The Night Visitor Read online

  A familiar image tugged at the edges of her perception.

  She grabbed another hunk of skin and started to squeeze, but she was lured by the scene taking shape. She released her skin and closed her eyes. On a wall in the pale green room she saw one of the nudes that Junior had painted of her, the most provocative one he’d done. She’d posed for it wearing only heeled bedroom slippers. She’d told Junior that she hated the painting, but he’d said it was his favorite.

  With her eyes still closed, she found the remote and clicked off the TV. She decided to stop resisting and let the visions happen. Maybe if she gave in, she’d work through whatever she was processing and finally get back to normal. Her injury had made her mind play tricks on her. The medications she was taking probably contributed. Also, Junior’s family was all over the news, renewing the guilt Rory still harbored about Junior. After the Five Points shootings, she’d buried thoughts of Junior. She’d never gone to see him in the hospital, never called his family. Before the shootings, she’d loved Junior profoundly, yet she’d eliminated the two years she’d spent with him from her life as easily as snipping a disowned friend from a group photograph.

  She relaxed and tried to clear her head, opening herself to wherever her mind took her. She was transported to one of the many afternoons in Junior’s loft when she had sat for that nude portrait. She saw through Junior’s eyes, was painting from his point of view, looking at her, looking at the work, and then at her. His hand with the blue angel tattoo moved easily from palette to canvas, each brushstroke adding shape and light.

  She tried melding her own memories and sensations into the scene. The experience intensified. She was fully there, at once Junior and herself.

  It’s late afternoon in the loft. Rory’s tired of holding the same pose and watching while Junior works. She lets her foot slip to the floor and stretches her back in an arch. Junior’s been lost in his work for hours, looking at her but not seeing her. He sees her now. She sees herself through his eyes, stretched out on the sofa, ready for him. She’s Junior now, setting down his brush and palette. Unbuckling his belt, unfastening his workman’s pants and stepping out of them. Crossing the room. Taking in every inch of her. At the same time, she’s watching him as he watches her, her passion rising, blending with his. He kneels between her legs.

  In her hospital bed, Rory turned to hug her pillows. She whispered, “Junior, I’ve missed you.”

  29

  In the penthouse of the Tate Building at the corner of Lake and Colorado in Pasadena, Richard Tate sat behind a Chippendale desk, which had belonged to his father, and listened to his son rage about Sylvia Torres and the attorney she’d hired.

  Richie paced the office. “Freaking Yvonne Argos, that publicity whore. Flat-out calling you a murderer on national TV this morning. We can’t just lie down and let those Laras hand our asses to us.”

  Richard was leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk, his hands clasped behind his head. He knew that Leland Declues, who was also there, would come up with the best way to handle the situation. Leland hadn’t escaped Yvonne Argos’s tart tongue, as the high-profile attorney had called Leland the “Tate family consigliere.”

  Leland downed the last of his coffee. The Limoges cup made a sound like rattling bones when he set it in its saucer on a coffee table. “Richie, it’s tempting to get down in the mud with Yvonne Argos, but publicly responding to her allegations only gives them weight and gives Yvonne another opportunity to appear on TV. After the DA’s office issues its press release—probably tomorrow—I’ll release a statement from the Tate family. Then we’ll wait to be sued for whatever Yvonne can come up with in civil court.” He smiled and shook his head.

  “What do you think she’ll sue for, Leland?” Richard asked.

  “Wrongful death, of course,” Leland said. “She’ll ask for punitive damages. They’re rarely recovered, but Yvonne will try. There’s loss of love, companionship, affection, moral support, et cetera. Don’t worry. I have some tricks up my sleeve about how to handle old Yvonne.”

  “Watch them sue for millions,” Richie said. “That jerk-off Danny Lara wasn’t even employed. His last job was at a Starbucks, if you can call that a job. He got fired when he stopped showing up for work, because he was spending all his time by his brother’s hospital bed, telepathically communicating with him.”

