“Hasn’t it occurred to anyone that it is possible to date for the common good?”
I was comforted that neither Cassady nor Aaron seemed to understand that one any better than I did. “I must have been sick and missed that week in Social Studies,” I said after a moment.
“Maybe I asked him to the gala simply so we could keep an eye on him while keeping an eye on a number of suspects all at the same time.”
“Economy of effort. Commendable,” Aaron said.
“Seriously?” I blurted. “You asked him out to help me finish my article?”
“You’d do the same for me,” Tricia said confidently.
“I’m not so sure,” I said, then hastened to revise my statement when she looked at me with dismay. “I mean, now that you’ve introduced me to the concept, yes, I would, but I’m not sure that particular form of sacrifice would’ve occurred to me on my own.”
“Does bring a whole new meaning to ‘above and beyond,’” Cassady said tartly.
“My faith in your taste in men is restored and I thank you all for your support and assistance,” I said, toasting them. But before I could get my glass to my lips, my eye was caught by something both unexpected and somehow not altogether surprising—the sight of Wendy and Lindsay walking across the room toward us, glasses in hand.
While Manhattan is densely populated enough that you can go for days without bumping into people you know, there is also the neighborhood effect, in which you tend to trip over the people who live and work on the same circuit you do. I supposed that it wasn’t that surprising for us to cross paths with Lindsay and Wendy here, since we’d come straight from the hospital and they probably had, too. And yet, this wasn’t exactly across the street. We’d bypassed other places to come here and it seemed a little odd that they’d picked it, too, as famous as it was. It seemed even odder that, given the evening’s previous events, they intended to join us. I was happy to see Lindsay, but I never would’ve expected Wendy to be interested in a friendly drink.
So perhaps she wanted a less than friendly one. “What are you doing here?” Wendy asked sharply as they stopped before us.
“Collecting signatures for a petition to stop rhetorical questions,” Cassady responded.
“Hi, Lindsay. Wendy, how’s Ronnie doing?” I asked quickly, scrambling to climb to higher ground. “I’m so sorry—” I began, remembering a moment too late the insurance company warning not to say you’re sorry after an accident because it can be used later to indicate you believed you were in the wrong.
“You should be,” Wendy replied, proving the insurance companies right.
“I’m so sorry the strain is taking a toll on him,” I said, determined to clarify that I was in no way apologizing for my actions.
“They’re keeping him overnight, monitoring him for a bit,” Lindsay said smoothly. “I’m sure it’s just a precaution and he’ll be fine and Wendy can finish getting him up to speed in no time.”
Wendy furrowed her brow at me, knowing putting her finger to her lips would be too obvious. No one knew? I wasn’t sure whether that merited applause or a psych evaluation, but it was impressive. Deciding to keep my peace in order to keep the peace with Wendy, I sat back in my chair and waited for her to make the next move.
“I think he’ll be all right, at least until that miserable friend of yours turns his life into utter hell,” Wendy said.
Nice move. “I don’t know that Peter’ll be in a hurry to do that,” I said. “He’s got some issues of his own to straighten out.”
“He’s the criminal!” Wendy said emphatically, but Lindsay hushed her gently and eased her into a chair she had somehow spirited away from the table next to us. They were going to join us without even asking, not that we would’ve sent them away, but letting the question hang in the air would have at least given us all the opportunity to acknowledge how awkward and unproductive this encounter was going to be.
“It’s a difficult situation all the way around,” I said as Lindsay pulled up her own chair. I made introductions around the table as she settled herself and Wendy at the table in the maternal manner her colleagues had mentioned. I half-expected Lindsay to hold her drink for her while Wendy took a swig. We all let the uncomfortable silence settle on the table for a moment, then I took the first plunge, wondering if I could make investigative questions sound like small talk. “So, Lindsay, how’d you get caught up in all this?”
