Inheritance (15 page)

Leni was sitting at her dressing table in a long satin slip, waiting for her maid to arrive and help her into the intricately draped gown she had chosen for the opera ball, the last of the season before everyone left town for the sunmier. "I'm not sure anymore," she said. "I did want to punish him, whoever he is, but now ... do you know, Felix, the only thing I really care about is getting everything back so it can all go to Allison

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and then, someday, to her daughter. That's why I want the necklace most of 2dl; my father got it from his grandparents in Denmark and gave it to my mother, and she gave it to me . . . and Allison knew it would be hers one of these days. That's what means something to me. I don't like jewelry that's just stones and gold or silver; I want it to have meaning and a history so we don't lose touch with our past, and how else can that happen except by being passed down from one generation to the next?"

"Yes, that is a pleasant romantic view," Felix said, struggling with his cuff links. "Can you help me with these? But romance is irrelevant in this case; I would hardly indulge in it when it comes to punishing a criminal—"

"You never indulge in romance," Leni murmured.

"—and when he's found I'll see to it that he suffers. The bastard invaded my home and took my property, and no one does that to me and goes unpunished."

"He did it to all of us," Leni said quietly. "And after all, he is unpunished, isn't he? It's been three years and this is the first clue we've had."

"There will be more; I guarantee it. That's fine, thank you. I don't know why I still have trouble with cuff links after all these years. Will you be ready soon? We'll be late."

"We're never late. You are the only man in the world who times arrivals to the second." She slipped the stem of a diamond earring through the neat hole in her ear and fastened it. "I hear Clay Fairchild is doing very well in Philadelphia."

Felix glanced at her, then reached for his jacket.

"Isn't it odd," she said, "how I think of Clay and Laura every time we talk about tfie robbery? It's very wrong of me —poor things, it's not their fault they started working for us that awful summer. Thank heavens they didn't get scared off and leave. Owen adores Laura, and she's so good for him; I've never seen him happier. He got her a job, Rosa says, as one of Jules's assistants, and in their spare time he teaches her about running hotels—"

"Why?" Felix's eyebrows had drawn together. "He's using her as his secretary—^I can't imagine why, when there are a dozen at the office he could have any time he wants—and I knew she weis working with Jules, and she's at the university. What more does she need?"

Judith Michael

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"She wants to be more. All young women today want to be more than whatever it is they are, don't you think?" Leni's voice murmured through the bedroom like a quiet stream and Felix leaned down to hear her. "And she gives as much as she gets from us. She gave that lovely party last night for Allison; she even insisted on paying Rosa for the food. Owen stopped by and said it was very lively. Paul was there, too, he said, and very attentive to Laura. That won't go anywhere, of course—their backgrounds are impossibly different—but it \ does seem a good thing for her to take an interest in the hotels. She'll have to earn her living and it's good for Owen to be able to help someone ... to nurture, in a way. He hasn't had anyone, you know, for such a long time. You and Asa weren't exactly cuddly and loving, Rosa says; you kept Owen at arm's length. So he lost Iris and then he lost you, and I think it's wonderful that after all these years he's found someone like Laura who's smart enough and loving enough to let him help her. And Clay, too. I'm so glad you got him that job in Philadelphia when Owen asked you to; he'd never have gotten it without help. And maybe he'll think of some ways to make the hotel better. Poor old thing, it's gotten quite shabby—you said so yourself—and you won't put money into it. Owen says you want to sell it, but of course he never would do that. I could have told you he wouldn't: it's his, and he loves it— that one and the other three he started with—and if Clay can bring some new ideas to it and learn the business at the same time, isn't that a fine thing?"

She fastened her other earring and picked up a matching necklace. "Felix, would you do this for me?" She closed her eyes, fighting the shock of desire that ran through her at the touch of his fingertips on the nape of her neck. It has nothing to do with Felix, she thought. It's because I don't have anyone to hold me. No lust, no love . . . and I've got to have one or the other. I'll have to find someone; it's been so long since I sent Ned away . . . "What?" she asked.

"I said, when is your maid coming? I don't like being nervous about the time."

"She'll be here any minute; we have plenty of time. There's no reason for you to be nervous." She watched him pace. "You're not nervous, you're excited."

