by Kay, Arlene
I felt the flush of deep emotion. Not the sorrow I’d made peace with, but anger, pure, unadulterated anger at the man who had betrayed me by trading our whole life for cheap thrills. For the first time it hit me: I really was alone.
“Oh, my God, is he still there?” Candy’s voice was full of hope. “I get it. Don’t say a word.”
“Of course he’s not here. You’re the one who has something to tell, Ms. Ott. Dr. Rao made a house call, after all.”
I heard her sigh over the phone line. Not a good sign.
“He was a perfect gentleman,” Candy said. “Damn it to hell. I think he was tempted, though. Don’t you just hate a man with scruples?”
“Hmm. Did he mention anything about Tommy or CYBER-MED, anything that might be useful?”
It took her a moment to respond. I knew she was carefully editing everything that happened that night, sifting through minutiae.
“He asked a lot of questions, mostly about my work at Sweet Nothings. Quite a few about you, too, Betts. He seemed fascinated by our friendship, you know, how the four of us got together and stuff.”
“What about Tommy? Any clues about what was bothering him?”
“Nada. Arun’s quite a fox, but pretty boring, too. Sang the praises of Dr. Cahill like a church choir, how brilliant she is, what an innovator, blah, blah, blah. If she weren’t so old, I’d suspect something was going on between them.”
“Hmm. Don’t count her out. I’ll bet she has a lot of life in her.” Time to change the subject. “Arun isn’t married, is he? You don’t want to become a home wrecker.”
“He never mentioned a wife. In fact, he said all he did was work. You know how it is with a startup, sheer drudgery.”
I remembered our first year at Sweet Nothings. It had been the best time of my life.
“Betts! You’re not listening again.”
“I’m exhausted. No more talk until tomorrow. See you then.”
I walked Della, undressed, and hit the bed like a granite slab.
~
The next day Sergeant Mark Andrews appeared at Sweet Nothings without an appointment. Judging by his snarls, the aggressively female surroundings brought out the beast in him. No Francie Cohen to act as spirit guide this time; Andrews had to tough it out alone. I normally brush off casual visitors, but one look at his face convinced me that there was nothing casual about this.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Mrs. Buckley.” He remained standing with his bony arms protruding from his pockets. “I thought you cared about your friend.”
Today was Della’s day to visit the office. She glided up to Andrews, tail wagging, and licked his arm. The cop jumped a mile, then relaxed when he recognized her.
“I like dogs,” he admitted as if it were a character flaw. “Wish I could have one.”
My feminine wiles are rather rusty. That’s Candy’s department. I pasted a perplexed smile on my face and said nothing. Fortunately, Candy slithered into the conference room, oozing genteel charm.
“Sergeant? How nice to see you.” She motioned to her assistant, who placed a steaming latte and a fruit plate in front of Andrews. “Help yourself. I know policemen never get time for decent meals.”
He grunted, torn between hunger and control. Hunger won out. “Very kind of you, Ms. Ott. I got an early start today.”
My partner wore a pink silk shirtdress that suited her perfectly. Tommy had dubbed it her “cotton Candy ensemble,” a deliberate fashion choice that dazzled onlookers. Candy used wardrobe strategically in a cynical play for control. Most men succumbed, but it had absolutely no effect on Andrews. He was far too busy wolfing down mango slices to care or notice.
“You were saying, Sergeant?” I glanced pointedly at my watch.
He brushed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. The gesture was surprisingly dainty. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lucian Sand?”
“Dr. Sand? What about him?” I closed my laptop, uncomfortably aware that my recent research was still displayed on its screen. I’d spent the past hour scanning the tedious academic treatises authored by Lucian Sand. At least he wasn’t a total fraud. He had won a slew of national awards and foundation grants. I sensed that something catastrophic had turned him from a brilliant computer nerd to a zealot obsessed by the security of implantable medical devices. The hot doc was prolific: he’d authored numerous articles on the topic and served as Director of LIPS, the Laboratory for Implant Patients’ Security. Was CYBER-MED really a rogue operation or one man’s warped crusade? Hard to tell.
“He’s a wacko, that’s what.” Andrews’ cheeks turned pink. “Complained to the Commissioner about my investigation. Guess whose name came up, Mrs. Buckley?”
