Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “Yes, I’d like to see her, if she’s up for it.”

  “I’ll have someone check on her,” Ross said, getting up from the table.

  “But first,” Madeline said, stopping him as he stood up, “I’d like to speak with Helen. I’ve got a lot of questions I’d like to go over with her.”

  “Helen asked for a couple days off,” Ross replied. “Her son was having some sort of trouble, as usual, so she went down to see him.”

  “Oh, I see…”

  “She’ll be back tomorrow night,” Ross said. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled with it either,” he added, noticing the way Madeline’s face had clouded over.

  “Hmm…I’m afraid my questions won’t keep. Could you give me her cell phone number?”

  “Sure…let me look it up.” Ross found Helen’s number and read it off to Madeline as she stored it on her phone.

  “Thanks,” Madeline said, standing up. “Oh, there is one question you might know the answer to…”

  “What is it?”

  “Does your security system monitor all the doors in the house?”

  “Do you mean when they’re opened?” Madeline nodded. “Yes.”

  “Even the doors to the balconies on the second floor?”

  “Yes, I’m sure they’re on the system.”

  “Great. Then I assume you can go back to a specific point in time and check the status…?”

  “Yeah, I’ve never done it, but I’m sure it can be done,” Ross said.

  “Is there someone who could familiarize Mike with the system so he can make sure the security upstairs wasn’t breached yesterday?” Ross looked back and forth between the P.I.s in his employ. He needed answers, lots of them, and it appeared these two were ready to get on the job.

  “I can show him the equipment while you’re upstairs with Cherie,” Ross said, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, a quizzical, almost shy look on his face.

  Madeline and Mike both got the read on him simultaneously. In his own home, Ross was alone now. His mother was dead, his wife was the source of many doubts, and his trusted housekeeper of twenty years had abandoned him on his darkest day. But these two were on his payroll and getting down to the matter at hand. As unlikely as it seemed, they were the best thing he had going for him right now.

  “Let’s do it,” Mike said, giving Madeline a wink as he and Ross left to do “man’s work.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Madeline found Cherie sitting in the bedroom she shared with Ross when he was in town. It was the last place she thought to look, mainly because she had only been in it once before. With all the other rooms at her disposal, Cherie rarely entered the massive corner suite unless her husband was in residence. It wasn’t hard for Madeline to understand why: though elegant, it seemed overly spacious and impersonal. A petite woman like Cherie could easily get lost in here.

  At first, Madeline didn’t see her. She was sitting in a chair half-facing a window. The afternoon sun, filtered by hundred-year-old oaks, dappled the room, making it unnaturally bright in some spots and too dim to see in others. Only the twisted stream of smoke from a cigarette tipped Madeline off to Cherie’s presence.

  “Cherie?” Madeline called out softly. Cherie’s head swung toward Madeline as she reflexively ground out the cigarette in a teacup.

  “Hi,” Cherie said, her voice sounding both anxious and lethargic. Madeline walked slowly in her direction, giving Cherie time to stash her vice out of sight. She sat in the wingback chair across from her former client and regarded her for a moment.

  Cherie’s hair had been pulled back into a neat chignon, probably in an effort to make her appear respectable and respectful. She was wearing a St. John knit suit in navy with white trim. Her usual eye-catching array of jewelry had been pared down to her amply large wedding ring, the ID bracelet from Tiffany’s and simple diamond stud earrings. Under her makeup, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

  But the biggest change to come over Cherie was inertia. The once flamboyant, irrepressible ball of fire now looked like someone who had given up on life. Despite her former feelings for the woman, Madeline found herself saddened by the transformation. Merely looking at Cherie brought back images and feelings from her own sudden fall from lofty heights.

  In Cherie’s case—unless she was missing something, unless some version of Mike’s crackpot theory of a lesbian conspiracy were true—Cherie could come out on top again, virtually unscathed by the events of last night. A lot would depend on how fast Vivian’s killer could be run to ground.

  “How are you holding up?” Madeline asked. Cherie grimaced at the question, as if the answer should be obvious by the sight of her. “Ross said you wanted to see me,” she said, unperturbed by Cherie’s indifferent attitude.

  “I just don’t know what happened,” Cherie said, looking toward the window. After a moment, she reached for her cigarettes. “Do you mind?” It was more of a challenge than a courtesy.

  “It’s your house,” Madeline replied. Cherie let out a small huff, effectively saying, yeah, but for how much longer?

  Cherie took a long drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke out to the side, away from Madeline. “Do you think I’m a murderer, too?” Madeline casually shook her head. “You don’t?” Cherie asked, her tone suddenly hopeful.

  “No. I don’t think you killed Vivian. And I know you didn’t kill Teresa.” Cherie’s jaw went slack. She sat staring at Madeline, as if her ears must’ve been deceiving her, until a length of ash dropped onto her lap.

  “No one told me about Teresa…” Cherie said accusingly, jumping up to flick the ashes off her skirt.

  “That’s because I just identified the body less than an hour ago.”

