Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (42 page)

“I won’t hold my breath,
but I’ll wait.
 
And I’ll watch.
 
And I appreciate everything you’ve done
to protect me.
 
Like you, I’m using
the Columbus Circle project to see how well we work together.
 
If it works out, then we go
forward.
 
If not, we wish each other
well and part ways.”

“Fair enough,” George
said.
 
“But I want you on my side.”

Just as I’ve wanted you
on my side for years.
 

“I’ll talk to you soon,”
she said.
 
“And thanks for the heads
up about one of Sean’s men following me.
 
I appreciate it.
 
I’ll finish
this project for you.
 
I also need
to finish The Park and find out who is threatening Michael and me.
 
Then you and I will decide if we work as
a team, or independently.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“Maybe
it can.
 
But this is a test.
 
I need to see how it plays out before I
decide.”

CHAPTER
SIXTY

The following morning,
Leana received a text from Pepper.

“I don’t know if I’ll be
in today.
 
I either have a stomach
bug or I have food poisoning.
 
If I
can pull it together, I’ll be in later.”

Whatever.

Leana had plans of her
own.
 
She needed to meet Marty
Spellman at the Tarot Café on Prince Street.
 
Sean Scott drove her.

“We’re becoming
inseparable, Sean.”

“Don’t tell your husband
that.”

“My husband knows all
about it.
 
He supports it.”

He looked at her in the
rearview mirror with a furrowed brow.
 
“Are you all right, Leana?”

She turned to the window
next to her and watched the city pass by.
 
“My sense of humor is all I have right now, Sean.
 
Believe me, if I start in with how I’m
really feeling, I’ll just sound as if I’m whining.”

“You’re secret’s safe
with me.
 
What’s the abbreviated
version?”

She shrugged.
 
“Just what you’d expect.
 
I’ve been putting up a brave front for
everyone, but the truth is that I’m terrified.
 
I feel like something else is going to
happen at any moment.
 
Maybe even my
own death.
 
I can’t stop thinking
about my sister and how she died.
 
I
need answers soon or I’m going to go crazy.”

“There are a lot of eyes
on this right now.
 
You’re about to
hire another set.
 
Something will
break.”

“I’m not convinced.
 
The person who called me the other
night?
 
About Michael?
 
How did he get my new number?”

“Obtaining someone’s cell
phone number isn’t difficult.
 
If
you have the right person behind the right computer, that information can be
easily obtained.”

“Great.”
 
She looked ahead of her and saw the
café’s sign.
 
“That’s it there.
 
Let’s see if he can help.”

*
 
*
 
*

The café was located in
the partitioned basement of an old warehouse.
 
When she spoke to Marty earlier that
morning to confirm their appointment, he told her three psychic sisters from
Flatbush owned it.
 
The café served
imported coffees and herbal teas, ginseng extracts and mushroom shoots,
exotic-looking desserts and homemade breads, soups, and sandwiches, as well as
glimpses into their clients’ futures.

The latter cost
extra.
 
Leana wasn’t sure what to
think of any of it.

Marty told her it was
through Gloria that he came to know about the place, which was narrow and dim,
a hole in the wall, but with heart.
 
And it was through Gloria that he had met the three sisters
Buzzinni—Roberta, Carlotta and Gigi—who were all heart.

When he first met the
sisters, he told Gloria that he was surprised they had the ability to see
beyond their massive breasts, let alone into somebody’s future.
 
But over time, as he got to know them,
there were too many coincidences to ignore, too many times when they got it
right, and too many reasons to rethink how the universe worked and how some
people were gifted in ways that he could not comprehend, but also could no
longer dismiss.

“I want you to meet
Roberta,” he said when they spoke on the phone earlier.
 
“She’s one of my closest friends.”

“Is she going to read my
palm?”

“Let’s not go to the
cliché, because it will insult her.
 
We’re going there because no one looking for you will find you
there.
 
Trust me.
 
It’s an unusual place.”

Roberta Buzzinni, his
favorite of the three sisters, had taken the reins of the café on Prince while
Carlotta and Gigi worked to make their satellite café on Christopher Street a
success.
 
When Leana and Sean
entered the restaurant, Marty was there to greet them.
 
He was a tall, handsome-looking man with
sandy brown hair and shoulders so wide, they suggested a swimmer’s build.
 

They introduced
themselves and Leana looked around the space.
 
It was empty, but the smells of soup and
freshly baked bread were there in ways that invited her inside.
 

“There are no customers?”
Leana said.

“They open at noon.
 
We’ve got the place to ourselves for
privacy.
 
Roberta is in the kitchen
getting ready for the lunch crowd, but she said she’d be out soon with some
tea.
 
We can sit over here if you’d
like.”
 
He indicated the booth
behind him.
 
“It’s away from the
doors and windows.
 
Does that work?”

Leana and Sean nodded,
and sat opposite Marty.
 
