“I understand your frustration.” She extended her arm to include Mr. Marino. “Now if you’ll both follow me…”
“That’s more like it,” growled Marino.
Knees trembling, she led the men to a table for two by the window.
“Is this for me or him?” Marino asked, confused.
Isobel smiled broadly. “Both of you. Temporarily,” she added hastily, when she saw expressions of mutual disgust cross their faces. “Look, I don’t make the rules,” she whispered. “This is the best I can do.” She pointed to another two-top nearby. “I’ll keep that one free as long as I can, and as soon as one of your companions arrives, I’ll split you up. Sound good?”
Marino glared at her. “Marino, party of three!”
“I can pull up an extra chair, and if there’s a larger table available when your friends arrive, I’ll move you there.” She held out the menus like a peace offering. “At least you can start your meal in the meantime.”
“This is ridiculous!” Lang sputtered. “I have no desire to be seated with anybody but my chosen dinner companion.” He raised a finger and gestured imperiously over Isobel’s head. She could practically feel the heat of Carlo’s anger as he sidled up behind her.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked stiffly.
“Gordon—there you are!”
Isobel fought an avalanche of simultaneous thoughts at the sight of Bethany Balsam striding across the room. Why were she and Gordon Lang dining together? Why shouldn’t they dine together? Gordon not recognizing her was one thing—men, she found, were surprisingly bad at remembering female faces—but she was sure Bethany would have no such difficulty. Maybe not at first, but if Isobel remained in close proximity for too long, she ran the risk of being recognized.
“Here is your table,” Isobel said, pulling out a chair for Bethany, who sat without even a glance at Isobel. Lang directed a stern look at her, but she held his gaze impassively, and he finally drew out his own chair. She handed them menus, keeping her face averted.
“Now, Mr. Marino…” she began, gently steering him away.
He shook her off and turned angrily to Carlo. “I got Book of Mormon tickets, and my friends are on their way. I gotta eat or I pass out. Low blood sugar, ya know?”
“I’ll handle this,” Carlo hissed to Isobel. “Get back to the door.”
Isobel was perfectly happy to let Carlo solve the problem of Mr. Marino and his Book of Mormon tickets. She had more important things to worry about, like how to eavesdrop on Gordon Lang and Bethany Balsam while avoiding being eaten alive by rabid diners.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Isobel kept waiting for a break in the traffic, but diners continued to stream in, some with reservations, some without, and most with incomplete parties. Her eyes glazed over as she responded robotically, her own difficulties neutralizing any empathy for patrons who’d been stood up by their friends. Every time she returned to the podium after seating a party, the throng seemed to have grown replacement heads, hydra-like. Whenever she had a bona fide excuse to leave her post, she took care to check on the Lang-Balsam meal. It was progressing slowly, due to a backlog in the kitchen as a result of Isobel’s inability to seat the guests in a timely fashion.
While two young women without a reservation tried to decide whether or not to put their names on the waiting list, Isobel chanced another look at the bar. This time she caught Delphi’s eye. She made a furious beckoning gesture, and Delphi dragged herself off her barstool.
“How’s it going?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages!”
“I’m only supposed to jump in if things get out of hand.”
“Are you kidding? They’ve been out of hand for about an hour!”
One of the young women tossed the menu back on the podium with a snotty look. “Seriously. Forget it.”
Delphi gestured to the rustling crowd. “This? This is nothing. You can’t handle this?”
Isobel pulled her close. “Look at the two-top by the window. Gordon Lang and Bethany Balsam.”
“What?” Delphi’s head whipped over her shoulder.
Isobel yanked Delphi back around. “Don’t stare.”
“Excuse me, but I’ve been waiting,” said a petite, middle-aged blonde.
“Do you have a reservation?” Isobel asked wearily.
“Yes. Crosby, for two.”
“Are you both here?”
“Yes. My husband’s at the bar.”
Isobel picked up two menus and whispered to Delphi, “Think about how one of us can get over there. Better yet, think about how we could possibly start a conversation. Failing that, how can we delay their entrées until we have a plan? They just finished their salads.”
Isobel left Delphi to the mob and led the Crosbys to the table next to Lang and Balsam. Of course, they might be studiously avoiding the subject of Harrison’s death—and Rivington’s, too, for that matter—but what else could have brought them together? Their body language didn’t suggest intimacy. They weren’t even sharing a bottle of wine, although they were both drinking red. Isobel seated the Crosbys and hesitated with her back to Lang and Balsam.
“Believe me, I was as shocked as you were,” Gordon said.
Something about his tone made Isobel think the opposite was true. Unfortunately, to hear more meant lingering awkwardly at the Crosbys’ table. And, of course, interrupting to ask Lang and Balsam how their meal was so far would defeat the purpose entirely.
She saw their waiter approach with their entrées and returned to the podium with renewed urgency.
“Anything?” she asked Delphi.
“We’re on to page two of the waiting list.”
“No, I mean any ideas about you-know-who?” Isobel said impatiently.
Delphi shook her head. “I got nothin’.”
Isobel groaned. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall right now.”
