Page 97 of Girl Anonymous

Somebody had to say it.

They both needed to know.

* * *

By late afternoon Nate had arrived and taken up his station in front of the dining room where Dante worked behind closed pocket doors.

A barrage of gifts arrived at regular intervals, gifts that werepromptly removed from the premises, inventoried, x-rayed, and examined by bomb-sniffing dogs.

Not that anyone was suspicious.

Workmen swarmed the house, scraping, painting, replacing old siding and old plaster, trimming trees, and planting flowers.

Octavia sought Maarja, caught her at Alex’s desk, and demanded, “Why are there so many hammers? And saws. I can smell new paint. And solvent! I heard someone in the backyard discussing the fountain. I don’t have a fountain! Caterers in the kitchen talking about new appliances! What is Dante doing?”

Alex intervened. “Mom, I’d say that he’s being a good guy, but that doesn’t seem his flavor. I suspect it’s prep for the wedding.”

Octavia swung on her. “It’s a backyard ceremony, not a royal gala!”

“Actually,” Maarja said, “in Dante’s circle, he is a kind of royalty.”

“The killer kind,” Alex mumbled.

“When he’s done, I’m not going to know my house!” Octavia wailed.

Maarja didn’t really want to go and see if Dante would grant her an audience. Not after this morning’s stairway confrontation. But—“I’ll talk to him, remind him who you are, make sure he understands there are restrictions.” Although when Dante intended to do something he believed needed to be done and would improve a life, Maarja didn’t expect him to pay attention.

Nate stood before Dante’s makeshift office, arms crossed.

From inside she heard a man shouting.

Nate looked over the top of her head and spoke a single word, “No.” As if she’d asked to enter.

The voice was muffled, but not enough to stop her from hearing, “…You crazy?…Can’t go through with this…Already upset the enemies!…Lost your mother, lost your mind…Shit show! A woman! A piece of…Suspect!…Do you know what you’re inviting?…”

Dante spoke in a soothing tone, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Nearby, she heard someone whimper. Béatrice stood against the wall, watching the door and wringing her hands. She looked a little like the Béatrice Maarja had first met: pale, hunched, with a pinched mouth that had never seen a smile. Yet she’d seemed so different here, at Octavia’s house, in this safe, busy environment.

Well, of course. Béatrice shut down in the face of adversity. Maarja had made unkind judgments about her and about Mrs. Arundel for tolerating Béatrice. Mrs. Arundel had seen what Maarja hadn’t bothered to see; away from…away from constant fear of fire, explosion, pain, and death, a different Béatrice lived a different life, a whole life.

From inside the office, they heard another shout, clearly a condemnation.

Béatrice cringed and whimpered again.

Behind Nate, the door was flung open and Cousin Jack, San Francisco police detective, stepped out. His red face and wild eyes displayed his mood only too well. He caught sight of Maarja, stalked over, and, with his hand open, straining and cupped like a claw, reached for her.

Nate caught his wrist. “No sir, Jack. Not on my watch.”

The whole house full of neighbors, family, and hired workers stood very still and watched the scene from a distance. No one wanted to interfere. No one wanted to attract attention. Everyone knew the Arundel reputation and in this part of town everyone had too much experience dodging bullets.

Jack drew a long breath. “I’m fine.” He tossed his wrist and when Nate let him go, he pointed his finger in Maarja’s face. “You.Should have never. Been born.You.Should have never. Lived.You’rethe ruin of him. Give him what he wants and let him go!”

Maarja thought this guy was demented…and rememberingthe lesson she’d just learned from Béatrice, she told herself he was driven by concern for his cousin. Gently she said, “I’m not holding him.”

“Then why is he staying?”

She didn’t know how to explain when she didn’t know herself.

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