By a Spider's Thread Read online

  Not unlike the man who lived inside.

  "Bad news on my doorstep," he said when he saw Tess, and it was hard not to paraphrase "American Pie" back to him. Yes, and I don't want to take one more step.

  "Neutral," she said, knowing that her information was anything but. "They were there, but they appeared to be passing through. The manager at the McDonald's remembered Natalie and the children. They're in an old green car, a sedan of some sort. At least one employee thought they had luggage on the roof when they pulled in."

  "Where did she get an old green car? And why would they tie the luggage to the roof?" Tess understood why Rubin was seizing on these details, which were easier to grasp and dissect than the larger issues. "They can't have that much luggage. They hardly took anything, three suitcases total."

  "There's more—"

  "Luggage on the roof of a green car—this is all you found out? This is what you consider a result?"

  It was hard trying to be solicitous of someone's feelings when the other person was not so considerate. But Tess was determined to break the news about the mystery man as gently as possible.

  "There is more, but before I tell you everything Gretchen learned, I want to tell you something I found out from my Uncle Donald. He told me the true story of how you and Natalie met."

  "And?"

  "As I understand it, no Carvel stand was involved, not unless Jessup had a franchise."

  Rubin looked angry and relieved at the same time, as if embarrassed by the lie but also glad to give it up. "Why don't you come in? We have much to talk about."

  "I didn't tell you that story to mislead you," he said. "I told it out of habit, quite forgetting that your uncle knew the true circumstances."

  "And how did you get in the habit of lying?" They were sitting in his office, a cozy, cluttered refuge from the sterile perfection of the other rooms she had seen, open expanses decorated in a minimalist style, with lots of birch-pale hardwoods, pastel upholstery, and modern art. Tess wondered how someone with three children could keep a house this pristine. Then she realized that Mark Rubin hadn't—Natalie Rubin had. Another reason to head for the hills. Tess could tell by the way Rubin used a coaster for his wineglass that his standards for housekeeping were exacting.

  "Natalie and I agreed when we became engaged that we would have an official version of how we met and courted. It's easier, with a story, to always tell the same one."

  "Yes, that is a good rule for liars." She didn't want to let him off the hook too easily.

  "I won't argue semantics with you," Rubin said. His tone made it clear that he wouldn't argue only because it would slow him down, not because he wouldn't win. "There were already so many obstacles to Natalie's being accepted in my community. She was young, with only a high-school education. She had not been raised in the faith, although that is hardly her fault. And because she was vague about her family's background, she even agreed to be dunked."

  "Dunked?"

  "She went for instruction with the rabbi and did the mikveh. In some ways, her passion for our religion seemed stronger than that of some lifelong Jews I knew."

  "Converts making the best adherents, et cetera, et cetera."

  "Well, not strictly a convert, but I know what you mean. Her zeal was exceptional. At the risk of sounding egotistical, I thought it was bound up with her love for me. When we met, Natalie seemed to mink of nothing but pleasing me. She was… uncannily perfect, everything I wanted in a woman."

  "Right down to the eighteen-year-old part?"

  He blushed. "Matches between older men and younger women do make sense, biologically. I'm sorry if that fact offends you, but an eighteen-year-old woman is ready to marry and have children. Culture may have changed. Our bodies did not."

  "Well, Sarah had a baby at ninety or something like that. Should I interpret that biblical story as evidence of the first surrogate, or did God do some in vitro?"

  "An apt biblical reference. I admit to being surprised."

  "I'm agnostic, not ignorant."

  Pleased with herself, Tess took a sip of the kosher wine that Rubin had poured for her. The wine was quite good, a red blend from Chile. She was beginning to get a glimpse of the man her Uncle Donald had described. Rubin might be a pain as a client and a terror as a businessman, but he probably was excellent company in social situations. The books on his shelves indicated a worldly man, with a wide range of interests, and he clearly had a talent for the kind of verbal sparring Tess enjoyed.

