Final Masquerade (29 page)

Paige glanced at the calico who paced nervously, as her owner had been.

"What's her name?"

"Spirit."

"Figures,” he said with a smile. “Meet me at the bank."

At eleven a.m. the brunette Paige walked nonchalantly through the hotel lobby carrying Spirit and her bags. She ducked her head against the persistent wind and slid into a Yellow Cab.

"Where ya headed on this lovely December day?"

"The First National Bank."

The driving was treacherous and it took twenty minutes for the cab to go the four blocks to the bank. Paige perched on the edge of the seat the whole way.

The cab pulled up directly in front of the bank. “One thing about weather like this,” the driver said, grinning widely. “Plenty of parking spaces."

Paige tossed some bills through the slot in the bulletproof window.

She and her belongings sloshed across the sidewalk, which had only been partially cleared. Paige looked for Harry. Two tellers were busy with customers. One blonde teller watched Paige's every move. Of course, Harry couldn't possibly be here yet. He had a lot further to travel than she did.

She backed into a corner, set her suitcase on the floor, and stared out the window at the waning storm. She sighed. Where was he?

"Terrible out there, isn't it?” called the teller.

"Brutal,” said Paige, her eyes not leaving the street.

"Are you waiting for someone or getting out of the storm?"

"Waiting."

At last a black speck appeared down the block. The only car on the street gradually came into view and skidded to a stop with help from the curbing. A black clad figure stepped through the snow, splattering slush in all directions.

Inside the bank Harry beat the flakes off his coat and shook them from his hat. He forced a smile to his face when he saw the anxiety written on hers, and beckoned her to follow. “We need to get into a safe deposit box,” he told the teller.

"I don't know if I can leave my window."

"Why not?"

"It's just that a manager is supposed to do it—"

"Then get a manager."

"They're all gone for the day. It's the day before Christmas and ... Can't you come back on Monday?"

"If we could come Monday, do you think we'd be here in this shit?"

"It's an emergency,” Paige said softly.

The teller glanced around, shrugged her bony shoulders and buzzed open the security door. “You can leave the cat here."

"The cat goes with me,” Paige replied.

In the bowels of the bank building, Paige and Harry slipped their keys into the locks on the safe deposit drawer. He backed several steps to allow her some privacy with her belongings. She removed the contents to her suitcase, counted out a stack of bills and slipped them in her coat pocket. Then she slid the drawer back in and turned both keys in the lock.

"Done,” she said. Spirit's answering meow came from the floor beside her. She reached a pair of fingers inside.

"Can't believe how attached you've gotten to that cat.” Harry said. “Considering how adamant you were about not wanting a pet."

Paige smiled. “We have become rather attached to each other."

Back outside, he held the Cougar door open for her. Paige set the carrier on her lap and crooned to her frightened pet while Harry drove.

"I have some disturbing news."

"Harry..."

"Not
that
disturbing. It's just that I couldn't get a single flight before tomorrow afternoon. Since tomorrow's Christmas Day, everything's booked."

Settled in another room in the same hotel, which this time Harry registered in his wife's name, Paige fell onto the bed and dropped her head in her hands.

Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We knew this would happen sooner or later. I just wish it hadn't been so soon."

"How are they finding me?” He didn't reply, so she added the thought that had been plaguing her for weeks. “Do you think Chris is one of them?"

Still, Harry made no reply.

Paige rose and let Spirit out of her carrier. The cat rushed to Paige and burrowed her head under Paige's arm. “What happens now?"

"You're safe here. I went to the bookstore. It was locked up tight. They must have broken up the party when you disappeared. I'll go see Max on Monday morning and see what he's got to say. Maybe I can get a handle on the guy who was asking about you. Sit tight. Don't go out, though I can't imagine who'd want to in this weather. Don't let anyone see you, not even the maid. I've already ordered room service for tonight and tomorrow morning so you should be all set until I get back. Okay now, listen. I told room service I wasn't feeling well, for them to knock once, then leave the tray outside the room. Okay?"

