The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense (19 page)

“Okay, that’s valid,” Kit said. “But the whole point of meeting me there was to obtain information he seemed eager for. It doesn’t make sense that he’d kill me before getting his hands on it.”

Baby looked at her almost imploringly. “What if he actually thinks you know too much at this point? That could make you a liability as far as he’s concerned.”

Kit rubbed her forehead, thinking. “There are other reasons he’s not a good suspect,” she said finally. “I was meeting him at
nine so why would he start hiding in the stairwell before seven o’clock? And most of all, he knows what I look like. Though Avery bore a resemblance to me last night, I don’t think Kelman would have mistaken us.”

The last point seemed the best proof of all. She’d been to bed with him, he knew what every inch of her looked like.

“I just hope you’re finished having any contact with him,” Baby said.

Kit tossed her hands up. “I can’t be done just yet. I need to give him an ultimatum, make him go to the police
now
, not later. I don’t trust him, but I also don’t think he would hurt me. He’s had his chances and hasn’t taken them.”

Baby inhaled deeply, her breasts swelling insider her crisp white blouse, and let out a long sigh.

“What?” Kit asked.

“I worry that this man’s got a bit of a hold on you—like the Death Star. You can’t help but be drawn in his direction.”

For the first time all day, Kit found herself smiling.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re a
Star Wars
fan, Baby,” she exclaimed.

“Well, in the 80’s I certainly was. Though after marrying a scoundrel the first time, I decided to go for men who were more Yoda than Han Solo. But you get my point, Kit. I’m worried this Garrett Kelman fellow has some sway over you. Because of your previous—well,
encounter
with him.”

Kit smiled again, wryly. “You mean lust has blinded me?”

“Exactly.”

“I swear the only thing I’m interested in right now is rescuing myself from this nightmare. But I don’t want to tell the police what I know without any evidence or corroboration from Kelman. Burke already seemed slightly suspicious of me and talking about a mystery man that only I get to see could make it worse.”

But she wondered if there could be any truth to what Baby had said. Did she feel some kind of pull from Kelman that she couldn’t resist?

“I promise, I’ll be extremely careful,” Kit added. “For now, why don’t we discuss business, before the shit hits the fan on that front. Avery’s death is going to be in the news, and it’s going to emerge that she’d been at our office.”

Baby suggested they strategize over lunch. Kit grabbed a pad and followed Baby to the kitchen, where she took a seat at the hammered metal table by the window. She had little appetite, but she gratefully accepted an iced tea.

“The first thing we need to do is figure out how to handle the press inquiries,” Baby said. “I know I said that bad breath is better than no breath at all, but this is the kind of breath that could fell an elephant. We need to enlist a pro to help.”

“I agree we have to be smart about this, but a PR person—especially one who does crisis management—isn’t going to be cheap. How can we possibly swing that?”

“I have a friend who I think will give us some advice for free. She’ll need a room done at some point and I’ll make it a barter deal.”

Baby also recommended that for the next few weeks they focus on only existing clients or those hovering on the horizon, and not accept any brand-new business. Keeping a low profile, she said, meant less exposure, fewer questions asked.

Kit understood her reasoning, but the strategy troubled her. The firm would be fine for the short-term, but it would mean a dip, perhaps a substantial one, in future revenue. And they’d be dinged by Avery’s death. Kit had already invested many hours working on the project and there was no way, in good conscience, for her to collect on that.

“What about the hotel job?” Kit asked. “You wouldn’t want
to turn that down, would you? And how do we pay Dara if we don’t take new business?”

“The door’s already open on the hotel project so if it
does
materialize, we should definitely go for that one. It will pay extremely well, and we’ll both have to be involved. As for Dara, we’ll just have to watch the budget. There might be a point where we’ll need to ask her to go part-time for a while.”

Kit groaned. She hated the idea of throwing Dara such a curveball.

“This will blow over eventually,” Baby said. “We may just have to lay low for a few weeks.”

