Authors: Meg Gardiner

Jericho Point (22 page)

BOOK: Jericho Point

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She acted as though nothing could touch her. She was showing me, right now, that P.J. was her tool. Flip on, flip off. Did she think she had that much power and protection? She undoubtedly knew that I was onto her record production scam. And she was beyond cool. Which put me beyond uneasy.

But challenging her right now would serve no purpose. I was going to be good.

Well, halfway good. ‘‘Marc’s a strike fighter pilot with half a dozen kills to his credit. I’d stay out of his way.’’

‘‘If you say so.’’

Their drinks came. They clinked glasses.

I nodded at P.J. ‘‘Jesse wants to talk to you.’’

‘‘I’m not hiding from him.’’ He shook his glass, rattling ice cubes. ‘‘Evan, I shouldn’t really be talking to you. My lawyer says.’’

Sinsa was giving me a sleepy look and sucking another olive through scarlet lips. P.J. scanned my face. He looked pained.

‘‘I’m sorry. Really,’’ he said.

One of the other bridesmaids, Weedwacker Hair, came up, gushing at Sinsa. ‘‘Your dress is
so
gorgeous. Is it Versace?’’

‘‘Kasja Benko,’’ Sinsa said.

From Weedwacker’s gasp, I guessed that meant it contained remnants of the True Cross. I turned away. Marc was going through the buffet line, but keeping an eye on me. Jesse finished the photo shoot. I asked the bartender for another glass of champagne and headed his way.

I held the glass out to him. ‘‘Cheers.’’

He just looked at me. ‘‘Is this an approved departure from your schedule?’’

‘‘I have two hours of wedding hilarity left. I’d like to enjoy it with you.’’

He turned to face me. ‘‘You know, I’m going with you to talk to the sheriffs at three. And I’m going to ride along when you meet Toby Price. Did you think I wouldn’t?’’

I hadn’t thought at all, I realized.

‘‘So let’s reset the radar to stop painting me as a hostile blip.’’ He looked past me. ‘‘Yup, bandits at twelve o’clock, here comes your wingman.’’

Marc strolled up with two heaped plates. He held one out to me. ‘‘This is some spread. Jesse, your family’s generous to let me barge in on the day like this.’’

‘‘Not a problem.’’

P.J. walked by.

‘‘Wait up,’’ Jesse said.

P.J. lifted his chin in greeting but kept going. Jesse exhaled, annoyed. I shrugged.

For a moment it looked as if Jesse was going to let it go. Then he frowned. ‘‘No, I should do this now, while he’s not attached to Sinsa like a tick.’’ He nodded at the plates Marc held. ‘‘Don’t eat all the hot wings.’’

He pushed toward the buffet table, where P.J. was munching on tiger prawns. Marc handed me a plate. His face was neutral. I pointed at him with a carrot stick.

‘‘I didn’t say a thing,’’ he said.

‘‘Good policy.’’

‘‘I’m no fool.’’

Spinning, I headed for empty seats at a table where an elderly couple was chatting with David’s friends. I sat and Marc sat next to me, being solicitously silent. I stabbed at crab claws with a salad fork.

The chair next to me scraped backward and the dress from beyond the laws of physics sat down. From the corner of my eye I saw Sinsa’s crow hair swing down off her shoulders.

She had an asparagus spear in her fingers. ‘‘They couldn’t be more different, could they?’’

My eyes bugged.

She nodded at the buffet table. ‘‘P.J. and Jesse.’’

They were talking. Sunlight refracted through the dolphin ice sculpture, shining on their faces.

‘‘Brothers often are different,’’ I said.

‘‘It’s funny. They look so much alike, have the same mannerisms. You must wish their situations were reversed.’’

I put down my fork. ‘‘No, I don’t. Not ever. Are you baiting me?’’

Marc shifted in his seat.

Sinsa reached past me, offering him her hand. ‘‘Hi. Sin Jimson.’’

My head was humming. Be good, I told myself. I lowered my voice so that David’s friends and the elderly couple across the table wouldn’t hear.

‘‘Are you picking a fight with me?’’

‘‘Tell me you don’t think about it. Taking P.J. for one night, just to remember what it was like,’’ she said.

My glue was loosening. ‘‘Fine, you want to do this here? Now? Go ahead, I’m up for it.’’

‘‘Meow. Did you miss your kitty treats this morning?’’

‘‘You took fifteen K from Toby Price, for payola. He wants me to pay it back to him with interest and penalties. And I’m not going to let you get away with it.’’

