Intrusion (27 page)

I flashed back to something Lucian had said about a wealthy older man who worried Ian. That ballroom was probably full of likely suspects.

“Too bad Terrell Tate won’t give a statement,” I said. “Andrews would have to listen to us then. I know he thinks I’m some sort of wacky conspiracy theorist.”

“Who says she won’t?” Candy wore her Cheshire cat look. She reached into her purse and extracted her
iPhone
. “I just happened to record this when we had our girl-to-girl chat. That should put the fear of God into her.”

“Hold on,” I said. “You just broke the law. Massachusetts has a two-party consent statute, meaning that what you have is an illegal recording. Terrell Tate could sue you, my dear girl.”

Candy shrugged.
“BFD.
Put the cuffs on me now. We’re not going to use it. I just want to convince Andrews.” She pressed the button, sharing a perfect rendition of Terrell Tate’s conversation.

“It’s frustrating,” I said. “There should be some common thread here, a motive we can unearth, but other than CYBER-MED I can’t think of one.”

“I’ll have another crack at Mrs. Jacob Arthur,” Candy said, “although I have to say that unlike you, Betts, she doesn’t seem to miss her late husband one bit.”

“Find out more about that trial, if she knows. Meanwhile, I’ll dig around the public records and check out the guy who was on trial. Didn’t they say he was connected or something?”

Candy took a healthy swig of her martini. “I guess I’m glad I’m not married. All this bed-hopping, and nobody cares. Ian’s wife, Tatiana’s husband, even Meg Cahill. What’s wrong with these people?”

I flashed back to my conversation with Lucian. Most spouses, male and female, would be jealous or at least mildly put out if their marital partner screwed around. I would have died if Kai had cheated on me. Maybe infidelity was the link. Even the lugubrious Judge Jacob Arthur might have strayed occasionally.

“Wait a minute, Candy. Change of tactics. Use your wiles to find out if the Judge ever polluted the marital bed. I have confidence in you. You’ll think of something.”

Her eyes got way too bright. “I just thought of a bombshell, but you won’t like it.”

After two minutes of silence, she caved. “OK, here it is. I’ll tell Mrs. Arthur about my dear friend Elisabeth who was so devastated to find that her late husband
dicked
the world.”

“Candy! You wouldn’t!”

Her smug smile told me that she would. Naturally, she would also swear the widow to secrecy.

“Come on, Betts. You know how it is. You have to give to get. Besides, Kai and Tommy would love it.”

She was right. Kai would relish the part of roué, despoiler,
dickwad
, especially if it helped nail Tommy’s murderer. Maybe if I went with her, it would minimize the damage.

My
iPhone
buzzed just as I got ready to pay the check.
Rand Lindsay on the case.
I couldn’t read the text in the dim bar light. Besides, no detective worth her salt ever burns a confidential source. Rand’s big scoop would have to wait.

~

Candy wasted no time. She hailed a cab, pulled me into it, and spit out a staccato Beacon Hill address I’d never heard of before.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “I have a headache, and I’m tired. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

Whining is unattractive but inevitable when dealing with Candace
Ott
. She leveled me with one withering glare.

“Tough. Your headache has more to do with those martinis than anything else. Besides, you said you wanted to end this thing.”

The driver lurched to a stop in front of an imposing brick townhouse that screamed big, big money. It looked vaguely familiar, a particle of memory from the distant past.

“Wait a minute, I’ve been here before.
A long time ago with Kai.
Some charity thing.”

“Bingo. Your synapses are still firing after all.” Candy paid the driver and sprang out of the cab. “Come on, slowpoke. Mrs. Jacob Arthur
awaits
.”

She sprinted halfway up the steep brick stairs before I caught her. Considering the height of her heels, that was a pretty nifty trick.

“You’re not going to do the tethered goat thing again, are you? Please tell me I’m wrong.”

She shot an unrepentant look my way. “I could tell you that, but I’d be lying. Look, Betts, suck it up. As you’re always saying, this is about Tommy, not us.”

I knew when I was beaten. Having your own words thrown back at you is a dirty trick but very effective. I bowed in weary resignation.

“OK, but don’t be too hard on Kai. Neither one of us ever looked at anyone else.”

Candy squeezed my arm and pressed the buzzer. It was answered by a
rara
avis, something akin to the dodo—an honest-to God-British butler.

“Good evening, Bunter,” Candy said, brushing past him. “We’re expected. Come along, Elisabeth.” Candy gave me a superior smirk. “Our hostess
awaits
.”

Bunter kept his cool, swept in front of us, and led the way to the drawing room.

The furnishings were Georgian and the carpets Persian. Like most Boston Brahmins, the Arthurs had arrayed a number of ancestral portraits on the walls. A kind observer would have praised the strength of character evident in their faces. I fixated on the alarming jaws, prominent noses and beady eyes of these forebears. Kai had joked that it was no wonder Jacob became a jurist. He had the right equipment to stare down any criminal.

Lynette Arthur was a handsome woman with raven hair and obsidian eyes. She sat on a delicate satin settee with a posture Queen Victoria herself would cheer. I tried to focus on her face, but her enormous breasts mesmerized me.

Dear Lord! The woman can barely stand.
Glancing down at my meager chest, I felt chastened.

“Lynette,” Candy simpered. “Forgive us for intruding. I just had to discuss the program with you.” She tugged me forward. “You’ve met my partner, Elisabeth Buckley, I believe. You know, Kai’s wife. She wants to help us.”

Mrs. Arthur’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh, my dear.
I’m sorry about your husband. He was so charming.”

I caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath. The widow had started without us.

