Authors: Heather Graham
Time.
Joe had a feeling he didn’t have much of it.
Joe thanked Raif and hung up, knowing the detective was right. Legwork took time, and it was frequently tedious.
He went back to his apartment to be alone, to think, and to do some legwork of his own, including calling the Ravens, starting with the women. His plan was not to ask them about the Sunday night when Lori had disappeared but to start casually with the previous night, when what had now been confirmed as an extra dose of morphine had almost finished Sam Latham.
Barbara Hirshorn was first on his list. He tried her at the library where she worked, and after a few minutes the young man who had answered the phone found her.
“Mr. Connolly?” she said curiously.
“Hi, Barbara, how are you doing?”
“I’m terrified, to tell you the truth. I’m afraid to walk through the stacks. Last night I couldn’t even stand to be at home after I left work. I was so glad everyone decided to go to the pub. Lila picked me up and saw me home, but I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I can’t afford to take the car service everywhere.”
“I’m sorry. What were you up to on Sunday, by the way?”
“I didn’t leave my apartment. I was too shaken up by Thorne’s death. Honestly, I’m so scared.”
He said something reassuring and hung up. According to what she’d volunteered, she’d gotten off work and gone straight home, but was there any proof of that? He was glad the police had decided to keep the attack on Sam a secret. Only the killer would know that anything had happened, so only he or she would think to come up with a lie, and lies could be found out.
He continued to make calls to see what the rest of the Ravens had to say. Last night Lila had gone straight from a fashion show to pick up her friends, and then she had gone to the pub. He could verify that, and he did. Lila Hawkins hadn’t left the showing on Fifth Avenue until seven, and based on what Barbara had said, the rest of the timing fit, too. According to her, she’d spent the Sunday at her daughter’s house on Long Island, and he would verify that, too, if need be.
Lou Sayles had picked up her kids, which he confirmed by calling the school. She’d spent Sunday with her family, at a Little League game, and the game checked out, though he would have to do more investigating to confirm that she had been there.
And Eileen…Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about the attempt on Sam’s life at the hospital, but it was too late to worry about that now.
He caught her at her desk. “Hi, Joe. I’ll see you at dinner, right?”
“Dinner? Where?”
She laughed. “Well, I suppose we should all be getting a bit sick of it, but…O’Malley’s.”
“Sure, I guess. Later,” he said. “So are you with Genevieve?” he asked, after satisfying himself as to her whereabouts at the times in question.
“No, she’s out with Adam, and Nikki and Brent.”
Joe winced. His own fault for walking out on the lunch, he supposed. “They would never leave her alone, would they?”
“Of course not,” Eileen assured him. “I thought that you were with them, as well.”
He heard the slight reproach in that, but thanked her and told her that he would see her later.
He called Mary Vincenzo next. Just as he was expecting to get her machine, she answered, sounding as if she had been sleeping. Or smoking dope. There was an odd mockery mixed with sensuality in her voice tone. “Why, Mr. Connolly, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“I was wondering where you were last night?” he asked after the usual pleasantries, opting to be direct with her.
“Jealous?” she drawled.
“If you don’t mind answering…”
“You’re not the cops.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. You’re everyone’s savior, aren’t you, Mr. Connolly?”
“Mrs. Vincenzo, if you would just—”
“I prefer being called Mary,” she said, interrupting him.
“Mary, if you don’t mind…”
“I was at Jared’s penthouse. If you must know, we were fucking.”
“We?”
“Jared and I.”
“What about Sunday?”
“Let me see…Sunday. Hmm. Oh, we were fucking then, too.”
“He must be quite the Energizer Bunny,” he told her pleasantly.
She was silent for a moment, and he realized with a flash of insight that she hadn’t been sleeping or getting stoned. She’d been drinking.
“Can anyone verify that you were there all day?”
“Are you suggesting that we invite people in to watch us while we’re fucking?” she drawled insinuatingly.
“Can anyone verify you were together at Jared’s penthouse?”
“Maybe we
should
have people over,” she mused. “I mean, they talk about us already. You talked about us. In fact, you
knew
about us. When others didn’t. Maybe we should have
you
over. You could even join us, if you’d like. How big are you down there, Mr. Connolly?”
“Thanks for talking to me, Mary,” he said, and hung up, then put her name right under Jared’s in the “potentially guilty” column.
He didn’t like her, so maybe that wasn’t fair. If it came to that, he didn’t like Jared, either. But the truth was that Jared was the major beneficiary of his father’s death, and Mary benefitted through Jared.
He kept calling and making lists. He was certain the police were making the same lists and decided they ought to compare them.