  Then again, how would Tess and Rubin have ever met under different circumstances? Ten miles apart in physical distance, they might as well have been in different galaxies. Their Baltimores barely intersected.

  "You're not the first person, male or female, to snigger at my choice of a bride. And there was some animosity toward Natalie among the women in my congregation, women who have known me all my life, who took a special interest in me after my mother died. So you can see why I didn't want to give them additional ammunition. Yes, Natalie's father was in prison, and that's how I met her."

  "My Uncle Donald said she sought you out to discuss her father's refusal to embrace his faith. But he also told me that Boris gave the impression of someone who was always running a game."

  "Your uncle is astute. Boris was running a game—but on his daughter, not me. When Boris became aware of my relationship with Natalie, he attempted to blackmail her. Soon after we married, he coerced her into making deposits into an account in his name, a nest egg for when he's finally released from prison."

  "Blackmail her? Over what?"

  "I don't know, and I don't care. I'm sure Natalie had her share of youthful indiscretions. She was a high-spirited girl who knew almost no parental supervision after her parents divorced. When I found out what her father was doing, I told her she must break off all contact with Boris." Rubin swirled the wine in his glass, studying it with an oenophile's critical eye. "That's the reason behind our financial system. I don't know what hold Boris had over Natalie, but she was clearly terrified of what he might tell me. I didn't want her to succumb to his extortion again."

  "I'm surprised he gave up so quickly."

  "A man in prison is easy enough to ignore. You refuse the collect calls, you don't open mail with a certain postmark. Besides, when I told Boris I didn't care what he knew about Natalie, he lost all power over us. Blackmail isn't that different from other luxury goods. The pool of customers is smaller, so the salesman has to be sharper. Boris had only one customer for what he was selling, and I shut that down."

  "But now that Natalie's gone—"

  "I vowed to her ten years ago that I would not listen to her father's lies about her. A promise is a promise."

  "She promised to love, honor, and cherish until death do you part, so I think you can go back on your word in this instance."

  "Whatever he wants to tell me, it's probably not true. So what's the point of listening?"

  Mark Rubin's face seemed to be hardening as she pressed him. But Tess saw more than stubbornness in his features. She also saw fear and desperation. He was terrified of hearing whatever his father-in-law had to say.

  "Because it's a lead, the best one we have. You're the one who suggested Natalie left because she wanted to protect you from some secret in her past. Boris may know what it is."

  "No. He's a liar. And a thief. Not to mention a killer. Trust me, there's no reason to talk to him."

  "The thing is"—she hated herself for what she was about to do—"maybe Boris could help us figure out the identity of the man who was with Natalie in French Lick."

  Tess might as well have vomited on Rubin's desktop, given the way he recoiled. She tried to pretend the gaffe was more accidental than it was.

  "I'm so sorry. Does kosher wine have a higher alcohol content than the regular stuff? Because that's not how I intended to tell you that one detail."

  "I'm not sure anyone would know how to break such news. When you say 'with'…"

  "That's all I know. With
. The people at the McDonald's said Natalie left with a man. The description was vague—six feet, dark hair, slender. Not a lot to go on, but does it mean anything to you?"

  "She was with a man?"

  It had never occurred to him. Which was amazing, because the likelihood had been in the back of Tess's mind from the outset.

  "It helps to explain the strange car, and maybe even how she's getting by financially. But it doesn't explain why she's in French Lick, Indiana. And it doesn't mean she's with him. I mean, if she wants to leave you for someone else, she could have done it in a more traditional way."

  "More traditional?"

  "Served you with papers and asked for half of everything you have."

  "She wouldn't get it. The divorce, I mean. I would fight her on that."

  "You could, but all she has to do is wait you out two years. After a two-year separation, even an involuntary one, Maryland courts will grant a divorce, no matter what rabbis do or don't do. Of course, the custody and the financial details would still have to be arranged. But it's pretty hard to make someone stay married to you these days."

