Francisco. He could still taste her mouth, feel her surprise when he kissed her and touched
her, her passion, her urgency. He could remember the softness of her flesh, the tightness of her when he'd entered her. “Yes, she has,” he said. And he remembered just as clearly his feelings when she'd come to him. “I as well.”

“Has Barry discovered anything at all yet?”

“You remember the description she gave of the supposed set man?”

“Yeah, I still can't believe it. I've never known a witness that good. If he'd had a mole on his butt, she probably would have intuited it from his accent.”

“She'd never thought it was important enough to mention to me before. She does have a photographic memory for faces. I told her we were going to bring her on in the business. Anyway, one of the old guys in homicide saw the sketch and recognized the bastard right off. His name's Bert Oswald, a little killer for hire, been in and out of prison all his life, a loser most the time, but occasionally he gets a job done and it usually ends up getting him back into the slammer again. He comes cheap and he's not, as I said, very reliable.”

“Thank God he wasn't this time.”

The taxi pulled up at the hospital.

Taylor said, a touch of anxiety in his voice that Enoch didn't miss, “I look okay?”

“You missed a spot shaving, your eyes are a bit bloodshot, you look skinny, but hey—yeah, just fine. A regular Romeo.”

The driver turned around and gave them both a huge grin. “Hey, which one of you cuties is expecting?”

He was still laughing when he pulled away.

“Now, that's better,” Enoch said, observing the wide grin on Taylor's face.

Gayle and Sheila were there fussing over Lindsay. She was now wearing a bit of powder and some lipstick. It looked faintly ridiculous in her current condition, and Taylor just leaned down and kissed most of it off. The minister, Reverend Battista, had known Taylor's mom and dad and sister. He was charming, warm, and had no problem with marrying the couple in a hospital. He lived every single day deep in his faith and didn't question life's occasional strange byways too often. So he smiled and greeted Taylor and told him he was glad to see him after three years.

They were in love, Reverend Battista saw, and he was pleased. He appreciated weddings, particularly when the bride wasn't obviously pregnant. Those he always doubted would last the first round. But these two—they'd last. He watched Taylor slide the wedding band on Lindsay's finger. They were—attached, somehow attuned to each other.

When Reverend Battista pronounced them well and finally married, Taylor's eyes shone. His severe look melted away. He kissed his bride. There was applause from the nurses and doctors standing in the doorway.

“For someone five days out of surgery, you're a charming bride,” Taylor said next to her bandaged ear. “You feel up to a drop of champagne?”

“Oh, yes. It's my wedding day. Dr. Shantel said half a flute.”

His eyes darkened. And she knew he was thinking about the one night they'd had together. It seemed aeons ago now. Almost as if it had never existed. But it had, and she could still remember the faint echoes of pleasure, a pleasure so intense it was frightening, and he'd promised her that it
would always be like that between them. She believed him.

There were six bottles of Mumms champagne, enough for all the staff who were in and out of the room, Officer Fogel, and Missy Dubinsky. Barry Kinsley came round to congratulate them and tell Taylor that the little shit Oswald was still on the loose but they'd get him soon.

Taylor looked over at his wife, who was speaking to Glen. “I'm not certain it's safe for her to leave the hospital. Her lung machine was unhooked this morning. Dr. Perry says if she has proper rest, she can recuperate at home as well as here. But at home, I don't know how well I can protect her.”

“Let's keep her here, Taylor,” Barry said. “ Easier to keep her safe.”

“Yeah.”

“One little glass but no more,” Dr. Shantel said, smiling down at Lindsay when Enoch tried to give her another half-glass. “Your medication is still a bit on the heavy side for too much alcohol. Congratulations, Mrs. Taylor.”

Lindsay fell asleep just after finishing her first half-glass of champagne. Dr. Shantel smiled and shushed everyone. “Our patient's so happy she has to sleep it off.”

“Well,” Barry said, gazing down at the new Mrs. Taylor. “Nothing like having your bride conk out on you before your wedding night.”

“I figure we can make up for it in the next fifty years.”

“Good man.”

Sheila laughed and gave him a very interested look. “Do you like jazz, Sergeant?”