Paige nodded and followed him to the door, slipping a bundle of cash in his hand. Twenty thousand ought to pay for what he'd done for her. “Thanks for everything, Harry,” she said.

"Rest easy. I'll pick you up at 11:30.” He planted a fatherly kiss on the top of her head and started to leave. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He took out a shoebox-sized package wrapped in blue from the pocket of his overcoat. “Merry Christmas."

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Paige fell asleep in her clothes, curled in a fetal position around the cat. When she woke on Christmas morning, the sun was in her eyes. It glinted off the snow drifted in the corners of the windows. She looked out at the silent, snow-shrouded street. Waist high banks of snow turned sidewalks into narrow paths. A sidewalk plow chugged along, pushing the plowed snow back into the street.

Snow clung to electric wires strung from poles to buildings. It obliterated much of the Burger King sign on the roof of the building across the street. “Isn't it beautiful?” she asked Spirit, then realized where she was, and why.

Max. Polly. Her books. Her quilt. The cat looked up into her owner's face and stopped purring. Paige clutched the cat tighter and went back to bed, burrowing her head in the pillows, pulling the blanket over them both. She stayed this way until the sun was high in the sky. It now streamed directly onto the floor, making a bright yellow triangle on the low piled carpet.

At some point, Spirit had climbed out of the bed and folded herself in the patch of sunshine. Paige rubbed her eyes and sat up. The digital clock on the bedside table said 9:18.

Tears flowed unchecked when she thought about what she would normally be doing on Christmas morning: sitting in the huge, echoing living room, opening gifts from Stefano. Diamonds and furs mostly. Things she'd always thought so important. She grabbed a wad of toilet paper to blow her nose. Max must've been angry she left so abruptly.

She thought about Polly and the handsome Miles. Despair engulfed her. Her shoulders heaved until she gagged and gasped for breath. The clock said 10:40.

Harry would arrive soon. She needed to take a bath. “And you must be hungry,” she said to the cat. Breakfast. Harry said he'd ordered breakfast. She hadn't heard a knock. She cautiously opened the door and peered into the empty hallway. The food should be here by now.

Paige went to run water in the tub. Twenty minutes later, while toweling herself dry, two taps sounded on the door. “Room service.” For long moments she remained standing there. No other knock came. No footsteps sounded. Paige let three minutes tick past, then opened the door.

On the other side stood a silver cart covered in a flowing white tablecloth. A silver coffeepot and silver domed dish emitted smells that made her mouth water. Paige lifted the largest silver cover—eggs benedict, garnished with a sprig of parsley. A small crystal dish held cat food. A plastic wrapped glass of orange juice completed the contents of the top shelf.

Paige bent and lifted the corner of the cloth to see a litterbox. She stowed it in the bathroom. She blew her nose and set the bowl of cat food in front of the purring calico cat.

Paige paced the small room, memorizing the spots on the carpet, wondering where the hell Harry was. It was nearing one o'clock and still not a word. Worry, confusion, and fear crept over her, even though she tried to convince herself that he just had some family emergency, someone in more trouble and danger than she. She giggled, something she rarely did. The giggle turned into a laugh, then evolved into gut wrenching sobs.

"More trouble and danger than I have will be hard to find, Harry old boy.” He hadn't told her exactly what time the flight was supposed to leave, and she hadn't thought to ask what airport he'd used.

She downed some aspirin and turned on the television, hoping it would distract her from the ultimate boredom and loneliness. But all it did was remind her of what she'd left behind and the friends she'd lost, all in the name of escape from Stefano Santangelo, a man she was beginning to hate more than life itself.

As she paced, Paige harbored thoughts of retaliation and murder.

At 4:45, with a throbbing headache, she donned heavy clothing and went in search of a pay phone. She found one inside a convenience store a few doors away from the hotel.