  “Oh my God,” Cherie cried, her hands cradling her head as if it had shattered. “Why…who would do these things?” she moaned, tears dampening her eyes. “I just don’t understand what is going on here,” she gasped, giving in to hopelessness as sobs shook her body. Moved by the first real emotion she’d ever seen coming from her former client, Madeline got up and held her while she cried herself out.

  “Madeline, why are these things happening to us? What did we do wrong?” Madeline went to get some tissues, leaving Cherie to wrestle with those questions on her own. She held the tissue box while Cherie struggled to pull herself together.

  “Madeline, do the police really believe I killed Vivian?”

  “I think you are the most convenient suspect at this point.”

  This admission seemed to awake a larger fear. “Do you think I’ll go to prison for a murder I didn’t commit?” Cherie asked, her voice breaking again at the mere thought of being stripped of her life and branded a killer.

  “Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. So far, you’ve only been taken in for questioning. Liz Sweet is a crackerjack attorney. She’ll make sure your rights aren’t trampled. And Ross is behind you all the way.”

  That got Cherie’s attention. “No, you’re wrong,” she said, turning away to face the window. “As far as he’s concerned, I’m nothing but a money-grubbing party girl, a frivolous airhead who resented having to share him with his mother.” Cherie’s delivery of this harsh characterization almost made Madeline laugh. “What do you find so funny?” Cherie demanded between sniffles.

  “Nothing. I just wonder if maybe you’re being a little over-dramatic.” Cherie’s mouth dropped, her outrage igniting and threatening to spew. “And you’re wrong about Ross. I happen to know he doesn’t believe that.”

  “Those were his exact words!” Cherie spat. “Everyone has this image of Ross as being this super laidback, calm guy, but they don’t know his other side. He can be vicious, when he wants to be.”

  Madeline held up her hands to stop Cherie’s tirade. “I was just hired by Ross to find out who else had the means, opportunity and motive to kill his mother.” This bulletin almo
st floored Cherie.

  “Why would he do that?” she asked indignantly, looking at Madeline as if she was out of her mind. The whole concept had Cherie so perplexed, she was stunned into silence.

  “Cherie, there’s something you don’t know about me. Event planning is really sort of a sideline for me,” Madeline said, playing down the financial importance that career played while she and Mike fulfilled their three-year training requirement. “As it happens, Vivian knew that I’m also a licensed private investigator. She hired me on a matter just a few days ago.”

  Cherie backed up on unsteady legs, her arms stretched out behind her, seeking a chair to fall into. “You’re a P.I.,” she stammered as she bumped into the wingback and sank down. Madeline nodded. “Oh my God, that is so…amazing…” she said, staring up at Madeline with renewed appreciation. “And Ross hired you…to…find out who killed his mother?”

  “My partner and me, yes.”

  “Wow…this is so weird. I really feel like I’m dreaming this whole awful thing, and any second I’m going to wake up.”

  “Well, I wish it were that easy, but Vivian and Teresa are both very much dead. Our job now is to find out who is responsible so that you aren’t railroaded into a conviction because it’s handy.”

  “Oh, Madeline—I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you,” Cherie said, rising out of the chair, slowly assimilating the new slant to the horrible situation. “Can you and your…partner…”

  “Mike Delaney.”

  “Can you two really find out who killed Vivian?”

  “We’re going to use every means available to us,” Madeline said, falling short of making a promise she didn’t know if she could keep. “I feel a special need to solve this, for Vivian’s sake.” Madeline could see the thoughts behind Cherie’s blue eyes and the effort she was making to hold back the question she was longing to ask.

  “Because Ross has asked us to continue on with the matter his mother hired us to investigate, I’m not at liberty to discuss it with anyone, including you.” Instead of becoming put out by this disclaimer, a mysterious smile spread across her features.

  “You really are a detective. And you’re going to get us through this nightmare.”

  Madeline felt herself cringing at the responsibilities she had so recently taken on. Vivian’s fairly benign request for a background search had morphed into a two-headed dragon. She and Mike now had two murders on their laps, and the background check had been upgraded to a search for a thief. And, of course, there was the small matter of a fugitive from justice with a blood-lust to satisfy. Suddenly, she envied Cherie and her simple case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Speaking of which, I better be going,” she said, turning toward the door.

  “Maddie, wait.” Madeline turned to face Cherie just as her former client nearly tackled her with a hug. “I feel so much better knowing you don’t think I’m a murderer and that you’re going to fight for me,” Cherie said, freeing Madeline from her embrace.

  “We’ll do our level best, Cherie.”

  “You look wrung out,” Mike said as they descended the steps and headed for his car. “Is Cherie okay?”

  “She’s bouncing off the walls. One minute, she’s semi-suicidal, the next, she’s throwing her arms around me like I’m her salvation,” Madeline said as she opened the passenger side door.

  “You might be.”

  “We might be, if we’re lucky. But it’s going to take a lot of luck to sort out this mess.”

  “Where to?” Mike asked as he started the car.

  “The office, I guess. We’ve got some serious updating to do on our boards.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Always. This detective business seems to burn up the calories in a hurry,” Mike said with a smile.

