Authors: Andrea Kane
“Yes. No. I…” Tears glistened on her lashes. “You’re not as vulnerable and terrified as I am. I’m walking out on a limb—with no net to break my fall—and I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m falling anyway.”
“I’ll catch you.” Lane’s thumbs captured her tears, wiped them away. “Just tell me you love me.”
“I do. Irrationally, but undeniably.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I must be insane.”
“Lucky me.” He lowered his head and kissed her.
“We have so much to work out,” she murmured.
“And all the time in the world to do it in.” He waited until he felt her physical response, her lips softening and parting under his. Then he lifted her onto his lap and deepened the kiss.
“In the long run, maybe.” Morgan smiled against his mouth, even as her arms tightened around his neck. “But right now, we’ve got less than an hour. Monty’s coming over, remember?”
“Only too well.” He drew back, tipped up her chin so their gazes locked. “We’ll take this to the bedroom later. But for now, just so we’re both clear
on where things stand, what we have is for real. It’s also forever. I’m not letting you go.”
“Sounds like a certainty to me,” she whispered. “I thought we agreed that life is tenuous, and that security is never a guarantee.”
“We just changed our minds.”
LENNY UNLOCKED THE
door to the deli and let Monty in. He was still wearing his apron, and he’d obviously been in the process of cleaning up.
He gestured for Monty to have a seat at the counter. Automatically, he put a cup of coffee and a slice of honey cake in front of him. Then he walked around behind the counter, facing Monty directly and motioning for him to eat.
Monty complied, studying Lenny’s demeanor and wondering if it was possible the older man had an inkling that Monty had asked to meet with him armed with questions that might incriminate his son. Lenny certainly wasn’t himself. He was visibly upset, his expression grim and his gestures nervous as he twisted his initial ring around and around on his finger.
“I’m worried about my boy, Monty,” he began. “He told me some things tonight that really threw me for a loop. I’m guessing that’s why you wanted to see me.”
So
that
was the reason for Lenny’s skittishness. Arthur had apparently squeezed in a quick chat with Daddy. Monty had no idea what the congressman had said, but on the off chance that he’d made some grand confession to his father, no way should it come out like this. If Lenny spilled his guts without counsel present, Arthur’s lawyer would find a way to have the information thrown out, or declared as hearsay.
“Lenny, I don’t know what Arthur told you, but you shouldn’t be telling me about it, not without proper representation. Maybe you should call a lawyer.”
Lenny blinked. “A lawyer? What would I need with a lawyer? This is personal. I’m not suing anyone. Besides, if I need a lawyer, I have Arthur. He graduated from Columbia, remember? And Yale before that.”
“I remember.” Monty waved his hand in a gesture of noncomprehension. “Okay, you lost me. Why is it you think I’m here?”
“Jonah.” Lenny stared at the carnelian stone on his ring, traced the etched lines that formed the letter
L
. “Arthur just told me he’s my grandson. He also told me you were there when he found out from that woman.”
“That’s true. But what happens from here is none of my business. It’s certainly not why I wanted to see you.” Monty opted to drink the coffee after all. “Besides, Jonah already has a great set of parents. Once his medical condition is resolved, things can go back to the way they were before.”
“It’s more complicated than that. The kid involved isn’t just some faceless name. It’s Jonah. I
know
him. He works for me. I just visited him in the hospital. I—” Lenny broke off, and there were tears in his eyes. “He’s my flesh and blood.”
“I’m sure this hit you hard.” Monty couldn’t help but empathize with the guy. “When did you speak with Arthur?”
“A few minutes ago. He’d just finished telling Elyse and the girls. There was someone at the apartment, drawing a sample of Arthur’s blood. Jill was trying to calm her mother. Morgan was in bad shape, too. Arthur said she’d left for Lane’s.”
Mentally, Monty added on an extra half hour before showing up on Lane’s doorstep. Morgan and his son had a lot to discuss.
