Suspicion of Betrayal (2 page)

Anthony showed her a drawing of the new master bedroom. "Here's a view of the upper-floor terrace from our room. It's completely private. Karen's room and the other two bedrooms would have balconies. The guest house would be next to the pool, separate or connected to the main house, whatever we prefer."

"The pool?"

As if finally aware of what he was showing her, Anthony shuffled through the sketches. "Well, the architect thought it would add value to the house. You don't want a pool?"

"But we were only going to redo the kitchen and make some minor repairs, not redesign the entire house. We don't have time for major renovation right now."

"That's what contractors are for."

"But
somebody
has to be here to deal with these people. Not
you.
I get to do it because I live here."

"I do not want to live in this house the way it is, and it is better—in my opinion—to do it now, to get it over with—"

"Anthony, let's just get the kitchen done."

"Why are you being so negative?"

"I'm not negative, this is insane!" Gail sat back in her chair. "How much would it cost? Ballpark figure."

He shrugged. "I don't know. Two-fifty. Three hundred."

"At least." She propped her chin in her palm. "I hate to tell you, but I've got that old Hawaiian disease—lackamoola." When Anthony went blank, she repeated, "Lackamoola. Lack of—"

"Okay, I get it."

"Miriam's been asking for a raise, the computers are costing a fortune, and I'm afraid to spend money right now."

He scooted his chair out and reached for her hand. "Sweetheart, listen to me. It was my decision to hire the architect, and the changes—those over our budget—I'll take care of them. You don't have to match every dollar I put into the house. I don't expect you to."

"But I
want
to."

"Why?"

"Because ... I just do."

His laugh was an exhalation of disbelief. "What are you trying to prove?"

"I am not trying to
prove
anything. But when you blithely start talking about three hundred thousand dollars ..."

He spun a drawing to the table. "Maybe we shouldn't have bought this house. Maybe we should find something else."

"Well, you know, I can't say it hasn't crossed my mind a few times as I waited around for someone to come fix the roof."

"Is that what you want? All right. Okay,
vamos a venderla.
I'll call a realtor tomorrow."

"Another of your typically extreme responses—"

Above the whir and hum of the air conditioner—always on this time of year—Gail heard a high-pitched noise. It took her a few seconds to realize it was a scream, and that it wasn't a sound effect on one of Karen's CDs. She leaped up.

"What was that?" Anthony asked.

"Karen!"

He automatically glanced upward, then raced for the stairs. Gail heard it again—closer, and coming from the backyard. She ran through the kitchen and onto the terrace, seeing nothing but tangled trees and through them a glimmer of light on the water.

Karen came hurtling out of the darkness, another girl closely behind, legs pounding. Gail ran across the terrace, nearly tripping on a broken tile.

A third girl followed more slowly. "Come on, guys. He was just kidding."

Fists clenched, Karen whirled around. The friend with her giggled, breathless with excitement. Gail reached for Karen to make sure she was all right, then moved to stand in front of her, guarding her from whatever might be out there. The gazebo was a crisscross of pale lines, and a small orange dot—a cigarette—flew into the shadows. "Who's there?"

The third girl slowed. "It's my brother. He didn't mean anything."

A boy sauntered down the steps. Gail could see only a slender frame and blond curls. His voice carried easily on the heavy, humid air. "My mom sent me to find Lindsay."

Gail glared at him, the same kid who had skidded over her freshly laid sod on his older brother's motorcycle. "Go home, Payton. Now. And stay off this property."

He shouted back at her, "I wasn't doing anything. Don't get so hyper."

"I said go home! Do you want me to call your parents?"

"Go ahead."

Karen screamed, "Payton, you asshole!"

Gail grabbed her upper arm. "Don't talk like that!"

"Owww!"

"I'm not hurting you." She came closer and sniffed Karen's hair. "What were you doing out there? Smoking?" She shook her. "Answer me."

The boy vanished into the bushes, and his sister fled after him.

"I wasn't!" Karen tried to twist out of Gail's grip, but slipped and fell on her backside. The girl beside her quickly moved away. This was a chubby little brunette whose tight shirt showed it was time for a bra. Karen started to wail.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic!"

