Girl Anonymous

“I need to make a call.” Dante Arundel kissed his mother. “Are you going to be all right by yourself?”

“Of course, dear. The girls will be here with me, and after that, I want a moment alone to say goodbye to my beloved book nest.” Mrs. Arundel patted his cheek. “Take that unfriendly behemoth with you.”

“Nate isn’t supposed to be anyone’s friend. He’s my bodyguard.” Dante placed his hands on the arms of her wheelchair and looked into her eyes. “I should insist on getting a bodyguard for you, too.”

“Once I’m in Montana, there’ll be no need. I’ll miss the city, though…” Mrs. Arundel sighed.

Maarja Daire exchanged glances with her stepsister and fellow fine arts mover, Alex. Yes, she knew the Arundels were scary people, but who would threaten a sweetheart like Mrs. Arundel? She gave Dante the side eye.

What had he done to cause trouble?

“Movers, are you almost done?” he asked.

Movers. How charming. He’d already forgotten their names. “Yes, sir,” Maarja said. Two could play that game. “This is the last piece.”

“Another ten minutes at most?” He wasn’t estimating. He was demanding.

Maarja looked at Alex, who was even now carefully placing Mrs. Arundel's bubble-wrapped and boxed treasures onto the luggage cart.

Tight-lipped, Alex nodded. She was done talking to him.

“That’s right, sir,” Maarja said. “Ten minutes.”

“Make sure you pack everything.” He picked up the small box with the tiny Murano glass pitcher and handed it to Maarja. “Especially this. The Bouteille de Flamme has special meaning to our family.”

Maarja accepted the carefully wrapped package. “Yes, sir. I know.”

Dante shot her one of those dark glances that slashed at her presumption, or maybe warned her of the danger she courted with her admission of knowledge.

Alex interceded again. “Everything will be safe in our keeping.”

He nodded, but he didn’t take his menacing gaze from Maarja.

She smiled brightly. “Measuring me for a coffin?”

Alex moaned softly.

He answered without an ounce of humor. “That’s the undertaker’s job. I’m involved with the other end of the death business.”

“Dear boy!” Mrs. Arundel rubbed her fingers on her temple as if he gave her a headache.

Dante inclined his head to Maarja, walked through the elevator foyer, yanked open the stairway door, and descended the steps.

When the door slammed behind him, Mrs. Arundel said brightly, “Do hurry, young ladies. I love this room and while my darling Dante will make everything the same in my new home, I’m feeling sad and of course, I don’t want him to know.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Alex mumbled.

Mrs. Arundel watched as they got the luggage cart packed, and Maarja tenderly placed the package containing the small pitcher in another, larger padded box at the top.

The library shelves were still full of books, a few lesser paintings hung on the walls, but regular cross country movers were scheduled to handle all that.

Mrs. Arundel kissed Maarja and Alex before they left her sitting with her back to the windows, looking wistfully around.

As they moved the cartload into the foyer and toward the elevator, Alex said, “What a sleazeball that man is.”

Maarja didn’t have to ask what man. She knew. His personality left an imprint as clearly as the glass pitcher or the Picasso or any of the other genuine works she’d so diligently packed. “Yes.” She pushed the down button. “Good looking men often are.”

“You thought he was good looking? The body, sure, but the face? Talk about a sneering satyr! His mother’s a buttercup, though.” Alex pushed the lit button several times, as if that would hurry the elevator along. “What happened to her? What’s with the wheelchair? Was she in an accident?”

“Years ago. There was a bomb. It exploded. She was too close.”

“A bomb.” Alex meditated on that while they waited for the aging elevator to make its majestic ascent. “Because the Arundels are the sort of shady people who get bombed a lot?”

Maarja glanced around for cameras; although she didn’t see them, she knew they were here, and microphones too. She lowered her voice. “They were. For years. Noble French immigrants who made their fortune with some disreputable dealing. It was my understanding they’ve gone legitimate. But don’t quote me on any of that.”

“Because of the bomb they’ve gone legitimate?” When it came to this stuff, Alex was a good guesser.

“Brat Benoit Arundel was Old Country, a golden bully.”

“A Godfather?”

Together they’d seen the movie enough times to appreciate its wisdoms. “Collector, scavenger, profiteer, criminal. Yes, a Godfather. But he didn’t claw his way to the top. He was privileged right from the get-go. The explosion that killed my mother killed him.” Maarja could see Alex wanting to ask questions, but Maarja shook her head. She’d said more than she’d ever said, and probably unwisely. “Dante was about nine at the time.”

“You know a lot.”

“Front row seat.” Now Maarja punched the elevator call button as if that would make it arrive in a hurry.

“Oh.” Alex contemplated Maarja as if that explained a lot. “Is that why you flinch at loud sounds?”

“Could be.” The door opened and the women maneuvered the luggage rack inside.

Alex pushed the starred button. “He’s in charge now?”

“Looks like it. I don’t know the details. First I was with my aunt, then…” Maarja shrugged.

Alex shrugged back. She comprehended in a way most people could not.

“Eventually I ended up with Mom Octavia. Best thing that happened to me.” The doors began to slowly close, and Maarja reached up to adjust her glasses. She touched her bare temple. “Damn it. He took my glasses and put them on the table.”

“He? Dante Arundel took your glasses? Off your face? Really, a flaming pustule of a sleazeball. Go get them back!”

“You can handle this?” She indicated the luggage cart.

“Even the Arundel family package full of special meaning.” Alex managed sarcasm well. “I’ll wait for you on the ground floor by the elevators. We’ll go out to the van together.”

Maarja caught the door before it slid closed and ran toward the library.

She caught Mrs. Arundel in her wheelchair in the middle of the room, looking sorrowfully about her. In a concerned voice, she asked, “Young lady, what are you doing back?”

“My glasses.” Maarja picked them up, stuck them in her pocket with her carpenter’s pencil…and lingered. “Are you sad at leaving your home?”

“It’s become necessary.” Mrs. Arundel smiled bravely, but glanced around again, avoiding Maarja's gaze. “Don’t they need you downstairs to help load the van?”

“Only an emergency would make them leave without me.” Maarja took Mrs. Arundel's frail, crumpled hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, dear, really. A few moments alone is all I need.”

Mrs. Arundel looked so anxious, almost on the verge of tears, that Maarja took pity on her. “Of course. I understand. I’ll see you on the other end, in Montana.” She walked out the door and down the corridor to the elevator. She pushed the button and waited, and as she did she heard a muffled crash behind her.

Had Mrs. Arundel somehow fallen?

She turned in time see a blinding flash of light, hear the roar of an explosion.