Her eyes roamed the room, resting again on her prey. The conversation had ebbed while they dug into their meals: veal marsala for him, penne alla vodka for her.
Isobel inhaled sharply and turned to Delphi. “Give me your phone.”
“Shhh! I’m not supposed to have it.”
Isobel turned her back on the customers who hadn’t repaired to the bar to wait. “We can record them,” she said quietly. “We’ll put the phone on the windowsill.”
Delphi stared at her, aghast. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s the only way.”
“It’s only illegal!”
“No, it isn’t. It would be illegal if we were tapping their phones or actually had a wire on their table. But who’s to say you didn’t legitimately and accidentally leave your iPhone on the windowsill with the record button on?”
Delphi shook her head so vigorously her blond curls bounced off her cheeks. “No way. Do you know how much trouble we’d get in if somebody found the phone?”
Isobel set her hands on her hips. “You’re just worried Carlo won’t let you have it at work anymore. If he finds it, you can pin it on me. Say you lent me the phone, I left it on the windowsill by accident, and you promise you won’t lend it to me again.”
“Which will be easy, because we’ll no longer be friends.”
Isobel laid her hand across her heart. “I swear, I’ll take the heat if anything goes wrong.”
Delphi snorted. “Yeah, what could possibly go wrong?”
“Turn around,” Isobel instructed her. Defeated, Delphi complied. Isobel reached around and stuck her hand in the front pocket of Delphi’s pants.
“Hey!”
“Just ignore me. Wave to your boyfriend at the bar. You have no awareness of what I’m doing.” Isobel withdrew Delphi’s phone. “Okay, you can turn around now.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Watch me.”
Isobel opened the recording function, pressed the red button, and pocketed the phone. She began a slow walk through the re
staurant, nodding and smiling at diners. She paused by the window near the Crosbys’ table and asked whether they were ready to order. Then she returned to the podium at a quicker pace.
“Smooth, right? Bet you didn’t see a thing.”
Delphi shifted nervously from side to side. “Where is it?”
“Just behind the drape on the right, directly behind Bethany.”
“Won’t the drape muffle the sound?”
“Maybe a bit, but I didn’t have much choice. I put it as close to the edge as I could.”
Isobel started to turn around again, but Delphi grabbed her arm. “You can’t spend the next hour watching them. You did it. Fine. Let the phone do its work.” Delphi pointed across the room. “And three tables just opened up, so get cracking.”
Isobel forced herself to stay focused on her job and was surprised when Mr. Marino and his friends, who had finally shown up, rose to leave. She wasn’t sure how Carlo had finessed seating them, but somehow he had. She glanced at her watch and saw it was nine o’clock.
“Looks like you missed the first act,” she said, her eyebrows high.
Marino’s sallow face spread into a smile. “It’s Monday.”
“What does that have to—” She mentally smacked herself. “No show on Monday.”
He winked. “The Book of Mormon. Works every time. Maybe someday I’ll actually go see the damn thing.”
Isobel felt a rush of warmth to her face and she spluttered, trying to frame a response, but he was gone. A movement near the window caught her eye. The Crosbys were getting up. Mrs. Crosby pulled her jacket and shoulder bag off the back of her chair. Some instinct propelled Isobel’s feet forward, but not in time to ward off the inevitable. As Mrs. Crosby swung her bag over her shoulder, it grazed the windowsill, knocking the iPhone to the floor. Bethany Balsam looked over in surprise as Mrs. Crosby bent to pick it up.
“Oh, my goodness,” Isobel crowed, weaving through the tables as quickly as she could. “That’s where I left it!”
Mrs. Crosby held up the phone, a curious expression on her face, and Isobel snatched it out of her hand.
“Thanks so much. I could not for the life of me remember where I’d set it down,” Isobel blathered.
She knew she’d caught Bethany’s attention, but she didn’t dare turn around to gauge whether she’d been recognized. Instead, she pressed the home button and quickly stopped the recording while she crab-walked back to the podium, keeping her face averted. Suddenly, a hand snatched the phone from her grasp. She let out a tiny shriek and whirled around.
“It is now mine,” Carlo declared, sliding it into his jacket pocket. “Absolutely no phones on the job!”
TWENTY-NINE
Isobel and Delphi huddled together on Delphi’s bed, their ears close to her iPhone. It had required all of Delphi’s charm to convince Carlo to return it. He’d toyed with her for an excruciatingly long time before giving in with a warning that this was her last chance. It had required all of Isobel’s charm, plus an offer to pick up the grocery tab for the next month, to get Delphi to forgive her.
They strained to hear Lang and Balsam amid the restaurant’s ambient noise. Snippets of other people’s conversations intruded (the Crosbys were apparently contemplating a trial separation) and, invariably, as soon as Lang or Balsam started to say anything of interest, their voices dropped.
“Play that last part again,” Isobel ordered.
Delphi rewound a little, and they heard Bethany’s voice.
“I was told it’s for questioning.”
“I know Andrew,” Gordon said. “He can’t…” The rest was unintelligible.
Delphi pressed pause. “Well?”