  Leland said, “I would like everyone in the immediate Tate family to stay close to home and keep a low profile. Dine at home. Don’t take off to Aspen or Santa Fe or wherever. The media will use any opportunity to juxtapose the privileged lives of the Tates—”

  Richie snorted.

  “—with that of the hardworking, hardscrabble Laras. Church is the only public place where I want to hear about the Tates being seen. Resist—and I’m especially directing this to you, Richie—resist making a peep to anyone outside your core family and most trusted friends about the Daniel Lara shooting or the Five Points incident. Trust no one. You’d be surprised how an old social slight or childhood resentment will surface in the form of a slur out of the mouth of a supposedly close friend. Crises bring out the worst in people. Remember, the very rich have no friends.” Leland settled back into the settee.

  Richie looked aghast at Leland. “I can’t believe we’re just going to let them roll over us.”

  “Richie, I shot a man to death,” Richard said. “Regardless of the fact that I was completely justified in doing so, I will not tarnish the Tate name and diminish all the good works the family has done in this community for generations.”

  “Should have thought of that before you married Evelyn,” Richie said under his breath.

  Richard slid his feet from the desk and swiveled his chair to face his son. “Don’t take this out on poor Evelyn, especially after what she’s been through. She and her girls aren’t responsible for what’s happened.”

  “Dad, before Evelyn and her girls showed up, the worst thing that had happened to our family was Mom dying of cancer. That was the only kind of tragedy we knew. Clean. No controversy. If you scratch a Langtry, you can sniff the trailer park.”

  Richard’s gaze fell on a framed photo of Evelyn. It shared real estate on his desk with one of Boo, Richard’s late first wife, snapped on her favorite horse, Pinky.

  “That’s harsh, Richie,” Leland said. “Evelyn, Rory, and Anya are capable, gifted women. Or were…”

  “Anya gifted? At what? Being beautiful and having an attitude?” Richie stopped pacing and stared out a window. “It all started with Anya. She drew the spotlight onto us. She loved getting everybody all hot and bothered. If it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened.”

  They all fell silent.

  After a moment, Leland said, “She brought out the best in people—and the worst.”

  Richie turned from the window to glare at Leland.

  There was a polite knock on the door.

  Richard looked relieved. “Yes, Jordan.”

  A tall, slender brunette stuck her head into the room. “Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Tate, but the architects are here.”

  “Thanks, Jordan,” Richard said. “Please show them into the conference room.”

  Richie went to the door. “I have to take off. Gotta go to Langtry Cosmetics and meet with Lee Best to go over the financials. Been our best quarter and the numbers are only going up. This sounds morbid, but I think these recent events will launch the Anya fragrance in a bigger way than we ever dreamed.”

  “Rory’s First, Last, Everything ad campaign has been a hit,” Richard said.

  Richie bristled. “That idea was mostly mine.”

  Leland said, “You may get your wish and be able to remove Rory from Langtry. From what I hear about her condition, she’s not going to be running Langtry again anytime soon or maybe ever.”

  “Could be a silver lining here after all.” Richie left and closed the door.

  30

  Tom parked in the villa’s circular driveway, and Evelyn rushed to
open the passenger door before he had time to cut the engine.

  She reached inside to hug Rory. “Darling, I’m so happy you’re home.”

  Rory put a foot on the ground and looked at the sprawling mansion that in no way felt like home. “I’m happy to be out of that hospital.”

  Evelyn stopped her from getting up and waved over her house managers, Hector and his wife, Rosario. Hector was pushing a wheelchair.

  Rory took the arm that Tom offered and slowly climbed from the car.

  “So nice to see you, Miss Rory.” Rosario handed her a nosegay. “We have your rooms all ready.”

  Rory gave her a hug. “Dear Rosario. You’re so sweet. Thank you.” She smelled the flowers.

  “You look good, Miss Rory,” Hector said.

  Rory hugged him. “Thank you, Hector.” She looked at the wheelchair.

  Evelyn tried to steer her toward it. “Honey, have a seat.”

  “That’s not necessary, Mom. Tom, I just need my cane, please.”

