There was danger in Molly Doyle’s stride as she marched down the hall to the dining room. She spotted Macomber right away. The temptation to grab one of the waiter’s trays and dump it on the elegantly dressed man was almost overwhelming. She wondered how a few plates of pasta would look on the tan cashmere sport coat he wore. Molly reached his table, leaned on the back of a chair, and said, “That was a pretty nifty trick inviting Emma to Europe. You knew damn well I wouldn’t refuse her, didn’t you!”
Marshall Macomber motioned to the empty chair. “Please sit with me, Molly.”
Molly didn’t want to sit; she wanted to wiggle her nose and make him disappear. She hesitated, then pulled out the chair and reluctantly sat. “I told Emma she could go.”
Molly always thought the description of someone’s face “lighting up” was really dumb. It was physically impossible. But it was the first thing that came to mind when she saw Macomber’s wide smile nearly split his face in two. She felt a twinge of guilt for being so hard on the man.
“Thank you, Molly.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I grew up poor. I worked two jobs in high school and in college. I was determined, Molly, much like you, to shake off the smell of poverty and make something of myself. I worked like a dervish for twenty years building a law firm that became significant. In the process, I ruined a childless marriage. I gave my wife everything, except myself. She traveled all over the world. I never had the time. I have few hobbies, and few friends. I finally saw Europe two years ago. Alone. Sad, isn’t it? I need to make amends for a selfish life, Molly. I’d like to start with Emma. I want to give her the chances I never had, a head start, if you will. Opportunities I imagine you didn’t have either.”
Molly was surprised by his candor. She had him pegged as a WASP from a patrician family whose success was a given. He’d reminded her at first of clients she’d had in New York. Trust-fund men and women who filled their many homes with antiques, then soon forgot them until it was time to redecorate and start again. “Ex-cop’s kids, whose fathers scramble to feed them, learn to be self-sufficient pretty damn fast. But we had love,” she said. “Will you be able to offer Emma that?”
“Yes, if you’ll give me the chance.”
The sincerity in his voice was hard to ignore. Molly realized how selfish and wrong it would be to deny him, and Emma, the prospect of building a relationship they both obviously wanted to explore. But he was a successful lawyer, trained to sway people with his golden tongue. She didn’t want him to think she’d been won over too easily. It was important for him to know that.
“You’ve got your chance. But I’m warning you, don’t ever pull another preemptive strike like this again. Next time you want to offer her the moon, you talk to me first. I don’t care if you’re her natural father. Understand?” Molly hadn’t meant to sound quite that harsh, but it was too late now.
“Fully. Can I have the waiter bring you something?”
“No, thank you.” She tried to soften her earlier demand by smiling when she said, “Now tell me where you’re taking her and how long you’ll be gone. It better damn well be first class all the way.”
Chapter 29
BITSY WAS PACING the center aisle of the shop. She stopped every few steps to adjust a lampshade, move a stature, or examine a sales tag. “Bastard. He dangled that trip knowing you’d never make her stay home. Sneaky lawyer bastard.”
Molly was slumped in a wing chair. “He knew which button to push, that’s all. So he won the first contest. How many more does he have up his sleeve?”
With an imperious lift of her chin, Bitsy said, “I’m taking Emma to the City tomorrow. We’re going to buy clothes for her trip, and don’t you dare refuse me this time. I’ll be damned if she leaves here without the best of everything. In fact, I’ll call my personal buyer at Saks tonight at home and tell her to have a full wardrobe ready, luggage and all.”
Molly couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re incredible. Okay, I won’t argue this time. But, uh, Emma has school tomorrow, remember?”
Bitsy’s eyes were sparking. “The hell with school. Besides, with finals over, they don’t do much of anything the last week.”
Molly’s solitary walk to Daria’s for dinner left her feeling glum. When she stood outside the restaurant, she wondered how she was going to get through so many weeks without Emma. She began to understand how parents felt when their children left home. She knew she was being a bit melodramatic, but the little scamp had a tight hold on her heart. Even the possibility of giving Randall an important lead couldn’t give Molly the jolt she needed to perk up.