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"Nonsense."

"No, I can tell . . . It's my bracelet, isn't it? You've been this way ever since they brought it back. You think they'll find the thief, even after all these years." She shook her head. "I don't. It seems impossible."

"Not anymore. Not when there's a new development. They know what they're doing. They're relentless—when they're dedicated, that is. They don't give up; they don't forget. And they'll track the scum down, and his accomplices, too. Whoever they are, they don't have the brains to understand that people like us don't allow anyone to invade our lives and upset the order we've made. Sometime, sooner or later, they'll be cornered, however many there are, and if I have anything to say about it they'll be kicked into a hole, like the filth they are, and kept there until they're old or dead. Pity we have to waste money and feed them; they ought to be shot. The only good they'll do is be an object lesson for anyone who thinks there's something glamorous about burglaries; they might change their mind when they know we'll have them rotting in jail."

The room was very quiet. Seated at her dressing table, her tall, lean body slanting away from her husband, Leni watched him straighten his jacket, tuck a silk handkerchief in the front pocket, and stand at the pier glass to examine himself for imperfections. When he let out a long breath of approval, Leni knew he had found everything in place, everything correct. Hidden behind the impeccable Almaviva white-tie tuxedo was a caldron of hatred and rage and implacable vindictiveness— but the world would not see it. The world would see only perfection.

Leni stood as her maid arrived with the freshly pressed gown. How amazing, she thought, that my hands are as cold as ice. I don't know why I still have trouble accepting Felix for what he is, after all these years. It's not as if I don't understand him or remember why I stay with him.

She raised her arms and let her maid slip the silken dress over her head. There's no reason to be upset, she told herself. Whatever Felix does about the thief or tlueves who robbed us, it won't have anything to do with me. I just want my jewels back; after that, if he wants some kind of revenge, he can do

Judith Michael

what he likes. It won't touch me or the rest of us; we're too far from it. We won't even know when it happens.

Clay had been calling Laura for three hours before she answered. "I even called Rosa," he fumed. "She said you were out."

"I went to dinner with a friend. Why are you so angry? I didn't get mad when you weren't there this morning when I called. And I left a message at the hotel, but you're just now calling back and I'm not—^"

"I got your message. What friend?"

"Just a friend. We had tea here and then went to a place called Julien's. You'd love it, Clay, it's very elegant—^"

"Which friend? You sound different. Happy," he added accusingly.

"What's wrong with that? Clay, what's the matter with you? Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Sure I do, it's just that—oh, fiick it, Laura, you know I hate it when things happen and I don't know about them . . . when I'm 6>Mr5/V/e ..."

"But you can't be in the center of everything," Laura said gently. "Even if you still lived here, I wouldn't tell you everything I do."

"You'd tell me more. What did you call to tell me?"

"They found some of the stolen jewelry."

**They what?"

"In a pawnshop in New York. What do you think we should do?"

"Shit, I don't— What did they find?"

"One of the bracelets."

"Just one?"

"That's all they told us about. They— "

"What else did they sayT'

"Nothing much. They don't know who pawned it but—^"

"But the guy who owns the pawnshop! He must have said something!"

"Clay, if you'd let me talk ... He said it was a young man with blond hair and dark glasses; nothing unusual—^"

"But the receipt! They always sign a receipt! The police must have seen it!"

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"It was signed Ben Franklin. With a fake address."

"And that's ail they have? Nothing else?"

"Aren't you even surprised at the name?"

"Yeah. Real cute of Ben. Is that really all they have? No other clues? Not even where to look next?"

"They say they don't, but I don't suppose they'd tell me if they did. Clay, I can't think of—"

"You're sure they didn't say anything else? Some little thing you might have missed? Damn it, think about it! Are you sure the owner didn't spot something? How come he called the police?"

"He recognized the bracelet from the description the police sent out. Clay, I can't think of anything to do. Can you?"

"No. Stay out of it. We're not involved; nobody thinks we are. How come Ben's in New York, anyway? I thought he was in Europe. You're the one he writes to; did he tell you he was going to New York?"

"No, I didn't know anything about it. You'd think he'd call if he was this close."

"You told him not to."

