Suspicion of Guilt (47 page)

She had to smile. "Or perhaps, Eric, this was when our intruder was lifting the sliding glass door off the tracks, and Althea was upstairs changing into her kimono."

"No, we have to ditch that theory. What about the alarm? The intruder must have had a key. There was no forced entry. The alarm didn't go off. And he didn't simply walk through an open door. So who had a key? Rosa Portales." He laughed, then suddenly his smile faded. "Gail, do you remember, when we were at Rosa's, what she said? Rudy and Monica were upstairs going through their stepmother's papers. Did Rosa say she found them there, or did she let them in?"

Over the bay hung a long, low cloud, and rain fell in the distance like a swirl of gray chiffon. Gail watched it for a minute, knowing that soon it would be overhead. Already fat drops were dotting the terrace.

She said, "Rosa found them upstairs."

"Maybe Rosa left the front door unlocked."

"Maybe."

"You sure it wasn't Patrick? He had a key."

"Ha-ha. Yes, I'm sure."

"What about Sanford Ehringer? He could have sent his bodyguard over."

"No. Ehringer told me he and Althea used to be lovers. He wouldn't have let anything happen to her."

"Yeah? You two must be pretty tight."

"He isn't the ogre I once thought, no."

Eric walked back along the perimeter of the pool, joining her under the canvas awning. His hair was darker blond on top, dampened by the rain. He said, "Where was Rudy Tillett on Monday morning, when Larry was attacked?"

Gail shook her head.

"We could find out easily enough," Eric said.

The rain began to patter on the canvas awning. The bay was empty, only a sportfisher half a mile out. A pelican on the seawall lifted its wings then flapped away.

"Let's go," she said.

Running, they went back around the corner of the house. Rain whispered in the trees, drizzling through in places.

Eric said, "It's too late to get anything else done this morning. What are you doing later?"

"Later when?"

"After work. We could go over to the Beach. Rudy Tillett runs his catering and party business out of a building on Fifth Street." The rain was falling harder now, and Eric swung his jacket over their heads.

As they hurried along the driveway more questions formed in Gail's mind. Larry hadn't wanted the firm to take the forgery case. He had said they shouldn't alienate prominent members of society. Who was he really afraid of, and why?

Eric pushed open the gate, holding his jacket over Gail while she took her car keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door. She got in.

"I can't do anything tonight," she said. "I have a deposition in the morning to prepare for."

He leaned closer, the jacket over his head, rain making a racket on the roof. "You want me to talk to Rudy? He doesn't know me." His hair was stuck to his forehead. "I could get friendly with his secretary, if he has one." He grinned. "Unless his secretary's a guy, then I don't know."

"No. Don't do anything yet," Gail said. "Tomorrow. We'll talk about it then."

She closed her door, waving through the window.

The graveside services for Irving Adler were held at 2:00 p.m.
at Menorah Gardens, a cemetery at the western edge of development one county to the north. The family sat under a green canopy whose scalloped edges flapped in the wind. Past the trees, four lanes of U.S. 27, and a drainage canal, the Everglades extended for miles to the west. Clouds were moving like a lid being slowly pulled across the earth, but for now the rain had stopped.

Irene and Gail stood among the crowd of fifty or so, holding hands. When it was over, Irene went to speak to Adler's family. Gail had noticed Jessica Simms earlier, but the woman had only looked icily through her big round sunglasses, pretending not to see her. Now Irene was picking her way across the grass. Her red hair stood out in the background of dull gray suits and dark dresses.

"Are you okay?" Gail asked.

"Oh, yes. We all knew Irving wouldn't be with us much longer. This isn't like Althea's funeral. No. I cried buckets over Althea."

They made their way toward where the cars were parked. The tops of the trees swayed and rustled.

"Mother, I think Anthony and I may get married."

Irene blinked. "When?"

"I don't know when," Gail said. "I mentioned it to him, and he said he wouldn't rule it out."

"Only a lawyer would give that kind of answer," Irene said. "Do you love him? No, that's a dumb question. Obviously you're ga-ga over this man. I'm not going to offer any advice."

"I don't want advice, Mother," Gail said. "I'm just letting you know. And be nice to him."

"Nice? When have I not been nice?" Irene tilted her head up to look directly at Gail. Her blue eyeshadow was the same shade as her dress. "He'd better take good care of you, that's all I have to say about it." She hugged Gail's arm. "Or else. What does Karen think?"

