The Third Sin (5 page)

“From Kirsten. She mentioned some differences of opinion among them, and that got my snoopy instincts going.”

Keith laughed. “I'll bet.”

“Besides,” Sonya continued, “I went back to do more research on Wade Bruckheimer. He has quite a background. Did you know that he was once part of a get-rich-quick scheme in Brazil? I don't know how involved he was, but there was a plan to illegally export exotic birds to the United States. It didn't amount to much.”

“Was he ever formally charged?”

“No, not from what I could find. One article called him a victim because the crooks exploited him and his connections, but the case just disappeared. There was no follow-up coverage that I could find.”

“That's odd. Maybe there wasn't enough evidence, so they dropped it.”

“I asked Kirsten, but she didn't know much about it. She said the Brazilian police questioned Wade until his uncle Jorge stepped in and settled it. My guess is that Wade got mixed up in it because he was trying to make a quick dollar. Apparently he lives high on the hog and is always short of money. I'll bet Uncle Jorge has a full-time job, keeping Wade out of trouble.”

Sonya took her coffee from the microwave and sipped it. It was hot and strong; just what she needed. Carrying the mug, she went into the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “I've got to finish dressing.”

Without moving from the table, Keith shouted, “How does Kirsten know Wade's family stepped in?”

“You don't have to yell—the apartment's not that big,” Sonya said, and laughed. She went on, “The
Times
ran an article on the whole affair and Kirsten says she happened to hear the family talking about it. More likely, Kirsten had her ear against a door.”

“I see she's on your nerves again. Anyway, the charges can't have been too serious, or it wouldn't have faded away so easily. The Brazilians—and the U.S.—are hot on protecting those exotic birds. If you're found with an illegally smuggled animal in Brazil, you can go to prison for life. It's heavy stuff.”

“Yeah, that's the law,” she agreed. “But the Dias family has a lot of influence in Brazil. When I Googled Jorge, I got thousands of hits. He's big in business and in the social world of São Paulo. I'll bet he knows the police commissioner, the cardinal, and every important judge in the country.”

Fully dressed, Sonya returned to the kitchen. She was feeling guilty for not responding to Keith's statement that he would be around for as long as she would have him, so she had put on a burnt-orange suit that played up the color of her hair. Keith had often told her the outfit was one of his favorites. She hoped he would understand that it was a peace offering.

“Fantastic,” he exclaimed when he saw her, smiling broadly. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he had gotten her message, and just like that, any lingering tension between them was gone.

Sonya smiled in return, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. She sat beside him, setting her unfinished, cooling coffee on the table.

“With the Dias clan behind him, nephew Wade didn't have much risk of being sent to jail,” she said, then laughed shortly and continued. “Kirsten says Wade has a beautiful macaw that he takes everywhere he goes. Apparently it's really old, smells up the whole apartment, and chatters like crazy with a nasty vocabulary he taught it. No one but Wade likes the bird, but he's devoted to it, and it to him.”

“So Wade is the black sheep of both the Dias and Bruckheimer families?”

“Looks that way. Kirsten says he has never worked, but he must have gotten money from somewhere—look at all the lavish parties he's thrown over the years, and he's always lived well.”

“How rich is this Uncle Jorge?”

“Very rich; you could even say stinking rich, with many investments in both land and industry. If he doesn't have enough cash to buy the diamond, I'm sure he has friends who would be willing to chip in. Any upper-crust wife in São Paulo would kill for that stone.”

“Well if Jorge or his friends have the money, why doesn't he just buy it from Wade?”

“Who knows what's gone on between them? Could even be that Wade won't sell it to Jorge out of spite. There's got to be some bad blood. Anyway, I still have lots of questions, but I think it can be a great story.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I've got to do my makeup and get going.”

“Me too. Good luck on the interview. Sounds like your kind of fun. Just stay clear of the parrot. They have nasty bites.”

“Macaw,” she said, smiling, “it's a macaw. I'll be careful. I promise.”

