Suspicion of Malice (40 page)

"We're not sure yet. The records are a mess. I was
hoping that Roger kept duplicates at home?" Gail
didn't think so. Charlene's notes said that Roger had
taken some pride in the fact that he'd left his wife in the dark.

"The estate lawyer has everything,” Nikki said, "but I could ask him to look."

Gail scooted the chair closer. She knew that Nikki Cresswell disliked her in-laws, and hoped to use that fact. "There's one little problem. Roger's father says that your husband was taking kickbacks from suppli
ers. That would mean the company wouldn't owe
you anything—"

"What a liar. You want to know who was stealing?
Porter's brother."

"Duncan."

"Right. Roger suspected, but he couldn't prove it.
Dub is in charge of sales, and if anybody is getting kickbacks, it's him. Look at Dub's records—that's what you should do. Those people are all liars and
cheats."

Gail put her elbows on her knees. "You don't mean Elizabeth as well."

"That bitch. I could tell you some things." Nikki
pressed her lips together and her nostrils flared.
"She's doing it with one of the men in the shop.
Roger knew about it, that's why she stayed out of
his way. And she called
me
a cheap little slut. To
my
face!"

Gail kicked herself for not bringing her tape re
corder to sit slowly spinning in her pocket. "Who's the guy?"

"His name is Ted Stamos. Maybe you've met him, if you've been to the office, but he usually hangs out
on the production floor. He's younger than her, and
he's got a great body. I bet she pays him."

"No, I haven't met him yet." Gail remembered
what Bobby Gonzalez had said. "Didn't Ted Stamos
and Roger have some trouble?"

"Ted thinks he runs the company, just because he's worked there all his life. So did his father. You want to hear something weird? Roger told me that Ted has all his dead father's tools in this little workshop, and he goes in there at night and polishes them. He won't
let anybody else in. Roger needed the room for some
thing else, and Ted pushed him against a wall and
said if he touched the tools, he'd smash his face.
Roger wanted to fire him, but Porter said no. It's like, no, Roger, you can't tell
me
what to do." Nikki nodded slowly. "With men, it all comes down to control. Power and control, Gail. That's why Porter is cheating me out of Roger's shares. He will grab and grab
till they shovel the dirt on his grave. I mean, why
would he
bother?
He's about there already. Roger and
I went to see Porter in the hospital, and he was all
yellow, even his eyes. It was awful. I'm sorry, but
he's such a bastard."

"Wait," Gail said. "Porter is cheating you out of Roger's shares?"

"Yes! He says they have some kind of company
plan where wives don't get shares. I mean, isn't that illegal discrimination or something? Porter wants my shares so he can have fifty-one percent again. After
he gave Roger ten percent, he only had forty-one, right? He wanted the shares back so he'd have more
than Dub again, who's got forty-nine. See, Roger and
Dub were going to vote Porter out of office."

"And Porter didn't like that."

"He went crazy, are you kidding?" Nikki gripped
the arm of the chair and came in close, whispering.
"There was this family dinner at his and Claire's house, and Roger told him, and he turned purple!
He's screaming, 'You little fuck, you can't take my
company, I'm gonna kill you.' I thought he was
going to have a heart attack right there. I wish he
had."

"When? When was the dinner?"

"The day before Roger died. A Friday. That's the last thing Roger heard from his own father; that he
wished him dead. So hateful."

A tiny, dark woman in a white smock came in and
turned off the foot bath. The low-pitched humming
stopped. The woman, who appeared to be of Central American Indian blood, settled herself on a stool and
put a towel on her lap. "Foot, please." Nikki lifted
one, dripping, and the woman patted it dry, then began working away with a pumice stone.

"Don't worry. She doesn't speak English. You
know why I'm mad? It's not the money. It's how
they acted, all of them.. Liz and Dub laughing behind
my back—I heard them! And Claire—Lady Perfect. I
was never good enough for her. Porter called me a tramp. He threw me out of his office. He says I mar
ried Roger for his money. I did not. Roger was fun and we had a good time together. We were married
four
years!
We had a good relationship. Roger loved
me, and I loved him!"

The pedicurist finished.with one foot, wrapped cot
ton in and out the toes, then fastened on a paper
slipper. "Other foot, please." Nikki pulled the other one out of the water and put it on the towel on the woman's lap.

Gail hesitated, then threw away caution. "Nikki, are you involved with Jack Pascoe?"

Nikki stared at her foot, which the woman was
rubbing briskly with cream. "No."

"But you used to be. Didn't you?" Gail said qui
etly, "Okay, look. I won't lie to you. I'm trying to find out who killed your husband."

"Are you a cop?"

"No. I'm trying to help someone. The police think he did it. He's innocent, but I'm afraid he might wind
up in jail."

The green eyes turned. "Who?"

"His name's Bobby Gonzalez. He's a friend of Sean
Cresswell. You've probably met him."

"Oh, sure. And I heard that, about him being a suspect, but I never believed it. He's a sweet guy."

Gail said, "I need to find out who killed Roger.
Was it Jack?"

Nikki shook her head. "Jack was with me."

"You
were
at the party. What time did you get
there?"