“I’m sorry,” he said aloud. “I’m sure this came as a shock to all of them. But they’re strong women. They’ll hold up.”
“They’ll have no choice. Arthur’s an important man. He’s a powerful congressman with a major piece of legislation on the table. Those slimeballs at the press hound him like crazy. You can be sure this news will leak. That’s why he called me right away. He wanted me to hear it from him.”
“I can understand that.”
“I’m still in shock. I have to go home and tell Rhoda. I’m not sure how either of us will handle it. But that’s our problem. We’ll do whatever we have to to support our son. He’s a great man, destined for great things. And now, besides the wonderful family he already has, he’ll have a son in his life…” Lenny cleared his throat. “Anyway, I don’t know why you asked to see me. But I’m glad you did. Because I have a few things to say.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“You and I have known each other a long time, Monty. We’ve shared lots of family stories, pictures, proud milestones in our kids’ lives. You’re a good father, and I know how much your children mean to you. Well, mine means just as much to me. So please—stop doing this to my boy.”
Monty stared. Evidently, Arthur had handed his father a pile of crap that painted Arthur the hero and Monty the villain.
He’d have to tread carefully. To Rhoda and Lenny, Arthur was the sun and the moon and the stars. Monty couldn’t tarnish that image—not if he wanted to keep Lenny on his side and get the information he came for.
“I respect the hell out of you, Lenny,” he said. “As a man and a father. I’m not looking to cause you any grief. But, frankly, I have no clue what you’re talking about. What is it you think I’m doing to Arthur?”
“Jeopardizing everything he cares about—his career, his family. Taking a stranger’s word over his. Tearing him up inside. You should have heard his voice tonight. It’s like he was drowning. I swear, Monty, I’ve never heard him in so much pain. I don’t know how this Karly woman found you, what she told you, or why you got involved, but you’re being way too hard on Arthur. He’s taking responsibility for his son—a son he never knew he had. He’s doing the right thing. He’s already supplied a blood sample. He’s waiting for the results. If it’s medically possible, he’ll give Jonah his transfusion. So back off. Whatever you’re pressuring him with, stop.”
So that was Arthur’s game. Telling his father he’d never known about Karly’s pregnancy and that she was springing the whole enchilada on him at crisis time. Telling him that Monty had joined Karly’s cause, and was putting him behind the eight ball because of it.
“You know me better than that, Lenny. I’m not into social scandals. I’d never threaten Arthur’s political future or his family because of an illegitimate son he just found out he has.” Monty played this with supreme caution, determined not to antagonize Lenny and push him away. “I respect the fact that he’s taking responsibility for Jonah. Aside from that, I’m out of the picture. If Arthur senses pressure, it’s because I asked him a bunch of questions. I’m busting my ass trying to solve the Winters’ homicides. Which is also why I’m here tonight. Not to talk about Jonah. To talk about George Hayek.”
“George Hayek?” Clearly, that came at Lenny out of left field. “I already told you everything I know about him. Why is his name coming up again now?”
“The same reason it came up the first time. I’ve got outstanding leads to follow up on. I’m pounding every one of them into the ground.” Monty took a bite of honey cake. “For example, did Hayek ever give you a gun?”
This time Lenny jumped. “A…gun?”
“Yeah, you know—a pistol, a revolver, whatever.”
“Right.” Lenny stopped fiddling with his ring. Grabbing a damp cloth, he began mopping the counter. “Now that you mention it, yes. It was so long ago, I’d almost forgotten. But he did give me a gun. He was trying to help. There’d been a string of robberies in the neighborhood. Rhoda was a nervous wreck, and I did a lot of bitching and moaning. George got worried. So he gave me a pistol, just in case. If you’re going to ask me if it was hot, I have no idea. George just—”
“I don’t care if it was hot,” Monty interrupted. “I care what kind of gun it was. Do you remember?”
