He gestured to the bar. “It’s rude to take a second glass free when nobody has offered.”
Isobel cupped her wine protectively. “I’m paying for this one, don’t worry.”
“Perhaps you are an idiota, then,” Carlo said, his eyes twinkling. “All you needed to do was ask. Serving you is my pleasure.”
Isobel was not in the mood to banter with Carlo, but it was hard to turn down a free drink. She dropped her phone in her lap. “Well, thank you then. I accept.”
“But perhaps you will give me some information in return?”
Isobel sighed. “No such thing as a free drink, I guess.”
Carlo gave a disingenuous shrug. “I do not ask for much.”
“Fine. What?”
Carlo perched on the stool next to Isobel and ran a hand over his slick, black hair. “The handsome dark stranger you say Delphi does not love. They are over, yes? I have not seen him here in a long time.”
Isobel tried not to snort wine as she suppressed a laugh. He was referring to their friend Sunil Kapany, possessor of a gorgeous tenor voice and as-yet-unrequited romantic feelings for Delphi. Isobel, offended by Carlo’s obviously insincere attentions to her roommate, had planted the idea that Delphi was dating Sunil. Delphi, annoyed at Isobel for meddling, had done her best to disabuse Carlo of the notion, but the seed of jealousy was too far beneath the soil to be extracted. Isobel was still atoning by doing her best to undo the damage.
“I’ve told you, Delphi and Sunil are just friends. He’s out of town doing a show. That’s why you haven’t seen him.”
“Good Lord, are you still harping on Sunil?” Delphi said from behind Carlo.
Startled, he whirled around, and Isobel gave a smug smile. “See why sneaking up on someone is a bad idea? Karma.”
“You know my passionate Italian temperament runs to jealousy,” Carlo said, flashing Isobel a dirty look.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Delphi said. “Be jealous all you like. Sunil and I are just friends. Like Isobel said.”
Carlo muttered under his breath in Italian and glided across the restaurant to greet a party of four that had just entered.
“I didn’t tell him my latest theory about you and Sunil,” Isobel said.
“Don’t tell me either,” Delphi retorted.
Isobel retrieved her phone and connected to the internet. “Sorry. I was annoyed because he interrupted me just as I was about to look up…”
“Look up what? I hate when you don’t finish your sentences.”
“Angelina Rivington,” Isobel read aloud. “President of Rivington Properties.”
“His realtor?”
“I don’t think so. It looks like she runs a commercial real estate company in New Jersey.” Isobel glanced up. “I wonder what they were to each other that he would leave her a third of his estate.”
Delphi pulled a wad of bills from her apron and began to count her tips. “Maybe they were close friends. Does it really matter?”
“And why didn’t she show up for his celebration?”
“Shit happens. I’m sure there are real estate investment emergencies. Or maybe she had a sick kid.”
“It’s just that she’s in a unique position, if you think about it. Close enough to the judge that she benefits from his death. Supposed to be there, but wasn’t. Or,” Isobel added meaningfully, “there, but nobody saw her.”
Delphi leaned over to get a better look. “Is there a photo?”
Isobel clicked on a link, bringing up a headshot of an angularly attractive woman with jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun. She was smiling, but Isobel sensed that the expression took some effort.
“Look familiar?” Delphi asked.
“Not to me. You?”
Delphi shook her head. “Think you’d have noticed her watching our rehearsal?”
Isobel scrutinized the photo. Angelina Rivington was certainly striking. “Yeah, probably. She’d be hard to miss.”
Delphi folded her bills neatly. “Did you ever think that maybe the judge wasn’t the intended target?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? We’ve established that he’s the sort of person who made enemies. It’s not like he’s some kindly old gent who got caught in the crossfire.”
Delphi shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinking more about the shot. What if it was good—but not that good?”
“We don’t know anything about any of the others that suggests it should have been one of them.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not possible,” Delphi said.
“Here’s something else that’s possible.” Isobel pocketed her phone and hopped off the barstool. “You didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it. But someone in our little murder mystery skit might be an actual murderer.”
THIRTEEN
Sarah was in court the next day, so Isobel ducked out of the office early and met Percival for a late afternoon treat at Pinkberry on Broadway and 112th Street. They ordered mediums with assorted toppings and settled in a corner by the window.
Isobel watched in amusement as her brother stole a bite of her salted caramel. “I find it comforting when you act your age.”
He gestured with his spoon. “I know when I’m being bought. So what’s up?”
“I wanted to run some ideas past you about the other night.”
He laughed. “I figured that was it. You’re so transparent. It might cost you some extra toppings, though.”
Isobel gazed at the turquoise and lime-green frozen yogurt containers in the lighted display. “I keep coming back to the actors. We all knew when the shot was going to be fired. In terms of understanding the setup and the way the evening was going to go, we’re prime suspects.”
“The one guy who ran off. You think it was him?”
“Andrew. He seems the most likely, but also in a way the least likely. I mean, he was so out of it, I don’t even think he knew who the party was for. But it is odd that he ran off. It’s also odd that Peter didn’t mention it.”
