by Thea Devine
The escalating pressure from the press in just one day was daunting. It was like a tsunami crashing over West End Avenue.
Doorbells ringing, importuning shouts, bribes to the managing agent, the super, the mailman. Cells going off constantly. A ladder braced against the building that almost reached their second floor, and a camera appearing just above the windowsill to try to catch a shot of someone, something, anything.
Ben Osias, Delia’s lawyer acquaintance, was as precise and pinstriped as Galligan was rumpled and random: tall, gray haired, elegant, with snapping black eyes and a rich, deep voice that was deceptively gentle. He agreed to meet them at the apartment the next morning in spite of the media mayhem outside.
He arrived at eight and elbowed his way through the throng without answering one question.
“First things first,” he said as he took off his coat. “Give me a dollar.” Delia promptly did. “Now you officially have me on retainer.”
Brooke herded them to the dining table, and Ben took a legal pad out of his briefcase while Delia served coffee and made introductions.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he invited.
“What do you know?” Brooke asked him.
“What everyone else knows: not much. There are no immediate suspects, no forensic evidence, three mistresses, and lots of speculation.”
“The detective, Galligan, questioned me yesterday for the second time,” Brooke told him. “I bet he’s got a notebook full of follow-ups now.” She looked at Delia, who was looking at Osias with an odd expression on her face, strangely silent.
MJ spoke up. “It’s just that we all pretty much have the same story: We were all with him Christmas Eve—”
That caused a slight tremor in Osias’s calm demeanor. “All three?”
“As near as we can determine, Brooke was first, then Delia, then me. One after the other.”
Only MJ could have told him that with a straight face, Brooke thought. He looked a little confounded, which he hid behind raised eyebrows and taking some quick notes.
“We think the police think we conspired to kill Thane when we discovered he was with all of us,” MJ went on, parsing her words carefully.
“Did you?”
“No! It’s true that we found out about each other being his mistress—or rather, Brooke deduced it—and we were upset…”
“How could you not know?” Osias asked curiously.
“He used different names,” Brooke answered. “And he’d sequestered us in different parts of the city. He wanted us individually available at all times, which meant quitting our jobs and giving up pretty much everything else. In return, he kept us very nicely. No money changed hands, but we got clothing and food allowances, a checking account, and other…nonmonetary remuneration.”
Osias made a noncommittal sound. “So all the police have is your voluntary admission that Bohansson was with each of you that night, and that you found out at some point that each of you was a…particular friend?”
“Which could be motive enough in their eyes,” Brooke said bluntly, “since we are friends. So they’re probably thinking betrayal and revenge.”
“Um-hmm. How did you all come to meet Bohansson initially?”
Brooke told him about her idea of a Mistress Club, then her discovering the real Mistress Club, and how Thane had met each of them.
Osias gave a low whistle. “Okay. Well, I think we’re fine for now. You’re correct in assuming Galligan’s not finished with you, but until he can prove you went to Pelham that morning and somehow got into the house, he has no case. So the fun and fire is going to be all about the public’s fascination with the fact that a sixty-eight-year-old, notoriously mysterious mogul had the juice to service all three of you. Pardon my bluntness.”
It sounded awful coming from him in that rich dark, voice of his.
“So if it all gets really out of hand, we could write a book?” Delia asked.
“Oh, at the least. Shall I look into it?” He couldn’t quite hide his ghoulish relish at the thought.
“Ben!”
“Or sell your story to the tabloids or People.”
It was nearly nine before he was done taking notes. “Watch out for the reporters,” Osias warned them. “They were five deep an hour ago. This is not a good situation. You have no back alley and no way to get out of this building since it takes up the whole corner.”
“We’ll use disguises.”
“I don’t think you’ll get away with it.”
“There’s a basement exit,” Brooke offered.
“Forget that; they know about it already.”
“We have no money for hotels,” MJ added stiffly.