  "Our rabbi would talk to her, make her see common sense. Besides, there isn't that much money."

  Tess rolled her eyes. "You mean, besides this million-dollar house and everything in it, and the business, and your investments? Not to mention the child support you'd have to pay."

  "The business's value has been flat, and even this house has increased only marginally in value. I bought right before the market slumped a decade ago, and I'm just beginning to catch up. Most of my money comes from an inheritance. Spouses have no right to inherited funds—and that's true under state and religious law."

  "You know a lot about Maryland's marital-assets law," Tess said, "for a man who has never contemplated divorce."

  Rubin swirled his wine again, watching the dregs slide down the interior of the glass. "A few years back, Natalie had a strange episode of depression and talked about leaving. I… outlined the financial realities of such a decision. I also told her I would fight for custody of Isaac."

  "You said there was no marital strife, that you had never discussed separation or divorce." Tess, usually tolerant of clients' lies and evasions, was beginning to lose patience with Rubin.

  "We hadn't, except that one time, and it was six years ago. We're talking about a week or two, one bad patch in an otherwise strong and happy marriage. It turned out she was pregnant with the twins at the time, and we both decided it was just hormones."

  You decided, Tess thought, and Natalie acquiesced. What other options did she have after you told her you'd give her no money? But she let it go. There were more pressing matters to explore.

  "So any ideas about our mystery man?"

  He winced, pained just by the mention. "None. As far as I know, the only men in Natalie's life were the merchants at the local stores, some teachers at Isaac's school."

  "Does she have a friend, or a male relative, who might help her leave for whatever reason?"

  "Not to my knowledge."

  "Was there any man she came into contact with on a regular basis?"

  "I don't see how."

  "This man was tall and slender, with dark hair and blue eyes. Clean-shaven. Sound familiar?"

  "No."

  "Don't be so quick and emphatic. Think about it. Everyone knows someone who looks like that. My boyfriend looks like that, okay? Hey, maybe he's in Indiana with Natalie, not in Virginia with his family."

  Rubin frowned and waved Tess away, as if he wanted her to leave, or disappear. Abracadabra, make all bad news go away.

  "Okay, I just thought you should know what Gretchen found out, and I thought I should deliver the news face-to-face. Now I have. Please call me if you think of anything, anything at all. Because we're at a dead end unless your phone rings again. You should get caller ID at home, by the way. If your office phone hadn't shown us that number, we wouldn't know anything right now. Star 69 is okay, but more stuff gets through on caller ID."

  Rubin opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it.

  "I've been cheated on," Tess said. "It sucks. I cheated, too, and that sucks even more, believe it or not. And I still didn't learn from that. I did a Jimmy Carter cheat on my boyfriend a few years ago—I was guilty only in my mind, but it was just a matter of time before my body followed. He knew me so well he saw it coming, and he left. I had to follow him all the way to Texas to get him back."

  "Why are you telling me this? Take my advice, these are not the sort of confidences that a businesswoman imparts to someone who has hired her. I don't wish to know anything about your private life."

  "I'm confiding in you because I'm human, and I know how this feels. Okay, you say your wife would never cheat on you, that you'd know, in your bones, if she had slept with another man. And maybe you're right. But in my line of work, I see people who do things primarily for two reasons—sex and money."

  "Surely there are other reasons, other secrets."

  Tess nodded. "Yes, there's shame, the need to cover up a past transgression. Is that involved here? Is there anything else you're not telling me?"

  Rubin shook his head.

  "Your wife left you, forgoing money. She's driving around in the Midwest in some old clunker of a car and eating at McDonald's, which wasn't kosher last time I checked. Did she want to get away from you and your life that badly? Or did she want someone else that much? It's one or the other, and it could be both."

  She thought her harsh words might make the always-emotional Rubin dissolve into tears, but he just stared into the distance, shaking his head. He truly seemed overwhelmed by everything she had told him, which surprised Tess. Typically, the revelation of an affair was an aha moment that shed light on many smaller mysteries in a person's life. It was like living in a house where plaster cracked and faucets leaked and wind whistled around the window frames, then finding out the foundation was sliding off the slab.

