by Thomas Kies
“Did you ever have any children?”
I shook my head.
I can barely take care of myself. How the hell could I take care of kids?
“So,” Kevin asked, “how did you end up back in Sheffield, working for your hometown newspaper?”
I took a deep breath. I’d already told him way too much but I never did know when to quit. “No one else would give me a job, Kevin. I pretty much drank myself out of a career and that’s the truth. I’m kind of at the end of the line.”
“Sheffield’s the end of the line?”
I could hear the hurt in his voice. This was his home, but for me, yes, coming back to Sheffield was the end of the line.
As I drove, I reached over and put my hand on his. “I meant working for the local paper is kind of the end of the line. Really, I like being back here.”
No I don’t. And, by God, if I can get my name back out there with a story as big as the Connor’s Landing murders, and get it right, I might be able buy a ticket out of Sheffield and back onto a real newspaper again.
Chapter Six
The southern wall of the Shorefront Club is glass, nearly three stories of it. It offers an unparalleled view of Long Island Sound, the islands of Sheffield Harbor and, on a clear evening, tight to the horizon, the skyline of Manhattan. When we arrived, the sun was easing behind a bank of deep blue and pink cumulous clouds.
Kevin and I stood in front of the glass and watched the sunset. While we talked, our hands touched, accidentally?
Tiny lights on the distant shore of Long Island formed a fine line of flickering stars. Closer, red and green boat lamps bobbed and floated like fireflies just above the surface of the water.
It was a quarter to seven, nearly the end of the cocktail hour. The crowd was growing in number and as the alcohol flowed, the laughter and conversations were getting louder.
Neither Kevin nor I were drinking.
It was odd but illuminating to be completely sober while the rest of the room caught a collective buzz. Certainly a new experience for me. I felt slightly superior to everyone else.
Kevin did not. He whispered in my ear, “I feel a little awkward. I don’t see anyone else here who isn’t wearing a tux.”
I leaned in. “You look terrific.”
“I feel like I’m wearing an old shirt and a beat-up pair of jeans.”
“You’re the best looking guy here. Now, just keep in mind that I’m working tonight and, at some point, I’ll have to leave you for a few minutes to do a quick interview.”
“No problem. Did you see how much it cost per plate to come to this party?”
Honestly, I hadn’t. I was a little embarrassed to say so. The ticket price to any charity event can sometimes be part of the story. The pricier the better.
He relieved me by answering his own question. “Three hundred-fifty dollars each. I couldn’t afford to come to this thing if you hadn’t invited me, so if you have to get some work done, you go do it. Okay?”
I smiled at him and touched his arm. He was dressed in a dark blue suit that was a lot like his truck; it had seen better days. His cuffs were a little scuffed and his lapels slightly askew from too many visits to the dry cleaners. But tucked into his white shirt and burgundy tie, he exuded rugged good looks.
Kevin was clearly uncomfortable in this place of chandeliers, champagne, and canapés. This was a man who didn’t sit behind a desk looking at spreadsheets or legal briefs all day. This was a man who worked hard, spent his days in the sun and the wind. His hands were calloused and hardened from physical labor and his skin was tanned from his time outside in the elements.
Looking at our reflections in the window, I thought we made a nice couple. Kevin was the handsome contractor. And me? Well, my hair was brushed back and curling coquettishly just right. My blue eyes sparkled. I was dressed in heels, gold necklace, earrings, and bracelet that accented my favorite black dress, cut low in the front and high enough in the leg to garner attention but still be classy.
“Okay,” I said as I patted his arm. “I’m going to talk to a few people and get work out of the way so that we can relax and just enjoy dinner. Fair warning, though, we may have to skip the chocolate mousse. I’ll have to run back to my office and write this up for tomorrow’s paper.”
He took my hand and squeezed it, making my heart take an extra thump again. “It’s nice to spend some time with you.”
Why had I lost track of this guy after high school?
I went looking for Amanda Cain, organizer of the dinner dance. Coincidentally, she was the wife of Judge William Cain, who’d presided earlier in the day at Jimmy Fitzgerald’s sentencing. I wanted to ask her how it felt to be married to a man who equated jurisprudence with the size of one’s checkbook.
But instead, I asked her the requisite society page questions.
“How many people do you expect will attend tonight?”
“Over four hundred.”
“How much money do you hope to raise for the American Cancer Association?”
“What with the silent auction, we think it’s going to be nearly three hundred thousand dollars.”
The first thing that came to my mind was that was the exact amount that Jimmy Fitzgerald’s dad had paid to Elena Bermudez’s family. But it was far less than the million dollars paid out to a PAC belonging to an unnamed congressman.
I had to wonder how much of that million dollars might end up in Judge Cain’s pocket.
I asked Mrs. Cain for the names of some of the celebrities and dignitaries that would be attending and who would be honored with the cheesy plaques that were always given out at these things. After she listed some well-known Broadway and movie stars, a few politicians, and a writer or two, I asked a few more banal questions, then the interview was over. Other than going back to the office and writing the story, my job was pretty much officially finished for the evening.
