“But Mom and Dad are in town, Tony. They arrived a few hours ago. They know you're expected. Surely I can tell them?”
“No. Don't tell anyone. Let everyone think I'm still down in L.A. You know how excited the family gets when there's a crisis.”
“Yes, but—”
“I don't want to alarm everyone yet.” Tony paused meaningfully. “And I definitely do not want someone accidentally telling the wrong person that I know I'm being set up to take the fall for a murder.”
“The wrong person?” Desdemona was confused. “But who's the wrong person?”
“Can't you guess?” Tony's voice was bitter.
“Are you saying that you know who's behind this?”
“There's only one person who could be behind it. Your pal, Stark.”
For an instant Desdemona could not breathe. “No.”
“He's the only one with a motive. He hates my guts.” Tony's voice gentled. “I'm sorry, kid. I know how this is hitting you.”
“I don't believe Stark would do such a thing.”
“It's the only explanation that fits the facts,” Tony insisted. “Don't you see? He wants me out of the picture, and he'll do anything to get rid of me.”
“You think he's jealous? Tony, that's ridiculous. Stark isn't the type to get insanely jealous.”
“He's jealous all right, but that's only part of it. Don't forget that he also thinks I tried to rip off his damn security program. A guy like that doesn't forgive or forget. He's decided that he can kill two birds with one stone. He figures he can have his vengeance and turn you against me at the same time.”
“For crying out loud, Tony, you're beginning to sound like a character in a play.”
“You know what they say about real life and art imitating each other.”
Desdemona closed her eyes and tried to think. “We've got to talk. We need to put everything down on paper and look at the facts in a clearheaded, rational manner. Frankly, Stark is very good at this kind of thing.”
“For Christ's sake, Desdemona, whatever you do, don't tell Stark that I'm in town and that I found the gun. Stark wants to nail me, don't you understand? He's got his own agenda.”
“Calm down, Tony. I promise you that I won't do anything without talking it over with you first.” Desdemona reached for a pen and some paper. “Give me the address of your motel. I've got to do dinner with the family tonight. If I don't show up everyone will be wondering where I am. But as soon as I'm free I'll drive to your motel. We'll talk.”
“Okay. But be careful, kid. Stark is dangerous.”
“He speaks very highly of you, too.”
“Hey, where's Tony?” Henry asked as he and Kirsten strolled into the restaurant's private dining room. “I thought he'd be back in time to join us.”
Stark watched as Desdemona turned quickly and smiled very brightly.
“I was just telling everyone that he left a message on my machine. He said that he couldn't get a reasonably priced flight out of L.A. You know how expensive it is when you try to book at the last minute. He's going to see if he can get a better fare tomorrow or the next day.”
Stark looked at her across the table. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was lying through her pretty little white teeth.
Desdemona gave him a fleeting smile. Her gaze slid away from his. She bent her head and immersed herself in a conversation with Kyle, who was seated next to her. Kyle launched into a detailed description of yet another critically acclaimed performance of Monsters Under the Bed.
Stark studied the graceful curve of Desdemona's neck.
She had definitely lied.
He contemplated that raw fact as he sat quietly at the table amid the flock of Wainwrights. He tuned out the cheerful din of voices that surrounded him and concentrated on the realization that Desdemona was lying not only to him, but to her family as well.
There was only one person on the face of the earth who could cause her to do that.
No one seemed to notice Stark's withdrawal from the conversation. The natural exuberance of a table full of Wainwrights together with Jason and Kyle was more than enough to mask his silence. It wasn't as though he was the world's greatest conversationalist in the first place.
Stark ate methodically, making his way through the grilled salmon he had ordered. The juicy fish had been excellently prepared with a crust of herbs and lemon, but it was sawdust in his mouth.
Stark knew for a fact that Tony was in town. He had checked the airline computers. Tony had arrived on a late-afternoon flight. And then he had vanished.
The question was why had Desdemona lied. Stark thought he knew the answer. She would do anything to protect her precious stepbrother.
Bits and pieces of the lively Wainwright conversation floated past Stark's field of awareness. He registered them automatically with a portion of his brain.
…Ian still thinks that he's going to be able to get an angel to back one more production at the Limelight. He never gives up, does he? I swear, he'd do anything to save that theater….
…Macbeth told me and Kyle that we can work on the next Strolling Players production. He says we're real pros now….
…Our agent says that a small theater on the Eastside is planning to do an updated version of Taming of the Shrew. He thinks Celia and I should audition as Kate and Petruchio. We're considering it….
…Glad to hear that you'll be able to get back on schedule at Right Touch, Desdemona. I still can't believe that you stumbled across a genuine murder victim. It's like something out of a play. When I think of you being trapped in that freezer, I get cold chills….
…Exotica Erotica is a lovely store, dear. I'm so glad it's off to a flying start. Just imagine, we've got someone else with a stable income in the family. So useful….
The dinner seemed to drag on forever. Stark was well aware that he was the only one who was not inside the magic, glistening bubble that enclosed everyone else at the table. He stood on the outside, the eternal observer, and watched what was happening. He realized that Jason and Kyle had been unofficially adopted into the Wainwright clan. They were a part of what was going on within the bubble.
