“No, I don't know.”
“I came here because I needed to find solid ground, a place to regroup, to think things through. And ⦠because of you. I thought you could help.”
“I want to help, David.”
“I know.” He smiled, reached for her hand. “But it's not that simple. If I talk about it, if I tell you what's going on, it will make it
real.
I'd have to stare it square in the face. I'm terrified it would kill me.”
That stopped her. “What will? I'm in the dark here, David. Can't you at least give me some idea?”
“God,” he said, wiping a hand across his eyes. He tried to change gears. He gave her a smile that never quite made it. “I'm a mess. So what else is new?” He laughed, tried to make a joke out of it.
She wasn't buying. “Anything I can do, David.
Anything.
Just name it.”
“Thanks. I love you, babe. Always have. Always will.” He fidgeted with his ring, then began to pull against his gold watchband. He finally took off the watch, rubbed his wrist.
Jane couldn't help but notice. “David? What happened there?” His wrist was bright red, with narrow raw welts.
“Nothing,” he said, quickly slipping the watch back on. “The band's too tight.”
“No, it's not.”
“Okay, but it has some sharp points on it. It's a piece of designer crap, never should have bought it, but it's the only one I have.”
He finished the booze in the flask, then slipped it into his jacket
pocket. “Look, I better get home. Joanna called me hours ago. Wanted to know where I was and when I was getting back.” He smirked. “Get this. My sister's started smoking again. Ever since I left this morning, she's been in the midst of a flat-out nicotine fit. She didn't want to leave the apartment, so she went across the hall and knocked on her neighbor's door. Faye something or other. Nice old lady. Anyway, Joanna invited her back because the woman smokes. They've been sitting in her living room, puffing away most of the day. I guess I'm glad she found a friend in the building. Takes some of the pressure off me.” He got up, but he was so unsteady, he nearly fell back down on the stool.
“I'll drive you home.”
“No, you won't.”
“You're way past the legal limit, David. Don't make me get rough with you.” She put up her fists.
He laughed. “You think you can take me?”
“No, but I've got a couple of bartenders upstairs who do whatever I tell them.”
He cringed. “The Gym Boys. I saw them on my way in.”
“Give me your car keys.”
“Jane, I
need
my car.”
“Fine. I'll drive you back here in the morning. You can get it then.”
“But I need it tonight.”
“No way, David. The keys.” She held out her hand.
After unsuccessfully trying to stare her down, he finally gave in. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled them out and pushed them across the table. “There.”
As they walked out of the kitchen, he said, “Hey, you know, it might be okay if those Gym Boys mauled me just a little.”
“Bag it,” said Jane. “You're going home to bed.”
W
hen it came to the dark, Joanna was a coward. She couldn't sleep in a room without a night-light. As she lay on the uncomfortably hard mattress in the rooster bedroom, the red seven-watt bulb inside an opaque plastic likeness of Rocky the Rooster from the movie
Chicken Run
gave off barely enough light for her to see her hand in front of her face. She had the odd sense that she and Rocky were part of an old Victorian seance. Any minute she would begin to hear faint knocking sounds, tables would jump and move all on their own. Right then and there she decided that in the morning, she would look around for a different night-light, one that was brighter and didn't suffuse the room with such a sense of eerie otherworldliness.
Tucking the covers up under her chin, she tried to remember a time when she'd slept without a light in the room, when darkness felt restful and gentle. It was certainly before she'd met Gordon. She should have trusted her instincts all those years ago. God help her if she didn't trust them now.
Joanna had spent the afternoon reading the script Freddy had sent her. He was right. It was pure gold. She would kill to play the part. She couldn't believe he'd come through for her like this, offering her a part at a point in her life when she was literally scared to death to
refuse. The timing seemed almost too incredible, but as usual, Joanna didn't want to exert the effort to analyze it.
After her evening of nonstop smoking, her lungs ached, but she'd been too keyed up to stop. She liked Faye, enjoyed her company, and was thinking that she'd take her up on her offer to let her work on her hair tomorrow. Maybe even have her nails done. Cordelia was expecting her at the theater, but with Gordon out there lurking in every shadow, she figured she could beg off one more day without the roof caving in. That would give her the weekend to make a firm decision about the movie.
For the first time today, Joanna closed her eyes but flipped them back up when she heard a rustling sound near the door. She felt momentarily suspended, searching the darkness for the cause of the noise.