“What about Peter, then? It’s his show, so he’s pulling all the strings.”
Isobel waited a moment for her mouth to unfreeze. “He actually told Delphi to delay her line to land the joke. It was in that split second that the real shot was fired.”
“As if he were trying to protect her?”
“Exactly. Then there was his crazy preshow announcement,” Isobel said. “I mean, Detective Vitelli was right. That’s just nuts in this day and age of random public shootings.”
“I can see why Peter does it, though. You wouldn’t want people to panic and do something stupid.” Percival popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Still, it is a good cover. Peter made the announcement, so if he was the one waving a gun around, people might not even register it.”
“But the police confirmed that the bullet couldn’t have come from one of the derringers.”
“Could he have had another gun with him?”
“They searched him, so if he did, he must have stashed it somewhere.” Isobel took a bite of her yogurt.
“Don’t you think it’s a bizarre coincidence that he happens to be a criminal attorney in his spare time?” Percival asked.
“Yes, but he said he didn’t know Harrison.”
“He said.”
“I also asked Jemma if she knew him, and she claimed she didn’t. But she had the perfect opportunity. With the guests watching Delphi and me in the middle of the room, Jemma could have crept back in behind the tables, along the wall.”
“Is that everyone?”
“There’s one other guy, Tony. He was sweating like a thoroughbred the whole night.”
“Nerves?”
“I’d say yes, except that when I went to his apartment to give him his check, he had the AC blasting and he was still sweating through his shirt.”
Percival scraped the last of his frozen yogurt and licked it off his spoon. “Maybe you made him nervous.”
“We were just chatting.”
“About the m
urder?”
“Well, yes, but it doesn’t seem to take much for him to start dripping.”
“A glandular problem can hide a multitude of sins.” Percival eyed Isobel’s frozen yogurt, which she’d hardly touched.
“Finish it.” She pushed her cup toward him. “I don’t know, I just can’t imagine round, sweaty Tony having the sangfroid to commit murder at all, let alone hold a trigger finger steady in a room crowded with potential witnesses. Except…”
Percival looked up expectantly. “What?”
“He was seated at a table almost directly behind the judge. He wouldn’t have had to move far to get to the wall and take aim without anyone noticing. He might even have had a direct line from his chair if he held the gun under the table.”
“And how does he know the judge?”
Isobel tore her napkin in half and then in quarters. “That’s just it. How do any of them?”
Percival shrugged. “Depends who they are when they’re not working.”
She gathered the pieces of shredded napkin into a little pile. “Funny, that’s what Detective Vitelli said. Something about everyone being somebody off the job. Look at Peter.”
“Yeah. Basically, right now all any of them have is opportunity. You’d still need to establish a connection to the judge and access to a weapon. What about the others at the judge’s table?”
“I found out who the empty seat was for. Her name is Angelina Rivington, and she gets a third of Harrison’s estate at his death.”
“There you go! Was she a mistress? Ex-wife?”
“She runs a real estate company. That’s all I know.”
Percival finished off the last of Isobel’s salted caramel and pushed the cup away. “She could be a relation.”
“The cousin you leave stuff to because there isn’t anyone else?”
“Sure.”
Isobel stacked their empty yogurt cups and tucked the shreds of napkin inside. “This guy doesn’t strike me as the kind to leave money to some random family member out of a sense of duty.”
“Who says it’s a sense of duty? Maybe they were close.” Percival tapped a beat on the table with his spoon. “Let me play around a bit online and see if I can establish a connection.”
Isobel brightened. “That would be great.”
“Give me the other actors’ names. I’ll search them, too.”
Ignoring a tug of disloyalty, Isobel rattled them off, and he scribbled them on his napkin, which was still intact. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she answered it.
“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Hugh’s charming British accent made Isobel smile.
“No, just hanging with my brother.”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
“I think so. What did you have in mind?” Isobel instinctively turned away from Percival.
“I’m playing a jazz gig downtown. It’s a really good band that I sit in with sometimes. I thought you might like to come, maybe bring a friend or two. I always get a few comp covers.”
“That sounds great.”
“I’ll send you the details.”
Isobel regarded her phone for a moment after hanging up, then decided now was as good a time as any.
“Hugh’s playing a jazz gig tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
“Absobloominlutely! How could I pass up a chance to meet Lord Tiddly-Widdly-Wumpkins?”
Isobel kicked him under the table. “I take it back. You are not invited.”
“I’ll behave, I promise,” Percival defended himself, laughing.
Isobel shook a warning finger at him. “No Knights Who Say Ni.”
“I promise! Hey, is it okay if I bring a friend?”
“Not James.”
Percival blinked. “What?”
“Isn’t that—I don’t know why I thought you were going to say…” Isobel turned pink.
Percival gave her a shrewd look. “James is your friend, not mine. And that isn’t who I had in mind.”
Isobel waved her hands vaguely near her face. “Yeah, sure. Bring someone. I’ll see if Delphi wants to come, too.”
Percival peered more closely at her. “Iz…”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
Isobel opened her mouth to press him but changed her mind. If he was going to say something else about James, she didn’t want to hear it.