“Right—as long as nothing else happens.” But even as she said the words, she knew she couldn’t bank on them. Whoever was wrecking havoc in her life wasn’t
done
. “Baby, you don’t deserve any of this. If you want out, just say the word, and I’d totally understand.”

She meant it, but the idea made her reel. She couldn’t help but be reminded of her father, his business unraveling, their life going inexorably to hell with the speed of a bullet train.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be cowed by any of this,” Baby assured her. “But there’s one more strategy I’d suggest immediately. We should call all our existing clients.”

“And inform them of what’s going on?” Kit said, taken aback. That didn’t seem shrewd at all.

“No, no, just find an excuse to touch base, demonstrate to them that life is normal. Then when they do learn of this, they’ll know we’re still business as usual. And some of them may never get wind of it. Not everyone reads the tabloids.”

Kit nodded in agreement. While Baby settled in her study, Kit set up her phone and laptop at the mahogany table in the dining room. Before starting to reach out to clients, she checked the office voicemail. She and Dara had decided earlier that
rather than have calls to the office forwarded to either of their cell phones—and risk being caught off guard—they would simply check for voicemail messages throughout the day. To her dismay there were half a dozen calls from media outlets about Avery Howe’s death. She jotted down the info to pass along to Baby’s friend if she came on board.

Next she jumped online. There were already a couple of posted items about the death, one stating that “PR Maven Avery Howe” had died in a mysterious fall and that police were investigating. To her dismay, a
Daily News
post was even more specific. Avery Howe had died “while at the Elizabeth Street offices of Finn-Meadow, an interior design firm she was working with.”

She hurried into Baby’s study and broke the news.

“I’ve already spoken to my friend, and she’s volunteered to return media calls,” Baby said. “She says the best strategy is to appear cooperative, but direct attention away from the firm as much as possible.”

“How do we do
that
?”

“She says by giving them a name of someone else to talk to. Like that detective you like so much.”

“Perfect,” Kit said, pleased at the idea of sending them all Burke’s way.

Back in the dining room, Kit took a deep breath and started on client calls, the first to Layla Griggs. The Greenwich Village project was nearly completed so she had no fear of losing it, but she had always banked on Griggs being a good reference and she didn’t want to end on anything but a winning note.

“Hi, Layla,” she said when she reached her. “I just wanted to check in. The workmen have moved all the furniture back into the bedroom, right?”

“Yes, but the comforter hasn’t arrived yet. I thought you said it would be here this week.”

“It should have been. Let me investigate. Also, the rug is finally scheduled for delivery next week.”

“My husband says they built the pyramids in less time than it has taken for that rug to make an appearance.”

Kit forced a laugh. “It does seem like that, doesn’t it? But it will definitely be there this week, and then we’ll want to focus on adding a few very cool accessories. The icing on the cake.”

Big sigh from Layla. “Good.”

She tried Holt next. That situation particularly worried her because it was in its early stages. Holt already knew about the break-in and if he learned that a client had died in her stairwell, he might have second thoughts about going forward with her.

An assistant or office manager answered and when Kit gave her name, the woman murmured, seeming to recognize it.

“He’s just finishing up with a patient,” she added, “but let me check. He may be able to speak to you momentarily.” She placed Kit on hold and then came back a moment later. “I’m sorry but he’ll have to call you back.”

“No problem,” Kit said, but she felt a twinge of disquietude. Had she just been blown off? She reassured herself that it was probably her imagination. After all, Holt had probably spent his day dealing with patients, not reading the police blotter.

She phoned the remainder of her clients, finding an excuse to touch base with each of them. No one mentioned Avery’s death. But there was a bump of another kind when she spoke to Barry Kaplan, her fifty-something bachelor. After she told him she was busy fleshing out the concept and would have ideas to him shortly, he responded with impatience, the first time she’d heard that from him.

“I thought there’d be something by now,” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” Kit told him. “I fell a little behind, but you’re my top priority now.”

Finished, she propped her elbows on the table and let her
chin rest in her hands. Clearly she needed to get her butt into freaking gear. And yet it seemed so pathetic to be shoring up things with clients, protecting her assets, while Avery’s body lay in the New York City morgue.

