Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery

by Louise Gaylord

  He puts down his pencil and takes another sip of the molten liquid. “And that’s all?”

  I suppress a yawn. The three of us have been at this for what seems like a decade.

  “So, Bill, you’re positive about the time?”

  “It was Kingsley-Smythe that switched costumes with me. I know—knew the man. I’m positive it was his voice. I saw the signet ring on his left hand.”

  I shake my head. “But it just doesn’t add up. I saw somebody stab the Cardinal right before my eyes. I saw him fall to the floor.”

  Then Greene says, “And I heard Kingsley-Smythe suffered a coronary in New Jersey but they kept him alive until they could get him to Greenwich.”

  The detective points to my sheet and taps on the top item. “You and Kingsley-Smythe arrive at seven. The place is deserted. You go to the library, where there’s a bottle of champagne and one glass. He pours the champagne, gives it to you and departs. So far so good?”

  “He locked me in. Said it was for my safety. I tried to reach you, but there was no signal on the cell, so I sipped a little more champagne and explored. That’s when I found the fake book spines and what looked like the outline of a door. But then I got dizzy and passed out.”

  “And you have no idea how long you were unconscious?”

  “Not a clue. I don’t remember anything until he revived me. After that, things happened pretty quickly. When I told him about the fake bookshelves, he found the latch-spring and we started down the passageway. That’s when I saw the man murdered. Why can’t you believe me?”

  I’m tired, cold and hungry and neither one of these guys can add. “Look, I was huddled in that chair in the library scared out of my mind for at least an hour after I saw the murder. I heard the people arriving. I heard the bands start playing. On top of all that, I had a horrible headache.”

  Bill says, “And I’m positive it was around nine thirty when I traded costumes with Kingsley-Smythe.”

  I add my two cents. “What difference does all this make? The man is dead. Isn’t there an autopsy report?”

  The detective takes a sheet from one of his many files, scans it, then hands it to me. “This is the EMS write-up a friend of mine on the Newark force faxed me. Says here Kingsley-Smythe suffered a massive coronary in New Jersey. Per his friend Lawrence Templeton’s instructions, they kept him on life support until he reached the hospital in Greenwich. He was pronounced dead there. No formal autopsy.”

  “But Larry Templeton wasn’t at The Castle. He called Kingsley-Smythe on his cell to say he couldn’t make it.”

  Bill leans forward, an earnest look on his face. “But maybe Larry came later. Maybe you didn’t see him.”

  Greene tips back in his chair to study the ceiling. “Looks like we’ve hit another dead end. It’s almost like someone is pulling strings.”

  He suppresses a yawn then leans his elbows on the desk. “I appreciate you two coming forward about this. You’ve both been a great help.”

  He stacks the yellow sheets and slips them in a file, then turns to me. “Your part in this case is over, Allie. It’s time you got back to Houston.”

  I start to protest, but it’s late and I’m so exhausted I think better of it. Maybe it is time to fold my cards. Frankly, at this particular moment, the idea of facing Sigrid Hale doesn’t have quite the appeal it once did.

  Still, there’s the matter of the red leather address book and Kingsley-Smythe’s grandmother’s necklace and earrings safely stashed at the Chase Manhattan. Two aces waiting to be played.

  Chapter 28

  WHEN BILL STEPS INTO my cramped accommodation, I edge past him into the darkness, flick on the lights and turn to put my arms around his neck.

  I feel his breath on my forehead and shiver, happy there’s still that same powerful electricity that connects us.

  The next item on my agenda is to raise my lips. I don’t want to think about the consequences of the kiss. It just doesn’t matter. We’re alone.

  Bill seems to be much more in control of his emotions. In fact he’s all business. “What about the jewels? If you’re wearing paste, where are the real necklace and earrings?”

  I lean away and sigh. “In a safe place. I promise.” “They won’t let you get away with that.”

  “Then they’ll have to come after them.”

