Three Fates

now, Malachi was being softened up. In the morning, when he’d had plenty of time to think, and to suffer, she’d stop by and see him. He’d tell her exactly where he was keeping the Fates, exactly where to find Cleo Toliver, and he’d confirm if her conclusions were correct and it had been Jack or someone working at Burdett who’d helped him get through her security.
    Then she’d deal with all of them. Personally.
    The candlelight glowed soothingly over her closed lids and she picked up the phone she’d set on the ledge of the tub and answered her private line.
    “Yes?”
    “I felt I should apologize for leaving so abruptly.”
    The sound of Malachi’s voice had her sitting straight up in the tub. Water and bubbles gushed over the rim and ran a river over the tiles.
    “It was very rude of me,” he went on. “But I had what you might call a pressing engagement. In any case, I’m looking forward to seeing you Thursday. Eleven o’clock, remember. Oh, and one other thing. Mr. Jasper asked me to tell you, he quits.”
    When the click sounded in her ear, Anita let out a roar of frustration. She heaved the phone across the room, where it smashed into the mirror.
    In the morning when the maid came in to tidy up, she would cluck her tongue and think of seven years’ bad luck.

Thirty
     
     
     
     
    I T would be, at its core, like any sort of play, largely dependent on staging, costumes, props and the actors’ zest for their roles. Since Cleo was the team expert on stage work, she took over as director.
    With Eileen standing in for Anita, Cleo rehearsed her cast mercilessly.
    “Timing, people. It’s all about the timing. Jack, cue.”
    He mimed making the phone call that would set the ball rolling, then walked with Gideon to the elevator.
    “I don’t see why we have to go down again. We could just pretend to go down.”
    “Look, Slick, I’m directing this show. Get moving.”
    He stepped into the elevator with Jack.
    “Good luck,” Tia called out and shrugged. “Well, that’s what I’d say to them if this was real.”
    “See.” Cleo folded her arms. “Tia knows how to rehearse. Okay,” Cleo began. “We figure it’s eight-fifteen, and time passes. Two of the three prongs are being set. The rest of us wait here, enjoying a nutritious breakfast, until Gideon gets back. Clock’s ticking, clock’s ticking, and where the hell is he?”
    “We’d all be pacing around like cats in a cage and drinking too much coffee,” Rebecca put in as she flipped a page in one of her bridal magazines. “Oh, Ma, look at this dress. This may be the one.”
    “She’s not your mother. She’s the dreaded and dastardly Anita Gaye. Stay in character,” Cleo insisted, then turned as Gideon opened the elevator doors again. “You’re late, we were worried, blah blah. And you tell us everything’s aces.”
    “I would, if you’d give me the chance.”
    “Actors are such children.” She grabbed his shirt, jerked him forward for a kiss. “Scene change,” she announced. “Library. Interior. Time: ten-thirty. Places, people.”
     
     
    IT WAS RAINING hard when Malachi stepped out of the cab in front of the New York Public Library. The sheets of wet and the traffic it snarled had put them slightly behind schedule.
    The weather gave him a little pang of homesickness. It was nearly over now, he thought as he climbed up the stairs between the lions known as Patience and Fortitude. Nearly time to go home again and pick up the threads of his life. The old and the new. He wondered what pattern they would make together.
    He stepped inside, into the cathedral-like grandeur and quiet. It was his second visit, as a dress rehearsal sort of business had been demanded of him. He still wondered at the fact that such a huge and stately library should have no books in its entranceway.
    He scooped a hand through his hair, scattering wet, then, as planned, took the stairs instead of the elevator to the third floor.
    No one seemed to take any particular notice of him. There were those who sat at tables studying or simply browsing through books. Some tapped away at laptops, others scrawled notes on pads, still others roamed the stacks.
    As planned, he filled out a call sheet for the book Tia had deemed most appropriate and took it to the proper reference desk.
    He liked the smell of the place, of books and wood and people come in out of the rain. Another time he’d have enjoyed just the being there. And though Gideon was the