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“Oh dear,” Ruth said.
Dix said, “Not quite what I expected. Time to break it up before she connects a vase to Chappy’s head. Then I’d have to arrest her, and that thought scares me.”
Ruth put a smile on for Cynthia when she jerked the front door open. “Well, what do—Dix, hello. Do come in. Oh, you. So you’re still here? Sorry, but I don’t remember your name. You’re some kind of police officer, too, aren’t you?”
“Some kind, yes,” Ruth said agreeably. “Agent Ruth Warnecki. I believe we had lunch together, what was it, two days ago? They say memory is the first to go.”
Cynthia said, “Yes, I’ve heard that, too. But why would I even want to remember you?”
“Good one,” Ruth said.
Dix said, “Ruth and I heard you and Chappy fighting from outside. You should have closed the library window.”
Cynthia shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. “Well?”
Dix walked right at her, and she moved at the last instant so he wouldn’t mow her down. He headed toward the library, Ruth at his side, Cynthia reluctantly trailing after them. The thing about the library, Ruth thought, looking around, was that it wasn’t a room for books, it was a room for CDs, hundreds of them, scrolled labels categorizing them—jazz, blues, three or four dozen classical composers listed by name. What books there were appeared to be the oversized coffee table sort. Dix waved her to a deep burgundy sofa. He sat on a hundred-year-old pale green brocade chair next to her. Cynthia sat opposite them, looking like she’d rather be in a dentist’s chair. Chappy wasn’t in the room.
Dix said to her, “You and Chappy developed some new material. I never heard you insult Tony before. I’m sorry it’s come to that, Cynthia.”
“You’re not married to him, Dix. You don’t see him fold whenever Chappy so much as frowns at him. He can’t imagine losing his position at the bank, as if that would ever happen.”
“What’d you throw at Chappy?”
“Just some stupid blue bowl someone sent him from China.”
Chappy said from the doorway, “The blue bowl was a very valuable ceramic fashioned during the Kangxi period of the Qing Dynasty, circa 1690.” He strolled in as if he hadn’t a worry in the world. “She shattered a three-hundred-year-old work of art that cost me more than a divorce from this viper would cost Tony.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell him what I said,” Cynthia said, her expression a study of anger, frustration, and something Dix couldn’t pinpoint. He pictured the bowl in his mind, remembered how exquisite it was. If he were Chappy, he’d be cussing mad about it. He said only, “Was the bowl insured?”
“Sure, but who cares about the money?”
Cynthia jumped out of her seat, waving her fist at him. “That’s the only thing you do care about, Chappy—money and control over everyone you know. Don’t pretend to be a martyr and a victim.” She turned to Dix. “He wants me out of Tony’s life and away from here.”
Dix shrugged. “So why don’t you and Tony leave? You have alternatives, Cynthia. Do you really want to raise a child here at Tara?”
Cynthia shuddered as she said, “No, of course not, but what I want doesn’t matter. Tony won’t leave.”
Chappy said, “No, my son isn’t going anywhere, Cynthia.” He turned to Dix and Ruth. “If this harpy won’t give him a child, she can take off herself as far as I’m concerned, maybe screw Gordon’s brains out on her way out of town.”
“I don’t think Gordon has the time,” Ruth said. “He’s pretty much occupied right now.”
“Twister was never too busy for sex.” Chappy studied his fingernails. “Do you know Gordon can tell you the name of any perfume a woman wears, his nose is that sensitive? Always amazed me.” Chappy shook his head. “Tony’s going to attend that memorial at Stanislaus, said it wouldn’t look good if the local bankers didn’t pay their respects.”
Dix said, “We’re going as well.”
“Well, I’m not. Why should I? Twister will be there, some young sweetie sitting beside him, I’ll bet, holding his hand and squeezing it while he cries. He can cry on demand, which always pissed me off.”
Cynthia said, venom as thick as cream in her voice, “You’ve got to have a heart to cry, Chappy.”
Chappy ignored his daughter-in-law. He said to Dix, “Are you going to take Twister off to jail?”
