“I understand. Sometimes we need to have someone protecting us, but—”
“Do you have someone who protects you?”
“Uh, yes, I do. Dr. Pollard—”
“Something bad has happened to you, hasn’t it, Claudia?” Dr. Pollard removed the ice pack and laid it on her lap, her head tilted attentively, nodding slightly in encouragement.
Claudia felt her heart lurch. “What makes you say that?”
“I’m trained to recognize such things. There’s a deep sadness in you. I feel it.”
“Somebody I knew was murdered a couple of months ago.”
Why am I telling this to a total stranger?
Pollard made a sound of distress. “What a terrible thing!” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “But as terrible as that is, I think there’s more, isn’t there? You’ve been sad for a long time. Far longer than a couple of months.”
The walls closed in. For a fleeting moment, Claudia actually considered getting up and running from the room, running from the intrusive questions. But then she wouldn’t get her own questions answered.
“Dr. Pollard, I really don’t think—”
“Why don’t you tell me about it.” Pollard’s voice was soft, almost hypnotic.
“Thank you for the offer. I appreciate the thought. But why don’t we stick with Elite Introductions business.”
“I can see that you’re hurting, dear. Talking about it would help so much. You’ll see.”
The insistent way Pollard was coming at her was unlike any therapist she had ever met, especially since she wasn’t a client. And why was the doctor behaving as if nothing had happened to her that morning? Claudia shook her head, bent on getting the meeting back on track. “Talking about me is not what I’m here for, Doctor.”
“But it could be . . . well, all right then, if you’re sure. But if you change your mind . . .”
“I’ll remember that.”
Pollard nodded, giving in with a knowing smile. “Well, okay. Welcome to the Elite team.”
“Thank you. I’ve just come from having a chat with Dr. McAllister,” she said, relieved to have turned Pollard’s attention away from her.
At the mention of McAllister’s name, something changed in Pollard’s eyes. What did
that
mean? Claudia plunged on, interested to see where it went. “He mentioned the party on Saturday night. I’m looking forward to meeting some of the clients whose handwritings I’ll be analyzing.”
“I’m sure they’ll be very interested in meeting you, too.”
“Do you think you’ll be up to going to the party?”
“Oh yes, dear, a little knock on the head isn’t going to stop me.” Donna Pollard gave a bright smile to underscore just how fine she was.
“A little knock on the head? You were attacked by an intruder. That’s nothing to shrug off. Have you been checked for concussion?”
Dr. Pollard reached over and patted Claudia’s hand. “The baroness expects me to attend these things. She needs me to help facilitate, since I’ve already met everybody who will be attending.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you don’t want to talk about the break-in?”
“You’re right. I can’t say I do.”
“Well then, there’s something I’d like to ask you about a couple of the dating club clients.”
Pollard’s face closed down. “I’m sorry, Claudia, but I can’t discuss clients. It goes against professional ethics. You should know that.”
“Even though we’re consulting about the same people for the same company?”
“Even though. It’s just not allowed.”
“Dr. McAllister wasn’t willing to help, either.” There it was again. That look. “Does it make a difference if these people are dead?”
There was a gasp from the other side of the coffee table, then a deafening silence.
“Are you
aware
that three of Grusha’s clients are dead?” asked Claudia, Pollard’s posturing and pretense that everything was fine and dandy wearing thin. “Are you aware that those clients were all under thirty, and that they all had accidents, and—”
“Stop,” Pollard protested in a faint voice. “I know about them. But I don’t see the point in talking about it.”
“Can you help me understand why Grusha would give me the handwritings of dead clients to analyze?”
“I have no idea. As you said, there were a couple of very unfortunate accidents. But that’s all they were.”
“No one suggested they were anything else.” Claudia wondered why Donna Pollard was being defensive. “Since you’ve mentioned it, though, don’t you think the odds are a bit high for
three
deaths to be chance occurrences?”
“Stranger things than that happen all the time,” Pollard answered quickly. “I don’t know why Grusha wants you to analyze their handwriting, but why don’t you just do it? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“How would
I
know? I’ve just been hit on the head; I probably do have a concussion. I need to lie down.”
