The Lady Vanishes (34 page)

Nick looked doubtful. “You sure you weren’t just pissed off?”

Milton stopped and shrugged. “Yeah. I was. That was part of it.”

“So why is she so upset?” Nick asked.

Milton didn’t have the patience to explain, but to his surprise, Roland answered. “She had it pretty rough after her father left. When he got away, a lot of people took it out on her family. She was even accosted outside her home by someone who had lost everything.”

Milton froze. “Accosted?” Why hadn’t he known of this? Why hadn’t it turned up in any of the research he’d done?

Roland spread his hands. “One of Burke’s investors shoved her up against a wall and smacked her around, screaming at her to tell him where he father was, until the police showed up and put a stop to it.”

Milton sank into the chair behind his desk. “How do you know this? Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“I doubt she wants to think about it,” Roland muttered. “I only know because my stepfather prosecuted the asshole. I thought she would have told you.”

Milton shook his head. She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t explained. But the painful truth was, it didn’t matter. He shouldn’t have done it without talking to her. You didn’t do something like that to the woman you loved without at least a heads-up.

His fingers twitched, the need to work on something, anything, coming over him in a paralyzing rush. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. No amount of magic would make this right. He knew it, and, somewhere deep inside, he howled in agony.

NEARLY A WEEK LATER,
two days before the magic show, Regina locked herself in her office for lunch and sat down wearily. Bouquets of flowers in all shapes and sizes and colors filled the room, all of them from Milton. She’d stopped trying to get rid of them when she realized the hospital staff was bringing them right back into her office every night.

She’d changed her cell phone number, both to stop getting calls from Milton and to stop the endless calls from the press, asking to interview her about her father, her relationship with Milton, everything.

It had only taken Milton half an hour to find her new number and start calling her again. It had taken the reporters more than twenty-four hours. The only reason her office phone wasn’t ringing off the hook was because the switchboard and the hospital publicity department were screening all calls from reporters.

He sent El Greco a diamond collar, Celeste a twelve-hundred-dollar pair of shoes, and Regina a car, a Bentley convertible that was so beautiful she’d nearly kicked it in irritation. She sent everything back except the shoes, but only because Celeste refused to give them to her, calling her an idiot.

Regina didn’t agree. She’d had a visit with the hospital chief of staff that morning. He’d expressed concern that her notoriety was making it difficult for her to do her job. She’d assured him it wasn’t, but she didn’t know whether he’d believed her.

Rose-Lindsey had been no help. She suggested that she and Celeste speak with their father, get everything off their chests, and that the publicity would die down with time. And to Regina’s annoyance, Celeste had agreed with her.

Gritting her teeth at the idea of visiting that man, Regina turned to face the filing cabinet, the only place in the room that was not full of flowers.

When her door opened, she turned around, expecting to see one of the nurses, but it was Celeste, dressed in a demure suit, her hair in a topknot. She stepped in and took a seat.

“I’ll have you know that I just spoke to our father.”

Regina stared. “What?”

“I called that marshal back this week and I made arrangements to see our father. I took your car.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Milton sent it back.”

“Celeste—”

“Enough,” her sister snapped in a tone Regina had never heard from her before. “I’m tired of living like I have something to be ashamed of. I didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did you. It’s about time you realized it.”

Regina took a deep breath and let it out.

“It’s not just that. Milton had no right to do that without talking to me.”

“That’s true,” Celeste agreed. “He fucked up royally, but I believe he’s trying to apologize.” She gestured to the flowers that filled the room. “If you weren’t so fucking stubborn, you’d let him. Hell, even our father apologized.”

“He did not.”

“Cross my heart.” Celeste held her fingers up in the Girl Scout salute.

“Celeste—”

“Ugh.” Celeste surged to her feet. “I hate it when you say my name like that. It means you’re not listening.”

She left, slamming the door behind her. Regina put her face in her hands. A ward full of kids with cancer, and her life was the center of all the drama.

ON FRIDAY MORNING,
Milton stood in front of his brother’s headstone with his hands in the pocket of his wool coat. The flowers he and his mother had placed there for the anniversary of his death were covered in snow. His fedora sat on his head, but it lacked its usually jaunty ankle. Instead he kept it low over his eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“Hey, William,” he said simply. There was no answer, of course, just the steady press of cold, the stark white of the snow gathered in the cemetery. He hadn’t tried to speak to his brother since he’d died, hadn’t tried to say any of the things he hadn’t been able to say while William was in the hospital.

“So, I fucked up. You’re probably not surprised. I was always the one who got us into trouble.”

