“It’s late, Kyle. Shouldn’t you be getting home?”
“No need. My wife’s at some Buddhist retreat in the Berkshires.” Kyle whirled Sky around with a flourish. “Gone for the rest of the week. Says she needs to de-stress, something about being a cop’s wife. Doesn’t care for the lifestyle.” He flashed a sardonic, gap-toothed grin. “She actually used that word. Lifestyle. In a text message. I got it while you were schmoozing in the caravan with Madame Tatiana.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Think the monks will enjoy her three-martini lunches?” Kyle whirled Sky around a second time and pulled her close. “I’m not sure why she feels the need to anesthetize her way through the second half of each day.”
I know why, Sky thought. Living could be a painful matter. No one’s fault, really.
“Guess I should be glad my only competition is vodka and cigarettes,” the detective continued. “But enough of my sad existence. Any tidbits from Miss Knows All Tells All?”
The babushka’s guttural voice, Madame Tatiana’s Egyptian eyes, the words of warning floated back to her. Sky’s fingers slipped beneath the diamonds and sapphires and found the amulet the old woman had hung around her neck. The tusk-shaped shells felt different somehow, as though they’d taken on the old crone’s clairvoyant energy.
“She gave me the usual reading. Lots of money and a handsome man just around the corner,” Sky lied.
“Psychics,” Kyle grunted. “Give me a break.”
"Get lost, O’Toole.”
It was Jake’s voice.
Kyle pulled away from her arms and Jake took over, enveloping Sky in a cloud of bourbon and cigar smoke. Before she had time to react, his arm was around her waist, her right hand tucked into his.
Another Motown tune started on the juke box, the Four Tops, Baby I Need Your Lovin'.
“You smell good,” Jake whispered.
Sky tried to pull away but he held her fast. Theresa Piranesi's image flooded back, the embrace in Jake's black Mustang. Sky wanted to scream the woman's name in Jake's face but it was too humiliating with Kyle and Axelrod so near.
“You’re drunk," she said. "Let go of me.”
“Your boyfriend was lying." Jake’s arm tightened across her back and his voice took a casual, playful tone. "He was in town all along. Fucking the drummer's wife.” Jake swung Sky in a clumsy circle. “Bring the girl in tomorrow. Maybe she can ID Templeton.”
"But Molly didn’t see the man’s face.”
“Maybe she saw it, maybe she didn’t.” Jake’s mouth was on her neck. The heat from his body burned through the gown's thin layer of silk and Sky's body responded.
“Give me my key," Sky pushed back.
“What key?”
“The key you used to get into my office last night.” Sky took an awkward step back on the pumps and put her hand out, palm up.
"You got it, babe." Jake dug into his pants pocket and extracted a loose copper key. "Get that kid in the station tomorrow for an ID. That's an order." He dropped the key in her outstretched hand and walked toward the pub door.
Sky stood with the key in her clenched fist and saw Jake turn around. Pain and anger were etched across his eyes and the look scared her.
Jake returned to the dance floor, so quickly that Sky pulled back and bumped the jukebox. The record skipped.
"Just so you know," Jake whispered in Sky's ear. "The lock doesn't exist that can keep me away." He turned and walked out of Kildare’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Fat flakes of snow floated through the night air.
Kyle and Axelrod escorted Sky the few steps from Kildare’s Pub to her office building. In one arm she carried the yellow gym bag, four pounds of Purina dog chow, and a leash – parting gifts from the Four Seasons hotel manager. In the other arm, her evening purse, the red tote, and Tiffany.
“Sure you’re okay? I’ll hang around if you’re feeling paranoid.” Kyle burped loudly and gave the dog a pat.
“I just need some sleep,” Sky said. “Go home.” She was expecting Teddy any minute and she wanted the detectives gone.
“Jake called a meeting, nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” Kyle climbed into the driver’s seat of the Crown Vic and rolled the window down. “Don’t be late, Cinderella.” He laughed as Axelrod slipped into the passenger’s seat.
Sky watched the men drive off and pulled her keys from the gym bag. She looked up and down Adams and checked the intersection again. Deserted. No people, no cars.