As I headed back where I’d left Kevin, I ran into the deputy chief of the Sheffield police department. “Hey, Mike.” My voice rose to be heard above the other conversations swirling about the large room.
“Genie!” For a cop, he looked darn good in a tux.
“You clean up well,” I purred. “Nice party, huh?”
His smile got bigger. “It’s a room full of lawyers. Being here is a little like swimming in a tank full of boozed-up sharks.”
I liked Mike Dillon’s sense of humor. “What’s new with the homicides?”
“You’re getting some competition,” he answered. “Not only am I getting media calls from all over the state, but I’m catching some from newspapers in New York.”
Great, I need more journalists on this like I need a skin rash. I’m going to have to run faster to stay ahead of them.
“Six naked rich people sliced and diced. It’s good ink. I don’t like having other reporters on my turf. What did you tell them?”
“No more than you already know.”
“So tell me something I don’t know.”
“Bodies are with the medical examiner and the evidence is with forensics. We’re still looking for the murder weapons. We think there are at least two.”
“Does that mean more than one killer?”
He knew he was on the record and he considered his words. “We don’t know for sure, yet, but there were two sets of bloody footprints exiting the room. We’re interviewing the neighbors and the security guard on Connor’s Landing and we’re talking with friends and the families of the victims.”
“Was I right on the victims’ names?”
He nodded and pulled a small notebook out of the inside breast pocket of his jacket. Opening it, he read out loud, “George and Lynette Chadwick, 39 and 35, they were the owners of the house. John and Martha Singewald, 41 and 40, and Kit and Kathy Webster, both of whom are 42. Interestingly, these three couples didn’t seem to
have any prior relationship before that evening. At least none that we’ve discovered.”
“Really?”
“George Chadwick is a VP for Connecticut Sun Bank. His wife was recently named to the board of directors at the hospital. John Singewald is the CEO of Fairfield Mutual Insurance and his wife is a real estate agent. Both Kit and Kathy Webster are schoolteachers at a private school in Greenwich. Their families and friends aren’t aware of any time that they’ve ever been together or even talked with each other before the night they were killed.”
Unconsciously, I pulled the cell phone out of my purse and took a peek at the screen, wondering if I’d missed any calls since I’d gotten to the Shorefront Club. I’d had all of my office calls forwarded to my cell phone. The screen was blank.
“Expecting a call?” Mike inquired.
I nodded but didn’t tell Mike from whom. I was hoping that I’d hear from the man who’d left a message on my voicemail that morning. The one who claimed he knew “who killed those people.”
I put the phone back into my purse. “Just checking.”
Mike looked at me doubtfully. “Anyway, we’ve got warrants to search the victims’ homes, their phone records, take their computers and shake ’em down. We’ll take a look at e-mail and websites they frequented. See if there’s a common denominator.”
I nodded.
He gazed at me suspiciously and inquired, “You know something you’re not telling me, Genie? If you do, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know. This was really bad and I mean crazy-ass bad. Three of the vics were decapitated. All of them had limbs sliced off. It was a slaughterhouse in there. I don’t want whoever did that to those people walking around on the streets, you know what I mean?”
At this point, I really didn’t know any more than he did. So I deadpanned, “All I know is what I read in the newspapers.”
Mike Dillon looked at me with an odd, appreciative expression on his face, sipping his martini. He said, “You look very nice tonight, Genie.”
I blinked at him provocatively. “I’ve got to get back to my date.”
He glanced over at Kevin who’d struck up an animated conversation with a man and woman who didn’t look familiar to me. “I see you came with Kevin Bell.”
“Yeah, you know each other?”
“No offense, but you can do better.”
“Oh?”
He was staring at Kevin across the room when he said, “Used to be a damned good contractor. He did our kitchen. Then he crashed and burned. About four years ago, he tanked his construction company and put his family and friends through hell. I like you Genie, just be aware, the man’s an alcoholic.”
The moment he said that, my estimation of Mike dropped precipitously.
“Kevin and I are old high school friends,” I replied. “I ran into Kevin at AA. If he crashed and burned, I think he’s turning his life around.”
Suddenly realizing that he’d just been incredibly stupid, Mike backpedaled. “Oh God, look, no offense intended. I’m sure he’s back on track.” It was a weak defense. “Kevin’s had some tough breaks. I think the worst one was when his wife died.”
I put my notebook back on my purse. “Cancer, right?”
“Yeah. If I remember right, it was a pretty rough time. Look, I’m sorry I was such a shit about Kevin. That was really out of line.”
His eyes seemed genuinely apologetic.
I attempted a polite smile. “Got to go, Mike. Look, something comes up on this Connor’s Landing thing, call me, okay?”
“I will.” He added, “You too. This works both ways.”
Walking away from Mike, I was torn between being pissed off at him and wondering what he had meant when he said that Kevin had put his family and friends through hell. What was that all about?
As I made my way across the crowded ballroom, Kevin was handing a business card to an attorney I’d seen a few times around the courthouse. When I came up beside him, I heard him say “Call me” before Kevin reached over and touched my hand.
“That guy wants me to talk to his wife about remodeling their kitchen.” Kevin pointed.