“I called Wendy about a client problem, she told me what had happened, where she was, and I wanted to come see how I could help. When Ronnie was settled in, I thought a drink might help relax her. Great minds run in the same channel,” she said with a diplomatic smile to all of us. “Your friends have joined you, too.”
The thing was, I knew how happy I was to see my friends and I wasn’t sure how happy Wendy was to have Lindsay with her. She was accepting the ministrations, but didn’t seem to be deriving a lot of pleasure from them. Not that Lindsay seemed to mind; she was serenely attentive, like a lady-in-waiting pleased with her station in life. Or the gawky girl who gets to hang with the cheerleaders because she’s tutoring them all in math. Maybe part of Lindsay’s mothering the other Girls was her way to fit into their little cult, since she hadn’t been participating in the main event.
“The true measure of a friend is that you can call her from a hospital, a police station, or a wedding chapel,” Tricia said, trying to find a comfortable groove for the conversation, “and she’ll come, no questions asked.” She shot me a look across the table, confirming with a nod that she was willing to do all three.
Lindsay smiled in agreement. “That’s what makes our little group so special. We’ll do anything for each other. Right, Wendy?”
Wendy’s face crumpled suddenly as she struggled not to cry. “Right,” she said quietly, then took a deep breath and composed herself as best she could.
Lindsay squeezed her hand encouragingly. I wondered how much she really knew about what her friends were willing to do for each other, to each other, with each other.
Wendy suddenly steeled herself sufficiently to announce, “Listen, Molly, I want to be perfectly clear about one thing. If you screw things up for Ronnie, I’ll destroy you.”
“Don’t take this out on Molly,” Lindsay said.
“Amen, sister,” Tricia nodded to Lindsay.
“I’m being completely sincere,” Wendy said to all of us, but with her glare focused on me.
Cassady rapped on the tabletop. “As a lawyer, I’d like to advise you against saying inflammatory things that people will take huge delight in testifying to at a later date.”
“Are you threatening me?” Wendy asked.
“No, because I’d rather not stoop to your level,” Cassady answered.
“Women are fascinating,” Aaron interjected.
“Wendy, what do you think you’re going to accomplish by being belligerent with me?” I asked, wishing it sounded more diplomatic than it did. The volume in this little discussion was creeping up and we were starting to get those slow, sidelong looks from people at the other tables, the ones that communicate just how big a jerk they think you’re being without a single word.
“And what are you going to accomplish by decimating Ronnie?” Wendy continued.
“I’m not trying to hurt Ronnie, I just want to know what happened to Garth, and if either of you is involved, that’s part of the story,” I said emphatically.
“Ronnie didn’t do anything!” Wendy proclaimed, now officially too loud and drawing full-on glares from surrounding tables.
“Wendy,” Lindsay breathed.
“And I didn’t do anything either!”
“Wendy,” Lindsay repeated, a little stronger.
“Maybe Ronnie’s been right all along,” I said. “You don’t suppose Gwen shot Garth so she could be with Ronnie and then decided to go after Ronnie when she realized he was cheating on her with you?”
“Wendy!” Lindsay exclaimed, now shocked and disapproving.
<
br /> Wendy sprang to her feet, knocking into the table. Aaron and Cassady steadied as many glasses as they could as Wendy spat out, “You bitch!” For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether she was addressing Lindsay or me, but then she sailed the remains of her champagne cocktail at me and wiped out any doubt, along with my Anne Klein blouse.
I leapt to my feet, as did Tricia, Aaron, and Cassady, while Lindsay pulled Wendy back into her chair. I’d hoped to provoke a reaction that got me information, not a dousing. But in trying to pull Wendy up short, I’d pushed her over the brink. Perversely, the size of her reaction confirmed my doubts about her potential involvement in Garth’s death. If she had something to hide, wouldn’t she be more controlled, more wary? But she was in dress rehearsal for a nervous breakdown and wasn’t holding anything back.
Or was her long day’s journey into hysteria all a show for my benefit? These women were trained to sell; maybe Wendy was selling me an image of herself. I had a sudden vision of her in some allegorical medieval painting, “Woman as Innocent.”