She glanced at the time on her computer screen: 4:21. By now the person or people who had killed Avery must have heard the press reports and recognized their mistake They would be wondering where she was and how to find her, how to remedy their error. She felt her fear spike. But she knew she couldn’t let herself be undone by it. The only way to stay safe was to keep her wits about her.

And part of keeping her wits had to be a willingness to face facts. She thought of the point Baby had kept pressing on her: that Kelman could be Avery’s killer. She still hadn’t heard from him, and that surely said something.

She’d assured Baby that Kelman knew what she looked like, and wouldn’t have mistaken Avery for her. But the stairwell was dimly lit, and if Kelman had been hiding on the flight of steps to the roof and had pounced on Avery from behind, he might not have realized it was another woman.

There was something else, she realized. Kelman knew all about her stairwell. He’d hidden there last Sunday, waiting for her to return to her apartment.

And then, as she sat there brooding, her phone lit up. Kelman’s number was on the screen.

chapter 17
 

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice almost hoarse with alarm. “I was scrambling today and just got your message.”

“Something horrible. A client of mine died in the stairwell of my building last night.”

She let the words just hang there, pressing the phone tight to her ear as she waited for his response.


How?
What happened?”

“I found her there this morning, at the base of the stairs. She had a large gash on her head.”

She wanted to be vague at first, see how he’d respond.

“But what was she doing in your stairwell?”

“She’d stopped by to pick up a package last night and for some reason she took the stairs down.”

“Could she have tripped?”

His tone was natural, authentic seeming. But she knew that was meaningless. He’d once convinced her that his name was Matt Healy.

“No.” She waited a beat to drop the bomb, readying herself to gauge his response. “I heard one of the investigators say she must have been pushed. And there’s something else. This woman looked a little like me, and she’d borrowed my trench coat before she left.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

“Please tell me you’re not still in the building.”

“No, I’m with a friend—at her place.”

“Kit, I’m so sorry. This must be awful for you.”

“That’s the understatement of the century. Not only is my life in danger, but I’m also partly responsible for my client’s death—we
both
are. You need to talk to the police as soon as possible and fill in the gaps for them.”

“What have you told the police? Did you say anything about Ithaka—or about me?”

Of course that would be his big concern. Her frustration was starting to mount, pricking at her.

“I didn’t breathe a word about you or about Ithaka, just about the burglary. But I can’t keep withholding evidence from the cops. How will they find the killer if they don’t have all the facts? They even asked what kind of relationship I had with my client, as if they were suspicious of
me
. You have to do something.”

“You’re right, Kit. And I will. It’s definitely going to happen by the end of the week.”

“That won’t work anymore,” she exclaimed. “You have to do it before then.”

“There’s a legitimate reason for the delay. It’s one that will protect both of us.”

“Are you sure it’s not simply because you’re the one who pushed Avery down the stairs, thinking it was me?”

There, she’d gotten it out on the table. Even through the phone, she could feel a surge of anger.

“Oh, you’re back to me being a homicidal maniac now,” he said testily. “I thought we’d established a bit of trust at this point.”

“How can I trust you when you won’t go to the police?”

“Okay, I can understand how upsetting this must be,” he said, calmer now. “Why don’t we meet again and I can explain in person. And I want to hear more about this woman’s death. That will help me better assess if Ithaka’s involved.”

“Can’t we just discuss this over the phone? I’m all ears right now.”

“I think it would help if I actually showed you some of the evidence I’ve collected against Ithaka. Once you’ve taken a look at it, you might have an easier time seeing things from my perspective.”

She digested his words. If she could
see
something, even just a few shreds of evidence, it would be worthwhile for her. And not just for the trust factor. Because if she ended up having to go to the police on her own, she’d have something to offer besides thin air.

“Where and when?” she asked.

“How about nine tonight. But I don’t like the idea of you leaving the building you’re staying in. Can I come to you?”

Not on his life. There was no way she was going to let him show up at Baby’s.

