Murder.com (16 page)

I obeyed and stood.

"Now what?"

"Get your coat on. We're going to
grab dinner."

In an effort to appease Ginny, I submitted to her
command.

"And finish that drink. Maybe it
will snap you back to reality." Ginny swigged the rest of her
scotch as an example. For the record, one should never throw back a
glass of eighteen-year-old scotch. Especially after you've defiled
it by adding soda water.

I was half expecting her to slap my face. I finished
my glass in one gulp and put it down on the dining room table.

"There," I said, waiting for some
acknowledgement.

"Gold star. Now let's go have some
fun."

"Yes, ma'am."

The next day I called Kitty. Imogen was still
skeptical, but after some cajoling on my part she had come around
to the idea that Kitty might not be the white knight that she
appeared to be. That maybe, just maybe, she had an ulterior motive.
Novel idea. She had traded up once before. What was to stop her
from again scheming to get something that she wanted?

I arranged to meet the recently widowed Mrs. Baxter
for dinner. Pump a few drinks into her and see what I could dig up.
Shake the information tree. And what better way to interrogate a
wealthy socialite than a meal at a top-notch restaurant.

There was another reason for our dinner plans. I
wanted to see where Kitty was going to go after dinner. I wanted to
see if she was going to meet Mike Miller for a nightcap. Ginny and
I were rolling the dice, but we needed to pump her for information
and then see where this social butterfly fluttered.

At 7:30 p.m., I drove down to
Union Square for my dinner date with my long-lost fiancée. Imogen
rode in the passenger's seat. The plan was for me to exit the car,
walk a couple of blocks down to the restaurant, and then have
dinner. Imogen would wait in the car, around the corner, and then,
on my cue, a text message, she would pull up to the restaurant,
pick me up, and we would follow the unsuspecting Kitty Baxter on
her night's journey. Wherever that might lead.

Once out of the car, I turned and looked at Imogen
standing on the corner of E. 16th Street bundled up to protect
herself from the icy cold. The snow on the sidewalk had already
turned into a slushy mix of street dirt and dog urine. In
preparation for such a wintery mix, Ginny was wearing a pair of old
Ugg boots in case she accidently came in contact with the yellow
snow. She wore a long black quilted coat that came just above her
ankles and made her look like a giant walking sleeping bag. Her
hands were in her pockets.

"Just stay here and wait for me to
text," I said.

She shivered. "It's so
cold!"

"What are you doing out here? Get
in the car already. And turn on the heat, for God
sakes."

She nodded. "OK."

She walked around to the driver's
side and hopped in the Audi. I waved good-bye, gave her a
black-gloved thumbs-up, and off I went. I could see the smoke
coming from my exhaust pipe. Leaving the car running. I guessed she
had to. It was cold out here tonight.

I made my way into the restaurant
two blocks down Union Square from where Imogen was parked. I had
reserved a table downstairs in the jazz room. I would attempt to
have a nice dinner, pump Kitty for information, and then follow
her. You know, a relaxing night. I might not have convinced Imogen
that Kitty had sent the email, but I was hoping that tonight's
dinner would rectify that.

I sat at the bar sipping on my
drink. I had told myself that I was on a strict limit of two drinks
tonight, since I was going to have to pay attention to the
conversation. Try to connect some dots or at the very least try to
find the dots. Not simply glide numb through the barrage of
sentences that Kitty would throw my way. I couldn't eliminate
alcohol altogether or Kitty would certainly be suspicious of my
decision to suddenly implement a dry dinner policy. After all, she
knew me. Unfortunately, a little too well.

I checked my watch, 8:05 p.m., and
then took another sip. She was late. Not surprising. Kitty had
always been on her own schedule.
Selfish
was certainly one of the
words one would use to describe Kitty. I had always hated that
about her, and now it was just an added inconvenience.

With my head buried in my drink, trying to milk this
small glass of alcohol, I heard my name being called from
behind.

"Dutch!" Kitty had entered the
building, walked down the large marble steps right into the jazz
room. Blue Water Grill was once a bank, so it had very grandiose
features, like extremely high ceilings, marble everywhere, and
gigantic marble steps that led down toward the jazz
room.

She walked over to me at the bar,
didn't even allow me to get up, and provided me with two air
kisses. One on each cheek. At least she let me turn
around.

I greeted Kitty.

"So, what does a girl have to do
to get a drink around here?"

"It's simple. Order one." I turned
to the bartender and ordered Kitty a dry gin martini. Two
olives.

"Make it three."

I asked the bartender to throw another olive in the
drink. He obliged with a slight eye roll.

"Exactly what I wanted, Dutch. You
have such a good memory!"

"Some things never change," I
said.

We had a quick drink at the bar then asked the
hostess for our table. We sat at a round table for two, with views
of the jazz band that was in the process of setting up.

Kitty talked in circles for a bit.
Telling me nothing and everything that had been going on all at
once. Wasn't this weather dreadful? She'd prefer to be down in Palm
Beach this time of year.

She and Ted always spent at least
three weeks at their place down there to break up the winter. In
fact, she'd go now, but she had too much to deal with in New York.
Maybe she'd go skiing if she could work it out, but she wasn't sure
if she would be able to get away. She'd been filling her time by
shopping but hadn't made it into the city very often. It was a
hassle. She missed lunching at Cipriani and shopping in
SoHo.

"So what brings you into the city
tonight?"

"Why, dinner with you, of
course."

"You braved the weather and drove
in?"

"Is there any other way? I'm
certainly not taking the train! That's…so pedestrian!"

"Why not call a car
service?"

