Vienna (14 page)

Fed up with the day, Justine went to the foot of the bed. “Vienna, come here.” The girl obeyed without objection, sitting cross-legged. “Tell me what's wrong.”

Vienna shrank down. “Something happened and I can't remember but it's important and I don't know what to do because you'll think it's stupid.”

Justine wound her way through the words. “Happened when?”

“A long time ago but it has to do with what David Andries said.”

The use of Grant's real name was still a shock. “What did he say?”

“Inalienable artifacts.”

“And?” Irritation at being swept up in the girl's wandering thoughts.

“The words aren't right.”

“But they're connected to you?”

“Not to me.” Vienna exhaled and stiffened her back. “There's this villa next to a lake, yeah? Three stories of gray limestone.” Her hands framed large blocks. “The ground floor was rusticated, like Raphael's House except much larger.” Her arms spread wide. “Palladian style with attached wings and jade moss spreading in the shade. Tiny white flowers.” A breath of silence. “Piano nobile.” Whatever that was, it triggered the ghost smile. “There used to be a room just for me that overlooked the courtyard fountain and formal gardens. The kitchen and medicinal gardens were off the south wing so I couldn't see them so well.”

Suddenly conscious of her hands, Vienna hid them under her legs. “Fenugreek,” she said.

“Vienna?”

A sharp intake of breath. “Uncle Anson took me there several times when I was younger. He said it had once served as a summer house for the Habsburgs and he said I should call it the Cart House because above the door there is an engraving of a Germanic goddess riding a cart.”

“Not what I picture as divine transport,” Justine said.

Vienna's gaze slipped away. “It's a very nice cart, pulled by four oxen. Nerthus returning to her lake, surrounded by maidens.” This was cause for a frown. “Days of celebration and happiness.” Tears turning her eyes glassy.

“Hey, it's okay.” Justine put her hand on Vienna's knee. A quiet gesture that had somehow eluded Justine back in med school.

It was enough to reset the girl's thoughts. Vienna pushed on. “There's a chapel in the north wing, with a huge telly. Men watch football matches and even bet on them, so maybe it isn't a real chapel anymore. It has seventeen huge windows with red and blue glass. Ruby glass used to be made with gold.…” Vienna gave a soft, toneless hum, already a recognizable sign of attention wandering away. “Johann Kunckel.” She sighed. “There are glass-covered bookcases with lots of books in English, but some very old, with the spelling wrong, yeah? ‘Bleffing' instead of ‘Blessing.' I saw…” She cut the words off.

“Keep going.”

Vienna's jaw clinched. “A unicorn.”

Justine realized it was the perfect setup for a cherished family joke, honed over years of visiting her grandfather's ranch. Every project, from clearing snow to erecting a barn, seemed to call for an eight-ton capacity loader. The claim had morphed into a maxim for dealing with unwanted realities.

I'm having an affair with a girl who thinks unicorns had something to do with a murder.
Gonna need an eight-ton capacity loader for that.

“Unicorn?”

“And a plate, and a star,” Vienna said.

“These things are related to what Grant said?”

“I can't remember!”

“Well, we know it was something you heard and not something you read.”

Vienna brightened. “That's true.”

“But it fails to account for why you set up camp as far away from me as possible.”

Vienna inhaled and let out a rush of words. “If you see too much of me you'll get bored because my body is stupid and sick and you'll leave.”

Predictable, which didn't help. “Strip down, and we'll time how long until boredom sets in.”

Vienna looked at the bedside clock and her hands went to the top button of her blouse.

Justine winced and took hold of her fingers. “Vienna, with you avoiding me, I thought you no longer wanted to be with me.”

Vienna shook her head once and pitched herself forward in an awkward hug—arms held stiffly behind Justine. “You know that isn't right!”

Justine was left queasy at the effortless manipulation. Vienna shifted closer and Justine understood her want, probably better than she did.
Not now.
She disentangled herself.
Maybe not ever again.