“Sure.” Lenny’s gaze was fixed on the counter he was wiping. “It was a Walther PPK. George knew I was a big Bond fan. That’s why he chose it. He was a really good kid, Monty. I can’t imagine him being involved in anything like murder…”
“Those murders happened more than twenty years after George worked for you. It’s possible you didn’t know him or what he was capable of anymore. By the way, what happened to the gun?”
“What?”
“The Walther. What happened to it?”
“I…It was stolen. I’m not sure when. The day George gave it to me, I stuck it in a drawer and forgot about it. One day I looked for it and it was gone.”
“A drawer—which drawer? Was it locked? And who else knew the gun was in there?”
Monty’s rapid fire was having the desired effect. Lenny was clearly unnerved, his gaze darting about as he groped for a reply.
“The drawer under the register,” he said finally, gesturing in that direction. “I kept it there with the bigger money, like hundred-dollar bills.
Usually, I locked the drawer. I guess sometimes I forgot. Anyone behind the counter could have seen it.”
“What about your family—Rhoda, Arthur? Did you tell them about the gun?”
“They knew about it. They weren’t happy.”
“I don’t blame them. Guns can be dangerous. You said one day the gun went missing. What else was taken?”
“The cash that was with it.”
Monty whistled. “That must have been a lot of money back then. Did you report the burglary to the cops?”
“No. I was afraid it would get George in trouble, since he’s the one who got me the gun.”
“So he was still working for you when the theft happened?”
“I—I guess so.”
“There’s an easy way to make sure. Let’s ask Anya.”
“What?”
“Anya. Your waitress. She’s worked for you for twenty years. You just said that anyone behind the counter could have seen the gun. Well, Anya sees everything that goes on in this place. Nothing escapes her eagle eye. If there were a pistol in that drawer, she’d know. She’d also know if it disappeared. On the other hand, if the gun was taken back when Hayek worked here, that would be—let’s see, thirty-eight or thirty-nine years ago—way before Anya’s time. In which case, she’d know nothing about it. So let’s give her a call and ask her. That’ll solve the mystery, maybe even narrow down the timetable.”
“I suppose. But it’s late. And I really don’t want to involve anyone else in this.” Lenny stopped mopping the counter and planted his palms on it, leaning forward to use the counter as an anchor. “Maybe the gun wasn’t taken when George was here. Maybe it disappeared later. My memory’s not what it used to be. But I do remember that I never got a permit for it, and I didn’t want any trouble with the cops.”
“Makes sense.” Monty polished off his coffee and his honey cake. “Okay then, let’s leave it at that.” He rose. “Good luck with Jonah. I hope things work out so you can have a real relationship with your grandson.”
“Monty.” Lenny stopped him as he turned to go. “Do you really think
George had something to do with the Winter murders? Do you think he came back and took the gun?”
“You mean the kid who never stole a dime from you and thought of you as a second father?” Monty shrugged. “If so, he really did a one-eighty. Either that, or he had you snowed from the start. There are people like that. And they’re capable of just about anything.”
M
onty was sitting in a bar, nursing a Michelob, when Lane called, gave him the green light to head over.
In five minutes flat, Monty had paid the tab, jumped in his car, and was flying uptown to Lane’s place.
Once inside, he paused only long enough to scrutinize Morgan, who was sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine. “You okay, sweetie?”
She smiled slightly at the unexpected term of affection. “I’m not sure. Ask me again when the numbness wears off.”
“I will. But you’ll be fine. You were a tough kid. You’re a tougher woman. And we’re almost there.”
With that, he perched at the edge of a leather club chair, turning his attention to his son. He listened intently to what Lane had to tell him—Hayek’s alibi, his being blackmailed by a congressional friend into arranging the break-in and hit-and-run scare tactics aimed at Morgan, and the brick-throwing warning aimed at Monty, plus the whole Walther PPK story, including how Lane had come up with the idea of pursuing it.