  “Unless you’re on a stakeout,” Madeline amended.

  “Should we pick up something?” Before Madeline could answer, her phone rang.

  “Bonjour, Philippe.” Madeline looked over at Mike as she listened to the chef. When her eyebrows shot up appreciably, Mike mouthed the word “what?”

  “Well, that’s very sweet of you. But it would be better if we came by your place instead.” She paused briefly as she listened to Philippe and pointed which direction to go. “We’re actually just leaving the Alexanders’. We could be at your facility in five minutes.” She paused and flashed Mike a thumbs up. “I can’t wait. A bientôt.”

  “What was that about?”

  “Food. We need to make a pit stop.”

  “What kind of food?”

  “The kind fit for kings,” Madeline said with the first real smile of the day. “Per Helen’s request, most of the food that would’ve been served today and tomorrow was divvied up—the prepared food going to the Rescue Mission and things like butter, eggs, fresh fruit and vegetables sent to the Foodbank. What didn’t go to those places went to the Alexanders—several days of prepared food, which is nice.”

  “That is nice,” Mike agreed, though he felt like he was missing something.

  “And because Philippe is such a darling, as a personal thank you for hiring them for the job, he’s put together a couple eight-course dinners for yours truly.”

  “And friend, I hope you mean,” Mike said.

  “Naturally.” They grinned at each other like they had just pulled off the bank heist of the century. “He’ll have it all packed up for us by the time we get there,” Madeline said, her mind already filled with the visions and aromas of past Philippe feasts.

  “Ah, Madeline,” Philippe said with his charming French accent, as he kissed her on both cheeks. “What a horrible thing, no? It is just so hard to understand who would do such a thing,” he commiserated, his normally cheerful smile replaced with an expression of deep concern.

  “It is truly baffling, and heartbreaking,” Madeline agreed.

  “Do they know who did this?” Madeline shook her head. Philippe made tsk, tsk sounds as he shook his head. “Ah, and the paparazzi—they are everywhere! Everywhere I look, I see the story. C’est terrible!”

  One of Philippe’s sous-chefs appeared with a smoked trout terrine and placed it on the work table in front of his boss.

  “Ah, beautiful,” Philippe said as he wiped his hands on his apron and prepared to cut off two portions. His cheerful demeanor suddenly became uncharacteristically sour. Sensing his dissatisfaction with his staff, Madeline discreetly turned her attention to the framed photographs of Philippe’s culinary masterpieces while he down-dressed one of his sous chefs in his native tongue. An exchange took place and the contrite underling made his apologies.

  “Sorry about that. I think we are all still a little shaken up from last night,” Philippe confided to Madeline as he placed the slices on two plates already primed with a delicate yet undoubtedly rich sauce.

  “I can certainly understand that,” Madeline said. “It must’ve been a nightmare for all of you, trying to complete the service when an army of law enforcers descended on the kitchen.” Philippe threw his glance heavenward.

  “It was unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head to dispel the memory. “It is certainly something for my memoirs,” he joked as he covered the last of the goodies and put them in a third insulated carrying case.

  “You are all set, ma cherie. Bon appetit!”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “What’s in that one?” Mike asked as Madeline removed the lid off another plate. She inhaled deeply, savoring the sublime aroma.

  “Duck confit with figs and black truffles.” She took the lid off the side dish and took a taste of the trio of pureed vegetables that accompanied the main course. “Oh, yum…celery root…” She tried the one next to it. “Umm…” She stood back and motioned for Mike to try it.

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” he declared. “What is it?”r />
  “Wild yam with chestnuts.”

  “What’s the third one?” Both spoons went at the remaining puree simultaneously. Madeline took a tentative taste and smiled.

  “Heavenly,” she sighed.

  “What is it?” Mike asked.

  “It’s the sunchoke and cauliflower puree with fresh horseradish.”

  “No fair, you already know what all this stuff is. Well, what are we waiting for?”

  “I’ll get some plates.”

  After gorging themselves on the most delectable food either of them had had in years, they tried to focus on their many assignments and concerns. With very little sleep squeezed into the last two days, it was hard to concentrate properly, especially when their bodies were trying to digest the feast.

  “I need coffee,” Madeline said as she got up to put on a pot. While it was brewing, she came back into Mike’s office carrying two small plates and a creamer.

  “What now?” Mike asked as he struggled off the sofa to get a better look. Madeline set the plates down and trickled a rich-looking sauce around both.

  “Something that will probably keep us awake for hours,” she said, handing Mike a spoon. “This is Philippe’s killer marquise of dark chocolate, white chocolate and espresso, with a mint crème Anglaise.” Mike made a dubious face. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. I’ll go get the coffee.”

  “Isn’t that a little redundant?” Mike asked, hazarding a taste. “Whoa, that’s insanely delicious. If I were a woman, I’d marry the guy.”

  “I know. I should’ve ditched Steven for him before everything went to hell,” Madeline joked as she reentered Mike’s office carrying two mugs of coffee.