Page 26 of Lie for a Million

“If you’re ordering me back to those bloodsucking doctors, you can forget it.”

“No, it’s not that.” Why did her mother have to make everything so difficult? She’d even refused to give Jasmine the names and numbers of the doctors she’d seen.

“So it’s about Louis, isn’t it? I already know what you’re going to say to me, dear. The man is a gangster. He’s had people murdered. The FBI has been after him for years. If he’s arrested, I could be implicated, too, or get my poor little heart broken.” Madeleine paused to take a cigarette from a silver case, light it, and exhale a curl of smoke. “Sweetheart, in its own way, having a terminal condition can be very liberating. I can do anything I want—eat what I want, smoke and drink all I want, and love the man I choose—all without consequences. It’s a free pass. And if you don’t approve, that’s too bad.”

“And what about the consequences you leave behind for your family?”

Madeleine shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

“What about the fight to get the ranch back? You were so determined—”

“It’ll be your fight. Yours and Darrin’s. My lawyers will be at your disposal. You’ll have enough money to pay them. Just make sure they earn every cent. That’s as much as I can do for you.”

Madeleine stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, picked up her book, and opened it to the page she’d marked. Taking her silence as dismissal, Jasmine walked back to her room, sat down at her computer, and took up the job search she’d started earlier.

Tired of waiting by the phone for the acting and modeling gigs that no longer came her way, Jasmine had resolved to start a new career path. But after weeks of googling, searching, and submitting résumés, to jobs that turned out to be mostly scams, she was becoming discouraged. The positions listed with decent salaries required skills and experience she lacked. Even menial jobs such as cleaning and dishwashing required some kind of job history, as well as references.

It wasn’t as if she needed the money. Her future inheritance from her mother would leave her well-off. But she was tired of being a useless toy. She wanted to be independent, to make her own way in the world.

Because she’d done a number of TV commercials, Jasmine had decided to look into sales jobs. At least she knew how to look pretty, smile nicely, and convince her audience that the product she was pushing was something they shouldn’t live without. That should be worth something. But that still left her with a wide range of choices.

She was googling the requirements for a Texas real estate license when she heard the doorbell chime. Her mother was probably resting. With a sigh, Jasmine rose from her seat at the desk and hurried out of the room to open the front door.

Louis Divino stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him. If Jasmine had been producing a movie, she would have cast him as the character he played in real life. Dressed in a black silk shirt and immaculately tailored summer trousers, his thick iron gray hair pomaded and groomed, his skin deeply tanned, with a prominent mole on his cheek, he look every inch the handsome, aging Mafia don.

Jasmine hated him.

“Jasmine, would you mind?” He handed her the large white plastic bag he carried, weighted with cartons of Chinese food. While he strolled into the living room to greet Madeleine, Jasmine carried the bag to the dining room table, unpacked the cartons, and laid out two plates along with utensils, cloth napkins, two wineglasses, and a half-empty wine bottle from the fridge. From the living room came the sound of Divino and her mother talking in low voices. Jasmine didn’t have to ask whether they were lovers. Sometimes he took her out. Hours later he would bring her home, disheveled, flushed, and giggling like a schoolgirl.

Jasmine had never told Sam about Divino’s visits. It would only worry him. And if Sam were to act on his worries, it could put him in danger. Besides, much as Jasmine disliked the mobster, didn’t her mother deserve some happiness at the end of her life?

They came into the dining room together, Madeleine leaning slightly on Divino’s arm. He held out her chair and helped her sit. Then he looked around at Jasmine, who stood at the entrance to the hallway.

“Only two places set?” he asked. “You know you’re welcome to join us, Jasmine.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got work to do on my computer,” Jasmine said. “Enjoy your lunch.”

She turned and walked into the hallway. Divino’s invitation had been no more than a gesture. Sharing a meal with the couple would have been awkward for everyone involved.

Returning to her room, she took up the computer search she’d been doing when Divino arrived. But now she’d lost focus. She found nothing that fired her enthusiasm.

In spite of the door she’d closed, the faint tinkle of china and flatware and the low murmur of conversation drifted to her ears. Her throat felt dry and scratchy. She should have grabbed a cold soda from the fridge before retiring to her room. But she could still get one. Walking in and out of the kitchen shouldn’t create much of a disturbance.

Leaving her room, she stepped out into the hallway, took a few steps toward the kitchen—and stopped, galvanized by the conversation at the table, which she could now hear clearly. She wouldn’t have chosen to eavesdrop. But she couldn’t walk away from what she was hearing.

“I won’t rest easy till I get that damned fed off my tail.” Divino’s voice was a low growl, not meant to be overheard. “Nick Bellingham’s been after me since our time in Chicago. He’s determined to take me down before his retirement.”

“But he’s got nothing on you,” Madeleine said. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Yes. But the bastard hasn’t given up. He came by my office to see me yesterday. He’s like a bloodhound, barking up the same old tree. He asked me again about the hit on your ex. It appears he’s out to prove that I was lying to him, and the hit was real.”

Jasmine’s heart crept into her throat. If Divino’s hit man had really killed her father, her mother would be implicated. Madeleine could be arrested and charged again.

“But you gave me my money back,” Madeleine protested. “Did Agent Bellingham ever talk to your hit man?”

“No, and he won’t. I made sure of that.” Divino’s chuckle was humorless. “For God’s sake, don’t give me that look, Madeleine. I put him on a plane with a one-way ticket to the Bahamas. Bellingham doesn’t even know his real name.”

“But the FBI already knows that we arranged the hit. They just don’t know why. I let them think it was about my children’s inheritance—get rid of Frank, plant evidence to blame Lila, and the ranch would be theirs. The feds will never know that Frank had found out about the drug money laundering. He would have turned us both in and taken over my share of the estate.”

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