  “Of course it’s necessary,” Evelyn said. “Just until you get your strength back. Look, Hector put up a ramp for the front steps.”

  Hector held up his hand to show her his handiwork.

  “Just for now, Ro, until you get upstairs.” Tom led her to the chair.

  Rory knew he was trying to placate her mother and recognized that was the best strategy. “All right.” Leaning on Tom’s arm, she lowered herself into the wheelchair.

  Tom wheeled her up the ramp.

  Evelyn fluttered alongside. “We’ve been working like crazy. I’ve completely renovated the Lido Suite.”

  “Mom, you didn’t need to go to so much trouble. I’m not going to be here that long.”

  “You’ll stay here until your doctor says you’re well enough to drive and to be by yourself at your condo,” Evelyn said. “You have all those stairs there, you know.”

  They crossed the porch, which was lined with arched columns, and entered the foyer. They turned at the sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway and saw a panel truck approaching.

  “Excuse me, missus. They’re bringing the painting.” Hector went back down the stairs and waved for the truck to pull into the back.

  Evelyn said to Rosario, “He knows to be careful with it, right?”

  Rosario raised her eyebrows. “Yes, missus. I’ll go make sure. Excuse me. Nice to see you, Rory.”

  “Did you buy something new?” Rory asked.

  “I had one of the paintings cleaned,” Evelyn said.

  “What merits so much attention? The only paintings here are gloomy portraits of Richard’s ancestors and boring landscapes.”

  “It’s the portrait of Boo.” Evelyn led the way to an alcove off the foyer, where she punched a button for the elevator. The door was paneled in a mosaic of exotic woods in a dragonfly motif. “It had soot on it from the fireplace and Richard wanted it cleaned.”

  “Boo?” Tom said.

  “Abigail.” Rory looked up at him. “Richard’s first wife. Her portrait hangs over the fireplace in the ballroom.”

  The elevator door opened. Evelyn stayed outside as Tom pushed in Rory. “There’s not enough room for the three of us. I’ll take the stairs and meet you in the suite.” Evelyn began walking back the way they’d come. “I’ll check on Rosario and Hector first.”

  The door closed and the old elevator slowly ascended.

  “Why does your mom care so much about a portrait of Richard’s dead wife?” Tom asked.

  Rory shook her head. “No clue. I know she tried to get him to take it down years ago and lost that battle. If you ask my mom about it, she’ll tell you that it’s still on the wall because it’s one of the last works of the great portraitist Sanford Brach. Painted specifically to hang in that location. It belongs to the villa. Richard’s ‘child bride’ immortalized.”

  The elevator stopped on the second floor and Tom pushed out the chair. “What do you mean his child bride?”

  “I never told you about that?”

  “No.”

  They passed the closed doors of rooms that were used only for the villa’s grandest parties, when guests overflowed the cottages.

  “Boo’s father was a country veterinarian and her mother ran his office. Richard went shopping for a horse at the ranch where Boo worked after school. Love at first sight. She was fifteen.”

  Tom paused in pushing Rory. “And Richard was how old?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Yikes.”

  “And one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. Richard and Boo had an old-fashioned courtship until the marriage, when Boo turned eighteen. Boo managed to do what eligible socialites on two continents couldn’t: snare Ratsy Tate. From what I’ve heard, Boo was a handful. A real firebrand.”

  “How old was she when she died?”

  “Twenty-nine. She had bone cancer. She went quickly.”

  “Wow. How old was Richie?”

  “Ten. As big a jerk as Richie can be, I do feel sorry for him, losing his mom when he was so young. Then his dad marries my mom when he’s fourteen.”

  “You and Anya were thirteen when your mom and Richard got married, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Were there any teenage…shenanigans going on?”

  “Not between me and Richie. I stayed with my aunt and uncle, remember? Between Anya and Richie…I doubt it, but who knows? Here we are. The Lido Suite.”

  Tom opened the door. The doorway was too narrow for the wheelchair to pass.

  “Tom, I’m supposed to be walking to build my strength. I just need your arm, please.”

