by Dana Moss
Then her other phone rang. She turned away from the mirror and spoke in hushed tones now. It sounded as if she might have been trying to calm someone down. Taffy leaned in closer to the mirror, as if she were nearsighted, and she tilted her ear toward Veronica to try to hear snippets of what she was saying.
“It’ll turn—fine. Stop worry—Just—what we talked about—doesn’t know anything. Perfect—baby…”
Partway through the conversation, Veronica’s other phone vibrated again. “Hold on, sweetie,” she said into one phone as she picked up the other.
‘Sweetie’? Who could that be? But she was talking to someone else now. Taffy double-checked that her necklace clasp was in the right position.
“I told you to relax, Vladimir,” she said coolly, almost seductively. “Tony will take care of it. Don’t you worry…” This call didn’t upset her as much as the first. “Yes, Dimitri is here. Whitman vetted him. You can trust me… Yes, just wait for my call.”
She slipped Vlad back into her purse and returned her attention to the other phone. She must have been getting an earful. “It was no one—not what you think—a business associate…” Hushed tones again. “Why are you upset? Calm down. Just do what you have to do.” Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. Taffy heard the word “plant” and “evidence.” She heard more terms of endearment and—jackpot!—the name Lorne. Yes! And “honey.” She knew it! They were linked. Lorne had been lying all along.
Then, a little more loudly and with some frustration, Veronica said, “We’ll burn the boat if we have to.” She was facing the wall now, with her hand holding her phone in a way that obscured her face from Taffy’s mirror view. But Taffy had finally heard what she’d suspected all along. She heard a few more snatches of conversation: “Russia will pay….” And “we’ll be together soon.” And the word baby again, but that might have been another term of endearment. Then Veronica sighed heavily and turned back to the mirror.
She dropped the second phone back into her purse. When she looked up, she caught Taffy watching her. Unfortunately, she’d been staring, gloating really, imagining Veronica and Lorne behind bars. And now that she’d been caught, her cheeks started to turn pink.
Veronica narrowed her gaze. “Do I know you?” she said to Taffy’s reflection as she retrieved her lipstick tube. Her fingers shook slightly as she applied a crimson streak.
“Um, I’m friends with the Khiels.” This probably wouldn’t mean anything to her, but the insinuation that it should might keep her from asking more questions. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
“So you live in New York?”
Taffy nodded, her blush deepening as Veronica scrutinized her. “Some of the time. When I’m not in… uh, Europe.” She tucked her purse under her arm, feeling anxious to get out of the ladies room.
Veronica nodded slowly. “I just have this feeling I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?”
Taffy stared blankly and then remarked, “You know, you don’t often see people with two phones.”
Veronica’s jaw clenched. This seemed to have the desired effect of putting an end to her inquiries. She pursed her lips and snapped her clutch shut.
“I like to keep business and personal life separate,” she said. “I highly recommend it.”
She gave herself one last glance in the mirror and used both hands to boost her boobs a little higher. “Enjoy the second half,” she said. As she turned to leave, the lights started flickering. Was intermission over already?
The lobby! Taffy had to get to the lobby to meet Ethan. She pushed against the tide of people streaming back into the theater.
But the lobby was nearly empty when she got there. Had she made him wait too long, or had he just ignored her message? She headed back upstairs, checking her phone as she went and sending another apologetic message to Ethan.
She nearly bumped into an usher when she reached the landing. “Excuse me, where’s Box 5?”
“The doors are closed now, Miss.”
“What?” She looked around. The mezzanine had emptied completely.
“The second act has begun. You can’t go in now. I’m sorry. In about fifteen minutes there’s a scene change. I can let you back in then.”
Uh-oh. Luke would not be impressed. Nor would his mother. Taffy bit her lip. She sent Luke a text, but she didn’t know if he’d check his phone while the show was in progress. Too many eyes on the boxes. And people would notice the empty seat beside him. It bothered her that she still cared about what other people thought.