  “And they will. And when they do, it won’t be pretty. You saw those people tonight. You heard what they said. They’re not kidding.”

  “I know.”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder; his next words are barely audible. “How can I get it through that thick skull of yours that this is serious?”

  “I know it’s serious. But the necklace and earrings are the key. If Hale wants them, she’ll have to come and get them.”

  “But do you think she will? She’s managed to keep a low profile this far. Don’t forget, the last messenger she sent for those jewels is dead.”

  He studies me for a few seconds, his expression in neutral. “You need to hand them over to the proper authorities. How soon can you get them?”

  There are only centimeters between us and my knees are noodles. “Not tonight.”

  I put my arms around his neck for a second time and lightly lean my body against his. That gets his attention and our breaths quicken in unison until Bill breaks the silence. “When will you be leaving?”

  “Tomorrow—maybe.”

  I stand there looking into those incredibly blue eyes filled with worry, remembering how I let Bill walk out of my life in El Paso. If I had stopped him then, maybe things would be very different now.

  “Do you need to go?”

  He presses me to him and murmurs, “No.”

  Our lips touch in a tender, searching kiss, then our bodies lock.

  With mouths connecting and reconnecting, we take the few steps to my narrow bed.

  He looks around the room, then at me. “I didn’t plan on this. I wanted—” I feel his tux trousers slide south. “But it doesn’t matter where we are, does it?”

  Bill settles on the end of the bed. He turns me away to unzip my gown, then moves me to face him as it slowly slithers to the floor.

  I kneel and peel his shirt away from his upper body. It’s still there, the scar on his shoulder. The result of the bullet he took protecting me. Tonight it seems like that happened a lifetime ago on another planet.

  I kiss it. “You saved my life.”

  “Lucky I did, or we wouldn’t be here now.” He buries his face between my breasts and lets out a low moan. “I’ve dreamed about this a million times.”

  Moments later we lie facing each other, our bodies barely touching.

  Neither of us says a word. We take it slow and easy. This isn’t the time to hurry.

  Chapter 29

  I DON’T REMEMBER BILL’S LEAVING, except for a long, lingering kiss and a “Safe trip home. I’ll be in touch.”

  It’s mid-morning when I awaken to replay the scenes of the previous evening, taking time to reinforce the moments I’ll treasure when I return to my lonely life in Houston.

  Then my attention turns toward the day, and I damn the fact that a one-way, weekday fare is going to cost a bundle.

  I grab my cell with every intention of making a reservation on the late afternoon flight. Instead, I call Duncan’s apartment.

  When Angela answers I blurt, “Surprise. I’m flying in tonight.”

  “But you can’t. Not yet. If you come home now, it’ll ruin everything.”

  “I don’t understand. Ruin what?”

  “Duncan’s asked me to marry him. The wedding’s in Chicago the Saturday after Christmas. Mom’s already lined up the Deer Path Inn for the rehearsal dinner. And Duncan’s given me the most beautiful engagement ring.”

  When she describes it, I have to cover the receiver so she can’t hear me chortle. It’s the same engagement ring Duncan once placed on my hand—the same one I saw on the ring finger of the pale blonde fiancée who was my successor for a few short
months.

  Duncan had been engaged to a woman before he met me. Knowing him, it was probably the same ring I wore. The devil in me takes odds on whether or not Angela, as fiancée number four, will make it to the altar.

  “Are you okay with this? I mean Duncan and me? It all happened so fast. I mean, I never thought—never meant—it just happened so fast.”

  “Of course it’s more than okay. You and Duncan are perfect for each other.”

  “I’m so glad you feel that way. Just think, I never would have gotten to know Duncan if you hadn’t come to New York.”

  I squelch the small surge of ill will. “Look Angela, I had some free time. You needed help. So, I came. That’s what sibs are for.” After a few seconds she says, “Guess who called this morning?”

  I don’t feel like playing Angela’s game of twenty questions and I’m about to say so when she rattles on.

