Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (49 page)

“Sorry about my leg,”
Cullen said to diffuse any tension that might be between them, though he didn’t
sense any.
 
“Lost it to cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just sort of drag it
around with me.
 
It’s like a clingy
child with wants and needs.
 
Part of
me wants to kick it away, but I feel as though I might need it later.
 
You know, when I’m old and it’s time for
somebody to spoon feed me my applesauce.”

“That’s an interesting
way to put it.”

“When you’ve had your leg
chopped off, Mr. Spellman, resentment tends to settle in.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“On the bright side, at least I’m not
stuck in a wheelchair.
 
At least I
can hobble about.
 
Even if it does
feel as if a child is weighing me down.
 
Here.
 
Sit here.
 
Marta will be back soon—she’s
quick as lightning.
 
Is that Louis’
will in your hand?”

“It is.”

“I haven’t seen it in
three years.
 
Not since the days
following that terrible night.”

In the center of the room
were two leather sofas divided by an antique mahogany coffee table.
 
Marty took the sofa facing Cullen’s desk,
and Cullen took the other.
 
He
lifted his ruined leg over his good leg, and crossed them at the knee.
 
A moment later, the door opened and
Marta came in with a coffee and tea service on a silver tray.
 
He thanked her for it.

“Will there be anything else,
sir?”

“No, thank you, Marta.”

Cullen waited for the
door to click shut before he looked at Marty and mouthed, but did not say, the
word,
lesbian
.

“Excuse me?”

“Marta’s a lesbian.
 
Awfully good at her job, though.”

“I can’t image how her
sexuality would hinder her performance....”

“You never know, but one
has to be careful today.
 
We’re a
lawsuit happy culture, Mr. Spellman.
 
I have to treat her as I would anyone else, or she could sue me.”
 

“Would you treat her
differently if you could?”

“Of course, not.
 
I’m not exactly a homophobe.”
 

“No,” Marty said.
 
“I wouldn’t peg you for that, at all.”

Cullen gestured toward
the pot of coffee.
 
“It’s a French
roast from France.
 
Literally.
 
We have it flown in weekly along with
all sorts of other indulgences.
 
I
hope you enjoy it.”

He watched Spellman pour
himself a cup knowing that any small talk had just ended.
 
They were about to get down to it.
 
But down to what was the question.
 
What did this man think he
suspected?
 
Whatever it was, Cullen
was prepared to answer it.

“You said you were a
private investigator, Mr. Spellman?”

“That’s right.”

“If I may ask, whom do
you work for?”

“I work for myself.”

“No, I meant who hired
you to come here today?”

“I’m afraid that’s
confidential.”

“Just like in the
movies.
 
It’s always so
hush-hush.
 
But let me at least
guess why you’re here now.
 
I’m as
concerned as you are, you know?
 
Likely more so.
 
I think I
might be next.
 
All of Louis’
beneficiaries are dead.
 
Recently
dead.
 
As executor of his will, I
can only imagine that my own death might be at hand, so I’ve hired security.”

“Have you talked with the
police?”

“I’ve wavered on that
plank for over a week now.
 
I fear
that if I do, whoever is behind this will know and they’ll be swift in putting
an end to me.
 
So, while my own
private investigator tries to find out what is going on, I have two men who
guard me at all times.”

Marty looked around the
room.
 
“Where are they?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you
that, Mr. Spellman.
 
What if you’re
here to kill me?
 
What if you’re the
one behind this?”

“Excuse me?”

“It isn’t an absurd
question.
 
I don’t know you.
 
You call out of the blue and ask to see
me.
 
Given what’s happened, do you think
I’d see you without protecting myself?
 
Cameras are hidden throughout this room.
 
We’re being watched.
 
You’re being filmed.
 
So, please don’t try anything, if that’s
your intent.”

“It isn’t my intent.”

“What is your intent?”

“To learn about your
relationship with Louis Ryan.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s unlikely
that you two were friends, yet you were the executor of his will.”

“Why do you think our
friendship was unlikely?”

“Because you come from
two different social classes.
 
In my
experience, those classes rarely mix.”

“So, now I’m
shallow?
 
Mr. Spellman, I have to
say that that is insulting.
 
Louis
Ryan and I went to Yale together.
 
We were great friends.
 
Very
close.
 
We roomed together.
 
I obviously don’t condone what he did to
George Redman and his family, especially to poor Celina, but I suppose there
are dark sides to all of us that others never see or suspect.
 
That was the case with my relationship
with Louis.
 
Everyone knew he hated
George, but they suspected that was just because they were rivals in business,
which isn’t uncommon in this town.
 
No one knew that Louis suspected George of killing his wife, Anne.
 
That was a secret he nearly took to his
grave.”

“So, what’s happening
now?
 
You must have a theory.
 
You’ve hired security and a private
investigator, so surely you’ve given this some thought.
 
Leana Redman is being targeted
again.
 
Her brother, Michael, is
being targeted.
 
