“I heard you!” I shouted as I began to gather up my things.
She waved for me to hurry. “Well, come on! Cabs aren’t cheap, you know!”
Chapter 2
“Welcome to the Cuomo Towers, Ms. Beauvoir. Mr. La Roy is expecting you,” said a sharply dressed doorman, complete with hat and white gloves, as I stepped from the long black limousine. “Go to the elevators and press twelve. Mr. La Roy’s suite is on the twelfth floor.” The man gave me a warm smile as he motioned to a pair of leaded glass doors behind him.
I gazed up at the rather austere-looking apartment building rising before me. I felt the butterflies of apprehension take flight inside of me as I pondered the possibility that I had made a mistake. What good could possibly come from meeting with Simon La Roy? But just as a moth is attracted to a porch light in the darkness, I was drawn to the little man’s high-rise apartment. I had blamed David’s death on his past, and despite my efforts to forget about the life he led before we met, I was still haunted by questions. Questions I now hoped Simon La Roy could answer.
I turned back to the doorman. “Where do I go on the twelfth floor?”
“All of floor twelve belongs to Mr. La Roy, miss,” the doorman responded with a tip of his hat.
Once inside, a heavily armed security guard standing behind a desk filled with monitors greeted me. I felt my butterflies begin to swarm as the guard smiled and motioned for me to continue forward to a pair of silver elevator doors down from his station.
When the elevator opened on the twelfth floor, I found myself staring at heavy oak doors at the end of a short, dark, paneled hallway. I walked up and reached for the doorbell, but before my fingers even touched the button, the doors magically opened.
“Ms. Beauvoir.” A bald, blue-eyed, and bulky man dressed in a casual gray suit and cream-colored tie ushered me into the suite. “Mr. La Roy is in the drawing room,” he said as he motioned down a cream-colored hall to an open door on the right. “He is expecting you. If there is anything you need, I am Gerard, the butler.”
The butler quietly closed the front door behind me and scurried away, leaving me to find my own way to the drawing room.
I walked down the hallway looking at pictures on the wall of Simon La Roy as I went. In one photo, he was standing next to a former United States president. In another, he was shaking hands with a prominent member of the British royal family. But the formal snapshots of dignitaries and presidents seemed to only add to my anxiety. If Simon La Roy were this well connected, why did he want to talk to me?
I arrived in a cypress-paneled room richly decorated with Louis XIV furniture, a green marble fireplace, and an assortment of expensive antiques. Numerous pieces, which looked ancient in origin, were scattered about, either sitting on tables or displayed in special cabinets. Scrolls, pottery jars, tablets, and some statues of old Egyptian gods gave the room a museum-like quality. But when I gazed up onto the walls I felt all my apprehension quickly fade away.
Along the paneled sections of the room surrounding the fireplace were Jennys, three in all. I did not recognize the works, but the style was definitely David’s with his trademark use of bold colors and the way he made any subject on canvas appear slightly blurred.
The first painting was one of Jenny standing in the shadows of St. Louis Cathedral admiring some paintings hanging from a black iron fence. In the second, she was seated beneath a massive oak, fishing pole in hand, before a vast lagoon of pale blue, undulating water. And in the last, Jenny was captured amid a crowd of partygoers, dressed in a black beaded gown smiling at the artist. Hers was the only image in focus in a room filled with blurred motion.
“He did those when he came back to New York,” a high-pitched voice said behind me.
I turned to find Simon La Roy standing in the corner of the room, leaning against his cane, watching me.
“Forgive me,” he gave an apologetic flourish with his hand, “but I wanted to see your reaction when you first encountered my collection. It is a rare treat to see the model admiring her likeness.”
I waved my hand toward the paintings. “I’ve never seen these before.”
“They were done after his hasty departure from New Orleans,” he explained.
“Hasty?” I thought his choice of words was more than a bit inappropriate. “He disappeared from the city overnight. No note, no number, no forwarding address.”
Simon La Roy shrugged and glanced down at his cane. “As per my instructions.”
“You?” I stopped and checked my anger, reminding myself of why I had come here. “You told him to run away that night and leave me like that?”
“I trained him to immediately leave any situation where his assignment was compromised,” he admitted as he raised his eyes to meet mine. “Later, he told me of the debacle at your cousin’s wedding. I know it must have been difficult for you to learn of his original intentions that way.”
“Difficult!” I gave a sarcastic laugh. “Hearing the man I love confess to seducing me to obtain information in order to ruin my family’s business was a hell of a lot more than difficult.” I raised my voice. “Do you know what that did to me?”
Mr. La Roy grinned. “Drove you into the arms of another man. A man you almost married until David returned to you.” He laughed, more like a high-pitched giggle. “At your engagement party, no less, to…ah…what was the doctor’s name?”
I glared at the little man. “Michael. Michael Fagles.”
Simon La Roy shook his head. “Fagles? Poor boy never stood a chance.”
I could not help but agree with Simon La Roy on that point. I remembered my doomed engagement party and the way David had returned to me that night. His boyish charm and stunning good looks had instantly erased Michael’s cold kisses from my memory.