  "I believed in my marriage," he said at last. "I would never be so blasphemous as to compare it to a religion, but I counted on it and assumed it would always be there for me."

  "People make mistakes," Tess said. "They do stupid things. I don't know if your wife will ever come back to you once I find her. But if that's what you want, you're going to have to forgive her and be open to understanding why she did what she did."

  "When you find her. Why are you suddenly so confident, when you've just told me you have no leads?"

  "Because we have someone helping us out."

  "That friend of yours? With all due respect, I don't see anything extraordinary in her efforts so far."

  "Gretchen did okay with what we gave her. But the accomplice I'm really counting on is your son Isaac. He tried to call you twice yesterday. And he's quite the little schemer—hustling money for the first call, calling collect the second time."

  "He's a smart boy, at the top of his class," Rubin said, allowing himself a moment of fatherly pride.

  "So we've got someone working for us on the inside. But we can't put everything on him, and we can't give up. I'd like your permission to visit Natalie's father, ask him the secret he's been sitting on all these years."

  "No."

  "I won't tell you what it is. That way you won't break your promise to Natalie. And if it has no bearing on her disappearance, we'll never speak of it again. Deal?"

  She would have liked to offer her hand, but she knew better. Instead she tipped her glass close to Rubin's. He hesitated, then clinked hers. They were good glasses, Riedel, a single goblet worth more than Tess's entire set of mismatched glassware.

  They also had to be hand-washed. Another reason, in Tess's opinion, to run away. A sixty-dollar glass was a luxury only if you didn't have to wash it yourself.

  * * *

  SUNDAY

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  "I THOUGHT YOU SAID I COULD WEAR BLACK," TESS SAID, standing on a footstool in a huge dressing room and tugging miserably at
a tube of crimson silk. Clearly intended for a beanpole without freckles on her shoulders, the dress had one zipper, two seams, an elasticized band around the top, and a fourteen-hundred-dollar price tag. There was more workmanship in the apron that Tess had made in home ec at Rock Glen Junior High. The apron had pockets.

  "Black would be fine, but it's so boring and safe," Kitty said, studying Tess and then Tess's reflection, as if the mirror might yield a more pleasing verdict. "I wanted to see you in some colors for a change."

  "It's appalling to pay this much for a dress like this."

  "I don't care for it much either. Your hair and skin are going to fight that shade of red every step of the way."

  "No, I don't mean this dress, I mean any dress that's all label and Third World workmanship. Jesus, Kitty, let's go to C-Mart when the next truck rolls in, buy a marked-down gown from Saks, and give the rest of what you were planning to spend to one of the local soup kitchens. Besides, who knows? You might find another Prada bag marked down to seventy-five dollars."

  Kitty had indeed unearthed a Prada bag at C-Mart five years ago, and it was the stuff of family legend. Tess's mother, Judith, had driven the thirty-plus miles out to the Belair warehouse several times with her Weinstein sisters-in-law, hoping to repeat Kitty's good luck. Prada proved elusive, but Judith had ended up with an out-of-season Kate Spade, a pair of Stuart Weitzman pumps, and several cashmere twinsets for twenty dollars apiece.

  But Kitty was a Monaghan. She didn't mind paying retail to get what she wanted—or even asking these bridal boutiques to open on Sunday, just for her, so she didn't have to miss a day of work in her own store. Kitty's Karma, the family called it.

  "I told you, this is my gift to you." Kitty kept circling Tess, poking and prodding, as if her persuasive hands could make the dress behave. "I'm exercising my bridal prerogative to boss you around, but instead of forcing you into some hideous lavender tulle concoction to match an insane color scheme, I want to pick out your dress and mine, then work backward, base everything on that. Just once I want you to have a perfect dress, the kind of thing you would never buy yourself."