Something had touched a raw nerve. What was Pollard guarding so closely?
“Did you call the police about the break-in?”
Pollard hesitated.
“Why didn’t you?”
“There was nothing to tell them.” Petulance. “Why create a big fuss and upset the neighbors? I didn’t even see him, he came up on me from behind.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“I’m sure he wore gloves.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“He didn’t take anything. Nothing was missing.”
“What do you think he might have been after?”
“Drugs and money, of course. It was . . . just a random break-in.”
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Claudia shifted to the lip of the sofa and leaned toward Donna Pollard, putting herself into her space. “What are you afraid of, Dr. Pollard?”
“You mean, besides confronting an intruder?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“What else would I be afraid of?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. Let’s see, I’ve been in New York for less than twenty-four hours and I’ve discovered that three young people are dead, all of whom you’ve met as Grusha’s clients, and now you’ve had a break-in. Don’t you think those things just might be connected? I do. And I think you have an idea of who’s responsible.”
“Does Grusha know that you know about all this?”
“Not yet, but she will soon. So why don’t we just move on and pool our resources? Maybe we can get a clearer picture of what’s going on here.”
“Nothing’s going on, I tell you.”
“Dr. Pollard, I’m not leaving until you tell me what you know, or think you know.”
“I don’t know
anything,
I really don’t. It’s just a very unfortunate series of coincidences.”
Claudia didn’t move. Donna Pollard’s face scrunched into an expression of irritation and she gave a loud, resigned exhale. “What is it you want to know? Just tell me.”
“There are two women and one man who have died. Let’s start with the women. What do Heather Lloyd and Shellee Jones have in common?”
Pollard gave it some thought. She spoke with marked reluctance. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
“All right then, what
should
I be asking?”
“It might be more effective to look at whom they dated.”
“That information wasn’t in their files. Do
you
know?”
“New clients are introduced to three potential matches. There are crossovers.”
“What do you mean, crossovers?”
“Several women are introduced to the same man, or vice versa,” Pollard explained. “You have to understand, I may not know how everyone was matched up. Grusha doesn’t always keep me in the loop—it’s not necessary. But I do know that Shellee Jones went out with three men: Avram Cohen, John Shaw, and Marcus Bernard. Heather was also introduced to John Shaw. She went out with him once, but she didn’t like him, said he was too old for her, and she was absolutely right. She had asked to meet a man who was a
little
older, but it makes no sense to introduce a twenty-five-year-old girl to a man who’s nearly forty. When Heather died, Grusha was in the process of interviewing some younger men for her. She’d also dated Avram Cohen and Ryan Turner, but according to her, there was no chemistry with Avram. I don’t know what happened with Ryan.”
Ryan Turner was dead. Shellee was dead. Heather was dead. But Avram, John, and Marcus were not. What did it mean? She was trying to assimilate the news when Dr. Pollard dropped another bomb.
“I suppose I should tell you that three of the same men also dated Jessica McAllister.”
That stopped Claudia cold. “Who is Jessica McAllister?”
“Ian’s daughter, of course.”
Chapter 10
Having opened this new can of worms, Donna Pollard decided it was time to withdraw and refuse to say anything further. She closed her eyes, put the ice pack back on her neck, and called out for Dorothy French to escort Claudia to the door. The meeting was at an end.
Grabbing a cab over to Elite Introductions, Claudia felt her head swim with questions. Why hadn’t Dr. McAllister mentioned his daughter’s involvement with some of the men at the dating club? It seemed a major omission when he knew of the deaths of two female clients. Two female clients he had examined.
Grusha Olinetsky was late again. The matchmaker flashed a toothy smile as the door to her office opened and she came out, but Claudia could have sworn there was something sad in her walk as she came toward her.
I sound like Donna Pollard
, she told herself. But she couldn’t shake the impression that Grusha’s cheerful demeanor was merely a mask.
