Eyes on You (31 page)

Alex had said he’d pick me up at nine, and from there we’d exit the city via the Triboro Bridge. At about 8:45, as I finished my espresso, the doorman rang up. “There’s a gentleman here to see you,” he announced.

“Um, fine,” I replied, realizing that Alex had made better time driving uptown than planned. “I’ll be right down.”

I hurriedly tossed sunscreen into my toiletry case, double checked that I’d packed running shoes, and rode the elevator downstairs.

“He’s outside,” the doorman said as I dashed through the lobby.

I stepped onto the sidewalk. Carter Brooks was standing right there.

Well, well, look who’d turned up? Like a bad penny, Aunt Jessie would have said. My body tightened defensively. What I didn’t feel, I realized, was a hint of attraction to the man.

His eyes fell to my duffel bag. “I take it you were expecting someone else,” he said with a half-grin.

“What is it you need?” I asked, ignoring his comment.

He was wearing a blue-and-white-checked button-down shirt and off-white flat-front pants. Hamptons-bound, too, I figured.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Oh, is that right? I guess you were in such a tizzy about me passing out on-set that you lost my cell number.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch before now. I just wasn’t sure of the best way to handle the situation. It’s all been a big mess, as you can imagine.”

“How dreadful that you were inconvenienced.”

He raked a hand through his thick brown hair. “It’s not about inconvenience, Robin,” he said, lowering his voice as two people exited the building. “Potts was very insistent that I steer clear. He got wind of our relationship, and he wasn’t pleased to say the least.”

“Did you mention to anyone that you were seeing me?”

“Not a soul, so I have no freaking clue how we were busted. But trust me, I’m sorry I gave in to the pressure not to call.”

Trust me
. That was a laugh. “That wasn’t the only reason you showed no concern, was it?” I said. “You hated the item that ran about me and the show.”

He pulled back his torso slightly, obviously surprised that I’d gone there. “It wasn’t only the item that got me. Tom let on that you were jockeying to play a bigger role. I didn’t like how you were maneuvering things.”

“For your information, it was Potts who suggested I play a bigger role, not me. And what was wrong with that?”

“Whatever. I just want us to be on good terms, that’s all.”

“Did you tell Potts that I was obsessed with Vicky?”

“Of course not,” he said adamantly.

“And what about my past? Did you let him in on what my stepmother had done?”

“What?” he said, looking indignant. “Think what you want about me, but I’m not that big of a scumbag.”

I bet that was what all the scumbags said. “I really need to head back upstairs,” I told him. “Happy paddleboarding.”

“Robin, wait,” he said, reaching for me. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I’d like to work with you again. I hope there’s a way that can happen.”

I tugged my hand away and hurried back into the building.

Back in my apartment, I sat on my couch, trying to decode Carter’s visit. The timing had to be meaningful. My best guess: that someone had hinted to him that I might be coming back to the show, and he wanted to be sure he’d put out any fires.

That could very well mean that Potts was seriously considering bringing me back.

Could I believe that Carter hadn’t yakked to anyone about our hook-up? Somehow Potts had found out. And so had Vicky. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known to make sure the napkin with the brownie had been signed with a C.

Alex arrived on time, and he smiled as I slid into the car. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and his facial scruff was a little longer than usual. I felt something stir in me at the sight of him. I thought of the kiss again, the taste of his mouth.

He’d made a coffee run before stopping at my place and he nodded toward the cup holders as we pulled away from the building. “Just black, right?” he said.

“Yes, thanks for remembering. You must be glad to be escaping the city, too.”

“For sure. I don’t even care about hitting the beach. I just want to read. I loaded about ten books on my iPad this summer, and I’ve hardly made a dent.”

“Me, too. And summer for me was always about reading, just spending endless hours in the library stalls, searching for new books.”

“They probably have a table named after you at the Oneonta Public Library.”

“Oneonta?” I asked, surprised.

He glanced in my direction. “Isn’t that where your aunt lived?”

“How did you know?”

“You mentioned it on the ride to Albany.”