Mr. La Roy turned from me and gazed back to the portraits on the wall. “I’ve always wondered why he painted you in these settings. What do they mean?”
I stared wide-eyed with disbelief at the paintings. “Is that why I’m here? To explain the motivation behind David’s paintings?” I asked, turning to him.
He gave a frustrated sigh. “Please indulge an old man’s curiosity, Ms. Beauvoir.”
I shook my head. I could not believe I was actually going to abide by the little man’s wishes. “He painted our time together in New Orleans,” I said as I motioned to the painting of the back of St. Louis Cathedral. “We began there. He was trying to sell his paintings and we ran into each other.” I turned to the portrait of Jenny fishing in the park and added, “He took me fishing that day.”
“And the last?” Mr. La Roy asked as he moved closer to my side.
My eyes soaked in the rich hues of gold and amber in the work. “My Aunt Val’s party at the City Park Botanical Gardens. We saw only each other that night. Everyone else at the party was a blur.”
Mr. La Roy motioned for me to take one of the rich burgundy and gold chairs across from him. “So he told me. He spoke a great deal about you when he returned from New Orleans.”
Just then, Gerard entered the room and nodded to Mr. La Roy.
Simon La Roy raised his eyes to his butler. “Would you care for coffee or tea, my dear? I do have coffee with chicory, by the way.”
I hesitated for a moment, not sure what to make of the little man’s friendly demeanor. “Then by all means coffee,” I said as I warily took a seat in the chair. “I don’t think I’ve had a decent cup since I arrived in New York,” I added.
Mr. La Roy nodded to Gerard who instantly disappeared through the doorway. He then took a seat on the burgundy chair across from me, made himself comfortable, and rested his cane against the arm of his chair.
“After our meeting earlier today,” Simon La Roy began, “I wondered how long it would take for you to call me. I’m glad to see you don’t waste any time.”
I looked over to the paintings on the wall beside me and thought of David. “Someone once told me he found it best not to waste time playing games with peop
le.”
He gave me a warm smile. “My dear boy was always the get-down-to-brass-tacks kind of man. You are the same way.”
“David and I had many things in common.”
“Curiosity being one of them.”
I leaned back in my chair as I studied the man across from me. “I told you during our phone conversation earlier this afternoon, I have questions about David. You are the only person who can answer them for me.”
“I’m glad to see you’ve decided to trust me, Ms. Beauvoir.”
I frowned at him. “I don’t trust anybody, Mr. La Roy.”
He sighed as he sat back in his chair. “I can see why he fell in love with you.” He paused for a moment. “But please, you must call me Simon, and I will call you Nicci. We are like family, you and I.”
I tried not to laugh. “Family?”
“David was my family. He was just like a son to me.”
I watched Simon La Roy’s face soften as he spoke of his relationship with David.
“But David never mentioned you. Why?” I finally asked.
“That is what David insisted upon when he left my employ. He wanted to get a fresh start and cut all ties with the past as soon as he settled in Louisiana.”
I leaned forward and searched his beady brown eyes for the slightest glint of sincerity. “But that must have been upsetting, considering David was like a son to you. I have to admit, I find it hard to believe that you would let such a valued employee walk away so easily from your business.”
He shook his head and then gave me a reassuring smile. “Anyone who works for me is free to leave whenever they like, Nicci. As long as they keep their secrets to themselves, I am content.”
Secrets. The word had hung like a veil over me since David’s death. He had mentioned little to me about his life before our time together. But the one thing David had told me about was his vocation as a collector of secrets.
“David told me once he bought and sold secrets for a living,” I said. “Is that what you do? Broker secrets?”
Simon shook his head. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning.” He paused. “David and I had a mutual friend, his aunt, Flo Tyler.”
Flo Tyler was David’s only living relative and a wealthy widow from New York. We first met at David’s funeral and had found a common bond in our love for him. We had kept in touch over the last two years, but never once had she ever mentioned Simon La Roy or his association with David.
My apprehension quickened inside of me. “How do you know Flo?”
“Flo and I go way back. We started out together on the Broadway stage. She was a dancer and I was an actor. We became very close, like brother and sister, during those years.”
“But how did you go from being an actor to doing what you do?”
“Being male and privy to practically any show on Broadway, other men naturally sought me out to introduce them to the pretty female dancers. And, of course, being the soul of discretion, these same girls would often seek out my advice in dealing with their new boyfriends. I would hear of political secrets, family secrets, or speculative business ventures. Oh, just about anything these men had let slip between the sheets.” He reached over and traced his fingers along the silver handle of his cane. “I was making a good living off such introductions until I was approached by a man who wanted to have me arrange for a smart, attractive girl to meet a certain business rival of his. He wanted information that would help put his competitor out of business. Intrigued by the challenge, I went in search of the perfect girl for the job.” He smiled and looked over at me. “Her name was Clarissa. She was my first and, in my opinion, my best.”
I folded my arms over my chest and tried to hide my skepticism behind a placid exterior. “Going from arranging dates for dancers on Broadway to having your picture taken with former presidents and British royalty is quite a leap. How did you manage that?”