“Business before pleasure.”

Vienna's gaze lowered.

“Don't give me that. You're the one who got me thinking I might be in trouble. Time to find out.”

“How?”

“By being a pain in the ass.” Justine pulled her BlackBerry from the table. She navigated past Igor Czasky's secretary in record time.

“Mr. Czasky?… Fine, all things considered … yes … she's with me now … no, no, nothing like that. Given recent events, I don't feel it would be right to hold you to our contract for the Clay to Flesh series.… I appreciate that, Mr. Czasky, but I'm not certain I can face work, with the death of Grant … I see … No, that won't be necessary.… well, then I accept. Thank you … yes … good-bye.”

Justine turned the phone off. “How unsettling was that?” she said to Vienna. Vienna's face went blank, and Justine couldn't help smiling. “You're cute when you're lost. Free of the world's worries. I like that.”

“You're making fun of me.”

“Do you know why?”

“No. It's mean.”

“It's something you have to discover for yourself.” She set the BlackBerry down. “Czasky added a huge bonus for staying on. What do you make of that?”

“He's nice?”

“Not in this business.”

Vienna swirled a lock of hair in her fingers, adding another layer of tangles. “The manikins are in private collections, yeah? Getting permission to shoot them must have been hard.”

“Agreed.”

“If there's a tight schedule, bringing in a new model might ruin that?”

“Every girl strutting every catwalk under the sun would be on a plane inside thirty minutes for a payday like this. Something else.”

“Maybe it's important that you and no one else keeps the schedule?” Vienna asked.

“That's what I was afraid of.”

“Then why are the manikins being replaced?”

“We aren't certain they are.”

“Don't be thick. Someone made a mold of the statues, using sand since that would produce a smaller replica. Then maybe a polyvinyl chloride polymer with kaolin clay and—” She paused. “Kaolin means ‘high hill.'” She blushed and added a slight shrug. “Get the chemistry right, paint it like the original, and the texture would pass for polished wood. The mass would be off though.”

“I don't buy it. How long would it take to make a duplicate? A week? A month?”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong. You don't know anything. Polymers set within two hours. The rest would be finishing work. Maybe three days if you worked really hard.”

“That's a day less than the project requires for each manikin. Clothes need to be fit and crates need to be constructed for carrying everything to location.” Justine shook her head. “But still pointless. There isn't any money in it.”

“Then for another reason. How many are left to photograph?”

“London, Reykjavík, and your namesake.”

“They haven't found what they are after, or else they wouldn't be in such a hurry to keep going.”

“They?”

“Czasky and whoever else is interested in your work,” Vienna answered.

Justine folded her arms in front of her. “Including you?” Vienna shook her head, a cold front gathering in her eyes. Justine pushed harder. “In fact, you top the suspect list.”

“Stop it!”

Just can't help yourself, can you?
“Might have to search you.”

Vienna froze. Vanishing inside herself, trying so hard to think her way through such transparent innuendo. “Okay?” was all she finally said. Far too shaky for what had already happened.

“For now, we need to—”

There was a solid knock on the door. Justine unfolded herself from the bed. She glanced through the peephole and opened the door in surprise. James Hargrave.
Vienna's right. He does look like a cowboy.

He held out his hand. “James Hargrave, Hargrave International Talent.”

Justine hesitantly shook his hand. The black face of his watch caught the light, the small travel chronometer already set one hour behind for tomorrow's trip to London. Hargrave S.O.P. to make certain he set his watch to local time after travel.

“I would say I'm a sucker for hard-luck cases, but the truth is that as a skilled parasite I still sense money.” He tilted his head as if appraising art. “Besides, I've grown fond of you and all your thorns. I would like to come back.”

“There isn't much left to represent.”

“Enough to rebuild. You're still the best there is. I couldn't bring myself to do anything other than delete all the crap I sent you.”