She sat down on the red carpeted step and assessed her situation: Flailing and failing socialite-turned-PI assistant left clueless, exiled, and sitting on her butt having botched not one but two relationships in the span of one intermission.
But the evening hadn’t been a total loss. She’d also had managed to collect some information about Veronica.
As Mitch had suspected, she had a lot of Russian contacts in New York who seemed interested in buying real estate or art, and she’d even heard mention of adoption. And someone named Tony took care of certain things. It all fit with Mitch’s suspicions of money laundering through real estate investments. Especially if good old Tony happened to run a “laundry” service. But was it enough? Like Maria, he’d want proof.
Then Taffy had a brilliant idea. She hauled herself up, headed outside, and hailed a cab back to Nana’s.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
In the cab, Taffy almost called Maria to tell her she’d overheard Veronica talking to Lorne, but no doubt Maria would grill her about what she was doing—how she’d even found out—and she’d have to admit to lying about Nana and tell the truth about Mitch, and as Ethan had pointed out earlier, Mitch’s secrets weren’t Taffy’s to tell. And what if the chief answered again? That could get Maria into more trouble. So she’d have to wait until she’d given Mitch what he needed, and then she’d fly back to Oregon and help Maria get Lorne behind bars.
It made sense to Taffy now. Veronica wanted her insurance money and her inheritance. She’d talked Lorne into doing the dirty deed for her, and, when something had gone wrong, he’d tried to frame Macy for it. Taffy tapped her chin. Had she gathered all the pieces to the puzzle? It was always easier to sort things through with Maria.
The cab pulled up in front of Nana’s building. “Wait here, please.”
She dashed past the doorman and into the private elevator.
Nana was obviously surprised to see her. She jumped off the sofa when Taffy walked in.
“Don’t mind me,” Taffy said. “Hello, Mr. Mitchell.” He raised his crystal scotch glass to her in greeting.
Nana held her glass in one hand and tapped the side of her slightly disheveled coiffed hair with the other. “How was the opera?” And then she looked at the time. “But what happened? It’s not over yet, is it?”
“I forgot something.” Taffy headed for her closet.
Nana followed. “Your manners by any chance? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date with Luke Khiels?”
“It’s not a date.”
“Then why is Agnes Khiels calling me?”
“About what?” Taffy tossed things here and there looking for what she needed.
“She asked me to keep the third week of next July open. She wants to book the Plaza now.”
“What?! She called you from the opera?” Taffy groaned. “That woman!”
Nana’s eyes glinted, and then she grinned. “This wouldn’t be the first time Agnes had turned out to be wrong.”
Taffy found what she was looking for.
“Ignore her. Luke’s got the wrong end of the stick.”
Taffy headed back to the elevator with Nana in her wake.
“Yes, because I’d been wondering since Ethan said—”
Taffy spun around. “Ethan? You talked to him? When?”
“He called this evening.”
Taffy slapped her forehead. “You told him I was with Luke?”
“Actually, I said I didn’t know
where you were. I know what it’s like to be trying to decide between two types of men. And I can see it’s a difficult choice, but I trust that you know what you need and you’ll make the best decision you can.”
“Do I? Will I? I’m not so sure” Taffy reached for Nana’s highball and downed the contents. They made her throat burn. She put the empty glass back in Nana’s hand.
“If you hear from Ethan again, tell him we need to talk.”
Nana nodded and looked at her empty glass.
The elevator doors opened. “I’ve got a cab waiting downstairs. I’ll see you later.”
* * *
By the time the cab dropped Taffy back in front of the opera, there was about a half an hour left of the show.
She’d still had no word from Ethan, and maybe she couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t really like him to not give her a chance to explain, but maybe he’d grown tired of her explanations and doing everything her own way. It wasn’t always the best way, but it was the only way she knew how to do things. She wished she could change, but how? She had no idea where he was now. She’d texted Mitch from the cab, but he hadn’t known Ethan’s whereabouts either. Mitch had been speechless when Taffy had told him he’d shown up at the opera all decked out. And cleanly shaven. Maybe he’d gone back to Oregon by now. There was a late-night flight… Maybe that’s why he wasn’t replying? She sighed. She had no choice but to try to repair that bridge later. If she could.