I’ve never been a good guesser. That’s why I refuse to play those games. I gave him that blank look you learn in Introduction to Advocacy. “Let’s deal with certainty, not speculation, Sergeant. What about my friend’s murder? Any progress?”
Candy plowed right in. “Yes, Sergeant. Is there anything we can do to help?”
Andrews bared slightly crooked teeth in a grin. “Tell me about Mr. Yancey’s personal life. Any ex-wives, girlfriends, or significant others?” He cocked his head. “Oops. Forgot this is Massachusetts. Any life partners?”
“Certainly not.” Candy, that most liberal of souls, bristled. “Tommy was into women in every possible way.”
Andrews leaned forward. “Really? Does that include his partner, Dr. Meg Cahill? I’m told she and your friend were exceptionally close.”
I forced myself to power down. Tommy and that … that perky cougar? Impossible.
“Mr. Yancey would have mentioned it. We shared everything.”
“Then you knew about the insurance?” Andrews looked smug.
“You’re not making sense, Sergeant. Stop hinting around. Just tell us.” Candy folded her arms and glowered like a bubble gum goblin.
He tented his hands. “You’re right. I apologize. Mr. Yancey’s life was insured for a considerable sum, five million dollars payable to CYBER-MED.”
Candy’s eyes bugged, but I wasn’t surprised. “That’s a lot, but it’s not exceptional, you know. Businesses usually have a key person policy.”
“Oh, yeah,” Candy said. “Why we had one here when …”
She looked guiltily at me, knowing the outcome. Kai had been one of the key partners in our business. When he died, Sweet Nothings collected two million dollars, a pittance compared with the enormity of our loss. My loss.
Andrews was a bulldog, I’d give him that. He plunged on, heedless of the consequences. “Look, ladies,” he said. “I’m not trying to be a hard ass here. Just tell me this. What made Mr. Yancey worth five million bucks to CYBER-MED?”
I took a deep breath. Where to begin? Would a solid, meat and potatoes guy like Andrews ever understand Tommy? His enthusiasm and impish sense of humor? Rand Lindsay got it perfectly. Tommy inspired his coworkers. He made work fun.
“Startups are unique businesses,” I said. “No track record or hoary traditions. You sort of make it up as you go along. Tommy had a rare quality. He was a catalyst who inspired creativity. People loved him.”
Somehow I got through that speech without choking up. Everything about Thomas Yancey, his quirky humor, sloppy clothes, and piercing intelligence surfaced in a seismic wave that swamped me.
“Yeah. Sounds nice,” Andrews said, “but since when is nice worth five million bucks? Maybe someone decided to cash in.”
That annoyed me. I toyed with smashing his bony face but settled instead for reason.
“Tommy did much more than that. He was their CFO, the numbers guy. Not the mundane stuff that accountants drool over. His specialty was strategic finance. There was no one better at it.”
Andrews played dumb. At least, I hope he was pretending. Otherwise, law enforcement in Boston is doomed.
“What does that mean, Mrs. Buckley, strategic finance?” He kept his pen poised over a shabby notebook, ready to capture every pearl of wi
sdom.
Candy threw up her hands. “These MBAs! Always dropping terms like that. They did it at Sweet Nothings, too, in the old days. Tommy, Betts and Kai had their own language. Me, I just dreamed up products and found customers.”
She earned a look of gratitude from Andrews, as if he’d found a friend in a foreign world. Like most of her stunts, it was a calculated move designed to snare an ally.
“It’s fairly simple,” I said. “Tommy plotted directions, strategies and ways to get financing. He had a talent — a gift actually — for making the right financial move at the right time. He was a genius. A star.”
“Hmm,” Andrews said. “You sound just like Dr. Cahill. Could be reading from the same script.” He gave me a steely glare as if expecting an immediate meltdown and confession. That routine came from a playbook too, every bad cop show of the past fifty years.
After a lengthy silence, Andrews continued. “You never answered my first question. What do you know about this Dr. Lucian Sand? Your new colleagues certainly know him.”
“He’s mega-hot,” Candy said. “Smokin’.”