“Let me think what to do,” he said as left them. “I’ll call Delia later.”
He got them out later that morning at a coordinated moment when the police had cleared the street of the media for fifteen minutes. Which didn’t mean cameras weren’t snapping and rolling as they were hustled into a police car, or that the reporters’ assumption wasn’t that they were being arrested.
Precautions were taken that they weren’t followed as they were driven to an obscure hotel, where their names were not on the register and they were given a small suite to share on the top floor.
They were to have their meals from room service, or if they wanted groceries, they were to notify the concierge. They were not to leave the hotel for any reason for the time being.
“Forget that,” Brooke said, after Osias had left. “We’re still on the case.”
They had the luxury of two beds and a TV in the bedroom, and a living room with a sofa and a second TV. There was a tiny kitchen with a sink, an undercounter fridge, a microwave, a hot plate, and a supply of coffee, hot chocolate, and packaged snacks.
“Just like home,” MJ said. “Dibs on a bed.”
“You both take the beds, since you had the air mattresses,” Brooke said. “I’m going to figure out how to get out of this place.”
Delia didn’t try to stop her; she’d feel better knowing they could escape the hotel, too.
Brooke came back with groceries and Chinese takeout, which Delia and MJ wolfed down instantly.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Brooke said. “There’s one elevator on the tenth floor where you can transfer to the other side of the building. So tomorrow we’re going to scope out Alaina again. We’ll be clothed up to the eyeballs, in this cold, so no one will know.”
She had plotted their escaping the hotel with Delia leaving first, then MJ, all of them hatted and scarved, with collars up around their faces, ready for the freezing wind. They would separate, go east, and meet near Alaina’s Madison Avenue gallery, and keep an eye on her.
Outside they immediately saw the screaming headlines.
WHERE ARE THE MISTRESSES HIDING? WHAT ARE THEY HIDING?
DESPERATE MISTRESSES ON THE MOVE
THE MISTRESSES, THE MONEY, AND THE MOGUL
SEX SECRETS OF THE BILLIONAIRE’S BIMBOS
The headlines followed them right to Madison Avenue.
It was eleven-thirty; the lunch crowd was beginning to flow. The streets were a little more crowded, making it easier to blend in. Cabs edged toward the sides of the street; lunch menus went out in front of restaurants.
The sky got darker. A thin shower of snowflakes flurried down.
The minutes ticked by. As the lunch crowd emerged from the surrounding offices, MJ kept looking at her watch wondering where Brooke was—she hadn’t appeared yet.
Nothing would happen today, Delia thought in despair. Alaina and her family were walking a public tightrope and wouldn’t do a thing that wasn’t scripted. She would do only whatever Thane’s media specialists told them to.
Damn. They were no match for the Bohansson media machine. There would be nothing to find now, nothing they could do or change. She waved to MJ, who shook her head and pointed back at the gallery.
Oh, God…please, a little luck, a little break.
Delia edged closer
to the corner and saw Alaina, swathed in mink to the tips of her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, locking the front door of her gallery. As Alaina turned east to cross Madison, Delia motioned to MJ.
MJ nodded and scurried across the street, and they melted into the lunchtime crowd behind Alaina Bohansson.
Things got more complicated when Alaina entered a restaurant two blocks farther east. There were no unreserved seats available, so she and MJ squeezed themselves in at the bar.
“She’s back there,” Delia murmured. “We just have to see if she’s with someone.”
“I’ll go to the ladies’ room,” MJ volunteered. “Let’s get drinks to make this more realistic.”
They ordered Cosmopolitans, speculated about Brooke’s absence and made idle chitchat about the crowd for ten minutes, then MJ slipped away. After a few minutes, it felt to Delia like MJ was taking forever. How did you do reconnaissance in a crowded restaurant? How close could MJ get to Alaina’s table, anyway?
Delia took another sip of her drink. What if Alaina knew who MJ was and she got caught? What if this was the worst idea in creation?
