14 BOOK 2 (24 page)

“Real estate investment trusts. Seems like a conflict of interest.”

“You think? Here’s what so damn interesting. Horace Macon was just a soldier in Tartulo’s organization. But Tartulo was sworn enemies with another boss, Edward Delglisi. Delglisi is in charge of a huge crime syndicate. My bet is he brought Mars in. Testifying against Macon must have been a setup to take down Tartulo. Mars does the dirty work for Delglisi.”

“Let me get this straight. Mars used to be your dad’s accountant. He’s moved to New York and gotten involved with the Mafia, specifically Edward Delglisi. He was planted in a rival organization and ultimately testified against Horace Macon, effectively ending the Tartulo crime syndicate. Edward Delglisi steps into Tartulo’s place and becomes a very powerful crime boss.”

“That’s the nutshell version, yes.”

“What kind of hold does Delglisi have on Mars?”

“Good question. And the other question is does Mars know Snow White? Martin Kimball said Snow White’s note came from Mars’s printer.”

Baldwin fingered the notes. “I’d like to know the answer to that.”

“Me, too. There’s more. It’s unbelievable all the information Frank discovered. Mars’s business is a real estate investment trust, right? The REIT manages to reduce the taxes that the individual corporations have to pay on these properties, lets them buy under the corporate name, and their holdings are vast. Frank dug up some of the property listings in the REIT. They own everything from apartment building to houses to corporate strip malls. And guess where they have material assets and properties?”

“Nashville.”

“Give that man a prize. To be even more specific, that place where the Snow White copycat hit yesterday afternoon? One of fifteen small, low-income houses that are listed on the rolls. If we were to raid all those properties, I’ll bet you fifty bucks that more than one operates as a massage parlor.

“This is definitely why Frank Richardson was killed, Baldwin. I don’t think this is directly related to the Snow White murders. I think he uncovered the sideline for Burt Mars’s little company. Oh, why didn’t he just call me? I could have taken care of him.”

“You have all the addresses of the properties they hold in the REIT?”

“It’s right here.” She waved a sheath of papers at him.

“I think we need to find Burt Mars.”

The phone rang in the kitchen. They both looked at their watches. It was past midnight, late for a call that didn’t mean someone was dead. Taylor got up and went to the handset, saw the number was Lincoln’s cell phone. She answered it, voice grave.

Lincoln was nearly jovial. “Great, you’re up. I have some good news for you. Want to hear it?”

“You know I do. You found Jane Macias alive and kicking?”

“Okay, not quite that good. Ballistics came back on the bullets that were used in the hospital shooting. Octagonal polygonal rifling characteristics, fragments of what looks like a .41 caliber bullet. Forensics says the gun was a Desert Eagle Jericho.”

“A Jericho, not the Baby Eagle? They’re kind of rare around these parts.”

“Yeah. Only made them for a year before they were replaced by the Baby. Here’s the good news. Frank Richardson was definitely killed with the same gun.”

Her gut was right. The tension came flooding back.

“Someone was trying to shut him up.”

“Looks that way.”

“I think I may know who’s responsible, peripherally at least.”

“Who?”

“Burt Mars.”

“Wait a minute. Isn’t he the accountant whose printer was used in the original Snow White case?”

“Good memory. Yep, he’s the one.” She ran through the information with him, then got off the phone, turned back to Baldwin.

“I cry uncle. This is going to take more work than you or I can handle tonight. I think it’s time to pack it in.”

She went to the couch and sat, patting the seat next to her, encouraging him to sit down. He obliged, took her hand in his, fiddled with her engagement ring.

“I love this stone,” he said, smiling.

“I love it, too. And I can’t wait to add that band of platinum to it tomorrow. But I don’t know how much more I can take, Baldwin. I feel like I’m abandoning everyone, right in the middle of the biggest case we’ve had in years. How can I do that?”

She stood abruptly, unable to sit still. She paced the living room, watching Baldwin watch her steps.

“Honey, there’s only so much you can do.”

“But this one is personal, Baldwin. There’s just something here, I can feel it in my bones.” She stopped in front of the fireplace, fiddled with a piece of pine garland they’d put up in a meager attempt to dress the house for Christmas. There was no sense getting a tree since they would spend the holiday in Italy. At least, that had been the plan until her world blew up.