I didn’t have to act. Just hearing Kai’s name left me misty-eyed. I turned away, staring at some hook-nosed Arthur ancestor for balance.

“Tea.
Shall we have tea?” Lynette asked. She rang a discreet buzzer that summoned Bunter. “Perhaps brandy would do better. Jacob loved his brandy. Armagnac was his favorite.” She nodded to Bunter, who did the honors. After he whisked noiselessly away, Lynette sank back on the cushions and sighed.

“God, I got so sick of hearing about brandy. Jacob ranted on for hours about the grapes, blah, blah, blah. The man took field trips to France just to check out the vineyards.”

The Judge had died two months before Kai’s accident. Lynette’s recovery was quite remarkable, considering that her husband had popped off so spectacularly. On the other hand, my own devastation might seem excessive to most people.

“Your marriage was different, wasn’t it, dear? You really loved him.” Lynette’s face crinkled with compassion.

“More than she should have,” Candy spat. “Kai Buckley was just like most men, couldn’t be satisfied with one woman and broke her heart.”

I gulped down my brandy. “No, Candy.”

“It’s okay, honey. Jacob was the same way.” Lynette poured us another round. “That bastard didn’t go to France alone, and it wasn’t only vineyards he explored.” Her face hardened as she relived her marriage. “Every woman was fair game, no matter who she was.
Even married ones.”

“See, Betts? I told you not to grieve.” Candy winked at me as she turned away. “You weren’t the only one.”

“I would have divorced him.
Should have.”
Lynette paused and spread out her arms. “But why let some bimbo have all this? I earned it, believe you me, and I had my girls to consider.”

“Kai wasn’t alone when he died,” Candy said, with a small, tight smile.
“So tragic.”

I leapt up, ready to spring at Candy. “That’s enough. Please. I can’t take anymore.”

Lynette was oblivious. “Honey, I get it. Believe me, I do. Jacob invented every excuse in the book, especially after his heart problem.
Called his extracurricular activities medical consultations.
Huh! He didn’t have a heart. Anyone who ever met him knew that.”

Candy dug in her tote and produced an embossed folder. “I’d better get her home. Here, Lynette. Check this out and get back to me. You can count on Sweet Nothings to help with your program.”

“How generous of you.”
Lynette was glassy eyed by now. “And Mrs. Buckley, I promise things will get better. Trust me.”

Bunter appeared out of the ethos and escorted us to a cab, all the while maintaining his stiff upper lip.

“That went well,” Candy said, “if I do say so myself. Add the Judge to the cheaters’ club.”

I maintained a stubborn, stony silence until I thought I’d burst. “How could you? Kai was your friend.”

“Big deal.
Kai would have done anything to avenge Tommy, you know that. Plus, there are worse things to call a man than a stud. What if I’d said Kai couldn’t get it up?”

“Candy!”

“Calm down. You’re home. We’ll discuss this at work tomorrow.”

I stepped out of the cab and watched her disappear.

Twenty-Four

After walking
Della, I crawled into bed and crashed. Three cheers for booze, the ultimate soporific. Kai joined me in my dreams that night, wearing a grin and nothing else. He held out his arms, enveloping me in a cloud of Creed, Silver Mountain Water. As I snuggled up to him, he whispered, “Good job, Lizzie Mae. That’s my girl.”

I love you, Kai. I always will.

 
The next morning I felt exceptionally fit, body and mind. In view of last night’s alcohol consumption, that qualified as a near miracle. Two cups of espresso later, I recalled Rand’s unread text message. I floated downstairs on a wave of optimism. Every day brought me closer to finding Tommy’s murderer. I knew with astounding clarity that by avenging my friend, I would save myself, too. Kai and Tommy, best buddies in this life, were together in the afterworld, cheering me on.

Rand’s message puzzled me. The first part was routine: Tornado’s name, age and marital status. Good grief, he had four little boys under five.
Another man whose equipment was in fine working order.

Then it stopped. Instead of summarizing financial data, Rand inserted three words in big bold script: CALL ME URGENT. He’d left a cell and home number.
Nothing else.

What the hell?
 

Some unnamed dread claimed me. With trembling fingers I dialed Rand’s cell.
Straight to voicemail.
No answer at his home number either. I paged down my directory, searching for the CYBER-MED section. It was early for most people, barely seven o’clock, but not computer types.
Silence and another dump to voicemail from Rand’s private line.
My skyrocketing pulse and rapid heartbeat signaled a major panic attack.

I didn’t want to do it. Succumbing to terror is so clichéd. Nevertheless, my fingers dialed Lucian Sand’s number before my brain caught up. He answered immediately in that sultry baritone that made me quiver.

“
Oui
, Elisa.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Lucian.”

“A call from you is a gift. How are you?”

I felt foolish. After all, Rand wasn’t a child. He had probably found a companion for the night and turned off his phone.

“Don’t worry. Call me anytime, Elisabeth. You know that.”

“It’s Rand,” I blurted out. “He doesn’t answer his calls, and I’m worried about him.”

It sounded feeble even to me, just a pretext to hear Dr. Sand’s scintillating voice.

“Did something happen?”

Now I’d done it. I gave Lucian an expurgated account of last night’s activities, ending with Rand’s text message.

“You are at home? Stay there. I will be right over.”

He disconnected while I was still protesting. That sent me scrambling to make myself presentable, police the house and attend to Della before he arrived.

I was applying lip-gloss (Sweet Nothings #6) when the concierge buzzed Lucian in. One look at his face confirmed my worst suspicions. He put his arms around me and drew me close.

“You were right. Rand had a misadventure last night.”

Tragic news was becoming the norm for me. I’d gotten rather good at hearing it.