Kyle was right. She was being paranoid. Why would anyone stalk her? Sky left the street door unlocked for Teddy and climbed the steps to the second floor.
After rummaging in the galley kitchen at the end of the hall for clean dishes, Sky unlocked her office door and set bowls of fresh water and kibble on the floor. She dropped the bags next to the desk, switched on the floor lamp, and arranged the fur into a quick nest on one end of the sofa, for Tiffany.
Then, finally, she removed the diamond earrings, the Harry Winston necklace, the amulet. She kicked off the satin pumps and peeled out of the Balenciaga gown. Her fingers searched out and removed all bobby pins and she shook her head, savoring the sensation of loose hair on her bare shoulders. It had been a long night of corsetry and heels.
Tiffany crunched a few nuggets of kibble, lapped up some water, and jumped on the sofa. She collapsed into the fur and proceeded to track Sky’s every move with bulbous brown eyes.
Sky found the satin hanger that Francois had sent with her, celadon green with a ribbon bow and pearl balls at either shoulder. She hung the gown on the door hook and pulled a Turkish towel, a blow dryer, and a change of clothes from the yellow gym bag.
Still wearing the strapless silk slip, she trotted barefoot down the empty hall to the pink bathroom. After turning on the shower faucet, Sky pulled the slip off over her head and stepped into the pink tiled stall. She stood motionless as steaming water sluiced over her body.
She was glad to be out of the formal clothes and done with the evening’s performance. But where was the sense of relief? There were so many questions. Why would Manville kill Nicolette? Did Ellery lie to her? Sky lathered face and arms, breasts and belly with a bar of lemon verbena soap and thought about Ellery Templeton’s features. Not the eyes of a liar, she would have said. Axelrod’s revelation was troubling. Sky would talk to the musician. He was innocent, she knew it as surely as she knew Manville was the killer. Did Ellery take her advice? Did he have a lawyer? And Jake. She wouldn't think about him right now.
Sky washed her hair twice with lavender shampoo to remove all traces of the sticky hairspray, then turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.
Tiffany’s bark sounded from down the hall – sharp, high pitched, insistent. Sky heard footsteps pound, then a sharp rap. Someone called her name.
She wrapped the Turkish towel around her body and cracked the door.
Teddy Felson stood in the hallway outside the bathroom in jeans and a blue Columbia parka.
“Hey, mush!” Teddy gave Sky the standard Lake salutation, he pronounced it moosh. “What’s up with that dog?” Irritation rippled across his fleshy, handsome face. “When I walked in your office it bit me.”
“She’s my bodyguard. Be out in a minute.” Sky closed the bathroom door and dried off. After giving her wet head a few seconds with the stubby blow dryer, she pulled on a pair of pink sweats and zipped up a blue hoodie with the word ‘OBEY’ screened across the chest in extravagant fonts. A gift from Jake. ‘Wishful thinking,’ he’d said at the time.
Sky left the bathroom and padded back to her office with Teddy at her heels.
“Nasty murder,” he said. “Who kills someone at Heartbreak Hill? The morning of the Boston Marathon, no less. That’s some fucked up shit.” Teddy had a Lake accent, dropped most of his r’s. “I hear Jake’s going after that guitar player, what’s his name? Ellery Templeton.”
“Who told you that?”
“Please. I have my source
s.” Teddy followed Sky into the office. “So, what’ya need?”
Sky showed Teddy the internet shot of Porter Manville and gave him the CEO’s home and office addresses. “I want to know where Manville goes, who he talks to, anything you can find. I’d love to have the garbage from his house. And trash from his private office, if you can get it.” Sky draped the towel and slip over her office chair. “I think he’s from Texas.”
Teddy started to tap his foot, he seemed a little jumpy. “Number one,” he said. “You know you can’t use anything I bring you as evidence, right?”
“I know.” Sky also knew that the homicide team had little interest in Manville, they had Ellery in their sights. All traces of forensic evidence could very well be lost by the time Jake and Kyle got around to investigating the CEO. Better to find something now, even if it couldn’t be used in a courtroom. Sky needed something concrete, something to get their attention.
“Number two,” Teddy continued, “I hope you’re not expecting Jake.” He gave a furtive glance toward the door.