“Great detective work,” Monty praised. “You’re definitely my kid.” His restless gaze shifted toward the photo lab. “Show me the time discrepancy you found.” He followed Lane into the lab and over to the computer, peering over his shoulder as Lane pointed out the grandfather clock, the time, and Arthur’s cold-reddened skin and windblown hair.
“That gives us opportunity,” Monty pronounced. “The Walther PPK gives us means. As far as motive…” He hesitated.
“I spoke to Karly,” Morgan supplied, having come in to hover in the doorway. “She told me my mother knew it was Arthur who’d impregnated her. She said I should give you permission to tell me everything.”
“Good.” Monty looked sober, but relieved. Quietly, he relayed everything he’d learned when he visited Healthy Healing, including Barbara’s description of the quandary Lara was facing—and how she’d reacted to it.
“So both my parents were going through moral crises,” Morgan murmured. “That explains the tension in the house, and their eagerness to whisk me away from the Kellermans’ party ASAP, instead of giving me time to play with Jill. They probably couldn’t stand the sight of Arthur. And, knowing them, they could never have lived with themselves if they’d stayed silent.” Morgan’s chin came up. “So you’ve now got your motive.”
“What about the Walther PPK?” Lane asked. “Did Lenny confirm Hayek gave it to him?”
“He more than confirmed it. He started twitching when I pressed him on it. He fell all over himself, explaining and contradicting his explanations.”
“So you think he knew. That it wasn’t Hayek he was protecting, it was Arthur.”
“I think Arthur Shore is an incredibly charming and charismatic guy who has a wife and parents who’d do anything for him—including covering up a murder. That’s why Elyse conjured up that whole scenario about the telephone hang-ups and the van. She was throwing me off track. I also have a hunch she knew Karly—Carol Fenton—was back in town. Remember, she’s had PIs swarming around Arthur for years. And she asked me lots of questions about Karly when we talked. I think she was worried I’d supply Arthur with enough details to figure out that his old flame was in town.”
A slight gasp escaped Morgan. “You don’t think Arthur knew the
truth, do you? And that because of it he really targeted Karly for that hit-and-run?”
“In this case, no. Judging from the white shock on Arthur’s face when I told him Karly was Carol, I don’t think he had a clue she was in New York. I think it was just a sick coincidence. In my opinion, that scare tactic was aimed at you. You were early, Rachel was on time, and your two descriptions match. As for Karly, she just happened to be there. The fact that she was also a client of yours turned out to be a plus—especially after the double screwup Hayek’s guy made. Not only did he mistake Rachel for you, he actually hit her. I doubt that’s what Arthur had in mind.”
“So where do we go from here?” Morgan asked, folding her arms across her breasts. “Do we have enough for an arrest?”
“Nope,” Lane supplied for her. “It’s all circumstantial. Arthur’s attorney would take it apart.”
“Not if there were a witness who could place Arthur at the scene of the crime,” Monty said. “A witness who heard him arguing with Jack and Lara in the basement of the women’s shelter that night. If we had that, he’d be toast.”
Lane spun around in his computer chair. “Where the hell did you find this witness?”
“I didn’t. But Arthur doesn’t know that.” Monty whipped out his cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” Morgan demanded.
“Karly Fontaine.” A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “Your Winshore holiday party is Tuesday night, right? At Elyse Shore’s gym?”
Morgan nodded.
“Good.” Monty punched in Karly’s number. “I want the entire Shore family there, including Lenny and Rhoda. If Karly agrees to help us out, this is going to be one memorable occasion.”
TUESDAY NIGHT TURNED
out to be cold but clear.
Darkness had fallen and frost glistened on the trees when the Winshore holiday party began promptly at seven.
Elyse’s gym was a glittering wonderland, filled with the decorations Jill
had insisted on hand-making and hanging herself. Morgan hadn’t argued. She understood that for her friend, creating this fantasy world was therapeutic. Hearing people’s exclamations, seeing their excitement, brought her as much joy as it did them.
