Firebird Read online

  You’re all head and no heart, Zan. Just once, go with your heart!

  “Aunt Zan?”

  She blinked at Juliet, and locked the grieving away.

  “Mom said, ‘just in case something happens,’” said Juliet. “She was expecting something to happen! She was scared of something, Aunt Zan. Or someone.”

  Alexandra’s breath came out in a soft rush.

  “No. Your mom was alone. The detectives found the note, in her raincoat pocket. It was left by the bridge...” Forgive me.

  “No way,” said the girl scornfully. Once more, Alexandra caught a glimpse of the young Juliet she remembered.

  “The newspapers lied, Aunt Zan. Mom didn’t write that note. She never called me Juliet! It was always Jules - or Jewel, her special name for me. And the note was typed! Mom hated to type, always insisted she was computer-challenged, remember? She couldn’t figure out how to use her BlackBerry! She recorded her voice on her digital recorder, or wrote everything in long hand. Script.” The last word was thrown down as a gauntlet.

  The green eyes staring back at Alexandra were filled with a fierce light. “The ‘one good true thing,’ she called me. Why would she leave me?”

  The small voice, so wounded and raw, throbbed in Alexandra’s head. Her niece’s thoughts mirrored her own. There was no way Eve would have left Juliet. Unless she had no choice…

  Alexandra leaned toward Juliet. “Your mother’s hiding place. Where is it?”

  “Downstairs. In the nursery.”

  “Here?” Alexandra’s brows arched with surprise. “Eve came all the way to Cliff House to hide something for me?”

  “Go figure.”

  Alexandra shook her head, still unconvinced. “Why didn’t she just mail it to me?”

  “She was right, you intellectualize everything!”

  “What’s so wrong with being reasonable?” asked Alexandra, stung. “I still don’t understand why you came to Maine alone.”

  “Mom had a secret.”

  “She kept too damned many secrets. That was her problem.”

  “My mother needed help!” Juliet’s glare was icy. “You were too busy.”

  “I’m here now. So what about this hiding place?”

  “I found something.” The words were low, defiant.

  “Where?”

  Juliet stared at her aunt. “You really don’t know about the false wall in the doll house?”

  “The doll house in the nursery?”

  The long wind chime earring swung against Juliet’s cheek. “A narrow space between two walls. Mom showed me when I was little.” There was a hint of pleasure in the words.

  Alexandra shook her head in denial. “Surely I would have known...”

  The jade eyes were suddenly old in the heart-shaped face. “Did mom tell you everything, Aunt Zan?”

  So many secrets.

  “Okay, you win. You’ve got my full attention. Show me!”

  Juliet hesitated, then rose, like a delicate flower unfolding, and moved toward the door.

  A shattering crash sounded from somewhere far below.

  “Stay here!” cried Alexandra, running through the doorway as an ear-splitting alarm echoed through the house.

  CHAPTER 8

  “...darkness Falls from the wings of Night,

  As a feather is wafted downward...”

  H. W. Longfellow

  Finally, it was quiet.

  The house alarm had been switched off and the young island policeman had completed his report, nailed a board over the broken window and driven away.

  “Only the wind,” he’d pronounced in his unmistakable born-and-raised-in-Maine accent. “Blew that branch right into the glass. But we’ve had some break-ins in the empty cottages. Make sure you lock up behind me.”

  Only the wind. Why didn’t she believe him? Ominous blue eyes flickered on the edge of her mind.

  Alexandra turned off her cell phone and turned to Juliet. “Anthony sends his love. He wants you back at St. T’s, and he wants you to call him.”

  “Tony’s cool.”

  “And Sister JoMo has called off the hunting dogs,” Alexandra added dryly. “She’s glad you’re safe, but you’ve still got to read King Lear before your next Lit class.”

  Juliet, who had refused to speak to the Mother Superior, flashed Alexandra a fierce look. “Another dysfunctional father-daughter duo,” said the girl under her breath. “I am so over school.” She bent to touch her toes in one long fluid movement.

  “What about your ballet classes?”

