Killer Deal (22 page)
Authors: Sheryl J. Anderson
“Wendy!” Lindsay exclaimed, now shocked and disapproving.
Wendy sprang to her feet, knocking into the table. Aaron and Cassady steadied as many glasses as they could as Wendy spat out, “You bitch!” For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether she was addressing Lindsay or me, but then she sailed the remains of her champagne cocktail at me and wiped out any doubt, along with my Anne Klein blouse.
I leapt to my feet, as did Tricia, Aaron, and Cassady, while Lindsay pulled Wendy back into her chair. I’d hoped to provoke a reaction that got me information, not a dousing. But in trying to pull Wendy up short, I’d pushed her over the brink. Perversely, the size of her reaction confirmed my doubts about her potential involvement in Garth’s death. If she had something to hide, wouldn’t she be more controlled, more wary? But she was in dress rehearsal for a nervous breakdown and wasn’t holding anything back.
Or was her long day’s journey into hysteria all a show for my benefit? These women were trained to sell; maybe Wendy was selling me an image of herself. I had a sudden vision of her in some allegorical medieval painting, “Woman as Innocent.”
Tricia and Cassady swarmed me with napkins while Aaron watched in fascination. I was pretty sure there wasn’t one law of physics to cover the elemental clashes that were occurring in the orbit of our table. Wendy dissolved into tears and Lindsay went back into mothering mode, patting her hair and murmuring to her. Lindsay glanced up briefly to catch my eye. “She’s had a very hard day.”
My patience with the Girls was wearing thin. “I haven’t exactly been on vacation.”
“But you can move on from this.”
I couldn’t go anywhere at the moment, since my friends were toweling me dry, or at least patting me damp, but I knew what she was trying to say. “And you can’t?” I asked her over their bowed heads.
“We’re … invested.”
“You should all quit and go to medical school,” Cassady suggested.
Lindsay’s gaze suddenly focused with laserlike intensity. “You can’t possibly understand, so don’t bother to condescend.”
Tricia, Aaron, and Cassady looked to me for a reaction, but I wasn’t sure how to react. I knew Lindsay was just trying to protect Wendy, but I also knew that by extension, she was trying to protect the rest of the group and the agency and her future. The mother tiger was lying down across the mouth of the den and no one was getting in or out.
Reviewing options quickly, I decided to go with the friendly smile route. “Might be time for everyone to get a good night’s sleep,” I said with a nod to Wendy, who was still quietly weeping. Lindsay nodded slowly, not convinced, but I was anxious to get us all out of there. Not just because my blouse was starting to get downright chilly but because I was starting to get that gnawing in the pit of my stomach that told me the pieces weren’t fitting together the way they were supposed to. I needed to get away from Wendy’s weeping and Lindsay’s mothering and the cacophony of the day and take stock.
“Excellent idea. You’re going to catch a cold,” Tricia warned. “Or make a lot of new friends.” Aaron politely averted his eyes as I tried to get a sense of how transparent my blouse had become.
“Can you get her home?” I asked Lindsay, wanting to leave things on a friendly note with her, at least.
“Won’t be the first time,” Lindsay said with a patient smile.
“Wendy—” I attempted, but she stood up, grandly sweeping her hair back from her teary face.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Wendy asked. “We were all managing until you came along,” she went on without giving me the chance to clear my throat, much less defend myself. “We were building a new future and you’ve wrecked it.”
“All I’ve done is try to find the truth. Want to tell it to me so we can all move on?” I shot back, angry that Wendy kept trying to make some of this, any of this my fault. And even angrier that she might be right. Still, when the house of cards comes down, who do you blame—the person who built it or the person who slammed the door?
“I have told you the truth,” Wendy insisted. “You know more about my life than my best friends do. Like that? You get off on that kind of thing? ‘Knowledge is power’ and all that crap?”
“I only want to understand what happened.”
“I didn’t do it. That’s what happened. Why would I? I was happy. I loved my life. And now I so completely don’t. How stupid would I be to put myself in this situation?”
It was a valid question, assuming she was telling the truth, which was an assumption I still wasn’t comfortable making. I let it go unanswered.