The back door banged open, slamming against the wall. Anthony appeared.
"¿Qué en el demonio—?"

"Jennifer!"

A woman stood at the edge of the house. Gail recognized her—Mrs. Cabrera, Jennifer's mother. They lived a few doors down. With some urgency she called out, "Jennifer,
ven aca.
Time to come home. Right now."

Gripping Karen's arm, Gail pulled her to her feet. With Mrs. Cabrera's accusatory eyes on her, she hurried to explain. "They were in the gazebo with friends. I don't know what was going on."

"Nothing!" yelled Karen. "Mom, let me
go
!"

Jennifer made a guilty little wave at Karen. "See ya." Mrs. Cabrera shot another look at the three of them, then bustled her daughter away with a terse "Good night."

Gail took Karen into the kitchen. "You. Go to your room and get ready for bed. I'll be there in a minute. We're going to talk." She turned Karen toward the stairs and gave her a little shove to send her off.

Anthony closed the back door and locked it. "What was that about?"

"You tell me. They were out there with Payton Cunningham, who was smoking. I'd like to know how many cigarette butts I find down there tomorrow, and God help them if I find anything else. Payton is fourteen, a budding juvenile delinquent who dug tire tracks in the yard last week." With a little moan Gail brushed her hair off her forehead. "Welcome to family life."

"I know. I have kids."

"Yes, but yours are comfortably away in New Jersey." Gail noticed the drawings on the table. "I need to see about Karen. Could we talk about the house later? Not tonight. I really have to get to work. You can stay if you want."

"No." As if trying to decide what to say, Anthony glanced toward the terrace, then back at Gail. "You let her get away with too much."

"Let her? I didn't
let
her go outside—"

"But she did, and why did she assume she could get away with it? When I'm living here, that behavior is going to change."

"Really. Well, good luck."

He was gone in less than five minutes. She watched his car pull out of the driveway. Red taillights flared, then grew smaller up the street. His kiss had been more polite than affectionate. Gail locked the door, then leaned on it. The lamp on her glass-topped table did little to illuminate the living room. Her furniture looked ridiculous, all modern white sofas and chairs and light wood.

In her head the words she had bit her tongue not to say were whirling around:
Yes, let's sell the damn thing. I'm sorry we bought it.

Twenty-five-watt bulbs in pitted, brass-colored sconces lit her way up the stairs. She glared at them, vowing to rip them off with a crowbar at the earliest opportunity. No sound came from Karen's room. Gail tried the door. "Karen? Let me in." When there was no response, Gail smacked her palm on the varnished wood panel. "Karen! Open this door."

The lock clicked. Karen was in her pajamas and the light was off. She yawned widely. "I was asleep."

"You were not." Gail flipped the switch, and the desk lamp went on. "Don't
ever
lock your door like that."

"You lock yours." Retreating to her bed, Karen drew up her legs and hugged them with thin arms. "When Anthony is here, you lock your door, so why can't I lock mine?"

Gail took a breath, then another. "What were you doing outside?"

"Nothing." The kitten mewed to get on the bed, and Karen picked it up, a handful of black-and-white fur.

"I have eyes, Karen. I saw Payton's cigarette."

"Mom!" She dropped her forehead onto her knees. "I wasn't smoking. Cigarettes stink." The cat batted a strand of her hair.

"I told you not to go outside, and you did it anyway. You're grounded for a week." "Mom!"

"You go to day camp, you come home, and you stay inside. I intend to inform your father of this too."

"That is so unfair! I called Lindsay and said I couldn't go out, and she said she had to get her Beanie Baby back. I went to give it to her, that's all."

"You were in the gazebo with your friends and Payton Cunningham."

"He's the one that should be grounded. He's a spoiled brat idiot. I hate him! I hate everybody in this neighborhood. I hate this house. I hate you and I hate Anthony!"

"That's enough!"

Karen stared up at her with red-rimmed eyes, and her mouth trembled. There was more than rebellion in that reaction, Gail thought. Quietly she said, "Karen, what happened out there? Why did you scream?"

Karen wavered.

"Don't be afraid. Did Payton do something to you?" Gail sat beside her on the edge of the bed.

