Christietown (30 page)

After indicating they would be proceeding to King’s Cross sta
tion, they switched trains at Leeds, Agatha leading the way through a phalanx of indefatigable reporters.

Westminster Gazette,
the
Daily News,
the
Daily Mail,
the
Leeds Mercury,
the
Daily Sketch.

Agatha and Archie found their seats on the train.

Agatha stared at Archie, who stared out the window.

When he closed his eyes for some much-needed sleep, she reached into her handbag and took out the wedding ring she’d tossed so impulsively out of the car window that fateful night, eleven days earlier.

Before catching the milk train to Waterloo, she’d gone back to find it. In the dark of the night, she’d searched through the leaves, disarranged her hair, scratched her face, blinked back the tears until she’d seen it, half-buried in the underbrush.

“I know of no other experience which confers so much grace as loving and being loved by one person.”

The words she’d once written came to mind, and to her sur
prise, she still believed them.

Archie began to stir and Agatha slipped the ring back inside her purse. As she zipped it closed, she could see the gold glinting in the dying light.

After that, she remembered absolutely nothing of her time at the Harrogate, nor of the long and terrible night that had preceded it.

When it came to the story of Agatha Christie’s life, that chap
ter was lost forever.

C
HAPTER
5
0

ece! Where are you?” Gambino shouted into my ear.
I was in the foyer of the King’s Head inside one of those old-fashioned fire-engine-red British telephone booths with a gold crown at the top and seventy-two individually beveled glass windows. Not that I was going to tell him. Not with that attitude.

“Where are
you
?” I yelled back. “You were supposed to meet me at the courtroom hours ago.”

“I’ve been trying to call you. And I’m not the only one.”

Two young women with Princess Di hairdos and tiaras were rapping on the phone booth now. They pointed at their camera. They wanted to take a picture. I held up my index finger and smiled. Apparently, they didn’t want to wait. Nor were they in a smiling mood. “I have to hang up in a second,” I said. “Sorry you couldn’t reach me. My phone’s been dead all day. What’s the big emergency?”

His voice softened. “Are you sitting down?”

“No,” I said, feeling suddenly faint.

“Is there a chair nearby?”

“No. What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared. It’s good news.”

Turned out Annie was having her baby a little bit ahead of schedule.

I flew out of the phone booth, nearly mowing down the Dianas in the process. The one with the bigger tiara yelled, “Screw you,” the other gave me a hand gesture that would’ve made the Queen Mum blush. You could tell right off the bat they were frauds.

The folks at Cedars Sinai were more polite, with the possi
ble exception of the valet, who looked askance at my unwashed Camry, which even I had to admit stuck out like a sore thumb amid the luxury vehicles swarming the underground parking lot. Annie’s water had broken this afternoon at four while she and Vincent were having a predinner corned beef and cabbage snack at the Farmer’s Market. The Farmer’s Market was on Third and Fairfax, and Cedars was about two minutes away. That’s how they’d wound up at the most expensive hospital west of the Mississippi. At least she’d get a private room and good drugs.

The lady at the information kiosk had seen my type before. After giving me a pat on the back and a booklet about anxiety disorder, she sent me to the maternity ward. On the way up, I became aware of a jackhammerlike pounding in the vicinity of my heart. I brought my hand to my chest, which seemed to alarm the man standing next to me, who breached elevator etiquette to reassure me that the cardiac-care unit at Cedars was world-class. I explained that I’d been stuck in an elevator recently, plus my only child was having a baby. Then I started to weep. That earned me another pat on the back. I watched
the numbers light up on the monitor: 2, 3, 4. At last, the doors

opened.

“Cece!” cried Lael. “Finally.”

“You’re here?” I asked.

They were all there, assembled in the mauve-accented wait
ing area: Lael, Bridget, Gambino, Richard, Jackie, Dot, with little Alexander on her lap, and Vincent, who was as pale as I’d ever seen him, but grinning from ear to ear as he rushed up to give me a hug.

“I’ve gotta get back in there,” he said. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Can I see her?” I asked, clutching the hem of his T-shirt like both our lives depended on it.

Vincent shook his head. “It’s really important to Annie that it’s just the two of us in there. Please don’t take it wrong. It’s a bonding thing.”

“Tell her I love her,” I said as he walked away.

“She knows,” said Gambino, putting his arm around me.

When Annie had arrived several hours ago, she was 100 percent effaced but less than one centimeter dilated. Her con
tractions were weak and were spaced fifteen minutes apart. The doctor had decided to give it three hours, but if there was no change, they were going to induce labor. Annie balked, but only until being informed that it would reduce the risk of a cesarean. The three hours were up thirty minutes ago. They’d gone ahead and administered Pitocin. Despite being informed that the contractions brought on by induction would almost certainly be severe, Annie was refusing an epidural.

“No drugs?” I asked, weak at the knees.

Lael shook her head regretfully.

Bridget’s comment was, “I hear the Deluxe Birthing Room has a Jacuzzi.” Then, “The gift shop is very well-stocked.”

