Slice and Dice (22 page)

Sophie wished she’d bag the terse act. “Harry Hongisto is an older man. Balding, with wisps of white hair —”

Ada cut her off. “Yeah, I saw him.”

“Did you see him leave the apartment?”

She shook her head. “I saw him come. It was about six-thirty, quarter to seven. Then I heard the fight. Then I ate dinner. I heard more fighting while I was finishing dessert. It was quiet for about half an hour, so I looked outside again.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Sophie tried to curb her growing irritation. “Did you see anyone else?”

“Sure. You. You came right after the other man left.”

Sophie could feel a jolt of adrenaline hit her system. “What other man?”

“Middle-aged fellow.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Can’t remember.”

“Can you remember anything about him?”

“He looked scared.” The woman switched the cane to her other hand. “You think this Harry Hongisto is innocent?”

“I do.” Now more than ever.

“It’s just like my nephew. The police got the wrong man.”

“I hope you’re right.”

After several seconds had elapsed, the woman said, “Since you’re so interested, I’ll show you something.”

Sophie watched as Ada shuffled into her living room. She picked through some papers on the couch, then returned to the door. “That’s the guy,” she said, pointing to a picture in the Leisure section of the
Times Register.

Sophie’s eyes opened wide in surprise. It was the photo of the Buckridge family the paper had included next to her article. “Which one are you pointing to?” she asked, almost afraid to learn the answer.

“This one,” said Ada, tapping the picture of Nathan impatiently.

Sophie closed her eyes, recalling the man she’d seen coming out of the building that night. He’d seemed so familiar. Something about his walk. The way he moved. Now she knew why.

The old woman continued: “He took off out of George’s apartment so fast that he left the door unlatched. You have to pull that door shut if you’re going to close it properly, but he didn’t even try. That’s how you got in.”

Sophie was almost too stunned to speak. But she had to ask, had to make sure. “Are you positive that was the man you saw?”

The woman lowered the paper to her side. “First you treat me like I’m senile. Now you accuse me of not being able to see.”

“No, no. I didn’t mean to suggest —”

“I’ve got to go turn off the oven. My dinner’s done.” Before Sophie could say another word, the door shut in her face.

Bram eyed the muscle man at the other end of the bar. “So you bought yourself a bodyguard. When he gets hungry, I suppose you just toss him a T-bone.”

Marie smiled like a mother about to comment on a favored son. “He does eat a lot. He’s Irish, but he prefers Italian food. Linguine. Manicotti.”

“Submachine guns in violin cases.”

“He’s thorough, and he keeps to himself. After what happened yesterday” — there was a quiver in her voice — “I wouldn’t feel safe going anywhere without him. I’ve moved into a suite now, so we each have our own bedroom.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind changing that arrangement.” Bram shot the guy a dirty look.

“Why, Mr. Baldric. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“Me? Absolutely not. I’m just worried about your … your —”

“Safety? That’s what he’s there for, remember? He’s licensed, bonded. He understands what the boundaries are.”

“Yes, but he’s a man and you’re a very beautiful woman.”

She picked up her wineglass and gazed at him over the rim. “If you’re worried about my virtue, don’t give it another thought. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you can.”

Bram had arrived back at the hotel around six. After showering and changing into something more suitable for the coming evening, he’d rung Marie’s room and invited her downstairs for a drink. He had some time to kill, and he also didn’t want to leave her with the impression that he wasn’t concerned about the threat she’d received yesterday. Beyond that, he had to admit that he was intrigued by her comments about the Buckridge family. Since Sophie seemed to be having some difficulty getting rid of Nathan Buckridge, perhaps Bram could move the ball along by dropping a few unflattering tidbits from Nathan’s past, tidbits to be supplied by Marie Damontraville. If there were no unflattering tidbits, he’d simply have to make some up.

“You never did tell me what caused you to be so frightened yesterday.”

Marie turned her wineglass around in her hand. “Well,” she said, pausing to collect her thoughts, “when I got back from an afternoon interview, there was a note pushed under my door. It was inside a plain white envelope — sweet and to the point. Here,” she said, removing it from her evening bag. “I brought it down so you could read it yourself.”

Slipping on his glasses, he pulled one of the bar candles closer.

Consider this your only warning. Stop your research NOW.

Have you ever seen someone with both their knees shattered, Marie? It’s horribly painful. You can count on being crippled for years — possibly for the rest of your life. Don’t play with fire. I guarantee you will be burned. Just leave quietly and move on to your next victim.

The note was typed and left unsigned.

As he handed it back to her, he said, “I assume you’ve gone to the police. The person who sent it may have been sloppy. There could be fingerprints.”

She took a sip of wine. “I considered it, but for reasons of privacy, I don’t want my name talked about on the evening news. And believe me, that’s what would happen. I’ve got to keep this to myself for now. Rely on my bodyguard to do his job.”

Bram didn’t think that was enough, but it wasn’t his call. “I suppose you know best.”

“I do. But to make my situation work, I need something else. Two things, really. Both involve you.”

“Me?”

She handed him back the note. “If anything happens to me, I want you to take this to the police.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “Sure, but —”

“I’ve received threats before, but never one so graphic. I think that’s why I was so shaken up. Then again, nobody’s ever followed through on a threat, so I feel pretty confident I’ll be okay, especially now that Rafferty’s with me.”

