Sweet Poison (6 page)

Jane had been astonished by Cordelia’s transformation. Prior to Hattie being dropped on her doorstep by a mother who had little time for a child as she single-mindedly dug her manicured fingernails into the slippery slope of a film career, Cordelia let it be known to anyone within hearing distance that she thought little children—detestable urchins, as she more often phrased it—were all noisy, annoying, sticky, smelly, poorly socialized little brutes and she wanted nothing to do with them. If a child started to cry in a restaurant, Cordelia had been known to leave in a righteous huff. But Hattie had changed everything.

“I assume you’ve heard nothing new from Octavia. A letter? A phone call? A note via carrier pigeon?”

“Apparently,” said Cordelia, sitting down next to Jane, “they don’t have modern methods of communication in Northumberland. Don’t get me started. It will ruin the entire evening.”

“Fine,” said Jane. “Let’s change the subject.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “I stopped by the campaign office on my way back from Flying Cloud this afternoon. I wanted to find out who was on the plane with my dad yesterday when he landed it in that field. I knew John Thompson was there, but it turns out so was Steve Worlander, his press secretary.”

“Back up. You drove out to Flying Cloud Field?”

Jane explained about the call she’d received.

“But if the plane had mechanical problems, how could someone fly it back so quickly?”

“That was my question. I’ve called Dad a couple of times, left several messages, but so far he hasn’t returned any of them. Worlander is still up in St. Cloud, and Thompson lives in Bemidji.”

“You think there’s more to this than your dad is telling you?”

“I’m not sure, but … yeah, I guess I do.” As they stared at each other, each considering the possibilities, Jane heard the door open downstairs and a voice call,
“Babalu!
I’m HOME. If you don’t have my mojito ready, you’ve got some serious ‘splaining to do!”

Cordelia leaped up and thundered downstairs into the living room with Jane following directly behind. She almost knocked Melanie over with a bear hug that could easily have been considered an illegal tackle.

Jane waited for the kisses to stop, then helped Mel with her luggage.

Melanie was wearing her signature tight black jeans and red crewneck sweater. As usual, she smelled of stale cigarette smoke and looked exhausted. Jane had always been a little in love with Melanie. Everyone had. She was smart and salty, and had an irresistible throaty laugh that she used to punctuate her stories.

“How was the trip?” asked Cordelia, walking over to the drinks cart.

“Long, but profitable.” Mel was about to sit down on the couch but changed her mind and strolled over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Minneapolis. The view was partially obscured by a new building that had gone up across the street. “I can move in this weekend.”

“You’re really moving out of here?” asked Jane.

“Yup. I’ve bought a small loft on the fifth floor, directly across from Cordelia’s loft. Come here. I’ll show you.”

Jane walked over to the windows.

“See that single window next to the four bigger ones?”

“Yes?”

“That’s the kitchen. The others are in the living room. There’s lots of light, beautiful bamboo floors, a skylight in the bedroom. Even a roof garden.”

“But—”

“We need space,” said Melanie, turning and drawing her arms wide. “A loft of our own, so to speak. There’s no reason we have to live like every other couple in the world.” She winked at Cordelia. “Come to think of it, Jane, you and Kenzie aren’t exactly living the Brady Bunch life either.”

“No, but Kenzie would prefer we did.”

“Nonsense.” Melanie could be as imperious as Cordelia. “Is my mojito ready, babe?”

“You’ll have to settle for a martini or a manhattan.”

“What are my martini options? Anything fun? Apple? Chocolate? Blue?”

“Gin or vodka.”

“Well,” she said, sighing, “I’m so happy to be home, I’d settle for a can of your black cherry soda.”

Jane winced. It had to be true love.

By ten that night, Jane and Mouse were back at the Lyme House. She pulled herself a beer in the pub on her way to her office, then spent the next couple of hours reading her book on black holes. At one point, she phoned Kenzie, hoping to catch her before she went to bed, but when her voice mail picked up, all Jane could do was leave a message.