And then MJ was there, signaling to the bartender. She threw some money on the counter and urgently took Delia’s arm. “C’mon.”
“Why the rush?”
“Because—” MJ pushed through the crowd until they got outside.
“Because—” She looked behind her as she rushed Delia down the street. “I couldn’t see the guy Alaina was with since his back was to me, but I got near enough to hear his voice. And I think…how crazy could this be? I think she was having lunch with Dallan Baines.”
Chapter Nineteen
When MJ and Delia returned to the hotel, they found Galligan and Osias there with Brooke, who looked extremely irritated.
“What the hell did you two think you were doing?” Galligan demanded furiously when Delia finally burst in the door. “Everyone wants to know where the hell you are, and you’re sashaying all over Midtown, out in the open? Jesus! How soon do you think it will be before the vultures track you down here?” He threw up his hands. “I give up. I won’t even ask what you were doing.”
“And we won’t ask what you’re doing, either,” Delia said sweetly.
“So where are we?” Brooke asked tightly.
Galligan gave her a long, steely look. “Nowhere. Unless you’re holding something back.”
Why did she have the feeling there was another meaning to those words? “You know everything, Detective.” Except about Maîtrise. “So you prove how we got to Pelham, how we got in the house, got Thane down to the family room, and subdued him before he could shout for help. Otherwise, there’s nothing more to talk about.”
Nick sighed. “Ben?”
“There’s nothing more you can do, Nick, except keep them out of sight.”
Nick snorted. “Yeah, I can see how well that went.” He looked at MJ, who was huddled on the couch by Brooke. There was something in her face…she was on tenterhooks, waiting for him to leave.
And Delia was acting just a little too perky.
“We should get going,” Osias said. “Ladies.”
Brooke went to the door. “Thanks, Ben.” She opened it exaggeratedly wide for Galligan. “Detective?” She obviously couldn’t wait for him to leave.
“Was it something I said?”
She slammed the door hard behind him and stormed back into the living room. “That man!”
“Tell me,” MJ said, still shaken by her discovery. “It’s no fun barging in on you two going nose to nose like a WWF smackdown.”
Delia said, “We couldn’t figure out what happened to you.”
“Galligan caught me locking up. I couldn’t slide out of it. Too many questions, most of which I avoided. I was trying desperately not to have to talk about Maîtrise. And I was going crazy trying to picture what was going on with you guys.”
“After today,” MJ said to Brooke, “I’m with you: we have to do something. Alaina was having lunch with Dallan Baines.”
Brooke sank down onto the couch, speechless for a moment. “Call Osias.”
“But if it turns out to be nothing—”
“But how could it?”
“I don’t know. But tomorrow I’m going to follow him.”
“But from where? He could be at his home or at his Midtown place—”
“Or he could still be at my old apartment,” MJ finished. “We can’t go to Westchester, but maybe Delia can hang out at Grand Central in case he spent the night at home. You could stake out the Midtown apartment, and I’ll keep watch on mine. His.”
“Yeah, we could do that. God, if Galligan finds out…You really want to do that?”
“Yes. I’m totally dumbfounded that he and Alaina Bohansson know each other. And why would he have rented my old apartment? That was so creepy.”
“Then we’ll go find out—and hope to hell Galligan doesn’t catch us.”
The three slipped out of the hotel at daybreak.
“Are we nuts?” MJ asked, worrying now that she’d thought it over a bit.
“Just let’s do it,” Brooke said encouragingly. “I mean, we didn’t expect to find out anything yesterday and we found an unexploded bomb.”
“Right. You’re right. Okay.”
They separated, and MJ took the bus downtown thinking this was nuts, but it was too late to back out now. After she got off the bus a block away from her former apartment building, she grabbed a paper with the howling headline MISTRESS MADNESS and ducked back into the bus kiosk.
She could see the building and wouldn’t look suspicious with an open newspaper in her hands. Unless someone noticed she’d been standing there, pretending to read for hours.