Bram wanted to believe she was right. “Maybe this was just some idiot trying to call your bluff.”

“Exactly.”

“If they’re able to scare you off with a note, they haven’t risked a thing.”

“And I don’t scare easily.”

He studied her a moment. “You’ll be fine, Marie. I’m sure of it.”

She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Thank you for that.”

Bram felt the room grow suddenly warmer. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I do. In more ways than you could ever understand. I just hope I’m not getting you involved in something dangerous. If anything happened to you…”

“What could happen to me?” Then it hit him. “What’s the second part of your request?”

She removed her hand. “When I’m working on a new book, I always keep
Journal Note

s, and I make transcriptions from the taped interviews. I want you to look at the transcriptions, Bram. I want you to tell me if I’m crazy, if I’m reading something into the research that isn’t there. I need an unbiased opinion, someone to help me see if I’ve made a wrong turn in my analysis. I’ll tell you quite honestly, I don’t think my conclusions are faulty. I believe I may be on the verge of uncovering a forty-year-old murder. And if I’m right, my life could very well be in danger. I can’t mail my notes to my editor. I’m not sure I could count on him to keep them confidential, and I don’t want any leaks that might threaten my investigation. This is too hot.” She lowered her dark eyes, then raised them again, meeting his with even greater urgency. “I need someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on. Will you be that person for me? I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ve got no reason to want to get involved in this.”

He was not only flattered, he was mesmerized, not just by her request but also by the woman herself. “Of course I’ll help you.”

“We’ll have to stop meeting publicly. I don’t want anyone in the Buckridge camp to get the idea that we’re anything more than casual acquaintances.”

“All right. But how do we pass the research? And when?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll need to make a copy of it for you first. I have an interview in the morning, then I’ll want to get that transcription done before I give you the packet. Can I call you sometime in the afternoon? Do you have a work number?”

He removed a card from his wallet.

While he was writing his private number down, she continued. “I had an unexpected visitor this afternoon.”

“Oh?” He handed her the card. “Who?”

“Kenneth Merlin, the Buckridge family attorney.”

“Did he look like the knee-breaking sort?”

She smiled. “Not really. He’s their mouthpiece. But given the word, I’m sure he’d be delighted to hire the muscle to do the necessary dirty work.”

“Too smart to get his own hands messy, huh?”

She nodded, finishing her glass of wine. “But he came with a very interesting offer. He said that he’d learned, through certain unnamed channels, what I’d received as an advance for the Buckridge biography.”

“Was the figure accurate?”

“To the penny. Without blinking an eye, he informed me that he’d double it if I stopped my research and gave up any thought of writing the book. He said he’d also pay for any legal fees I might incur in getting out of my contract.”

“I assume we’re talking lots of money here?”

“Lots
of money.”

“And how did you respond?”

“I turned him down.”

Bram grinned. He liked her style.

“That’s when he made a second offer. He said he knew there were such things as foreign sales, book club rights, even TV and movie rights, which he conceded might make me a very wealthy woman. So he offered to double the advance again — on the spot. He took out a checkbook. I thought, Hell, if I just sit tight a while longer, he’d up the ante again.”

“Did he?”

She shook her head. “He told me to think about it. He was only authorized to offer so much, and he’d reached the limit.”

“Which means he isn’t calling the shots.”

“I’m sure Constance is behind everything, but how much power he has within the organization remains to be seen. He said that he’d get back to me in a couple of days, but that I should think long and hard about it before I turned him down.”

“Another threat.”

“This one was far more genteel, but I got the message. He promised me that if I didn’t cooperate, he’d tie the book up in the courts for years. I’d be an old woman before I ever saw a dime of the money coming to me. But then, as he was leaving, I pointed out the sad state of tabloid journalism today. Constance would have to continually worry about leaks. He countered that I was probably right, but that the tabloids could never pay me what he’d just offered. Why settle for macaroni and cheese when I could have champagne and caviar?”

“But you said you didn’t want any leaks.”

“It’s a chess game, Bram. They threaten. I threaten.”

“But if you do find evidence of a murder, you’ll have to turn it over to the police.”

Now she was indignant. “Are you crazy? Not before my book hits the stands. The dead aren’t going anywhere. What I need is for the living to stay out of my way long enough for me to write the damn story. But that means I’ll have to conduct my investigation very carefully from here on out. If my theory’s correct, and even one of the Buckridges gets wind of what I’ve got, they’ll do anything to stop me. And I mean
anything.”

Sophie dropped her car off at the Maxfield’s front entrance, requesting one of the bellmen to park it for her in the hotel’s lot across the street. She didn’t want to waste a second. She only had fifteen minutes between now and seven-thirty, and she had to talk to Nathan first, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else during dinner.

Entering the lobby, she wondered briefly if Bram was upstairs in the apartment getting ready. Sometimes he came down to have a drink at Scotties before dinner. Deciding to peek inside and take a look around, she immediately spotted him at the bar. He was sitting with that Lela Dexter again. They seemed to be deep in conversation, which irked Sophie more than she cared to admit. She assumed that men found Dexter attractive, but to Sophie, all that dark hair combined with those pointy features made her look like the Wicked Witch of the West. Saying a silent prayer that she’d get flattened by a flying house, Sophie headed to her office.