FOURTEEN
James Cooke felt a shiver across the back of his neck when he heard his name. He looked up from his Introduction to Law and Society notes to see who had spoken, but a quick pan of the library yielded no familiar faces. He knew what his grandmother in Georgia would say: either someone was talking about him or walking over his grave. He’d never given much credence to superstition, so he was inclined to favor the former theory, especially since, in this case, he was pretty sure he’d heard a voice. And it had sounded like Isobel.
“Impossible,” he said aloud.
“Shhh!” A young woman with a teal dip dye and hipster glasses glared at him.
On the other hand, if the voice was Isobel’s, she probably was walking—no, dancing—on his grave. He slammed his textbook shut harder than he intended and pushed it away. The hipster scowled but didn’t look up. It irked him to be shushed by a girl easily ten years younger than he was, but mainly he was annoyed with himself for being a decade behind his peers. Every day, he had to pull himself back from the brink of self-loathing and remind himself that he was, after a long delay, finally on the path to pursuing the law career he’d always wanted. One day at a time, just like they said in AA. Words to live by.
He was also making an effort to push Isobel from his mind every time her expressive eyes and perky ponytail threatened to intrude. It helped that any image of her invariably included that scrawny pianist. James flipped open his book again. After reading the same paragraph three times without absorbing so much as a pronoun, he stuffed the book into his backpack and left the library. He lingered in the lobby, distracted by the smell of chlorine from the school swimming pool on the level below. He’d put in a good day’s studying, and a round of laps would be a nice treat, but if he left now, he could catch an AA meeting.
He walked over on 58th Street to Columbus Circle and hopped on the 1 train. It was drizzling by the time he emerged at 116th Street, and he picked up his pace to cross Broadway. But when the light changed, he was forced to stop on the island in the middle of the busy two-way thoroughfare. A familiar lanky figure crossed the side street and turned to wait on the opposite corner. Percival Spice waved at him and nudged his companion, obscured under a large umbrella. James knew it was Isobel even before she raised the umbrella to look at him. Instinctively, he began to retrace his steps, which he knew would be interpreted, correctly, as a deliberate attempt to avoid her. He was trapped. He turned around and, for once, wished the streetlight timer would count down more slowly.
When the light changed, they waited for him to cross to their side. Of course, the sidewalk was the place for a conversation, not the island in the middle of Broadway. Although as he dragged his feet in their direction, it occurred to him that making them cross to him might have put a period on what was, knowing Isobel, likely to be a long and circuitous conversation.
“Hey,” he said.
“James.” The quiet way she said his name was both comforting and unsettling.
“Good to see you,” Percival said cheerily. He alone seemed pleased by their chance encounter, as if he had somehow engineered it.
That was ridiculous, James thought. He didn’t even know he was going to come uptown for the meeting. He almost hadn’t. No, it was because he’d been thinking about her. Had imagined hearing her voice.
“How’s school?” Isobel’s voice broke through his thoughts, for real this time.
“Good. Yeah. You still working for that lawyer I set you up with?”
“Sarah Hollister.” Isobel nodded. “I like her. It’s a nice setup.”
“No dead bodies?” He had intended
the question rhetorically, but he felt his stomach clench when she didn’t answer right away. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“It wasn’t on the job,” Isobel said quickly. “I mean it was—but it was an acting job. Nothing to do with Sarah or Temp Zone. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate—it turns out it does have something to do with Sarah. You see, she represented the ex-wife of the dead guy in their divorce—”
“Stop!” James wiped the rain from his face. “I don’t know how you do it. I’ve never met anybody who attracts death the way you do.”
Tears sprang to Isobel’s eyes. “That’s a horrible thing to say. It’s not like I do it on purpose.”
“That came out wrong. I’m sorry.” James turned to Percival, who was watching their exchange helplessly. “You know what I’m saying?”
Percival glanced sideways at Isobel. “Well, anecdotally, you have a point, although statistically, the results would seem to be random.”
“Just tell me you’re not playing detective again,” James said.
Isobel sniffed. “Come on, James, you know me better than that.”
He pulled his jacket closed. “Well, you better have an exit plan this time that doesn’t include me.”
Isobel glowered at him. “Nice to know you have so much faith in me.”
“I do,” he said grimly. “That’s the problem. But last time, you almost got killed. So I’m just saying, if you need backup, I’m not it.”
The rain pattered harder on Isobel’s umbrella. James wanted to pull his from his backpack, but he was afraid doing so would send the message that he was settling in for a chat.
“That’s okay,” Isobel said icily. “I have other people I can call on in a pinch.”
“You still seeing that pianist?” James hated himself for asking, but he couldn’t help it.
“Yes, I am,” she said curtly.
“You think he’s man enough to knock heads together for you?”
“That’s my job,” Percival joked.
James shook his head. “I’m serious, you two. Let the professionals do their jobs.
Isobel’s fingers tightened around her umbrella. “Oh, because they did so well the last two times?”
And Justice for Some Page 8