“Claudia!” The matchmaker’s hands were outstretched in welcome and she took Claudia’s shoulders, pressing one cheek to her own, and then the other, continental style. “I have been so much looking forward to seeing you again and hearing everything you have to report to me. But first, I have here someone who is very eager to meet you. Please, to come into my office.”
Across from Grusha’s desk, a man sat in the chair Claudia had occupied the day before. He rose when they entered, an impressive figure in a leather bomber jacket over V-necked cashmere, khaki cargo pants and military boots.
Indiana Jones in Manhattan.
And as easy on the eyes as Harrison Ford in the films. Short brown hair shot with gold highlights, glossed into hip spikes. Six feet, broad shoulders, probably mid-thirties. Indy’s whip and battered fedora would have completed the picture.
Something familiar . . .
Claudia struggled to place what it was, returning her gaze to the squarish face with its sexy cleft chin. The picture in her mind’s eye sharpened and came into focus.
Wow.
He was clean-shaven now, but in his file photos he’d been sporting a graying beard and wearing a baseball cap. She guessed that he’d also shed some pounds since the photos were taken. The devilish grin was what had clued her in to his identity.
He offered a deeply tanned hand. “Marcus Bernard,” he said at the precise moment his name popped into her head. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Claudia.”
“Marcus vants to hire you,” Grusha interrupted. “He needs you to analyze the people who go to vork for him.”
“Construction, right?” Claudia said, remembering his bio. “You build hotels.”
“You got it.” He blasted her with the full force of the smile. “Hotels, condos, shopping malls, office buildings, you name it, we build it.”
“I am taking a suite in his new building,” said Grusha. “Dr. Pollard and Dr. McAllister will have consulting offices there.”
“Sounds convenient, everybody together in the same space. The clients should like that.”
“Precisely,” said Grusha. “The building is scheduled to open in July. It’s simply gorgeous, the Bernard Building.”
“It’s not
quite
Trump Tower,” Marcus said with mock humility. “But I’m pretty proud of it. I’d love to show it to you, Claudia.”
“If I’m here long enough, I’d love to see it.” She recalled his handwriting: smooth talker, abundant energy, the type who found it hard to keep still. Even now, he was tossing his keys from one hand to the other. That could get on your nerves if it went on too long.
“I hire a lot of people,” he said. “In this business, they’re not always on the level, so I’m looking for something to back up the drug tests. The baroness here says you can help me with that. Considering how savvy she is, I’m willing to listen.”
Claudia nodded. “I work with a lot of employers, analyzing their job applicants. I’d be happy to work with you.”
He caught her eye and sent her a boyish smile that probably melted harder hearts than hers. “How about lunch? We can discuss the possibilities over a nice Scottish salmon. Have you been to the Gotham?”
It had already occurred to her that Marcus was one of the men who had dated both Shellee Jones and Heather Lloyd. She did want to talk to him and find out what he knew. But right now, it was more important for her to marshal her thoughts and figure out where Dr. Pollard’s information fit. She returned his smile. “It sounds wonderful, but I really have to talk with Grusha right now. A rain check?”
She caught Grusha’s disapproving frown. “No, no, you go vit Marcus now,” Grusha said, flapping her hands at them. “Go, eat! The Gotham is fabulous. Ve talk later. I have some free time later this afternoon.”
“This can’t wait,” Claudia said. “I’d rather make it sooner than later.”
Marcus reached into his pocket and handed her a black and gold embossed business card. “Are you free for dinner? Call my office when you’re finished here and I’ll have my secretary make arrangements for my car to pick you up at your hotel.” He gave her a salute and leaned in to brush Grusha’s cheek with his lips. “Be sure to let me know as soon as you’ve found Ms. Right for me, Grusha. I’m gettin’ horny.”
Well, that was crass.
Grusha gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes. “Ah, Marcus, I doubt that you lack for someone to relieve your distress in the meantime. But yes, dahling, of course. I call you soon. You know I have someone in mind, perfect for you. I have to vait for the results of the background check and the doctors. Then I vill give her handwriting to Claudia for analysis. And when ve know she has passed the test, you vill meet this beautiful young lady and ve vill vatch the chemistry begin to bubble.”