“That’s not going to work. Why don’t we meet in a bar or restaurant again. And I could have the doorman hail me a cab so I’m not out on the street flagging one down.”

There was a pause. What was he concocting now? she wondered.

“In light of what happened today, it’s not smart for us to meet out in the open. I’m staying in a short-term rental in the West Eighties. Do you want to come here?”

An alarm went off in her head, ringing shrilly. But she had to chance it, take him at his word right now and see the so-called evidence. Tonight she needed what Kelman had as much as he needed what s
he
had to offer—information about Avery’s death.

“Okay,” she said finally.

He gave her the exact address but suggested she have the driver let her off at the corner of 84th and Amsterdam, and he would meet her.

“Call me a minute before you reach there and I’ll come down. Don’t get out of the cab until you see me. And promise me you’ll be careful.”

There was concern in his tone as well as his words. Or was it just a master manipulator at work?

After ending the call, she set the phone down and leaned back in the chair, thinking. What if Kelman was totally legit? What if, just like her, he had accidentally become ensnared in a dangerous web? But there was also every chance he was a liar, a man calling the shots in an illegal and deadly scheme. She had only his word that he was a whistle-blower. The thought suddenly occurred to her that the flash drive might contain information that incriminated
him
and that’s why he’d wanted it back so badly. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for Avery’s death, but how did she know he hadn’t run down Matt Healy?

Earlier she’d decided not to return Sasha Glen’s call, and to steer totally clear of anyone from Ithaka. But there might be something to be gained, she realized, from setting up another appointment, and doing it quickly. Though Sasha was a snoop, she seemed to relish dropping tidbits in exchange, and if Kit played it right, she could learn more about Kelman from talking to her—for instance, whether he’d left Ithaka under any kind of black cloud. She’d have a better idea then whether Kelman was dirty or not.

She scooted over to her laptop and typed an email message to Sasha.

“I’d be happy to reschedule our appointment,” she wrote. “Do you have any availability this week?”

She’d barely turned away from the computer when a reply popped up.

“Tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. would work for me.”

“Perfect,” Kit typed back. “I’ll plan to stop by then.”

It would mean going out again, exposing herself. But Sasha’s apartment wasn’t all that far from Baby’s and she would have the doorman find her a cab, just as she planned to do tonight. And as with her meeting with Kelman, it might just be worth the risk.

She rose from the table, wandered into the living room, and stood in a puddle of April sunlight by one of the windows, staring out at a purple-red brick apartment building across Park Avenue and the improbable strip of blue sky above it. She felt so safe up in Baby’s apartment, with not only the doorman and concierge in the lobby but the two guards who stood just at the entrance to the courtyard with its circular drive. She might as well have been in an ivory tower. But she couldn’t stay here forever, and she didn’t want to. She longed to be back in her own home, her own bed, no longer fearful for her life. She had to figure out how to make that happen.

Lost in thought, she barely heard her phone ring from the dining room. Her heart skipped at the sound. It made her think of Avery’s muffled ringtone echoing eerily from the stairwell that morning, beckoning her and Dara toward the gruesome discovery. She dashed back toward the dining room. Keith Holt’s name was on the screen.

“Tell me you’re okay,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Okay?” she said. Could he have heard about Avery already? Maybe, but she didn’t dare let on until she knew for sure.

“My assistant said that a woman was killed in your building.”

So he
did
know.

“I’m fine, but it was actually a client of mine who died. As you can imagine, we’re very upset about it.”

“Was it some kind of freak accident?”

“The police are investigating, but we haven’t been told anything yet.”

She knew it was important to seem straightforward, but she had no intention of sharing the information she’d overheard.

“Well, I’m just glad to know you’re safe.”

“That’s very nice of you, Keith. It’s been a tough day, but we’re coping. The reason I called earlier was to tell you that I had a chance to take a closer look at the clippings you pulled, and I’d love to share my ideas with you when you have a free moment.”

“Terrific, and I’d like to hear your thoughts. But I’m going to have to call you in a few days. My schedule has gotten extremely tight this week.”