Dix said, “Not quite what I expected. Time to break it up before she connects a vase to Chappy’s head. Then I’d have to arrest her, and that thought scares me.”
Ruth put a smile on for Cynthia when she jerked the front door open. “Well, what do—Dix, hello. Do come in. Oh, you. So you’re still here? Sorry, but I don’t remember your name. You’re some kind of police officer, too, aren’t you?”
“Some kind, yes,” Ruth said agreeably. “Agent Ruth Warnecki. I believe we had lunch together, what was it, two days ago? They say memory is the first to go.”
Cynthia said, “Yes, I’ve heard that, too. But why would I even want to remember you?”
“Good one,” Ruth said.
Dix said, “Ruth and I heard you and Chappy fighting from outside. You should have closed the library window.”
Cynthia shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. “Well?”
Dix walked right at her, and she moved at the last instant so he wouldn’t mow her down. He headed toward the library, Ruth at his side, Cynthia reluctantly trailing after them. The thing about the library, Ruth thought, looking around, was that it wasn’t a room for books, it was a room for CDs, hundreds of them, scrolled labels categorizing them—jazz, blues, three or four dozen classical composers listed by name. What books there were appeared to be the oversized coffee table sort. Dix waved her to a deep burgundy sofa. He sat on a hundred-year-old pale green brocade chair next to her. Cynthia sat opposite them, looking like she’d rather be in a dentist’s chair. Chappy wasn’t in the room.
Dix said to her, “You and Chappy developed some new material. I never heard you insult Tony before. I’m sorry it’s come to that, Cynthia.”
“You’re not married to him, Dix. You don’t see him fold whenever Chappy so much as frowns at him. He can’t imagine losing his position at the bank, as if that would ever happen.”
“What’d you throw at Chappy?”
“Just some stupid blue bowl someone sent him from China.”
Chappy said from the doorway, “The blue bowl was a very valuable ceramic fashioned during the Kangxi period of the Qing Dynasty, circa 1690.” He strolled in as if he hadn’t a worry in the world. “She shattered a three-hundred-year-old work of art that cost me more than a divorce from this viper would cost Tony.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell him what I said,” Cynthia said, her expression a study of anger, frustration, and something Dix couldn’t pinpoint. He pictured the bowl in his mind, remembered how exquisite it was. If he were Chappy, he’d be cussing mad about it. He said only, “Was the bowl insured?”
“Sure, but who cares about the money?”
Cynthia jumped out of her seat, waving her fist at him. “That’s the only thing you do care about, Chappy—money and control over everyone you know. Don’t pretend to be a martyr and a victim.” She turned to Dix. “He wants me out of Tony’s life and away from here.”
Dix shrugged. “So why don’t you and Tony leave? You have alternatives, Cynthia. Do you really want to raise a child here at Tara?”
Cynthia shuddered as she said, “No, of course not, but what I want doesn’t matter. Tony won’t leave.”
Chappy said, “No, my son isn’t going anywhere, Cynthia.” He turned to Dix and Ruth. “If this harpy won’t give him a child, she can take off herself as far as I’m concerned, maybe screw Gordon’s brains out on her way out of town.”
“I don’t think Gordon has the time,” Ruth said. “He’s pretty much occupied right now.”
“Twister was never too busy for sex.” Chappy studied his fingernails. “Do you know Gordon can tell you the name of any perfume a woman wears, his nose is that sensitive? Always amazed me.” Chappy shook his head. “Tony’s going to attend that memorial at Stanislaus, said it wouldn’t look good if the local bankers didn’t pay their respects.”
Dix said, “We’re going as well.”
“Well, I’m not. Why should I? Twister will be there, some young sweetie sitting beside him, I’ll bet, holding his hand and squeezing it while he cries. He can cry on demand, which always pissed me off.”
Cynthia said, venom as thick as cream in her voice, “You’ve got to have a heart to cry, Chappy.”
Chappy ignored his daughter-in-law. He said to Dix, “Are you going to take Twister off to jail?”
