Lori, p.7
Lori, page 7
"How could she? Just because there's a resemblance-"
"There's some reason she brought this book. I want to know why."
"Lori-wait a minute. This isn't the way."
Ignoring him, she moved down the hall and into the living room. There was no time to wait, not after what had happened. The book was closed but she could still see the picture. Looking at the girl was like looking into a mirror. She wished to God it had been a mirror, then she could have smashed it, shattered the smiling image. Who was Priscilla Fairmount, and what was she smiling about?
Nadia would tell her, must tell her now. Nadia, her last Hope.
Lori dialed the number, listening as the phone rang at the other end of the line. And rang and rang again in a death knell. Ask not for whom the bell tolls-
Then Russ was beside her. "Hang up," he said.
"But I've got to reach her!"
"You can try again, first thing in the morning."
Lori sighed and surrendered. As she replaced the receiver on its cradle he extended his hand. "I found these in the medicine cabinet. Here you go now."
No use fighting him; she didn't have the strength. His fingers brushed hers as the pills dropped into her open palm.
"Two? Dr. Justin said to take one-"
"I'm your doctor now." He held out a glass of water.
"Russ, are you sure?"
"Trust me."
She nodded, because she had no choice. At least she would be taking pills, not capsules, which could be tampered with. How could she even think of such a thing? It was just her imagination, had to be.
The bitterness against her tongue and the coolness of the water coursing down her throat-this was reality. And so was the warm numbness which followed. She hadn't realized the sedation would work so quickly, but by the time Russ led her into the bedroom and turned down the covers it was all she could do to kick off her slippers and slide between the sheets. She lay back on the pillow, staring up at Russ in the lamplight.
He was smiling, but his face blurred. And when he spoke, his words came from far away. She nodded, her eyes closing as she sank into deeper darkness.
It was only an instant before she awakened. At least that's what it seemed like, until she blinked into the bright sunlight streaming from the bedroom window.
A shadow blocked its rays. As her eyes opened wider the shadow lightened, became Russ. "Good morning," she said.
"It was."
"Was?" She stirred, sat up. "What time is it?"
"Almost noon. I didn't want to disturb you."
"You've been here all this time? Where did you sleep?"
"On the living room sofa. Just like Clark Gable in those late-night movies." He grinned. "It's a wonder he didn't break his back."
"Poor baby."
"I'm okay." He was holding another glass in his hand. "Brought you some juice."
"Thanks." She drank quickly. "I'd better get dressed."
"Good idea. Breakfast will be on the table in fifteen minutes."
"Don't bother."
"What do you mean? Clark Gable always fixed breakfast."
"There isn't time. I'm supposed to see Ben Rupert this afternoon-two-thirty appointment." Lori slid her legs over the side of the bed. "Can you come with me?"
"I'd better not. Got to stop by the office." He picked up the empty glass. "When do you think you'll be through?"
"It all depends on what he's got to tell me. But I ought to be back by five if the traffic isn't too heavy."
"Good. I'll come and pick you up for dinner." Russ moved to the bedroom doorway, then halted to glance back. "Sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine, thank you. Thank you for everything."
After he left and she started dressing, Lori realized she'd told the truth. She did feel better, thanks to Russ and a dreamless sleep. Now what happened before she slept seemed like a dream.
It wasn't until she checked out the kitchen that the sight of the metal box on the table reminded her that last night's events were all too real. On impulse she lifted the lid, took out the yearbook, and opened it to the loosened page.
Priscilla Fairmount smiled up at her, but Lori didn't smile back. Instead she closed the book, thrust it back into the box, slammed the lid down. Then she went into the living room and dialed Nadia Hope's number.
There was no answer. No answer, only the questions. Where was Nadia? What was the meaning of that photograph? Why was Priscilla Fairmount smiling?
She didn't feel fine now, not anymore, but the time had come to leave. The sun still lent luster to the suburban streets, the freeway presented no problems on her drive into town. Everything was normal; everything but her quickening pulse and the heavy pressure of her foot on the gas pedal.
Lori slowed down. It was important to get a grip on herself before seeing Ben Rupert.
Oddly enough, the only time she'd ever met the man was at the funeral, and then it was only for a moment. But she knew how close he'd been to Dad and the business, even if they hadn't socialized. If she told him what happened there might be a chance he could offer some clue to the answer. On the other hand, would it be wise to risk confiding in a virtual stranger?
The best way was to play it by ear. Size him up, size up the situation, then decide. And meanwhile she had to stay in control.
Midtown traffic was in its usual near-gridlock and underground parking presented problems, but she managed to relax a bit by the time she emerged from the elevator and entered Rupert's outer office.
The receptionist was a woman who might have stepped out of a Rubens painting-or, given her dark eyes and straight black hair, a mural by Diego Rivera.
"Miss Holmes? You can go right in-Mr. Rupert is expecting you."
As she entered the inner office Lori didn't know what to expect. She retained no mental image of Ben Rupert, and what she was seeing now surprised her.
The balding, blunt-nosed little man resting behind the big desk looked more like an owl than a legal eagle. He rose, extending his hand.