She flipped her hair again. She didn’t keep her voice down. ‘‘P.J. goes all night long, like a cordless drill. Tell me that’s not what you’re missing.’’

The entire table shut up and stared at her.

She bit into the asparagus. ‘‘Jesus, I’m teasing. He’s my handyman.’’

Somewhere behind me, the dance band started tuning their instruments. But even the New York Philharmonic couldn’t have overcome the dazed silence that hung across the table. Which was why I heard, suddenly and clearly, Jesse and P.J. arguing.

‘‘You didn’t back me. That’s the bottom line,’’ P.J. said.

‘‘This has nothing to do with whether I believed you or not,’’ Jesse said.

‘‘It has everything to do with that. Mom and Dad had to take out a loan to cover my bail. You could have done it out of the cash in your pocket, man.’’ P.J. put his plate down on the table. ‘‘But that’s no surprise. You care more about Evan than your own family.’’

I was on my feet.

Jesse pointed at him. ‘‘Don’t talk about Evan. She went to bat for you from the moment you turned up wasted in a bathtub, and what does she get for thanks? She gets thrown in jail. She gets Skip Hinkel jamming her up.’’

P.J. raised his hands. ‘‘You aren’t laying this on me. I have to do what my lawyer tells me.’’

He took a step away. Jesse swung out and blocked his path. I was heading toward them.

‘‘Get out of my way,’’ P.J. said.

‘‘Don’t be an asshole.’’

‘‘No,
you
don’t be an asshole.’’

P.J. turned away. Jesse grabbed his arm. I walked faster, but it unfolded in front of me with excruciating clarity.

P.J. tried to pull free. Jesse held on. P.J. seized Jesse’s tie. Jesse grabbed P.J.’s lapel. P.J. pulled Jesse’s hair.

Across the room, Patsy yelled, ‘‘Stop it.’’

Too late. Neither one of them would let go. Jesse chucked P.J. off his feet, and went flying along with him.

They hit the buffet table. Plates broke, a waitress shrieked, the table shuddered. The band stopped tuning up. The ice dolphins dove from their pedestal and shattered on the floor.

Patsy waded through the crowd, shouting, ‘‘Stop it.
Stop it
.’’

I stood six feet away. They lay tangled on the ground. P.J. was shouting and flailing. Jesse had him in a headlock.

Marc pushed past me. He hauled P.J. to his feet with a skill that told me he’d broken up fights before. He bear-hugged him away from Jesse, saying, ‘‘It’s over, man. It’s finished.’’

Caroline and David pushed through the edge of the crowd. She gasped at the crushed ice sculpture. P.J. thrashed in Marc’s arms.

His face was mottled. ‘‘He started it. He grabbed me.’’

Marc squeezed him. ‘‘No pride in this. You win nothing for fighting with him.’’

Patsy burst through the throng with Keith at her shoulder. She tottered on her stilettos, gaping at the mayhem.

‘‘What have you done?’’ She clawed at her suit. ‘‘What is wrong with you? Goddammit, Jesse.’’

The guests glared, watching Jesse work himself to a sitting position. Patsy turned and stumbled back through the crowd. David and Caroline stared at the ruined table. Caroline covered her mouth. She turned her head and David led her away.

Jesse leaned on his arms, closed his eyes, and hung his head. Marc was holding tight to P.J., calming him down, until finally P.J. sagged and held up his hands.

‘‘I’m cool. Let me go,’’ he said.

Marc waited a few seconds and released him. P.J. stalked off, slammed open the patio door, and stormed out to the veranda. After a moment Sinsa ran after him.

The crowd dribbled away in embarrassment. Jesse reached for the wheelchair and flipped it upright. Waiters and the maître d’ bustled in from the periphery to clean up. Jesse hoisted himself into the chair. A busboy with a broom and dustpan started sweeping up broken plates.

Jesse looked at him. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

He peered around and spotted David and Caroline. She was hunched under her father’s arm, shuddering with tears. Jesse took a breath and headed toward them.

Marc touched my elbow. ‘‘You all right?’’

‘‘Hell, no.’’

Outside, P.J. had sunk onto a bench near the pool. Sinsa sat by his side, cradling him. His hands sawed the air. He spit words, staccato and inaudible. Across the ballroom, Jesse was apologizing to Caroline and her parents. They couldn’t have looked more unforgiving.

From the bandstand, a guitarist picked at a chord. ‘‘All right. Let’s get this celebration into swing.’’ The keyboard began an arpeggio. ‘‘Come on, this time everybody hits the dance floor. We’re Avalon, and we’re here to party.’’