She blew him another kiss as she went into the bathroom to apply makeup. Keith Harris was easy to have around. He was great in bed, he took her work seriously, and he cared for her.

Sonya shook her head, chastising herself. No. He could be the greatest guy ever, but nine years ago she had sworn that she would never again get serious about a divorced man with kids. She wasn't going to break that promise now.

It's not about the dirty dishes, she thought, or the children, or anything to do with Keith specifically. She was determined to control her life.

 

Chapter
6

T
HURSDAY, 8:30 A.M.

Donna Fuller's office

Sonya opened her boss's door and froze in surprise at the sight of Donna Fuller hunched in her chair, her arms defensively wrapped around her shuddering body. Her head was bent, her hair concealing her face.

At the sound of the door, Donna looked up, revealing swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Sonya stepped back, aghast. She had never seen her boss so distraught. Donna's glamorous façade was gone. She looked like what she was: an exhausted, fifty-year-old woman with skin too tautly stretched over her cheekbones, the result of one too many face-lifts.

What had happened? Was Donna ill? Had she gotten some kind of bad news? Or—Sonya's heart dropped—was there a problem with the show? No, no, it couldn't be that—Sonya would have heard.

All that flashed through her mind in seconds, but before she could follow her instincts and offer some comfort, Donna burst out, “What the hell do you want, Sonya? Can't you give me a moment's peace?”

“My god, Donna, I'm sorry. I never dreamed you'd be at the office this early. I was just going to put these questions for Wade Bruckheimer on your desk.” She awkwardly held out the papers as evidence.

Donna gave Sonya a dark, angry look, then lowered her head again with a strangled sob. Sonya closed the door and took a few steps toward her.

“What's wrong? How can I help?”

Donna swiveled her chair, turning toward the window so she didn't face Sonya. “There's nothing you can do.” She shrugged. “There's nothing anyone can do. It's my problem. A problem from the past, when I was young and stupid. I thought it was buried for good, but I was wrong.” She sighed and straightened her back, then swung to face the room and motioned Sonya to one of the easy chairs that faced her desk.

Sonya was mystified. She had the greatest respect for Donna and regarded her as a mentor. She was a brilliant, successful woman with the number-one magazine show. She had gone toe to toe with world leaders, arrogant celebrities, and industry giants. When she asked someone to appear on her program, it was practically a command performance. It was hard to believe that any mistake in her past could harm her now. Sonya decided that the best way to reassure Donna and help her regain her confidence was to behave as normally as possible.

Sonya pulled her chair closer to the desk and smiled. “Let me get Sabrina in here to fix your face. You need a makeup artist like never before.” There was no sting in the words. Both women were well aware that image was everything in their business.

“You're right. I must pull myself together.” Donna took a small mirror from a desk drawer and looked into it, poking at her hair. “God, I look awful. But not as awful as I feel.” She picked up a tissue and gently wiped her face, then threw the tissue into her wastepaper basket. “I had a fierce argument with an old friend last night. It was one of the worst nights of my life. Our friendship is over, and I was so upset that I couldn't sleep.” She glanced at Sonya. “And you know I can
always
sleep, even in a war zone.”

Sonya tried to soothe her. “Donna, these things happen. In a few days you'll both get perspective and go on as you were before.”

Donna reached for a tissue and gave her nose a hard blow. “I will never forget the things she said.” She shook her head.

Sonya wondered if Donna wanted to talk, to relieve herself of some of her anguish. That kind of exposure was almost unheard of—Donna fiercely guarded her privacy. After seven years of working for her, Sonya knew almost nothing of her personal life. “Would it help to talk about it?”

“No, there's nothing to say.” Donna put down the mirror, went to the window, and stood looking down at the traffic. She sighed. “My friend was a spoiled brat when we were children. She just had to ask for something and she got it. No one's ever told her any different, so even now, she thinks that if she wants something, it should be given to her immediately.” She heaved a deep sigh. “She's a kind and generous woman in many ways, but she lacks depth. She can't comprehend that the world is not so kind to all of us. Most people have had to fight tooth and nail for what they want.”