"A little bit before eleven. I had to drive from West
Palm Beach. Jack sent me upstairs, and he stayed
down there with his friends till three o'clock in the morning, and I was waiting all that time . . . waiting
and waiting. Jack never cared about
me.
He wanted
to get back at Roger. He thought Roger was the one
who ruined his reputation, but Jack is a liar and a
thief. He tricked Roger out of a painting that his sis
ter did. It was worth a lot of money, and he stole it
for ten thousand dollars. Go ask him. He's down the street at the Pascoe Gallery. And while you're at it,
throw a brick through the window."

The pedicurist leaned over to take some polish out
of a rolling cart. She uncapped the bottle, keeping
her eyes resolutely on her work.

Gail was afraid that if she asked Nikki to meet her
later, the connection would be lost. She said, "Do you think Roger came that night looking for you?
Did he suspect you and Jack?"

Nikki stared down at her hands, examining one of
her glossy, white-tipped fingernails. "He knew. I
didn't tell Jack, but. . . Roger guessed. I called Roger
that night from my friend's house in West Palm and
we fought on the phone, and I said, Wow, Roger, if
you don't give a damn, then maybe I'll just go have
some fun at Jack's party. He called me some names.
He said he would kick Jack's butt. I guess
...
I
wanted Roger to come get me. He came, but I wasn't there yet. He left a message on my cell phone and I
didn't answer." Tears slid down Nikki's cheeks, and her mouth trembled. "I should have called back. I should have. I mean
...
he probably wanted to say he loved me. You know? Maybe."

The pedicurist nodded toward the box of tissues
on the ledge behind the chair, and Gail stood up and
pulled several out. "Here. I'm so sorry, Nikki."

"Is my mascara all over?"

"Not bad. Just a little. Look up." Gail dabbed at a
spot while Nikki focused on the ceiling.

Nikki said, "Find out who killed Roger. You find
out and let me know. They're such sorry bastards. Every one of them."

A minute later, Gail was sprinting for the legal pad in her car, trying to carry the words without spilling
them out of her memory.

After Karen was in bed, Gail read her a story. Karen's
eyes closed as the last page was turned, but Gail continued to hold her for a while. She lifted Karen's
hand and spread out their fingers together, right
hand to left. Karen had been premature, and her hands
had been tiny, like doll hands, but so soft and sweet
Gail had wanted to eat them.
Am I a stone? How can
I love anyone this much and be a stone?

She tucked the comforter around her daughter,
turned off the light, and went to see where Irene had gone to. The kitchen was dark except for a glow over the stove. She saw a small orange dot moving on the
back porch. A cigarette. Gail slid open the glass door. The tile was cool on her bare feet. Ceiling fans stirred
the warm air, and insects tapped on the screen.

"Well, hello, you." Irene exhaled smoke to the side,
then ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. "Don't lecture me. I'm down to three a day." She pulled her knees up, making room on the end of the chaise. "Sit
down, talk to me. How's my girl?"

Gail lowered her cheek onto Irene's knees. After a
while, her mother said, "What would you wish for,
my pet, if you could have anything?"

"To know what to do."

"About what? Anthony?"

"He'll ask me to marry him. As soon as he calms
down, he will. Except he won't
ask.
He'll have every
thing all worked out in advance. We'll have a small,
private ceremony and move into an apartment till
we found a house. Maybe something near the Pedrosas so we can go over there for dinner every other night. There will be a live-in maid and someone to watch the baby while I work, but of course my career is optional."

"Gail." Her mother's low laugh mixed with the
night sounds coming through the screen.

"What if he only wants me because of the baby?"

"Do you really think that's the reason?"

"I don't know. He said the child changes every
thing. He said that, but there was nothing about
us.
Nothing about what we went through. Oh, forget
that, it's in the past. He can compartmentalize any
thing. There was nothing about . . . love. Excuse me for being so sentimental." Gail tried to laugh, but her
throat was too tight.

"You still love him."

"I don't want to. Oh, God, I swear I don't." Gail
closed her eyes. "I've never been so afraid in my
life."

Irene stroked her hair. "Can I make a confession?
Your father and I weren't as happy as I let on. How
we fought. I nagged Ed for not being more successful. He drank way too much, and I thought of leaving him, but my parents swore they'd cut me off if I did.
We made each other miserable, and after he died,
the funny thing is, no one else ever measured up. I see now I shouldn't have spared you. Marriage isn't
painless. No, it's agony, but you grow, and you learn, and eventually, if you're lucky and you stick with it,
you have something very special. We were getting to that place, Ed and I. And then . . . well. People
give up too soon these days. You go on to the next
person, and it's no better, because your old self
comes right along with you."

Gail felt a tap on her shoulder. Her mother said,
"I found out what happened to Margaret Cresswell.
You want to listen, or are you going to soak my
knees all night?"

She sat up and blew her nose on Irene's cocktail
napkin. "Tell me."

"This is capital-R rumor, you understand. Talk
about favors. You owe me. I had to promise four
seats to
The Nutcracker."

Irene resettled herself on the chaise and took a long
sip of her drink. "I thought that if Claire had gone
to Cushman, so had Maggie, and I was right. I know
the secretary, Enid Lance, from the Garden Club.
She's been at Cushman forever. She says that a week
or so after Maggie dropped out of school, Claire
came into the office and told the headmistress that
the rumors weren't true. Maggie had
not
tried to kill herself, she'd had a nervous breakdown. And no, she was
not
expecting. Enid says Claire wanted to squash the gossip. What gossip? Maggie wasn't one of the
popular girls, and when she left, they hardly noticed."