William, two years younger, had always worshipped Milton, following him everywhere. Into the abandoned house down the street, out into the graveyard, across the frozen pond. When Milton became fascinated by Harry Houdini and his effects, William had been the one to help him practice. When William had gotten sick, Milton had become even more fascinated by magic, sure that if he tried hard enough, he’d be able to save his brother. He’d performed tricks instead of talking, learning a new one every week, showing it to his brother as William lay, pale and thin, his eyes bruised-looking as he’d watched with fascinated appreciation. His brother had always been his best audience.

“We have a show tomorrow, for the kids at the hospital. She’s going to be in it—she won’t disappoint the kids, but she’s not speaking to me now.”

Milton ignored the urge to pull out his cards. “I thought that I could make her love me. I thought that if I showed her magic, that if I fixed what had gone wrong in her life, she would take a chance and love me.”

Silence. The sound of a car passing. The deep, almost soundless rumble of snow falling from nearby trees.

“I should have listened to Mom. She told me to be patient.”

He laughed, a raw sound, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “Not my strong suit. I saw something standing in the way of what I wanted and I decided to remove it, without a thought for her or what she would go through.”

Milton rubbed his chest, where the ache of her absence had settled. He wanted her back in his life. He wanted to eat dinner with her, and watch TV, and teach her to play video games. He wanted her to have fun, to see the world, to wake up next to him every morning. He wanted the privilege of making her happy for as long as she would let him.

“I told her I loved her, but I don’t think I realized what it meant at the time. You always found a way to keep Mom from getting mad at us,” he said. “I wish I knew that trick now.”

“Well, that’s easy,” his mother said, huffing as she climbed the small rise. “I loved you both, but William, he was always so pleased with his big brother, so excited to share your adventures, it was hard to be angry in the face of such joy.”

Milton moved to help her the rest of the way up the rise, wondering how she’d known he was here.

“Shane called me,” she told him.

Milton nodded. “Well, I don’t have anyone telling Regina how awesome I am, so I doubt that will help her forgive me.”

“If she loves you, she will forgive you.”

“Great,” Milton said, scowling. “There’s no guarantee she loves me. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. Can you love someone in a few weeks?” He knew his answer. He loved her. He felt sick from thinking about her, from missing her, feverish with joy at the idea that he would see her tomorrow, even if she wasn’t speaking to him.

His mother smacked him on the back of the head. “Of course you can. Your father walked up to me and said, ‘She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies.’ I had never heard anything so beautiful. And he said it to me, an Armenian girl who barely went to school. His words were magic to me.”

Milton rubbed his head. “I didn’t speak poetry to her. I performed a trick. Instead of talking to her, I made her a flower and pinned it to her shirt.”

“Well, that’s you,” his mother said simply. “You are who you are. Tell her you love her again. If you give up, she’ll never believe that you meant it, that she is worth the trouble.”

“She is trouble.”

“Well, good, then she is perfect for you.”

THE NONDESCRIPT BUILDING
in downtown Boston didn’t look like a prison. It actually looked like most of the other brick buildings in the area. Regina glanced at her phone to make sure she was at the right address. The U.S. Marshals had sent instructions for visitation, but she was expecting something more like the depictions she’d seen of prisons on TV.

It was Friday afternoon, and she’d left work early, changing into a suit, a dark blue shirt, and heeled boots, but keeping her hair in a bun. She’d worn her good dark wool peacoat and a purple scarf that had been a Christmas gift from Rose-Lindsey. She followed the directions on her phone from the bus stop, avoiding piles of dirty snow and other pedestrians as she hurried along.

Approaching the steps that led up to glass doors, Regina noticed the various cameras—many more than on the outside of most buildings—and she moved a little quicker. As she approached, the door was opened by a uniformed officer. The room reminded Regina of a bank lobby, with marble floors and columns, and lots of glossy dark wood. The difference was that instead of tellers behind glass windows, there were two X-ray machines and metal detectors, and several other uniformed officers, included two with dogs.

“Can I help you?” the officer asked her. He had a thick mustache and kind brown eyes.

“Yes, I’m here to visit Carter Burke. I was told to ask for Marshal Winters.”

“What’s your name?”

“Regina Burke.”

“Hang on.” He pulled a radio off his belt. “I have a Regina Burke here to see Marshal Winters.”

The radio crackled, and a voice on the other end said something Regina couldn’t quite make out.

“All right. Can I see some identification?”

Regina removed her driver’s license from her purse and handed it to the officer. He shined some kind of light on it, and then looked her over closely.

“All right.” He handed it back to her. “You’ll need to pass your bag through the X-ray machine and walk through the scanner.”

Regina did, and a few minutes later she was being escorted down a hallway with blue carpets and paintings of Revolutionary War heroes along the walls. The officer escorting her opened the door to a nondescript office with a wooden desk and a woman in a suit typing on a laptop.