  “What about them?” The girl kept her eyes on the floor as she flexed and pointed one narrow bare foot. “Ballet is like entering a convent. Nothing but discipline. Who needs it?”

  “Sister JoMo told me that you love your classes at Juilliard.”

  “What would you know about what I love?”

  Score one for the tough guy, thought Alexandra.

  “I’ve blown my big chance, anyway,” muttered Juliet under her breath.

  “What chance?”

  A shrug of narrow shoulders. “Just a small role in a ballet at the Met. No big.”

  “The Met!”

  “It’s just a Halloween thing, with masks and… whatever! I missed rehearsal today, so I guess I’m out.” The bright shine in the green eyes belied the I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude.

  “We won’t let that happen.”

  Juliet looked at Alexandra with a strange expression. “Whatever happens,” she murmured softly, “someday I’ll own that stage.”

  The girl’s chin came up. “Do you know what the choreographer Lincoln Kirstein said? He believed that every great ballerina has had a formidable mother behind her. And a distant, or non-existent, father. Wouldn’t Freud love me!”

  Alexandra smiled. “Then you absolutely will be a great dancer someday, Jules. When is your next rehearsal?”

  “Monday afternoon.”

  Alexandra bent to her knees to gather the window glass still scattered over the kitchen floor. “Good. We should be back in New York by tomorrow night.”

  “Is that where you left your kid?”

  “Ruby? Yes, she’s with her nanny.” She swept up the glass, sat back on her heels. “I’d like you to meet her. You’re her only cousin.”

  “Family’s no big deal.” Juliet’s shoulders shrugged with a ‘who-cares’ attitude. “Why didn’t you bring her with you?”

  “I wanted to! But I didn’t know if you were in trouble.” And your mother warned me of danger.

  “Another kid cast aside,” mumbled Juliet. “I’m never going to have kids.”

  Don’t go there. Alexandra bit her lower lip to stop her response. With an inner eye-roll at her cowardice, she simply gestured toward a grocery bag on the counter. “At least we have heat and light. I brought soup, bread, salad. Are you hungry?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “No kidding.”

  Juliet caught her aunt’s look, stopped and raised a feathery eyebrow. “What are you staring at?”

  “Your hair,” answered Alexandra honestly. “And the butterfly...”

  “You don’t like my tattoo?”

  “Your mother would disown me for saying so, but I have to admit that the butterfly is oddly appealing. But...”

  “But what?”

  “I guess - I keep looking for my niece. The one in your school uniform. You looked so much like your mother…”

  “I’m nothing like my mother, nothing!” The adolescent’s voice was suddenly flip, edgy. “My tatt’s liberating! I think I look lethal.”

  “Is lethal good or bad?”

  “Definitely bad! But bad is good.” And there was her sister’s smile. “Mother always said that she - ” Juliet stopped suddenly and paled.

  “Liked your hair long and silky,” finished Alexandra gently. She hesitated, then said, “It’s okay to be angry, Jules.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can feel!”

  Alexandra dropped the last of
the glass into the trash bin. “Okay, truce. You said your mother left something for me in the nursery. Show me.”

  With a last questioning glance at the dark, boarded-up window, Alexandra turned out the kitchen light and followed Juliet toward the stairs.

  * * * *

  Deep within the pines, the watcher was still, waiting for his chance. He saw the light go out. Far below him, the Atlantic roared against the rocks.

  * * * *

  The old doll house stood silently in the shadows. Juliet sat cross-legged on the bright nursery carpet.

  “There.” Her voice was brittle. “In the right wall. The catch is hidden beneath the window ledge.”

  “Your mother always hid her treasures,” murmured Alexandra, as she felt the tiny knob and pushed gently. A small section of wall swung open to reveal a manila envelope.

  I’ve hidden it. Eve’s words, left on her cell phone just before her death, spun suddenly into Alexandra’s head. She reached into her sister’s hiding place.

  Hidden what? Is this what you wanted me to find, Eve?

  She stared at the envelope in her hand. For Zan, Eve had written in her distinctive dark script. The seal already had been broken. Alexandra flashed a look at her niece, then carefully removed the small digital recorder.