“Of course,” she said. “Just shoot me an email when your time frees up.”

After they’d exchanged goodbyes, she sighed in dismay. It sounded as if he was pulling back. She tried to tell herself she was overreacting, but up until now he’d seemed more than eager to meet with her at the drop of a hat. There just might be too much drama surronding her for his taste.

She called Dara next, eager to know how she was holding up. Her boyfriend Scott had come home from work early to spend the day with her and she sounded less shell-shocked. There’d been at least ten more calls from press, she reported, even one from the British
Daily Mail
. Oh wonderful, Kit thought grimly, we’re going international. She asked Dara to relay the information to the PR woman Baby had recruited.

At around six, Kit and Baby met to swap notes. So far, Kit told her, there’d been no confirmed casualties in terms of her clients, but she shared her suspicions about Holt.

“Does it sound to you like he’s gotten cold feet?” she asked.

“Not necessarily,” Baby replied. “I wouldn’t read too much into it just yet.”

The question Kit didn’t raise with Baby, because there seemed no reason to worry her any more than necessary, was the one that incessantly repeated itself in her mind: What if something
else
happened? How much could their little boutique business endure before clients began to bail?

“How about you?” Kit asked. “Did you end up speaking to everyone you wanted to?” she asked.

“Yes, except the overly bronzed Steven Harper. I thought twice about calling him because, as you know, I don’t want to seem too much in pursuit of the business, but I finally decided I’d just phone and inquire how he was feeling after his hypoglycemic attack. I probably should have done that anyway.”

“But you never reached him?”

“No. He didn’t answer his cell and when I tried his office, there was just a voicemail message from someone I assume is his assistant saying Mr. Harper was unavailable at the moment. I know the hotel is moving along—I drove by the site yesterday to check it out—but he may have been less interested in our firm than he let on.”

“There’s something else I need to share, Baby,” Kit said. “I’m definitely meeting again with Garrett Kelman tonight—at nine. He wants to show me some of the evidence he’s accumulated.”

Baby sighed loudly. “I’m not going to say anything to try to stop you because I know I can’t. But if you aren’t back by 10:30, I’ll be fit to be tied.”

“I promise.”

“I mean it, Kit. If you’re not, I’m—I’m going to send out a tweet saying you tell all your clients to hang a disco ball above their beds.”

Despite how wired she felt, Kit burst out laughing.

At 8:30, she rode the elevator down to the marble lobby and asked the doorman to hail her a cab. A few minutes later one pulled into the courtyard and she nearly leapt inside. As the car
crossed Central Park on 85th Street, she glanced nervously behind her. Farther back, at least two car lengths, was a taxi slowly gaining on them, but when they reached Central Park West, the taxi swung left and hers continued straight. She was pretty certain she hadn’t been followed.

She texted Kelman right before the cab pulled up to the corner, and as she swiped the card in the taxi’s charge machine, she saw him emerge from a building a short way down the block. The second she stepped onto the curb, he took her arm and ushered her up the street. Even through her jacket she could feel the tension in his grip.

Reaching the small, non-doorman building, he hurried them both inside. The lobby was empty, except for the Mexican take-out menus strewn across the floor. He motioned her toward the elevator and jabbed at the call button. Gone tonight, she saw, was his black Ninja look. Instead he was in blue jeans and a navy V-neck pullover sweater, with a triangle of bare skin showing on his chest. It was hard to imagine that once she had touched that skin, run her hands over it urgently, and tasted it with her mouth.

The elevator arrived a minute later, announcing itself with a metallic creaking sound, and as she stepped into the tiny space ahead of Kelman, her heart beat nervously. He pressed the button for the third floor. They were standing so close she could see all the freckles on his face. She could smell something citrusy, too—a cologne perhaps, or maybe just the soap he’d showered with.

The apartment turned out to be a small one-bedroom. The décor was Japanese in flavor—sparely designed furniture, polished wood floors, and a sliding shoji door with translucent screen panels, behind which Kit assumed was a bedroom. How incongruous, she thought, to be standing in a Zen-like space when her life was in shambles.

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