Havoc-on-Hudson (10 page)

33

I watched Andrew for a moment, but he didn’t recover right away. My mind seemed to whirl. What to do? I looked around again. Francois stood by the door to the room, a fresh napkin gracing his arm. He glanced away when he saw me notice him. He was probably wondering if he should ignore us—or ask to take our order. This was such an awkward situation. Should we stay here and talk things over?

No. I didn’t think so. Andrew had made his intentions to propose so very clear. It was obvious to everyone at L’Auberge that something had gone wrong. And now we were so very public. What to do?

I placed my hand gently on Andrew’s. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “We really have to talk. How about a drink at No. 10?” No. 10 was a quiet spot overlooking the river. We could walk there, and we’d have lots of privacy.

And I, for one, had lost my appetite.

It was a short and quiet walk to No. 10—five minutes at the most. Downhill, of course. Almost everything in Hudson Hills is either uphill or downhill. Neither of us spoke until we were settled with glasses of Chardonnay in oak booths in the farthest reaches of the posh English-style pub. The place smelled of ale and fish-and-chips.

“So. …” Andrew, his expression now stern, looked directly into my eyes. “What the hell is going on, Maggie? Have you lost your mind? Or have I done something unforgivable—like wear Bally shoes?”

I sighed. There was something more he wasn’t addressing; his stunned reaction to the name Amy Honeywell.

“Oh, Andrew, I’m handling this so badly. But something has come up. Officer Pandolfo just today informed me that the crime lab identified the one set of previously unknown prints in the murder house as being from men’s shoes by Bally. Size eleven.” I swallowed. “That’s the size you wear, isn’t it?”

He nodded, still staring me straight in the eye. “And …? There’s more, isn’t there?”

“And … Amy Honeywell. You practically had a stroke when I mentioned her name. That frightens me. You’ve never said a word, either to me or to anyone else involved in the investigation, that you knew her or that you were in that house.” Tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Oh my God, Maggie,” Andrew choked out, “believe me when I tell you there’s a simple explanation for why my footprints were there. And believe me when I say I had absolutely nothing at all to do with Amy’s death.”

“Is that right?’ I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But I was no fool—as much as I was foolishly in love with him. I thought for a moment, then faltered as I asked him, “Andrew, would … would you be willing to come with me to the Hudson Hills P.D. and make a statement explaining to the police why you were there?”

He didn’t hesitate for a second. “Of course, I would!”

I reached in my bag for my cellphone. “I’ll call Betsy. She’ll have to record your statement so you can clear yourself with the authorities.” I bit my upper lip. “And as for me, I need to be reassured you were not involved in any way at all with Amy.”

He’d reached for his wine glass, but startled at my last words. Wine sloshed over the side of the glass, soaking the cocktail napkin. “Now look, Maggie, I didn’t say I wasn’t involved in any way with Amy. I just said I had nothing to do with her murder!”

Huh? “Andrew, just stop there! I’m confused and don’t want to discuss this any further until you talk to Betsy. Late as it is, maybe she can arrange to take your statement this evening.”

A veil of disappointment came over his face. “I certainly hope so. I want to clear my name as soon as possible. And, as for you … you’re blowing this whole thing way out of proportion.”

This time his grip on the wine glass was secure. He drank the remaining wine in one gulp. Then he gave me a straight, unblinking look. “I must say, it’s disappointing to learn you have so little trust in me. Perhaps, after all is said and done, we’re not ready for a serious commitment.”

“Maybe not.” Maggie dialed the Chief’s number without saying another word, but her heart sank down to her new Ferragamos.

34

“Mr. Coyne, the time and date of our meeting this evening has already been entered by Officer Michael Pandolfo, and I would like to record the statement you are voluntarily offering involving the ongoing investigation into the murder of Amy Honeywell. Do I have your permission to proceed? For the record, Maggie Mitty is the other person in the room with us and would like to remain. Andrew, are you comfortable having Maggie present during this procedure?”

“Yes, Chief, both the recording and the presence of Maggie Mitty are acceptable to me.” Stiff and formal, he sounded exactly like the lawyer he is.

Chief Betsy went on. “During the recent investigation into the murder of Mrs. Honeywell, a number of footprints were found at the house where the incident took place. Among those prints, yours were the last pair to be identified by the crime lab. Can you explain the presence of your footprints at the crime scene?”

“Yes, and as an attorney, I should have known better than to keep this information from the investigation.” He sighed. “It just seemed to me it would complicate matters unnecessarily if I were to come forward at the beginning.” A long silence ensued.

“And …?” Betsy urged him.

“And, to be perfectly honest on a personal note I was afraid it might jeopardize my relationship with …” He glanced at me, a bit sardonically. My heart sank. He continued. “With Ms. Mitty.”

Another period of silence, and Betsy said again, “And …?”

“My wife died over five years ago.” He looked down at his fingernails. Studied them as if they mattered. Then he glanced over toward me. “I’d been alone for so long. Then I’d finally met a beautiful woman, a woman of substance and grace. I was so grateful she’d come into my life that I couldn’t risk letting this seemingly random episode—this coincidence of my having met with Ms. Honeywell that morning—worry her in any way.”