Andrews threw up his hands. “That’s not quite what I meant, Ms. Ott. I’m interested in this professor’s motives. He was banned from CYBER-MED, you know? Caused all kinds of trouble. I even heard that he clashed with Mr. Yancey.”
“Tommy?” My surprise was genuine. No need to pretend.
“Yes, Tommy. Dr. Sand got into a shouting match with him last month. Witnesses swear to it. This guy’s got quite a temper.” Andrews leaned forward. “Might make him lose control.”
Candy’s face got a greenish tinge that no makeup could eradicate. I knew she was picturing our friend’s final moments as he fought for his life. I poured her some Pellegrino and slid it down the table. She’s a fainter, hits the deck on a regular basis. Fortunately, I’m not the fragile type. I’ve only fainted one time in my life. Under the circumstances, most people would understand.
“Is that all, Sergeant? We have several appointments this afternoon.” I rose and guided Andrews toward the door. “We’d like to make arrangements for a memorial service. Any problem with that?”
Ichabod Crane Andrews gave his cadaverous grin. Maybe it worked in Sleepy Hollow. In Boston, it was a nonstarter.
“In due time, Mrs. Buckley. We’re not ready to release Mr. Yancey’s body yet.”
Candy gave a strangled cry. That was all the encouragement Andrews needed to get out of Dodge. As he grabbed his folder and slipped through the conference room door, he fired one final shot.
“Remember what I said, Mrs. Buckley. Stop screwing around.”
Eight
Candy clutched the stem of her water goblet in a death grip. She looked wan, drained of her usual vitality. Luckily today was her product-sampling day. She assembled enthusiastic focus groups twice a month. These women — and a few men — vied to spend two hours with the legendary Candace Ott. They willingly slathered creams, conditioners and scrubs on their bodies in return for personalized advice and fantastic goody baskets filled with Sweet Nothings products. Volunteers signed up months in advance via Candy’s blog. It was what we business school types call “a win-win.”
I never participated. Because of my job I wore makeup, used hair products, the whole nine yards. Noblesse oblige and all that. I endured it but never loved it like Candy and her minions. Modeling products was an integral part of our business strategy. Both Tommy and Kai had used our men’s line. Kai fluffed his luscious locks with a hint of gel, while Tommy stuck to pomade. They had been a toothsome duo, those two. My heart ached.
Andrews had done me a favor. It was strictly inadvertent, but there it was. I’d almost forgotten about those clippings Tommy had sent. Since Rand blabbed about Mary Alice Tate, I knew she was a client. My task was to determine if Judge Jacob Arthur, Ian Cotter or Richard Chernikova were clients of CYBER-MED. Tommy was never fanciful. He had sent those unadorned clippings for some reason. I thought about the disk. It was someone he knew, someone capable of murder. Probably affiliated with CYBER-MED but maybe not. After all, he’d made plenty of contacts at Sweet Nothings and elsewhere.
I checked the listings in my iPhone and phoned Meg Cahill’s private line. She answered on the first ring, sprightly as ever. We exchanged social niceties, then got down to business. There was much to admire about her, but I knew we could never become friends. That veneer of sticky pseudo-sweetness was a big turnoff. Kai always said my major liability as a lawyer was that I had no talent for duplicity. Nevertheless, I simpered a few bits of nonsense before closing the conversational gap.
“Listen, Meg, I’ll get right to the point. I know how important Tommy was to CYBER-MED.”
Wariness crept into her voice. “You’re so right. Rao and I contacted an executive search firm only today. Perhaps you can join us when we interview candidates, Elisabeth.”
“Excellent. Until then, you can make use of my services. Tommy and I had the same academic training, and we shared the financial duties at Sweet Nothings. Ms. Ott and I have already discussed it, and I can handle both positions with no problem.”
Meg Cahill gulped. She covered it with a weak cough, but I got the message. For once in her life this pillar of rectitude was speechless. Dare she risk offending the majority partners? Probably not. I sweetened the deal by dangling some bait in front of her.
“I’ll only be available on a temporary basis, of course. Assessing the business will really be useful.” I lowered my voice. “Confidentially, my partner is inclined to sell her shares once Tommy’s estate is probated, but she wants a fair settlement. I’m still undecided.”