“We’ll see you at the gala tomorrow night,” Lindsay said with a Stepford smile as she took Wendy by the arm. “And I trust, for the sake of the hard work and reputations of all involved, that it will be a pleasant gathering.” There was a chill of warning in her voice and as she turned her back on us, marching Wendy to the door like a recalcitrant toddler, I wondered if I’d underestimated her.
“Typical night out, ladies?” Aaron asked pleasantly as Lindsay and Wendy vanished out the front door.
“Oh, this is nothing,” Cassady assured him. “There’s usually at least some significant property damage.”
“The blouse doesn’t count?” I asked.
Tricia patted my arm. “My dry cleaner works miracles. I can take it to him.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
Tricia smoothed my hair back from my face. “Honey, I
say this with all due love and respect, but you look awful. Let us take you home, make you some soup, rub your feet …”
say this with all due love and respect, but you look awful. Let us take you home, make you some soup, rub your feet …”
“She has work problems, not the flu, Tricia,” Cassady pointed out.
“A good foot rub is never wrong,” Tricia responded.
“Excellent point,” Aaron agreed.
As tempting as it was to invite them all back to my apartment to eat, regroup, vent, whatever was required, I had an overriding concern. Who was going to be there—or not be there—when I got home? No matter his mood, Kyle wouldn’t appreciate an audience or a wait when there were issues to be discussed. I needed to go home by myself and clear a few things up. My head, most of all.
I took advantage of Tricia’s saying I looked like hell—it’s not what she said, but it’s what she meant—to ask them for a raincheck and head home on my own. I thanked all three of them for coming to my aid, packed them off in a cab, and hurried off. To an empty apartment.
He’d said he was going to go back to work, but his shift should have been over by now. I called his cell first, but it went to voice mail and I didn’t leave a message. I called his office and his partner, Ben Lipscomb, answered.
“Rough night,” Ben said, his deep, rumbling voice tinged with concern. He’s a pretty intimidating guy physically, but one of the most serene souls I know.
“Yeah, kinda crazy. And he’s upset with me which makes it worse.”
“I heard.”
Which made it even worse. Kyle didn’t discuss our relationship much and if he’d been telling Ben, things were really rocky. “Can I talk to him?”
“Not right now.”
I sighed. I’d wanted to explain about the day, talk to him about Lindsay, but now I realized all I really wanted to do was tell him I was sorry I hadn’t been honest with him. “Won’t come to the phone or can’t?” There was enough of a pause for me to figure out the answer for myself. “I don’t
want to put you in an awkward position, Ben, even though I’m getting really good at that. Could you just tell him I called?”
want to put you in an awkward position, Ben, even though I’m getting really good at that. Could you just tell him I called?”
“I will. You get a good night’s sleep. As the psalmist says, ‘Joy comes in the morning.’”
Since there was no way to reach through the phone and hug Ben, I thanked him and hung up. If he was telling me to get a good night’s sleep, he was telling me Kyle wasn’t coming home tonight. Whether it was because of a case or because of how I’d handled things remained to be seen. And fretted over. Joy was only going to come in the morning if the boyfriend did, too.
Which meant that I had two mysteries on my plate now: how to identify Garth’s killer and how to untangle my relationship. And maybe a third: Which of the first two was going to be easier to solve?
DEAR MOLLY, IS IT TRUE
that we always hurt the ones we love? Is it because the ones we love stay around long enough for us to make mistakes that hurt them or because the ones we love notice when we do something hurtful and everyone else ignores it? Or is it that we test the ones we love to see how much they love us and that never ends well? And why is it twice as painful when they hurt us back? Signed, Vulnerable Valentine
that we always hurt the ones we love? Is it because the ones we love stay around long enough for us to make mistakes that hurt them or because the ones we love notice when we do something hurtful and everyone else ignores it? Or is it that we test the ones we love to see how much they love us and that never ends well? And why is it twice as painful when they hurt us back? Signed, Vulnerable Valentine
I was not built to operate on two hours and fifteen minutes of sleep. I believe my optimum is eight, though I never reach that unless I’m ill, vacationing, or sedated. I attempt to average six, supplemented by periodic infusions of caffeine during my waking hours. On those occasions when I don’t get at least four, I’ve been known to be impatient, humorless, and intolerant of the foibles of my fellow man. Those are the days I should stay home, or at least hide behind my sunglasses and coffee cup all day while my brain cells strain to shake off their stupor, but those are the days I go out into the world anyway and wind up in trouble.
