“Cooper’s fixed, too. I’m sorry. I’m running late this morning. I didn’t know about the tunnel. I guess he’s been digging it for some time. It’s usually dark when I get home. I guess I should have seen it, but I didn’t. What do you want me to do? I have to be in court by ten o’clock, and I just missed the train.” He whistled sharply for his dog, who ignored him completely.
“Sadie!” Lucy bellowed. The retriever ignored her, too. Angrily, she stomped her way down the hall to the last room on the right, where she stared in horror at the bedroom she’d spent weeks decorating. The champagne satin comforter was streaked with mud, the matching chair was so dirty it looked like it had come from the garbage dump. Both dogs sat up straight, their rumps on her satiny pillows. Sadie had the good sense to slide off the bed and wiggle under it, knowing full well Lucy couldn’t reach her. Cooper stared defiantly at his owner and his hostess.
“I’ll make this up to you, I swear I will,” Wylie said, his voice desperate-sounding. “Look, I’m going to have to drive to the city. I really have to go, or the judge is going to fry my ass. When I get home tonight, I’ll come over here and help you clean up. I’ll pay for any and all damages.”
“You expect me to leave all this till sometime tonight when you get home. In your dreams, mister!”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don’t have any other options right now.” Wylie had his hand inside Coop’s collar and was dragging him off the bed. Lucy took a small amount of pleasure in seeing some of the mud rub off on her neighbor’s pant leg. She grinned as he cursed under his breath. At the door he turned, and sniped, “That remark about the pointy stick was uncalled for.” The moment the door closed behind her neighbor, Lucy shouted for Sadie, who continued to ignore her.
If nothing else, Sadie and Cooper’s romp had driven the ugly thoughts concerning Jonathan and the FBI agents from Lucy’s mind.
An hour later, Clueless Cooper was back on the deck demanding to be let into the house. Wylie Wilson must have a doggie door. It was cold, and it was still raining. A heavy sigh escaped Lucy’s lips when she let herself out onto the deck. She moved the cover of the hot tub, and said, “Get in; then you can come in the house.” Clueless Cooper, whom she now knew for certain to be as clueless as his owner, jumped in, paddled around, then hopped out. He looked up at her with puppy-dog eyes that melted her anger. “Okay, come on. You can keep Sadie company.” The house shook as Coop beelined through the rooms in search of his friend.
Jurisprudence was never this interesting, she thought as she leafed through the yellow pages to call Disaster Master Cleaning Service. She was told they could accommodate her in three hours for the sum of four hundred dollars. She was no fool; she snapped up the offer and clicked off the phone. Wylie Wilson was going to be four hundred dollars poorer by this evening.
Lucy stared down at the emerald-cut diamond on her finger. Tears burned her eyes as she wondered if there would ever be a matching band on that finger. The FBI was wrong. They had to be wrong. Jonathan was Jonathan, not that Leo Banks or that Lucky Leo person. It was all some big misunderstanding. It had to be. It just had to be.
2
Lucy’s thoughts turned dark as she found herself staring down at the emerald-cut diamond on her ring finger. Suddenly, she saw the gaudiness of it, the look-at-me statement it seemed to be making. The moment Jonathan had placed it on her finger she’d been reminded of the square solar lights that lined her driveway. She’d always wanted a marquise diamond, but Jonathan had wanted to surprise her and had picked out the ring himself. The thickness of the gold band plus the heaviness of the stone weighed down her hand. Suddenly, it didn’t feel right. She slipped it off her finger. Where to put it? Finally, she dropped it into the toe of one of her sweat socks and rolled it and its mate into a ball. Jonathan had made a point of telling her he’d insured the ring. She wondered if it was true.
Five minutes later she was dressed in a navy blue sweat suit and sneakers. She rummaged in the vanity drawer for a rubber band for her ponytail. For some reason she was having a hard time getting warm. She was almost to the door of her bedroom when she realized how quiet the house was. Tiptoeing down the hall, she looked into the guest bedroom to see both dogs asleep side by side on the queen-size bed. Even animals need friends, she thought.
