I backed out of the room and reversed course, headed not to the front door but to Cate’s kitchen, where I found her sipping her smoothie, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She looked up from the newspaper, which was spread out on the massive marble island.
“Did you forget something?”
“No. I need to talk to you.”
She arched an eyebrow but turned to her chef, who was busily cleaning the Vitamix blender. “Martin, leave that. I need to speak to Thyme for a moment.”
He turned off the water and bobbed his head then scurried away from the sink and out of the kitchen.
She waited a beat. “Well?”
“Well, I don’t think you should have told Audra that Helena’s dead.”
“That’s none of your business.” She took a sip of frothy green liquid and eyed me over the glass.
“That’s true,” I conceded. “But she’s in her room crying her eyes out over something you know isn’t true.”
“Oh, this is rich. You’re lecturing me about honesty? You seem to have an exceedingly casual relationship with the truth, Thyme. Here I am reading a fabricated death notice.” She slapped her hand down on the newspaper. “And you lied about being sick to get out of our session yesterday; you concocted this entire falsehood about Helena’s death and begged me to play along. And now you’re going to take me to task about doing just that?”
My cheeks burned because she was one hundred percent correct. I nodded. “I deserve that. But Audra doesn’t deserve this misery, Ca—Ms. Whittier-Clay. She’s just a child.”
“I know she’s a child. She’s my child. And as a result, the press will expect her to be at the vigil. I can’t very well take her without letting her know what it’s about. So, you have only yourself to blame for any sadness she’s feeling.”
I stared at her for a long moment wondering if she actually had a heart or if maybe she was some sort of ultrarealistic-looking android. I decided to try another tack.
“It won’t be safe. If the plan works, we’ll be luring a violent, vengeful man into the church. You can’t bring a three-year-old into—”
She raised a palm. “Let me stop you right there. I can see you don’t think much of my mothering but I’ve already communicated the safety issue to Officer Thompson. He’s added two additional officers to the crew. They’ll be masquerading as caterers, so they’ll be in the basement kitchen the entire time. As soon as the officers positioned on the street send word that Gabriel Vasquez has been spotted, my family will be whisked down to the basement and protected by the men there. So spare me your concern.”
I thought she was done, so I turned to leave. She drained her glass and put it down on the island just a bit harder than was necessary.
“Oh, and Thyme?”
I faced her. “Yes?”
“What you should be concerning yourself with is whether you’ll be losing a client as a result of your dishonesty. I don’t think you fully comprehend how valuable my time is. You wasted it yesterday morning; that’s not something I’m going to forgive lightly.”
My stomach churned. Cate was my most lucrative client. She paid a premium to have her session at her convenience, and she demanded a high degree of attention. I knew I was supposed to grovel now. But I couldn’t do it. I had to live with myself, after all.
I squared my shoulders. “If you think you can find another instructor with my level of experience, feel free. But I won’t apologize for prioritizing the safety of another human being over your ability to execute a full split. And, if, as you say, you have past experience with domestic violence, I can’t imagine you’d expect me to.”
I held myself ramrod straight and hurried out of the penthouse without waiting to see her reaction. I made it all the way to the elevator before I gave into my shaking knees and leaned against the wall.
* * *
I was still more than a bit jittery when I raced home to change out of my yoga clothes and into something more appropriate for church. I hated confrontation more than anyone I knew, and standing up to Cate Whittier-Clay was something I never dreamed I’d do.
When I’d come out of Cate’s building, Officer Leah Yee, who’d relieved the poor guy who’d sat outside my building overnight, bolted out of her squad car and grabbed my elbow. She said I looked so pale that she was afraid I was going to faint and had insisted on stopping at a corner market to get me a bottled water on our way to my apartment.
My heart rate had returned to normal during the drive, but my hands were still clammy and the tight knot in my stomach showed no signs of dissipating. If Cate fired me, I really would have to scramble to make up the lost income.