For now, she could at least apologize to Luke. She’d say she’d started feeling sick after going to the ladies’ room, which was sort of true, and missed the call to return to the seats in time, and so she’d just waited in the lobby until it was over and she could rejoin him, which was mostly true, except for her quick return to Nana’s. She would give him the right end of the stick, too, if he hadn’t figured it out already. And she would finish what she came here to do: get proof of Veronica’s dirty deeds for Mitch.
Taffy followed the red carpet around the fountain and up to the main doors, but when she pulled on the handle, it was locked. She rattled it, but the doorman wouldn’t let her back in. He shrugged his regrets while speaking through a narrow crack in the door.
“Sorry, Miss. No ticket, no entrance.”
“But my date has the ticket stubs. He’s inside!”
“You need your ticket to get in, Miss.”
“But look at how I’m dressed.”
“Lots of people try to fake their way into these special events.”
“Don’t you have a list or something?”
He stuck his nose through the crack. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, your cheap champagne, buster. For the cost of those tickets it should have at least been real.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Maurice, we might have to call security.”
“Aren’t you the security? Hey, Maurice, tell this wet blanket to let me in!”
He locked the door on her then, mouthing the words “Go home. If you have one.”
The nerve! Only in New York… She would register one massive complaint to the Met board tomorrow.
She stepped back, stumbling slightly. Darn heels. Darn doorman. She may have had something to drink, but she certainly hadn’t had enough. She high-heeled her way across the plaza to the nearest bar. One more glass of… something, anything, and then she’d lie in wait until the opera let out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
From her temporary perch at the cocktail bar, Taffy could see the slide show start to play along the building facade again. At the same time, the fountain colors began to change. This must be the sign that the opera was about to let out. Taffy gulped back the remains of her second vodka soda and paid her tab. She teetered slightly as she walked purposefully, if crookedly, back to the front doors, which were propped open now to allow the guests to exit. Perfect.
She was able to slip in between the early departing guests, going against the tide, without Maurice or the other doorman dude seeing her. She waited for Veronica. And for Luke.
She saw Luke first. He, too, seemed to be looking for her. He had a frown on his face, and when he finally saw her, his jaw clenched. He came down the stairs with his mother and her friends. While Taffy waited, she hiccuped once. She shouldn’t have had that second vodka.
She explained as best she could to Luke. His mother stood off to the side eavesdropping on what she probably interpreted as their first little tiff. Luke was expressing his disappointment, and his expectation for Taffy to try a little harder, but when Veronica and her entourage passed by, Taffy cut him off with a quick “Sorry, gotta go.”
She joined the stream of people behind the Russian businessmen and wedged up closer as they passed through the doors and down the portico steps.
“I’m famished,” said one of the men as he slipped on his coat. Veronica carried her little black clutch in her left hand. Her light fur wrap draped over her right arm. This allowed her gown and back to be admired a little longer. Walking behind her, Taffy saw that smudge of a mark partially hidden by the waistline of her gown. The jeweled pin in her hair glinted. They were through the doors now and about to go down the steps toward the fountain and the waiting limos. For her plan to work, Taffy would have to do something quickly, before they drove away.
She spoke up, “Veronica?”
She turned to see who had spoken.
“I’m sorry about the loss of your husband,” Taffy said.
Veronica looked confused and slightly embarrassed, so did her company. One of the men—Sergei?—laid a strong, steadying hand on her arm. He said to Taffy, “Who are you?”
Veronica also searched Taffy’s face for recognition.
“We met in the restroom,” Taffy explained. “You were talking to your lover on the phone.”
Sergei growled. Veronica’s eyes flashed. “Who do you think you are?”
Taffy took a step closer to Veronica, close enough to smell her perfume, and her sweat.
Quietly, Taffy said, “I’m the one who’s going to make sure you go to jail for killing your husband.” She glanced at the men, who looked both angry and unexpectedly afraid.