“Oh, right.” But I couldn’t recall doing that. As much as I’d loved my aunt, Oneonta had stood for banishment, so I rarely uttered the name. I wondered for the first time if Alex had nursed a crush on me at work and researched my background. That would explain some of his eagerness to help.

I sipped my coffee and stared out the window, wondering where Vicky was at the moment. If the police ended up arresting her, the news would explode everywhere.

Without planning to, I drifted asleep and didn’t wake until I felt Alex gently jostling my shoulder. “We’re almost there,” he said. “Can you give me the street address?”

“Oh, wow, sorry. I feel like a baby, sleeping the whole way like that.”

“Will you need a lift home tomorrow?”

“Thanks, but I’ll probably drive back with Ann.”

“Okay, I’ll check in with you if I hear anything. I may even bump into you at some point. I think we’re having dinner in East Hampton tonight.”

There was no awkwardness as we smiled and said goodbye, but I detected a degree of reserve from Alex, clearly because of the line I’d drawn.

Ann opened the door to her house, dressed in a bathing suit with a blue-and-white-print sarong knotted around her waist and her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. “Welcome,” she said. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“Thanks, I really needed this.”

In one split second, maybe because of the coconut scent from her sunscreen, I felt overwhelmed with a sense memory of other summer days spent with Ann, a few of them here at the house. There was so much to lose if I didn’t forgive her. I had to try.

“Who gave you the ride?” she asked, peering over my shoulder. I turned and followed her gaze as the car nosed away.

“Alex Lucca from work.”

“The producer?” She took my bag and led me inside.

“Mm-hmm.”

She wrinkled her nose a little, as if she’d picked up a hint of something burning.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Come on, Ann. There’s something.”

“Okay, when he first started at the network a year or two ago, I fielded a weird call about him. A reporter from the
Daily News
fishing for info. Alex was in the DA’s office, right? I think there may have been an issue when he was there.”

I’d sensed from the beginning that Alex had misgivings about his ADA job. But it had seemed to be about him not finding law to be a good fit. “You have no clue what the reporter was getting at?” I asked.

“No. I contacted HR, and they said they’d checked references before hiring him, so I guess it couldn’t be anything serious.”

“Probably not,” I said, but her comment felt like a branch snagging on my sleeve. It would be worth looking into.

“Why don’t I pour you an iced tea,” she said, changing the subject. “Then we can sit down and talk.”

I followed her to the kitchen through a large living/dining area decorated beautifully with white ultramodern furniture offset by sisal rugs. With drinks in hand, we headed out to the patio. A swimming pool ran lengthwise behind the house, the bottom painted to make the water look Caribbean turquoise.

“Your timing’s actually perfect,” she said as we took seats at the outdoor dining table. “Five minutes ago, I heard from the personal assistant Potts uses on weekends. He wants me available for a call in the next hour. I bet it has to do with Vicky and that woman’s death.”

My body tensed. “If the police have already found evidence incriminating Vicky, this could blow up in a huge way this weekend,” I said.

“Why in the world would Vicky kill her?”

“Because the woman was going to tell Potts that Vicky harassed her in ways similar to what was done to me.”

Ann shook her head in shock. “You’ll be
cleared
,” she said, breaking into a smile.

“Ideally, yes.”

“Robin, that’s fantastic,” she said. “You must be so relieved.”

“She hasn’t been arrested yet.”

“It’s not too soon to discuss how to handle the situation if she is. This is your comeback, and we have to be prepared, make sure we leverage the press the best way possible.”

“I’ve been thinking about that myself.”

“Let me see about lunch, and then we can discuss it.”

A little while later, over salade Niçoise, she helped me sketch out a rough plan. For background, I ran through the experience of locating Sharon and enticing her to the city. It was painful to rehash it.

“I can tell it hurts,” Ann said, “but this will make your comeback story even stronger—that you worked so hard to prove your innocence.”

