It All Began in Monte Carlo (17 page)

“You have to understand,
mon vieux,
” he said, calling the Inspector “my old friend,” though in fact their friendship went back only to the previous summer, but because the Inspector had helped Mac, he needed to soften the blow. “I can't get involved. I'm here on private business. Personal business.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “
Very
personal. In fact to me, right now, nothing is more important. I'm sorry.”

The Inspector's sigh came down the phone. “I'm sorry too, Mac,” he said. “Of course, I understand.”

Mac thought he probably did. In affairs of the heart few understood as well as a Frenchman.

But the Inspector had not given up. “At least come down and take a look at the crime-scene photos,” he pleaded. “Give me your thoughts on what and why this happened.”

“Let me call you back,” Mac said, as the room phone rang. He clicked off his cell phone, picked it up and said hello.

“Ooh, hello,” a woman's voice said, a little breathlessly. “Am I speaking to Monsieur Mac Reilly?”

Her voice was not familiar and she had an accent Mac could not place.

“You are.”

“
Ooh,
Mr. Reilly. My name is Kitty Ratte. I'm a friend of Sunny's. And Mr. Reilly, I need to speak to you. Quite urgently.”

Mac had taught himself always to take a beat before he replied to a leading statement like this one.

“Mr. Reilly?” the woman's voice sounded anxious now. “Are you still there?”

“I'm here, and since I don't know you I'm wondering exactly what you need to tell me that's so urgent.”

“Well, then, Mac Reilly,” the woman murmured in a voice more like a purr now, despite its guttural edge. “It's about Sunny. I'll be on the terrace, to the left as you come out the doors. I have red hair. You can't miss me.”

“Red hair,” Mac said.

“I'll be waiting,” Kitty said.

 

 

After Kitty returned from the club she and her partner, Jimmy, had spent what was left of the night discussing not only Eddie but Mac Reilly.

An Internet search had revealed more about the world-famous detective. She and Jimmy had discussed how his presence might affect their blackmail plans and decided they needed to do damage control. Now Kitty was taking action. Like Eddie, Mac Reilly was vulnerable. His woman had dumped him. He was a man in need of consolation, and who better than the expert Kitty. A detective was not immune to the lure of sex, or to blackmail and Kitty knew the woman he loved would dump Mac all over again if she ever found out he'd had sex with her.

In Kitty's psychopathic mind, she was cleverer than any detective; and so far that had proven true. Apart, that is, for a small sojourn in a Spanish jail on charges of extortion, but that was a minor matter, long forgotten. At least by her.

Besides, it gave Kitty an illicit little thrill, moving in on Sunny's fiancé. Her own life was a long way from the lives of women like Sunny, or Allie Ray. Beautiful women with charm and talent who used their brains to get where they were, women who did things, had real lives.
Real women,
while she had only a façade, a woman
who offered so little she gave it away for free. “Honor” was something Kitty had never had, and never aspired to.

 

Kitty saw Mac before he saw her. She thought he was surely attractive. Lucky Sunny, she got all the men; they all fell for her dumb charm, because Sunny was dumb, Kitty was sure of that; too dumb to see what might go on before her very eyes. He walked to the table where she was sitting with a cup of coffee in front of her. It was still only nine-forty-five
A.M.
, and but for a few hearty breakfasters in nautical-looking navy sweaters there were few people about.

Kitty had dressed carefully that morning, choosing a floral dress with a V-neckline almost to the waist and a demure white cami beneath. She'd sprayed on fake tan and where the skirt fell away, her thighs had a golden glow. She wore her precious black Louboutins and carried a black nylon Prada bag with the triangular insignia prominently displayed, and wore the white dangly earrings that spelled out DIOR. Startlingly, she had pulled her hair into two pigtails that stuck out like small red missiles behind her ears, and fluffed her fringe over her eyes in what she believed was a way that made her look more girlish and sweet.

The toothy smile she gave Mac and the delicate wave of the hand in greeting was as sweet and open as she could make it.

