Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(40)

“Can we have the room for a few?” said Berenbaum to the other three. They were gone almost before he finished his sentence, and Berenbaum looked back at me, gesturing to the couch.

I sat at one end, he sat at the other, and he glanced to make sure the door was shut before letting out a long exhale and turning to the subject at hand. All his boyish good humor vanished.

“Vivian Chandler is probably planning to kill you,” he said. “In fact, I’m worried that she may have killed you already.”





19


“What do you mean, she might have killed me already?” I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or have a panic attack.

“Did she ever touch you, even briefly?”

“No. Caryl warned me about that the minute we went into her room.”

“Oh, Caryl was with you?” He gave a deep sigh. “Thank God. If Vivian had cursed you, Caryl would have known right away and would probably have executed her on the spot. Vivian’s on thin ice with the Project as it is.”

“Why would she want to curse me?”

“Why do cats chase birds? If someone is no use to her, it’s just . . . a thing she does.”

“And she’s never been caught?”

“There’s never anything to investigate. She shakes a guy’s hand and a week later his aorta ruptures, or he has a stroke, or something else perfectly plausible. It’s her specialty. Did you know Martin?”

“Who?”

“The guy who used to be in charge over at the Project. He was a real sweetheart. Drowned in his own blood because he was dumb enough to grab Vivian’s arm one day to keep her from tripping over a split in the sidewalk.”

“My God.”

“Generally she tries not to curse people who are obvious obstacles; she’s too smart for that.”

“Do you ever worry she’ll do something to you?”

“The studio would tank without me, and she knows it.”

I figured it might be rude to ask him how Warner Bros. had managed to make The Jazz Singer and Casablanca without him, so instead I asked, “Why would Vivian care?”

“Hell if I know. But she does, enough to give me her word. Someone like you, though? Teo? Perfectly safe to do whatever she likes with.”

“Actually, I’m not sure she could kill me that way,” I realized aloud. “Because of the nails and screws and stuff holding me together, I cancel out fey magic when I touch it.”

“Seriously?” Berenbaum looked floored. “Millie. This could help us. A lot.” He got up from the couch and began to pace; I could almost hear his mental gears turning.

“Why do you think the viscount gave her a free spa room, of all people?” I asked him.

“Those two are definitely not friendly,” Berenbaum said. “He knows exactly what she is, better than any human would.”

“Maybe that was the point,” I said, trying to use my story-teller’s brain to unravel cause and effect. “He was obviously -trying to lead someone astray, someone unfriendly who would be looking for him pretty hard. So why wouldn’t he set the equivalent of a bear trap in the room?”

Berenbaum turned to me abruptly, his eyes sparkling. “You clever girl!” he said in surprise.

I felt my cheeks warm. “Uh, thanks?”

“That makes total sense,” he said. “Let’s run with it.” Then just as quickly, he looked stricken again. “You don’t think he set that trap for the two of you, surely. He and I have been huge supporters of the Arcadia Project from way back. We owe you guys everything.”

“I know how much you’ve given to the Project,” I said. “That’s why this is a huge priority for us. Who would Johnny want to set a trap for? And,” I continued on a sudden inspiration, “who would he do something so bad to that the cops might get involved?”

Berenbaum began to pace again. I would have liked to do the same; that kind of casual, spontaneous movement was something I missed, a lot.

“I can’t imagine,” he said. “Johnny keeps a low profile, so he doesn’t have any enemies.”

“Do you?”

A light seemed to go on over his head; he snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Susman,” he said.

“What?”

“Aaron Susman.”

“The Aaron Susman who’s produced everything of yours since Red Cotton? He’s your enemy now?”

Berenbaum gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, he’s livid about the studio, of course, but I didn’t think he’d go this far.”

“What about the studio?”

Berenbaum hesitated, then flexed his hands and grimaced. “Look. If you want the facts, you might be better off hearing his side. I don’t want him yelling to the tabloids that I’ve slandered him. Again.”

“Well, I’d be happy to talk to him.”

“I don’t mind giving you his number, but be careful. He doesn’t know about fey or the Project. Think you can manage that minefield?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Berenbaum moved to the computer desk and scribbled on a sticky note, then handed it to me.

I felt a private satisfaction at having ferreted out a new lead on my own (not to mention scored the phone number of a major movie producer), but I wasn’t about to let it rest there. “Have you been in touch with Inaya yet?”