Prospect Street (41 page)

Ralph wasn't like anybody she'd ever known before, but she guessed, despite his stupid advice, that
she
liked him the way he was, too.

She was staring at the ceiling, wondering what she would
say to anybody at Megan's party, when Alex came into her room. Her mother was next door at the old lady's house, and Alex lounged in her doorway like they were friends or something. Lounging or not, he still looked uncomfortable.

“You're going to Megan's?” he asked.

“So?”

“You're not going somewhere else?”

“Megan's having a sleepover.”

“You could still go to Maryland with Daddy and me.”

“Like I'd want to be in the same place, any place, with him.”

“He misses you, Remy.”

For a moment she didn't know what to say. She didn't really care if David missed her, but for just a moment her throat felt thick. “I'm not going.”

“Jesus said we should forgive each other.”

“Let Jesus forgive him, then. When did you turn into a creepy little evangelist?”

“He's our dad. He's the same dad he always was.”

“Not the same. He's a flamer, or did you forget?”

The front door creaked, then closed. Faith called upstairs, “You two all right?”

“What does she think?” Remy made a face and reached for Guest, who was strolling across the bed as if she owned it. Guest and Pinto Bean still hung out in Remy's room most of the time. They were the only reasons Remy ever wanted to come home.

“We're okay,” Alex shouted into the hallway.

“You know, one of these days you're going to figure out Mom just asks those dumb questions because she's nosy. She doesn't really care if we're all right. It's just something she has to ask.” Remy hugged Guest to her chest. After a wiggle, the cat settled in, resigned to her fate.

“That's stupid.” Alex sounded disgusted. “You hate everybody.”

“Yeah, mostly you.”

“You know, I used to wish I was you, but now I'd hate to be like you.” Alex left.

Despite herself, she was hurt. She didn't want to be Alex's friend. What would be the point of that? But she'd always liked knowing that he looked up to her. She was the smart one, the popular one, the good one. He'd always been jealous, and that hadn't been so bad.

She tried to forget him by throwing a few things in her backpack to take to Megan's. By the time Faith came up to check on her again—like a prison guard doing a head count—she was nearly ready.

“Sally's going to be here in a little while,” Faith said.

“You don't have to keep reminding me.”

“Alex is ready, too, and I've got an errand to run. Do you mind if I leave now? Alex says he doesn't mind staying alone if you leave before he does.”

Remy put her fist to her chest in a feigned heart attack. “You mean I'm allowed to stay in this house without you for more than fifteen minutes?”

Faith's eyes narrowed. “Maybe not.”

Remy knew she had overplayed her hand. “Of course you can go, Mom. We'll be fine. I'll make sure the door's locked when I leave, and I'll remind Alex.”

Faith studied her. “I don't want to feel like a jailer.”

“You're way too serious.”

“This feels serious to me. It doesn't to you?”

“I just want to be left alone. I don't want people hanging over me, deciding everything about my life.”

“You want to be an adult, and you're not.”

“Let's pretend for a while, okay? Just for, say, half an hour? I'll stay here, and you can leave. And I won't burn down the house or snort cocaine while you're gone.”

“Remy, do you ever listen to yourself anymore? Do you want everybody who loves you to wish they didn't?”

That sounded too much like what Alex had said. “Just leave me alone!” She grabbed her pillow and wrapped her arms around it because Guest was out of reach.

“We'll talk when you get back from Megan's.”

“I don't want to talk.”

Faith looked as if she wanted to say more, but something persuaded her not to. “Forget about it for now and have fun.”

In a few minutes the front door closed. From Faith's bedroom window, Remy saw her mother cross the street and start down the brick sidewalk to the spot where their car was parked today. She waited until she was sure Faith had driven away. Then she closed her mother's door and reached for her telephone.

She prayed while the telephone rang. On the fourth ring Megan picked up. “Hey, Meg,” Remy said. “I was afraid I wouldn't catch you.”

She listened to her friend recite where she'd been and why she hadn't answered quicker. Sometimes Megan could be so lame. “I'm not coming,” Remy said when Megan took a breath. “I'm…sick. I'm going to wait awhile and see if I feel better. If I do I'll come later.” She figured she had enough money saved to take a taxi to McLean. It meant she wouldn't be able to buy a Christmas present for Alex, but she was too angry to buy one anyway.

She listened to Megan jabber on. “Look, I've got to go,” Remy said. “I'll call you in a while. Just tell your mom not to come and get me, okay? And don't call here, because I might be sleeping.” She hung up before Megan could start a new topic.