“Ms. Ratte?” Mac took her in, in one comprehensive glance.

“That's who I am. And I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Reilly.
Mac,
as Sunny always calls you.”

Mac said nothing.

“Please,” she waved delicately again, indicating the chair next to her, “won't you sit down, Mac? Here, next to me, so we can be absolutely private.”

“I can't think of any reason we need to be private.”

“Aah, but you see, I know
Sunny.
” Kitty patted the chair again. “
Please,
Mac,” she said, wistful now. “Sunny told me you were such
a nice man. A good man, which I see you are. Won't you be nice to me now, indulge me just a little? Who knows, we might even become friends.”

Curious about what she had to say about Sunny, Mac sat.

Kitty waved over the waiter and ordered him an espresso. “Make that two,” she added. “I fancy another.” Her sideways glance took in Mac, who was looking at her.

“Why don't you tell me what it is you want to say?” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “I have an appointment.”

“I'll bet it's not with Sunny,” Kitty said, watching for his reaction. He did not reply. “You're a very attractive man,” she added softly. “Though I'm sure I'm not the first woman to tell you that.”

Mac sighed, exasperated. He had no time for this strange woman whose only claim on his attention was that she said she was Sunny's friend, and that Sunny had talked to her. Despite his misgivings, he was vulnerable, and he needed to know what Sunny had said, and especially if she had, by any small chance, said she still loved him.

The coffee came in dark green bistro cups with tiny gilt spoons, a froth of richness on top of the deep brown espresso. Kitty put two sugars in hers and stirred it thoughtfully. Mac ignored his. He didn't want to be here drinking coffee with this woman at ten in the morning, or any other time.

“Sunny told me she'd left you,” Kitty said at last. “I understand how hurt you must be, and now I've met you, I'm asking myself how could she do that? How could she
not want
you? You're so
attractive
. I know all about you,” she added, resting her hand lightly on Mac's knee. “And what I really meant is you are so
sexual,
Mac Reilly. You know something? You and I are creatures of the same breed. Of course it was Sunny who told me you were like that. ‘Sexy,' Sunny said. ‘Good in bed.' She said you were everything she wanted, except you didn't want to marry her. Now, looking at you, I'm asking myself why you would want to get married anyway, when you can have exactly what you want without that silly piece of paper and the gold band.”

Shocked, Mac wondered if Sunny could really have talked about him, about their private times together? He looked into Kitty Ratte's serpent's eyes. Had she really allowed this woman into their personal lives?

There was something in Mac's gaze that caused Kitty to remove her hand hastily from his knee. She knew instantly that Mac saw her for what she was: a small-time suburban hooker on the make, and it made her furious.

“Of course, Sunny told me all about Eddie.” Kitty stuck the verbal knife in viciously. She stirred the remnants of undissolved sugar at the bottom of her cup, as if reading tea leaves.

“Eddie Johanssen, I mean,” Kitty added, glancing up. “The man she met on the plane, the man who booked her into this hotel. The man who came here to be with her.”

Mac got to his feet.

Kitty smiled up at him. “Trust me, I'm on your side,” she said, anxious now. Had she gone too far? “I'll do everything I can to get you two back together. I'll talk to Sunny, tell her how much you care.”

Mac stopped her. “Let me ask you something, Ms. Ratte. How do you
know
how much I care about Sunny?”

Wide-eyed, innocent, Kitty said, “Oh, but of course, Sunny told me everything.”

Without another word, Mac turned and left her sitting there.

She watched him walk away, a lithe easy lope that guaranteed a good body underneath the jeans and leather jacket. A man like that was too good to let get away. This time jealousy as well as blackmail was her motive for stealing someone else's man.

 

 

At ten-thirty that same morning Sunny finally checked her BlackBerry. Mac of course. Twice since eight-thirty.

In the first message he said,
“I love you, please call me.”
In the second he said,
“I love you. Please marry me.”

There was a note of cool confidence in his voice and Sunny could not decide whether it was confidence in
his
love for
her,
or confidence in
her
love for
him.
Or whether he was just confident that she would come around and fall into his arms. Which, she remembered, was exactly what she had done last night.

