Devil's Food (52 page)

“Not for me,” Emily said. She didn’t want any wine, either. Carrot juice would do.

Ross tried to smile. “You’re becoming a real Californian.”

To his surprise, Emily kissed him. “I have so much to tell you, Ross. You won’t believe it.”

“Let me guess. You’ve agreed to star in Philippa’s next picture. Naked.”

“No! Those days are over.” She kissed him again. Emily looked so happy; was he finally going to get some good news? “We’re
pregnant, darling.”

Words, thought, fled. Ross slowly apprehended what his wife had just said: They were together again, for life. “You’re right,”
he whispered, voice breaking, “I don’t believe it.”

“I just found out today. Ross, I’m so excited I can hardly sit down.”

He swallowed his martini whole. The two of them kissed each other like two mooning adolescents. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve done the test three times already. But we can go upstairs and run it again if you want to see for yourself.”

“No, no. That’s incredible, Emily. I’m flabbergasted. I’m thrilled. I—”he ran out of words. “Thank you so much.”

“That’s not all the news.” Emily paused until the waiter had taken their order and left. “The afternoon I left Boston, I learned
a few things about my past. Phil and I were born in a monastery.”

Ross’s brain stalled once again. “What? Where’d you hear this?”

“The monk who delivered us told me. I know it sounds crazy, Ross, but it’s true. Mother’s friend took her to the monastery.
He was an old friend of Brother Augustine.”

“Who’s Augustine? Who’s the friend? How’d you come in contact with him? I’m totally confused. Please start at the beginning.”

“I learned all of this from Klepp at Diavolina,” Emily began.

Christ! Why did that restaurant keep resurfacing like a dead fish? Ross’s head began to throb ever so slightly. “He called
you?” he asked politely.

“No. I visited him. Remember that weird fan mail that Philippa had been getting lately? I tracked it down to a postbox at
South Station. From there I got an address in the North End. The name next to the doorbell said Leo Cullen. That’s the missing
chef at Diavolina. So I visited Klepp and asked if he knew anything about Charles Moody. That was the name on all the fan
mail. He told me that Charles Moody was actually Brother Augustine, the monk who delivered mushrooms to the restaurant on
Mondays and Thursdays. Follow me?”

“Perfectly,” Ross lied.

“I drove out to the monastery in Hale.”

Hale hell: The pounding in Ross’s temples cranked up a notch. “Sounds familiar.”

“It should, I guess. Dana had built a chapel there several years ago. Anyway, I had a little chat with Brother Augustine.
He told me that Leo and my mother had turned up one night, both half dead. She was in labor and Leo had just been in a fight.”

“With whom?”

“My father, it seems. Augustine delivered us. Mother died the next day. Uncle Jasper came and took us to New York. Leo went
back to Boston. He never got in touch with us after that. But he’s looking for us now.”

Ross passed a hand over his temple, as if to prevent his reason from vaporizing. “Why?”

“He thought we were in danger. He was right, as it turned out. Philippa got shot.”

“How’d he know?”

“That’s a mystery. When Leo finds us, he can explain everything.”

“Have you told the police?”

“No. I’m sure Leo would have told them himself if he thought it would have helped. And I think I’ve caused Ward enough trouble
with the police already. The last thing she needs is another
investigation at her restaurant. I wanted to wait until Uncle Jasper got back from India before making a big deal of this.”

“But this Leo fellow might know who tried to kill your sister.”

“If he does, hell eventually show up and they’ll find her.”

Ross shakily kissed his pregnant wife’s hand. “That s quite a story, darling.”

“It doesn’t end there. After I got done at the monastery, I drove back and saw Zoltan, the maître d’ at Diavolina. He knew
Leo well. He also knew my mother. They were both actors. Zoltan said that she had an affair with a man who abandoned her once
she became pregnant. Leo and he had that fight that nearly killed them both.”

“You’re making this up, Emily.”