Carrying a cup of coffee, she walked through the family room, where she tried not to stare at the muddy furniture, and turned the corner and walked up the steps to the room over the garage that she used as an office.
The frog, or as the Realtor called it, the finished room over the garage, was a room of built-ins. Built-in desk, built-in bookshelves, built-in entertainment center, and built-in storage. The bathroom was small, with a toilet, tiny sink, and an equally tiny built-in shower. Sometimes she came up with Sadie just to sit and veg out with the TV. Maybe it was just to say she used all the rooms in the big house. Sadie loved running up and down the steps. Sometimes she would hide her toys and chew bones under the comfortable sofa.
Lucy sat down and hugged her knees to her chest. She really needed to think about what the FBI agents had said to her. Really think about it. She was a lawyer, so that had to mean she was smart enough to figure out what was going on where her fiancé was concerned.
For starters, how much did she really know about Jonathan St. Clair other than she’d turned her heart over to him. Jonathan, with the wicked sense of humor; Jonathan, with the laughing eyes and crinkly smile. Jonathan, who was never shy about telling her how much he loved her. He’d spun a tale for her about how wonderful and rich their lives would be once they got married. He’d said he planned on cutting back on his traveling so he could be home more because he wanted to be a hands-on husband and father. Four children, he’d said with a wicked grin. And he wanted them all to look like her.
Was it Jonathan St. Clair or Leo Banks who had made all those promises? She wished she knew. She also wished there was a way to call her fiancé, not to tell him what the agents had said, but just to hear his voice.
Her thoughts drifted to the last time she’d been with Jonathan. It was such a wonderful three-day getaway at a little inn on the Chesapeake that was private and secluded. Three whole days, half of which were spent in bed, the other half walking along the shore, holding hands, staring at one another as they both whispered promises they swore they would never break. He was the consumate lover, gentle, kind, considerate, passionate. A satisfying lover.
Jonathan was a true romantic, something that had surprised her in the beginning. He loved giving her silly little gifts, then stunning her with a diamond bracelet that almost blinded her. She pretended to love the bracelet, which she did, but she loved the snow globe more.
Once he’d surprised her by scattering rose petals on the sheets when they made love. The scent of the roses and the loving words he’d whispered had been a heady mix as he caressed her in all the right places. Over and over, he’d professed his love, promising that life together was going to be wonderful. She’d believed him.
Then, of course, there was the wine. Very, very good, expensive wine. Way too much wine. Now that she thought about it, those trysts were always a little blurry in her memory. Maybe the romance and the sex were colored by the wine, and she was too stupid to know the difference. Her brother said she was one of the smartest people he knew. She assumed he meant professionally. She was convinced now that where men were concerned she really was stupid.
When it had been time for him to leave the last time he’d visited, she’d cried. She never cried. Well, hardly ever. All that expensive fine wine had been the culprit. Jonathan had cupped her face in his big hands as he’d whispered more endearing words, then kissed away her tears. He’d called her ten minutes later just to say he loved her and to make her laugh, which she did. Knowing how alone she was feeling, he’d continued to call her every ten minutes for the next few hours until he boarded his flight.
“Bastard!” was all she could think of to say. And now this…whatever this was.
&nb
sp; In all the time she’d known him, he’d never once given her his travel itinerary. His home base, such as it was, was a small one-bedroom apartment on East Seventy-ninth Street. She knew she could call the number at the apartment, leave a message, and sooner or later, most often days later, Jonathan would return her call. At least that’s always the way it had been. For some reason, she knew things weren’t ever going to be the same again.
Jonathan was in Guatemala. At least that’s where he said he was going two weeks ago. He’d promised to be home for Thanksgiving, which was a week away.
Jonathan did not have a key to this house, and she didn’t have a key to his apartment. Now, where did that thought come from? she wondered. She’d never been to the apartment. There was no need really. When she’d met him, she’d been living in the city at the brownstone on Forty-ninth Street, right around the corner from the United Nations Building. He’d always preferred to go to her place, claiming it was bigger and more comfortable than his apartment. Now, she felt an urgency actually to see where her fiancé lived.
