Winter Winds (10 page)

“What?” Dori blinked at him.

“That’s enough, Phil,” Trev said in a tight voice.

Phil smirked at Trev. “That was the semester he almost flunked out of school.”

He almost flunked out of school? Dori looked at Trev in amazement. He’d always been Mr. Honor Roll and Dean’s List in spite of his love of a good time.

He shrugged. “I was too busy sending you e-mails, worrying about you, and trying to figure out how to get you to come home to pay attention to something as unimportant as school.”

Dori flinched. She had thought he was probably glad to see her go. It had never crossed her mind that his life had gone as topsy-turvy as hers. And those e-mails. She had erased every one without reading it for six months, wishing she could erase him from her mind as easily.

Keeping pace with the depth of her anger at Trev was her bitterness at God for letting her be so hurt. He’d snatched happiness from her twice, first with the death of her parents and then with Trev’s treachery. How could she ever trust Him again?

When she finally allowed herself to read Trev’s e-mails, e-mails that broke her heart with their poignancy, she responded with such trivia that his pleas eventually stopped. From then until now, all communication was as bland as Dori could make it. Some days she felt that if she ignored the wedding, the marriage wouldn’t exist.

They stood silent for a moment. All Dori wanted was to be home in her apartment with its filled-to-overflowing bookcases and plants covering all free surfaces, curled up on her bed with the gold-on-gold quilted spread, hugging Trudy and keeping herself safe.

Phil broke the silence. “That’s also the semester you became a Christian, Trev, if I remember right.”

Trev nodded. “I was trying to figure out what I’d done that was so terrible that my wife of two days would leave me.” He gave Dori a hard stare. “As I started down the list of possible offenses, I realized just how rotten I was and how much I needed a Savior.”
The stare softened. “Just like you used to tell me, Dori.”

What irony. He had come to Christ just as she had turned from God in anger and disappointment.

“Such a bittersweet time,” he said. “I knew the joy that comes with finding Christ and the agony of losing my wife.”

Dori’s heart exploded. She felt it let go, felt all the blood drain to her feet. She swayed with the wave of guilt that inundated her.

But he was the one who was wrong! He was. Let him feel the guilt.

“Well, you’ve got enough time now,” Phil said, grinning. “You’ve got six months.” He rubbed his hands together. “And I for one can’t wait to see what happens.”

Dori wanted to slap him. This situation was anything but funny. It didn’t matter that her deepest dream was to reconcile with Trev, to make the terrible separation go away, to know his love again. But it needed to happen because Trev came to her, fell to his knees, and begged her forgiveness, not because they were manipulated into it.

She sighed inwardly. She had thought she had these ugly feelings of unforgiveness under control, that the spitefulness had faded, indeed had all but disappeared. Blame their resurgence on proximity, she thought. The yearning too.

She stared at Honey, stony faced. “I have a business in California to run. Trev has his work here.”

Honey was unmoved. “You and I both know that Meg is more than able to manage for a little while without you.”

“Six months is hardly a little while.”

“Honey.” Trev’s voice was too calm, too reasonable, a fact that fed Dori’s anger. “You can’t force people to live together, to love each other.”

“Six years and neither of you filed for divorce,” Honey reminded. “Six years!”

Dori shut her eyes. That didn’t mean anything. They’d just never gotten around to it. That was all.

But
six months
together. More than enough time to love him all over again. More than enough time to open herself to the same kind of pain, only somehow she knew that when it fell apart this
time, it would be much, much worse. “Honey, please,” she managed. “Don’t.”

“We want your promises, Seth and I.” Honey’s eyes flashed with purpose. “Your promise, Dori? To a sick old man who’s loved you since the day he met you.”

Dori sagged. How could she fight that burden of gratitude? She sighed. “Oh, all right. I promise.”

Honey turned to Trev. “Well?”

Trev nodded. “I promise.”

“Six months. Not a day less.”

Both Dori and Trev nodded, careful to avoid each other’s eyes.

Honey smiled, looking far too pleased with herself in Dori’s opinion. She reached into her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. As she held it out, Dori noticed for the first time that several of her knuckles were swollen with arthritis. When had that happened?