Everyone was already at the table when Molly walked in. She was more than surprised to see Lieutenant Stuart there. Loomis was holding court, telling cop jokes, and Dan Lucero was on his cell phone waving at Randall and Stuart to hold down the laughter. Daria came in just behind Molly with a large platter of bruschetta and an assortment of other finger foods. “I’ve got an oven down,” Daria said. “It’s a zoo in my kitchen. We’re going to cat whatever I can get my hands on.”
“Can I help?” Molly asked. “I can order pizza.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing. No, we’ll be fine. Grab a seat. You okay?”
After Emma had left with Marshall Macomber, Molly had stayed for a short time and told Daria about her conversation with him. “I’m fine now. Bitsy took it well, considering her temper. She’s taking Emma up to the City tomorrow for a grand-tour wardrobe.”
Daria laughed. “Good for Bitsy. She’ll show ’em a thing or two.”
Randall turned in his chair and saw Molly. “What grand tour?”
“Emma is going to Europe with Marshall Macomber next week when school is out,” Molly said.
The conversation came to a halt. All eyes were on Molly. Lucero was the first to speak. “You’re letting her go?”
Molly put her hands up to stop him. “Yes, I am. He is her father. Emma had lunch with him today, and she liked him. She wants to go. How could I say no? End of discussion.” She pulled the manila envelope from her tote and set it on the table in front of Randall. “Here. Chew over this instead of telling me I caved in, okay?”
Randall picked up the envelope. “What’s this?”
Molly sat down. She pulled off her jacket and said, “Just open it. There’s a business card in there too. She said she’s available anytime you want to talk. I’ll tell you how I got it after you’ve all looked it over.
Randall pulled out the photos and examined them. His face was like a block of concrete. Nothing moved. Without a word, he passed them on to Stuart. The room was as quiet as an abandoned crypt while Stuart looked at them, and in turn, passed one each to Lucero and Loomis.
Lucero finally broke the silence. “Pass this down to Daria,” he said to Loomis. “She might as well see it.”
Daria took the photo. She looked at it and then threw it on the table. “So? Not my choice of entertainment, but what does it prove?”
Lucero said to Stuart, “I’m going to bring Daria up to date here. She’s known Carla for some years. In fact, both of us have. You might say, our little group here is, well—”
“Pretty damn unusual,” Stuart broke in. His smile made it obvious he was accepting the lay of the land. “I can’t say I’ve ever worked a homicide like this before. I mean, with civilians.” He looked around the room. “No offense, Molly, but your garage was drafty. The atmosphere here beats a squad room, too. Oriental carpets, original art work, and dinner at one of Carmel’s best restaurants.” To Lucero, he added, “You’re the D.A. here. If it’s kosher with you, who am I to argue.” He turned to Randall next. “Your close-rate is pretty damn impressive.” He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “So, hey, go for it. Deal me in.”
“Okay,” Lucero said. “I’m going to cover all that we know. So consider it a mini-refresher course for all of us. These photos, by the way, might open up some new ideas.”
After recounting the major events and discoveries, Lucero said, “I think we’re all agreed that Carla’s son, Nicky, can be eliminated. He’s too big a kid to have used that tree saddle. Even though it’s adjustable, he’d never have made it past two feet. The person we’re looking for is slim, agile, and has some experience with the gear. Stuart was in touch with the sheriff’s in Washoe County, and Tony Giordano’s chopper accident was legit. The FAA did a thorough investigation and they determined that the cause was pilot error. We all knew Tony was a show-off. He was probably flying too low, maybe buzzing the hunting group for kicks. Anyway, the postmortem found a high concentration of alcohol in his blood. Old man Giordano didn’t want to believe it then, and still doesn’t.” Lucero shrugged. “Don’t ask. It’s just the way it is.”
“Some of the old-timer Italians are like that,” Daria said. “Tony was an only son. I guess it’s been hard for Giordano to accept that he was a jerk-off.”
“Face!”