  He led her into the suite’s sitting room. It was decorated in hues of yellow, moss green, and amethyst. A breeze blew in through French doors that opened onto a loggia.

  “Lovely.” Rory walked outside with Tom. She closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun.

  He watched her, a smile teasing his lips.

  She opened her eyes and saw him. She put her hand against his cheek. They gazed into each other’s eyes. She slid her hand behind his neck and guided him toward her. They gently kissed. When he pulled away, his eyes were glassy.

  She winced and reached to stroke his face. “This has been so hard on you.”

  “I’m just happy to have you back. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

  “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  She took his arm and they went inside. In the bedroom, she fingered the silk drapes over the windows and ran her hand across the pillowcases. “Beautiful.”

  She went to a chest of drawers and opened a drawer. It was filled with new lingerie and sleepwear. “My mom must have been in heaven doing all this shopping.”

  Tom picked up a slinky nightgown of ivory silk by its straps. “Nice.” He looked from the gown to Rory. “Did your doctor put any restrictions on…?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Nope.” She grinned. “Just nothing too strenuous.”

  “Guess I’ll have to wait to install the acrobat swing I bought.”

  She chuckled as she fingered a stack of wedding magazines on a nightstand. “Not very subtle, Mom. She’s already on me to get moving with the wedding plans.”

  Tom put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I don’t care about that right now. I just want you to get well.”

  She smiled up at him.

  “I wish I could take you away to some tropical island where we’d have mad sex and spend days in the nude.”

  She darted her eyes away and said without enthusiasm, “We will.”

  He leaned back to look at her. “Do you feel okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m just tired all of a sudden. It’s been a big day.”

  He hesitated and then asked, “Have you had any more of those visions or premonitions, about the doves flying and such?”

  She took a breath and lied. “No.” She had felt quiet and peaceful since leaving the hospital. She was relieved, thinking that the environment there
had been causing her stress. Making her crazy.

  “Tom, I’m sorry, but I need to lie down for a while.”

  They said goodbye and made arrangements. Finally she was alone. Until she felt Junior’s presence, seeping back into the crevices of her mind.

  31

  Evelyn swept into Rory’s suite, burdened with shopping bags. “Rory, darling, I picked up—” She stopped short when she saw her sister, Donna, sitting on the loggia with Rory.

  “Oh, hello, Donna. What a surprise.” Evelyn crossed the sitting room and set the bags on a secretary.

  Donna rose from a wicker chair and came inside. “Hello, Evelyn.”

  Evelyn brusquely began removing her purchases from the bags. “How are you?”

  “I’m well. Thank you.” Donna lingered several feet away, not moving to initiate physical contact with her sister. “How are things with you?”

  “I feel like I’ve been reborn. Risen from the ashes, like the phoenix.”

  Donna saw Rory having difficultly rising from the deep porch chair. “Sweetheart, let me help you.”

  Evelyn dropped a handful of small boxes onto the secretary and rushed out onto the loggia ahead of Donna. “Darling, let Mommy. There you are. Where’s your cane?”

  “I don’t need it, Mom. I just couldn’t get out of that chair.”

  Donna stepped aside to make way.

  Evelyn still kept her arm around Rory’s waist. “Where do you want to go?”

  “The wing-backed chair,” Rory said. “Something with arms so I can push myself up.”

  “Okay, darling. Here we go.”

  Donna winked at Rory behind Evelyn’s back.

  After Rory was settled into the wing-backed chair, Evelyn returned to the shopping bags. “I went to the health food store and picked up valerian root to help you sleep, Rory. It’s what my herbalist recommends for insomnia.”

  “She should check with her doctor first,” Donna said.

  “Of course,” Evelyn said. “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest, Donna. And I bought products from this fabulous skin care line. Rory’s poor skin is still so dry from that terrible hospital air. Arlette, my aesthetician, is coming by the villa tomorrow to do my eyebrows. Remember, the chub deb is being presented this Saturday. I’ll have Arlette schedule a treatment for you, Ro. She can shape your eyebrows too.”