  “Cliff Danes. Can you believe it after all this time? And you won’t believe this in a million years.”

  She catches her breath and plunges on. “Cliff bought my townhouse. I have to confess, I didn’t pay much mind to the buyer since the lawyers were handling all the details.”

  My heart lurches sideways. “Are you telling me that Cliff Danes bought your townhouse?”

  “Who else do you know named Cliff Danes? Said he always loved the rooms and the high ceilings.”

  “Cliff called you?”

  “Are you in an echo chamber or something? When I told him I was getting married, but couldn’t find a halfway decent dress here, he’s insisting I fly to New York. He’s lining up some private showings downtown and thought since I would be staying with you, you could come to the appointments with me.”

  My mind is running in ten directions at once. Why has Cliff suddenly resurfaced? And where did he get so much money?

  “How did Cliff get Duncan’s number?”

  “I have no idea. Does it matter?”

  “Did you tell him where I’m staying?”

  “How could I? I don’t even know where you are.”

  I squelch my panic. No point in alarming Angela if I can avoid it. I take a deep breath and ask, “When are you coming?”

  “Cliff ’s calling me back when he lines up some appointments.”

  At least there’s time to get in touch with Duncan and have him head her off. I struggle to find my most enthusiastic tone. “Great. Call me as soon as your plans are firm. I’ll be waiting.”

  Hoping against hope that I still have Duncan’s office number in my cell, I roll through the list on my speed-dial and see that I do.

  When he answers, I smile to myself. He’s always prided himself on giving his clients personal attention.

  We trade small talk for a moment, then I leap right in. “Look, Duncan, this is really important. Angela must not and I repeat not come to New York. Send her to Chicago. Send her to San Francisco or Los Angeles, but you have to keep her out of Manhattan and harm’s way.”

  Duncan’s voice is filled with concern. “What happened up there?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it. There are more important issues now.” I take a deep breath and plunge onward. “I just hung up from talking to Angela. She tells me you’ve set the date.”

  “That’s right. We couldn’t be happier.” He pauses. “You’re all right with this, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  He clears his throat a couple of times, but his voice is husky. “You know, there will always be a special place in my heart—”

  “Hey, no need to go on about the past. Angela is your future.” “There’s one thing Angie and I want you to know. As soon as you decide what you’re going to do and where you’re going to be, we are sending you a check for twenty thousand.”

  I almost drop the phone. He wants to repay the money Angela borrowed for her bogus face-lift.

  “No, no, Duncan, that really isn’t necessary.”

  “Of course it is. We’ve discussed the matter and Angie wants you to have it and so do I. Please don’t make this difficult for us.”

  “Well, we’ll talk about that after things settle down here. Just keep her out of the way, will you?”

  He clears his throat again, but his words wrench my heart. “Allie, please take care of yourself. You’re one in a million.”

  ————

  Greene answers on the second ring.

  “It’s Allie.”

  “I was hoping you’d be on a plane by now.”

  I run through the conversation with Angela, saving the clincher until the end. “And here’s the newsflash. Guess who bought Angela’s townhouse? Cliff Danes. For a little over half a million. But I know he doesn’t have that kind of money.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Just trust me. I’m telling you he doesn’t. Somebody else made the deal. It might be worth your while to find out the details. It’s public record.”

  “I’ll take care of that, but, I want you on the next plane out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving, Greene. I know I can get Hale.”

  “Oh, yes you are. Those people told you to get out of town, and they meant business.”

  My pulse quickens. “All they said was to stay away from The Castle. That’ll be easy to do. Look, Greene, I’m willing to take my chances. Besides, if you consider all the angles, I’m probably the only one who can draw Hale out in the open.”

  He sighs and mutters an expletive. “I should send you packing, but to be honest, we hit a brick wall this morning. Seems we’ve been compromised. Someone’s obstructing, and whoever it is has the DA’s ear. Damn. I was so sure we were inches away from breaking this case I could taste it.”

