The Big Fix (11 page)

He gave me a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for meeting with Nigel anyway. Now, get out of here. I have a hundred and fifty things to take care of at work before the wedding. And
you
have a shower to orchestrate. If I have to interrupt my schedule to show up for it, it had better be a damn good party.”

*   *   *

My condo was blissfully empty when I returned home. The Doyle sisters, according to a text from Sinead, had gone to haul a load of party decorations to the restaurant, and Brian, according to the note he’d scrawled on a paper towel (he probably forgot to recharge his phone), had gone to the grocery store to restock my sadly empty larder. Huh. That probably meant I was out of Cheetos.

I was debating whether it was too soon to call Jackson and confront him about the gun and his possible affair with Lily-Ann—after all, if he wasn’t the murderer, he could still be recovering from the shock of his wife’s death—when he decided the issue by calling me.

“Ciel? I need your help,” he said without preamble.

My stomach gave a small lurch. “Hey, Jack. Do we need to schedule a repeat performance with the snakes?”

“What? No. Maybe. But not now. Listen, I can’t even think about that now—the movie’s on hold, with Angeli—” His voice broke.

There was an excruciatingly long pause, during which my mind raced to find the right thing to say, finally stumbling upon, “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

Which, I suppose, beat other relevant options like “Did you kill your wife?” or “Were you screwing Lily-Ann and are you setting her up now?” Still, it felt inadequate to the emotion flowing through the phone.

“Thanks,” he said after taking a deep breath. “I appreciate it.”

I cleared my throat. “So, then…”

He took another deep breath. I hoped he wouldn’t hyperventilate, because I had no idea how to handle that long-distance. “Listen, Ciel, I need a favor. Two, actually, and not really favors—I’d pay you for your time. More like an extension of our business arrangement.”

“Shoot,” I said, and immediately winced. Had that really come out of my mouth? “I mean, go ahead. What do you need?”

“I need you to go to Angelica’s funeral for me. I just don’t think I can face”—it sounded like he swallowed another sob—“face the public yet.”

Crap. Crappity, crappity, crap-crap-crap.
If there’s one thing I hate more than weddings, it’s funerals. “Ummm … well, you see, Jack, my brother’s wedding is coming up in a little over a week, and I’m in the wedding party, and there’s so much I have—”

“That’s okay—I don’t know when the coroner will release the body, anyway. I can make sure the service is planned around your schedule.”

“But—”

“Please, Ciel. I need you,” he said, his voice gravelly with suppressed emotion. How could I ignore an appeal like that?

I sighed. “As long as it’s after the wedding, I suppose I could—”

“Thank you, Ciel. You don’t know what this means to me. Angelica’s parents are insisting on making a huge production of it, and I’d never be able to keep up a strong appearance. The fucking paparazzi would have a field day.”

“I understand,” I said. And I did. It must be horrible to have your every public move under such intense scrutiny. “What was the other thing?”

“The Conrads are on their way to D.C. Joe—that’s Joseph Conrad, Angelica’s father—told me it was for a business meeting, but I’m pretty sure it concerns her sister, Lily-Ann. I’m hoping they’re making arrangements to transfer the capital to bail her out of jail, but maybe not. She’s been estranged from her parents for years, and I’m starting to think they might really believe this nonsense about Lily-Ann murdering Angelica.”

My ears perked up at once. “And you don’t?”

“Of course not. Angelica and Lily-Ann were very close, in spite of Lily-Ann’s falling out with their parents. But the Conrads don’t know Angelica kept in contact with her sister—it would have made the family board meetings awkward. Anyway, I’m hoping you might be willing to watch the Conrads and tell me where they go—which banks or lawyers they visit, stuff like that—and most importantly, who they have lunch or dinner with. If they see who I’m hoping they will, I can relax about Lily-Ann.”

He paused, clearing his throat, and sounded less agitated when he began again. “Angelica wouldn’t want her sister sitting in jail. I’d hire a private detective, but frankly I don’t know one I can trust. Too many people are willing to let things leak when celebrities are involved.”

Okay, this was getting weird. Did Jackson have no clue that Lily-Ann suspected
him
? Why was he trying to protect her when she was ready to throw him to the wolves?

