The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [1]
“I know,” she murmured. “But your father’s on a plane. It’s one thing for me to call in sick. It’s another to get up from the piano and walk out in the second act of Giselle because I have to rush home for some reason.”
The muscles in her upper back felt as if they were carved from stone. He pressed a little harder, using the heels of his hands. He didn’t want to hurt her.
“You worry too much,” he said. “We’re neither of us babies, you know.”
She laughed, and he felt her relax a bit.
• • •
The man in the camel-hair coat dropped off his companions, circled the one-way system, and then parked the BMW in front of a hydrant on Eighty-sixth Street between Riverside Drive and West End Avenue, nose pointed toward the park and the Hudson River beyond. He lifted a walkie-talkie from the passenger seat and squeezed the transmit button.
“Check,” he said.
“Check,” came the reply.
A block north, on the corner of Eighty-seventh and Riverside, the man with the burn dropped an identical walkie-talkie into an exterior pocket of his jacket. Reaching into the opposite pocket, he removed a Christmas card and held it out to his companion.
“What?”
“Look at the picture.”
“I’ve got the goddamned picture memorized.”
“Look at it again.”
The second man took it, careful to mask his resentment. Tilting the card to the streetlight overhead, he studied the glossy photo glued to the front. A family of four gathered in front of a piano, the woman and boy almost the same height. It was the woman they were interested in.
“How much longer?” he asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” the man with the burn said. “Twenty at the outside. She’s punctual.”
Snow melted on the picture, and the second man rubbed it dry against his pants. His pulse quickened as he imagined the evening ahead. The woman was good-looking.
“Kate’s taking her bath,” Yolanda announced, bustling into the living room with her coat on. “And now I really do have to get going.”
Claire rose from the piano bench and kissed Kyle on the cheek. He’d gained an inch on her in the last month or two, and she had to tip up her chin.
“Thanks,” she said to him. “Now scoot so I can talk to Yolanda.”
Both women watched as he walked away. Kyle had a high, serious forehead like his father, and pale, watchful eyes.
“Skinny as a pole,” Yolanda observed. “I remember the same about my Guillermo. They get all stretched at that age.”
“He wears his pants half a dozen times and he’s outgrown them.” Claire dropped her gaze and began toying with her wedding ring. “Is Kate okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“I didn’t mean to be so tough on her.”
“Tough,” Yolanda scoffed. “My abuela taught me my catechism with her Bible in one hand and her stick in the other. Kate’s trouble is that she’s simpática, like her brother. I’m not even through the front door and they both know whether I got a seat on the bus or had to stand the whole way. Any bother in the house and the two of them are as miserable as wet cats.”
Claire winced at the mention of bother, cheeks flushing slightly. Yolanda pulled her scarf from her sleeve and began retying it over her head.
“Now, you listen to me for one minute. You need someone who can stay late if you’re going to be working nights now. I’ll ask around if you want. It won’t be any trouble at all for me to find another situation.”
“God forbid,” Claire said, shocked. “You’re part of the family.” She hesitated and then covered her face with a hand, her voice choked. “I’m just feeling so frustrated. It’s really hard to make the transition from teaching back to performing, and this job is a big opportunity for me. But nobody’s ever going to hire me again if I get a reputation for being unreliable.”
“Mark didn’t know he had to travel?”
“A colleague in London got sick. He’s flying over to deliver his speech at their big European energy conference.”
“And what was it that other time, a few weeks ago?”
“Vienna,” she responded, a note of defensiveness in her voice. “An unscheduled meeting with some people from OPEC.”
Yolanda’s worn brown