Jackie and Dot were pacing the shiny faux-tile floor. Richard was reading the
New York Times,
a box of cigars at his side. It reminded me of the day Annie was born. Richard’s father had brought a box of cigars to Asbury Park General and forced his son to have one. Richard had promptly thrown up. I never knew if it was from the tobacco or the shock. He was twenty-two, I was barely eighteen. We knew nothing about life, less than that about raising a child. Still, Richard had been there for Annie. She’d spent summers and holidays with him, he’d flown out for graduations and special occasions. Not much in terms of time, but he’d given his love unsparingly, and it was a big part of what made Annie good and strong. Twenty-one years later he was still there, a newspaper in his hands. He’d always been better with words than with people. Just then, he looked up and caught my eye. I nodded at him. He nodded at me. It was the best we were going to do.

“So now we wait,” I said to Gambino.

We sat down next to each other.

“What’s new?” he asked.

A trick question. “You first,” I said.

Gambino told me he and Tico had run into a brick wall with their murder investigation. It was obvious that the guy had been dealing drugs from prison, and that whoever had whacked him wasn’t enthused about the idea. It had to be someone higher up on the food chain. They’d left the thou
sand bucks on him deliberately. It was a show of power. But there was no forensic evidence. And thus no real suspects. What about the women? I asked. The wife and the girlfriend? They’d given up on him long ago, said Gambino. They were smart enough to know he wasn’t worth life behind bars.

Then it was my turn.

I told him about my visit to the wig shop and the nurs
ery, and Lou’s and my mad dash for the courtroom. Mostly, though, I talked about Ian. We’d had a few minutes together after I made the phone call. It had been awkward. I’d put him between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to do the right thing; he wanted to run as fast and as far as he could. But we both knew there wasn’t anyplace he could run where he’d be able to forget what he’d done, regardless of how many larkspurs and hollyhocks and snapdragons were lining the path to his front door.

Was that when McAllister and Mariposa showed up? asked Gambino.

No, I said. That was when Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out his brown leather billfold. From between two twen
ties, he extracted a thin piece of yellowed paper with frayed edges. There was a gold monogram at the top:
A.M.C.

Agatha Miller Christie.

Ian unfolded the piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of me. He watched my face for a minute.

Did I know about the note Agatha had left behind for Archie before she disappeared? he asked.

Of course I knew about the note. Archie had destroyed it.

Was I so sure about that? Now Ian’s eyes were sparkling.

Yes, I was sure. It was full of recriminations about Archie’s affair with Nancy. Archie destroyed it because he didn’t want anyone to see it.

Ian shook his head.

I looked down again.

The note was written in a shaky hand I recognized.

Where did you get this? I asked.

Family heirloom, he replied.

You picked it up at the memorabilia shop, didn’t you?

He didn’t answer. His eyes had filled with tears.

Oh, Cece, he said. Life is such a mystery, isn’t it?

That was when Mariposa and McAllister appeared.

And now it was Vincent who was standing in front of me.

I leapt to my feet. “How is she?”

“Do you mean Annie,” he asked with a smile, “or my gor
geous new daughter?”

“A girl!” Richard cried from across the room. He reached over to hug Jackie. “You’ve got a sister!” he said to Alexander, who was jumping up and down. Alexander was always jump
ing up and down, but this time there was a reason.

“Congratulations, man,” said Gambino, pumping Vincent’s hand.

“Is Annie okay?” I asked him anxiously.

“Your daughter is radiant,” he said. “Like every day.” He embraced me, then said, “I am the luckiest man in the world.”

“Do you have a name yet?” asked Dot.

“Radha.”

Jackie gave Richard a sideways glance.

“How exactly do you spell that?” Richard asked.

“R-A-D-H-A. She’s a cowherdess who gets transformed into a goddess through love,” explained Vincent.

I looked at Gambino, who whispered, “Don’t worry. We can call her Hot Rod.”

After a long pause, Richard said, “I like it.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Radha. It’s beautiful.”

“Annie would like to see you both,” Vincent said. “To intro
duce you to your granddaughter.”

Richard and I stayed for an hour, fussing over Annie. Lying in the bed, with her daughter in her arms, she’d never seemed happier. And Vincent, well, he was beside himself. His smile, normally beatific, was otherworldly. Richard had forgotten all about the cigars. Instead, he snapped pictures of the tiny, per
fect newborn. I was content just to stroke her skin. It was so velvety, like Annie’s had been. Baby back, Richard and I used to call it. The softest skin imaginable.

Annie and Radha would be spending two nights in the hospital, just as a precaution. Once they returned home, the only thing the doctor was recommending was keeping the baby away from crowds for several weeks. It would give her immune system a chance to kick in. Would Gambino and I consider, Vincent asked as he walked us back to the waiting room, postponing the wedding for a few weeks so they could all be there?

I laughed and told him it wouldn’t be a problem. I wouldn’t consider having a wedding unless Radha could be the flower girl.

Gambino and I took Alexander home with us so Vincent could stay at the hospital with his wife and new baby. We fed the pets, had a midnight snack of orange juice and Oreos, and went to sleep.

Sometime around dawn, the screeching of a siren woke me up. After tossing and turning for a while, I gave up the fight. I went into the bathroom, washed my face, put on my robe, and tiptoed out to the living room, a yellowed piece of paper in my hand.