If the Disaster Master people arrived on time, she could leave them to do their work while she loaded the dogs into her sports utility vehicle and drove into the city to Jonathan’s apartment, pick the lock, and be back by dinnertime. Early in her career she’d represented a client named William Fogerty also known as Three-Fingered Willie who had been accused of multiple burglaries. She’d gotten him off. To show his thanks at her skilled representation, he’d spent hours showing her “the tricks of the trade,” which she’d actually enjoyed learning. When Willie said he was confident she could pick any lock as well as he could, she’d felt pleased. Willie had been so happy with his acquittal, he’d given her her very own lock picking kit. She’d doubled over laughing, knowing she’d only have occasion to use it when she accidentally locked herself out of her own home, but still, she’d kept it, and now she was glad she had brought it with her to New Jersey. If she believed what the federal agents had told her. Well, there was only one way to find out.
Jonathan brokered business deals and received a commission for his efforts. He’d intimated that he was a multimillionaire. He looked the part, dressed the part, and acted the part. She had to admit she didn’t know what kind of deals he brokered, and when she had inquired, he’d wagged his finger playfully under her nose and said his business was the same as hers, confidential and client-privileged. She’d never asked again, but she had discussed it with her brother. Between the two of them they’d finally decided Jonathan was the man who brought the money boys together. A sheik in Saudi Arabia who wanted to buy some high-end real estate in New York without anyone being the wiser. Or, as Steven put it, anyone who wanted to conclude a high-stakes business deal without the facts leaking out to the opposition called on Jonathan St. Claire. And for his efforts, Jonathan was rewarded with a percentage of the deal.
What could Jonathan possibly have done to make the FBI place him and, as a consequence, her, under their microscope? And why would her own life be in danger? Did the agents think she knew something damaging about Jonathan?
Lucy finished the coffee in her cup. She herself was a free agent. Again. Nellie Ebersole, the popcorn lady, was leaving for Fort Myers, Florida, over the weekend, where she would reside until the end of March. That meant Lucy was out of her part-time job until the first of April. By April 1, she would be back from her honeymoon in Greece and be ready to settle down to being Mrs. Jonathan St. Clair. She shivered when she thought that the first day of April was April Fool’s Day. Tomorrow night was the going-away potluck supper for Nellie that the neighbors were throwing. Her contribution was to be Swedish meatballs. She wondered what Clueless Cooper’s owner would bring.
If she wanted to, she could drive to Jonathan’s apartment in New York and take a look around. She could also drive to Winchester, Virginia, tomorrow. If she left at dawn, she could scout out the area and make the return trip home on the same day. How hard could it be to locate the house Jonathan said he grew up in? She could take the picture with her since it was in her album. She supposed she could fly to Spain if she had to. Checking out Jonathan’s parents shouldn’t be that difficult. She could go to the American embassy and ask for help. Or, maybe she could call the embassy for the information she needed.
Why am I thinking like this? “I have to prove them wrong,” she muttered. “I know they have Jonathan mixed up with someone else.”
Lucy bounced off the sofa and walked over to the window. The rain had turned to sleet. It was a horrible day for horrible thoughts.
I would know, Lucy thought, if my fiancé was some kind of criminal. I don’t know any such thing. Why am I so willing to take the word of two FBI agents? Because…because…
There were a few things. One slight disagreement she’d had with Jonathan a few months before Jason Riley had walked out of the courtroom a free man. Jonathan had been in town for five days. He’d begged her to take the case of a friend of his. She’d turned him down flat. He’d been perturbed but had tried not to show it. She couldn’t even remember what the case was about. Another time he’d said he could get her all the business she wanted. High billables on each and every case. She’d told him she had all the business she could handle, and she didn’t ever want to mix business with pleasure. He’d said he understood, but things had changed after that. Subtly, but still they’d changed.
Then, a few weeks later, she’d told Jonathan that despite how unusual it was for a criminal defense lawyer to be considered for a judgeship position on the state supreme court, she was up for one. His attitude had changed again. He’d been practically euphoric at the news.
But then had come the Justin Riley case and her decision to stop practicing law. When she had told Jonathan, he’d called her stupid, though he’d apologized immediately.