Around twelve thirty, she closed the book and looked over at Mouse. “What do you say we call it a night?”

His ears pricked up. He was in his favorite spot, lying on the braided rug between the fireplace and the couch. Jane had worked with the architect who’d designed the building to turn her office into a kind of home away from home. She had not only a private bathroom complete with a shower but also a closet that she kept stocked with clean clothes. The couch and the fireplace made it a perfect place to spend the night, especially during a winter snowstorm when even the few blocks she had to drive to her house seemed like too much effort. She’d spent many nights here, curled up on the couch, reading or writing in her journal. Mouse seemed to love it as much as she did. And if she had a midnight craving for a slice of cold prime rib, there was a fully stocked kitchen right upstairs.

As they made their way through the back parking lot to Jane’s Mini, she was struck by what a beautiful night it was, the air crisp and fresh, full of the scent of dry leaves and wood smoke. “Let’s walk
home,” she said to Mouse, crouching down, stroking his fur. “What do you say?”

Mouse was a typical Lab: easygoing, up for anything. They took the stairs down to the lake path and headed west.

On the way, Jane’s thoughts turned again to Kenzie. The two of them had exchanged rings a few months back. Kenzie had bought Jane a small diamond last spring, but when they discovered it was several sizes too big, Kenzie took it back. They began to visit local jewelry stores while Kenzie was in town last summer. Since Jane had far more money than Kenzie did, she offered to buy the two matching rings they both fell in love with—one-and-a-half-carat diamonds, emerald cut, set in filigreed white gold bands. Kenzie wanted to drive up to Thunder Bay after Christmas and get married. Jane loved Kenzie with all her heart, but for some reason she hadn’t quite been able to put her finger on, she didn’t want a marriage. Kenzie, of course, thought Jane was afraid of commitment. It seemed like such a stupid cliché, but if that was her underlying reason for wanting to table the discussion for the moment, then she figured she had a right to it.

Jane had been badly burned awhile back after an affair with a woman who turned out to be a liar and a manipulator, a doctor who was not only deceitful but also dishonorable. Passion might be great, as was the feeling of going a little crazy, of losing control, of thinking that this was true love that would last forever. But that was a package Jane simply couldn’t buy anymore. Kenzie was getting the jaded, older, war-weary Jane instead of the young, obstacles-be-damned, give-me-a-dragon-to-slay-for-you Jane of yesteryear. Jane doubted she’d ever feel that way again.

“The thing is,” she said to Mouse, as they walked up the steps to her front door, “if I ever lost Kenzie, I don’t know what I’d do. She keeps my heart ticking, you know what I mean? My feet planted firmly on terra firma. But marriage … I don’t think so.”

Mouse looked up at her with soulful eyes.

“I know. You don’t want to take sides. Always the diplomat.”

She bent down and kissed his nose, then straightened up and
pressed the key into the lock. As soon as they were inside, Mouse strained at his leash, pulling her through the dining room into the kitchen. He wanted to be let out into the backyard, and then he wanted his bedtime treat. No deviation from routine was allowed. He was a creature of habit, but then, who wasn’t?

She’d just come back into the kitchen when her cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID, she saw that it was Kenzie. “Hey, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you.”

“I got your message,” came Kenzie’s voice. “Hope I’m not waking you.”

“I just got home. I’m glad you called.”

“I was in town at a movie.”

“Anything good?”

“It was a testosterone flick. Not too bad, but not great.” She had an easy laugh. “I probably should have stayed home and taken Ben or Rocket out for a ride.”

“The horses are going to miss you while you’re gone.”

“Nah, they won’t. They’re used to Lee by now. I think they might even like him better than they do me.”

“Not possible.”

Lee Lundeen was a neighbor of Kenzie’s who also owned horses. While she was out of town during the summer, he’d boarded them at his place. He didn’t ask for much money because he loved horses and was happy to do her the favor.