They had a place in the complex pattern. He, on the other hand, was standing at the edge of chaos.
Desdemona glanced down the table in Stark's direction from time to time, but she did not make her usual effort to draw him into the conversation.
Stark was not particularly surprised when she announced that she had to leave.
“I've got to get up early in the morning,” she said as she got to her feet with a show of reluctance. “The rest of you can talk the night away, but I've got a business to run.”
Juliet looked surprised. “But we don't have an event scheduled tomorrow, Desdemona.”
“No, but I've still got a lot of work to do putting everything back in order in my office.” Desdemona collected a bronze-colored jacket from the coatrack. “Good night, everyone. See you tomorrow.”
Stark pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Everyone looked at him expectantly.
“I'll see you home,” he said quietly.
Desdemona's eyes widened. “That's not necessary. Really. I'll have the hostess call a cab.”
“My car is parked out in front,” Stark said.
“But I'm perfectly safe.”
Benedick frowned with paternal concern. “Stark's quite right, my dear. There's no need for you to go back to your place alone. Let him see you to your door.”
“Good night, dear,” Celia said cheerfully.
Desdemona hesitated. Stark knew as clearly as though she had spoken the words aloud that she was searching for a way out of the dilemma. She did not find one.
“All right, Stark.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
She waved to the others. “I'll send him right back.”
Stark nodded to Jason and Kyle. “I'll see you in a few minutes.”
“Okay, Sa
m,” Kyle said.
“Can I order another dessert while you're gone?” Jason asked.
Stark paused. “How many have you had?”
“Just two.”
“I think that's enough.” Stark followed Desdemona through the door and out into the main dining room. He took her arm.
The tension in her was unmistakable. He could feel it vibrating through her whole body. She said nothing as he walked her out of the restaurant.
“It's a little cool tonight, isn't it?” she said in a chatty voice as he opened the car door for her.
“A little.” He waited until she had settled into the seat and then he shut the door.
She slanted him an anxious glance as he got behind the wheel. “Jason and Kyle have certainly taken to the theater life, haven't they?”
“Yes.” Stark eased the car away from the curb.
“Mom and Dad like you.”
“Do they?”
“Definitely. I can always tell.”
Stark said nothing. Beside him, Desdemona lapsed into a strained silence.
He wondered if Tony was actually hiding out in her loft. It would be just like the bastard to use her to shield himself.
Stark drove the short distance to Desdemona's apartment building and parked inside the garage. He put his arm around her during the short elevator ride, but she did not relax against him as she usually did. He waited to see if she would try to stop him from escorting her to her door.
He was surprised when she made no attempt to keep him out of the loft. She did, however, make a concerted effort to ensure that he did not linger.
She stepped hastily into the entrance area, turned, and gave him another artificial smile. “Thanks for the escort. Sorry you can't stay. I know you have to get Jason and Kyle home.”
“Yes.” Stark tightened his grip on his keys. He swept the loft with a single glance. It was possible that Tony was hiding in the bathroom or the wardrobe, but it was unlikely. Desdemona did not seem that nervous. She was just anxious to have him leave.
Her gaze softened, and her lips parted as though she wanted to say something else. Instead she stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth softly against his.
“Good night, Stark,” she whispered.
“Good night.”
He could have sworn that he saw urgency in her expression, or perhaps it was anxiety. He was no good at interpreting such things.
He felt her fingertips glide along the side of his cheek. He did not take his eyes off her as she closed the door very gently in his face.
He stood in the hall for a moment, and then he turned and walked to the elevator. When the doors opened, he stepped inside and rode it down to the garage.
Once inside his car he reached for the phone. He dialed the number of the restaurant as he drove out onto the street.
“Would you please have Macbeth Wainwright come to the phone?” he said when the hostess answered. “He's with the party in the private dining room.”
“Just a minute,” the woman murmured. “I'll get him.”
Macbeth came on the line. “Hello?”
“This is Stark. Any chance you could take Jason and Kyle home and stay with them for a few hours?”
Macbeth chuckled. “No problem. I had a hunch I'd hear from you. You and Desdemona can linger over your good-night kiss as long as you like. I'll take care of the boys.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time. Don't rush home. We'll see you when you get there.”
“Right.” Stark replaced the phone.
He parked the car on a side street in a position that allowed him to watch the steel grid door of the parking garage.
He did not have long to wait. Less than ten minutes later the garage door rose. Desdemona's red Toyota appeared. She drove out into the street and turned north.
Stark followed.
The question that had been gnawing at him for a long while had finally been answered. When push came to shove, Desdemona's loyalty to her stepbrother was stronger than whatever she felt for her lover.
Stark told himself he had no business being surprised. He had known all along where he ranked on Desdemona's list of priorities.
What amazed him was the dark emotion that had swirled to life within him. The lid that covered the cauldron of chaos had come off. The storm of loneliness that boiled out threatened to swallow him whole.