Damn, did her decision to stop practicing law have something to do with what was going on? How could it? Her career or lack thereof didn’t affect Jonathan. Or did it?
Lucy was staring intently at the bust of Blackstone sitting on her desk when the phone shrilled to life. She almost jumped out of her skin. Should she answer it? What if it was the FBI agents? Maybe it was Nellie Ebersole or her brother, Steven. She reached for the phone and said hello cautiously.
The voice on the other end of the phone sounded just as cautious. “This is Wylie Wilson, your next-door neighbor. I called Nellie, and she gave me your number. I’m calling to apologize again and to tell you I will help you clean your house. And, I’ll pay for any damage.”
Relief washed through Lucy. “Okay. The Disaster Master people will be here shortly. They said it would cost four hundred dollars. If they can’t clean my satin bed comforter, I’ll buy a new one and give you that bill, too. I think you should know your dog is here again.”
“What?” the lawyer squawked.
“I said your dog is here. Obviously, you must have a doggie door or else you left your back door open. He came through the tunnel. I made him jump in the hot tub to clean up, and he’s sleeping right now in my guest room. Hello. Are you there?”
“I’m sorry. I should have thought about the doggie door. I was in such a rush this morning I wasn’t thinking clearly. Listen, I’ll find a way to make all this up to you. I promise. Coop really is a good dog. His problem is he’s lonely. I think he lives for the times you let your dog out. He pines by the door and waits. It’s sad.”
“You’re breaking my heart. Stop it. Let’s not make a habit of this, okay? Don’t worry about your dog while he’s here. Is there anything else?” she asked coolly.
“Well, there is one other thing. When you pick up whatever it is you’re taking to Nellie’s potluck supper, could you pick me up some seasoned wings? That’s what I’m supposed to bring. I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Do you think I’m some kind of maid service put on this earth for your convenience?” Lucy squawked indignantly. “I’m cooking my contribution. You are supposed to cook it, not buy it. The neighbors say no one eats the st
ore-bought stuff.”
“Oh. I guess I won’t be attending then. I won’t have time to make anything. Can you feed Coop? I didn’t have time this morning. He loves meat loaf. He has a stomach condition, and it’s the only thing he can eat. I have to go now. I’ll see you later. Thanks again for watching Coop.”
“You expect me to make your dog a meat loaf?” Lucy asked incredulously as she stared at the buzzing receiver in her hand. She replaced the phone just as the stairs started to shake with Sadie and Coop bounding up the steps. The frog was new territory for the Lab, and he had to smell every inch of it, his tail, like a weapon, swishing furiously. Sadie sat back on her haunches, her eyes adoring as she watched her new friend frolic in the space that was originally hers.
Lucy snapped her fingers, and said, “Sit!” Coop looked around. Since his new best friend was already sitting, he took the command to heart and sat. He waited for approval, and Lucy was lavish in her praise. He licked her hand, whined softly, and lay down at her feet. Sadie followed suit.
Lucy dropped to her knees and tussled with the two dogs, who barked and rolled over and over, then on top of one another. They jumped on her, sat on her, tugged the rubber band out of her ponytail, and stretched out for a nap. Giggling, Lucy went downstairs to make fresh coffee.
Maybe she should leave the dogs in the frog when she drove into the city. She could leave dry dog food and water, lock the door so they wouldn’t bother the cleaning crew and the cleaning crew wouldn’t bother them. It was doable.
All she had to do was wait for the Disaster Master people.
Ahead of schedule by an hour, the crew arrived with a ton of cleaning equipment. Lucy spent ten solid minutes explaining what she wanted done, locked up the dogs, gave instructions to the bonded crew on how to lock up, and left the house for the forty-five-minute drive into Manhattan.
It was twelve-forty-five when she parked the car in her brother’s spot at his building and then took a cab to Seventy-ninth Street. It was going to be tricky. Jonathan had told her once it wasn’t a doorman building, but there was an elevator operator. And he was on duty. He glowered at her as she stepped in, and said smartly, “Seventeenth floor please.”
The Nosy Neighbor Page 3