I made an executive decision to cut through the bullshit. I couldn’t tell Jackson anything Nigel had told me in confidence, but that didn’t mean I had to keep him in the dark about everything. “Jack, there’s something you should know. I found the gun.”

There was a longish pause. “What gun?” he said. I couldn’t decide if he sounded guarded or genuinely clueless.

“The one you left at my ranch. The one that happens to be the same caliber as the murder weapon.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re implying”—indignation now; not tough to recognize that—“but there’s no way that could possibly be my gun.”

“I don’t know how else it could have found its way to my ranch,” I said. “It’s not like I have a lot of guests there.”

“Ciel, you have to believe me—I don’t know anything about it. If it’s the murder weapon, I don’t know how it got there.” The desperation in his voice was pitch-perfect, but was it real? Jesus. Actors. Who could tell?

“Who besides you has access to your guns?” I asked.

“Angelica.” Well, that was hardly useful.

“No one else? Maid, butler”—did Hollywood stars have butlers?—“other household”—were they called servants anymore, or had I been watching too much
Downton Abbey
?—“um, household help?”

“No. The gun safe is hidden behind a hinged bookcase in our—my—bedroom. I doubt any of the staff even knows it exists. We—Angelica and I—felt that would be best.”

I gave myself a mental head-slap.
Staff.
I should have known that. But never mind. “Think, Jack. Anyone else? Anyone at all?”

“No! Unless … well, Angelica and Lily-Ann used to go to the range together sometimes. I suppose—but no. Lily-Ann wouldn’t be capable of … of…”

I decided to hit him again. “Jack, were you having an affair with Lily-Ann?”

An even longer silence, followed by a deflated sigh.

I took that as an affirmative. “Does Lily-Ann know about my ranch? And what I did for you?”

“Look, I didn’t tell
anyone
about our arrangement, I swear. Just as our contract stipulates. But … I was with Lily-Ann the night before I left for the ranch, to break it off with her. The whole affair was complete idiocy on my part. I should never have given in to … listen, it wasn’t her fault. She wanted a taste of what her sister had—that’s how she put it—and I was stupid enough to think it would be harmless to give it to her. When I left Lily’s place to meet your driver, I was careful to make sure I wasn’t followed, but … oh, hell. No. No, she couldn’t have.”

“Forget how unlikely it is. Is it
possible
?” I pressed.

“I suppose. Technically,” he said, sounding irritated at where my focus lay. “Listen, you
have
to watch the Conrads for me. I need to know if they’re going to post bail for Lily-Ann. I’d do it myself, but if the press got wind of it, it might look like…”

Like exactly what it is?
I thought wryly.

*   *   *

I wasn’t sure why I agreed to do it. Jackson sounded not-guilty enough to me, which ought to be enough to let my conscience off the hook. But something still niggled at me. Nigel—and Thomas—seemed to buy Lily-Ann’s story. I couldn’t let it go yet.

I sighed.
Bye-bye, shower brownie points.

The lobby of the Jefferson, a luxury boutique hotel in downtown D.C., was a nice place to hang out while waiting for Joseph and Elizabeth Conrad to make an appearance. Bright and cheerful, it was busy enough that I could blend in without attracting too much attention, especially with a judicious application of my ability.

I’d changed auras four times already, so the staff wouldn’t get suspicious about the same person sitting in the lobby for so long. Having taken the precaution of wearing nondescript clothing—nothing that would etch itself into the average observer’s awareness—I only had to switch flashy accessories with each new aura in order to cement the appearance of being a completely different person. I used female auras—different ages and hair colors, but of similar size, so my clothes would fit—and an assortment of bright scarves, chunky jewelry, and prescription-free glasses, which I kept in a plain, small bag tucked beside my chair. A nearby potted plant was tall enough to provide the necessary cover for quick changes when no one was looking. Jane Bond, at your service.

The Conrads had arrived late the night before, and hadn’t settled into the hotel until after eleven, which I knew because I’d watched them check in. Assuming they wouldn’t be handling any business at that time of day, I’d gone home and grabbed a few hours’ sleep, but I was back by seven a.m., in case the they proved to be obnoxiously early risers. Pushing noon there was still no sign of them. I suppressed a yawn. Sheesh, the things I do for my clients.