"We'll have to work up to that. There are a lot of things we still have to resolve."

"Well. If he makes you happy."

"Happy? Yes. And miserable." Gail laughed. "But I'd be more so without him."

"Now, listen," Irene said. "Don't mention marriage to him again. If he's serious about you, he'll bring it up. Men are another species, darling. Their minds don't work the same as ours. It might ruffle his pride if you ask him directly."

"I'll certainly keep that in mind, Mother."

They came out on a narrow asphalt road bordered with low hedges. Already mourners were getting into their cars, doors slamming, moving slowly toward the gated exit.

Gail said, "I spoke to Sanford Ehringer on Tuesday about the case I have for Patrick. I went to his house by the river. I'd been there before, as a kid. Do you remember taking me?"

"It's been years! Were you with me?"

"I know that my grandfather brought me. Ehringer says John Strickland was a friend of his. He also told me that your grandfather Benjamin was one of the founders of the Easton Charitable Trust. Is that true?"

"Grandpa Benny? I didn't know that"

"Really you didn't?" A gust of wind blew Gail's hair across her face, and she shook it back.

"No. I would have told you, Gail. Is Sanford certain? Well, I guess he'd know." Irene's skirt fluttered. "Now, why on earth didn't anybody in the family mention that Grandpa was a founder of Easton? Maybe they did, and I forgot."

It was more likely, Gail decided, that the family hadn't wanted Irene Strickland Connor to know about Grandpa Benny's ignominious departure from the board of the Easton Tmst after getting caught with the mayor's wife.

"What do you remember about him?" Gail asked.

Irene smiled. "He was a wonderful man, very kind and funny. He used to take all his grandchildren rowing on Biscayne Bay, and we'd play like we were pirates. I swear, he could catch a fish on a safety pin. He passed away when I was just a girl."

Gail took her mother's arm and they began to walk. "I didn't know I'd missed so much. Mother, could you tell me about my grandfather John sometime? I want to hear the real story. Never mind the version I could read at the Historical Museum. Sanford Ehringer says he was a gambler."

"Oh, he drove Momma batty. Card parties, coming home at all hours. He loved the casinos, till they went out of business, then he'd fly down to Havana for the weekend. Momma hated it, but she went along to keep Daddy out of trouble. These days she would have divorced him, but fifty years ago husbands and wives didn't do that."

Fingers pressed to her face, Irene laughed. "Oh, I remember one time this loo-o-ong black Chrysler brought him home just before dawn. I was about Karen's age, and I saw it through my bedroom window. Daddy got out, drunk as a skunk, and they had to help him to the door. He couldn't find his keys so I sneaked downstairs and let him in. There were men in tuxedos inside the car, and a black-haired woman in a sparkly dress. I just knew they were gangsters! But Daddy said no. I still wonder. He had to bring Momma three dozen red roses before she would let him back in their bedroom."

"You never told me this story."

"I did, too. I must have. You didn't pay attention."

Gail unlocked the passenger side door and opened it. "It's forty minutes back to Miami. Come on. I want to hear more of this."

It didn't occur to Gail until later, after she had dropped her mother off at home, that she had forgotten to mention that soon she would be voted in as a partner of Hartwell Black and Robineau.

Chapter Thirty-One

Hang on a second." Gail put her palm over the phone and said, "Go back to bed, sweetie. It's late."

Karen frowned from the door of the kitchen. "You said you would tuck me in half an hour ago." Her hair was tangled and she squinted in the light.

"It was ten minutes ago, and I'm still on the phone."

"With
him
.”

Gail gave her a hard look. "Yes. I am speaking with Anthony about Larry Black. This is very important. I will be there in a minute." When Karen had gone, Gail said, "Did you hear any of that? Mom is being mean."

"You should go. I'll see you tomorrow." Anthony would go with her to speak to Dee-Dee Black. "And Gail—" His voice became more emphatic. "Don't talk to Rudy Tillett, not by phone, not in person. Not you and not Eric Ramsay."

"Of course not."

"Gail, I mean it. Your physical safety is one of my concerns, but now I have to think about Larry Black as well, his possible involvement, even unwittingly, in criminal activities—"

"Anthony, I won't."

She heard him exhale. "I worry about you."

