I didn’t say anything.
“Come now. Did I hit upon a sore subject?”
“You owe me an apology, Mr. Delacroix.”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” he said. “These months since we last saw each other have undoubtedly been worse for you than for me. But you are very young, and you’ll recover. I’m old, or at least middle-aged, and the scent of failure clings longer to people in my time of life. And despite my machinations—and mind you, it was never anything against you—you and Win are still together. You’ve won, Anya. I’ve lost. Congratulations.”
Charles Delacroix sounded bitter and hopeless, and I told him so.
“How can I be anything but? You met my successor. How did your release go down? Were you required to grease the wheels or did she just take her pleasure from humiliating me one last time?”
I admitted that wheels had been greased. “Do you know what she said about you?” I asked.
“Only awful things, I suppose.”
“No. She said that her campaign kept hitting the story of Win and me because of how much it bothered you. The voters, she thought, cared much less about the matter than you did.”
Charles Delacroix was silent for a while. He furrowed his brow and then he laughed. “Possibly. It’s a good lesson come too late. So, where were you all these months anyway? Somewhere that was good for you, I see.”
I told him I couldn’t tell him that. “Someday you might use it against me.”
“Anya Balanchine, we have always been candid with each other. Don’t you know that I am nothing but a declawed tiger now?”
“For now, you are. But even a declawed tiger still has teeth, and I’m not counting you out yet.”
“That’s very kind of you,” he said. “Aren’t you angry at me for throwing you back in Liberty? Or have you just buried your anger deep inside the caverns of that ludicrously girlish heart of yours and one night I’ll go to bed and there’ll be a horse’s head in it?”
“I like your wife and son too much for that,” I said. “I have a long list of enemies, Mr. Delacroix. You’re certainly on it, but you’re nowhere near the top.” I paused. “You know everything: What do you know about Sophia Bitter?”
Charles Delacroix furrowed his brow. “Your cousin Mickey’s newish wife.” He shook his head. “German, I think?”
“And Mexican.” I asked him if there was any chance she was on his list of suspects for the Fretoxin poisonings.
“No. We suspected it happened at the manufacturing level, that it was someone outside the United States, but I wasn’t able to allocate the resources to investigate beyond New York let alone outside the country. And then your cousin so conveniently confessed.” Charles Delacroix rolled his eyes.
“You knew it was a lie?”
“Of course, Anya. But, for a variety of reasons, it was worth it to me to be able to close the books on the poisoning. Also, it gave me an excellent excuse to put away Jakov for a long period of time. He did shoot my son, I’m sure you’ll recall.”
I did.
“I’m sentimental, what can I say?” Charles Delacroix poured himself a drink. He offered me one, but I declined. “So, Sophia Bitter. I take it you think she arranged the poisoning. Seems like a reasonable enough guess. Her foreign interests coupled with excellent access to your family’s business by way of her, at the time, fiancé.”
I paused. “I think she killed my brother and tried to kill my sister and me, too.”
Charles Delacroix took a good, long swig, and then poured himself another drink. He considered me for a moment. “When we’re young we think everything has to be wrapped up in a month. But you should take the long view on this one. Before you make a move, be sure, Anya. And even once you’re sure, tread carefully. And remember you don’t have to do what they expect you to do.”
But that was the problem. It was impossible to be sure. “How can I be sure? I’m surrounded by liars and criminals.”
“Ah, that is a dilemma. If I were you, I’d put the question to Sophia Bitter directly. See what she says.”
Seemed like good enough advice. “I like you better when you’re not plotting against me.”
At that moment, Win opened the door. “Dad.” He nodded toward his father. “Annie,” he complained, “I haven’t seen you the whole night!”
“Anya,” Charles Delacroix called as I was leaving, “come visit me again sometime.”
Win grabbed my hand, and we went back out to the party. “What was that about?” he asked.
I kissed him, and he seemed to forget the question. “Isn’t it nice that we can do that whenever we want in front of whoever?”
“You are a very strange girl,” Win said.
Not long after, Scarlet, Natty, Daisy Gogol, and I took our leave. We were halfway down Win’s street and a third of the way to the bus stop when a dark figure emerged from an alleyway.
“Scarlet! Scarlet!” A voice called.
Natty screamed, and Daisy Gogol got into a squatting position that I assumed had something to do with her Krav Maga training. Suddenly, she sprung up and had her arm around the figure’s neck.
“What the Hell is this?” the figure said. I’d know that entitled voice anywhere. Gable Arsley.
“Oh, Gable, honestly. Just go away!” Scarlet said. “Why are you even here?”
“The guy at the door wouldn’t let me into Win’s stupid party. Like I’m so awful. Win’s father did things a million times worse than anything I ever did, and he’s in there. Can’t bygones be bygones?” Arsley tried to free himself but Daisy Gogol was stronger. “Seriously, Anya, tell your beast to let me go.”
Daisy Gogol looked at me. I shook my head. It was fine to let Gable Arsley struggle a little longer.
“That’s rude, Arsley. Just because Daisy’s stronger than you doesn’t make her a beast,” Natty said.
“Shut up, mini-Anya,” Arsley said. “Seriously, Scarlet, I need to talk to you. Can’t we please go somewhere?”
Daisy Gogol released Arsley as it had become all too obvious that we knew him.
Scarlet shook her head. “We can talk at school, Gable.”
“Please! Give me one minute alone. One minute without your bloody entourage. I’m desperate here. I’m going to do something crazy!”
“Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of them,” Scarlet said.
Gable looked from me to Natty to Daisy Gogol. “Fine. If that’s the way it has to be. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything. You have no idea how sorry. I wish I’d never taken those stupid pictures. I wish I could go back in time and do everything over again because I’m such an idiot.”
“That’s true,” I added.
Gable ignored me. “But if I had to be poisoned and lose my foot just so I could meet you for real and fall in love with you, I’d do that again. You’re perfect, Scarlet. You’re freaking perfect. I’m awful. I do horrible things. I’m mean-spirited and vile.”
“Also, true,” I said. But no one was paying attention to me.
“Please, Scarlet, you have to forgive me. You have to let me in. You have to let me help raise our baby. You have to. I’ll die if you don’t let me.”
I could not believe that this was Gable Arsley. He sounded like a girl. (NB: By saying this, I meant no offense to girls—I counted myself among their number, after all.) I very much wanted to look away from this pas de deux but I couldn’t.
Gable was getting down on one knee. It was an awkward maneuver because of his prosthetic foot. Scarlet inhaled sharply. “Get off the ground, Gable,” Scarlet ordered.
He ignored her. He began to reach into his pocket, and I knew what was going to happen. “Scarlet Barber, will you marry me?” The ring was silver and looked like a piece of twine tied into a bow.