Memories of Midnight

Rizzoli went to a public telephone booth on Stadiou Avenue and made two calls. The first was to Pete Lucca in Palermo.

"You can get your two gorillas out of here, Pete, and put them back in the zoo where they belong. The stuff’s ready to move. It’s going by ship."

"Are you sure the package is safe?"

Rizzoli laughed. "It’s safer than the Bank of England. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. And I have more good news. From now on we’re going to be able to make a shipment every week."

"That’s wonderful, Tony. I always knew I could count on you."

The hell you did, you bastard.

The second call was to Spyros Lambrou. "It went fine. Your brother-in-law and I are going into business together."

"Congratulations. I’m delighted to hear it, Mr. Rizzoli."

When Spyros Lambrou replaced the receiver, he smiled. The narcotics squad will be too.

Constantin Demiris stayed in his office past midnight, sitting at his desk, contemplating his new problem. He had avenged himself against Noelle Page, and now she was returning from the grave to haunt him. He reached inside a desk drawer and took out a framed photograph of Noelle. Hello, bitch. God, she was beautiful! So you think you’re going to destroy me. Well, we’ll see. We’ll see.

Chapter Fifteen

st. Moritz was an enchantment. There were miles of downhill ski runs, hiking trails, bobsled and sleigh rides, polo tournaments, and a dozen other activities. Curled around a sparkling lake in the Engadine Valley six thousand feet high on the southern slope of the Alps, between Celerina and Piz Nair, the little village made Catherine gasp with delight.

Catherine and Kirk Reynolds checked into the fabled Palace Hotel. The lobby was filled with tourists from a dozen countries.

Kirk Reynolds said to the reception clerk, "A reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds," and Catherine looked away. I should have put on a wedding ring. She was sure everyone in the lobby was staring at her, knowing what she was doing.

"Yes, Mr. Reynolds. Suite two-fifteen." The clerk handed a bellboy the key, and the bellboy said, "Right this way, please."

They were escorted to a lovely suite, simply furnished, with a spectacular view of the mountains from each window.

When the bellboy left, Kirk Reynolds took Catherine in his arms. "I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me, darling."

"I hope I will," Catherine replied. "I…It’s been a long time, Kirk."

"Don’t worry. I won’t rush you."

He’s so dear, Catherine thought, but how would he feel about me if I told him about my past? She had never mentioned Larry to him, or the murder trial, or any of the terrible things that had happened to her. She wanted to feel close to him, to confide in him, but something held her back.

"I’d better unpack," Catherine said.

She unpacked slowly – too slowly – and suddenly realized that she was stalling, afraid to finish what she was doing because she was afraid of what was going to happen next.

From the other room she heard Kirk calling, "Catherine…"

Oh, my God, he’s going to say let’s get undressed and go to bed. Catherine swallowed and said in a small voice, "Yes?"

"Why don’t we go outside and look around?"

Catherine went limp with relief. "That’s a wonderful idea," she said enthusiastically. What’s the matter with me? I’m in one of the most romantic places on earth, with an attractive man who loves me, and I’m panicky.

Reynolds was looking at her strangely. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Catherine said brightly. "Just fine."

"You look worried."

"No. I…I was thinking about – about skiing. It’s supposed to be dangerous."

Reynolds smiled. "Don’t worry. We’ll start you on a gentle slope, tomorrow. Let’s go."

They put on sweaters and lined jackets and walked outside into the crisp, clear air.

Catherine breathed deeply. "Oh, it’s wonderful, Kirk. I love it here."

"You ain’t seen nothin’ yet," he grinned. "It’s twice as beautiful in the summer."

Will he still want to see me in the summer? Catherine wondered. Or am I going to be a big disappointment to him? Why don’t I stop worrying so much?

The village of St. Moritz was charming, a medieval marvel, filled with quaint shops and restaurants and chalets set among the majestic Alps.

They wandered around the shops, and Catherine bought presents for Evelyn and Wim. They stopped at a little cafe and had a fondue.

In the afternoon, Kirk Reynolds hired a sleigh driven by a bay, and they rode along the snow-covered path up into the hills, the snow crunching beneath the metal runners.

"Enjoying?" Reynolds asked.

"Oh, yes." Catherine looked at him and thought, I’m going to make you so happy. Tonight. Yes, tonight. I’m going to make you happy tonight.

That evening, they dined in the hotel at the Stubli, a restaurant with the atmosphere of an old country inn.

"This room dates back to 1480," Kirk said.

"Then we’d better not order the bread."

"What?"

"Small joke. Sorry."

Larry used to understand my jokes; why am I thinking about him? Because I don’t want to think about tonight. I feel like Marie Antoinette going to her execution. I won’t have cake for dessert.

The meal was superb, but Catherine was too nervous to enjoy it. When they had finished, Reynolds said, "Shall we go upstairs? I’ve arranged an early ski lesson for you in the morning."

"Sure. Fine. Sure."

They started upstairs, and Catherine found that her heart was pounding. He’s going to say, "Let’s go right to bed." And why shouldn’t he? That’s what I came here for, isn’t it? I can’t pretend I came for the skiing.