“Not a problem.” I’d started to walk around the car when he spoke to me in a low, sexy tone of voice.
“We’ll pick this up again, Finley.”
By the time I got back home it was nearly ten and I was tired thanks to my middle-of-the-night escapades. I was followed inside by the memory of Liam’s brief kiss. Like so many of my past relationships—not that Liam and I had a relationship per se—I was wading into dark, swirling waters. Well, not wading so much as drowning.
“Why can’t I find a nice, uncomplicated man?” I muttered as I changed into my pj’s while the coffeemaker brewed a fresh pot. Maybe there were no complicated men, just complicated relationships. I was definitely no expert. With the exception of her twelve-year marriage to Jonathan Tanner, I’d spent my life with men flitting in and out of our world while my mother indulged her need for serial marriage. My sister seemed to have overcome the family curse, so what was wrong with me? Why was I always attracted to the wrong guy? Worse, even when I know the guy is wrong I still want him.
I gave the salad a fleeting glance before going to the pantry and grabbing the Lucky Charms. Lord knew I needed some hearts, stars, moons, and clovers about now. Box in one hand and mug in the other, I went to the sofa and reclined on the pillows so I could turn on the plasma television mounted on the wall. I set the box down long enough to pull my hair back in a ponytail, get up and grab my laptop, return to the sofa, and then settle in for some much-needed me time.
The television was a secondary distraction for the moment. I was looking forward to checking my eBay bid and surfing around for some more parts for my build-it-from-scratch Rolex project.
Yes! I was still in the running for the bezel. After about five minutes, I’d started to look at some watchband links when the newscaster’s voice cut through my concentration.
Liam’s photo from years ago filled all fifty-two inches of the screen.
“. . . Liam Rory McGarrity is being sought by the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office in relation to a shooting in the Riviera Beach area of the county. Anyone with information on Liam Rory McGarrity should contact the sheriff’s department immediately. The public is being warned not to approach Mr. McGarrity but rather to call the number currently on your screen.”
God, please don’t let anyone be watching the early news.
No such luck. My iPhone belted out my Aretha Franklin ringtone. “Hello?”
“Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
I cringed at Tony’s angry tone. “Going on with what?” Stall tactic number one.
“Don’t play me, Finley. I just caught the news. Why was Liam at your house last night?”
“Technically it was this morning, not last night.” Stall tactic number two.
“Goddammit! Stop screwing around.”
“I . . . um . . . think I need . . . Maybe I need an attorney.”
I heard him let out a long breath. “Meet me in my office in an hour.”
The line went dead. A lot like my career, I feared.
Finding the right outfit for a reaming was a challenge. I decided demure was the best course of action. I went with a gabardine sheath dress in a bold shade of cobalt with an asymmetrical neckline and V-shaped seaming in the back. I’d gotten the dress at the Vero Beach outlets for a fraction of its normal retail because the slender belt was missing. Replacing the belt was simple. I paired it with my brand-new Jimmy Choo Luna peep-toe platform pumps in nude.
Next I carefully reapplied my makeup, going a little heavy on the concealer since I was definitely sleep deprived. A quick run-through with a flat iron and I was as good as I was going to get. I grabbed a pashmina, my purse, a travel mug of coffee, and Liam’s disposable-cell number, then drove back to Dane-Lieberman.
I was kind of relieved to see only Tony’s car in the lot. I’d been afraid that he might bring Ellen and Vain Dane in on the problem.
Said problem being me.
I didn’t exactly race up to the fourth floor, mainly because I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say. The offices were like a ghost town, the hallways lit only by the reddish glow of the exit signs at the stairwells. It was gloomy, which seemed appropriate given my predicament.
When I stepped into Tony’s doorway, I heard the muffled voice of the eleven o’clock newscast coming from the credenza on the far wall. Usually the TV was hidden inside the cabinet, but Tony obviously wanted to keep a keen eye on what was unfolding.
He looked up at me and definitely wasn’t happy. “Sit.”