She had the rest of the afternoon. She couldn't believe her luck. She could spend what was left of the day with Enzio, then take a taxi over to Megan's late in the evening. Faith would never know.

She wished it weren't winter, that she could wear something sexy and fun—not that her mother let her have anything revealing. But she put on a black top and a bright yellow shirt over it, tying it above her waist. She slid into red capris so her midriff was bare and finished with her clunkiest platform shoes. She hated to spoil the effect with a coat, but she knew if she showed up at Megan's without one, Megan's mother would say something. She could take it off just before she got to Enzio's.

She hoped, she double hoped, he was there. All the other roommates had gone home for Christmas, except Colin, who had stayed behind to finish up a research project. He spent all his time in the library, though. Remy thought there was a good chance that if Enzio was there, she would find him alone.

Alex was already downstairs, picking out a one-fingered melody on the piano. “What's that supposed to be?” she said.

“‘Say My Name.' You know, Destiny's Child?”

She pushed him to one side and played it the first time perfectly. Then she added some chords.

“Hey, that's good.”

She closed the piano, embarrassed. “I'm going. Megan's mom's going to pick me up on the corner. I told her I'd wait so she doesn't have to park.”

“You're lying. I heard what you said on the phone. You told her you were sick and decided not to go.”

“You heard wrong.”

“I'm not deaf. My room's right beside Mom's.”

“I'm going now. I'm not going to be here when your father gets here. I'm going to wait for Megan's mom.”

He ignored the part about David being “his” father. “Where are you really going?”

“I told you.” Remy got to the door and turned. “It would be a real shame if you told somebody what you think you know. Because I could lie about you, too. I could think of a million lies, and you'd have soooo much trouble proving I was wrong.” She shut the door behind her before he could respond.

Outside, she started down the street, but even though she should have felt excitement at the unexpected freedom, she didn't. Alex had spoiled that for her. Alex, with his stupid worried eyes. Alex, her dumb baby brother, who was trying to tell her what she should feel about everybody and everything.

She was older than he was and knew a lot more. She was old enough to attract a college guy like Enzio, and she was old enough to make her own decisions. It was too bad everyone was treating her like a baby, but she was willing to take that matter
into her own hands. Maybe Enzio was a little old for her, but she could handle him. She could handle her life. She could prove to everyone she was old enough to be left alone.

I
n the mid-nineteenth century, Georgetown's Oak Hill Cemetery had been part of a new revolution in the design of burial grounds. Instead of overcrowded churchyards, rural “landscape” cemeteries like Oak Hill featured winding lanes and spacious terraces with sweeping views, the precursors to modern public parks.

Oak Hill, with its Primrose and Violet Lanes, English Gothic chapel and sculptured marble monuments, was a protected Georgetown oasis that was nearly as difficult to get into alive as dead. But Faith had attended funerals here for her father's colleagues, and she felt at home exploring the fifteen-acre expanse.

Dottie Lee had given her the family plot number, and with the help of a caretaker—who was impressed enough by her family name to allow access—she pinpointed the right path. She made slow progress, taking care where she stepped, since a thin layer of snow covered the ground and in places had turned to ice. She passed only a few stalwart visitors. One woman swathed in a calf-length mink wept silently beside a trio of stone cherubs marking a gravesite. Christmas wasn't always a time of good memories.

Faith didn't really expect to find Pavel. He could be anywhere, perhaps even blissfully happy in the arms of another woman. The impulse to visit the cemetery had overtaken her good sense, but she didn't care. Walking toward Dominik's grave, she felt one step closer to solving the riddle of Hope's kidnapping.

As she picked her way along the path, she tried to imagine the black depression that had driven Dominik to suicide. His wife and son had moved to the opposite coast, but certainly he could have joined them to attempt a reconciliation. His baby daughter had been taken from her mother's home, but only five months had passed since the kidnapping. Had suspicion that his daughter had met some terrible fate spurred him on?

Or had he known her fate for a certainty?

She turned and started downhill past three towering hardwoods. She could begin to read tombstones and markers once she reached the area below, but as it turned out, reading wasn't required. Once she passed the trees, Pavel stood fifty yards away, looking down at what had to be his father's grave.

She came to an abrupt halt, feeling like a trespasser. What was simply a question mark in her life was an exclamation point in his. His father's death had, as much as anything else, made him the man he was. He had no memories of Dominik Dubrov; he didn't even carry his father's name. But the man who would rest in a pauper's grave except for the kindness of one eccentric woman was the central figure in Pavel's history.