"Good to see you. Please sit down." He peered at her from behind his horn-rims, then perched himself on his chair. "You're looking better."
Lori nodded. "I feel better. And I want to thank you for taking over the arrangements the way you did."
"Least I could do. Your father and I go back almost thirty years together, and I know how he felt about you." Rupert consulted a sheaf of paper piled on the desk before him. "I've tried to make things as simple as possible, but there are a few items here that require your attention."
Quite a few, it turned out. Lori read and signed current household bills, bank forms, funeral charges payable by the estate. Dad's car had gone in for repairs the day before the fire; it would remain stored at the garage until probate was settled. The accountant at the realty office hadn't submitted his statement, but there'd be an audit, so not to worry.
Rupert took her through a reading of the will, and its main points were clear enough. There were no other known living relatives on either side of the family; Lori was named sole heir, with Benjamin Weatherbee Rupert as executor.
His owl-eyes blinked at her. "I know this isn't pleasant, but unfortunately it's necessary."
She managed a smile. "I understand. Russ said you knew what you were doing."
"Your young man?" Rupert nodded. "I gather from what he said on the phone he's in newspaper work."
"Magazine articles. Russ is an investigative reporter."
"So that's why he asked so many questions." The attorney nodded again. "Which reminds me-you'd better sign these insurance claims."
Lori took the forms from him and inscribed her signature at the places he indicated.
"Let's hope the company accepts the arson squad's report," Rupert said. "If they decide to conduct an investigation on their own it could drag on for months."
"Why should it? Everyone knows the fire was an accident."
The little attorney shrugged. "Almost everyone. Your young man seems to be the exception."
"Is that what he was asking questions about?"
"That, and other things." Rupert put the claim forms in a manila envelope and placed it on the right-hand corner of his desk. "I realize he's concerned with your welfare in all this. But I'm confident the arson people know how to do their job properly."
Lori lost her smile. "You said he asked about other things."
"Mainly the insurance. He's aware that claim adjusters like to hold on to money and he wanted to find out if they could come up with any other reasons to delay payment."
"Russ said that?"
The attorney shook his head quickly. "All he told me was that you've been under a severe strain, and he wanted to be sure the insurance people wouldn't misinterpret your grief under such circumstances. If anything, he was trying to protect you."
"I see." Lori met his gaze. "But what's your verdict, Mr. Rupert-not guilty by reason of insanity?"
"My dear young Jady!" Obviously she'd ruffled the owl's feathers. "I've seen many clients who lost loved ones due to tragic circumstances, and few of them took it as well as you seem to be doing. I'd be willing to step into court right this moment and swear that you're totally competent to handle your own affairs. The point is, it won't be necessary. There's not the slightest chance anyone will raise the question."
Rupert left his perch. "You mustn't worry," he said. "I'm sorry to put you through all this today but now the worst is over. As soon as things get moving I'll be in touch. Meanwhile I hope you understand about your young man. He was just trying to help."
"Thank you again." Lori moved to the door. "I'll remember."
She left the owl's nest, retrieved her car below, fought the good fight on the freeway, and thanked God she'd made the right decision.
Rupert's no-nonsense approach had come as a pleasant surprise and for a moment back there in the office she'd almost been ready to tell him about last night. It was his remark about mental competency that made her realize what a mistake it would be. Even if Rupert accepted her story as fact he'd have asked questions for which there were no answers. Before talking to anyone she had to put in that call to Nadia Hope.
When she entered her apartment the phone was already ringing. Had Nadia read her thoughts? She lifted the receiver.
It was Russ who greeted her. "Lori-I've been trying to reach you-"
"I just got in." She glanced at her watch. "Hey, you're supposed to be here by now!"
"That's what I'm calling about. Something's come up. Could you meet me at the restaurant instead?"
"Which one?"
"How about Estaban's?"
"Okay." Lori nodded, wondering why it is that everyone seems to nod needlessly during a phone conversation. "Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"
"When I see you. I'll call for reservations. Think you can make it by six-fifteen?"
"How about six-thirty? Right now I want to get in touch with Nadia Hope."
"Do me a favor and wait until you get here."
"But Russ-"
"Please. There isn't much time."
"All right, six-fifteen."
"Thanks. And drive carefully."
Lori didn't need the reminder. Almost everyone in the Greater Los Angeles area remembered to drive carefully during the rush hours, and the few exceptions were apt to end their trip in an ambulance. Avoiding the freeway, she took a roundabout route on Sepulveda; it was six-twenty by the time she surrendered her car to the attendant in Estaban's parking lot.
Russ was already standing at the cashier's desk when she entered the restaurant, greeting her and guiding her to a rear booth. As she peered through the candlelight Lori was surprised to see that drinks were already on the table.
"Margaritas." She shook her head. "I shouldn't, not on top of all that medication."
"You had a Bloody Mary yesterday, remember? It didn't hurt you." Russ lowered himself into the booth and leaned forward. "I've got something to tell you."
"Yes?"
"Drink first, talk later."