Molly said. “He didn’t want people to think—”
Lucero slapped his forehead. “Shit!”
Randall grabbed one of the photos and waved it in the air. “And then some.” He turned to Molly and hugged her. “That’s it! You just uttered the magic word. You want a motive? I think Molly just gave it to us.”
Stuart looked at Loomis. “You getting any of this?”
“More or less. But I think I’m following Molly’s train of thought,” Loomis replied.
“Okay, Molly,” Lucero said, “what’s bubbling in that mind of yours? Let’s see if we’re on the same page here.”
Molly explained how she got the photos and gave them a brief rundown on her connection to the woman. “It might sound crazy, but I think Susan Jessop is after the proverbial fifteen-minutes-of-fame trip and is setting up a plan to hit the talk shows. I mean, apparently she’s known about Carla for at least a year, so she’s had plenty of time to get over her anger and decide how to make the most out of being a wronged wife. I haven’t given this a ton of thought, but Susan strikes me as a plotter. I don’t think she’s impulsive like Carla. So, when Jessop is killed, she knows it’s time to make her move. I have to say, when she came into the shop that day, I didn’t get the feeling she was very bereaved.
“If Susan and Carla didn’t hire a killer, then I think Susan showed Carla the photos and sort of blackmailed her into doing the ‘us poor women have to stick together’ thing. I’m thinking this, because of the business card she had in her purse from a reporter at the
Enquirer.”
Molly turned to Randall. “You told them about all of that?” When Randall nodded that he had, Molly went on, “Well, that’s what I think.”
“For not giving this much thought,” Stuart said, “I think you’ve done a damn good job. But you’re right, it doesn’t lead us to the shooter.”
“Unless it was Susan Jessop,” Daria said. “I mean, let’s face it. She wasn’t at the party.”
“She’d fit that tree saddle,” Loomis said.
“No. She’s not our killer,” Randall said as he reached for a bottle of wine. “Our killer is a man strong enough to haul himself up the tree a good twenty feet. But I think we’re closer now than an hour ago. Now we just have to figure out whose
face
would be ruined the most.”
Pleased that her idea was being taken seriously, Molly put aside her dismal mood for a moment. She lifted her wineglass to Randall. “I’ll join you.
In vino veritas?
Isn’t that how it goes? In wine there is truth. Maybe I can have a chat with Susan and a lovely bottle of wine. I can tell her I know about the photos. And maybe that was what someone was after the other night. Or, maybe it was Carla instead? It’d be nice to know if and when Carla first saw them. Kind of like establishing a timeline? If I’m right, that is.”
“No way,” Stuart firmly said. “I can bend the rules and talk openly here, but I won’t allow you to put yourself in danger.”
Randall burst out laughing. “Oh, sure. I’d love to see you pull that one off. If you can keep Molly Doyle out of this now, you’re a better man than I thought.”
Molly winked at Daria. “Maybe a girls’ night out, like last year? Us and Susan? Or Carla?”
“You’re nuts, Molly. No way.” Daria looked at Lucero. “Don’t let her do this.”
“You heard Randall. If she won’t listen to him, what makes you think she’ll listen to me?”
Daria rose and reached for the empty platter, “We need more food. I’ll see what I can scare up.” She looked at Molly. “I’d do anything for you, except this. Leave it alone.”
Molly reached for her wineglass. She stared at it, then lifted it to her lips. “You’re right.” She drained the half-full glass, then nudged it toward Randall.
Randall filled it to the brim. “Let us take it from here.”
Molly’s voice was just above a whisper. “It’s all yours.”
Daria stopped by the door. “I hope to hell you mean that, Molly.”
Molly looked up and smiled. “Of course I do.”
While Randall explained to Stuart and Loomis what Molly had meant
by face,
and while Lucero interrupted to offer the many different terms in Italian and each meaning, Molly listened and recalled the same variations Bennie had offered. She remained silent throughout the conversation, but her mind was rewinding back to the night Carla came into the shop with the bruised cheek. She remembered Carla saying, “He won’t get away with this. I’m Italian, remember?”