  “Then let me help.”

  There’s a long silence on his end, then he says, “Understand, I’m not promising you anything, but there’s a meeting this afternoon at one. We’re using a safe house situated above the deli on Eighty-Eighth and York—” He adds, “I think I told you about the woman on loan from the Newark force? And the other member on the team is someone you’ve met before.”

  I gasp. Could the fourth member be Bill? Then I shake away the thought. That would be too perfect. I hang up and do a small cha-ching. At last—I’m back in the loop.

  Chapter 30

  GREENE HAS MANAGED to transform two small rooms into a pretty good office setup. In the front room sits a long table with two chairs on each side. There’s a laptop computer with a printer at one end and a whiteboard against the wall.

  The door to a second room has been removed. Several rows of boxes line the wall and two two-by-four planks propped on two orange crates groan beneath stacks of files.

  The room is empty except for the detective. “Thanks for being so prompt, Allie.” He rises to greet me and points me to the chair across from him.

  Once I’m seated, he flashes those dimples. “You’re now officially an independent agent with our team, which makes you sort of a Blue. Not much pay, but it should cover your room at the Wells.”

  I’ve hardly absorbed the news when a familiar face peers in the doorway. “Ahhh. The señorita has finally arrived. Now, everything is perfect.”

  My cheeks heat as Jaime Platón settles in the chair next to mine, extends his hand and says, “This is a pleasure. I look forward to working with you.”

  Greene passes Jaime and me a stack of pages. “Homework for later. I think you’ll be very impressed with the detective on loan from Newark.”

  As if on cue, an attractive Asian woman with straight black shoulder-length hair and bangs that almost cover her black round glasses-frames enters with a raft of papers clutched in one hand. She wears a bright red turtleneck sweater and matching slacks that showcase a petite, well-defined physique.

  The detective waves a hand her way. “This is Mindy Cha. At my direction, she has collected and compiled all the information for this case and will be keeping track of it for us.”

  He gives her an encouraging smile then says, “Detective
Cha, meet Allie Armington, who goes by Angela outside these rooms, and Jaime Platón. Both are independent agents on payroll for this project.”

  Detective Cha peeks through her glasses to acknowledge us and plunks the papers on the table in front of her.

  Greene goes to the whiteboard filled with multi-colored boxes connected with arrows. He points to the five squares bordered in black that run across the top of the board. “These first squares represent the three prostitutes who were at the New Jersey parties and met their deaths in the Nineteenth Precinct. The other two include information on Allie’s friend, Carolina Montoya, and the latest victim, Sheri Browne, both who were murdered in this precinct.

  “Though these five women’s deaths will still be a major priority, there is now another concern. That is the connection between these murdered prostitutes who were definitely from the Sigrid Hale stable and the drugs coming in from Colombia.” He lowers his eyes only a few seconds. “This is where our interest goes a little extra-legal, but because of the connection to the prostitution ring and the knowledge that Hale is connected to both, we’re going to color a little outside the lines—if you get my drift.”

  He taps a lime-green square at the top of the board. “This square represents Jason Kingsley-Smythe, the latest murder victim. We know he was the top dog out at The Castle, but someone wanted him dead. Why? Not sure. Who? Maybe Hale. “Thanks to Jaime and the DEA, we know the drug shipments never hit a snag and are still coming in from Colombia right on schedule.

  “Now, that strikes me as very strange since the red leather address book that Montoya lifted is still missing.”

  The detective drags his finger to the next two blocks: one blue, one red. He taps the blue box. “The New Jersey setup. Thanks to the joint efforts of Allie and DEA Agent Bill Cotton, we know what’s going down out there.”

  Greene turns to face us. “So. Now. What are we going to do next?” He jabs the name blazed in red. “Nab Sigrid Hale. Despite the cease-and-desist orders from the top, I was able to get a little wiggle room from the captain, but only if we stay below the radar.”