“Flo helped me in the beginning. With her society marriage to Dr. Ernie Tyler, I was introduced to a wide variety of wealthy and connected people who were in desperate need of my services. One thing led to another.” He waved his hand about the room. “And here I am.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “And David? How did he become involved with your organization?”
Simon La Roy glanced over to his collection of Jennys on the wall beside us and smiled. “I first met David when he was five. It was right after he had come over from Ireland to live with Flo,” he explained as he turned back to me. “She would often call me for advice on how to raise the young boy. Since Ernie was dead and David’s father was always away at sea, I guess I was the only man she felt she could ask about such matters. By the time David was seventeen, he began to exhibit certain behaviors his aunt thought might be detrimental to his future.”
“You mean his painting?”
Simon chuckled. “No, I mean his women.”
I nodded and then turned my eyes down to the floor as my cheeks blushed over. “Yes, I recall David mentioning something about that.”
I remembered the way David had told me of his beginnings. At the time, I had found it more entertaining than distasteful. I guess it is not the story but the way it is told that can turn even the most sordid tale into a harmless yarn.
“At seventeen David had taken up with a much older and rather unsavory socialite,” Simon went on, “who had encouraged him to try to make a go at being an artist. Flo felt he needed a man’s guidance before he ruined his life. I soon found the young man under my care and started teaching him how to better use his talent for women.”
I tried not to look as shocked as I felt. “At seventeen?”
He casually shrugged. “Why not? Boys cannot learn anything about women or life from other boys. They need a man’s guidance to steer them through such…murky waters,” he said with a devilish grin. “David’s looks and easygoing charm made most of the female population his for the taking. I taught him things that would help to ensure his attraction to even the most refined woman. A knowledge of wine, an appreciation for good food, how to buy tailored clothing, jewelry, antiques; in general, how to travel the world and look like an international player.”
My stomach lurched upward. “You turned him into a gigolo.”
“No,” he declared as he shook his head defiantly. “I turned him into a man who knew how to manipulate women to get what he needed.”
I sat back in my chair and frowned at him. “Secrets?”
“Yes,” he replied with a sigh. “You see, my dear, in my group of, let us call them specialists, each person has a particular talent. When a job required a man to get something out of a wife, mistress, or lover, David was chosen. But many within my organization have varied talents that are called on as each assignment warrants. Some of my specialists are women known for prying secrets out of a man. Some are men who are good at getting secrets out of other men. I even have a particular young woman who often is sent out to work as a nanny for certain families. She is great with kids and can get even the most intimate secrets from children.”
I shook my head, feeling the revulsion course through my veins. “That is…Christ, I cannot even think of what to call this!”
Gerard, the butler, entered the room carrying a complete tea and coffee service on a wide silver tray. I watched as the man easily placed the heavy tray on the table in front of Simon, and then he quickly retreated from the room.
Simon leaned forward and reached for the coffee pot. “I am not a pimp, Nicci. I buy and sell secrets. Unfortunately, obtaining secrets, especially those worth a great deal of money, takes a lot of imagination. You have to find weaknesses in your target.”
“Target?”
“The person from whom you wish to extract secrets.” He paused as he picked up a white porcelain cup and saucer on the tray before him. “You have to determine how the secrets can be extracted and then you must match the available specialist to the job.” He poured some of the black liquid from the ceramic pot into the cup and then held it out to
me and asked, “Cream or sugar?”
I took the cup and saucer from his hand. “No, thank you. I take it black.”
He reached for the teapot and poured a cup of tea. “My client list over the past twenty years has been quite extensive. But the notoriety of the clients is not what interests me. What always amazes me is how quickly people will hand over their souls in exchange for something as trivial as sex, money, or even fame.”
I took a sip of the rich coffee, feeling thankful I had something inside of me to help strengthen my resolve. I watched as Simon La Roy placed milk and sugar in his tea. I wasn’t sure if I would ever understand why David had chosen such a life with Simon La Roy, but I felt some comfort in the fact that I was finally beginning to learn more about the man I had loved. Even if what I was learning was not to my liking.
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me all of this, Simon.”
“I wanted you to know that David’s murder was not a result of any work he may have done for me in the past.”
My hands trembled slightly. I placed my cup and saucer down on the table before me. “How do you know that?”
“Because I have been investigating David’s death and I feel certain that the deed was not committed by anyone associated with my organization.”
I took a breath before I spoke, trying to get control over my emotions. “Investigating? What do you mean you’ve been investigating David’s death?”
“I was hired to investigate and find his murderer.”
“Hired?” I jumped from my chair, raising my voice and losing all sense of decorum. “Who in the hell hired you to do that?”
Simon looked unflustered as he put his teacup down on the table in front of him. “Flo hired me, naturally. She retained my services almost as soon as she returned from his funeral.”
My heart began to race and the coffee I had just consumed was burning in my stomach. “Flo! But why didn’t she tell me about any of this?”
Simon sat back in his chair. “I told her not to say anything. I felt it was not safe for you to know.”
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 33