“Great,” I responded. “Get the job and then you can take me out to dinner at a really expensive restaurant.”
He blushed. “I’d like that very much.”
I took his arm and started leading him past the bar and toward the dining room. “I’ve finished my interview. I’ll have dinner with you and then probably leave just before the speaker goes on. I’ll head over to my office, write this up while you’re having dessert and then come back here, pick you up and take you for a cup of coffee at Dimitri’s.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Of course, then I saw him. Frank Mancini was coming through the front door. He had on his tuxedo and a million-watt smile as he swept into the ballroom.
His wife, Evelyn, was close by his side. A redhead, she’s tall and svelte, wearing a long black gown that clung to her body like a coat of expensive paint.
Even though I knew in advance that the two of them were attending the event, seeing the both of them startled me enough that I squeezed hard on Kevin’s arm.
“Yikes,” he exclaimed in surprise. Then he followed my line of sight until he spotted the Mancinis walking into the party. “That him?”
“Who?” I tried to feign indifference.
“The married guy that you’re seeing?”
I glanced at Kevin and then turned my full attention back to the Mancinis. Holy crap, they were walking straight at us. Oh wait, they weren’t walking toward us. Frank was bringing Evelyn to the bar and we were standing between it and them.
I tried to drag Kevin through the crowd so that they might not see us. “Yeah, he’s the married guy. But we’re not seeing each other anymore. C’mon, let’s go find our table.”
“Wow,” Kevin remarked, “Good-lookin’ guy.”
I looked up. They were closing in on us and the crowd had jammed up at the dining room doorway. We couldn’t move, we were stuck there. Kevin was right, though. Frank Mancini looked great in a tuxedo. “Yeah, yeah. He looks like James Bond and his wife looks like a supermodel. Nice couple.”
Kevin leaned in close, sensing my unease. “You’re much prettier than she is.”
I squeezed his arm again and pulled him a little closer. “You’re full of shit, but thank you for saying that.”
Suddenly they were there, standing right in front of us.
It was one of those embarrassing moments that you hear about but hope never really happens to you. For a long, pregnant moment, no one said a word.
Finally, Evelyn broke the ice. “Oh look, Frank. It’s your whore.”
Frank was aghast. “Evelyn!” He held out his hand clumsily to Kevin. “I’m Frank Mancini and this is my wife, Evelyn.”
Kevin shook his hand. “Kevin Bell. It’s nice to meet you.”
Frank nodded toward me and mumbled, “Genie.”
The four of us settled into an uncomfortable silence until Kevin spoke up, “We were on our way into the dining room.”
Frank said, “We’ll be headed that way ourselves. Just want to get us a glass of wine first.”
“I should have known that she’d be near the bar,” Evelyn sneered. Glancing at her diamond-encrusted watch, she added, “Cocktail hour is almost over. I’m amazed she’s still on her feet.”
I could feel the anger coloring my face. I was about to say something really crass, but Kevin cut in. “We’re going to take our club sodas into the dining room. It was very interesting to meet the two of you.”
Kevin started to pull me along, but not before I winked at Frank and growled at Evelyn, “Kiss my ass, sweetie. Your husband has.”
Kevin’s grip on my hand tightened as we moved through the dining area and found our seats. “Well, that didn’t go so well, did it?” he rema
rked.
I glanced around behind me. Through the crowd, I could see that Frank kept his hand on his wife’s arm and the two were heatedly talking to each other.
Kevin pulled out my chair for me and I sat down. “No, not so well.”
“She knows that you’re having an affair with her husband?”
“Had. It’s over.” I surprised myself.
“It shouldn’t come as any shock that she’s not fond of you, then.”
“Makes her downright hostile.” I took a drink of my club soda, wishing to God that it was vodka, straight up.
Other people settled around us. I was extraordinarily grateful that fate hadn’t played a cosmic practical joke and put the Mancinis at our table. We all introduced ourselves to each other and then started working on our salads.
“How long have you known that guy? What’s his name? Frank?” Kevin speared a cherry tomato from his plate.
“Two years. After Sal died, I was still living in Manhattan and freelancing for a couple of magazines. When Mom passed away, she left me the house here in Sheffield. I wanted to sell it and I needed an attorney to help settle some probate problems. Frank was the guy.”
Kevin watched the Mancinis glide slowly through the room, carrying glasses of Cabernet, stopping to talk to people at tables as they passed by. “Not to take anything away from you,” Kevin observed, “but his wife is pretty attractive.”
I knew what his unasked question was. “So why was Frank having an affair with me?”
Kevin shrugged.
I got on my soapbox. “Why do CEOs who make more money than god feel the need to steal even more from employee pension funds? Why do some politicians take bribes or cheat on their wives?” I frowned. “They can’t help themselves. What they have isn’t enough. They have to have more. They feel entitled.”
Kevin pretended to understand. I knew that he didn’t.
“Frank does it because he can. Plus, there are two things that I’m very good at, writing,” and at this point, I leaned in and whispered into his ear, “and sex.”
Kevin burst out laughing, his face a bright crimson.
I laughed as well and the rest of the table awkwardly stared at us.
