Mark had just neglected to mention that the man was his stepbrother.
"Besides, he's still in prison, as far as I know. He got two and ten. That adds up to twelve."
"Your arithmetic is great, but your knowledge of corrections is a little sketchy. He probably got credit for the state time. Or he could have been released early for any number of reasons."
Mark held out his hands, almost as if he were a drowning man. "My stepbrother stopped speaking to me years ago, so I wouldn't have any idea if he got out early. I started the group at Jessup for him, but he wanted no part of it, and no part of me. I'm not sure he even knows Boris."
Tess shot a look at Whitney, who was circling the room appraising Mark's art collection. Literally appraising, for Whitney had a complicated formula that identified potential charitable givers according to how much they were willing to spend on the fine arts. In for a Picasso, in for a pound, she liked to say.
"Maybe this is the secret Boris has been dangling like bait all these years. He knew there was something between his daughter and your stepbrother."
"What do you mean by that? Besides, it could be a coincidence. Who knows what Isaac was spelling, if anything?"
Given their quarrel earlier in the day, Tess was reluctant to challenge Mark when he went into full denial mode. Whitney, however, had no such limitations.
"Pull your head out of your ass," she said, distracted from the statue she'd been admiring. "Your runaway wife is on the road with your stepbrother. That's not a coincidence. It's a scheme."
Mark looked furious for a moment, as if he might throw something or order them out of his home. His hands even balled into fists, then quickly came undone.
"I know," he said, his voice low. "I know. But to what purpose? If Natalie… wants to be with him, why couldn't she just tell me? Why run away? Why take the children?"
"I can't forget what Amos said when you showed up on his property," Tess said. "The mountain had come to Muhammad. A job done was a job done. And then he aimed his shotgun at you. Do you think your stepbrother wants you dead?"
"He had no use for me, but he had no anger toward me. Toward my father, on the other hand…"
"What about your father?"
"Nat blamed Dad for everything. The failure of his father's business. His father's death, his mother's death. Nat's own failings, in school and work. But Dad gave him every chance. And when Dad died, there was even a small bequest for Nat. That's what he put into his business-and lost, through his own miscalculation. I tried to stand by him, but he made it impossible. The last time I spoke to him was in Jessup, over ten years ago."
"Where you met Natalie."
"Yes, but what does that prove? I told you. I had started the group, and her father was in it. She approached me and said she wanted to embrace Judaism, live an Orthodox life. From there things followed a natural course."
"Maybe it was your stepbrother who suggested she go to you, not her father. Maybe it was his idea that Boris Petrovich join the group in the first place, and that's the information Boris used to blackmail Natalie."
"Why? If Zeke wanted her for himself, why would he send her to me, encourage her to marry me?"
"Because through Natalie," Whitney brayed, like some horrible WASP Cassandra, "he could get all your money one day. Or at least half of it."
Strange, Whitney's directness didn't seem to bother Mark at all.
"I've been over this with Tess," Mark said. "If Natalie divorced me, much of my money wouldn't be considered a marital asset. The bulk of what I have came from my inheritance."
"The bulk of which, you just made clear, came from your stepmother. But if you were dead and the marriage hadn't been dissolved," Tess said, "Natalie and the children would get all of it."
They sat in silence. At least Mark and Tess did. Whitney resumed trotting around the house studying Rubin's things. Her sky blue penny loafers clattered on the wood floors, little preppy tap shoes.
"What do you want to do?" Tess asked.
"Kill myself?"
"Seriously."
"I was being fairly serious. I want to scream. I want to talk to my rabbi. I want to go get my gun out of the glove compartment of my car and put it in my mouth. But most of all I want to see Natalie, to ask her what's going on. I don't think she could lie to my face."
"Mark-"
"I know. You're going to say she's been lying to my face for ten years, that she's a coldhearted schemer. But she never told me I was the only man she loved, just that she loved me. Isn't it possible for a woman to love two men? Couldn't she have grown to love me in spite of herself? We have three children, this house, a life together. Wouldn't that have to mean something to her?"
Tess pretended these were rhetorical questions. "Mark, I think we have to proceed with the assumption that your life is at risk, that someone's going to make another attempt. Now, I know you're handy with a SIG Sauer, but you should let me arrange some sort of professional security for you."
"A bodyguard?"
"Yes. And I'd like your permission to go to county Homicide, along with the feds, and tell them we believe that your estranged wife wants you dead."
"Only I don't believe that. Nat-Nat and Nat, Nathaniel and Natalie, how cute-may have some dark fantasies and grudges, but he's not given to violence."
"No, but he's willing to delegate. That's what we have to worry about."
Another long silence, only this time the flap-flap-flap of Whitney's loafers was interrupted by the phone. Mark went to his study, probably terrified of taking the call within Whitney's hearing. Tess seized the opportunity to grab Whitney and ask her to stop behaving like a human wealth calculator.
"Sorry. Force of habit. Boy, he's got it bad, doesn't he? 'My wife ran off with my brother, and now she wants me dead.' It's almost a country song."
"As sung by Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys. Families and business. I swear, there's nothing more virulent. Mark's stepbrother may have taken it to a new level, but this is what happens in too many family businesses. Makes me glad the Weinstein dynasty went bust before I was born."
"Makes me glad I'm an only child," Whitney said.
Tess didn't point out that there were many people who were grateful the Talbots had decided to procreate only once.
"That was Paul," Mark said, returning to the room. "Another of Mrs. Gordon's famous emergencies. But I've decided you have a point. I'll go spend the night in a hotel, and I'll stay out of the office tomorrow. Only you and Paul will know where I am."
"And the bodyguard?"
"No, not yet. That seems excessive to me. But I'll call you tomorrow and tell you what I want to do, as far as the police are concerned."
"Where will you stay?"
"Harbor Court, if they have a room. Or the Wyndham."