“Well, ma'am,” Barry said, turning admiring eyes toward Sheila, who was wearing a long
emerald silk dress, “I like to think I play a mean trumpet. Yeah, jazz is something else. Right now I'm listening every night to Harry Dellios. He's out of—”

“Atlanta! My, my, isn't that a wonderful coincidence, Enoch?”

Enoch groaned. “That's my cousin, Sergeant. But beware, if you spend a lot of time with my mom here, you'll get as skinny as I am.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” Barry said, looking down at his belly. He turned to Taylor, who was leaning over his wife, just looking at her. “I need to speak to you some more when all the fun's over.”

It was over in fifteen minutes. Barry Kinsley asked Gayle Werth to accompany him and Taylor to the waiting room.

He said without preamble, “Taylor told me about this guy Dr. Gruska, a professor who kept trying to track Lindsay down.”

“Gayle, do you think he could be crazy enough to turn on Lindsay?” Taylor asked.

Gayle took a turn about the small waiting room, thinking hard. When she turned, she nodded. “Yes. He's a nut case. According to Lindsay, he's deep into repressed childhood sexuality, you know, all that Freud stuff.”

“I agree,” Taylor said. “At least it's worth a shot. I've tried to track him down. He'll be on campus tomorrow, I was told. I'll talk to him.”

“I'd like to come along,” Barry said. “No, don't look at me like I'm spoiling your fun, boyo. I just don't want you to rumple his tie if he starts foaming at the mouth and admitting everything.”

“You can't think of anyone else, Miss Werth?”

“No. Lindsay's always kept to herself,
particularly after what happened, Taylor. You know, after Paris.”

“No men?” Barry asked. “None before Taylor?”

“Oh, no. She wouldn't let a guy within ten feet of her. Taylor's the first man she even smiled at. I still can't believe this.” She stopped, then reached out her hand and shook Taylor's. “Thank you. Lindsay's great. I've always been so worried for her.”

“The boy will keep her happy, Miss Werth,” Enoch said.

“Yes,” said Gayle, “I think the boy will. He has heart.”

After Gayle had left, Barry said, “We finished the check on all the family. No big surprises. Just as we thought. The father is in financial trouble—he's a pistol as a judge but as a businessman he's dog piss. His wife married him for his money and she's not a happy lady now that her stepdaughter got the dough. Word is she's also an alcoholic. The older daughter, Sydney, makes a bundle as a model, but she spends more, and not on her own amusements, in all fairness to her. As for her husband, the prince, the jerk's well on his way to going through the family fortune. Big trouble there. Sydney is sending a good deal of her earnings back to Italy to keep things afloat. Whatever her faults, she hasn't deserted the family.”

“She does have a daughter there.”

“Yeah, well, the daughter's quite the little princess. Spoiled rotten, from what the police lieutenant in Milan told me. Throws tantrums in public. So, Taylor, it's possible that one of the family or more than one of them would want her out of the way. Jesus, how many times does it all come down
to money? Too often, my friend, far too often. But to kill her? I just don't know.”

“Well, since we're married now, it's academic. If any of them were behind the first attempt, there shouldn't be another. They won't get a dime if she dies now.”

“Who's going to tell them that their fat pigeon has flown to another coop?”

 

It happened so quickly Lindsay had no time to react. She was groggy from sleep, her mind lulled and calm. She didn't hurt, which was a blessing, but her throat was dry. Six days now since the surgery. She wished she could carve a slash on her bedpost for every day that went by.

And now she was married.

She smiled.

And then the voice came, so warm and so familiar that she thought she must be making it up in her mind, dredging up a nightmare because she had nothing else to do. But it wasn't a nightmare.

“Little Lindsay. Poor Lindsay. I don't know if you're so beautiful now. You're certainly old, ah, but your poor face. All smashed in, Sydney told me. All blood and smashed bone. But it isn't all that important now, is it?”

Where the hell was Missy? Why the hell had the young police officer outside her door let him in?

Then she saw that Missy was standing in the open doorway, beaming at the prince's back. She saw that Officer Fogel was standing behind Missy, not looking at the prince, but at Missy's rear end.

“Your brother-in-law just wanted to see you for a moment,” Missy said, smiling with lots of white teeth, all goodwill. She turned her high-wattage
smile up higher when the prince turned at the sound of her voice.