My heart hopped. I turned and looked at the stage. Merlin Ming stood at the microphone with a guitar in his hands.

What a big band. They were bigger than I’d thought. Drums and bass and keyboards, guitars, sax. Murph on the kit, and Merlin playing lead, counting off, one, two.

He turned and spotted me.

They hit the opening chord of the song, and swung straight into it. Merlin was strumming with vigor, catching all the chord changes, and his eyes were pinned on me.

‘‘Marc,’’ I said.

His face was severe. ‘‘Is that them?’’

I was backing up. ‘‘What the hell are they doing here?’’

His hand wrapped around mine. ‘‘Easy does it. We’re going to leave, but we’re not going to run.’’

My legs wanted to jackrabbit. Merlin cut his eyes away from me to his guitar, his fingers sliding up the neck. His round little shoulders hunched to the beat. His leisure suit was powder blue. He turned his face from the mike and mouthed something. Murphy, pounding on the drums, lifted his face and looked out across the crowd.

‘‘Now,’’ I said. ‘‘I want to get out of here.’’

Marc’s hand steadied me. ‘‘We’re cool. These guys just hit the first chorus. They’re not going to interrupt the song to come after you. So let’s just stroll on out of here.’’

People were taking to the dance floor. We wound our way among them, walking toward the door. The only thing that kept me from bolting was Marc’s hand, clasping mine.

I leaned toward him to be heard over the music. ‘‘I have to warn Jesse.’’

I scanned the crowd. Jesse was across the room near the door, by himself, looking drawn. Looking, I saw for the first time, like his father. Beaten down.

I tried to speed up and Marc held me back. Jesse caught sight of me. For a second he looked relieved. But he blinked, and his expression clouded. Without a word he pushed back, hard, out of the room into the hall. He turned and was gone.

I knew what he’d seen: me, on the dance floor, hand in hand with Marc Dupree.

Shit. Shit. I wrenched loose and pushed my way past dancing couples. The bridesmaids were doing a group squiggle in the center of the floor. I reached the far side of the room, near the bar. The song was hitting its final chorus.

Marc reached for me. ‘‘Maintain, Evan.’’

Sinsa brushed past me, going to the bar. ‘‘Gotta hand it to you. You’re alpha.’’

‘‘What?’’ I said.

‘‘You managed to set all the dogs against each other. You’re top bitch.’’

Up on the bandstand Avalon was swinging. Murphy rode the beat, right foot kicking the bass pedal, drumsticks hitting the cymbals, shaven skull bobbing in time. His gaze slid my way. Behind his drooping mustache, he wet his lips with his tongue.

I pulled Marc from the ballroom into the hall. The music dimmed.

‘‘Don’t run,’’ he said.

‘‘I have to find Jesse. And I have to talk to him, alone.’’

He was nowhere in sight. I headed for the entrance.

Marc jogged to keep up. ‘‘No can do. The Secret Service doesn’t work that way.’’

No Jesse in the atrium. In the ballroom Avalon’s song echoed to an end. There was a smattering of applause, and the band switched gears into a Bee Gees tune, too fast. I headed out the door into the sunshine. Across the drive, Jesse was slamming the door of the Mustang.

I walked past the urns with the orange bougainvillea. Marc shadowed me.

I stopped. ‘‘Wait. Here. Please.’’

He shook his head, frowning. The Mustang fired up.

I put a hand on his chest. ‘‘If the Mings come out, shoot their disco boots off. But let me talk to my boyfriend alone.’’

It sounded adolescent and insufficient.
Boyfriend.
I should have said
lover.
Meant to say,
my heart
. Knew the word I needed was
husband
.

Jesse backed out of the parking slot, turned the wheel, and saw me. I ran into the driveway in front of him and put both hands on the hood.

‘‘Wait.’’

The engine idled. It felt churlish and powerful, rattling through my hands and up my arms. Jesse’s face was exhausted and remote. The stereo was up high. Springsteen,
The Rising
. It sounded dark and harsh.

Jesse put down the window. ‘‘I don’t want to do this, Evan.’’

‘‘I’m getting in.’’

‘‘No. I’m done. I’ll have Lavonne go with you this afternoon.’’

‘‘The Mings are here. That’s them inside, butchering ‘Stayin’ Alive.’ ’’

He glanced at the clubhouse, and at Marc fuming outside the door.

‘‘They saw me,’’ I said. ‘‘They may have seen you, too.’’

His shoulders rose and fell. He looked at me. ‘‘I’m going.’’

‘‘I’m with you.’’

BOOK: Jericho Point

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