Murder.com (21 page)

Once we made it back into the
apartment, I made myself another drink and sat back down. Realizing
that I had a ring wrapped in a Tiffany box in my jacket pocket, I
pulled myself back off the couch. I removed it from my jacket and
looked for a suitable hiding place. I decided on my underwear
drawer. Imogen wouldn't be poking her nose around in there. Why
would she? It wasn't like she did my laundry. We sent it out in a
laundry bag and it returned neatly folded. Sometimes I really loved
New York City.

When Ginny walked through the
door, I immediately offered her a drink. "It's two. I'll wait to
have some wine with lunch," she said. Killjoy.

"Have I got a story for you, my
dear."

"You don't say. Well, I can't wait
to hear it with a side of food. Let's go."

We walked around the corner to
Fina, asked the hostess for a seat, and moments later we were
sitting at our favorite table. It paid to be a local. I ordered
minestrone soup and an individual pizza. Ginny had a pasta dish. I
also ordered a bottle of Sassicaia, a fantastic, legendary red from
Italy. I was celebrating my good fortune to still be alive after
this morning's events.

The wine came, the waitress poured, Imogen and I
toasted.

"To life," I said.

"
L'Chaim
," Imogen replied.

We touched glasses and each of us raised ours to our
lips and took a sip.

"Mmm," Ginny said.

"Delicious."

"So, what's the occasion?" Ginny
asked. "We don't order $300 bottles of wine every day."

"I'm happy to be alive," I
said.

"Well, that's a change," Ginny
joked. "I thought you were ready to pack it in the other day, now
that you're forty and all."

"I was just chased all around the
city."

"What?"

"Literally, chased around New York
today."

"Max, what the hell are you
talking about?"

I took a sip of my wine.

"Seth was right!" I said, a little
too loudly.

"You're not making any sense,
Max."

"You know when Seth said that Mike
was trying to kill him? And then he wound up dead? Well, he was
right! Some guy just chased me down Fifth Avenue. He was trying to
kill me!"

I must have been visibly flustered. I took another
sip of my wine, finishing the glass. I guess it was more like a
chug. I poured myself another.

"Max, take it easy!" Imogen said,
not referring to the wine. "I don't need you having a heart attack
right before the holidays."

"I'm not going to have a heart
attack—maybe a stroke, but not a heart attack." I tried to calm
down and make light of my apparent shell-shocked state. "The guy
must have been working for Mike."

"You've got to call Detective
Carrington. This isn't safe."

"He's not going to do anything
about it. We don't know who the guy is, where he went, anything
about him. He's going to think I'm crazy."

"Maybe it was some guy that Kitty
hired? Or Mike or Ken or any of them."

"I thought about that. It could
be. I'm not sure anymore. I don't know what the hell is going on."
I took a bite of my pizza. I needed some food to counteract the
alcohol that had started to take effect. "But we need to find out.
BMC's party is in a couple of days. We might get to the bottom of
it there."

"And how do you propose we do
that?" Imogen asked, and took a sip of her wine.

"I've got an idea."

The following morning Ginny and I
set off on our way to the suburbs, the suburbs where my house,
Imogen's house, and, most importantly, Kitty's house sat, in my RS
7. One of the benefits of owning a brownstone in the city was the
garage. A garage was a highly coveted feature in Manhattan. It was
six in the morning when we opened the garage door and sped out onto
63rd Street. There were no other cars around this early in the
morning. It was smooth driving navigating our way through the city
streets to the West Side Highway.

The sun rose over the skyscrapers
of Manhattan like the opening bars of "Rhapsody in Blue" as we
wound our way up one of the most beautiful roads in the city.
Hugging the river, we drove north, the rising sunlight bouncing off
the water. I put on my sunglasses and headed toward the
bridge.

"Good thing we picked up some
coffee," Imogen said. "I'm tired."

"At least you're not
driving."

We crossed the George Washington Bridge and then
veered off onto the Palisades Parkway. It was more like a country
road than a parkway, lined with trees and roads that curved by each
exit. We were technically in New Jersey and would be for the next
fifteen minutes, until we crossed back into Rockland County, New
York.

The trees that lined the road were still capped with
snow and there were patches of white covering the usually lush
greenery that lined the parkway. Ginny and I continued on our drive
to the exit, at which point we exited the parkway. We made our way
through the back streets, and before we knew it we were heading
toward our respective homes.

As the sun finally finished rising
into the morning sky, we arrived at our neighborhood. I passed my
house, Ginny's house, and then we pulled slowly around the corner
to Raleigh Drive. I parked at the end of the street, next to the
curb, and killed the engine.

"We're here," I said.

"Now what?"

"We wait."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure. But we'll find
out."

We were far enough away from
Kitty's house that she would be unable to see us parked. And if she
happened to look down this way, she'd think one of her neighbors
had just decided to park on the street. But we were also far enough
away where I would be unable to see Kitty clearly should she decide
to come out on foot.

"I brought my binoculars," Imogen
proudly said.

"Imogen Whitehall, private eye
extraordinaire."

"You're welcome. At least one of
us is prepared," Imogen said as she searched for her binoculars.
Frantically now, she rummaged through her Louis Vuitton tote bag.
"Where are they?" she mumbled to herself as she moved everything
around in the bag. Panicked, she had both hands in the bag now
feeling around for the binoculars, as if that would help. Finally
she resigned herself to the fact that they were not in there. "I
forgot them."

"Imogen Whitehall, mediocre
private eye."

"Max, you're such an
asshole."