But that wouldn’t happen. Dallan wouldn’t be at this apartment. Her whole idea was stupid. It was seven o’clock, hours to go yet. And it was so damned cold…. This really was a dumb idea.
By eight she was freezing and just about to give up, when she saw him. She punched Brooke’s number on her cell. “He’s here. He’s leaving.”
“Go get him.”
He was getting a cab. She raced into the traffic and hailed her own, frantically trying to keep Dallan’s taxi in sight as she followed him uptown. One red light and she’d lose him. The light turned yellow—“Keep going!” she told the cabbie. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” She got out two twenty-dollar bills in case she had to jump out and run. West thirties now, forties, then his cab turned east on Forty-second Street.
“Turn here toward Grand Central.” Oh, God, how did detectives do this?
Down Forty-second Street…“STOP!” She tossed the money at the driver, catching a glimpse of Dallan disappearing into Grand Central.
Then it was a race. Down the ramp, where the hell could he be going?
He didn’t need a timetable. And she had no time to call Delia, who was somewhere roaming around inside.
He was heading toward the Lexington Avenue side of the station. To—where? The train to…Pelham? She crossed her fingers and ducked into the end car three minutes before the whistle sounded and the doors closed.
She took the thirty-minute trip to Pelham at the premium on-board fare, then took a cab to the Bohansson house just in time to see him heading around to the rear entrance.
What?
She blew out a long breath. This didn’t make any sense.
“Lady?” The driver was looking at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you staying or going?”
“I’m going,” MJ said, taking out her phone. It was nine-fifteen. She called Delia, Brooke, and Osias to meet her back at the hotel.
Nick showed up, too, at Osias’s invitation, with McDevitt tagging along.
“Dev’s useful sometimes,” he told Osias. “A reporter, true, but a man with helpful sources and some imagination, who isn’t averse to drawing gut conclusions and proving them in ways we don’t want to know about.”
Osias nodded his okay. “But everything’s off the record.”
“I don’t operate any other way with him,” Galligan said grimly.
Brooke had ordered up coffee and Danish from room service. They pulled up chairs; Brooke poured the coffee and handed out the pastries, and Ben and Dev took out notepads.
MJ looked around at all of them. “I guess this is my story. I’ll start at the point after we found jobs here. One of the patrons of the store where I worked—well, we struck up a conversation, which led to a date, and subsequently to a…relationship. I broke it off after a while, and not very long after that, I met Harold Hanson or, rather, Thane Bohansson.
Her face crumpled a little, then she went on. “Everything was fine until two weeks ago. It was the holidays and I was feeling lonely because Harold had said he wouldn’t be seeing me for a couple of weeks. So I kind of wandered down to my old neighborhood, feeling some nostalgia for the way things used to be, and, I guess, for this other guy who really was—bad for me.
“So he was the last person I expected to see that day, and there he was, coming out of the building where I used to live. He said he’d rented my old apartment, which stunned me. He said it was for business purposes. I told him I was with someone else now, and I got out of there as fast as I could. I think he followed me, but I can’t be certain.
“Anyway, after Harold’s—Thane’s—death, Brooke was thinking that of all the family, Alaina wasn’t as likely to be watched as closely as her mother or brother, and if we somehow kept an eye on her, we might…I don’t know. I don’t know what she thought we’d find. But we did stumble on something. Alaina was having lunch yesterday with Dallan Baines—the man I had that first relationship with, and who now seems to be living in my old apartment.”
She took a deep breath. “Which might mean nothing, but it was odd. So this morning”—she slanted a look at Galligan’s impassive face—“we staked him out. Brooke went to his Midtown apartment; Delia went to Grand Central; I was at the old apartment. I saw him there and followed him onto a train to Pelham and to the Bohansson house. I saw him go in the back way.”
“Whoa,” Dev murmured, furiously writing things down. “Dallan Baines, huh?”
