Authors: Kate White
“No problem,” I said, feeling my pulse slow. “I tried your office, too. They said you’d resigned.”
“Yeah, big step for me. I absolutely hated that job, and after speaking to you and Alex, I found the guts to go in and quit first thing Monday. I’m making a fresh new start.”
“The woman said you were moving to California.”
Sharon laughed. “Oh, I just didn’t want her to know my business. Besides, maybe I
will
go to California after I set the record straight.”
“Speaking of that,” I said, “I wanted to discuss your trip to the city.”
“I’m ready,” she said gamely. “I could even come tomorrow.”
Lisa had indicated that Thursday morning at nine would work best for her and the private detective. I explained to Sharon about the need to meet with both of them, trying to make it sound like a simple matter of course. I suggested she take the train down on Wednesday, settle in at the apartment, and then I’d accompany her downtown the next morning to be sure she had no trouble locating Lisa’s office. Fortunately, she didn’t balk at any of it. Alex called five minutes after the show ended. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“I had a little scare, but it’s taken care of. And the appointment with Lisa went well. Do you have time for me to fill you in?”
“Yes, and I have news, too. Just give me a chance to hop on the subway and get home. I’ll call you from there.”
“Do you want to come up to my place and talk here? We could have a bite to eat.” I’d blurted it out without even thinking.
“Uh, sure,” he said, “as long as it’s no trouble.”
I laughed. “No trouble whatsoever. I’ll just call this place that delivers great chicken piccata. I’m one of those ruthless career bitches who never learned to cook.”
He arrived thirty minutes later, carrying a silver wine sack. I led him into the kitchen where he opened the bottle of Italian red.
Over dinner, I brought him up to speed. When I told what had happened with Sharon and my initial fear that she’d been bound for parts west, he frowned.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “It was all a misunderstanding.”
“I worry she’s running hot and cold, that maybe she did think of bailing but then reconsidered. We need to monitor this.”
“All right, I’m going to check out the apartment tomorrow. I’ll be there when she arrives on Wednesday.”
“That’s smart.”
“You said you had something.”
“Yeah. I did some snooping and found out who’s in Vicky’s inner circle. As you’d expect, there’s plenty of turnover on her staff, but there are a handful of people who’ve been with her for a while—the executive producer, his deputy, Vicky’s assistant, and a personal publicist she pays on her own and who works on projects beyond what Ann’s team handles. I assume they’re all suffering from Stockholm syndrome.”
“I’m pretty sure her assistant and the publicist were at my party. I saw them in the elevator with an older guy, balding.”
“That sounds like her EP. All of them were in D.C. with her the night you were drugged, so I’m not sure who her confederate is.”
“What about one of her senior producers, like the one who told Maddy about Vicky being tech-savvy?”
“I wondered about him. He went running to Mommy when Maddy asked him for help. But he’s only been there three months. There’s a big difference between kissing up to your boss and leaving someone a poison brownie on her behalf.”
“Unless he didn’t know the significance of what he was doing,” I said. “After I started drooling on the air that night, he probably would have suspected that the brownie was the cause, and yet he may have been too afraid to come clean.”
“Could be.”
“Or,” I said, my blood chilling as a thought took shape, “what if the accomplice is someone working on
Pulse
?”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Any ideas?” he said.
“It would have to be a person with ties to Vicky, and I have no clue who that could be. Perhaps someone who once worked on her show. Or hopes to in the future.”
“Okay, that’ll be my next assignment: to suss out if anyone on our show used to be in her camp.”
“Speaking of the show, can you believe I’ve never heard from Tom?”
“There’s something weird going on with that dude. He’s oddly detached these days.”
“He hasn’t figured out you’re collaborating with me, has he?”
“I’m sure no one has a hint of that. Except for helping Maddy when I can, I’ve been minding my own business.”
“Is she performing any better?”
“I think so. And she had this interesting idea about us tackling more crime stories. She did a whole analysis on how well those stories rate.”
My mouth fell open. “I can’t believe it,” I said. “
I
did that analysis and turned it over to her for background.”
“Pretty Machiavellian of her.”