Teddy’s statement took her by surprise. "Absolutely not,” she said, too loudly.
“Good.” Teddy zipped his parka. “Do me a favor? Don’t mention our little arrangement. Jake doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him.”
Sky knew the Lake stories about Jake and Teddy, rivals as kids, rivals as cops. Jake made lieutenant and Teddy resigned from the Newton Police force, started free-lancing. Which only increased the bad blood between them.
“Here,” she handed Teddy the remaining wad of cash from her evening bag. “You’ll need operating money.”
Teddy Felson’s weakness for the roulette wheel at Foxwoods was common knowledge. But Sky trusted him. Teddy was a creative investigator. Everybody had their frailties, didn’t they?
“Don’t worry, Teddy. This is between you and me.” She secretly agreed with the PI, if Jake found out … well, he wouldn’t find out, that’s all. “Does your phone have a good camera?”
“State of the art.”
“Good. Take pictures.”
“Will do.” Teddy shoved the cash in his wallet. “Thanks, boss. I’ll see what I can find.” He backed his way to the door with an eye toward Tiffany. A low growl came from the sofa but the dog was invisible, she’d dug her way deep into the Barguzin.
Teddy eyed the coat. “Funny. I didn’t figure you for the fur type.” He lingered in the doorway. “You heard the latest about Jake and Theresa Piranesi, right?”
“Good night, Teddy.” Sky shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door.
The Lake had to be the smallest town in the world, everybody knew everybody else’s business. It was enough to make a person claustrophobic.
What about Jake and Theresa? What did Teddy mean?
A confusing flurry of emotions zigzagged through Sky. Why should she care what Jake was doing, or who he was doing it to? He couldn’t be trusted, he was unfaithful, she hated the very sight of him.
Sky collapsed on the sofa.
Last night, the love-making, all those feelings she’d tried to drown out on Nantucket, it felt like a scab had been ripped off. She ached for the comfort and heat of Jake’s body. She’d made Jake return her office key, but Sky realized she still harbored a foolish hope, that they could be together. Fear spiked through her. What about Jake and Theresa?
Why didn’t she let Teddy talk?
Pride, pure and simple. She hired him for information but she was too proud to ask about Jake. Stupid.
Sky ran to the door and yanked it open.
“Teddy!” she yelled down the hall.
But she was too late, the PI was gone.
There was a better way to handle this, anyway. Sky pulled her cell from the evening bag. She would talk to Jake. Meet him somewhere, apologize for her behavior at Kildare’s. Clear things up. Tell him that she loved him. Right now, this minute. Last night was not a dream. She and Jake were connected. Candace and Kyle had tried to tell her, but Sky had been in denial. Now she could see the obvious. She belonged with Jake.
Why had it taken her so long? Maybe Alexei knew the answer, Sky certainly didn’t. A rising sense of anticipation gripped her. The way out of this misery was here, in her hand.
Sky scrolled to Jake’s personal number and hit dial for the first time in a year. Three long rings. Midway through the fourth ring, someone answered.
“Hi! You’ve reached Jake Farrell. He’s busy right now [laughter] …” Theresa Piranesi’s recorded voice might as well have been a right hook. Sky terminated the call mid-message and let the phone drop from her hand.
Things began to unravel, the floor felt spongy beneath her feet. Sky’s heart skipped a beat as she made her way back to the sofa. She sucked in deep gasps of air but now her heart was pounding, pounding so hard she could feel it beating in her throat.
Fear – nameless, shapeless fear – descended. The office walls seemed to contract. Sky felt trapped with an internal bomb and it was about to explode.
She grabbed the yellow gym bag with shaking hands and emptied the contents on the floor, wadded trench coat, running shoes, wind breaker, underwear, bras. She found two amber prescription bottles, shook both, but they made no sound. Empty. She must have popped the last beta blocker yesterday.
Sky moved to the office chair in slow motion, trying not to fall. This was the point of no return, surely her heart would explode. A tremor shook her body and she gasped for breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead and slid down her cheek. A tingling started in her elbows and moved to her hands.
Each sensation came with a shockwave of panic. A word formed in her mind: Heart attack.
She needed to do something. Anything. Or she would die, here in this office. Sky reached for her cell, intending to call 911.