  Wordlessly, Juliet waited.

  “Here goes,” said Alexandra, flashing a confident thumb’s up she didn’t feel. She pushed the Play button, and her sister’s voice, intimate and electric, spilled into the air.

  Eve began as if in the middle of a conversation, her words breathless, italicized and rapid as gunfire, thoughts tumbling out and over each other.

  “So I know that Maine is the very last place you want to be, darling. Especially in God-awful October, but don’t go ballistic on me, Zan, until you hear me out. Sorry to drag you from your beloved artists, but they’re all dead - and I need you now.”

  “Oh damn,” murmured Alexandra.

  “Stop swearing, darling!” demanded Eve’s voice. “It’s late at night and I’ve traveled twelve hours to get here, and I’m PMS and my back is killing me and I’m absolutely starving - so just keep quiet and listen! Last year in Washington, I met a man named Charles Fraser.”

  Alexandra jammed the Stop button.

  Charles Fraser. His name was in the news all the time. A top advisor to the President...

  “Have you heard all this, Jules?”

  “Mother told me where the tape was, didn’t she? Charles Fraser works at the White House. I wrote a paper on the President’s staff for my PolySci class.”

  “It may not be the same Fraser. Let’s listen.”

  “...late last night,” Eve was saying, “Charlie got a visitor. He thought I’d fallen asleep, but I was watching Letterman interview that pompous football star who paints his hair purple.”

  In Fraser’s apartment late at night? Alexandra glanced at Juliet, who was studying the flower-patterned carpet with determined intensity.

  “Charlie’s voice,” said Eve, “was suddenly alert, nervous. He began to whisper, closed his office door. Of course my journalist’s antennae came screamingly awake, and I found myself crouched at the door, listening.”

  Eve’s breath caught.

  “They were speaking Russian, Zan. As clear as the vodka in the Metropol Bar! Then they switched to English. Something about lies, or maybe lions. It made no sense. But two words leaped out at me...” Eve paused dramatically.

  “Operation Firebird.”

  Operation Firebird. A shiver whispered across Alexandra’s skin.

  “Charlie became very agitated. He said, ‘Ivan is the key to the Firebird. And the election is only weeks away. We’ve got to find Ivan before he -’ but then he switched again to Russian. They finished talking, and I scrambled back to the couch and pretended to be asleep. I heard a door close. Then Charlie came in to make sure I was sleeping, and murmured, ‘Everything will work out.’ Right, and I’m a natural blond!”

  Alexandra heard her sister inhale deeply, as if she were smoking a cigarette.

  “Christ, Zan, something is horribly wrong. Charlie is bone-deep scared - of something. Or someone named Ivan. And I’m afraid for him…

  “He left the apartment immediately afterwards, and I haven’t seen him since. I came straight here, to the island, to think things through. I think Jon Garcia is here, too, he used to live up island. Rumor has it that Garcia is already involved in some hush-hush Russian investigation, so you’d think he would be the perfect person to help me, but - I don’t think I can trust him, Zan. Oh, sure, he’s great at a distance! Magnetic, brilliant and every woman I know would kill to be in his little black book. But get too close and it all gets dark. He hasn’t been the same since - well, let’s just say he’s ruthless and no stranger to violence. So that leaves you, darling, process of elimination!”

  Me? Great. What about your husband? wondered Alexandra. And who the hell is Jon Garcia?

  As if she heard her sister, Eve rushed on. “Zan, why would Charlie have a visitor in the dead of night? Who the hell is this Ivan character they’re so afraid of? And what on earth is Operation Firebird? No answers yet, only more questions. So I’ll have to find the answers. I’m counting on satin. I’ll head back to D.C. tomorrow, talk to Charlie. I owe him that. But, Zan - ”

  Alexandra listened to her sister draw a deep shaky breath.

  “You were my baby sister, Zan, and I should have protected you more. But - somehow you were always the one who protected me. I still need your protection, Zan. But now it’s for Juliet. If anything bad happens,” Eve whispered, “promise me you’ll protect Jewel. Take care of my daughter, Zan. The way you always took care of me. Promise me!”