I recognized the Conrads at once when they exited the elevator—their images had, of course, been splashed all over the news along with Angelica’s and Jackson’s. Joseph—Joe—was short, bald, and stocky, but not to the point of stoutness. Elizabeth was dark-haired, tall, and expensively thin. Both were well dressed, but in an understated fashion. More burnished gleam than flash.

Not looking directly at them, I put my unread magazine back into my bag and casually left the hotel right ahead of them. (Clever, huh? No one would suspect the person in front of them was following them.) Once outside, I dug into my pocket for my cell phone and pretended to text someone while waiting for the Conrads to pass me. When they got into a limo, I hopped into the nearest taxi. And, yes, I said, “Follow that car!” Got an eye roll from the driver, but he snapped to when I waved a bunch of twenties in his face.

Many hours, several cab rides, and a hundred-dollar bribe to a bored restaurant hostess later, I was sitting at a table inside a pricy French bistro in the Upper Northwest part of town, next to Joe and Elizabeth’s booth, wondering if Jackson would be able—or inclined—to reimburse me for my expenses if he wound up behind bars.

The Conrads had visited the Smithsonian (Elizabeth had seemed fascinated with the gem collection at the Museum of Natural History, while Joe was more taken by the exhibits at the Air and Space Museum), a bakery (for which my stomach was eternally grateful), and the Capitol building (where they took a tour). The day struck me as oddly touristy for freshly grieving parents. Over the course of the afternoon I hadn’t seen them communicate with anyone other than each other, and even that was the bare minimum.

I’d been growing less patient as the hours passed. Tracking down restrooms and peeing at warp speed so I wouldn’t risk losing my quarry while on a call of nature was getting really old. Not only that, but the shower was due to start in less than an hour, and I still hadn’t found out anything that could be considered significant.

Damn it. If I left now, the whole day would have been a great big waste of time. But if I didn’t get to the shower, my mother would kill me. Or worse, sic her pal the Big Guy Upstairs on me. I started to gather my belongings.

A man in a dark business suit, his gray hair and mustache impeccably groomed, approached the Conrads’ table. He smiled tightly at both of them as he sat. “You have the certificates?” he said.

Bingo.
I settled back onto my chair and sent Billy a rapid-fire text that started out “I need a huge favor” and ended up “I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

Then I laid the phone on the table next to my plate. With a few taps of my finger, I set it to record a video. I’d wind up with a movie of the ceiling fan above me, but with a little luck, I’d also have intelligible audio of the highly interesting conversation starting to unfold next to me.

Chapter 11

“Are Sinead and Siobhan mad at me?” I asked Billy as I helped him change out of my clothes and back into his own.

We were in my office, on the third floor of Thomas’s building in downtown D.C. The shower was reaching a crescendo in the party room of the restaurant on the bottom floor, and, to the best of everyone’s knowledge (well, everyone except Billy), I had been there all along, and was currently taking a bathroom break.

“Nope, not at all. They’re quite pleased to have you owe them a future favor of the unspecified sort.”

“Should I be scared?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t be too horrendous. What you should be afraid of is the favor you now owe
me,
” he said, and paused to nibble my neck.

“Oooh,” I said with a shiver. “Scare me again.”

“Later,” he promised, and resumed dressing.

I’d sworn I would explain everything to him, along with Mark, after the shower. I really didn’t want to go over everything twice.

“Why’d you have to pick this one?” I said, putting on the dress he’d been wearing as me. “And, come on, heels?” I knew I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but ugh.

“I happen to like you in that dress. It’s short.”

“It’s too low cut.” Not to mention clingy. I’d bought it for a party back in college, egged on by my roommate.

“Funny, that’s what your mom said, too. That’s why she gave me this.” He handed me the lightweight, lacy jacket I recognized as one of Mom’s favorites.

“She just happened to have it with her?”

“She was wearing it herself, but said you needed it more than she did.”

I slipped the jacket on and let Billy pin it closed at the neck with the accompanying cameo brooch. When he was done, I reached up and pulled his head down to kiss him. “Seriously, Billy. Thank you for this. You’re the best boyfriend ever. Even if you do still flirt with other girls.”