Larry Levine had once again been at the newspaper, something Joe had no trouble verifying. The reporter couldn’t remember what he’d done during the day on Sunday, but he’d been drinking at O’Malley’s—of course—most of the evening, and a legitimate alibi for Sunday automatically made him a less likely suspect, so…scratch Larry.
Don Tracy had been at the theater until almost seven. He wouldn’t have had much time to get to the hospital. Possible, but unlikely. Still…And on Sunday he’d had a matinee, but matinees were over by five or five-thirty.
Nat Halloway had been at his office until he left for the pub, in plain view of half a dozen people yesterday afternoon. Sunday he’d been home alone.
Finally Joe called the Bigelow mansion. Albee Bennet answered after the third ring.
“Hi, Albee. Joe Connolly here”
“Mr. Connolly, hello. Can I help you in some way?”
“Routine, Albee. Where were you on Sunday?”
“Here, Mr. Connolly. I don’t seem to have the heart to do much else but stay home. Mr. Jared is still up in the air about what to do with the place.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Happily, I will be. I won’t be rich, but I’m sure that Thorny saw to it that I’d be taken care of.”
“So you stay home night and day, do you?” Joe asked.
“Pretty much so, Mr. Connolly.”
“Joe.”
“Pretty much so, Mr. Joe. Last night I raided the DVD library. I watched three old movies, made some popcorn.”
“Very nice,” Joe said. “Well, thank you.”
He hesitated then, thinking about the information Brent had passed on about the other two deaths. “Albee?”
“Yes, Mr. Joe?”
“Did Thorny—Mr. Bigelow—like to travel a lot? When he was researching his book, perhaps?”
“Oh, certainly. We got around. We spent a lot of time in Philly.”
“What about Richmond, say, or Baltimore?”
“I can’t remember dates offhand, but, yes, we were down there.”
“You and Mr. Bigelow?”
“Oh, yes. And Jared, of course. And Miss Mary.”
Jared and Mary, too? Now things were really getting interesting, Joe thought.
Genevieve had to admit to being surprised when she saw Joe walk into the pub.
“Joe, hello,” she slurred somewhat drunkenly as he pulled up a chair at the end of the table.
She saw him look questioningly at Adam, who shrugged.
“Long day,” Brent said.
“Really? What did you do with your long day?” Joe asked him.
“We played tourist,” Brent said.
“Great,” Joe said. “Where’s Eileen? Didn’t she come with you?” he asked, looking worried.
“Eileen is fine. She called about five minutes ago and made her apologies. She’s tired and decided to stay home,” Adam explained.
“How was your day?” Adam asked Joe.
“Not bad,” Joe said, and glanced at Genevieve.
She smiled pleasantly at him but kept silent and played with the condensation on her glass, knowing she was too far beyond tipsy to safely speak. She focused on the music, which was really quite good, she decided. And the whiskey wasn’t half bad, either. In fact, the more she drank, the better it tasted.
Frowning, Joe returned his attention to Adam. “I talked to the Ravens, and also to Albee Bennet,” he said.
“Poor old Albee,” Genevieve put in, her words slurred.
“Is she all right?” Joe asked, looking at Nikki.
Trust a guy, Gen thought, to figure only a woman would have another woman figured out. Chauvinist. “I’m fine, and I can speak for myself white…quite well, thank you,” she told him, her delivery giving the lie to her words.
He studied her for a long moment, then clearly made the decision to ignore her. “Albee said that Thorne had traveled to research his book. He’d been to Richmond, Baltimore and Philly.”
“But…Thorne was the victim,” Nikki said.
Joe nodded. “He didn’t travel alone.”
“Aha! The butler
did
do it!” Genevieve said triumphantly and much too loudly.
They all stared at her.
Joe said, “Jared and Mary accompanied him on all his trips, along with Albee.”
Brent frowned. “The son and the sister-in-law. They would be at cross concerns, don’t you think?”
“I spoke with Mary. And I think she’d lie in a second flat to give Jared an alibi,” Joe said. “They’re sleeping together.”
“But she’s his aunt,” Nikki said.
“By marriage,” Joe said.
“I don’t care,” Genevieve offered. “That’s just…ewwww.”
“So you think Jared did it?” Adam asked thoughtfully.
“I don’t like him, so that probably adds to my conviction,” Joe said. “And there’s nothing to prove it. But he’s the major beneficiary, and the person supporting him—saying that he gave his father CPR, even though the body was found at the desk—is Mary. It bothered me from the beginning, the position of the body. Everything could have an explanation, but it’s all starting to add up.”
“And Jared Bigelow could look like Poe,” Genevieve announced happily.
Joe stared at her, frowning. “What the hell is she talking about?” he asked the table at large.
“Long story, better left for another day,” Adam said.
Joe groaned.