  “Oh, God!” breathed Alexandra.

  “No way. Never!” Juliet muttered.

  Eve’s voice dropped. “The thing of it is, Zan, I keep thinking about the man who came to see Charlie last night. The voice was so familiar. Baritone, rumbling. I’ve met him, I know him. If only...”

  A faint buzzing sound interrupted the flow of words. “Shit!” cried Eve. “Who’s texting me at this hour? No rest for the weary. Just a sec, darling, don’t go away.”

  “There’s no more,” said Juliet, hitting the Stop button with a frustrated jab. “The rest is blank. So - what’s an Operation Firebird?”

  “I have no idea,” said Alexandra. Yet.

  She looked down at the recorder, re-playing Eve’s words in her head. Eve had known the White House advisor Charles Fraser. Intimately? She’d overheard something that night – something she thought was important. Had Eve discovered some secret of Fraser’s that led to her death?

  “The Firebird could refer to music,” said Juliet into the silence, “although Mother probably thought Stravinsky was a brand of vodka. It’s gorgeous music, very passionate.” Her breath caught. “I’ve been studying the choreography, and I wonder -”

  “Classical music?” Alexandra interrupted doubtfully. She held out the recorder. “Not your mother’s style. No, the answers are here, Jules. In these names. Did your mother ever mention a man named Ivan? Or a Jon Garcia?”

  “No. And no.” The girl’s voice was suddenly distant, her narrow shoulders hunched defiantly.

  “And why on earth would Eve be worried about needing satin? A gown?”

  “Silk, taffeta, satin, whatever. You know mother.”

  “I thought I did.” Alexandra closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. Eve had learned something she believed was important enough to hide in a forgotten doll house on an island off the coast of Maine. A call had interrupted her, and the recording had been left unfinished. Instead she’d returned to Washington. To her death...

  Why didn’t you come to me, Eve?

  Outside the nursery window, the ocean wind shook the island pines.

  Help me, Zan.

  Her sister’s voice, caught in the wind. She did call me, Alexandra reminded herself brutally. Just before she died. To tell me she’d hidden this recording. To ask me f
or help. And to warn me.

  You could be in danger, Zan.

  “Jules,” she turned suddenly, “you can’t tell anyone what you know.”

  But Juliet had fallen asleep, curled up on the nursery carpet. A thin line of black mascara streaked like a tear down her cheek. Shadows played across the young, innocent face - in one moment, forever changed by loss.

  She’s just a child, thought Alexandra, far too young to be suffering so much. Maybe we do have something in common, she told her niece silently.

  Damn, she thought. I didn’t even let her tell me about Stravinsky. All head and no heart, that’s what Eve had said. The Snow Queen.

  If something bad happens, Zan, promise me you’ll protect Jewel.

  Not me, Eve. I’m not the one...

  Alexandra shook her head as she turned away from the sleeping girl. One problem at a time, she told herself, reaching for the manila envelope. Was Juliet right? Had something called ‘Operation Firebird’ caused Eve’s death?

  Something whispered in the small envelope. She tipped it open.

  A bright red feather fluttered slowly to the floor.

  CHAPTER 9

  “I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after.”

  Emily Bronte

  THE ISLAND

  Somewhere a cello was playing, and she felt the fear crawl up her spine. Then she heard the voices. They were coming from behind the blue door that led to the attic.

  Help me, Zan!

  My mother didn’t kill herself.

  Alexandra’s eyes flew open, her heart thundering, the words still scraping knife-sharp through her head. Light and shadows moved across the ceiling in flickering patterns and she realized she was in her old bedroom at Cliff House.

  Just a nightmare.

  She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them, rocking back and forth. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay. ”

  She pushed the tangled mass of hair back from her face and clicked on the bedside lamp. Five a.m. The windows were still dark, just the faintest glimmer of daybreak beyond the curtains. Over the distant crash of the waves she could hear the grieving cry of the gulls. Maybe their cries had brought on the dreams. In need of comfort, she reached for the tiny cotton shirt she’d tucked into her duffel bag and inhaled her daughter’s sweet powdery smell. I miss you so, Ruby.