Veronica glared. “I was nowhere near him the night he died.”
“It might not have been your hand, but I think it was your plan, and you’re going to pay for it.”
“You’re insane!” She glanced around. “This wannabe is harassing me.”
Someone bumped Taffy from behind. Sergei must have misinterpreted it as an attack. He shoved Veronica to the side, and his arm slipped into his jacket to retrieve something. Taffy’s heart raced. Would have brought a gun to the opera? Would he use it on Taffy? In this crowd?
Taffy jerked to get away and knocked into someone else who yelled at her. She wobbled on the top step, was about to topple, and reached out for stability. Her hand landed on something soft and warm—Veronica’s draped fur wrap—but it did nothing to stabilize her. So she grabbed at Veronica this time and took her down a step with her, and before she knew it they were both in a heap, tiny crystal beads raining onto the cement stairs around them.
“You—!” Taffy couldn’t believe Veronica’s language. She cried out, “My dress!”
Taffy had heard a tear in hers, too.
While they were down, Taffy said, “You’re not going to get away with any of it. Not the murder, illegal adoption, or money laundering.”
“You crazy—!”
Sergei lifted Veronica to her feet quickly. Taffy grabbed on to her dress. Veronica squealed. “You stay away from me, or I’ll be sending your skinny ass down to the precinct for assault. Capisce?” Her dress was all askew, her bare bottom nearly totally exposed, with a dark circle of a tattoo on view for all to see. She cried out as she hid behind one of her big Russian men to fix herself.
Taffy had to scramble to her feet without assistance, and she was still on her knees when Luke and his mother walked by a short distance away, their mouths agape.
“Taffy?” Luke stepped forw
ard, as if to help her up, but she’d managed awkwardly to get up on her own, and she ignored him and pointed to Veronica.
“I know you’re guilty, and I’m going to prove it.”
Veronica barked out a small, derisive laugh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She turned to her companions. “Get this clumsy idiot out of here.”
Sergei handed Veronica her purse and jacket. Taffy sidestepped as Sergei reached for her. “Don’t touch me.”
By now the doorman and his friend Maurice had been summoned. “Not you again.” He sneered at her.
“Wait, Sergei,” Veronica said. “I’ve changed my mind. I want the police.”
Maurice pulled out his phone. Taffy didn’t have time to get tangled up with the police tonight. She tucked her purse under her arm and dove deeper into the crowd, out of reach and out of sight.
She thought she heard Luke calling her name, but she didn’t turn back.
* * *
Taffy had slipped down a nearby alley and had waited until the plaza in front of the opera had nearly emptied, until all the limos had driven away, and only then had she stumbled out from under of the eaves of the random back entrance doorway that had sheltered her.
She’d cracked her high heel during her tussle with Veronica, and so she stood slightly tilted as she waited on the corner trying to hail a cab. But it was the worst time of night to try to find one, and the occupied yellow vehicles sped by her as if she didn’t exist. So she started walking. Or rather hobbling.
When she came to a subway stop, she descended to wait for a train. Standing on the platform, she fingered through the small black clutch she carried—Veronica’s Dior. Smiling, she pulled out one of the sleek black phones she had eyed in the ladies’ room.
“Gotcha,” she said.
Digging around some more, she withdrew a few twenties from the inner pocket. She handed the bills to a one-legged man playing the harmonica. He bowed gratefully.
She sat down on a bench and pawed through the purse some more. It actually seemed to be a knockoff and not a real Dior. She felt a minor pang of regret at having sacrificed her authentic one to get Veronica’s fake. But it was a small price to pay for the truth, and Taffy was sure that’s what she’d discover when she tracked down Veronica’s most recent calls. Mitch would have a way to unlock the pass codes. At the bottom of the purse, under a gum packet, she discovered a small notebook. It contained several addresses, whose zip codes, if she wasn’t mistaken, corresponded to the Lower East Side. She’d check those out tomorrow. Or Mitch would.