“In fact, I think I’ll get my driver and see Genevieve home,” Adam said.
Joe stood. “I’ll take her home,” he said in a tone that dared anyone to contradict him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Genevieve said, and stared at Joe, trying to focus. It would have helped a lot if his head had stayed still. “Don’t you want dinner? And what if I want to stay?”
Joe ignored her and turned to Brent. “Are we still heading out tomorrow?” When Brent nodded, Joe added, “Do you mind an early start?”
“No problem,” Brent said. “How early?”
“Six. We’ll make it on down to Richmond, stay there overnight, then hit Baltimore on the way back.”
“I’ll arrange for a larger car,” Adam said.
“I’ll drive,” Joe said.
“Is your car big enough?” Adam asked.
Joe crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought just Brent, Nikki and I would go.”
“Aren’t you are just full of it?” Genevieve said angrily.
“Genevieve—”
“I do believe I’m your employer,” she said, trying to sound dignified, but she heard her own voice, and knew she just sounded snotty.
“I quit, then,” Joe told her.
“You can’t quit. You…you owe my mother.”
“Genevieve, you need to go home and get some sleep,” Nikki said gently. “In the morning—”
“In the morning Adam and I will be going with you on that trip or I will be doing whatever the hell I want back here in New York,” she said icily, then winced. Oh, God, she really did sound like a bitch.
“I think I’ll take her home now,” Joe said. “Adam, we won’t need a car service. I’d like to drive, so we’ll just rent something.” He inhaled deeply as he clenched his teeth. “Something big enough that the five of us can be comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Genevieve said primly, though she was tempted to cry. “And now I need to go home,” she said, standing and immediately starting to teeter as her head spun.
“I’ve got you,” Joe said, and put his arms around her to steady her.
The world was still spinning, but one thought occurred to her very clearly.
Yes, you do have me. Too bad neither one of us can tell if you actually want me or not.
“Good night,” Joe said to the others. “See you at six o’clock at Gen’s, all right?”
“Fine. And I’ll arrange the rental,” Adam said. “Just one thing…”
“Yes?” Joe replied.
“I’ll explain everything tomorrow, but for now, Genevieve can’t be left alone. Not for a minute, do you understand?”
“I understand,” Joe said huskily.
No, he didn’t, Gen thought. Not yet, anyway. How on earth were they going to explain to him that the killer had dressed up as Poe to abduct Lori, even though she herself would have been his preferred victim, and that they knew this because Lori’s ghost had passed the message through Leslie and Matt, who were still hanging around at Hastings House? That was
so
not going to go over well.
As they walked toward Joe’s car, his arm still around her to keep her upright, he suddenly stopped and stared into the night.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied after a long moment.
“They’re out there, you know,” she said solemnly.
“Who?”
Ghosts, she thought, but decided not to say so.
“I heard footsteps. Real footsteps,” he said, when she didn’t answer his question.
She laughed softly. “That’s because there are real people in this city, lots of them.”
He looked down at her, and she could see him decide not to argue with her. It was scary, the way she was able to read his expressions, she thought, sure that if she hadn’t been with him, he would have investigated further.
The sounds from the pub were distant, and the street was quiet. He stood still for a minute longer, then urged her on to his car.
He was quiet as they drove, and she concentrated on not being sick. She felt his eyes touch her now and then, but they reached her building in silence. He signed in so he could get a visitor’s parking pass from Tim, who welcomed them both with a friendly smile.
As soon as Joe parked, she started to get out of the car on her own, certain she could accomplish the feat, but she fell back into the seat as she tried to stand, and the door swung back on her. By then Joe had rounded the car to help her, and he held the door open and helped her out, saying, “I’m not sure whether you’re going to be up to traveling tomorrow morning or not, Miss O’Brien.”
“I’m fine,” she protested. “I’m just a bit…tired. I assure you, I can handle my whiskey. It was Irish whiskey, after all, and I
am
Irish,” she said proudly.
“All right, Irish, let’s get inside.”
He grabbed his overnight bag from the trunk, then supported her into the building and up to her apartment, where she made a studied point of getting her door open. “Can I make you tea or something?” she asked politely. The words were clear, but she ruined the effect by staggering.
“No, thanks. Keep walking, straight to bed. Where are those hangover pills you gave me the other morning? Might help if you took a few now.”
She waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom. He led her to her bed, supporting her while pulling down the sheets, and left her sitting there on the edge of the mattress. A minute later he was back with the pills and a tumbler of water. As soon as she had taken the pills, he took off her shoes.
“I’m really all right,” she said, but she was shielding her eyes from the light that seemed to radiate like fire from the bedside lamp.
He turned it off, helped her lie down and pulled the covers over her.