Justine looked at Vienna. But she was gone, wrapped inside herself as she rocked gently on the bed. Her gaze as distant as Elvis back in Tupelo.

 

12

London

Out of the jet fuel chaos of Heathrow and on the Tube. Mind the gap. When the rails were above ground, Vienna saw blue sky flash through fences. She'd expected cold fog, so now her steel-colored culottes and dark top were too warm. They were pretty though. One of twelve tailored outfits that had followed her here, carried on a cushion of Justine Am's wealth.

From the Charing Cross Station on foot to the Savoy. The Thames beside them as dark and primal as Gihon flowing from the Garden. Vienna saw words from an American named Emily Dickinson.
Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day; Without suspecting our abode, until we drive away.

“Why didn't you take the car with Mr. Hargrave and our luggage?” she asked. She didn't feel like walking through the ghosts of London. The home she had before Grayfield forced her out.

“It's too nice to be in a car.”

“But you're filthy.”

“Filthy?”

“Rich.”

“To paraphrase you, rich people can do whatever they want and there's not much you can do about it.”

“That's completely off the tracks.”

“Said the broken girl.”

Vienna went silent.

“Anyway, I don't like taxis here. Something you'd drive over the end credits of classic film noir. Cagney behind the wheel and a blonde stuffed in the trunk.” She smiled. “Boot, before you ask.”

Vienna had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Before she could make anything up, she heard footsteps from behind.

“You owe me a Nikkor 17-to-55 stabilized zoom.”

Vienna turned and saw the long-haired photographer from the Brussels gelato shop.

“You owe me for sucking air that actual humans might use,” Justine said.

“If that's the best you have, keep your day job.” His eyes were pinched like he was looking at the sun, and his voice was quiet. The tattoo on his forearm ugly and mean as a scab.

“Why are you following us?” Vienna asked.

The man shook his head, stringy hair brushing across his forehead. “Something going down here. It'll play out big.”

Justine exhaled through her teeth. “You know, after Di's death, they don't much like your kind in London.”

“Don't be so precious. Without my kind, your kind wouldn't exist.”

“Newsflash, asshole: I don't care. Go spawn in someone else's slime trail.”

“Harsh words from someone who used to be a pressroom darling. Why the vitriol?”

Justine glanced at Vienna.

“So it's true. You've fallen for the wind-up toy? Beauty and the bizarre. You want a medal? I couldn't care less who you sleep with.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to know why David Andries is dead.”

“So would the police. Ask them.”

“They gave me the usual runaround, but the truth is they have no idea.”

“So shoot yourself and ask him in person.”

“I would rather find answers from this side of the grave.”

“And have you?” Vienna asked.

He turned to face her. “Your coworker, Cecile Doren, identified David Andries from a set of photos I showed her.”

Why would Cecile know him?
“What else?”

“David Andries's father had several friends within the Order of the Golden Fleece. There was a time when he was very well connected.”

“Was?”

“Ostracized several years ago. David was deeply bitter over his father's disgrace.”

“Get him a shrink,” Justine said.

“Justine, please,” Vienna said. “Why was David's father driven out?”

“Have you heard of the Star of Memphis?”

Vienna followed the words. “No.”

“A shame. It's an interesting story.”

“What does it have to do with David Andries?”

The man's greasy smile returned. “What can you offer for my hard-won knowledge? It didn't come cheap.”

“Vienna, you can't deal with this pig.”

“You can't stop me. Tell me what you know.”

The photographer gave a mock bow. “We'll settle later.”

“With what,” Justine demanded.

“Exclusive with Vienna. My choice of venue.”

“No deal,” Justine said.

“If what you say helps us, I agree,” Vienna quickly said.

“Good. You're staying at the Savoy?”

Vienna looked at Justine. “We are,” she said.

“Then we'll meet at the American Bar at five o'clock?”

“You haven't given us a reason,” Justine said.