Stay, heel. Liver treat. I perched on the edge of the seat, my toes tapping soundlessly against the plush carpeting. My mind was racing, as was my heart. I wished he’d stop glaring at me and say whatever it was he wanted to say. Like “You’re fired.”
“Start at the beginning. How did Liam come to be at your house?”
“Ashley brought him over.” I obviously had no qualms about throwing her under the bus.
“Ash is in on this, too?”
Ash? It never dawned on me that Tony might have a history with Beer Barbie. Of course he did. Liam and Ashley would have been married when Tony and Liam first became friends. I spent the next thirty minutes recapping my involvement with Liam, all the while Tony’s frown deepening.
“You rented him a car?” he asked in a harsh tone.
“He’s very determined to find out what happened to José Lopez. Am I going to be charged with a crime?”
“You could.”
My toes tapped faster. “What will happen to me?”
“For right now, nothing. But down the road the ASA could charge you with aiding and abetting, harboring a fugitive, and destroying evidence.”
“But he wasn’t a fugitive when I did any of those things. He was just a guy who was spooked when he discovered his former friend was dead and someone took a shot at him. If anything, Liam is a victim.”
“Give me a dollar.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give me a dollar. It’s your retainer. Now, whatever isn’t covered by attorney work product will be covered by attorney-client privilege.”
I fished a dollar out of my wallet. “Thank God.”
“This only works if Liam comes in and becomes my client. Tell me how to reach him.”
“He bought a disposable cell,” I said as I took the scrap of paper from my bag. “This is the number.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was going to Ashley’s to pick up some clothes. I have no idea what he planned after that.”
Tony grabbed up the receiver and pressed a series of buttons. I could only hear Tony’s side of the conversation and it wasn’t pretty. Well, unless you count pretty colorful. The call ended with Tony slamming the phone on the cradle. He held the slip of paper up with Liam’s number on it and said, “I’ll hang on to this right now. I don’t want the two of you putting your heads together until I have a chance to hear Liam’s version of events.”
“You think I’m lying?” I asked, offended.
“I think you’d go above and beyond to help Liam. Admirable but not helpful. He’ll be here at seven tomorrow morning. I want you here at eight.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Then we go see the cops and try to straighten this out before it becomes a bigger mess.”
My cell phone rang and I was half afraid it was Liam calling to scream at me for talking to Tony. I looked at the caller ID. It was worse, it was my mother, who I’d bet my last dollar—the one I’d just given Tony—had seen the evening news and wanted to gloat.
“Don’t discuss this with anyone,” he warned.
I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. “I kinda have.”
Tony sighed. “Who, and what did you say?”
I told him about my lunch with Becky, Liv, and Jane. “But I didn’t give them any details because I didn’t have any. I just told them about Liam being shot.”
“From now on, keep your mouth shut. You talk only to me, understand?”
“Yes.”
; “Then I’ll see you at eight.”
I stood and walked to the doorway, then turned back. “Tony?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Save your apologies for Victor Dane. If the shit hits the fan, he’ll want your head on a pike.”
It was 7:05 and I was already dressed for work and sitting at my counter sipping coffee and listening to Roxanne Stein on the morning news. The photo of Liam in his uniform was in a small box off to the right of the news anchor. The story seemed to be the highlight of the early morning newscast. They were still asking for the public’s help, only now they included a description and the license plate number of his Mustang.
I was reminded of his remark about a woman hiding the car in her garage and giving him a lift to my place. Ashley, maybe, but that was an awfully big risk. Questioning the ex-wife was almost a given under these circumstances. It wouldn’t have been a very prudent idea to stash his car at her place.
The outside lights automatically came on and I heard a car in the driveway. It couldn’t be Liam, he was supposed to be meeting Tony. It wouldn’t be my mother, she didn’t do mornings. I got up and peeked out the window. It was a white sedan with blackwall tires. A cop car. Great.
I answered the doorbell with an anxious smile on my face. Two men stood on my porch, their expressions blank and stern at the same time.