Sonya's mind clicked back to their discussion the day before. What had Kirsten said? That her mother had asked Donna to call that evening. Blair and Donna had known each other for decades. Was Blair Bruckheimer Donna's past, “catching up” with her, and was their argument connected to the sale of the diamond?

“My friend judges people too harshly,” Donna continued. “That's what upset me most.”

Sonya half-rose, but Donna shook her head and held up a hand to stop her. “I had to talk to someone and I'm glad it was you. Thank you for your concern. It means a lot to me, more than I think you realize.” She smiled, already looking more like her usual self, as she went to her desk. She sat, took a deep breath, and with a deliberate change of mood, said, “Now, let's get on with the Wade Bruckheimer story.”

Donna reached out and Sonya handed her the list of questions she'd prepared, then picked up a pen and a few sheets of the notepaper Donna kept handy on her desk. She wrote
Wade Bruckheimer
and the date on the top of the page.

“Remember when we first discussed this story and I said that I knew the Bruckheimer family?” She paused.

Sonya looked at her, trying to read her expression.

“Well, the truth is that Blair Bruckheimer is a close friend of mine and has been for many years.”

Sonya nodded. So, she was right. It was Blair Bruckheimer who had upset Donna. “Yes, I know. Blair's father, Daniel Lewis, started the news department at the network. You told us you used to work for him.”

“I met Blair through her father. He was a great man. He built the department so well that even though he's gone, we still lead in the ratings. He should get more credit. You could say he took me under his wing.”

Donna looked away, as if remembering him. “Don't read it the wrong way. He did the same for others. He guided me through many a tough story. But more than that…” Donna began to frame each word carefully as she spoke. “When I had personal problems he took me home to his family. So Blair and I began to spend a lot of time together. I was matron of honor at her wedding to Giorgio Sacco, Kirsten's father. As a friend, and on a very private basis, I've stepped in with advice on how to promote her books on TV programs.”

Sonya clicked her pen on and off—it was something she did when she was nervous or impatient. “Oh,” she said. “Does this have some bearing on the Braganza story?”

“Perhaps.”

“I don't understand.”

“Let me make myself clear,” she responded firmly. “Because of my friendship with Blair Bruckheimer and my past relationship with her father, I must distance myself from the story. You know what the tabloids and blogs are like. They're so quick to jump on gossip and blow it all out of proportion. Nothing pleases them more than finding some conflict of interest that can ruin a career.

“So I've decided not to do any interviews. In fact, I'm not going to touch this story at all until you're done with it. I'm leaving it in your very capable hands. Let's see how it comes out before we decide on how much time we will give it, or even if it's worth airing.”

Sonya sank back in disbelief. Not air the story? Donna had never failed to air one of her stories.

“Don't be upset, Sonya; even you didn't think much of it at the beginning.”

“True. But that's changed now. I have the angle that will make it dynamite,” Sonya insisted with enthusiasm. “Aren't you being overly sensitive? Who could accuse you of having any personal interests in the sale of this diamond?”

“Sonya, believe me, I don't have
any
interests, personal or otherwise. But I know the problems my friend Blair has had with the Bruckheimer family, especially since Wade married Bella.”

Sonya shrugged. “I think you're overreacting, but I'll do whatever you say, Donna. And I'm sure you'll be happy to air the piece when it's done.”

“Thank you.” Donna gave Sonya one of her usual blinding smiles—the one Sonya had seen her use many times to get what she wanted. Donna was her confident self again. “Don't read this the wrong way,” she said. “I'm just playing safe.”

Realizing she had been dismissed, Sonya moved to the door. Before she could open it, Donna added, “Sonya, one last thing. Keep the story focused on the unfortunate Esperanza and the diamond.”

What? Sonya turned back to look at her boss. “But, Donna, you know that's my angle for the story—the family conflict.”