But as quickly as the panic had come, it drained away.
Sky’s heart slowed, the pinpricks in her hands faded. She sat back in the office chair and took a deep breath.
Tiffany’s flat, chrysanthemum face stared out, unblinking, from beneath the fur coat.
“Panic attack,” Sky explained. “I’m feeling a little better now.”
The dog snorted indelicately and jumped off the sofa. She pranced across the floor and offered Sky’s bare toe three licks with a rough pink tongue.
Sky scooped Tiffany up and clasped the tiny body to her chest. The dog’s warm, yeasty scent and steady heartbeat were soothing, her tight curl of a tail wagged in lazy contentment. Tiffany was happy simply to be held.
Sky looked around her office at the confusion of the wrap-around bookshelves. Psychology texts, student term papers, magazines, periodicals, shoved in any which way, a few nearly falling out, clinging to the shelf by inches. A mirror of her own life. The blue and white Chinese vases, the Persian rug on the floor, those were window dressing. The bedlam of the bookshelves told the real story.
Sky couldn’t kid herself any longer. She knew enough clinical psych to recognize the symptoms.
“Anxiety.” She whispered it in Tiffany’s ear like a dirty word.
Candace was right. Sky needed help.
But there wasn’t time for that. Tomorrow morning, on the way to the police station, she’d pick up a refill of the beta blockers at Eaton Apothecary, it was only half a block down on Watertown.
Seeing Jake without a chemical buttress was out of the question.
Sky wouldn’t think about that right now. There was work to do.
“Let’s check my e-mail.” With Tiffany on her lap, Sky sat at the computer and looked for any messages from Madeleine Fisk or Jenna Weems. Or the tattoo artist. Nothing. She texted Ellery: r u ok? lets talk
“Bedtime.” Sky turned off the lamp and lay down on the sofa with Tiffany at her feet and the cell next to her on the floor. She didn’t want to miss any calls from Ellery. She pulled the fur over her body and closed her eyes.
Sleep didn’t come.
Images rolled through Sky’s mind: Ellery’s sad smile, Porter Manville’s skeletal mask, Nicole
tte Mercer’s corpse, face up in the dirt.
Sky pushed off the fur and sat up in the dark. Light from a street lamp shone through the window and cast a muted glow over Tiffany’s brindle coat.
“I’m taking a run,” Sky informed the dog. “Bulloughs Pond. I need another look at that crime scene.”
At the sound of Sky’s voice, one of Tiffany’s eyes opened a fraction. But a full belly and the night’s excitement must have taken their toll on the pregnant dog because she promptly fell back to sleep.
“That’s okay. I’ll go by myself.”
It would never have crossed Sky’s mind to run alone in Boston, not at night. But Newton was different. Newton was one of the safest cities in America, according to a recent and highly publicized FBI designation – based on six crime categories, even Monk couldn’t argue with those stats.
Sky rummaged through the mess of clothes on the floor for a running bra and her worn Reeboks. She finished tying the shoes and pulled a pink wool stocking cap over her head. The OBEY sweatshirt was thick, her North Face jacket should be warm enough. So what if she got a little wet from the snow? It would only take her thirty minutes to get to the pond and back, it couldn’t be more than a three mile run.
Sky slipped her keys into the front pocket of the jacket and checked Molly Payne’s street address in her journal. Pulsifer. It wasn’t far from Bullough’s Pond and Sky decided to run by the house on her way, check it out, see how Molly lived. It was unsettling to think that the six-year-old girl was their only eye witness.
“Keep an eye on things, Tiff.” Sky gave the sleeping dog a gentle pat on the way out and shut the office door behind her. At the last second she unlocked the door and grabbed the amulet and a set of brass knuckles from her desk top.
Sky used them as a paper weight. The brass knuckles had been a gift from one of her Psych 101 students, a kid from Philly with dark-haired good looks who’d suffered a painful crush on Sky. Crushes came with the territory, every instructor had stories. The young man had presented the knuckles to Sky with a grin. ‘They worked good for me,” he’d said.
Sky pulled the amulet over her head and dropped the heavy brass knuckles into a pocket. Why take any chances?
The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) Page 22