I awoke to an empty apartment, silent answering machine and cell phone, and a feeling of dread. It was seven thirty and there was no way around it: I had to figure out how badly I’d trashed my relationship, get a handle on my story, see
what the fallout was with Wendy and company, and reassure Eileen while she prepared for the gala.
what the fallout was with Wendy and company, and reassure Eileen while she prepared for the gala.
I so should have stayed home.
Pacing until I’d crashed the night before, I’d attempted to figure out how to handle Kyle and how Wendy had talked her way off the suspect list. Somewhere around 3 A.M., on my second bag of microwave popcorn and my third playing of Bonnie Raitt’s
Home Plate,
I’d decided I needed to stick to my work and give the problem with Kyle some time, because if I neglected my work to fix that, as soon as it was fixed, I’d just have to turn around and go back to the article, which could potentially undo all the work with Kyle. And I might know how to proceed on the article, but I definitely didn’t know what to do about him.
Home Plate,
I’d decided I needed to stick to my work and give the problem with Kyle some time, because if I neglected my work to fix that, as soon as it was fixed, I’d just have to turn around and go back to the article, which could potentially undo all the work with Kyle. And I might know how to proceed on the article, but I definitely didn’t know what to do about him.
When the alarm clock went off, I woke without any answers and with a crick in my neck. I subjected myself to the hottest shower I could stand, which loosened my neck a little but didn’t help with the holes in my theory. I forced a frappuccino and a nectarine into my stomach and then forced my body into a khaki skirt and a lawn blouse, hoping that some chemical interaction between all those natural fibers would somehow infuse me with the energy and goodwill I needed to go forth. Before I headed out, I called the hospital and was told that both Mr. Willis and Mr. Mulcahey were resting comfortably; I assumed that “comfortably” was more the hospital’s term than theirs.
I debated about calling Kyle and leaving another message, but I knew I could trust Ben to have delivered the one last night, which left the ball in Kyle’s lap. I was just going to have to wait. Not a hobby of mine.
But other people like to wait. Or wait for me, anyway.
In reviewing the night before, I’d decided I needed to have another conversation with Kimberly, Ronnie’s niece, and figure out why she was feeding some information to Peter and some to me. I wasn’t buying the worried niece persona anymore. She wanted something. Everyone in the solar system that rotated around Garth Henderson seemed to be
constantly angling, looking for the move ahead, the step up, the inside information.
constantly angling, looking for the move ahead, the step up, the inside information.
Maybe on some level all human interaction is a series of negotiations: What will it take to make us work together, sleep together, stay together? But it seemed to me that, for good or ill, a significant aspect of the social charter requires wrapping the bartering in a certain amount of sincerity, honest emotion, and a desire for meaningful interaction. With this group, it was the bare rapaciousness that was unnerving. And the thought that only micrometers separated them from anyone else I knew. Myself included.
I tried not to dwell on that last thought as I made my way to Willis Worldwide, opting out of my usual sport of people watching to ponder Kimberly’s angle on all this. Was she acting on behalf of her aunt, in defense of her uncle, or did she have some interest all her own?
I was so intent on those thoughts, I was walking with my head down to focus. Not the way to walk down the street in Manhattan. It’s like a wide receiver running his route with his head down—you miss too many options, too many threats, and you can’t plan an alternative route in time if you’re blocked. I should’ve kept my head up. Then I would have seen Lindsay coming.
Instead, I ran into her before I even realized she was there and started apologizing before I knew it was her. Not that I stopped apologizing, but the shock of recognition made me stammer a moment.
“Molly. Small world!” she said cheerily, as though we’d last seen each other at a spring tea to celebrate someone’s engagement.
“Tiny,” I agreed. Now, I’m a big fan of synchronicity—things happening for a reason—and had Lindsay been a man on whom I had a crush, I would have taken this third chance encounter in a row as a sign from Heaven that I should pursue him vigorously, or at least ask him to lunch. But because she was, instead, a woman affiliated with a murder I was investigating,
I took it as a sign that there was no chance to this at all. “Where are you headed?”
