One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [208]
“So Louise was a murderer?” Annalisa said.
“Mostly, Louise was a passionate gardener,” Enid replied carefully. “She once had a greenhouse on her terrace but took it down after Randolf died. Flossie insists she was growing belladonna. If she were, she would have needed a greenhouse to do it in. The plant can’t survive in direct sunlight.”
“Ah,” Annalisa said, nodding. “And I suppose you wanted me to do the same thing to Paul.”
“Absolutely not,” Enid said. “Although it’s crossed my mind that ultimately Randolf’s death was for a good cause. Louise did so much for the city. But she never would have gotten away with it today. And of course, your husband is still alive. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Annalisa said. “Paul is quite harmless now.”
“That’s good, dear,” Enid said, standing up. “And now that you know everything, I really must run. Schiffer and I are going to switch apartments this week, and I must start packing.”
“Of course,” Annalisa said. She took Enid’s arm and escorted her down the two flights of steps. At the front door, she paused. “There is still one thing you haven’t told me,” she said. “Why did Mrs. Houghton do it?”
Enid emitted a cackle. “Why do you think? Her husband wanted to sell the apartment.” She paused. “Now you must tell me something as well. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t,” Annalisa said. “I only begged Paul not to go.”
“Of course,” Enid said. “And isn’t that a typical man? They never listen.”
An hour later, Philip found his aunt in her kitchen, precariously balanced on top of a stepstool, taking things out of the top shelf of a cabinet. “Nini,” Philip said sharply, “what are you doing? The movers will pack everything up.” He took her hand and helped her down. “It’s the day before my wedding. What if you fell? What if you broke your hip?”
“What if I did?” she asked, affectionately patting his cheek. Thinking of Annalisa, she said, “It would all continue. It always does, one way or another.”
The morning of Philip and Schiffer’s wedding day was hazy and hot. The clouds were expected to burn off, but there might be thunderstorms later in the day. In the overheated kitchen of the Gooches’ apartment, Mindy Gooch was going over a catalog for Sub-Zero refrigerators with James. “I know it’s only a country house, but we might as well get the best. We can afford it. And then we won’t have to worry about replacing it for at least twenty years.” She looked up at James and smiled. “In twenty years, we’ll be in our mid-sixties. We’ll have been married for almost forty years. Won’t that be amazing?”
“Yes,” James said with what had become a nearly permanent jumpiness. Mindy had yet to say a word about Lola, but she didn’t have to. The fact that she’d messengered those columns was enough. They would never talk about it, James thought, the way they never talked about anything that was wrong in their marriage. Of course, Mindy didn’t have to do that, either, not when she wrote about their marriage in her blog.
“What do you think?” Mindy asked now. “The forty-or the sixty-inch? I say sixty, even though it’s three thousand dollars more. Sam will be having friends up to the country, and we’ll need lots of room for food.”
“Sounds great,” James said.
“And did you get the toilet paper and paper towels?” Mindy asked.
“I did it yesterday. Didn’t you notice?” James asked.
“Well, really, James,” Mindy said, “I’m a little