Isobel frowned. “Not sure. But it doesn’t quite sound to me as though Gordon was about to defend Andrew against suspicion of murder.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the word ‘can’t’,” Isobel mused. “Don’t you think he’d have said ‘He couldn’t…kill someone’ or ‘He wouldn’t…hurt a fly’? Can’t is more like ‘He can’t get through the day without drugs.’ So I don’t think that’s what he was going to say.”
“You have no idea what he was going to say.” Delphi pressed play again.
“Would you like to see a dessert menu?” The waiter’s voice broke through, loud and clear.
“Glad we’ve captured all the important stuff,” Delphi muttered.
“Yes, please,” Gordon said.
There was a shuffling sound, and then Bethany said, “Aren’t you concerned?”
Isobel bent closer to the phone.
“About what?”
“Your safety.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Delphi paused the recording. “Weird that he had to ask what he should be concerned about.”
“Maybe he’s the killer, and he wanted to make sure Bethany didn’t suspect him,” Isobel suggested.
“More likely he’s such an egotist that he thinks nobody can touch him, so he can’t imagine why she would be asking.”
“See? This is why it’s good we’re doing this together,” said Isobel. “I always think my interpretation is the only possible one.”
Delphi pressed play, and the conversation continued.
“Have you been on the website lately?” Bethany asked.
“Cranks and complainers.”
“Willard started searching it obsessively after he got that letter.”
“And?”
“A few vague threats. But it’s all anonymous.”
“Those things usually are.”
“Someone should tell the police,” Bethany said.
“No. We can’t risk them finding out…” His voice dropped again.
Delphi paused the recording. “Finding out what? What website?”
But Isobel had already jumped off the bed and was opening her laptop. It wasn’t long before she found what they must have been talking about. She gestured to Delphi, and together they scanned the website’s home page.
The ESYC Report
This is a forum for those who were unfairly sentenced to time at Empire State Youth Camp at the hands of vindictive, venal, not-honorable Willard Harrison. There are many of us who were unjustly imprisoned and have had to work hard to erase the stigma of our incarceration, not to mention the emotional and physical abuse that robbed us temporarily of our identities and self-esteem. On the “Experiences” page you can write about what you went through. These entries are anonymous unless you choose to identify yourself. On the “Research” page we discuss our findings about the history and financing of the center, and on the “Donations” page, you can contribute to our efforts to shut the center down and prosecute the public and private officials who are lining their pockets with our misery. We’re sorry if you are one of the many who were unjustly sentenced, but you are not alone.
Isobel opened the “Experiences” page. It was a long chat forum with many threads. She clicked on the first one.
“I gave a cop the finger, and for that I was sentenced to three months in that hellhole. After I got out, I tried to kill myself twice. I’ve been in therapy since then and am taking courses at a community college. Before this happened, I was on the Dean’s List and was in line for a volleyball scholarship to college. One thoughtless gesture and my life was ruined.”
“Holy shit,” Delphi breathed.
“Listen to this one. ‘They’re going to pay for what they did to us. I promise,’” Isobel read. “Then after that, ‘Comment removed by moderator for inappropriate content.’”
“What are the chances that whoever wrote that made good on their threat?”
“Given the body count, I’d say pretty good.”
Isobel selected the “Research” page, but it was under construction. Apparently, their theories about financial involvement were still speculative. The “Donations” page had a PayPal link, but no further information. She went back to “Experiences” and scrolled down farther. They caught their breath at the sa
me time when they saw the exchange.
“I heard the shithead sent his own kid there. That can’t be true. Nobody is that evil.”
“It is true.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“Are you Harrison’s kid?”
“Could be.”
“You must hate him.”
“You have no idea.”
“That doesn’t really tell us anything we don’t already know,” Delphi pointed out. “And it could just be someone trolling.”
“I want to read more,” Isobel said, scrolling down.
“I want to go to bed. Let’s listen to the rest of the recording.”
Reluctantly, Isobel set her computer aside, and they returned to the phone. After a few seconds of incomprehensible chatter, Bethany’s voice rose above the hum.
“You could at least pretend to want to find out who did this.”
Lang’s response was muffled by the sound of the phone falling to the floor and Isobel’s voice moving closer, saying, “That’s where I left it!”
“Great,” Delphi said, exasperated. “We were finally getting somewhere.”
“Go back a sec. I heard something while the phone was falling.”
Delphi rewound a bit, and they listened again.
“There! Did you hear it? She said Maggie. Loud and clear.”
“Loud and clear? Um…no.” Delphi replayed it. “Okay, I hear ‘gie.’ I guess that could be part of Maggie, but it’s not exactly conclusive.”
“I heard Maggie,” Isobel insisted.
“Fine, but it doesn’t mean Bethany was saying she was responsible. Why should she have been? What connection does she have to any of this?”
“The murder mystery dinner was her idea.”
“But we know she didn’t pull the trigger, and besides, it was Candy who gave her the idea.” Delphi rolled over and yawned. “I don’t know why we’re even discussing this, since Andrew has been arrested.”
Isobel lay sideways and propped her head on her elbow. “I was convinced it was him, but for some bizarre reason now that he’s been arrested, I’ve changed my mind.”
And Justice for Some Page 16