“Miss Tanner? Finley Tanner? I’m Detective Metcalf and this is Detective Wells,” he said as they simultaneously flashed their IDs in my direction. “We have a few questions about Liam McGarrity. May we come in?”
I tried to dawn an air of innocence as I pulled the door open and invited them in. “Would you like some coffee?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I waved my hand to the sofa and said, “Please sit. Black, cream, sugar?”
“Black,” Metcalf said.
“Cream for me, ma’am.”
I hated being called ma’am, especially by a guy who looked to be about my age. Wells was the younger of the two. Thirtyish, with auburn hair and a very pale complexion that included a row of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Metcalf was the more senior of the two. I put him somewhere in his fifties, with a bald head and piercing green eyes that followed me like a tractor beam as I moved around the kitchen.
I refreshed my own coffee, then carried all three mugs to the living room. “Sorry I don’t have any pastries or doughnuts. I’m not a breakfast eater.”
“Not all cops crave doughnuts,” Wells said with a fairly genuine smile.
My cheeks warmed slightly at the stereotype and I giggled nervously. Lucky for me they didn’t know me, so I didn’t think they would be able to tell that nervous was my new middle name.
Metcalf spoke while Wells took notes.
“I understand you know Liam McGarrity?”
“Yes. For about two years. He does PI work for my firm.”
“Dane, Lieberman, and Caprelli?”
“Yes. I’m a paralegal there. I’ve worked for them for eight years.” It dawned on me that I was not following Tony’s instructions to speak to no one. Only I couldn’t think of a more obvious way to look guilty than to invoke my right to have counsel present during questioning. Did I want the wrath of Tony or the wrath of the cops? I decided the cops were worse.
“Have you had contact with Mr. McGarrity in the last twenty-four hours?”
Shit.
“As far as I know, he hasn’t contacted my firm.” Not a lie, Tony called him.
“We have information that your relationship with Mr. McGarrity is of a more personal nature. Didn’t the two of you recently take a trip out of town?”
“May I ask who told you that?”
“Mr. McGarrity’s ex-wife. Could you answer the question, please?”
Beer Barbie was such a traitor. I took a sip of coffee, glad that my hands weren’t shaking. “Yes, but it isn’t what you think. I needed an escort for my sister’s wedding. Tony Caprelli was supposed to accompany me but something came up at the last minute, so Liam was kind enough to stand in.”
Wells was writing furiously in a small notepad.
“You stayed at a hotel in Atlanta?”
Beer Barbie had a big mouth. “Yes, but not together. We had separate rooms.” Separate adjoining rooms. Time to go on the offensive. “There wasn’t any sex, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Not for lack of trying. “I have a mother who is very big on etiquette. Liam was simply my escort.”
“Did you pay him for his time?”
“Not that kind of escort,” I said indignantly.
“We have information that you and Mr. McGarrity have worked closely on several cases. Is that true?”
“Yes. But that’s part of my job. It often falls to me to hire outside contractors on cases.”
“What kind of cases?”
“I do estates and trusts, which involves tracking down heirs and other pertinent information regarding assets and things, and I also do litigation support for Mr. Caprelli when needed.”
“He’s a criminal specialist, right?”
“Yes.” I glanced down at my Swatch watch and stood. “In fact I have a meeting with Mr. Caprelli in a half hour, so if we could wrap this up I’d be very grateful.”
“Does the meeting have anything to do with Mr. McGarrity?”
Think! “The last case Tony brought me in on was the defense of a juvenile who is currently incarcerated. I really can’t say any more than that without betraying privilege.”
Wells flipped his notebook closed and downed his coffee. “Thank you, Miss Tanner.”
Metcalf seemed a tad more reluctant to end the interview but he grudgingly got off my sofa. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch again,” he said as he reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket. “Here’s my card. If you see or hear from Mr. McGarrity, I’ll expect a phone call.”
“Not a problem.” Or an option.