18
Desdemona parked between an aging Buick and a battle-scarred Ford and studied the seedy motel Tony had chosen as a hideout. The place had no doubt once been a respectable, modestly priced motor inn that had catered to young families and traveling businessmen. At some point in its murky past, however, it had fallen on hard times and had begun to attract a clientele to match.
The ill-lit motel looked precisely like the sort of place in which someone on the lam would hole up under an assumed name. Trust Tony to select an establishment with plenty of atmosphere, Desdemona thought as she opened her car door and got out. But that was a Wainwright for you. Ever conscious of the appropriate backdrop for the scene.
The parking lot was half empty. As she walked toward the door marked number six, a car pulled into the lot and parked at the far end. Desdemona instinctively clutched her purse more closely to her side.
A stout man dressed in light-colored slacks, white nubuck shoes, and a preppy-style pullover sweater got out from behind the wheel. He looked as though he had just stepped off a golf course or a yacht. The pale light gleamed on his balding skull. He glanced nervously around the seedy lot.
A painfully gaunt woman with a cloud of impossibly gold hair slid out behind him. She wore a tiny little slip of a dress that scarcely covered her breasts and barely reached the top of her thighs. Three-inch-high stiletto heels and black hose completed her ensemble. She had a cigarette in one hand. The expression on her thin face was a cross between stoic resignation and unutterable boredom.
“Number seven,” she told the man in the world-weary, smoke-roughened voice. “You pay me up front, and you use a rubber. Understand?”
“Okay, okay. Keep your voice down, will you?” The balding man scowled at Desdemona and then hurriedly looked away.
“What's the matter?” the woman asked. “Afraid your wife is lurking in the bushes?”
“Just keep it down,” the man muttered.
Desdemona walked briskly toward number six. When she reached it she knocked once.
“Who is it?” Tony asked from inside the room.
“It's me, Desdemona. Who else are you expecting?”
Tony opened the door a scant two inches and peered out. “You alone?”
“Of course I'm alone.”
“Come on in.” Tony opened the door wider. “Christ, am I glad to see you. Did you tell anyone where I am?”
Desdemona stepped into the motel room. She swept the tawdry little cubicle with a single glance and winced. “No. I told you that I wouldn't let anyone else know where you are. But, Tony, we have to talk. This is crazy. You can't hide out here forever.”
“I haven't got enough money to leave town.” Tony started to close the door. “That bastard boyfriend of yours has really run a number on me, kid. He's set me up for murder.”
“Don't call him a bastard.” Desdemona swung around to face him. “I refuse to believe that Stark would do such a thing.”
“Well, he did.” Tony turned toward her as he continued to push the door closed with one hand. His handsome face was twisted into an expression of seething fury. “It's the only explanation.”
“Wrong,” Stark said from the doorway. “There's another explanation. You're guilty.”
“Shit.” Tony threw his full weight against the door.
He was too late. Desdemona glanced down and saw that Stark had the toe of one running shoe wedged securely in the narrow opening.
“Let him in, Tony.”
“Are you crazy? The guy wants me dead.” Tony gritted his teeth as he leaned against the door.
Stark planted his pal
m on the opposite side of the door and shoved hard.
“For heaven's sake, let him in, Tony.” Desdemona was exasperated. “This is pointless. He obviously knows you're here.”
Tony whirled and braced his back against the door. He was breathing heavily. The tendons of his neck bulged with effort. “The son-of-a-bitch is out to get me. Don't you understand? For God's sake, help me.”
“This is ridiculous,” Desdemona said. “Let him in.”
“Whose side are you on here?” The heels of Tony's boots scraped along the threadbare carpet. He was losing ground.
A moment later the door slammed open. Tony lost his balance and reeled against the wall.
Stark walked into the room and closed the door.
With a snarl, Tony launched himself toward Stark. Stark sidestepped the lunge. He turned with an astonishingly casual movement, caught hold of Tony's arm, and sent him flying toward the opposite wall.
Tony landed with a thud.
“Stop it,” Desdemona said fiercely. “Both of you. Stop it right now. I won't have this, do you hear me?”
Both men ignored her. Tony picked himself up and hurtled once more toward Stark, who watched him until the last possible instant. Than he moved to the side, turned, and went in low. Tony raised his hands to defend himself.
The two men collided, grappled, and fell to the floor.
Desdemona dropped her purse and ran to the bed. She grabbed the tattered chenille spread, yanked it free, and tossed it over the heaving fighters. It settled over their rolling, twisting bodies, muffling their blows and savage grunts.
“Stop it.” Desdemona grabbed the stained sheets and the thin blanket and dropped those on top of the surging bed-spread. “Stop it, I said.” She was trembling.
The pile of bedding heaved one last time and then stilled.
As Desdemona watched, stunned by the violence, Stark's big hand appeared from underneath the tumbled bedclothes. He jerked the sheets aside and sat up. He gave Desdemona a single, unreadable glance. Then he got to his feet and looked down at Tony.
With a groan, Tony wrenched aside the confining bedclothes and levered himself to one knee. His jaw was rigid, and his eyes were mere slits.