She was ten
minutes into recapping what she knew for him when the kitchen door swung open
and a large woman with hips the size of barrels moved into the room with a tray
of tea, cups and saucers, and thick slices of toast with butter and a selection
of homemade jellies.

“I knew I got this
right,” she said with a knowing smile as she walked toward the booth.
 
“I knew you’d all be too thin.
 
Everyone in this city is too thin,
except maybe for those in Little Italy.
 
You’ll still find a few fat mamas’ boys over there, and thank Goddess
for that.
 
People need a bit of
chunk on them.
 
We’re going into
fall, for Goddess’ sake.
 
Pretty
soon it will be winter.
 
What are
you people going to do then?”

She put the tray on the
table next to them, and Leana couldn’t help a smile.
 

“I’m Roberta,” she said,
turning to them.
 
“And you must be
Leana.
 
Look at you.
 
You’re beautiful.
 
Who else can make an eyepatch look that
attractive?”
 
She shook Leana’s
hand, and held it for a moment.
 
“I’m sorry to read about what’s been happening to you.”

“I appreciate that.”
 
But as nice as Roberta appeared, she
didn’t want to talk about it with a stranger.
 
She motioned toward Sean.
 
“This is Sean Scott.”

Again, Roberta shook his
hand, and held it.
 
“It’s a pleasure.
 
I wish I could stay, but I need to get
back in the kitchen or there will be no lunch.
 
So, I’ll leave you three alone.
 
Please have some tea and toast.
 
The bread came out of the oven an hour
ago.
 
Carlotta made the strawberry
jelly herself.
 
It’s amazing.
 
It’ll make you cry.”

“You’re very kind,” Leana
said.

Roberta looked at her for
a moment and moved to speak, but instead she just touched Leana on the shoulder
before going back into the kitchen.
 
The swinging set of doors whispered shut behind her.
 
Leana watched them slow to a close and
wondered about the darkness she saw in Roberta’s expression before she walked
away.
 

CHAPTER
SIXTY-ONE

Marty let Leana talk for
a good hour about what had happened three years ago, and about what was
happening now.
 
When she was
finished, he sat quiet for a moment.
 
Thinking.

“Did Ryan have any family
that you know of?”

“I’m not sure,” Leana
said.
 
“I don’t think so.
 
Obviously, I know his wife died.
 
My mother killed her.
 
And I think he lost his mother.
 
I remember him telling me that.
 
I don’t know of any siblings or of a
father.”

“How about close friends
that you might have met?”

“I met lots of people
through Louis.
 
Investors.
 
Board members.
 
Were any close to him?
 
I’m not sure.
 
To me, he always seemed to be a
loner.
 
Why?”

“I know this is going to
sound crazy, but I don’t think we can rule out Ryan as a suspect.”

“But he’s dead,” Leana
said.
 
“I saw him die.”

“I understand that.
 
I don’t mean a suspect in the
traditional sense.
 
I know he’s
dead.
 
I mean a suspect in another
sense.
 
Perhaps through someone’s
loyalty to him or friendship with him.
 
Someone who might see this through for him.
 
Because what you’ve just described to
me, Leana, is likely what Sean suspects—this might be a copycat
crime.
 
A way of making Ryan’s
wishes come to fruition through someone else’s actions.
 
If that’s the case—and I’m not
saying that it is because I understand how far-fetched that is—then we
need to at least discern a few things.
 
Who were Ryan’s closest friends?
 
One good way to find out is to look at his will.
 
Who did he leave his fortune to?
 
That should be a clear indicator of who
meant something to him.
 
If anyone
is listed, then we dig deeper into their lives.
 
Where are they now?
 
What do they do?
 
Are they here in Manhattan?
 
What are their histories with Ryan?
 
Who was the executor of his will?
 
A lawyer?
 
Was that lawyer a good friend?
 
Or was it someone else?
 
I can find out a lot of this fairly
quickly.
 
I just need to have a look
at his will, and start questioning who might fit the profile.
 
If there’s nothing there, we rule it
out.”

“And then what?”

“Then we look into your
father’s life.
 
You mentioned that
he said he has his share of enemies.
 
Of course, he does.
 
This brings
us back to the copycat angle.
 
To deflect
attention from themselves, someone might merely be using Ryan’s well-publicized
plot against your family in their favor.
 
The key here is the deaths of Holt and Stout and now what’s happening to
you and Michael.
 
All of this could
be pure smoke and mirrors to evoke Ryan in an effort to detract from what might
be planned for your father.”

“That seems like a lot of
trouble to kill one man,” Sean said.
 
“Why risk exposure countless times when you could just take Redman
out?
 
It seems to me that your former
argument is stronger.
 
Someone who
is emotionally invested in Ryan might be finishing this for him.
 
It’s either that, or we’re dealing with
some nut job out there who repeatedly sees Leana, Michael and George in the
press, remembers what happened three years ago, and decides that it’s their
divine calling to end it.”

“That’s a strong
possibility,” Marty said.
 
“We could
be dealing with a psychopath.”