Eleventh Hour

Whenever he looks at me, speaks to me, I want to go take a bath.”
    “Cleo didn’t think he was bad at all. To be honest about this, I didn’t believe so either, at least not at first. Yes, he was my lover for a time as well. Too bad it wasn’t because he adored me, no, he just wanted something else that belonged to John. I suppose I’m included in that group. And, fact is, he’s not a very good lover. Sure, he maintains his body well, and says all the right things, but he’s selfish. He’s used to expensive call girls who lick the bottoms of his feet if that’s what he wants. He has difficulty remembering to give as well as receive when he’s with a woman he isn’t paying. And like I said, the both of them still pretend to be friends. What games men play.”
    “Albia, do you think it makes any sense at all to sleep with another man when you’re engaged to be married? Why would you even be engaged if you wanted to sleep around?”
    “Any number of women do it all the time. They want the power, the money that marriage would bring them and they want the excitement a lover brings. It’s not a big mystery. Don’t be coy, Nicola.”
    Nick walked over to John’s desk, sat down in his big, comfortable leather chair. It steadied her, sitting behind his impressive desk. She picked up a pen and tapped it against the beautiful maple. She remembered Linus Wolfinger doing the same thing until everyone wanted to strangle him. She tapped the pen again, then once again. She said, seeing the look of annoyance on Albia’s face, “Did you spread rumors about me sleeping with Elliott Benson?”
    “Of course not. It was common knowledge.”
    “I see. How odd that I didn’t know. I do know you are the one who wrote me the letter supposedly from Cleo. It couldn’t be anyone else, and you also wrote with great detail about Melissa.”
    Albia was framed by that beautiful window, the sun surrounding her. She looked powerful, otherworldly, her stance, the tilt of her head identical to John’s.
    Nick felt the sudden taste of sour bile in her mouth. It tasted like fear, fear of this woman whom everyone saw as an elegant creature they admired and respected, a woman who was powerful in her own right. They didn’t see Albia Rothman as a person who could have started off her adult life murdering someone. For John, for her little brother, whom she adored.
    “I didn’t write you anything, Nicola.”
    Nick let it go for the moment. What had she expected? A confession? She said after a moment of silence, “I can’t believe Cleo ever slept with Elliott Benson. Nor with Tod Gambol. She loved John.”
    “Oh, but Cleo was a little harlot. John wouldn’t believe me until I finally showed him photos that I had a private investigator take of her and Elliott, all cozied up in his small house on Crane Island. It’s all private, you know, the nearest neighbor is a good half mile away. I might add that he and John both have used that house. If they happen to have each other’s woman at that house, they make sure to leave a small token, a small trace of it. Perhaps you’ve been there, Nicola?”
    Nick shook her head. “I don’t believe it. I knew her. I really liked Cleo. She loved John, I’m sure of that.” She realized that only about fifteen feet separated them. She said, “Albia, it’s time to admit that you wrote me the letter, that you made up that journal confession to save me, to make me leave Chicago and leave John. You did it to help me, didn’t you? Please tell me. You wanted to protect me, didn’t you?”
    Albia shrugged. “Yes, all right, no reason to lie about it now. Yes, I wrote you the letter, for all the good it did. You’re back and now you want everyone to pay. John didn’t try to kill you, Nicola.”
    Nick’s heart was thudding so loudly she believed that surely Albia would hear it, that Albia must know she was so scared she was ready to pee in her pants. The words just came out, she couldn’t stop them. “If it wasn’t John, then was it you, Albia?”
    A perfectly arched eyebrow went up a good inch. “Me? Goodness, no.”
    “You hired someone to try to run me down, to burn down my condo, with me in it.”
    “It strikes me, though, that just maybe you were the one to set fire to your own condo.”
    Nick laughed, couldn’t help it. “That’s idiocy.”
    Albia shrugged. She took a step back, leaned against the window, crossed her arms over her chest. She looked mildly amused. “So it was