The morning was slowly moving
along as Imogen and I sat in my car staring at Kitty's house. One
thing about our hometown, and this block in particular—the houses
were spectacular. Kitty's house was stately looking, white, with
pillars extending to the roof past the second floor, making it
appear like a house right out of the 1860s. It should have been
sitting on a plantation. There was a long, winding red brick
driveway that led to the manor. It was here that I expected Kitty's
Bentley to come rolling out shortly.

"Jesus, Max, I'm
bored."

"Welcome to the art of the
stakeout."

"Yeah, it's quite an art," Imogen
sarcastically added. "More like the art of sitting. And how long do
you expect us to remain stationary?"

"As long as it takes, my dear.
Mrs. Baxter will most assuredly leave her humble abode at some
point today."

"We've been sitting here for two
hours."

"We might be here for two more, so
settle in."

"I need to stretch my legs. I'm
getting cramps."

"You know what's going to happen,
don't you? As soon as you get out of the car, Kitty is going to
come rolling out of her driveway and we're going to lose
her."

"You're so dramatic. I'm getting
out." She opened the door, turned in her seat, and lifted a leg out
of the door—and I saw a glimpse of the powder-blue Bentley
convertible inching down the driveway.

"See! Get in."

Imogen changed course, pulled her
leg back in the car, and shut the door. "Shite."

"Hold on." I watched the Bentley
pull out of the driveway and make a left onto Seymour Drive. I
watched the car round the bend and then started my pursuit. I
cruised through the streets, going about twenty-five miles per
hour, keeping a good distance between Kitty and myself. I didn't
want her to see me in her rearview mirror.

She navigated the back roads for a bit then turned
onto a two-lane highway on her way to Nyack. Once we were on the
semi-congested road, it was easier for me to follow her without
being noticed. She cruised along, heading toward the town.

"Have you ever been to Nyack?" I
asked Ginny.

"Once. It's cute."

"Antique shops, bars, and
restaurants. I like it down here. Do you know the song
'Escape'?"

"No."

"Yeah, you do." Then I sang the
chorus.

"Oh yeah!" Ginny smiled. "I love
that song."

"Yeah, me too. Rupert Holmes wrote
it. He's from Nyack."

"You know the bar in the
song?"

"Of course."

"I always imagine that's the
place." I pointed to the bar as we headed down toward the Hudson
River.

"Brilliant!" Ginny was
smitten.

"She's heading down toward the
mansions on the water. I'll show you some lovely
houses."

I kept an eye on Kitty as she
continued toward the water. She hung a left. That was odd. North
Broadway ended at a park. It wasn't a through street. Was she
visiting someone down here?

We followed slowly.

"There's Helen Hayes' house," I
said, pointing to the mansion.

"No way! I love her."

"She's the poster child for Nyack.
On the way down here we passed the Helen Hayes Theatre."

"Oh yeah, I saw that."

"There are a bunch of homes down
here on the water that were owned by famous people."

"Really?"

"A ton of them. Actors, musicians,
artists. It's quiet here. People leave them alone."

Kitty continued to drive toward
the park. Where was she going? I happened to know who owned the
last house, next to the park. It belonged to the family of my
ex-girlfriend Jennifer. We had been dating in high school when
she'd taken me to visit her grandparents. They lived in Nyack. When
we'd arrived at the mansion on the water, my jaw had dropped. It
had been quite a house for a seventeen-year-old to visit. I'd been
awestruck. There'd been an elevator! We'd spent the afternoon
swimming in the Olympic-sized pool, overlooking the Tappan Zee
Bridge and lower Westchester, surrounded by the spectacular foliage
that sat on the cliffs and hills of Rockland County.

I was now driving at a snail's
pace. I watched Kitty pull up to the last house on the road before
the park, and then she kept going into the park. I pulled off to
the side of the road, turned around, and then drove a bit back
toward a house that was on the opposite side of the road. I backed
into the driveway and waited.

"Max, we can't stop here! This
isn't our house."

"It doesn't look like anyone's
home. We'll just be here for a few."

"What if someone sees
us?"

"No one cares."

Moments later, the Bentley passed us. Did Kitty
think that someone was following her? Was that why she had stopped
in the park? Did she know it was me?

Kitty had driven into the park and then immediately
turned around. The car was obstructed for a moment as she drove
past the manned gatehouse that guarded the road that led down to
the waterside park. After a minute or two, I watched her emerge
from around the gatehouse. She inched back out onto North Broadway
and then took off, going at a speedy clip. This was a twenty-five
mile per hour zone at best. Imogen and I watched her pass then let
another car, which was creeping along, drift in front of us.
Although Kitty was driving too fast, we could still see her car
clearly, as this road was only a two-lane country road that led
through Upper Grand View to the Tappan Zee Bridge. If speeding on a
country road was her idea of an evasive maneuver, she was failing
miserably.

As we entered Upper Grand View,
you could see the homes that appeared as if they were etched into
the cliffs that lined the Hudson River. As we rolled through the
town, the Hudson on my left, heading toward the entrance to the
thruway, I was transported back to my childhood days of riding in
my father's boat up the Hudson River and thinking how the landscape
of the Hudson River Valley looked almost untouched from the days
when the Native Americans roamed this area. One could easily
imagine paddling a canoe up the river five hundred years ago and
enjoying the same scenery. The cliffs, the hills, and, in autumn,
the colored leaves that spread along the river like
fire.

"Max!" Imogen shouted at
me.

I must have been daydreaming.