“Is the room spinning even with the light off?” he asked.
“No.” She sighed. “Yes.”
“Let’s hope the pills kick in soon, then.”
For a moment she was both floating in her own wavering world and simultaneously aware that he had undressed and climbed in beside her. She inched closer to him. After a minute, she heard him sigh. And then his arm came around her, and he pulled her closer.
“What the hell made you do this?” he asked softly.
“Ghosts,” she said, before she could stop herself.
He tensed, and she thought he was going to pull away from her, but he didn’t.
“You shouldn’t have called Adam,” he said. “Ghosts…can’t help. All they can do is muddle your mind. Remnants of the past that tear at your soul.”
“Because you were in love with her,” she said.
“I
could
have been in love with her,” he replied. “But she loved Matt.”
“She’s with him now, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re both dead,” he said.
And despite the liquor sloshing around in her body and confusing her mind, she propped herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. It was now or never.
“You’re wrong. They’re together. Really together. And they can help us, if we let them. If you need everything to be flesh and blood, to be real and physical, go ahead and think it’s all in your mind. Think of it as the memories pointing you in the right direction. Do whatever works for you, but just don’t discount it. Don’t be afraid, because you know I always had the feeling that Joe Connolly wasn’t afraid of anything. And don’t be angry with me about calling Adam. Leslie believed in ghosts, you know.”
“And she’s dead now,” he interrupted harshly.
Because I’m alive,
Genevieve almost said.
But she didn’t.
And neither did he.
Despite that, the words hung in the air between them, as if they were ghosts themselves.
She was sure there was more she needed to say, as if this were an argument she needed to win. But then she sighed, exhaling all the air that was in her, and there was nowhere else left to go.
She lay back down, and the darkness continued to spin, weird little squiggles of light dancing behind her eyelids. No wonder she had spent so many years hating whiskey.
There was nothing but silence, and she thought he must have fallen asleep, so she was startled when his voice came out of the darkness, deep and tormented.
“Dammit, Genevieve, don’t you see? I don’t want that for you. You’ve already suffered more than anyone should. And if you keep going in this direction—whether it’s in your mind, real…whatever—you’ll just stay tortured. You’ll always be trying to understand, searching for another clue…Oh, God, never mind. I can’t explain, it’s just that…that world is that world. The dead are dead and gone. Let them rest in peace.”
She was stunned by the passion of his words, and she let several seconds go by. Then she felt the mattress shift and sensed him looking down at her. She stared back up at him in the shadows.
“What if they can’t rest in peace? What if they’re here because they’re determined to help us, whether we’re able to accept their help or not?” she whispered.
He groaned.
“Joe,” she said softly, reaching up, delicately brushing her fingers over the rugged contours of his face. “Joe, something is haunting you, I know it,” she told him. “It started…it started that night at O’Malley’s when you were the one who got drunk.”
He lay down on his back beside her again, shaking his head. “We’ve got to get some sleep,” he said.
It was an argument she wasn’t going to win, she thought. Not tonight, anyway. But maybe even an argument was better than the angry silence they’d shared before. Just then he reached for her and drew her to his side.
Protectively.
It felt good, she thought, to be exactly where she was, even if he was just there as her guardian, a sentinel determined to keep her safe.
“Take another couple of these.”
Joe was standing above her. He’d already showered, and his hair was still damp, but he was already dressed to face the day.
“What…time is it?” She squinted against the painful light of early morning and sat up, accepting the pills. She felt disoriented, but not as sick as she knew she deserved to, after everything she’d had to drink. She just wanted to go back to sleep.
“Five-thirty,” he said.
She swallowed the pills. “Ten more minutes,” she told him.
Wasn’t happening.
He jerked the covers back, caught her arms and dragged her up. “Shower. Now. Unless you want to stay here, locked in this room, until we get back.”
So she headed for the shower.
When she got out, she had about ten minutes left. Frantically, she began throwing things into an overnight case.
“If you forget something, we can buy it when we get there,” he told her. “Here.” He was back in front of her with a cup of coffee.
She took it from him and drank gratefully.
To her surprise, he smiled at her and touched her chin. “That hair of yours is a mess,” he told her.
She turned, ready to look for her brush.
“Hey, leave it. It’s sort of sexy, in a hungover kind of way,” he told her.
She cast him a glance of ice, causing him to laugh softly again.
“There’s your bell—they’re here,” he told her.
“I’m ready,” she said, and quickly swallowed the rest of her coffee. He had added enough milk to keep it from scalding her throat, and it was good.
A road trip.
Joe couldn’t believe he was on a road trip with four other people. He expected the usual question to come from the backseat: Are we there yet? But his passengers were quiet.