Don’t borrow sorrow from tomorrow, Thyme, I reminded myself for the second time in as many days. Thinking about my dad just made me think about what he and my mother had done. My whirring thoughts were going from bad to worse now.
I needed to still my mind before it spun completely out of control. I didn’t really have time for it, but I needed it. I settled myself on a thin cushion on the floor of my studio, crossed my legs in lotus position, rested my palms on my thighs, and fixed my gaze on the floorboard about four inches away. I let my thoughts pass without focusing on them.
When my breathing was even and my stomach was unknotted, I exhaled one final time and then unfolded my legs and stood. I checked the time and strode purposefully toward my bathroom shower stall where I’d hung the black dress that Victor had given me while I’d showered earlier. That was one of my mom’s tricks. Back in the days before green dry cleaning (whatever that was), she’d been leery of the chemicals used by our neighborhood cleaner. So she always hung her dressy clothes in the bathroom to give them a good steam while she showered.
I hoped nobody would notice when I showed up in the same dress I’d worn yesterday, but I didn’t have a lot of choices. Most of my clothes were appropriate for the exercise studio, a girls’ night out on the town, or cleaning my apartment. Aside from the black dress, the only thing I owned that was even remotely appropriate was a navy and white chevron print maxidress—and that was a real stretch. Not to mention, I sort of wanted to save that for the date that Victor had promised.
A small thrill of excitement ran through me at the thought, and I rolled my eyes at myself.
Ten minutes later, I met Officer Yee on the sidewalk in front of my building, looking entirely presentable, if I do say so myself.
“Feeling better?” She asked.
“I am.”
She nodded. “You look better.” Then she glanced down at my feet and gave a nod of approval. “Flats. Smart—in case you need to run.”
In case I need to run?
After she ushered me into the car and entered the flow of traffic, I leaned forward and asked, “Do you like working in the Movie and Television Unit?” It was my lame attempt at small talk in the hopes that chatting would distract me from the images of scenes I might need to run from today.
“Oh, no, I’m not assigned to Movie and TV.”
“What?” I was sure I’d misheard her.
The hint of panic in my voice must have registered because her eyes slid up to the rearview mirror and met mine. “Don’t worry, Ms. Field. You’re in good hands. I’ve been in the Patrol Services Bureau for six years. I’ve got your back.”
“Oh, sure, of course. I’m just surprised. Officer Thompson and Officer Jennings said this, um, play would be staffed entirely by officers from the Movie and Television Unit. It’s … well, it’s a groundbreaking performance,” I finished lamely because I had no idea how much, if anything, Officer Yee knew about what we actually planned to do at Our Lady of Pompeii. But given her cryptic comment about running, I figured she knew something.
“No sweat. I’m just your ride. I’m supposed to hand you over to Jennings and Thompson at the church and then go back to patrol duty. I guess the Mayor’s Office of Media and Entertainment was chapped that Thompson got so many bodies assigned to your, uh, play. Somebody from over there called up the Plan
ning Officer and ripped him a new one because a movie starring His Honor’s favorite actress got shafted on traffic control. They had to do a lot of last minute shuffling and ring kissing to make everyone happy.” She shared the news about the interdepartmental squabble almost gleefully, as if the sheer pettiness of the problem delighted her.
It occurred to me that it likely did delight her. She probably saw more than her share of humanity’s dark underbelly. A pissing contest that started because the mayor had a crush on some movie star? Now that was likely nothing but entertainment for Officer Yee.
But, for me, it was another thing to worry about. The team Officer Thompson had assembled was being reshuffled. Cate was bringing her three-year old. And that blasted knot was back in the pit of my stomach.
19
Officer Yee sat in her patrol car right at the corner of Carmine and Bleeker Street, idling and watching, waiting for me to go ahead and pull open the giant wood doors that led into the massive, block-long church. I don’t know what I expected a Greenwich Village church catering to disparate immigrant populations to look like, but it wasn’t this. This structure was more than awe-inspiring. It was imposing. Commanding. Intimidating, even.