“He’s more free with his carrots than I am.” Another laugh.

They talked for the better part of an hour. Jane checked on Mouse a couple of times. He was chewing on his green tennis ball, lying in the grass, oblivious to the chilly night air.

Kenzie was appalled when she heard about the near plane crash. “Have you talked to your dad since he got back?”

“He’s so busy right now he hardly has time to comb his hair. But he’ll call.”

“Maybe the three of us can get together for a cup of coffee when I’m in town next weekend.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Not until after the election.”

At one point during the conversation, Jane had turned off the lights on the mantel in the living room. She liked talking to Kenzie in the dark because she could pretend more easily that they were together, not linked merely by a cell phone tower. It was a little before two when they said their final good nights.

“I’ll see you around three on Thursday,” said Kenzie.

“I’ll be waiting with the marching band. Drive safely, okay?”

“I will, Lawless. Love you. See you soon.”

Jane sat in the darkened living room, thinking over what they’d talked about—everything from interdepartmental politics at Kenzie’s college, to the
Oxford English Dictionary
, to the comic Eddie Izzard, the new Einstein biography, time travel, a breakfast cereal Kenzie liked, the weather in Mongolia, Chinese proverbs, and on and on. They never ran out of topics, it seemed. Jane loved talking to Kenzie because she was so alive, so interested in the world around her. And she had a wry sense of humor that kept everything in perspective.

With soft moonlight streaming in through the living room windows, Jane rose from her chair. She was about to head to the kitchen to let Mouse back into the house when she heard the umistakable sound of a key slipping into the front door lock. Startled, she backed up. Cordelia was the most likely suspect. She tended to arrive at Jane’s house at all hours of the day and night, but because Melanie had just returned home, it didn’t seem likely that Cordelia would come over tonight. Jane moved back into the living room and, on instinct, picked up the fireplace poker.

The door opened.

The front hall light burst on.

“My God,” said Jane, feeling a shock of recognition. She understood now. The scent in her house. It all made sense. “What the hell are you doing here?” She lowered the poker, then changed her mind and raised it again. “Answer me!”

T
wo
A.M
. Closing time.

Corey had been waiting outside the bar for over an hour, working on what he’d say when she came out. Serena had written to him at least a dozen times when he was first inside, but the letters had died off after a month. He understood, never blamed her. Serena’s mother hated him, simple as that. Every day they were apart was another opportunity for the old witch to bad-mouth him. Nine years and change had given her plenty of time, and the rape conviction plenty of ammunition.

When the plea bargain went down, Serena had only been nineteen, five years younger than him, still living under her mom’s thumb, attending the university like her mom wanted. She tended bar in the evenings because it gave her a reason for getting out of the house. It hadn’t taken Corey long to find out she was still tending bar, although the location had changed. The Unicorn was a dive in Uptown. It was a big comedown from the fancy place she’d worked at nine years ago. He wondered idly how far she’d gotten with her nursing degree. By the looks of it, not far.

Corey had tried college himself for a couple of years, gone into debt for a piece of paper that he finally understood meant nothing to
him. He’d never had much focus. He thought maybe he’d be a writer because he liked books. Stupid idea. His teachers made it clear right off that he didn’t have the talent. He’d scribbled some short stories in prison, nothing great, although he liked them. He’d never shown them to anyone. What was the point? He’d been laughed at in college enough to last a lifetime.

It was Serena’s mom who wanted her to be a nurse. Mad Marsha had wanted to be a nurse herself before she got pregnant, got married, and ended up with a sick husband who never had the good grace simply to die and let her get on with things. Corey laughed to himself when he realized that maybe Mad Marsha had gotten her wish after all. She’d nursed old Woody Van Dorn until his death two years ago. The only reason Corey knew the old guy had kicked the bucket was that his aunt Mary had written to him about seeing Woody’s obituary in the paper. Tough break for Woody. Good news for the rest of the world.