“No I’m not! Do you want to hear the rest of it or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Zoltan wasn’t the only person at Diavolina involved in this. There was the drunken dishwasher Slavomir Dubrinsky. About five
days after I started working there, he drowned in the Fenway. Zoltan tells me that Slavomir recognized me the minute I walked
into the kitchen.”

For a second Ross’s system shut down. “What was his name?”

“Slavomir Dubrinsky. He was a sculptor before he was a dishwasher. Leo and he had been in prison together. When Slavomir got
out, my father commissioned him to make a statue of Mother. After she died, Slavomir made another one for Leo. I’d really
be interested in seeing that someday.”

Ross shut his eyes; the table had just levitated an inch from the floor. “What was your father’s name?”

“Augustine won’t tell. Zoltan doesn’t know. Slavomir’s dead and Leo’s gone.” Emily shrugged. “What does it matter? He didn’t
want me anyway.”

Ross sat lifeless as the sculpture in Joe Pola’s bedroom. Then, slowly as a wounded animal, he placed a hand over Emily’s.
“Forgive me, sweetheart. All this news at once is just overwhelming.”

I
must see Dagmar or I’ll lose my mind. Is that statue in Joe’s bedroom really of Emily’s mother? Yes, of course it is. I should
have figured that out the moment I saw it: same nose, mouth, breasts.... Paranoid little cuckold that I am, I thought the
statue was of Emily. I even thought that she had been one of Joe’s mistresses. Fool!

The story confuses me. Like all tales of adultery, it’s a dark confection, devil’s food. Joe gets Emily’s mother pregnant
and bails out, but not before capturing her in marble. Leo tracks Joe down and they nearly beat each other to death. Why were
the twins born in a monastery, for God’s sake? Was the mother trying to hide them from someone? She might have survived had
she delivered them in a hospital. And what’s this about Brother Augustine writing letters to Philippa, signing them Charles
Moody? He must know so much more than he’s letting on; priests always do. Then Joe builds that chapel for him: either a bribe
or a payoff.

Poor Dagmar. I keep seeing her hard eyes as she says she’s
barely able to look at that statue without wishing she had killed the woman. Just wait until she hears that my wife is Joe
s illegitimate daughter! Wait a moment: Does she know that already? Does she know everything? Is she drawing me into some
sort of trap? Dagmar is so cunning, so much smarter than I. Why invite me to that apartment, lead me to that statue in the
bedroom? She didn’t bat an eyelash when I confessed about Guy Witten. And her advice was ruthless:
Take better aim next time.
God, I must think about this some more. I’ve known her for such a short time. Why did Dagmar pick me to build a gallery for
her? There are plenty of other architects in town. Our friendship grew so fast, almost like a cancer. Wasn’t she the one calling
me most of the time? And I was desperate to talk to someone. Now I’ve handed her my balls on a silver platter. I wonder what
she’s going to do with them.

Odd that her first request was to meet Emily. The object of my affection, she called her. Well, that’s not going to happen
until I get to the bottom of this mess; there are too many bodies, dead and alive, floating in this river. I don’t completely
believe anybody’s story anymore. Ever since Guy Witten, I’ve been unbalanced, suspicious of every other name in the phone
book. Perhaps Dagmar’s ignorant of this whole affair; Joe may have been just a few points smarter than his wife. And perhaps
not. If only Dana were here to tell me what Joe was really like! But he’s gone, Joe’s gone, and I’m not taking any chances
with Dagmar. Emily is expecting a child. We’re going to start over again and make up for lost time. There’s a killer loose
out there. Should I tell my wife about Joe Pola? I don’t think so; not yet. I’ll let her digest the first gush of surprises
before hitting her with her father’s identity. She’s got enough on her mind with her sister and our baby.

Where, who, the hell is Leo?

Eventually Philippa opened her eyes and saw Emily over by the window reading a magazine. The
Wall Street Journal
hid whoever
was seated in the other chair. Bouquets crammed the room, not quite camouflaging an aroma of disinfectant and instant chicken
gravy. Philippa turned her head, saw IV tubes, and realized that she had been involved in something a little more drastic
than a nose job. “Say Em,” she said. “Would you mind bringing over a mirror?”