There was a third message. It was from Allie. “So how are you this morning, Miss Lovelorn, Runaway, Two-Timing Woman? I hope you are up for shopping? Don't they always say a little shoe-shopping is good for all that ails a woman in trouble? Personally, I've often wondered who ‘they' are, who said such a damn silly thing, but today I'm putting my trust, as well as yours, and Pru's, in them. Remember Pru? Well, when you meet her you will not forget her, which is something I have to work on. Meanwhile, meet us on the terrace at eleven o'clock. I'll have a car waiting. And do not, I repeat do
not,
Sunny Alvarez, hide behind a veil of tears and let me down. Remember. I know about the other man, so you had better come clean. See you at eleven.”

Shopping was the last thing in the world Sunny wanted, but Allie was in charge so of course she would be there.

A couple of morning newspapers, along with a pot of coffee and a basket of croissants had been delivered to her room, but she had already breakfasted at the small café on the side street with the understanding waiter. She settled with the papers in the sofa by the open window where the sunlight warmed her, looking at the headlines. They were in French but there was no mistaking the words
ASSASSIN . . . TUÉ
, and
MORTE
. . .
Murder . . . dead.

There was a wedding photo of an attractive dark-haired young woman, happy with her bridegroom; and a picture of a scowling baby.

She picked up the English-language newspaper, the
International Herald Tribune
, and read that a young woman assistant at the exclusive jewelry store had been shot. A murder of “startling indifference,” the report said. The salespeople had obeyed the robbers' instructions, given them everything. There had been no need to kill this mother of a toddler, working for her living. Why? was the big question on every newspaper reporter's mind. And one to which nobody seemed to have the answer.

Sunny recalled the halogen-lit scene, the helicopter lights and the long stretches of darkness across the sea to the mountains; the
blah-blah
wail of dozens of French police sirens. A woman had been murdered and all
she
had been thinking about was herself and Mac and her so-called on-off marriage. As well as, she admitted it now, Eddie her would-be lover.

She did not say Eddie's name out loud, even alone in her room. Anyhow, there was no message from him on her BlackBerry; he had not called, and she could not blame him. She had publicly embarrassed him walking out with Mac without even a please excuse me, I'll call you later.

Would she though? Have called him later. Would she call him now? She hurried to change her clothes to get ready for Allie's
shopping expedition. She was definitely not calling anybody.
Shoes
were all that were on her mind.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the name and sighed.
Kitty Ratte
. The last person she needed. But then she remembered guiltily that the woman had befriended her on Christmas Day when she was alone and had needed someone to talk to. She was a perfectly nice woman, though hadn't Allie told her Kitty had moved in on Eddie?

The phone stopped buzzing, then started again.

Sighing, she picked it up.

“Oooh,
Sunny
. . .” Kitty always seemed breathless, as though she'd been caught unexpectedly doing something wicked. “I'm out here on the hotel terrace and I was just thinking about you. I'm having coffee. Would you like to join me? After last night, I thought you might want to talk.”

Sunny remembered Kitty had been there for her before. She had been a good listener, anxious to help, to “take her out of herself” with their little shopping expedition; a girly lunch. And in a way she had. Just as she had tried to help Eddie when he'd been left so publicly. Besides, she wanted to know what Eddie had said to her.

Anyhow, she owed her. She said, “Just for half an hour. Then I'm going shopping.”

“Ooh,” Kitty said again, sounding disappointed. “With Allie Ray, I suppose? You are lucky to have such a good friend. Okay, I'm here, waiting for you now, Sunny darling. And then I'll tell you all about Eddie.”

Kitty always knew how to bait the trap.

 

 

When Maha Mondragon was at her palatial white stucco many-pillared home in Mumbai, on the western coast of India, a city with a population of more than eighteen million, she had a slew of servants to take care of the menial tasks. Now though, she was tidying up her hotel suite prior to the chambermaids coming in to clean.