"Well, I know, but if he really wanted to see us . . . Sometimes I think it would be so nice to see him."

There was a silence. "Yeah, it would," Clay said finally. "He was really great . . . most of the time. Like, remember the time we did that job in Brooklyn, and the people came home early and we had to get out through the attic and across the roof? We were so scared, and Ben kept telling us jokes and he took us to a movie and afterwards we had hot dogs and ice cream. Shit, I have ice cream all the time now, but it tasted better when Ben bought it. Except—Christ, if he gets us in trouble ..."

There was another silence. "I'd better go," Laura said. "Owen expects me in a few minutes. I'll talk to you in a couple of days. But call me first if you think of anything we should do."

"Just keep cool and quiet. And call me if anything else happens. Take care, now."

"I will. I love you, Clay."

"Me, too." Clay was scowling as he hung up. Fuck it, he thought. Things were going pretty good; he was starting to

Judith Michael

make plans; now this had to happen. Three years, for Christ's sake; you'd think any decent pawnshop would throw away pohce descriptions of stolen goods when they hadn't been heard of in three years. What was wrong with those idiots; didn't they ever throw anything away? You couldn't count on anything tfiese days. You thought you were all set and then—

"Clay! You playing with yourself in there?" He shot up as the manager's voice bellowed from the front office. The son of a bitch could still scare him, even though he wasn't making any noises about firing him. Clay knew they didn't like him but, what the hell, why should they? He was a kid of twenty who'd never worked in a hotel in his hfe, and he'd been foisted on them by Felix Salinger, telling them this was their new assistant desk clerk, whether they liked it or not. What were they supposed to do? Cheer?

They didn't cheer, but they didn't make too much noise, either. They were old and shabby, like the hotel; they'd been around forever, like the hotel, and they knew Felix wanted Owen to sell the hotel and build a fancy new one on a bigger lot, which would mean the end of their jobs. They didn't know why Owen hadn't done it, but they didn't ask: they kept their mouths shut and hoped nobody would pay attention to the Philadelphia Sedinger. It may have been fading and shabby, but to the old-timers it was home. |l

None of which. Clay reflected, prevented them from treating him like shit, scheduling him for night shifts and talking around him when he was in the room. But lately he'd begun to win them over. Owen Salinger liked this old hotel for some reason, and Clay figured if he played his cards right he could someday replace Willard Payne as manager and run it himself. Laura kept saying there was a future for them with the Salin-gers, so why shouldn't he be a hotshot executive? After all, if Ben could be a security expert, for Christ's sake, in a hotel in Europe, why couldn't Clay do better than that with the Salin-gers in America?

"Sorry," he said as he walked into the manager's office. "I was talking to my sister in Boston. She sends you her love and says thanks for keeping an eye on me."

Willard Payne adjusted his steel-rimmed glasses. "Bullshit."

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Clay grinned, man to man, and sat on the comer of the desk, leaning close to the old man's hearing aid. "What she said was, I should listen to you. I was telling her you worked the hell out of me and she said it was good for me because I need settling down, and I could leam a lot from somebody who's been in the business as long as you. And I guess she's right."

Willard nodded several times, his loose jowls flapping softly. "A smart young lady, your sister; you could leam from her. Age is wisdom, young man; age is wisdom. You're young, you're impatient, you leam that age is wisdom and you'll be getting smart." He pushed back his chair. "You take over. I'll see you tomorrow."

"It's awfiil late for you to be here," Clay observed. "Almost midnight."

"I'm checking something," Payne said vaguely. "See you in the moming."

Alone, Clay reclined in Payne's chair, his feet on the desk. "Checking up on me, " he mumbled. "Treating me like a goddam high school kid." He knew he was young; it drove him crazy that he wasn't silver-haired and smooth, like a politician or a Mafia don. He wished Laura were there; she'd have said Payne was jealous because Felix had done Clay a favor, and that would have made him feel better. She always could make him feel better; that was one great thing about her. But here he was alone in Philadelphia in a mn-down hotel and he hadn't found a girl yet and nobody gave a danm about him. Ben was gone, and Laura had Owen and some guy, whoever he was— took her to Julien's, for Christ's sake; it probably cost a pile —and who else was there? Nobody.