An indistinct form moved into the doorway.
She sat up, held her breath. “David?”
“Hi-ho.”
“Are you trying to give me a coronary?” She wasn't sure, but it looked like he was in his underwear and a T-shirt. “I can hardly see you.”
“Really? Bad night vision. I can see you perfectly. Comes from eating your carrots.”
“Haven't you gone to bed yet? It's after three.”
“I'm cold.”
“There are a couple extra blankets in my closet.” She pointed.
“Thanks.” But he didn't move.
“Aren't you going to get one?”
“Yes.” He walked over to the empty side of the king-size bed and sat down on the edge.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“It's not clear to me.”
“You're drunk.”
“Probably.” He stretched out, snapping a pillow behind his head.
When Joanna looked over at him, she saw that he was gripping a gun in his right hand. The hand was resting on his stomach.
Edging away from him, she said, “Maybe I'll go sleep in the living room.”
“Whatever.”
She hesitated. “David?”
“Hmm?”
“You're scaring me.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.” She wasn't sure she should bring up the gun. She'd never seen him like this before.
“Maybe I should fix us some food,” he said, turning on his side to face her. The gun dangled from his hand.
“No. Really. I'm not hungry.”
“Okay.” He closed his eyes.
“Are you planning to stay here?”
“Yup. Kinda tired.”
She was at a total loss. She waited until his breath evened out and she was pretty sure he was asleep, then gently lifted the gun from his hand. He stirred but didn't wake. She eased off the bed and took the gun into the kitchen, where she flipped on the light under the microwave so that she could examine it. It felt too light to be real. That's when she realized she'd seen it before in the Americana bedroom. She pulled the trigger. An American flag flew out.
Joanna sat down at the table, tapped a cigarette out of the pack of Chesterfields lying amid the dirty dishes, and snapped a match to the tip. The question was: Did David know it wasn't a real gun? He was so sleepy, she couldn't be sure. But if he thought it was real, what was he doing with it? Why had he come into her room with it in his hand? It didn't seem likely that she'd get much sleep tonight with a potential lunatic in the loft.
Taking a deep hit off the cigarette, she wondered why she always had such stellar luck when it came to men. Boyfriend, business associate, brother. It didn't matter. “Maybe it's time for the convent,” she whispered, leaning back in her chair and blowing smoke into the darkness. She imagined that there were worse fates. Not that she could think of any.
“H
ow come you were up and out so early?” asked Cordelia. She was standing in the kitchen, her generous hip resting against the granite countertop, waiting for her Toaster Strudel to pop up. Hattie was already at preschool, and Cecily was off having breakfast with her mom.
Jane sat at the kitchen table, watching Cordelia's morning nutritional ritual with a jaundiced eye. “I can't believe you still eat that crap.”
“If
I
eat it, it's got to be the breakfast of champions, yes? And in case you didn't notice, I traded up. I'm no longer eating Pop-Tarts. These are much better.”
Cordelia's eating habits ran from childish to avant-garde gourmet. Jane admired the culinary adventurer part of her nature but couldn't believe some of the choices she made. Shrugging, she went back to her oatmeal. “To answer your question, I was out renting a car. I'm driving back to Eagle Ridge this morning.”
Cordelia's eyebrows shot upward just as the strudel did. “Why the rental car?”
“Because Nolan thinks my Mini would be too conspicuous. I need to do a little more checking around today.” She leaned down and gave Mouse's head a scratch, then glanced at his dog bowl and saw that one of the cats was finishing up the last of the kibble.
“Didn't you do enough yesterday?” asked Cordelia. “You sure got an earful from that cop.”
After returning to the loft last night, Cordelia had insisted on hearing every last detail that Jane and Nolan had unearthed.
“The thing is, we never actually saw Luberman. He wasn't in his office. We drove out to his cabin. His truck was there, but he must have been inside. I want to get a look at him, Cordelia. Meet him, if I can.”
Cordelia drummed her long red nails on the countertop. “I suppose my Hummer would be too conspicuous, too, huh?”
“Well,
yeah.
Might as well drive a tank down the center of town.” She bit off one of the tips of the Toaster Strudel. “I have to admit, Janey, you've wounded me to the core.”
“I have?”