Get on with it, I told myself. Waffling around on the sidewalk wasn’t going to magically make the church shrink down to a more welcoming size.
Here we go.
I ran up the steps two at a time but paused in front of the door. I turned back to the street and gave Officer Yee a little wave then inhaled deeply. I took one last look skyward, leaning my head back to take in the massive double columns that flanked the door and the tall, stained-glass windows, then I pushed on the door and entered the dim narthex.
As soon as the door closed behind me, that uniquely churchy quiet filled my ears. I hesitated for a moment, wondering where everyone was. Officer Jennings came clattering down the stairs from the clerestory—you know, the loft-type place where the choir stands? I wasn’t Catholic, but I did go through an architecture kick before I settled on my major, so I at least knew what the parts of the church were called. But that was about all I knew.
“Thyme, you’re early. Good.” She strode across the vestibule and clapped me on the shoulder. “Come with me.”
She led me toward the nave, pausing to dip her fingers into the receptacle of holy water and make the sign of the cross while I stood there awkwardly. We crossed the threshold and I heard myself gasp.
The main worship space was all marble columns, intricate murals, and detailed frescoes.
“Amazing, right?”
“It’s breathtaking.”
We stood in shared silence for a moment. Then Officer Thompson appeared beside us.
“Jeez, Jerry. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Officer Jennings snapped, her right hand on her gun holster.
“You need to switch to decaf, Jennings.” He shook his head at her then smiled at me. “How are you doin’, Thyme? Holding up okay?”
“I guess so. Ready for this to be over.”
“Gotcha. I got a call from Victor’s babysitter. They’re stuck in traffic over by the law school. Some kind of student protest.”
“Lawyers protesting? Sounds suspicious,” I joked.
“Must be feeling left out because the other 99 percent have all the fun,” Officer Jennings added.
“Yeah, it’s a laugh riot. I told Martinson to use that shiny thing on the top of his car and make some noise. It’s an embarrassment. An officer getting stuck in traffic? Shameful.”
I took a closer look at Officer Thompson, who had struck me from the get-go as even-keeled and easygoing. A faint red hue stained his dusky skin. He was really angry.
“Are you okay?” I asked in a low voice, pulling him away from his partner. I’d spent enough time with the two of them to know that if she participated in the conversation it would be nothing but escalating bravado and back-and-forth insults.
“I’m fine. No, great. I’m great. Ready to rock and roll.” He flashed a smile.
“If you’re serious about acting, you need to take some lessons, officer. You’re obviously distressed about something, and I doubt it’s the fact that Victor’s stuck in traffic. It’s not even ten o’clock yet.”
He twisted his mouth into a wry smile. “Busted me, huh? It’s no big deal, just some bureaucratic BS.”
“You mean the fact that Mr. Mayor has the hots for some actress?”
“Something like that.”
“But, the plan is still solid, right? Cate’s bringing Audra. We have to make sure she’s not in any danger.”
“I know.” He shook his head and grimaced. “Rich people. No common sense at all, that woman. Yeah, I have two plainclothes officers on the catering team to cover the Whittier-Clays. Only problem is, I had to pull them from outside the unit, too. We had to scramble so they went straight from their precinct to the caterer’s place. I haven’t personally briefed them. And now I can’t find them. I was just headed downstairs to Father Demo Hall to look for them.” He jerked his thumb toward a set of stairs that presumably led to the basement.
Jennings came walking over. “You two girls done gossiping? The brother just rolled up. The Whittier-Clays’ limo is right behind him.”
Thompson checked his watch. “They’re early,” he said grimly.
“Who comes fashionably late to a fake funeral, Jerry?”
The question hung on the air as the doors opened and the Whittier-Clay family swept into the gathering space with Victor on their heels. Audra’s face was pale white, and she clung to her father’s hand. Cate gave me a tight smile as she walked right past me. Officer Thompson trotted after her.