It was quiet in the room. I heard somebody sniff. It was me.

Andrew turned his gaze back to the police chief and went on. “And so, during the investigation I chose not to mention, either to you, Chief Betsy, or to Maggie, or to the homicide people, that I had known Amy personally. I should have. Even if the details of my meeting with her had come out, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”

“No?” Betsy asked.

“No. Since I’m not involved in any way with her horrible demise, and that would be quickly determined.”

The Chief did not respond to his assertion. “Andrew, can you tell us about the relationship you had with Mrs. Honeywell?”

I flinched at the Chief’s question, and Andrew’s face grew red.

“Yes, Chief. Of course. As a real-estate attorney, I attend many events involving lawyers, mortgage people and, of course, brokers. At a conference a couple of years ago, Amy Honeywell and I chatted briefly. Then she asked if I would like to buy her a drink. She was aggressive and sexy, and I was a single guy with no evening plans, so I agreed. We had cocktails at Settepani’s Bistro in Harlem along with some of their famous trout en croute.” He fell again into silence.

“And then …?”

“And then we ended up spending a couple of hours at a motel not far from the restaurant.” His voice grew more assertive. “At the time, I had no idea she was a married woman with young children. When she told me, I regretted our tryst.

“I continued to bump into her at various business functions and was always cordial, but I kept my distance. Affairs with married women who sleep around didn’t quite jell with my romantic values. I was …” He glanced at me again. “And am … searching for a stable relationship.”

Our mutual gaze held until Betsy spoke again.

“So what were you doing at the house that day?”

“It was solely by happenstance. That morning we bumped into each other in Hudson Hills when I was on my way to a meeting at the Town Hall. She looked upset, as if she’d been crying, and she told me she needed a lawyer. ‘I only do real estate,’ I hedged. She asked if she could see me after my meeting anyhow—just for some advice about where to turn to find an appropriate lawyer.

“The address she gave me was of the house she had an appointment to show to clients at 11:00 am. Could I get there fifteen or twenty minutes before they arrived? Seeing my initial hesitation, she emphasized that it would be strictly business. I obliged because she was so obviously in deep distress. I would do the same for anyone I knew.

“We talked for less than fifteen minutes. Mostly we sat on a settee in the two-story entry hall. If I remember correctly, it had a blue and white tile floor and some kind of an indoor tree.

“Then Amy began a sordid tale of a love affair gone bad, one that involved stalking and threats. After hearing her out, I told her to contact the FBI. This man of hers was from out-of-state, and the FBI could protect her and prevent the details from becoming local gossip fodder. I said I would get her some contact information but that her situation was basically more a police matter rather than a legal one.”

Andrew turned towards me, searching my face. His hand was fisted in his right pocket. I wondered if he was gripping the little blue box that must have an engagement ring inside. I sighed again. I had sighed so many times that evening, it almost felt as if I had forgotten how to use words.

“Andrew, before the Officer turns off the recording device, is there anything else you would like to add to your statement?”

“Just that I liked the house and wanted to see more of it, so, when we were done talking, I looked around, both upstairs and down. However, I only peeked into the master bath upstairs, which I’ve been told is where Amy’s body was eventually found.”

“
Hmm
, and is that it?”

“Yes,” he said, and thanked the Chief.

Chief Betsy removed the disc from the recorder, making notes on an envelope in which she placed it. “That’s all I need for the time being.”

She then told us that the FBI already had Amy’s stalker in custody, on charges of threatening her with foul play if she didn’t pay him to keep their affair a secret from her husband, a respected cardiac surgeon.

“Andrew, I want to thank you for your cooperation. I’ll share your statement with both the FBI and the guys at the D.A.’s office.”

Amy Honeywell was a woman I really had little respect for—a woman, from all accounts, lacking in loyalty and ethical behavior. Oh, yes, like Andrew, she roller-bladed and played golf. He would have liked that. And I was probably twenty years her senior and had never been very athletic.

I knew, of course, that Andrew hadn’t been wrapped in cotton wool before he met me, but that he had slept with Amy Honeywell, of all people, was difficult for me to accept. And … did he really only have sex with her that one time? I wondered about that.

But,
sigh
, I couldn’t believe I was feeling jealous of a murdered woman whose colleagues didn’t even like her.

I finally spoke up. “Chief, is Amy’s stalker a suspect in her murder? Could he be an unexpected twist in the drama of her death?”

“No, Maggie,” she replied. “The suspect provided an alibi for that morning and there was no physical evidence at the crime scene incriminating him. However, we do have other serious reasons to hold him. Amy wasn’t the only woman he threatened to blackmail or physically harm; two other victims have come forward to press charges against him. He’s a good-looking gigolo who makes his living by conning vulnerable women.”

I left the P.D. before Chief Betsy had finished all the paperwork with Andrew and went home with a throbbing headache. Once in the front door, I opened my coat closet and searched for Andrew’s after-tennis Ballys. Then I sat on the floor clutching one of them. The sole of the shoe was a bit worn, but the size was clear.

My darling Andrew.

I jumped up, threw the damn shoe back into the closet and hurled the other one after it.