“Now that you've got Nolan in your life, I'm no longer needed. And after
all
the years I've put in, the skills I've honed! The car chases. The breaking and entering. Hiding in bushes. Assuming alternate identities. I've been your decoy, your deal maker, and your sitting duck. Not to mention the time I saved your life by driving my Hummer throughâ”
Jane held up her hand. “I hear you.”
Cordelia sniffed, trying to look tragic and racked by suffering. Then she took a big bite of the pastry.
“You're my best friend, Cordelia.”
“Your partner in crime?”
“Absolutely. You can come with me anytime you want. I didn't ask you yesterday because I knew you're busy with the new play. I thought you couldn't get away.”
Cordelia sighed dramatically, which was hard to do while chewing. “Joanna called a few minutes ago when you were in the shower, said she'd had a horrible night's sleep. She begged off, said she couldn't possibly make it to the theater today. So, as it happens, I'm free as a bird.” She flicked Jane a plaintive glance, then looked away.
“Do you want to come along?”
“I thought you'd never ask.” Stuffing the rest of the pastry in her mouth, she said, “Give me a couple minutes to get dressed.” She
picked up Hattie's PediaSure off the kitchen table and took a couple of swigs, then headed for the stairway up to her raised bedroom.
“Can you make it quick?”
She turned around. “Not if you expect me to dazzle.”
“I can live with imperfection.”
“That's obvious.” She eyed Jane's cowboy boots, jeans, jeans jacket, and black turtleneck.
“Hey. It's a good look.”
“For a cowpoke, maybe. But I'll take my cues from youâstay with the bucolic theme.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Wait and see, dearheart. Wait and see.”
Â
No matter how hard Cordelia tried, she simply couldn't get herself together in less than an hour. Jane sat in the living room and played with Mouse for a while. She'd already stuffed his leash in her back pocket. She looked through a couple of magazines, clipped her nails, watered some plants, watched a little CNN until she couldn't stand it another second. Finally, she hollered at Cordelia to hurry up. “If we don't get going soon, we'll be doing this surveillance with night-vision goggles.”
“As it happens, I have a pair,” said Cordelia, sweeping down the stairs in a red fox-hunting jacket, tan breeches, tall black riding boots, black leather gloves, and a velveteen helmet. A riding crop was pressed under one arm. “Really, Jane, it's a tangle. I've never seen anything in
In Style
on how to dress to surveil. There are so many
unknowns.
”
Jane stood and faced her. Apparently her comments about needing to be inconspicuous had not sunk in. Then again, things could be worse. Cordelia could have worn her matador outfit. Jane considered asking her to change but figured that would mean another hour before they got on the road.
Â
Two hours later, after a stop for lunchâor, as Cordelia put it, “the ritualized sharing of nutritional goodness in the period of high sun”â
at the Norske Nook in Osseo, Wisconsin, Jane stopped the Chrysler Sebring in front of a storefront on Chamberlain's main drag. The building directly to their right was narrow, two stories, with the word MCCORMICK and 1902 carved in the cocoa brown sandstone just under the oversized arched window. The black-and-white metal sign above the doorway said LUBERMAN LANDSCAPE DESIGN.
“This must be the place,” said Cordelia. Glancing around, she added, “These streets don't look very mean to me. But then, every town has a seedy underbelly, right?”
“That must be Luberman,” said Jane, taking off her sunglasses and pointing at the man sitting in the window working at a drafting table.
“Him? No way.”
He fit the general description. Blond. Late forties. But that's where the similarities ended.
“Must be an employee,” said Cordelia.
“I don't think so.”
“Listen, that guy in there is the human embodiment of the Michelin Man. It can't be him.”
Luberman still looked strong, but the lean man who'd been released from prison in 1998 was now covered in a good seventy-five pounds of extra flesh. His arms reminded Jane of thick sausages and his face looked like stretched rubber, permanently reddened.
“That a hat on his head?” asked Cordelia, squinting.
“You need glasses. It's a bald spot.” Jane slipped her sunglasses back on. “Let's go in. See what he charges for landscape work. If you do the talking, then I can stand back and study him. Just say you're in the area looking to buy a summer home.”
Mouse, who'd been sleeping in the backseat most of the way, sat up and gave the building his full attention.
“You stay here, buddy,” said Jane, turning around and giving his ear a friendly pull.
On the way in, Cordelia whispered, “I'm Lady Gladys and you're Rachael.”
“No no ⦔
“Shhh.”