“No nanny?” I said to Victor when he stopped beside me. I pretended not to notice when he slipped his arm around my waist.
“Cate sent her to get cheese.”
“Pardon?”
“Murray’s Cheese Shop is right around the corner. I guess she’s out of Gouda or something. I don’t know.”
I bit my tongue. We had bigger problems than Cate’s cheese obsession.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, nuzzling my neck.
I smiled but pulled away. “We’re in a church.”
“For a fake funeral vigil, don’t forget. We’re already in trouble.”
“Still. Let’s fake being appropriate.”
“Are you even Catholic?” he asked.
I snorted. “Not even a little bit.”
“You can’t be a little bit Catholic,” he told me. He pulled me by the hand. “Come on, let’s go check out the altar.”
“Why? Oh, no. There’s not an empty casket up there, is there? There is, isn’t there?” I squinted into the shadowy worship area.
“I didn’t know they were bringing Audra. The police borrowed it from some zombie movie shooting in Williamsburg,” he explained out of the side of his mouth. We skirted the central nave, where the Whittier-Clays were milling about, talking with Officer Thompson and headed up the narrow aisle on the far left side.
“Nice,” I mumbled back. “Uh-oh. Where’d you get all those flowers?”
The altar was flanked by four enormous floral arrangements in stone urns. Fragrant lilies, gladioli, and roses spilled out. The closer we drew, the more watery my eyes grew, until we were standing next to the flowers. By then, tears were streaming down my face.
“Thyme?” he asked in a concerned voice.
“Allergies,” I wheezed as my throat started to close.
He grabbed my elbow and led me back down the aisle and out onto the church’s front steps. I took big, greedy gulps of fresh air. He stood by my side looking worried and frustrated.
“You’re allergic to flowers?”
“Not all of them. Wildflowers, surprisingly, don’t bother me,” I croaked.
“What can I do?”
I shook my head and exhaled as the tightness in my chest loosened. “I’m okay.”
He rubbed my back. “Are you sure?”
I nodded and raised my head in
time to see Lynn, Helena’s actress friend approaching the stairs from the sidewalk. She nodded a greeting in my general direction and pulled Victor into a hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a shaky voice. “What … what happened? The obituary didn’t say.”
Victor froze and stared at me. If he’d had a blinking neon “HELP ME” sign hanging around his neck, it would have been slightly less obvious than his panicky reaction.
“Lynn, thank you for coming,” I rasped. “I wonder if I could bring you inside to say hi to Audra? She’s inside, but Ms. Whittier-Clay sent her new nanny to run an errand. I’m sure she’d love to see a familiar face.”
Lynn’s face clouded for the briefest moment but she wiped away her irritation and put on a neutral expression. “Of course. Poor kiddo. But I need to tell Victor something first.” She looked at me sharply as if she were making some sort of judgment. “Actually, I guess you should both hear this—seeing as how you’re his sidekick and all.”
I wasn’t about to exert my strained throat to respond to that, so I just looked at her. She turned back to Victor.
“There’s something I should have told you on Monday night, but I promised Helena I wouldn’t.”
He blinked. “What is it?”
“Okay. What I told you was true, for the most part. We did get mani/pedis. She was acting weird. She did get a voicemail that upset her.”
We waited for a moment to see if she would go on, but she bit her lower lip and shifted her gaze to the ground.
“But?” I prompted gently.
“But I didn’t tell you everything. The call came before she decided we had to go to Target. We were walking to this Thai restaurant we both like and she pulled up her voicemail and listened to it. Then she just started freaking out. She told me she used to be married to a really bad guy. Is that true?”
Victor swallowed and nodded but didn’t speak.
“She said she moved here to get away from him but that he’d found her. The message was from him. She didn’t tell me exactly what he said, but I could tell he’d threatened her. She was all shaky and panicky. She made me promise not to tell you.”
Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery Page 12
