Part 32 (1/2)
”We don't know for a fact if the two Russians, Boris and Natasha, were really Viktor Nimchuk and Ludmilla Dolgus.h.i.+n. We don't know if O'Grady and Ludmilla Dolgus.h.i.+n had s.e.x that night in the hotel. We don't know if she was carrying the big sapphire at the time.”
Adele joined in. ”We don't know if, after f.u.c.king her beaky brains out, Dylan stole the rock and turned her lights off. We don't know if he strangled her in the hotel, or waited until they were in a more convenient spot, or if he was back in time for the f.u.c.king kickoff.”
”That's a long list of ignorance.”
”We know s.h.i.+t.”
”Except that Dylan's wife has a sapphire as big as a bottle cap on her ring finger.”
”I'll grant you that much.”
”No witnesses.”
”None alive.” Adele crammed the last bite of burger into her mouth. ”Feel like coming back to the Big Smoke with me again?”
”You want to arrest O'Grady?”
”Not yet. No way. With what we've got he could still wiggle. I don't want him to have any wiggle room.”
”What then?”
”I think we need to take another run at Serge and Citizen Grenkov. I don't like them roaming around. They might f.u.c.k off. Serge still has some 'splainin' to do.” She wiped her mouth. ”You got a couch?”
”Better,” Stacy said. ”I've got a guest room.”
”You're kidding.”
”Clean sheets and cable.”
”You're spoiling me, partner,” she said. She wadded the hamburger wrapper and looked around for the bag it came in.
”By your foot,” Stacy said, ”partner.”
Nine.
Tuesday, March 22 It was a morning for carefully worded greetings, polite avoidances, nods and smiles and conversations that went nowhere. Diana was going to court and Orwell wasn't sure how he felt about it except that he was unusually fidgety for a man so calm. He had to admit that his daughter looked entirely competent: bright, brisk, smartly turned out in a dark jacket and a crisp blue s.h.i.+rt. He watched closely (but discreetly) for signs of nerves and couldn't spot any. What he saw was eagerness. Diana was standing at the kitchen window looking out at an eastern horizon barely tinged with pink, and one foot was tapping. She was champing at the bit.
”No!” Erika was emphatic. ”You will not begin your day on a cup of coffee. Sit.”
”I'm in a hurry,” Diana said.
”You are in a hurry to get out of the house. You aren't late for anything. Sit.”
”All right, but nothing heavy.”
”You will eat what I feed you.”
Diana resigned herself to getting nourished and sat. She glanced at her father. He was offering her some toast. She took a half slice. He took the other half. There was a moment's silence. ”Watch your shoes getting to the car,” he offered. ”It's a quagmire out there. One of these days we should pave the lane.” He slathered on a layer of Erika's sour cherry jam. ”Maybe after we dig the lagoon.”
”It is not a lagoon.” Erika served Diana a measured portion of scrambled eggs. ”Eat that and have some juice so you don't fade away before lunch.”
”Georgie says we'll be done in ten minutes.”
Everything stopped for a moment. Diana looked up, aware that alluding to the forbidden topic might have been a breach of protocol. Orwell came to her rescue. ”Pretrial hearings are usually just in and out,” he said.
”You will still need your strength,” said Erika. ”And you, not so much jam. Have some eggs.”
”As soon as I receive eggs, I will devour them,” he said. He had a defiant chomp of toast. He was particularly fond of Erika's sour cherry. ”That Lyman fellow has taken to calling this place the Brennan Estate,” he said happily.
”That is nonsense,” said Erika.
”It is, isn't it? The place deserves something grander. Xanadu, maybe.”
”Xanadu.” Erika was offended. ”If you ask around the neighbourhood, it is still called the old Rob.i.+.c.heau place and will be for another hundred years. Then, maybe, they'll start calling it the old Brennan place.” She put a plate in front of her husband, then sat at the other end of the table and looked from one to the other. ”Go on,” she said. ”Eat before it's cold.”
Orwell surveyed his breakfast plate, knife and fork at the ready. If he was upset at the absence of sausages he didn't mention it. From Leda's third floor atelier they could hear lines being declaimed. Leda was rehearsing Emily's goodbye speech from Our Town.
”She's going to be great,” Diana said.
”You too,” Erika told her daughter. She looked at Orwell. ”Well, she will be.”
”I have no doubt of that,” he said.
It was Adele's first good sleep in more than a week. The bed in Stacy's guest room wasn't large, but it was a h.e.l.l of a lot more comfortable than the one she had in her apartment. I should break down and get a new bed. One of these days. And the shower had a ma.s.sage nozzle to beat the tension from her neck and shoulders. She wasn't a hundred percent convinced that a ”power protein smoothie” would ever take the place of bacon and eggs, but had to admit that the woman did make a good cup of coffee.
Nice little house, too. If I had this setup, I wouldn't be in a hurry to ditch it. ”I don't see any moose heads on the wall. No bearskin rugs.”
”Joe's pretty much a fis.h.i.+ng guide these days.”
”No fish, either. What's wrong with the guy?”
”He planted three Rowan trees in my front yard. A male and two females. That was kind of romantic.”
”A threesome is romantic?”
Stacy laughed. ”Never thought of it that way.”
”Wait a minute, boy and girl trees?”
”Otherwise you don't get the red berries, he says.”
”Yeah, I guess it's romantic.”
”Technically I think they're mountain ash but I like calling them rowans.”
”Because?”