Meg clucked sympathetically. “I understand entirely.”
“So. How does that sound?”
“Exciting, Elisabeth. Why don’t we meet tomorrow to discuss it? Rao is gone for the day, or I’d conference him in right now.”
“Great. I’ll be there at nine with Ms. Ott.”
~
“Are you crazy?” Candy asked. “What are you trying to prove?” She was working up to a major fit of pique. All the signs were there: wringing hands, mascara tracks, trembling lips. I’d seen it all before, and I knew how to handle her. I channeled my inner cherub.
“It’s not about me, Candy. Tommy sent me a message, and I plan to decipher it. Staying at Sweet Nothings won’t help one bit.” I patted her shoulder. “I won’t let him down again or you either.”
She closed her eyes and started chanting. Whatever mantra she used, it worked.
“OK. I get it, but that place might be dangerous.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed. “Oh, Betts. If something happens to you, I’ll die. I can’t stand any more loss.”
Loss. I was an expert on that topic. Without Kai, I’d spent the past year only half alive, a zombie. Now after twelve months of wandering aimlessly, I was finally focused. CYBER-MED might be my destruction or salvation. Either way, it was put up or shut up time. I almost convinced myself that it had nothing at all to do with Lucian Sand.
Della curled at my feet while I spent the afternoon researching. There was a ton of material about Judge Jacob Arthur. Some of it was the society fluff endemic to the fabulously wealthy. His family owned one of the largest private banks in the nation, and Arthur dabbled in philanthropy. It shocked me to realize that I’d actually met the man several times. Kai was a major booster of Angel Memorial Animal Hospital, and a few weeks before he died we’d taken Della to their Furry Affair fundraiser. Jacob Arthur had been the enthusiastic, somewhat pompous master of ceremonies, presiding over the auction with a firm bang of his judicial gavel. Funny, I’d totally forgotten him in the filmy haze of that special night. I’d just learned that I was pregnant. Kai was so ecstatic that he couldn’t keep his hands off me. We had toasted with Pellegrino instead of Cristal and danced the night away. One month later Kai was gone and so was our son.
Focus, Lizzie Mae. Focus. Bury the past.
When Candy poked her head in the door an hour later, she caught me dozing a
t my desk. No energy crisis for her. She’d adjusted her attitude and banished her tears. I could tell by the flawless makeup that adorned her face. Experience told me that any attempt to ignore her was doomed. In her manic state, Candy’s impervious to snubs and slights. She leaned over my computer and pointed.
“Well, what do you know? Look at the couple of the year.”
I zoomed in on the images section and gasped. There, bigger than life, was a photo of the late Judge embracing none other than Dr. Meg Cahill. What followed was a short blurb on implanted medical devices, which were hailed as a huge breakthrough in quality care. Lots of kudos to the medical community, especially cardiologist Margaret Cahill. According to her patient, Jacob Arthur, his pacemaker had saved his life more than once. The article coincided with the startup of CYBER-MED, a company designed to monitor such devices.
“My God, Betts, we’re two for two so far. Arthur and Mary Alice.” Candy shivered. “I’ll bet you’ll find that Ian character was involved too. Every woman I knew either trained with him or wanted to.” She winked. “They said he exercised every muscle in your body, even ones your husband hadn’t worked in years, if you get my drift.” She hugged herself. “It’s … it’s not really funny. I’m scared.”
“Hold on. Let’s analyze this thing calmly. After all, people with medical problems die all the time no matter how closely they’re monitored. Even if CYBER-MED had all of them as clients, the worst case would be negligence. That keeps lawyers like me in business. You know how cautious Tommy was. He was paranoid about lawsuits and probably wanted to run that stuff by me.”
Candy pointed an accusing finger at me. “What did Dr. Dreamy say about that? Something about dangerous short-cuts, right?”
“I didn’t really listen to him. He’s a fanatic. I told you that.” I turned my face toward the window to avoid her gimlet eye. Why did I bother?
“Elisabeth Mae Buckley, you’re blushing.” Candy forgot her night terrors and spun me around. “What really happened last night with Luc? Come on, spill.”