“Baldwin, I’m afraid of what we’re going to find. I’m afraid all of these incidents track back to something bigger. I’ve got a very bad feeling about all of this. My memories, Burt Mars, Frank being shot, everything is pointing in a direction I don’t want to go. My instincts are on fire. I’m afraid that this involves my father.”

It was Baldwin’s turn to pace. “So what do you suggest?”

Taylor bit her lip. “I think, maybe, we should wait about the honeymoon. Postpone Italy just until we get this resolved.”

“But go through with the wedding?”

“Yes. Tomorrow goes off as planned. Sunday, we pick up on the case, work it until we get some kind of resolution. At least not leave with so much up in the air. There’s obviously something major at stake here. They’re killing witnesses. Frank, Saraya. Who knows who else. Couple that with the Snow White copycat, and I just don’t feel right about leaving at all.”

Baldwin rose and crossed the room to her, put a hand under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “You know there’s a good chance it won’t resolve itself soon.”

Taylor shook her head. “No. It will. I can feel it about to break. I just know it will.”

He leaned over and kissed her, and she nearly melted with their joining. The man could lay one on, that was for sure. When they came up for air, she put a hand on his chest.

“Do that again and I won’t be leaving.”

“I don’t mind if you stay.” He leaned into her again, but she pushed him back with a smile.

“Seriously.”

“We can postpone the honeymoon if you want. That won’t be a big deal.”

“You’re sure?”

“No. I want to get the hell out of Dodge, but I can’t leave this behind any easier than you. So yeah, let me make some calls. Put everything on a temporary hold.”

“You’re the greatest man in the world, you know that?”

He just turned and raised an eyebrow at her, a blatant invitation. She shook her head, laughing. “I’m going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She kissed Baldwin hard on the lips, then drove downtown, checked into the Hermitage Hotel, got her room and climbed into the bed. Relief flooded her system. There was no way she would have been able to leave the city behind with all of the issues they were having. She needed to catch the Snow White and his copycat, find Jane Macias and figure out who killed Frank Richardson. Then her conscience would be clear enough to allow her to leave it all behind.

Feeling more settled than she had in a week, Taylor snuggled into the luxurious sheets. Sleep overtook her. She dreamed of the New Year’s Eve party, the details sharper, more immediate.

She was tucked in her little spot at the top of the stairs. She could see the ball going on below her. There seemed to be hundreds of people, all dressed in the most elaborate of costumes. The music was loud, and the people twirled around like marionettes, flutes of champagne disappearing at an alarming rate—tuxedo-clad waiters circling the foyer and ballroom, keeping the guests well supplied.

Taylor felt herself waiting, impatient, while the scene played out.

The heavy woman in the Marie Antoinette wig, powdered face, the black triangle patch meant to be stuck to the corner of her mouth askew and half-unglued, sat down hard on the bottom step—a full forty-seven steps away from Taylor in her little hiding place. Taylor felt the concussion of the woman’s sudden not-quite fall, smelled the alcohol waft up the stairs mixed with another scent, a powdery musky smell. The woman giggled and shooed her would-be rescuers away. After three waiters had helped her up, she waddled off, dress swinging precariously. Her hair had come undone and was sticking out from under the wig, long and dark against the creamcolored corset. Then there was quiet for a few moments before her father and mother came into view, several people at their heels.

Her mother was complaining about the woman who was dressed so similarly to her. The women were simpering back and forth to one another, commiserating. How rude to neglect to check with the hostess about her costume.

The men talked loudly, expansive with drink.

“Win Jackson, you’ve obviously made a deal with the devil,” a dark-haired man brayed.

“Yeah, Win, your own little Manderley, is it? What did you do in a past life to get so goddamned lucky in this one?

The judge should have thrown you in jail, not dismissed the charges.” A sandy-haired man with thick black glasses smacked her father on the shoulder. Win laughed.

“Manderley? Shit, let’s just hope the place doesn’t burn to the ground. Kitty would have my head.”

Then one of the men coughed, put his hand up to his mouth….