Tricia and Cassady swarmed me with napkins while Aaron watched in fascination. I was pretty sure there wasn’t one law of physics to cover the elemental clashes that were occurring in the orbit of our table. Wendy dissolved into tears and Lindsay went back into mothering mode, patting her hair and murmuring to her. Lindsay glanced up briefly to catch my eye. “She’s had a very hard day.”
My patience with the Girls was wearing thin. “I haven’t exactly been on vacation.”
“But you can move on from this.”
I couldn’t go anywhere at the moment, since my friends were toweling me dry, or at least patting me damp, but I knew what she was trying to say. “And you can’t?” I asked her over their bowed heads.
“We’re … invested.”
“You should all quit and go to medical school,” Cassady suggested.
Lindsay’s gaze suddenly focused with laserlike intensity. “You can’t possibly understand, so don’t bother to condescend.”
Tricia, Aaron, and Cassady looked to me for a reaction, but I wasn’t sure how to react. I knew Lindsay was just trying to protect Wendy, but I also knew that by extension, she was trying to protect the rest of the group and the agency and her future. The mother tiger was lying down across the mouth of the den and no one was getting in or out.
Reviewing options quickly, I decided to go with the friendly smile route. “Might be time for everyone to get a good night’s sleep,” I said with a nod to Wendy, who was still quietly weeping. Lindsay nodded slowly, not convinced, but I was anxious to get us all out of there. Not just because my blouse was starting to get downright chilly but because I was starting to get that gnawing in the pit of my stomach that told me the pieces weren’t fitting together the way they were supposed to. I needed to get away from Wendy’s weeping and Lindsay’s mothering and the cacophony of the day and take stock.
“Excellent idea. You’re going to catch a cold,” Tricia warned. “Or make a lot of new friends.” Aaron politely averted his eyes as I tried to get a sense of how transparent my blouse had become.
“Can you get her home?” I asked Lindsay, wanting to leave things on a friendly note with her, at least.
“Won’t be the first time,” Lindsay said with a patient smile.
“Wendy—” I attempted, but she stood up, grandly sweeping her hair back from her teary face.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Wendy asked. “We were all managing until you came along,” she went on without giving me the chance to clear my throat, much less defend myself. “We were building a new future and you’ve wrecked it.”
“All I’ve done is try to find the truth. Want to tell it to me so we can all move on?” I shot back, angry that Wendy kept trying to make some of this, any of this my fault. And even angrier that she might be right. Still, when the house of cards comes down, who do you blame—the person who built it or the person who slammed the door?
“I have told you the truth,” Wendy insisted. “You know more about my life than my best friends do. Like that? You get off on that kind of thing? ‘Knowledge is power’ and all that crap?”
“I only want to understand what happened.”
“I didn’t do it. That’s what happened. Why would I? I was happy. I loved my life. And now I so completely don’t. How stupid would I be to put myself in this situation?”
It was a valid question, assuming she was telling the truth, which was an assumption I still wasn’t comfortable making. I let it go unanswered.
“We’ll see you at the gala tomorrow night,” Lindsay said with a Stepford smile as she took Wendy by the arm. “And I trust, for the sake of the hard work and reputations of all involved, that it will be a pleasant gathering.” There was a chill of warning in her voice and as she turned her back on us, marching Wendy to the door like a recalcitrant toddler, I wondered if I’d underestimated her.
“Typical night out, ladies?” Aaron asked pleasantly as Lindsay and Wendy vanished out the front door.
“Oh, this is nothing,” Cassady assured him. “There’s usually at least some significant property damage.”
“The blouse doesn’t count?” I asked.
Tricia patted my arm. “My dry cleaner works miracles. I can take it to him.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
Tricia smoothed my hair back from my face. “Honey, I say this with all due love and respect, but you look awful. Let us take you home, make you some soup, rub your feet …”
“She has work problems, not the flu, Tricia,” Cassady pointed out.