Pop might be dying. Honey showed signs of getting infirm. Trev was going to live with her. And Phil was smiling like a monkey, enjoying the whole mess, at least the part about her and Trev.

God, what are You doing? I was doing fine on my own. Just butt out!

Honey handed the paper to Trev who scowled at it, then handed it to Dori. It was the directions to a motel on Route 100 in Exton.

“I made the reservations for you as soon as Phil said you were coming,” Honey said. “You and Trev can go on over and get yourselves settled.”

“I can’t leave—” Trev began.

Honey raised an eyebrow. “You can come back here to the hospital or not as you please.” She looked from one to the other, suddenly smiling. “You’ve made us very happy.”

You maybe. But what about us
? Dori thought as Honey continued to watch them with a sweet smile on her lips.

Sweet like a crocodile’s grin.

J
OANNE COWERED BEHIND THE CHAIR
as Vinnie fell to his knees and searched the suitcase again. He muttered, “It’s got to be here,” over and over.

“What’s missing?” she managed to whisper. She tried so hard not to do anything that would upset or disappoint Vinnie because she was afraid of his anger, but she’d really done it this time. But what had she done?

“The pictures!” he yelled. “Where are the pictures?”

Jo pointed to the silver and gold frame she’d found in the suitcase. “Is that what you mean?”

Vinnie glanced up, hope in his eyes. When he saw the frame, he turned to her with a terrifying sneer. “Not pictures like that, you idiot! Pictures like in a museum.”

“A museum? But I didn’t go to a museum, Vinnie.” Her underarms ran with nervous perspiration. “Was I supposed to?”

He gave her a disgusted look. “No, you wasn’t supposed to.”

Relief flowed through her. She hadn’t messed up after all, at least with the museum. A new thought made her shiver. What if Vinnie found out she had let the suitcase out of her sight?

When he saw her off for the airport yesterday, he’d said, “Whatever you do, don’t let that suitcase out of your sight.”

She nodded as she looked at the big black car that was going to drive her to Philadelphia. Wow. Mr. J sure knew how to treat a girl. “Don’t let it out of my sight,” she repeated absently. Was that a TV in the car?

Vinnie grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “Our future depends on that suitcase, Jo. Do not let it out of your sight for even a minute.”

She’d let it out of her sight for hours.

What if Mr. J found out? She went dizzy at the thought.

She’d been the last person to walk down the Jetway for the trip back to Philadelphia, her stomach in turmoil at the thought of the flight. Usually a Just Say No person because she didn’t want a fried egg brain, she stopped halfway to the plane and grabbed the tranqs Vinnie’d given her, much like a person too far out in the waves grabs the lifeguard who has come to save her. She swallowed them with the bottled water in her purse and hoped they kicked in before the plane took off.

She continued to the plane and bumped into a group of people at the door. She tried to go around them.

“Excuse me, miss,” a lady in uniform called to her. “We’ll need to take your bag.”

“What?” She couldn’t let the lady take the bag. Vinnie’d kill her.
“Don’t let it out of your sight!”

The lady smiled. “The plane is very full and all the overhead space is taken. Don’t worry Your suitcase will be waiting for you in Philadelphia.”

Now as she stared at an infuriated Vinnie, she knew she’d lie until she died.

“Did you let this out of your sight?” Vinnie demanded, his shaking finger pointing to the bag. “You did, didn’t you?”

“What?” she squeaked. “Of course not! You told me how important it was. I did just what you told me. I swear.”

God, if You’re there, I’m sorry for the lie. But I got to
.

“Then where’s the paintings?” he roared.

“I don’t know!”

Vinnie pulled out a penknife, flicked it open, and began
slicing the suitcase lining to pieces. Jo swallowed a yelp of distress at the fury of his slashes. She couldn’t tell whether he thought he might find the paintings in some other hiding place or whether he was just good and mad.

“What were the pictures of?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Grunt. Slash. “Just real old stuff by some French guy.” Grunt. Slash. “Masterpieces worth millions.”

Millions? She’d been carrying around stuff worth millions? Vinnie reduced the suitcase to strips of black fabric, but he didn’t find anything. When he straightened and looked at her, she saw his anger was spent, and fear had taken its place. That scared her even more than the missing paintings. Nothing made Vinnie afraid.