I can only assume
it’s a matter of time before George Redman is also threatened in some way.
 
Obviously, what’s happening to them now
is connected to the deaths of Piggy French, the Baron and Baroness of
Dorchester, Rowena Clark, Peter Horrigan, Florence Holt, and Charles
Stout.
 
There’s too much of a
coincidence for there not to be a connection.
 
So, what is your take?”

“I don’t have one.
 
That’s why I hired help.”

“Wouldn’t it be more
productive if you reached out to the police?
 
No one remembers who Ryan’s
beneficiaries were.
 
No one is
making the connections now.
 
Why not
tip off the police and end this?”

“As I said, I’m
frightened of what might happen to me if I did.
 
I’m afraid they’re watching and
listening.
 
It’s a risk I won’t take
until I get to the bottom of this myself.”

“Ryan must have been
close to all of them to have left them five million dollars each.”

“I don’t know how close
he was to them, but I would assume, given that sum of money, that they meant
something to him.
 
Louis and I lost
touch during the last few years before he died.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.
 
We were just two good friends who saw
less and less of each other as time went on.
 
We were both busy.
 
It happens.
 
I was into my philanthropy work.
 
Louis obviously was scheming to kill
George Redman and his family.
 
But
he knew I’d always have his back, just as I knew, back then, that he’d have
mine.
 
He made me executor of his
will without my knowledge.
 
He
transferred all of his shares of Manhattan Enterprises over to me without my
knowledge of it.
 
Probably because
Louis had no family.
 
Probably
because while he was alive, I never judged him while others did.
 
That’s why we’re at Manhattan
Enterprises now.
 
When those shares
were turned over to me, he essentially made me the chief shareholder of his
company.”

“You’re the CEO?”

“Good heavens, no.
 
I sit on the board and make decisions
along with the rest of them, but being CEO is something I’m hardly qualified to
handle.
 
I just attend the meetings
when they’re held, use my business sense to the best of my ability to keep the
ship on course, and keep an office here because it’s located at a good address
and it’s convenient.”

“Do you know the
Redmans?”

“I’ve met George and
Elizabeth at a few events, and I met Celina before that awful man no one can
seem to find drowned her, but I never met Leana, though I hear she’s making a
go of it now.”

“Where did you hear
that?”

“Do you read the papers,
Mr. Spellman?
 
Leana Redman is
everywhere these days.
 
She has that
hotel on Park of hers that’s about to open.
 
She thinks she’s going to attract the
Park Avenue set, which she won’t because she’s new.
 
But good on her for trying, I guess.”

“What do you mean by
‘new’?”

“New money.”

“You say it as if her
money is different from yours.”

“It’s absolutely
different.”

“How is it different?”

“She isn’t one of
us.
 
She isn’t in the book.
 
Neither is her father.
 
Nor was Louis, for that matter, though
God knows he tried to get himself in the book and to be one of us.
 
I was one of the few who accepted him
because of our history together.
 
Sometimes, but rarely, when worlds collide in favorable ways, that can
happen.”

“If that’s the case, how
was Louis friends with the baron and baroness?
 
And Piggy French?
 
They’re in the book.
 
I checked.
 
Why were they friends with Louis?”

“No idea.
 
Business deals, likely.”

“But he left each of them
five million dollars.
 
Don’t you
find that odd if they weren’t close friends?”

“Who said they weren’t
close friends?
 
Maybe they
were.
 
I didn’t know every facet of
Louis’ life, Mr. Spellman.
 
As I
said, they could have entered into business together.
 
Who knows?
 
There are things about Louis I’ll never
understand, particularly why he devised a plot to murder the Redmans when he
should have just gone to the police with what he knew.
 
Or with what he thought he knew.
 
It wasn’t George who killed his wife,
but George’s wife, Elizabeth.
 
She’s
now scrubbing toilets in prison.
 
He
was wrong about that.
 
Terribly
wrong.
 
What he did was pure madness.
 
How can it be explained any other
way?”
 

Cullen held out his hands
in a gesture of exasperation.
 
“It’s
sad, isn’t it?
 
Do any of us really
know our friends?
 
Our wives,
husbands, children?
 
I thought I
knew Louis, but apparently I didn’t know him at all.
 
Because the man I knew never would have
resorted to the crimes he committed.
 
He
had
to have been mad to commit them.
 
He must have gone off the rails to do
what he did.
 
It’s awful what he
did.
 
I don’t understand why he did
it.”

“In those moments when
you’ve made an effort to draw connections between the deaths of his
beneficiaries and what’s happening now, where does your mind lead you?”

“It leads me
nowhere.
 
I don’t know what’s going
on.
 
I don’t understand any of
this.
 
It befuddles me; and frankly,
it scares me.
 
I’m not one to go
down without a fight, which is why I’ve hired security, but I’m no fool, Mr.
Spellman.
 
Whoever is behind this
will win in the end.
 
They’ll get to
me, just like they got to everyone else.
 
I’ll die.
 
And do you know
what’s worse than that?”