Fortune's Deadly Descent Read Online Free PDF Page B

both the novel and all the attention Benny seemed to require of me.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I spend a lot of time inside my own head. I can’t tell you what I was thinking that moment.”
    Nothing I say will loosen his jaw.
    Everyone waits.
    “Do I need a
lawyer
?” I ask.
    “Celia—” Benicio says.
    I turn and run upstairs, where I lock my office door behind me and collapse at my desk. As far as I know, I’ve not been followed. I stare down at the Limmat River swirling a blue ribbon through the center of town. The sidewalks on either side pulse with people, surely in good spirits on this summer’s day, though, it occurs to me that any one of them could be behind Benny’s kidnapping.
Is that how it’s going to be now?
I think.
Having to question everything, taking nothing at face value?
    I think of Benny’s hands steeped in dough, his green eyes intent on his task. “Black pepper,” he says to himself, as if repeating something whispered in his ear. He’s made ginger-snap ice cream sandwiches, and now his eyes blink at the spice on his tongue. Dabs of vanilla bean ice cream ooze from the corners of his mouth. “My other
mamá
says spicy food is my other
papá’s
favorite,” he says. Then I see him on our rooftop terrace, plucking chervil from the small greenhouse. Pigeons look on from the copper gutter. Benny holds up the lacy herb, gives it a shake. “Looks like carrot tops,” he says. A moment later, he gets an odd, serious look. “Which direction is the Gefängnis Zurich from here?” he asks, scanning the skyline to the east. I stand so quickly the pigeons flee.
    I turn on the computer and, before my thoughts smother me, open the file of my novel-in-progress. Maybe Isak’s not so wrong about the book. It feels like a curse I’ve brought down on our home. I picture myself flinging its pages into the fireplace, watching them ignite and shrivel into scrolls of black ash. But all I can do in the real world is click delete.
    The computer doesn’t trust me:
Are you sure? It cannot be retrieved
.
    I click OK and the file is gone.
    What Benny had wanted to know was where Jonathon was, which direction exactly. I’ve never told anyone, but twice I rode past the prison on the tram, then, a third time, I got off at Badernestrasse and went the rest of the way on foot. It was like a castle embedded in a city block, surrounded by bakeries, restaurants, an eye doctor, an
Apotheke
. The normalcy of it all hit me like a sucker punch to the throat. This ornate, academy-style prison with its turret and white-paned windows was deemed suitable punishment for a man who’d had me kidnapped and tortured, who’d shoved a knife between my ribs with his own hand. I’d stood outside in my long overcoat and scarf, just staring, my insides searing with rage. I imagined Jonathon peering out to people-watch. Jonathon with sun on his face. Jonathon’s heart touched by the first snowfall of the year. And, as if that weren’t enough, a gate on a side street let me see into the prison courtyard where a silver sculpture, spiked like a teepee of sticks for kindling, cast the sun upward to the barred windows. In between writing appeals, Jonathon could contemplate art.
    After deleting the novel in my office, I somehow ended up in my bedroom in bed. An hour later I’m still there, whispering a prayer to the ceiling, waiting out the twilight of Benny’s birthday.
    And then, Benicio’s standing over me, though it’s unclear for how long. Pinto leaps near my feet, circles, then draws her chin down and drapes her ears across my ankle. She drifts off, her eyebrows continuing to twitch. Through the half-closed curtains, the sky is plum colored; stringy clouds tear apart in the wind. The heat is coming to an end. I’ll wake to morning rain.
    “You must remember something else about laughing with Benny,” Benicio says finally.
    I’m thinking of the witness again, Helena Watson, her calling the mystery man’s eyes sad. I’d