As she watched, he rocked back on his heels. He held a wool cap in his hands, and when he turned and began to pull it back over his head, Faith moved forward to meet him.

She knew the exact moment when he recognized her. He didn't look either pleased or surprised, merely wary. She wished it had never come to that.

“Faith?” Pavel pulled his hat over his ears with gloved fingers. “What are you doing here?”

“Dottie Lee told me where your father was buried. I wanted to see the grave.”

“There's not much to see. A simple marker.”

“How long have you known where he was buried?”

“After I got here, I did a little research and turned up a death notice on microfilm. I could have put up a more elaborate marker, but I would have needed Dottie Lee's permission.”

“You didn't want her to know Dominik was your father, did you? But she wasn't surprised when I told her today.”

“She's had it figured out for a while. She made it clear when I first started seeing you, although she never said it in so many words.”

“Why didn't you just tell her? You were curious about your father, and she was his friend.”

“I thought I might do better just watching and waiting.”

Faith had an urge to zip his dark leather jacket. Pavel looked as if he needed a good night's sleep and a hot meal. His father had succumbed to depression. She hoped the son had better resources.

“I guess I'm here to reward your patience,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“My mother told me something you need to know. That's the real reason I came looking for you.”

“Not to console me, huh?”

She realized consolation had been part of it, something she hadn't admitted to herself. She was still linked to this man, and not only by the circumstances of their childhoods.

“Hope was only my half sister.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as much for protection as warmth. “And your half sister, too.”

For a moment he looked weary enough to have problems putting that together. Then it clicked. “My father's child?”

Faith told him the story.

“Then my father knew? And your father?”

She hadn't told him about Lydia blackmailing Joe. Even the word seemed overwrought, a cop-show motive for murder. She danced around it. “My father had his own secrets. Nothing to do with the kidnapping, but something my mother could use against him. So under pressure he agreed to raise Hope as his child.”

“It's a toss-up, isn't it, whose family was crazier?”

“This puts a whole new spin on everything that happened,” Faith said. “There's no possibility now that your father kidnapped Hope out of revenge. But maybe he took her for other reasons. Today Dottie Lee as much as told me that she made up his alibi. I don't think he was working for her that afternoon.”

He didn't seem surprised. “You're saying he might have wanted to raise Hope on his own?”

“Or protect her.”

Pavel frowned. “From your father?”

“My mother forced my father to accept Hope as his child. The senator's not a man who gives in without using every weapon at his disposal. Your father may have realized that.”

“So my father took Hope to protect her from yours?”

“It's one scenario. Maybe he took her and something happened in the process. Or maybe he didn't take her, and afterward he realized my father arranged to have her kidnapped. Maybe your father felt guilty he didn't do more to stop him.”

Pavel looked increasingly weary. “We can't ask my father. He took his secrets with him when he threw that rope over the rafter.”

Faith knew Pavel would never erase that particular image from his mind. “The suicide bothers me, Pavel, not only because a man killed himself, but because the solution was so extreme and I can't believe the situation called for it.”

“Knowing everything you do, you can't understand why he was depressed?”

“The dark, brooding Russian personality's a stereotype, isn't it? Did your father really suffer from depression? Or did he learn something so terrible he didn't want to live anymore? Was he placed in a situation so desperate that he saw no other way out?”

“There's one person who might know the answer. Unfortunately, he dropped off the face of the earth.”

Faith must have looked puzzled, because he explained.
“Sandor. My father's assistant. He was a distant cousin of my father's, remember? From the Hungarian side of his family.”

“I just know Sandor did some of the work on our house.” Faith was trying to put pieces together now. The kidnapping had happened so long ago, and Sandor, like so many others, had been a bit player.

“Apparently my father was training him. Sandor did the scut work, and my father did anything complicated.”

“But surely the authorities interviewed him,” Faith said. “From what I've learned, they talked to everyone who had the slightest ties to our family. They asked for the list of guests at my parents' wedding, acquaintances who attended any party they had been to, anyone who'd contributed to Dad's campaign.”

“They interviewed Sandor,” Pavel said. “He swore my father wouldn't have done such a thing, that he had never even hinted at that possibility.”

“Sandor and your father were cousins. He might have lied to protect family.” She considered her own words. “You say he dropped off the face of the earth?”

“The men in my family don't seem to have much staying power. Sandor married a few years after my father's death and had two children of his own. Before they even started school, he left without a word to anybody. Eventually his wife remarried and his children grew up, but to this day they have no idea where he went. They're the ones who told me he had been interviewed by the FBI.”