Her sister rushed to the bed. “You’re awake! How do you feel, honey?”

“Like shit.” The man behind the newspaper turned out to be Ross. “Where am I?”

“In Malibu. You’ve been shot. Do you remember?”

Philippa closed her eyes. “How bad?”

“You’ve got three belly buttons. You’ll be all right.”

“How’s my face?”

“Looks great. Really. Your bruises have all gone away.”

“Where’s Simon?”

“He comes by twice a day, praying for you to wake up. You’re a very hot ticket now.”

“How’s
Choke Hold?
”

“It’s number one. That’s worth waking up for, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.” Philippa smiled, aware that she had nearly died; Ross would never have come to her bedside otherwise. “How long
have I been out?”

“Three days.”

The policeman on the case walked in. “Up and about, I see? My name is Detective Hobson.”

Philippa appraised the attractive man at her bedside. “So who shot me, darling?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.”

“You don’t know? Son of a bitch!”

“Easy, Phil,” Emily said, patting her hand. “There weren’t many clues besides bullets.”

“Could you describe the shooting, Miss Banks?” the policeman asked. “Any detail would be helpful.”

Philippa sighed, but not for long, because that hurt. Instead she shut her eyes. “I was reading a road map. My friend was
changing a flat tire. Someone pulled up behind us, to help, I thought. A woman.”

“What was she driving?”

“A white Mercedes.”

“Are you sure? It wasn’t a white truck?”

Ross glanced quietly up from his newspaper as Philippa’s face turned pewter. “It was a white Mercedes,” she repeated.

“What did the woman do?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t generally pay much attention to women. I thought she was chatting with Franco. Next thing I know, she’s
leaning over the window with a gun.”

“Describe her.”

“She was about medium size. Her face was all covered up. She wore a wide straw hat with an attached scarf so it wouldn’t blow
away. Big, dark sunglasses and atrocious orange lipstick. Middle-aged, I think. She had a thin mouth. And a white linen blouse
of no particular distinction.”

“Did you see the gun?” Hobson asked after a pause.

“I guess so,” Philippa replied. “But a gun’s a gun. I could describe her ring a little better. It was a square-cut emerald
surrounded by yellow diamonds. Set in platinum. Nice hunk of change.”

Ross put down his newspaper. He remembered Dana coming into his office years ago with a ring exactly like that, whining that
in his hand was the equivalent of a thirty-foot sloop. He would have had the boat had Ardith not discovered a bra in the glove
compartment of his Jaguar a week before their anniversary.

“Any other unusual items?” the policeman asked, marveling that a woman staring death in the face would remember little but
her assailant’s baubles. “Earrings? Brooches?”

“No. But her hands were shaking. Obviously she was a terrible shot.” Suddenly Philippa realized that no one had mentioned
the man who had last been seen changing her tires. “My God! Did she kill Franco?”

“No. He got beaned with a crowbar. He’s all right.”

Philippa frowned. Where the hell was he, then? “I see.”

As the detective began asking Philippa for possible suspects, Ross slipped into the hallway and found a phone. “Hi Marj,”
he said, praising God for the greatest miracle in all creation, a steadfast female. “How’s everything?”

“Fine.” She ran down a long list of business events, finally saying, “Dagmar’s throwing a party tonight at her apartment.
Starts at eight.”

Her secret nude apartment? “What’s the occasion?”

“Maybe it’s her ninetieth birthday. Think you’ll be back?”

“Tell her I’ll be there. But late.” Ross nodded across the hallway to Detective Hobson, who was leaving Philippa’s room in
pursuit of a suspect wearing a ho-hum linen blouse and spectacular jewelry. “Say, do you think Ardith’s back from Europe yet?
I was thinking I should stop in and see her.”

“Funny you should mention it. She came by late yesterday with a beefcake named Rex. They went into Dana’s office and carted
away that bust.”