The frosted glass numbed her fingertips. "Cheers."
"Hardly appropriate." Russ shook his head. "What's wrong?"
"Nadia Hope is dead."
The numbness in Lori's fingertips froze a path through her body, shivering up her spine.
"Oh my God. What happened?"
He'd heard it on the car radio that afternoon. Police spotted a station wagon bobbing in the water below the highway and divers retrieved the body a few hours later. Identification was no problem; there'd be an autopsy, of course, but it looked like an accident.
Lori found her voice. "How would they know?"
"Tire marks. The car skidded off the road and went over the side."
Russ took a gulp of his drink and she followed suit, grateful for the warmth under the ice. "It must have been on her way home, after she left the yearbook in front of my door."
"If she did. We still can't be sure of that."
"We know what she did earlier in the evening when I was with her." Lori put down her glass. "I'd better tell the police."
"Why get involved?" Russ gestured quickly. "The autopsy will show she'd been drinking. That's enough to explain things. But if you go to them, they'll start asking questions. You don't need that kind of trouble."
"All I'd do is tell the truth."
"Suppose they don't believe you?" Russ spoke softly. "This business about running off with a stranger who claims she's psychic and searching those ruins for God knows what-then the book showing up at your place in the middle of the night. You've got to admit it sounds pretty weird."
"But that's what happened. Maybe it would help the investigation."
"And hurt you." Russ stared at her through the wavering candlelight. "If you give them a story it's bound to get publicity. That's the last thing in the world you need right now."
Lori shook her head. "We've got to find out how Nadia died."
"What difference does it make? The details aren't important."
"They are to me. I know what condition she was in last night. If I'd stayed, offered to follow her or even driven her home, this never would have happened. Instead I chickened out and left. That means I'm responsible."
"Because she had an accident?"
"I don't think it was an accident."
"What else could it have been?"
"That's what we've got to find out." Lori stared into the flickering candle-flame. Flame. Fire. Death. Ruins. Voices. And her own voice, rising. "There's a reason Mom and Dad died the way they did. Nadia was looking for it and now she's dead too. Don't you see?"
Russ reached across the table, his hand clamping down on hers. "Cool it! You're getting yourself upset-"
Lori jerked her hand away. "That's what you told Rupert on the phone the other day. How upset I was, meaning hysterical."
"I never said that."
"Not in so many words. But he got the message, didn't he? Humoring me this afternoon, telling me everything was fine, I was fine-"
"You are fine, Lori. If you'd just calm down and take it easy, forget about this psychic garbage."
"So now it's garbage! How do you explain why my picture is in that yearbook?"
"It's just a coincidence."
"What about the way the book landed on my doorstep last night? Another coincidence, I presume?"
Russ shrugged. "I can't answer that."
"Well, I can. It's part of a pattern. Nadia was right about the dreams, about the voices warning me!"
"Lori, for God's sake keep your voice down. That's crazy talk!"
"Crazy?" Lori rose abruptly, and as she reached for her purse her arm overturned the half-empty glass.
The echo of its shattering mingled with Russ's response. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"I know what you meant."
"Please, listen to me. There's something I've got to tell you."
Ignoring him, Lori turned, almost colliding with the waiter who hurried toward the booth. Russ started to rise but the waiter intercepted him. Sounds of altercation followed her, then faded as she made her escape.
For once her car hadn't been buried at the back of the parking lot; it was standing in a slot almost directly across from the entranceway. Shoving her ticket and two dollar bills into the attendant's hand, she thrust herself behind the wheel.
By the time Russ emerged from the restaurant doorway Lori had already backed the car out, put it into drive, and started toward the exit.
"Hey, wait-"
The sound of his shouting rose above the revving of the motor, and embarrassment enhanced anger at the sight of him flailing his arms in the rearview mirror.
"Lori!"
Yelling her name all over the parking lot didn't do anything to calm her feelings; bearing to the right, she swung out into the street and accelerated. At the first light she made another right, then turned left at the second. There was no sign of his car following her, which was what she wanted to prevent.
It was only when she slowed to pick a circuitous route through the side streets that she felt the anger cool. And only gradually did coolness turn to chill.
If Russ didn't trust her, how could she trust him? That was the question, and telling him to go to hell wasn't the answer.
This was one trip she'd have to make alone.
TEN
Lori put the thought aside and concentrated on driving. Her journey home was smooth and uneventful; the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Her present intention was to have a drink when she reached the apartment. Instant coffee, of course. No sense turning into another Nadia Hope.
Better put that thought out of her head too. Nadia Hope was dead and gone forever.
Gone but not forgotten. As Lori entered the kitchen the metal box still rested on the tabletop in mute memoriam.
She hurried past, trying to empty her mind as she filled the kettle with water, placed it over a burner, spooned coffee crystals into a mug. Then the phone in the living room started to ring.
It would be Russ calling, and she didn't want to talk to him now, not after what had happened tonight. Lori forced herself to resist the shrill summons, the endless insistence. By the time it stopped, the water was ready; filling her mug, she stirred the mix, then started toward the kitchen table and sat down.