They approached the front counter. Luberman worked another couple of seconds at the drafting board, then stood up. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Mr. Luberman?” asked Cordelia with an upper-crust English accent.
“Yes?” he said, a puzzled look on his face.
“My name is Lady Gladys Night ⦠ah ⦠bridge.”
Jane cringed.
“Nightabridge?” repeated Luberman.
“That's correct. And this is my cousin Rachael.”
“Nice to meet you both,” said Luberman, gazing skeptically at Cordelia's clothes.
“We were wondering what you charged for your landscape services.”
He rested a heavy forearm covered in blond hair on the counter. “Depends on what you want. You two live around here?” His gaze switched to Jane. She could tell he didn't like the fact that her eyes were hidden behind the dark glasses. It made reading her more difficult. And he
was
trying hard to get a read on both of them.
“My husband's family hails from Madison. We're on holiday at the moment, be here another fortnight. We live in London, but we're thinking of spending summers here. My mission is to seek out a home on one of these lovely lakes. Something upmarket. I need to find a bloke who can take care of the property when we're not around. Whatever needs to be done.”
“What places have you looked at?”
“Actually, I'm just beginning my search. Haven't even hired an estate agent yet.”
Jane got the sense that he wasn't sure whether to believe her or not but was leaning toward giving her the benefit of the doubt. He probably didn't want to turn away a potential customer.
“My American cousin and I were just driving down your high street when we saw your sign. I'm thinking that most of these properties around here will no doubt need landscaping work as well.”
“What sort of place are you looking for? What price range?”
“Four, maybe five hundred thousandâAmerican. Whatever it takes to get something suitable.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Sure, I could handle that.” He slipped a card out of the pocket of his blue polo shirt and handed it to her. “What does Mr. Nightabridge do?”
“He's in ⦠plastics. Heavy-duty. Silly things, really. But lucrative. Very lucrative.”
He nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Like I said, I'd be happy to take care of whatever you end up buying.”
“Wonderful. By the way, do you do the work yourself?”
“Most of it, yeah. I like being outdoors.”
“Do you have ⦠references?”
He reached under the counter and brought up a white packet. “There's a brochure in there with my price list and the names of the people I've worked for in the area. And, of course, I can customize my services pretty much any way you want.”
Except for the whiff of paranoia, which probably wasn't obvious to anyone who wasn't looking for it, he seemed so normal that it was hard to picture him as a stalker, or worse, a murderer. Evil might be real, it just wasn't visible to the naked eye.
“Thank you,” said Cordelia, moving the riding crop from one arm to the other. “I'll be sure to have my secretary look it over.”
Luberman glanced down at her boots. “Do you always dress like that?”
“Like what?”
“I mean, are you a horse woman?”
“
Horses?
Heavens, no. What gave you that impression?”
Jane gently tugged Cordelia toward the door.
“Ta ta,” she called, waving with her fingers.
Once they were safely back in the car, Jane said, “The point behind surveillance is not to arouse suspicions.”
“Yes, I know. But I did a fine jobâno need to thank me, Jane. My accent was impeccable, didn't you think? Even threw in a few Britishisms. And I gave you plenty of time to study him at close range. To be quite honest, I'm sure those teeth of his
must
be false. But that's just my opinion. I point this out because I'm not sure you noticed.”
Jane's eyes rose to the roof of the car. “Let's get out of here.”
“Ten-four. Mission accomplished. Where to now?”
“Let's drive out to Whitefish Lake.”
“Didn't you do that yesterday?”
“Yes, but we only viewed the cabin from the road. We know he's at work today. That means it's safe to walk in and take a closer look.”
Fifteen minutes later, they parked the car about half a mile from the entrance to the property, just in case somebody drove by and wondered what a strange vehicle was doing so close to Luberman's cabin.
Jane let Mouse out to run around the woods for a few minutes. “Not a very interesting day for you, buddy. We'll go for a run around Lake Harriet when we get home.” She scratched his head and gave him a kiss. “We won't be long.” She locked him back in the car, making sure to leave the windows open a crack. It was a beautiful fall day, with temperatures in the high fifties, but a car's interior could heat up quickly.
“You really love that dog, don't you,” said Cordelia as they walked along the side of the dirt road toward the entrance to Luberman's land.
“I don't know what I'd do without him.”
“He's really taken to Hattie.”