"And I love you for worrying." She kissed him good-bye over the phone and hung up. She had not mentioned that she had actually gone onto Althea Tillett's property—Anthony would not have understood—but she had relayed what she and Eric had talked about.

The latest news in the office was that Larry had come out of his coma. Still groggy from pain medication, but conscious. Anthony had called Dee-Dee; they would meet with her before the police could question Larry about the attack.

Gail took one more sip of coffee, looked for a moment at the stack of papers on her kitchen table, then went to say good night to Karen. She pushed open the door. Karen was sprawled across the bed with her mouth open, snoring softly.

Returning to the living room, she heard a light knock on the front door. She looked through the blinds. Eric Ramsay stood there, dressed in jeans, T-shirt, denim jacket, and running shoes with reflective stripes. She unlocked the door. "Eric?"

His face was alive with excitement. "I talked to Rudy."

"You what?"

He glanced past her into the house. "It's kind of late. Is Karen asleep?"

"Yes. Come in." She closed the door. "Eric, what have you done?"

Standing in the middle of the living room, Eric unsnapped the top pocket of his denim jacket and took out a small, leather-covered notebook. "Come here, look at this. It's Rudy's address book. I stole it from his office."

She walked over. His green eyes were on her face. They seemed hollow. The strangeness of this came to her a split second before she saw the blur of his arm. Then she dropped in a black, gagging spin.

Slowly she became aware of a man's voice. Carpet under her cheek. A knee in her back. She couldn't breathe. The voice came closer, whispering. "Shhh. Gail, I'm sorry I had to do that. Can you hear me? Hey."

She saw the ivory-colored upholstery of the sofa, a flexed running shoe. Now Eric's face was over her, blond hair hanging around his forehead. He spoke. "Be quiet and listen—"

She jerked, but his hand was over her mouth. Her muffled scream tore at her throat.

"Listen to me." He looked toward the bedrooms, then back. "We're going to go somewhere, the three of us. Do what I tell you, and everything will be okay. Tell Karen we have to go to a client's house, and his kids have video games she can play.”

Gail's chest was burning, heaving, air not coming fast enough. Her eyes watered.

Eric leaned closer. "Gail. I won't hurt you unless you make me. Okay? Speak to me."

She let out a long, low moan.

"All right. We're going to get up. Be quiet or I'll hit you again. Gail?" When she nodded, he slowly lifted his hand. "I'm going to borrow you for a few hours, then you can go." She sobbed. "I mean it. Shut up. If you give me any trouble, I'll hurt you, but I'll hurt Karen first" He pulled her up.

Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird. She whispered, "Oh, God. Eric, don't. Why are you doing this? What do you want? Tell me—"

He hit her again, holding her up when she collapsed. "Don't you listen? Jesus. Nothing's going to happen. Are you going to make me do this again?" He jerked her head up by her hair. "Gail?"

"No." Her voice was raspy.

"Good. Calm down. And don't scare Karen." He straightened her hair and gave her a little shove toward the hall.

Eric told Gail to drive her own car. His Lexus was not in her driveway. She hadn't noticed that before. Eric sat in the backseat with Karen and did tricks with quarters, making them disappear, then reappear behind his ear. He dropped one into Karen's alligator bag before she could move it away.

Karen wanted to sit up front and Eric said, "Gail, you better tell her to stay put. She could get hurt moving around in a car." Gail spoke to her sharply. In the rearview mirror Karen's eyes met hers from under the brim of her Hurricanes hat. It was not the defiant expression she usually put on when yelled at. She shrank into the seat and said nothing more.

The windshield wipers hissed across the glass, clearing away red and white dots of light. Gail thought of swerving into a tree. She searched traffic for a police car. Tears ran down her face, and she wiped them off with her hand. She heard Eric explain to Karen that the client was a good friend of her mother's, and he was sick, and Gail was worried. A short visit, Eric said, then they could go home.

Gail's mind churned. Eric was in this with Rudy. With Howard Odell. Frankie. Nothing made sense.

He told her to take the causeway toward Miami Beach, then mm left at Palm Island. At the gated entrance he aimed a black box and the striped mechanical gate went up. They passed a dark playground behind a chain link fence. On narrow lots, the houses hid behind walls or high shrubbery, and across the bay the buildings of downtown Miami were lost in cloudy mist.