"He kissed me. I didn't want him to, Mom." Her eyes filled. "I didn't. Jennifer let him, but I didn't want to. He grabbed me. He was laughing."

Gail folded her in an embrace. "Oh, sweetie. It's okay. Good for you, saying no. Don't do anything with a boy—ever—that you don't want to." Gail kissed the top of her head. "You're a good, good girl. I'm proud of you."

"Mom, I'm sorry." Karen lifted her tear-blotched face. "I didn't mean to say all that. I don't hate you or Anthony, I swear."

"Well. You're still grounded." "I know."

The summer sun had browned Karen's skin and streaked her hair. Her adventure in the backyard had tangled it. Gail combed it with her fingers. "Is it so bad here? You're making friends. You know, Anthony and I were talking about the house tonight. He wants to put a pool in the backyard. What do you think? You could have your friends over. Invite the girls from the old neighborhood."

"That would be fun."

"You loved this house when we first saw it. Remember? You and Anthony. I think I said yes because you both loved it so much." Gail sat quietly for a few moments, rocking Karen. "Are you hungry? You missed dinner."

"Very
hungry."

"Okay. I'll bring you something."

Karen clung. "Can I sleep with you tonight? I'm scared. Please, Mommy?"

"Sweetie . . ." Gail extricated herself. "Nobody's going to get you."

"Yes! Me scared!"

"Oh, Karen!" Gail had noticed how she could take these turns, veering from mature to childish. Nothing used to frighten her, but now anything could. Gail was at a loss, not knowing what to do. If Anthony was here, he would not want a visitor in their bed. To start a precedent meant breaking it later. But now Karen needed her.

Finally she said, "Okay. Just for tonight."

Karen flung herself at Gail and wrapped her long legs around her waist. Her body was taut as a wire. "Carry me. Carry me, Mommy." Leaning back against the weight, Gail went across the hall, opened the door to her room, and dropped Karen on her side of the king-size bed, where she bounced, then burrowed under the sheet and light summer blanket. "Missy! I want Missy."

Gail went to Karen's room, found the kitten under a chair, and brought her back across the hall. "Don't you let her pee in my bed." She tucked Missy under the covers. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"To get something for you to eat. I won't be long."

"Tell me a story."

"Karen, I really can't tonight. I have some work to finish."

"Daddy always tells me a story."

"I doubt that." Gail turned on the ceiling fan. "I'll bring you a book, okay?"

She chose one quickly from Karen's collection and assured her again she'd be right back. Once around the corner, Gail almost broke into a run. There would be a hearing early in the morning, and earlier still she had to meet her client and go over the testimony. Gail berated herself for not having prepared her case earlier in the week, but so much had intervened to pick away at what little time she had. A divorce case, Wendell and Jamie Sweet.

The Sweets. A funny name for two people who detested each other so thoroughly. The judge would set an amount for temporary support and an award for attorney's fees. Gail was hopeful she could collect at least twenty thousand dollars. She had put in the hours to justify it. If the judge signed the order, she could take care of some past due bills at her office and pay overhead for the next month.

She made Karen a sandwich and some chocolate milk, then turned on the gas stove to boil water for coffee. While it was heating, she put away the leftovers and rinsed the dishes. Lightning flickered to the east, an ocean storm too far away for thunder. The palm trees were spiky silhouettes. Her own reflection looked back at her, a tall woman with tousled blond hair.

The phone rang just as she had started back up the stairs with a tray. Her watch said 9:52. At this hour it would be one of three people: her mother, a frantic client, or Anthony. She wanted it to be Anthony. They would talk for a little while, and everything would be all right again.

There was an extension on a table just around the corner in the living room. A streetlight shone weakly through the blinds, making jagged stripes across the floor.

She set the tray down. "Hello?"

The only reply was a faint buzz that said the line was open. She heard some background noises and thought it might be traffic. "Hello? Anthony?"

For a second she thought that something was wrong with the connection. There were low-pitched clicks and echoes. Then her mind registered a pattern resembling human speech.

It was speech. A robot. A computer. Something speaking in a metallic monotone. Then she recognized her name.