Everyone looked stunning—lots of stylish Armani suits, fashionable “little black” Nicole Miller dresses and elegant Vera Wang cocktail dresses for the women, and sophisticated Joseph Abboud and Brioni suits for the men. Laughter rang out as small groups and the occasional twosome got better acquainted, and the tinkling of the bell over the front door signaled the arrival of more and more attendees. Servers weaved their way through the room—which had been cleared of all exercise equipment—carrying trays of sumptuous hors d’oeuvres and frothy goblets of rum-spiked creamy eggnog. A string quartet was stationed in one corner, completing the holiday atmosphere with their lovely strains of seasonal music.
It was all just as Morgan and Jill had planned.
Except that Morgan felt like throwing up.
Maneuvering her way through the room in the sexy black velvet Prada cocktail dress she’d bought specifically for this occasion, she felt surreal, as if she were standing outside herself and watching herself perform. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep up the pretense, milling through the room, welcoming clients and guests alike, making idle chitchat, and urging everyone to enjoy the festivities.
Jill looked a little strained, too, although her natural cheeriness overcame her tension. Wearing a sky-blue vintage embroidered flapper dress that swirled in concert with her as she moved around the room, she spoke to each and every guest, made sure they were having fun.
Then again, all Jill knew was what her father had told her the other day, plus the fact that Jonah had received his transfusion and was well on his way to recovery. Jill was waiting for the news of Jonah’s paternity to leak, after which she had high hopes of getting to know her half brother.
Elyse and Arthur were, as always, the consummate political couple. With enough undereye concealer, Elyse had managed to camouflage the puffiness caused by crying and lack of sleep. In a stunning ivory Valentino skirt suit, she strolled the room on Arthur’s arm, meeting and greeting and operating on autopilot. Lenny and Rhoda were there as well, bursting with
pride about their family’s accomplishments. Their son was a rising congressional star, their granddaughter and adopted granddaughter’s company was hosting this chichi event, and everyone was commenting that Rhoda’s chopped liver was every bit as good as the imported pâté being served here tonight. So what could be better?
Monty hadn’t arrived yet. Neither had Karly, who knew her arrival would cause a world of tension for Arthur and, unfortunately, for Elyse. So she was timing it just so, on Monty’s instructions.
Pausing to pick up a glass of eggnog, Morgan perused the room, wishing Lane would arrive. He’d promised to get there as soon as possible, but he was focused on one of the crime-scene photos, and wanted to see it through first.
Privately, Morgan suspected he’d just figured it was best to study the most graphic photos when she wasn’t there. Maybe he was right. The last thing she needed was more horrifying images to exacerbate her nightmares. They’d already grown to epic proportions.
But whatever he was looking at, she wished he’d hurry.
WHAT LANE WAS
looking at were the same images that had been bothering him all week—the first close-ups taken of the Winters’ bodies. Initially, he’d focused on the areas around each body, hoping to find minute details in the shadows. That hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d noticed some flash glare in the close-ups of the blood around Jack Winter’s body. At first, he’d figured the CSI tech was either inexperienced or careless. But the glare repeated in several shots. Same locations, same intensity. All the other pictures were properly exposed, despite the difficult lighting conditions. It didn’t make sense.
Bugged by the discrepancy, Lane applied his PhotoFlair filter to those specific areas. Originally developed by NASA, the Photoshop plug-in was nothing sort of amazing. Interesting, he noted. Not all the bloodstains in the same pictures appeared to have the same reflective quality. Some of the stains appeared fresh, as if still wet. And they were scattered in a random pattern, not pooled tightly around the body.
Something felt wrong.
On a hunch, Lane picked up the phone and made a quick call. He’d just finished leaving a message, when Monty walked into the photo lab.
“I’m leaving,” he announced, awkwardly looping his tie. “Karly should be there by now. With any luck, we’ll pull this off. Are you coming?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting for a return call.”
“It had better come soon. Or you’ll miss all the excitement.” Monty frowned as he made his third attempt to tie his tie. “Dammit. Have I mentioned how much I hate these?”