“A good foot rub is never wrong,” Tricia responded.
“Excellent point,” Aaron agreed.
As tempting as it was to invite them all back to my apartment to eat, regroup, vent, whatever was required, I had an overriding concern. Who was going to be there—or not be there—when I got home? No matter his mood, Kyle wouldn’t appreciate an audience or a wait when there were issues to be discussed. I needed to go home by myself and clear a few things up. My head, most of all.
I took advantage of Tricia’s saying I looked like hell—it’s not what she said, but it’s what she meant—to ask them for a raincheck and head home on my own. I thanked all three of them for coming to my aid, packed them off in a cab, and hurried off. To an empty apartment.
He’d said he was going to go back to work, but his shift should have been over by now. I called his cell first, but it went to voice mail and I didn’t leave a message. I called his office and his partner, Ben Lipscomb, answered.
“Rough night,” Ben said, his deep, rumbling voice tinged with concern. He’s a pretty intimidating guy physically, but one of the most serene souls I know.
“Yeah, kinda crazy. And he’s upset with me which makes it worse.”
“I heard.”
Which made it even worse. Kyle didn’t discuss our relationship much and if he’d been telling Ben, things were really rocky. “Can I talk to him?”
“Not right now.”
I sighed. I’d wanted to explain about the day, talk to him about Lindsay, but now I realized all I really wanted to do was tell him I was sorry I hadn’t been honest with him. “Won’t come to the phone or can’t?” There was enough of a pause for me to figure out the answer for myself. “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, Ben, even though I’m getting really good at that. Could you just tell him I called?”
“I will. You get a good night’s sleep. As the psalmist says, ‘Joy comes in the morning.’”
Since there was no way to reach through the phone and hug Ben, I thanked him and hung up. If he was telling me to get a good night’s sleep, he was telling me Kyle wasn’t coming home tonight. Whether it was because of a case or because of how I’d handled things remained to be seen. And fretted over. Joy was only going to come in the morning if the boyfriend did, too.
Which meant that I had two mysteries on my plate now: how to identify Garth’s killer and how to untangle my relationship. And m
aybe a third: Which of the first two was going to be easier to solve?
Seventeen
DEAR MOLLY, IS IT TRUE that we always hurt the ones we love? Is it because the ones we love stay around long enough for us to make mistakes that hurt them or because the ones we love notice when we do something hurtful and everyone else ignores it? Or is it that we test the ones we love to see how much they love us and that never ends well? And why is it twice as painful when they hurt us back? Signed, Vulnerable Valentine
I was not built to operate on two hours and fifteen minutes of sleep. I believe my optimum is eight, though I never reach that unless I’m ill, vacationing, or sedated. I attempt to average six, supplemented by periodic infusions of caffeine during my waking hours. On those occasions when I don’t get at least four, I’ve been known to be impatient, humorless, and intolerant of the foibles of my fellow man. Those are the days I should stay home, or at least hide behind my sunglasses and coffee cup all day while my brain cells strain to shake off their stupor, but those are the days I go out into the world anyway and wind up in trouble.
I awoke to an empty apartment, silent answering machine and cell phone, and a feeling of dread. It was seven thirty and there was no way around it: I had to figure out how badly I’d trashed my relationship, get a handle on my story, see what the fallout was with Wendy and company, and reassure Eileen while she prepared for the gala.
I so should have stayed home.
Pacing until I’d crashed the night before, I’d attempted to figure out how to handle Kyle and how Wendy had talked her way off the suspect list. Somewhere around 3 A.M., on my second bag of microwave popcorn and my third playing of Bonnie Raitt’s Home Plate, I’d decided I needed to stick to my work and give the problem with Kyle some time, because if I neglected my work to fix that, as soon as it was fixed, I’d just have to turn around and go back to the article, which could potentially undo all the work with Kyle. And I might know how to proceed on the article, but I definitely didn’t know what to do about him.
Killer Deal Page 22