Though I had warned Maddy about contacting Vicky’s producers, I’d never gotten around to saying I’d been told “hands off” in regard to the crime stories.
“Well, I hope she submits the damn thing,” I said, pissed as hell. “It will bite her in the butt, just like it did me.”
As I began to clear the dishes Alex joined in, and we carried everything to the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher, our hands brushed momentarily. I realized how strange it was to have him in my apartment, inches away from me. Only days ago, I’d been giving him instructions at work.
“I was going to bring you something chocolatey for dessert,” Alex said, “but I figured your stomach would recoil at the idea.”
“I’m afraid it will be years before I even look at anything chocolate again,” I said. “Dove bars all over Manhattan can sleep soundly tonight.”
He laughed. “Where did that brownie supposedly come from, anyway?” he asked.
Shit, I thought. I should have known that would be next. Wiping the countertop, I explained the circumstances and how I’d thought C. stood for Carter.
“Were you guys pretty tight?” Alex had said it easily enough, but I knew the question was loaded.
I sighed, turned, and faced him. “I should admit this now, because it will probably come out eventually. It’s one of the things that hurt my cause last week. I had a brief fling with Carter.”
Alex tipped his head back a little and parted his lips, as if a lightbulb had gone off in his mind.
“Was it obvious?” I asked.
“Not to me,” he said. “But after I landed the job, I heard rumors that he was involved with a woman at work.”
“We weren’t seeing each other that long. It only started after my life began to unravel. And I’m going to plead temporary insanity.”
He looked directly at me, those hazel eyes both curious and bemused. “From you, I’ll accept the plea,” he said. “But I can hardly blame Carter
.
”
“Thanks,” I said. I felt momentarily flustered by the comment and changed the subject awkwardly as I walked him to the door. But later, lying in bed, I realized how much I’d enjoyed his company over dinner. Thinking about him kept me from brooding about Maddy’s sneaky move.
First thing the next day, I booked the rental apartment for the rest of the week and then walked the twelve blocks north to Ninety-third Street and Lexington Avenue to pick up two sets of keys. It was an attractive prewar building with a canopy, no doorman but a porter who came on duty at midnight for extra security. Classic in design, the apartment was decorated simply but elegantly, almost from the pages of a Restoration Hardware catalog: a sofa in lavender linen, a pale leather armchair, and on top of the mantel, two carved wooden urn-like sculptures with finials on top.
On Wednesday morning I returned with a few basic groceries: coffee, OJ, bagels. I filled a bowl on the coffee table with tangerines and set a flat of grass on the mantel between the urns. It was a bit manic, I knew, but I kept hearing Alex’s words in my head, that Sharon might be running hot and cold.
I was back before noon, waiting for Sharon. I’d offered to pick her up at Penn Station, but she’d insisted on hailing a cab herself. I figured that even with traffic, she’d arrive by noon. At 12:10, she still wasn’t there, and I could feel my tension mounting. Then the buzzer sounded.
She was dressed in white pants, a pink top, a cotton sweater in a pink and yellow floral print, and big gold hoop earrings. She looked nervous but excited. I showed her around the apartment, poured us each a glass of sparkling water, and suggested we sit in the living room.
“Gosh,” she said. “This apartment is gorgeous. I feel like I have my own place in the city.”
I smiled. “When you were in local news, did you ever consider working at a bigger job down here one day?”
She shrugged. “I was probably pretty different from most of the people you’ve known in the business. I never thought of myself as ambitious—I just loved sports and kind of fell into work at the station through a contact my dad had. And then a funny thing happened. I was good at it, and the more I tasted success, the more driven I felt. I started to imagine making a stab at New York one day. Then, as you know, everything fell apart.” She took a quick sip of water, her pink lipstick leaving an imprint on the glass. “What about you?” she asked. “I bet you always dreamed about coming here.”
“Yes,” I said. “Though initially, not with a plan to be in television. I wanted to make my mark as a print journalist. I started appearing on the morning shows to chat about articles I’d written, and almost instantly, I was hooked.”
“Why did TV appeal to you so much more than print?” she asked.