Taylor fast-forwarded the dream. She remembered the light.

Despite being tucked back in by Mrs. Mize, the music was so loud that she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d crawled out of bed again, wandered unseen to the top of the stairs and secreted herself in the little space she called her own.

In the foyer of the big house, there was a sparkling lamp, which was built out of a multitude of pretty little chunks of crystal. It sat on a Louis XIII desk, against the damask wallpaper. It was nearly white, there were so many shiny pieces, and it caught the light of the chandelier above it.

Taylor focused on the lamp. She could see the reflections of the people passing by in the ballroom to the left, twirling, waltzing, drinking and sitting. She could smell the champagne, smell the sweaty reek that wafted up the stairs. It was late, they were deep into the party now. Someone had vomited, she could remember the slight stench coming from the hallway bath. Her mother had given up—the Marie Antoinette wig was sitting on a ladder-backed chair. She’d taken it off at some point, still miffed at her guest’s gauche behavior. Taylor imagined her mother was still muttering about the fat old cow ruining her look.

Manderley, Manderley, Manderley. There was something…

The room phone woke her. Sunlight was streaming in the windows. She rolled and answered the phone, vaguely aware that something wasn’t quite right. A cheerful voice told her this was the 8:00 a.m. wake-up call she’d asked for. She thanked them and hung up.

What was it? Something from her dream, the party, her parents.

Manderley.

Her heart beat a little harder.

That was the name of Burt Mars’s new company. The Manderley REIT.

Nashville, Tennessee

Saturday, December 20

2:00 p.m.

“Has anyone seen my freakin’ veil?”

Taylor was turning in circles, shaking her head in frustration. She scattered a stack of boxes, lifted magazines, opened drawers. No veil. There was so much white around, her dress, her train, the flowers, the chairs—she thought for a moment that a snowstorm had come indoors and piled up in her hotel room.

There was no answer to her question. Where in the hell could it be? She could hear the twins, Maddy and Matt, crying and Sam’s low voice trying to soothe them. Simon spoke, as well, but Taylor couldn’t make out the words. She looked at the clock on the mantel. She was due at the church to walk down the aisle in less than forty-five minutes.

She gave up the search and plopped to the floor, her dress bloating out around her like a mushroom cloud. She could only imagine what she must look like, sprawled on the carpet, but at this point, she couldn’t give a moment to care. She was bloody tired, and all the fuss was making her teeth clench.

The wail of one of the babies was getting louder, and Taylor looked up to see Sam come into the room, a single infant in her arms. Her floor-length white taffeta gown rustled as she moved. A large terry-cloth towel draped togastyle over her shoulder, shielding the dress from any extraneous waste that might appear from either end of her daughter at any inopportune moment. She gave Taylor a weak grin.

“Colic. Perfect timing, huh? God, I’m sorry, T. What are you doing on the floor? You’re going to mess up your dress.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to go.”

Sam ignored her. “Get up and let’s get you finished.”

“No. I’m tired of the commotion. I don’t want to get married in front of all these people. My hair is five miles high. That hairdresser was an idiot. I look like a meringue. I’d rather elope. And I can’t find my veil.”

Sam bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She didn’t succeed. After a moment of baleful glaring, Taylor joined in her mirth. Petulance was her first sign of stress. Sam glided across the room and whipped the veil out of the plastic casing. “It’s right here, on the hanger that your dress was on. It was just in the back. Your hair has to have something for the combs to anchor in, and it looks lovely. Do you want to get the veil on now or at the church?”

Taylor rolled her eyes and got up off the floor. “I should wait until the church. I don’t want to mess it up in the limo. I just didn’t want to forget it.” She examined the folded tulle; it looked like a mile of fabric. “Damn, Sam, how long is this sucker?”

Maddy wailed, but Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Cathedral. Like your dress, but a little longer, so it will stretch out behind you and look glorious. Now, quit it, would you? I need to get this girl settled down.”

Another scream came, this one slightly lower pitched, and Sam’s face crumpled. Taylor patted her on the arm.

“Go on and deal with them, Sam, I’ll be fine. I’m just nervous. You go do what you need to.” Sam nodded and disappeared.