“You checked into this.” She was stating the obvious.

“Sandor was my cousin, too. I had some vague notion of reestablishing family ties. Unfortunately, his children want nothing to do with their father or anyone who reminds them of him.”

“Pavel, the last time we talked, you said you'd told me everything.”

He tugged at his cap. “I didn't think about this. I was more hopeful about finding a cousin than a kidnapper. Nothing I learned about Sandor seemed important to the case.”

“Everything's important.”

“This has begun to possess us. We have lives. I have a job in turmoil, and you have children who need you. But we're standing in the cold, in the shadow of a stranger's grave, talking about something that happened decades ago as if it could change our lives.”

“It already has. Not just because of the way we were raised, but because we've been thrown back into it.”

“And at each other.”

“Was there more to us than that?” She'd hoped to sound detached. She didn't.

“There was. There is.”

She wanted to deny it, but whatever had passed between them still simmered under the surface. She was here not simply because she wanted answers to the past, but because she needed answers to take her into the future.

“If anybody knows where Sandor went, it's Dottie Lee,” she said. “She's the one who recommended Dominik to my mother. He worked for her first. Sandor probably did, as well.”

“Will she tell us what she knows?”

Dottie Lee doled out information when she thought the time was right, but now Faith wondered if there was more to the old woman's reluctance than a need for attention, a need to be the center of things.

Dottie Lee might have a more important reason.

Faith raised her eyes to his. “Pavel, she's protecting somebody. I should have realized it before.”

“She's been protecting my father. She buried him in her family plot.”

“Your father's dead. Dottie Lee's old, but she doesn't live in the past. She's protecting somebody who's still alive.”

“Your mother?”

Faith wondered if she could be wrong. “Have coffee with me. I'm freezing. Let's talk this over and come up with a strategy. We have to find a way to encourage Dottie Lee to tell us everything.”

“It's been a while since we sat down at a table together.”

She heard the corollary. He had missed that intimacy. He had missed her.

And she had missed him.

“It's a cup of coffee,” she warned.

“I'll take it.”

 

No wreath hung from Enzio's door; no lights adorned the scraggly bushes in the narrow strip along the house. Somebody had taped construction paper snowflakes to the front window, but Remy guessed that was Colin's doing. He tutored first graders in an inner city Catholic school, and she would just bet the snowflakes were some little kid's art project. Colin was always talking about eye-hand coordination.

The house seemed unwelcoming today, as dark inside as the slate-colored sky. For a moment she reconsidered her plan. There was still time to go home, admit she had changed her mind and call Megan. If Megan's mother couldn't come to pick her up, then Remy could call a taxi, the way she had planned.

She didn't have to do this.

Remy wasn't sure exactly what was bothering her. Alex had something to do with it. So did lying. At first, lying had been an adventure. By not getting caught, she proved she was smarter than her parents. They weren't the people she'd always thought them to be; now she'd proved they were stupid, to boot.

Lately, though, lying wasn't its own reward. She was still angry, still determined to twist the knife whenever she could. But there was little pleasure in it now that the initial thrill was over.

Enzio had something to do with it, too. They hadn't been alone for more than a few minutes since the day he nearly undressed her in his kitchen. She'd thought about that day ever since. The feel of his hands at her breasts, the grinding of his hips. Maybe she was only fourteen, but a lot of girls her age did the nasty, and with more than one guy. Billie was proud of her own personal scorecard.

Remy had been careful until today to make sure Enzio didn't get her alone for long. She was nervous just thinking about it, but excited at the same time. He was a man who knew his way around, and she was just a kid. Of course, he didn't know how young she was, but that hardly mattered. She had to start sometime. Her parents had taught her the importance of virtue, but look at the way they lived their own lives.

What would they think if they knew a college guy wanted to have sex with their little girl?

She let the brass knocker fall against the door and waited for someone to answer. Enzio came to the door at last. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he pulled her inside.

“Your timing's good,” he said. The words came out slowly, spaced like the dripping of a leaky faucet.

“Why?” She was puzzled by the size of his pupils and the grin that seemed to have no origin.

“I just got some verrry good bud. I'm checking it out.”

“Marijuana?” She tried to sound matter-of-fact.

“You're from another planet, aren't you?” His laugh was a little off the mark. “Ever smoke weed on your planet, little Martian?”

She hadn't even smoked a cigarette, although she'd inhaled enough secondhand smoke from Enzio's to count for something.

He laughed. “Come try this with me. I'm soaring over rooftops.”