James hesitated. “It’s not that simple. Mindy and I ... we’ve been married for fifteen years. We have a son. If we got divorced, I’d have to give her half. Of everything. And I don’t exactly want to do that. I’ve got another book to write, and I don’t want to leave my son.”
Lola cut him off. In a steely voice, she said, “What are you trying to say, James?”
“I don’t think we can see each other anymore,” James said in a rush.
Suddenly, Lola had had enough. “You and Philip Oakland,” she screamed. “You’re all the same. You’re all a bunch of wimps. You disgust me, James. You all do.”
Act Five
In anticipation of the date for Sandy Brewer’s trial, The New York Times did a series of stories about the Cross of Bloody Mary. A famous historian claimed the cross was the cause of not just one crime but, over the last four hundred years, several, including murder. A priest, guarding the treasure in eighteenth-century France, was bludgeoned to death in a routine robbery of the sacristy. The list of stolen items included four francs and a bedpan, as well as the cross. The robbers likely hadn’t known what they had, and it was speculated that they sold it to a junk dealer. Nevertheless, from there the cross appeared to have ended up as part of the property of an ancient dowager duchess named Hermione Belvoir. When she died, the cross once again disappeared.
Now it was back, and Sandy Brewer was to be tried for art theft. If Billy had lived, Annalisa reminded herself, he probably would have taken the fall for the crime. But dead men couldn’t talk, and the defense had never been able to find the mysterious wooden box left to Billy by Mrs.
Houghton — or, for that matter, anything else connecting him to the crime. So the prosecution opened its jaws on Sandy Brewer. He tried to plea-bargain, offering to pay a huge fine of over ten million dollars, but in the months since the discovery of the cross, the stock market had dipped precipitously, the price of oil had surged, and regular people were losing their houses and retirement savings. A recession was just around the corner, if not already in the backyard. The people, claimed the DA’s office, demanded the head of the grotesquely rich hedge-fund manager, who had not only made more than his share of money off the little people but had stolen another country’s national treasure as well.
As a corollary, there was renewed interest in Mrs. Houghton. Her good works, personality, and motivations were examined in another big piece in the Times. In the seventies, when the Metropolitan Museum was nearly broke, Mrs. Houghton had single-handedly saved the venerable institution with a donation of ten million dollars. Nevertheless, the rumor that she had taken the Cross of Bloody Mary resurfaced. Several old coots who had known her were interviewed, including Enid, all of whom insisted that Mrs. Houghton was incapable of such an act. Someone remembered that the rumor was started by Flossie Davis, and the reporter tried to interview Flossie, but Enid intervened. Flossie was a very old lady with dementia, she said, and was easily agitated. An interview might literally kill her.
Taking advantage of the moment, Sotheby’s held an auction of Mrs.
Houghton’s jewelry. Now deeply curious about the apartment’s previous owner, Annalisa Rice attended the preview. She wasn’t a great lover of jewelry, but as she stared down into the cases that contained Mrs.
Houghton’s extensive collection, she was overcome with emotion. A sentiment, perhaps, about the connective thread of tradition and how one woman’s life might lead into another’s. It was why mothers passed things on to their daughters, she supposed. There was a transfer of power in the transference of possessions. But mostly, Annalisa decided, it was about belonging, and about things being in their rightful place. Mrs.
Houghton’s jewelry belonged where it always had been, in the penthouse apartment in One Fifth. Bidding fiercely at the auction, she was able to buy twelve pieces. When she brought the jewelry home and placed it in the large velvet jewelry box on her bureau, she experienced an odd sensation, as if the apartment were nearly complete.
Now, on the evening of the King David gala, Annalisa Rice planned to wear Mrs. Houghton’s jewels for the first time. Leaning in to the mirror in the vast marble bathroom, she clipped on a pair of diamond and pearl earrings and stood back to study the effect. The large pearls were a natural yellow, which complemented her auburn hair and gray eyes.
This reminded her once again of Billy and how pleased he would have been with the apartment and with her. Adjusting the earrings, she was startled by Paul’s voice.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She looked up and found him standing in the doorway, staring at her.
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, then added, “What are you doing home?
I thought you were going to meet me at the gala.”
“I changed my mind,” he said. “It’s our big night. I thought we should go together.”
“How nice.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I am, Paul. I was just thinking about Billy Litchfield. That’s all.”
“Again?” Paul said.
“Yes, again,” she repeated. “He was my friend. I’ll probably always think about him.”
“Why?” Paul said. “He’s dead.”
“Yes, he is,” she replied sarcastically, walking past him into the master bedroom. “But if Sandy hadn’t been caught, he would still be alive.”
She opened her closet. “Shouldn’t you start getting ready?”
“What did Billy have to do with it?” Paul said. He took off his shoes and began removing his tie. “I want you to stop thinking about Billy Litchfield.”
“Are you the thought police now, too?”
“It’s time to move on,” Paul said, unbuttoning his shirt.
“Billy sold Sandy the cross,” Annalisa said. “Sandy must have told you.”
Paul shrugged. “He didn’t. But in every business maneuver, there’s usually a random element that you don’t foresee. I suppose Billy Litchfield was that element.”
“What are you talking about now, Paul?” Annalisa said, coming out of the closet with a pair of strappy gold high-heeled shoes. “What business maneuver?” She opened the jewelry box and took out a platinum-and-diamond art deco bracelet that had also belonged to Mrs. Houghton.
“Sandy Brewer,” Paul said. “If I hadn’t taken him out, you wouldn’t be standing here putting on Louise Houghton’s jewelry.”
Annalisa froze. “What do you mean?” she said, fumbling with the bracelet.
“Come on,” Paul said. “You knew Sandy was probably going to fire me.
Over that glitch. On the China deal. How was I supposed to know Billy Litchfield was involved with Sandy and the cross? But if you trace it back to the source, it’s really Sam Gooch’s fault. If Sam hadn’t cut the wires, I wouldn’t have had to do what I did.”
“What did you do, Paul?” Annalisa asked softly.
“Sent that e-mail to the Times about the cross,” Paul said, stretching his neck as he placed his bow tie around his collar. “Kids’ stuff,” he said, jerking the ends of the tie. “A simple game of dominoes. Knock one down and they all fall over.”
“I thought Craig Akio sent the e-mail,” Annalisa said, being careful to keep her tone even.
“Also kids’ stuff,” Paul said. “A fake e-mail account — anyone can do it.”
He slipped on his tuxedo jacket. “That was a stroke of brilliance — and luck. Best way to get rid of two people at once. Get them to take each other out.”
“Goodness, Paul,” Annalisa said, her voice trembling slightly. “Is no one safe around you?”