MapQuest should really start at direction number three. I’m pretty sure I know how to get out of my own driveway.
six
“Change in plans,” Tony said.
I was negotiating a modest amount of traffic over the bridge that separates West Palm Beach from Palm Beach proper. It’s the unofficial dividing line between the haves and the have-nots. I lived on the have side. Granted, my little house was smaller than most of the servants’ quarters attached to the mansions that dotted the island, but I didn’t care. I loved my little piece of heaven.
I put my cell on speaker and placed it in the cup holder. “What’s the new plan?”
“Meet me at the sheriff’s office in Riviera Beach at nine. Bring a pad of paper.”
“Okay.”
Tony didn’t bother saying good-bye, the line just clicked and went silent. I had a good forty-five minutes, but I couldn’t think of any way to kill the time, so I headed for the office. Margaret wasn’t yet at her perch but one of her minions was seated behind the horseshoe-shaped desk. Her name was Wendy or Cindy or something like that. I only knew the petite redhead from the file room and the few snarky remarks I’d heard her say under her breath. Like Margaret, she resented my private office and my salary. Too freaking bad. I resented being called FAT behind my back, so I figured we were even.
“Do I have any messages?”
Wordlessly she passed a few pink slips toward me.
“Is Margaret out for the day?” No one sat behind the sacred sentry desk unless Margaret was at death’s door.
“She had an appointment. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Spill that healthy little bottle of V8 juice on yourself? “No, thank you.”
There was a small amount of activity buzzing around the second floor. Mostly interns trying to keep up with their duties and a couple of administrative assistants prepping various projects for the partners. I said hello to the ones I knew as I turned left and went to my office.
I still had the messages in my hand but it wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I bo
thered to read them. They were all from Jane, and all were urgent. Something was weird. Why hadn’t she called my cell? Or my house? Why leave messages at the office instead of on my voice mail?
It was only a few minutes before eight, so I knew she’d be at the gym. I’d return her call on my drive to the PBSO since her workouts ended promptly at eight forty-five. I checked my voice mail while my computer booted. Nothing of consequence except for an angry message from Sleepy Bollan telling me he was going to hire “a legal aide” to fight the eviction. “Great,” I sighed, wondering how long this problem would drag out. Maybe talking to his own attorney would convince him to take the deal. I could only hope.
My e-mail was about as disinteresting. A new estate assigned by Victor Dane, along with an edict to contact the client so I could begin the process. I dashed off a quick e-mail to Ellen, letting her know Sleepy’s intentions.
The last item was an e-mail from Izzy with a photo attached. She’d looked online and found what she thought were the perfect shoes to go with her outfit. I was impressed. The Gliteree skinny-heeled platform pump was darling; I just wondered how Tony would feel about the shoes. They were a tad high for a fourteen-year-old. Just to be on the safe side, I e-mailed Izzy, agreeing that the shoes were cute, but suggested we not limit our choices until we had scoured the mall to see all the options. I’d make a point of taking her to the Betsey Johnson shop last. Hopefully she’d fall in love with another, more appropriate pair. I was already on Tony’s crap list. I didn’t relish the idea of throwing gas on that fire.
I lingered over a cup of coffee while I scanned eBay for any new listings. I hit pay dirt. A seller was offering four band links with no reserve. My kind of auction. I immediately placed a bid and was almost giddy when I was the high bidder. Now if it only stayed that way for the next six hours.
Riviera Beach was a small town just north of West Palm. I had to MapQuest and GPS the directions since the sheriff’s office wasn’t on my radar. Suspenders and a belt—sometimes my GPS takes the long way around. Luckily I was going against the traffic, so I arrived at the station and didn’t see Tony’s BMW or the small compact I’d rented for Liam. I stayed in my car. I’d already had one interaction with detectives and I wasn’t relishing a second round of questioning. Instead I tried Jane’s number. It frustratingly went directly to voice mail. I pleaded with her to call me ASAP, then placed my phone on vibrate only.
5 Bargain Hunting Page 6