“The pace, for one thing. The sheer thrill of being live. And there was something so, I don’t know,
validating
, about being on television.”
My reply surprised me. I’d fielded variations on the question numerous times over the years but had never responded that way. I wasn’t even sure what I’d meant. “Do you have family up in Albany?” I asked.
“I was married for a while but divorced about five years ago. No kids. I’m seeing someone now, a nice guy named Hal. He’s proud of me for doing this.”
I checked if she’d like to grab a meal later, but she insisted she would be fine eating dinner alone, that from the cab she’d spotted a little restaurant nearby she wanted to try.
“I’m just going to pretend I’m Mary Tyler Moore tonight,” she said, smiling. “If I had a hat, I’d toss it in the air.”
“Sure,” I said, “but stick close to the neighborhood. We don’t want Vicky figuring out you’re here.”
“Right, I understand.”
“About tomorrow. Because of traffic, we should allow about an hour to make it downtown. Why don’t I swing by in a cab at eight?”
“No, no, I can manage on my own if you give me the address. This is important to me. I won’t be late.”
I didn’t like the idea of her going on her own, but I wanted to keep the goodwill flowing and chose not to press the matter. I wrote out Lisa’s address, thanked Sharon again, and said goodbye.
I headed home, stopping briefly at the Korean market to pick up a few provisions for myself this time. Walking down my block, I realized that my anxiety had subsided but not completely. Though I was pretty sure by now that Sharon was fully committed, I worried that Lisa would find some issue with her story that I couldn’t predict.
Lost in thought, it took me a second to process what I was seeing as I neared my building: Ann was standing not far from the entrance, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. I felt a flash of fury at the sight of her, but I stopped when I reached her.
“Robin, please,” she said. “Can we talk?”
“Uh, why don’t we go around the corner,” I said. “There’s a Pain Quotidien, and we can talk there.”
I left the groceries and flowers inside with my doorman, and we walked in silence to the café, where we found a quiet table at the back. After we ordered drinks, Ann leaned toward me. Blue-gray circles under her eyes betrayed that she’d clearly had a few sleepless nights herself.
“Robin, I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” she said, “but I’m asking for it anyway. I was a fool to doubt you.”
“Why this sudden enlightenment?” I asked, letting the sarcasm drip.
“I’ve had a few days to think about it. I know you. I know you’re not capable of doing any of those things, even if you were under stress.”
“You were awfully certain a few days ago.”
She pulled her hands together and brought them to her face, pressing them against her mouth. Her fingernails were unpainted and the cuticles ragged. I’d never seen her with anything other than a perfect manicure.
“I’m totally ashamed to admit this, but I let my desperation to protect my job color everything,” she said finally, lowering her hands. “Potts knows we’re friends, and I think I was afraid to look like I was partial to you. I went overboard to hear his side of things.”
The waitress set two bowls of cappuccino on the table, and I looked off, absorbing Ann’s words. “That’s the last kind of behavior I would have imagined from you, Ann,” I said, meeting her eyes again. “If someone had asked me to bet, I would have said you’d always put a friend first.”
“And that’s how I always saw myself,” she said. “But I’ve let my financial concerns get in the way. Matthew handled our money, and it turns out he made a mess of things. Our only investment was the East Hampton house, and we can’t unload it at the moment. I have nightmares about losing my job and being a fucking bag lady.”
“Why didn’t you ever mention this?”
“Partly because it’s all so tedious. And partly because I was sure the house would sell. But I don’t want this to be about my money woes. I want to make up for what I’ve done.”
“Then start with the truth. Did you tell anyone details about my situation with Janice?”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “Even when I thought those incidents from your past might be affecting you, I never breathed a word.”
“Do you have any idea who did?”
“No, but I can try to find out if you want. I can talk to Potts.”
I shook my head. “No, don’t say anything to him. I’ve hired a lawyer, and we’ll be making a presentation. If you speak to him, it could throw our plan off.”
“Then tell me what I can do. I want to help.”
“Okay, you can share relevant information you hear.”
“I will,” she said, nodding somberly. “I’ll keep you abreast of all developments concerning you.”