She listened to the coins tinkle into the metal collection box then dialed Harry's office number. No answer. She didn't leave a message. She thumbed through the phone book, hoping his home phone would be listed. He'd given her his home number. Where had she put it? She pressed fingers to her aching temples. Think! Paige dumped her purse on the tiny metal counter and rummaged through the contents, knowing she wasn't going to find it there, but she needed to look or the compulsion wouldn't leave her alone.

She slid coins back into the machine, dialing his office again and listening to the unacknowledged ringing on the other end. Where the hell was Max? She leaned her head against the metal frame of the booth and shut her eyes.

Suddenly, Paige recalled where she'd put Harry's number. It was tucked in the binding of her pink leather address book. And that book was in the desk at her apartment. Not her apartment. Not any more. Someone else would be living there before too long. Someone else would stand in the wide expanse of windows, calmed by the scenery, watching the snow fall. Someone else would enjoy the deep cushioned sofa in the apartment Harry had found for her.

What was Harry's number? But, try as she might, she couldn't recall the order of the seven digits he'd scribbled in ink on the back of his business card.

Paige purchased a few packages of junk food, grimaced at the selection of supermarket wines, but purchased some anyway, plus some cat supplies, and trudged back to the hotel. Her shoes were soaked through and her toes were feeling the beginnings of frostbite.

She averted her face as she passed the desk, wanting to ask if there were any messages, but Harry had reminded her not call attention to herself. “Don't let anyone be able to give a description of you."

She ran down the hallway and let herself into the room. Spirit greeted her mistress with a meow and purred happily when Paige popped the top of a can of food and placed it on the floor. “Sorry, I don't have a bowl for you."

Against Harry's orders, Paige dialed the front desk and asked for messages. Nothing. She sat on the bed, patting the cat, staring blankly at the television, and willing the telephone to ring. At eight o'clock she ordered up a bottle of wine and Caesar salad with a breast of chicken. She ate the salad and fed most of the chicken to Spirit.

After a sleepless night, Paige sat in the bed with the blanket wrapped around herself, dark circles beneath her eyes, and tear-streaked cheeks. Something must've happened to Harry. That was the only answer.

Then, the bundle of money flashed into her head. The bundle she'd tucked into his fist as he'd left her in this place. Twenty-thousand dollars—the amount she considered he'd earned. Was it enough money for him to desert her?

Paige showered and dressed, packed her few belongings, coerced Spirit into her carrier, and called a cab.

Harry's office was deserted. At least she thought it was since the outer door was locked. No wet or salty footprints dirtied the hardwood floor in front of the door. She cupped her hands around her face and tried to see through the opaque glass. There were only shadows inside, but none of them moved and all the furniture-type shadows seemed to be in the same place they'd been on her visit a few days ago. She sniffed the crack near the hinges. Was there a strange smell? What had she smelled last time she was there? Oh yes, furniture polish. This certainly didn't smell like furniture polish. What could it be? Or was it anything?

Paige thought of breaking the glass to get inside. Find his home phone number, she told herself, knowing chances were slim to none, that he'd have his home number written anywhere in his office.

Paige pounded her fist on the doorframe and leaned her forehead in the same spot.

"Can I help you with something?"

Spirit meowed in her crate beside Paige's wet feet.

"I am looking for Harry,” she told the woman who'd appeared out of nowhere.

"I am the tenant of an office down the hall.” She extended a stubby fingered hand. “Mary Wingate."

Paige returned the handshake but didn't offer her name. “I need to find Harry."

"I'm sure he's with his family today.” Mary rattled the knob. “Did you have an appointment? He's probably digging himself out of his driveway. What a storm that was, don't you agree?"

Paige nodded, clenching her jaw against the threat of tears. “Do you know
any
way I can contact him? He gave me his home number but I can't remember it."

"Sorry, I don't know him that well,” she said. “Can I do anything for you?"

"No. I have another idea."

"Well, Spirit, here goes nothing.” She held her breath as she slid the security card through the slot on her apartment door, a gentle click as the lock recognized her code. She pushed the door open and took a step onto the pale blue Berber. It silenced her footsteps as she made her way into the large open living space, eyes darting warily, blinking in the bright sunlight.