I took it as a sign that there was no chance to this at all. “Where are you headed?”
“I’m picking up some material from Ronnie’s team for a new account,” she said, leaving me to consider asking why neither office had assistants or messengers available for such tasks. She pointed down the street. “I’m also picking up my shoes for tonight.”
Tonight. The gala. I couldn’t even summon up a smile. Did I really have to go? I didn’t have shoes or a dress, I hadn’t spoken to my date in over twelve hours, and the prospect of watching my boss strut her stuff, no matter how noble the cause, was less than enticing.
Lindsay tilted her head curiously, scanning my face. “You are still coming, aren’t you?” Her voice had gone a little tight and her smile, a little stiff. I knew it was a big night for the agency, with the launch of the perfume, but I couldn’t see how it could matter all that much to Lindsay if I came or not. “You don’t have a conflict, do you?” she pressed.
Her hand found my arm and squeezed harder than necessary. I rocked back half a step, jostled off balance less by her gesture than by the two thoughts in my head.
Why is it important to you?
and
You’re following me.
Quickly, they folded into one thought:
What is so important to you that you’re following me?
Why is it important to you?
and
You’re following me.
Quickly, they folded into one thought:
What is so important to you that you’re following me?
We hadn’t crossed paths because of synchronicity, coincidence, or planetary influences. We’d crossed paths because Lindsay was following me. She and her husband hadn’t walked by the Carlyle on the way to Girasole coincidentally, she’d dragged him by because that’s where Kyle and I were. She’d brought Wendy to the Lenox Lounge because she knew I was there with my friends. And now she was here, in front of Ronnie’s office, because she knew where I was headed. Had she revealed herself to keep me from going in? Or to find out what I’d deduced since last night?
She shifted the pressure on my arm, trying to persuade me away from the entrance to Ronnie’s building. “Want to see my shoes for tonight?” she asked. “I don’t splurge on shoes very often, but I couldn’t resist this pair. They make me wish
I was wearing a shorter dress, so they’d show more.” Why didn’t she want me to go in? Was she protecting Ronnie now, too? Was part of Lindsay and Wendy teaming up together last night to present a unified front in his defense?
I was wearing a shorter dress, so they’d show more.” Why didn’t she want me to go in? Was she protecting Ronnie now, too? Was part of Lindsay and Wendy teaming up together last night to present a unified front in his defense?
I eased my arm from her grasp. “I really shouldn’t play hooky,” I said, inwardly grimacing at how phony it sounded. “But I can’t wait to see your shoes tonight.”
“Then you are coming,” she said, relieved.
“As long as I get my work done and Eileen doesn’t ground me,” I assured her.
She gave an expansive, sympathetic sigh. “Bosses will make you crazy.”
She ran her hand through her hair while I considered pulling mine out by the handful. “Hard to find one worth adoring,” I said.
Her hand froze in midsweep. I braced myself for an angry retort or a heartfelt speech, but it was just that the charm on her bracelet was snagged in her hair. I stepped closer to give her a hand, but she turned away a little, gesturing with her other hand that she could handle it herself. As she did, my eye was caught by how the link connecting the charm to the bracelet caught the light. Or didn’t, actually. The link was dull. Cheap. It didn’t match the rest of the bracelet. As though the charm had been broken off and then replaced somewhere other than Tiffany. Quickly. Before anyone could notice it was missing.
I made myself breathe evenly and not leap to any conclusions. There are lots of ways for a charm to get pulled off a bracelet. There are a number of rationales for having a Tiffany bracelet repaired somewhere other than Tiffany. There are plenty of reasons for killing your boss.
Lindsay misinterpreted my freeze for awkwardness. “It’s okay, I can get it,” she said, tugging for a moment and then just pulling until a little knot of her hair came free with it. She unwound the hair from the bracelet with sharp little twists of her hand. Looking around for an appropriate place to discard it, she didn’t find anything, so she tucked it in her jacket pocket. A place for everything and everything in its
place, as my grandmother would say. Made me wonder what else Lindsay might have been capable of disposing of.
place, as my grandmother would say. Made me wonder what else Lindsay might have been capable of disposing of.