What a night this had been! Andrew’s shoe prints at the crime scene. A ruined birthday dinner. A spoiled marriage proposal. Not to mention spending the rest of the evening at the police station while Andrew’s alibi was being recorded. What a debacle.

I’d been childish and less than understanding, but I was pretty grossed out at the thought of Andrew having sex with someone like Amy Honeywell.

Even though at the time he didn’t know I existed.

The truth is, I was beginning to realize that I was deeply in love with him. And I was beginning to fear that he would not forgive my mistrust of him.

I needed a good night’s sleep to get my head around everything that was going on. I needed to right some wrongs.

35

Late in March, on a Sunday morning as I was stepping out of the shower, the phone rang. I wasn’t really awake yet, and I felt like just letting the machine take the call. As usual, however, my compulsions wouldn’t let me ignore the ringing. Part of that compulsiveness came simply from owning my own company. Each call might be a prospective client, and each prospective client might morph into a nice commission—the kind that pays the bills.

“Hi, Maggie,” a young woman’s voice said, “This is Lily Gould. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I need your help.”

Lily Gould: the young designer who’d been dragging her heels for so long on buying Dr. Bondi’s former veterinary hospital. “Of course, Lily, what can I do for you?” I pulled the towel more tightly around me. The deal had been dragging on for months. I’d be more than happy to do anything I could to close that damn sale.

“I have a problem,” Lily went on. “The flooring man is planning to give me an estimate for the new wood floors at the site, and he realized that one of his measurements was missing. It’s the tiled side room with the tubs for bathing the animals. Do you think you could send someone over there to get that measurement for me? Otherwise I’ve got to come all the way out to Westchester today to do it, and Leslie and I have a deadline to meet for a department store buyer.”

I rolled my eyes; there was never a moment’s peace. But I learned long ago how to be perky at the drop of a hat: “Of course, Lily. Not a problem, Luv. I’ll do it myself—I’d be more than happy to. Do you need the measurement early on, or can I go over there when I finish work this evening?”

“Actually, the estimator is not in on Sundays, so I won’t need the numbers until tomorrow morning.”

My phone had started beeping with a new call, so I cut Lily off short. “Okay, Luv. You’ll hear from me before the day is over.”

Still wrapped in my wet towel, I pressed the button for the incoming call.

“Hey, Maggie, how’s my girl?” Andrew sounded more cheerful than he had in weeks. Finally all the issues about his shoe prints had been resolved satisfactorily, and he’d forgiven me for overreacting. On my side, I’d come to terms with the fact that he’d hidden something of importance from me. Trust and candor, we’d now agreed, were essential to our new relationship. I’ve held that man in high esteem from the moment I met him, and I still do. It turns out, however, that we’re both human, and we make mistakes, like everyone else.

But nothing, as yet, had been said about an engagement, by either of us. And I hadn’t seen anything of a Tiffany ring. It would take some time to get over the awkwardness of that aborted proposal.

“Hang on. I’m almost dry. I need to get rid of this towel and grab my robe.”

He laughed that charming laugh of his. “No, Baby, stay just like that. I love how you look when you’re just out of the shower!”

“You men are so primitive!”

“Yes, indeed, and we work hard at it!”

“Is my cave man still meeting me for dinner tonight?” Maggie asked, feeling more comfortable now that she was wrapped in her warm cashmere robe.

“Of course. Would seven be okay?”

“No problem, I’m working until at least five or six. Why don’t I call you from the building where I’ll be at the end of the day? It’s that old animal hospital I’ve told you about. My client needs a couple of measurements. And, by the way, there’s a wonderful restaurant not far from there. It’s called IL Sorriso. Well-prepared gourmet Italian food, and they carry Gavi di Gavi.
Gavi di Gavi is a delicious white wine we’d just discovered
. “I can call William for a 7:30 reservation.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be on my cell, and I’ll get the directions from you later.”

While dressing, I glanced at my date book and saw that Claire had made back-to-back appointments for me today. It stood to reason. It was the very beginning of crazy season. Once the winter ends, new customers and clients come out of the woodwork, either to buy, or to sell, homes. We were gearing up for Spring, an important season in our business. We work harder then than at any other time.

Selling residential real estate is seriously hard work, with a strong emphasis on responsibility. We need to be certain our clients can truly afford their new homes, that they understand the pros and cons of what they have chosen, and whether the property represents a solid financial investment for their future. For most buyers, it’s the largest purchase they’ll ever make, and they depend on our expertise and integrity to take them safely through the process.

But by six o’clock the office had cleared out. Whew! I kicked off my shoes and touched up whatever was left of the makeup I’d applied early in the morning. “Gilding the Lily,” as Andrew liked to say.

I set the alarm on my cellphone so I wouldn’t oversleep. Then I closed my eyes and reclined in the ergonomic desk chair. After a busy day like today, a fifteen-minute nap would always get me through the rest of the evening.

When I awoke, I’d be in good shape to head out to the old veterinary hospital and get the measurements Lily needed. Hopefully the estimate she got from the floor guy would be satisfactory, and she’d be ready to close the deal.

After that, a date with Andrew. Yes!