He fingered the red yarn, his face pale. “We’re dead men walking.”

Joanne started to cry.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

She sniffed and tried to be quiet. She wrapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. It didn’t work. Little gasps and sobs escaped.

“I said shut up!”

Joanne grabbed a pillow from the chair and shoved it against her face.

The phone rang. Joanne didn’t move. She was afraid to.

On the third ring, Vinnie turned on her. “Answer it!”

She grabbed it up on the fourth ring. “H-hello?”

“May I speak to Vinnie, please? He is there, isn’t he?”

“Y-yes, he’s here.” She held out the receiver to Vinnie.

“Who?” he mouthed.

“I don’t know,” she mouthed back.

He took a deep breath and said, “Hello, this is Vinnie.”

He turned pale. “Hello, Mr. Jankowski. What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were in Aruba.”

Vinnie listened. He glanced at the ribbons of black nylon. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “Don’t you worry one bit, Mr. Jankowski. Everything is going like clockwork. The paintings will be waiting for you when you get home next Sunday. Oh yes, I’m sure. You just relax and have a good time. Yes, sir. Just trust me, sir. I’ll see to everything. Good-bye.”

He held the phone out to Joanne with shaking hands. He collapsed into the stuffed chair.

“What, Vinnie? Are you in trouble?”

“We,” he snarled. “Not me. We. You’re the one who lost the paintings, not me.”

Jo licked her lips. “What does he do to people who lose millions?”

Vinnie snorted as if the question were dumb. “What do you think?”

She could think of lots of things, and her heart went
ka-thump!
“K-kill?”

“Let’s just say that people who disappoint him are never seen again.”

Jo groaned. Without thinking, she bent and began picking up the pieces of suitcase. She tossed them into the plastic trash can as she wondered how Mr. J did away with people.

Please let it be painless, God. And don’t let him throw me overboard way out in the ocean. Please!

She gathered another handful of black nylon, putting the hard plastic name tag lying in the mess on the end table beside Vinnie’s chair.

“What’s this?” He picked up the luggage tag. “Dori McAllister. Who’s that?”

“I don’t know.” Jo’s voice shook as she thought of all kinds of fish nibbling on her, maybe even a shark taking a big bite. She shuddered. Then she remembered a pretty lady with big brown eyes who reached for a suitcase with her, a suitcase with red yarn tied to the handle.

“Sorry. This is mine,” the woman had said. And Jo’d automatically stepped back.

If she’d been sweating before, it was nothing to the cold film of terror that coated her whole body now. She’d let someone else take Mr. J’s million-dollar paintings.

M
AUREEN SLOUCHED IN HER CAR
, parked nose out in the hospital parking lot for a quick getaway. She was thoroughly bored. She hated surveillance because she hated inactivity. Unfortunately, much of police work was step-by-step and methodical, hours spent on the phone and at her desk. But sitting in a car on a frigid winter day was the worst. She had the motor running and the heater cranked, but still she felt stiff with cold. She could see pneumonia in her future as clearly as clairvoyants saw dark, handsome men in the lives of their rich women customers.

There had to be a better way to catch a thief. There had to be. She just wasn’t sure what it was.

Then they walked out of the front door, Phillip Trevelyan and the girl. And another man. He was big and dark haired and looked like a rougher version of Phillip. His brother, the preacher? He must look very impressive in the pulpit.

Maureen quickly turned off the motor so plumes of exhaust wouldn’t attract their eyes to her. The last thing she needed was for them to know they were under surveillance. The cold immediately bit more deeply, and she shivered in her down anorak. The girl in her lightweight jacket must be freezing.

The three walked to Phillip’s car and opened the
trunk. Maureen sat up straight. Another transfer of the Matisse paintings? They were small, one a rectangle of five inches by eight, the other larger, nine inches by ten. Their size made them much too easy to transport or to pass off to another.

The brother—what was his name?—reached into the trunk and pulled out the black suitcase. Even from here, five cars down and one aisle over, Maureen could see the red yarn tied around the handle. He set it down and pulled up the handle. The girl reached into the trunk and pulled out her laptop. Phillip reached in and grabbed the carry-on. Together they walked to a dark green Caravan parked almost directly across from Maureen’s car.