By one, Potts still hadn’t called. I helped Ann clear the dishes and then settled into a wrought-iron lounge chair by the pool. The house was set in the middle of a former potato farm, and I stared out beyond the pool, across a field covered with purple and yellow wildflowers. Far off to the left I could see another modern house and, to the right, an older shingled one.

I tried to read, but my eyes skidded off the page. Surely by now, I thought, there had to be some news. After about fifteen minutes, I wandered back into the house.

Ann was standing in the living room, her iPhone pressed to her ear. She looked perturbed and raised a finger, indicating she’d be off shortly. “All right,” she said into the phone. “I’ll let you know if there are any inquiries.”

I held my breath as she tapped the screen to end the call. “News?” I asked.

“It’s not what we wanted to hear,” she said. “Vicky
was
questioned about the murder. But she has a solid alibi for the entire evening.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “Maybe she paid someone to do it.”

Even as I uttered the statement, I realized how off it was. The crime had looked spur-of-the-moment, a case of anger escalating into homicidal rage. Not some paid killer’s MO.

“Robin, I know you have good reason to believe Vicky is behind everything,” Ann said. “And I’ve been so wrong to doubt you before. But wouldn’t it make sense to at least consider other possibilities in this woman’s death? Did she have a boyfriend? Isn’t the boyfriend usually the killer in these sorts of crimes?”

I shook my head in dismay. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Would you mind if I took a run right now? I could really use it.”

“Not at all. I was just going to work out on the patio and then make a dessert.”

I dug out my running shoes and laced them up while sitting under the front portico. Before I broke into a jog, I tried Alex’s cell. It went to voice mail immediately, so I left a message.

I headed in the general direction of the ocean. My legs had been craving this, and for a while I let myself relish the sensation of my feet coming down hard on the pavement and the rush of air through my lungs. But before long, my thoughts were scrambling crazily, grabbing all my focus.

Vicky might have an alibi, but somehow she had to be responsible for Sharon’s death; it was too big a coincidence otherwise. That meant she’d sent another person to the apartment, a cohort who was supposed to reason with Sharon but ended up striking out. After all, Vicky must have arranged for an accomplice to plant the brownie in my basket when she was in D.C.

Maybe, I realized, the person who had left the brownie had also killed Sharon. How was I going to solve the whole freaking puzzle? Two days ago I had allowed myself to believe that the situation was coming to a head. Now everything I’d banked on was like dust sifting through my fingers. If the police didn’t find Sharon’s photo of the Barbie, or refused to turn it over to me, I was back to square one with clearing my name. And Vicky was still at large.

Then I stopped in my tracks and replayed the words that had surged through my brain.
Vicky at large
. I was on a stretch of road with just a few houses, houses with empty driveways because the inhabitants were hanging at the beach. What if Vicky were trying to track me down this weekend and had determined where I was? For all I knew, she was the one who’d followed me to Westport.

I reversed course and headed directly back to Ann’s, my legs pumping so hard they ached by the time I reached the house. Maybe this time I
am
being paranoid, I thought, reflecting under the portico. There was no way Vicky could find me here. Still panting, I walked around the house to the patio, where Ann was typing on her laptop at the table.

“Anything new?” I asked.

“Nothing so far, but the quiet is scaring me. Some reporter’s bound to find out Vicky was questioned.”

Then what? Would I end up part of the Sharon story, making my situation even worse?

I traipsed back to the guest room and tried Alex again, but it still went to voice mail. After changing into my bathing suit, I returned to the patio and plunged into the pool.

Just being in the water reminded me of my swim in Westport, my arms slicing hard through the water so determinedly. I’d started to find my way back that day, and I had to keep going.

I swam for thirty minutes, and afterward, despite my nap in the car, I slept again on the lounge chair. Later, Ann lit the grill to barbecue steaks for dinner. It was even hotter out than it had been earlier, so she suggested we eat in just our suits and robes, in case we wanted to take an evening dip.

She served the meal at eight, the outdoor table lit with candles in hurricane lamps. The food was fabulous, but I could only poke at it. I stared out at the darkening sky above the field. Why hadn’t Alex called yet?