"Now you're just being
silly."

We ordered, the music started, and then the food
came out. I always got the same thing. I was a creature of habit. I
had the wood-fired grilled swordfish. Kitty had the Chilean sea
bass and another martini. We made small talk while we ate.

"Well this is nice, Max. I had
quite forgotten how much I enjoy sharing a meal with you. You're
always, well, interesting."

I guessed that was a compliment.
I'd take it and run.

"Why, thank you, Kitty. I always
knew you had a soft spot in that stone heart of yours for
me."

"Hey, wait just a minute there,
Dutch. Stone heart? I hardly think so. Why, I'm one of the sweetest
people I know."

"Especially with a few drinks in
you."

"You're so ridiculous." She
laughed. "See, I miss this about you. You always could make me
laugh."

"Laughter wasn't the key to your
heart, I reckon."

"Oh, Max. It wasn't like that. You
know it. I loved your sense of humor, but we weren't meant to be.
That's all there is to it. It had nothing to do with Ted's
millions."

Nothing like a walk down
brokenhearted memory lane. I'd play along.

"I thought we had something there,
Kitty. That's why I asked you to marry me."

She interrupted, "And that's why I
said yes. But—"

"But what? See, it's the
buts
, always the
buts
that kick you in
the butt."

"But it was a mistake. And I'm
sorry for that, Max. I really am. I never wanted to hurt you. But I
was young. We were young. Too young to be making decisions like
that. Too young for us to be together."

"Ted wasn't much older. Just a
couple of years."

"But it seemed like he was.
Especially at the time. He was at another point in his life. He was
settled. He was mature. He was rich."

"But he couldn't make you
laugh."

She laughed, and then seemed lost
in thought for a moment. "No. I guess he couldn't. And maybe I
should have realized at the time that money isn't everything." She
took a sip of her drink. "But that would be lying, wouldn't it?
After all, money is everything. Isn't it?" Then she let out a
slight cackle that slowly morphed into a laugh.

Rich people always want more.

I didn't answer. She was the same.
Same as the day that she left me. Same as the day she ran off with
Ted Baxter. Off to his mansion. Nothing had changed in two
decades.

"How's your dinner?" I asked,
shifting subjects.

"Delicious," she answered. "Always
is. I love this place. How did you know?"

"Educated guess."

"Kudos to you, Dutch," she said,
and popped another forkful in her mouth.

I needed to shift this
conversation into less reminiscing about our broken romance and
more into her current love life. There was someone floating around
in that bed of hers. She wasn't the type to remain single for very
long. Even when she was married.

We must be on the same wavelength,
albeit in a parallel universe, because after swallowing her
mouthful of food she asked, "Could you imagine if you and I got
back together?"

I nearly gagged on my food. I let
out a slight cough and tried to repress it. I didn't want to insult
Kitty. But for the record, no, I couldn't imagine getting back
together with Kitty. That would be miserable, in addition to many
other negative words and phrases.

"That would certainly be, um,
interesting."

"Well, you're not married. I'm not
married." She took a sip of her drink. Liquid courage. "Why
not?"

Why not? I could give her fifty
reasons why not. Top of the list being that I couldn't really stand
her. I admit that I had, once upon a time, had feelings for her.
Strong feelings. But I was over her. Very over her.

I took a deep breath then sighed
all of the air out of my lungs, inhaled, then said, "For starters,
Kitty, your husband is barely out of the picture."

"But I guarantee you, he won't be
back."

"Oh, Kitty. That's terrible. He
was your husband, for Christ's sake."

"I know, I know. But we weren't
friends. We weren't even lovers. I hate to say this,
but—"

"Then don't. Don't say it," I
pleaded. But, of course, I knew what she was going to say, and I
wanted to hear her say it. It would confirm my suspicions about
her. It would also help me to convince Imogen that she wasn't who
she claimed to be.

She ignored me. "I hate to say it,
but I'm kind of glad that he's dead. For once, I feel
free."

There. She had said it. She was
happy that Ted was dead. Happy to be free. But happiness usually
comes at a price. In this case, Ted's death.

"I'm sorry, Kitty. I am. I didn't
know that you were so miserable."

"Of course, I didn't want him to
die. But it's been a blessing."

We continued to eat our dinner. In silence. At least
the jazz band was playing. The music was low but good. My mind
drifted a bit as I listened to guy on trumpet perform his best
Miles Davis impersonation.

"So, what have the police told
you?" Kitty asked, jarring me back to my present
company.

"Not much. But they seem to think
that I had something to do with it. Imagine that."

I needed to find out what Kitty
had told the police that night. Carrington's outlandish assumptions
didn't add up. Something didn't make sense.

"They're a bunch of crazies, if
you ask me."

"Who?"

"Who do you mean, who? The police.
You tell them something and they run with it. Make everything out
to be a big deal."

"What did you tell them,
Kitty?"

"I told them the truth, Max. That
we were lovers. That we were engaged. That I broke your heart. That
you hated Ted. You wanted him dead so we could be
together."

"Seems a little dramatic to
me."

"Dramatic as it seems, it was the
truth. I didn't know it would set them off. That they'd think that
you killed Ted. That's why I called you. That's why I came to you
the next day. To warn you."

I didn't know what to make of it.
It did make sense. Sergeant Williams certainly was a case in point
for running with a fact and jumping to conclusions.

I needed to lead her on, to give her the impression
that there were no hard feelings, and that I never doubted her or
her motives for a moment.

"And I appreciate that, Kitty. I
do. I just need to figure this whole thing out. Make sure I'm not
the one left holding the gun."