Picking a suspect on the rebound was certainly more dangerous than picking a man that way, but I suddenly couldn’t take my eyes off Lindsay. Had I mistaken immense self-control for calm, since I’m not terribly familiar with either one, and overlooked her completely?
Everyone thought so highly of her, relied on her, yet they kept her at arm’s length. The married one. The maternal one. The different one. As the Girls all cooed and clawed their way into Garth’s good graces by way of his bedroom, she’d been shut out. How maddening would that be, to see your peers succeeding because there was a shortcut you couldn’t take? People leap over a variety of moral boundaries in the course of a day, but this was a huge one. I could see why she hadn’t crossed it, but I could also see how it would strike her as unfair. Especially if there was the rumor that someone was going to be elevated after the merger. She’d told me she and Daniel were frantic about money. Still, the slope from frustrated to homicidal was pretty steep. Had she really climbed it?
Suddenly self-conscious that I might be staring, I plastered on a smile. “Thanks for the invite, but I really gotta go. So cool running into you.” Cool enough to give me goose bumps.
Her weight shifting uneasily, Lindsay smiled in return. “Absolutely.”
I shuffled a bit myself, the two of us in an awkward
pas de deux,
choreographed by anxiety. She didn’t want to head in any direction until she knew where I was headed and I was trying to figure out where to go so I could double back around and follow her. I wanted to be wrong about her because I’d enjoyed her company and I’d envied her relationship, but if I was wrong, I needed to find out as soon as possible.
pas de deux,
choreographed by anxiety. She didn’t want to head in any direction until she knew where I was headed and I was trying to figure out where to go so I could double back around and follow her. I wanted to be wrong about her because I’d enjoyed her company and I’d envied her relationship, but if I was wrong, I needed to find out as soon as possible.
Especially because she was picking up on it. “Are you okay, Molly?” she asked, stepping in a little and trying to take my arm again. I leaned away more than stepped away,
not wanting to offend her or tip my hand any more than I might already have done.
not wanting to offend her or tip my hand any more than I might already have done.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking of all the things I need to do. How ’bout you?”
“Great.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
We both paused in our fluttering at the same moment, locking eyes. What a fascinating place the world would be if we all said exactly what we were thinking all the time. If we didn’t withhold and lie and dissemble and sugarcoat, just laid the truth out, plain and unadorned, and people responded in kind. Would the planet be a calmer, happier place because we were all living in harmony? Or would it be calmer and happier because we’d all killed each other off ages ago?
“I’m going to have to come back here later, might even have to wait until Monday,” I said, breaking our face-off as gently as possible. “So glad I ran into you. I need to go get a dress. See you tonight.” I grabbed her hand to squeeze it in farewell and was surprised by how clammy it was.
She pulled her hand away quickly and gestured back over her shoulder. “Shoes,” was her farewell as she finally turned and hurried away. I moved to the edge of the sidewalk, as though preparing to hail a cab, but folded my arms and watched her. Watched her pass two shoe stores, then cross Madison. I was sure she hadn’t been imprecise about the direction of the shoe store, but that she’d lied to me about where she was headed. So why lie and where was she going?
I went north to cross Madison there, watching Lindsay the whole time, to the point that I tripped over a stroller being pushed by a nanny who called me all sorts of names in a language I couldn’t even identify and jostled more than my share of equally preoccupied walkers. Fortunately, no one took great offense or spilled their coffee on me. The only real damage I caused was snagging a guy’s iPod earpiece wire on my purse and unplugging him from his morning’s podcast, which displeased him greatly. But I couldn’t stop to
apologize because Lindsay was disappearing down a side street.
apologize because Lindsay was disappearing down a side street.
Women in Manhattan invest a great deal of time, money, and energy in standing out in a crowd, but at that moment, I would have forked over big bucks for gunmetal sweats like they made us wear in college P.E., anything to blend in and become invisible as I hurried after Lindsay. But then I realized, dressed like that I’d probably stand out even more than I did now because there were plenty of my peers dressed like me out and about, but I hadn’t seen plain sweats in a long time. This was Big Apple camouflage: Dress like an individual to blend in.
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