“Seven or eight times.” Grinning, Lane stood up and walked over. Smoothly, he knotted his father’s tie. “Too bad you weren’t paying attention when Mom taught me how to do this.”
“Yeah. Right.” A curious glance at the monitor. “What is it you’re working on so intently?”
“The first crime-scene photos. Some of the blood around Jack Winter’s body looks wetter than the rest.”
“I remember.” Monty shrugged. “There were a couple of wet spots. But both victims bled out. The drying process happens as the blood is exposed to air. It’s not unusual to see some differences.”
“It’s the pattern of the differences that’s bugging me. The wet blood is in random splatters. And where they’re located…it’s just not sitting right with me. That’s why I made that phone call. I’ve got an old college buddy who’s now a hematologist. I want his take on this.”
“Hey, if you’ve got a gut instinct on this, go with it,” Monty said. “But don’t take too long. Morgan’s gonna need you. Besides…” A hint of a grin. “She’s a knockout in that black dress—what little of it there is. It’s got no back, no straps, and a neckline that’s way too low to leave her alone in a roomful of horny men.”
Lane shot his father a look. “I’ll be there in a half hour. If anyone comes near her before then, pull out your Glock and shoot to kill.”
THE PARTY WAS
in full swing when Monty arrived.
He handed his overcoat to the attendant at the door, accepted a glass of eggnog and a plateful of his all-time favorite hors d’oeuvre—pigs in a blanket.
“Detective Montgomery.” Jill Shore happened to be standing close by when he appeared. She looked surprised, and a little uncomfortable, at seeing him. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
He flashed her that magnetic smile that Lane had inherited. “Morgan invited me,” he explained. “I think she took pity because, with all the overtime I’ve been putting in, I haven’t seen my wife all week. Also, aside from the couple of meals I’ve had at your grandfather’s deli, I haven’t eaten anything that’s not out of a can.”
Jill’s natural grace took over. “That does sound pretty bleak.”
“It is. These pigs in a blanket look like a five-star gourmet feast.” Sobering, Monty lowered his voice to a quiet undertone. “Please don’t worry. I’m aware the walls have ears. I’ll act accordingly.”
Gratitude flashed across Jill’s face. “Thank you. And happy holidays.”
“The same to you.” Monty paused, feeling like a shit for misleading her into thinking his motives here were strictly celebratory. Jill Shore was a warm, likable young woman. She didn’t deserve the fallout she was about to endure. Justice or not, the whole thing sucked. “I’m sorry your family’s been turned upside down,” he heard himself add.
“I know you are.” Jill reached out and squeezed his arm. “But I also know you’re helping Morgan. She’s part of my family, too. So enjoy Winshore’s contribution to the season. Eat, drink, and be merry.”
“No need to ask twice.” Monty gave her a paternal wink, then headed off to the left. He’d spotted Morgan, who was standing in a less hectic niche, chatting with Karly. Karly’s high color said she’d either just arrived or she was very nervous. Probably both.
“Ladies,” he greeted. “You both look beautiful.”
“Hi, Monty. You look very handsome yourself.” Morgan’s gaze flickered past him. “Is Lane with you?”
“He had a few loose ends to tie up. He’ll be here within a half hour.”
“Hello, Detective.” Karly smoothed a fold of her black chiffon Chanel cocktail dress. “And thank you for the compliment. You can never get too many of those.”
Actually, now that Monty was seeing Karly close-up, he had to rectify his original assessment. The heightened color was definitely from the winter chill. Rather than nervous, she looked determined, a purposeful glint
in her eyes as she readied herself to right a heinous, seventeen-year-old wrong.
“How did your visit with Jonah go?” Monty asked quietly.
That elicited a spontaneous smile. “He’s a terrific kid. Smart, talented, and with a great future ahead of him. Speaking of which, he talks about your son as if he walks on water. He’s obviously been an amazing mentor.”