She ducked into the nearest train car and returned to her thoughts. The answer had to lie in the judge’s inner circle. Candy had a lot going for her, between suggesting the murder mystery to Maggie, her status as contingent legatee, and her moving Isobel out of the line of fire. If only she hadn’t screwed up so badly with Sarah, Isobel could have pursued the possibility further.
“Times Square next! Stand clear of the closing doors.”
Before she realized what she was doing, Isobel catapulted from her seat and flung herself off the train. Her bag caught in the doors, and she tugged desperately, praying for them to reopen. She had a vision of the train moving through the tunnel, dragging her all the way to Times Square. The doors finally parted just enough for her to pull her bag out, and she hurried back toward the turnstiles. She’d forfeit her fare and the chance to catch Percival before his next class, but her idea was still worth a try.
“Isobel, right? We haven’t seen you for a while,” the twenty-third floor receptionist greeted her.
“Is Sarah in?”
The receptionist nodded, and Isobel started down the hall. She wasn’t entirely sure what she planned to say to Sarah, but she decided to check her brain at the door and let her gut be her guide, as her acting teacher used to say. It had served her well already this week.
Isobel stopped short in front of her old desk when she saw who was seated in her chair.
“Maggie?”
Maggie looked up and frowned. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Isobel Spice. I was—”
“Right! You used to work for Sarah.”
“Well, yes, but I was also in the murder mystery play at The Hostelry. I was the victim. I mean, I wasn’t the real victim—we all know who that was—but I was the one who was supposed to get shot.”
Maggie gasped. “Oh, my God, of course! Wow, sorry. I didn’t recognize you out of context.”
“That’s okay. There was a lot going on that night. But, um, what are you doing here?”
“I was let go. Candy Harrison is a client of Sarah’s. She knew I was out of a job and that Sarah needed help, so she made it happen.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense,” Isobel said, putting it together. “I mean, without the judge, there’s not really a job, is there?”
Maggie squinted in displeasure. “I was let go before he died. That morning, in fact.”
Isobel cocked her head, surprised. “But you were at the party.”
“Bethany needed me to help, but she made it clear that was my last official task.”
“And you went? Why?”
Maggie bristled. “I’d put a lot of work into arranging everything. I wanted to enjoy it.”
While Isobel processed this, she gestured toward Sarah’s closed door. “Is she in?”
“Yes, but she’s on a conference call.”
“Is it okay if I wait?”
“Suit yourself.”
Isobel pulled over the chair from the neighboring assistant’s desk, which was still unoccupied.
“So why were you let go?”
Maggie chewed her bottom lip. “I tweeted about the judge’s dinner, and it was supposed to be a private affair. They didn’t want any press coverage or anything.”
“And she fired you for that?”
Maggie blew a puff of air out the side of her mouth. “Stupid, right? I guess I learned my lesson.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Isobel was still stuck on the fact that Maggie had been fired the morning of the judge’s dinner and had still shown up that evening, potentially bearing a grudge. She didn’t buy that Maggie just wanted to enjoy the party. Who would want to spend time with people who’d just fired you? On the other hand, clerking couldn’t pay all that well, and free food was free food.
“Well, nice of Candy to set you up here. How do you know her?”
“I wouldn’t say I know her. I met her when she came to the office to see Judge Harrison, but she was friendly. Seemed to take an interest.”
“Do you know why she visited the judge?”
Maggie shook her head. “I think there was some business venture they discussed.”
“Together?” Isobel felt her pulse quicken. “Do you know what it was?”
“No, and I don’t know that they were in it together. I got the feeling that either she wanted to get involved, or she wanted him to stop being involved, or something like that.”
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago. In fact”—Maggie’s face brightened with recollection—”it was the day I booked The Hostelry. I remember because I was wondering if we should plan some kind of entertainment, and she—”
“Suggested you do a murder mystery,” Isobel finished.
Maggie was taken aback. “How did you know?”
“She said so at the dinner, remember? She seemed rather delighted by the idea.” Isobel leaned forward. “Did you get the feeling at the time that she might be setting you up?”
“What do you mean…setting me up?”
“Planting the idea of a murder mystery for some reason of her own. Because the fact that you hired the entertainment implicates you in a way.”
Maggie snorted dismissively. “Not if she was going around telling people it was her idea.”
“But how hard did she push you to do it? Did you feel pressured?”
Maggie drew back and regarded Isobel warily. “It was nothing like that. I was sitting at my desk, thinking about the dinner. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her. And she said, ‘You should get one of those companies that does murder mysteries.’”
“How did you find Murder à la Carte?”
“Online. They had the best reviews.”
Man, the others must be really bad, thought Isobel.
“Did you tell Peter Catanzaro who the guest of honor was?” she asked.
Maggie picked up a pen and started doodling on a pad of Post-it notes. “Just that it was a prominent judge.”
So Peter was telling the truth about that, at least. He hadn’t known the identity of the guest of honor, which meant Andrew hadn’t either.
“I wonder why he didn’t ask who the party was for,” Isobel mused.
“Oh, he asked. I just didn’t tell him. I was told to be discreet.”
Isobel gave her a look. “But you weren’t. You tweeted about it.”
“That’s different,” Maggie grumbled.
Isobel refrained from pointing out that no, actually, it wasn’t. “What exactly did you say?”
Maggie scratched jagged lines through her doodle and tossed the pen aside. “It was nothing. ‘Booked Murder à la Carte for Judge Harrison’s celebration dinner at Hostelry. Irony much?’”
Pretty much gave away the whole kit and caboodle to anyone paying attention, thought Isobel. No wonder she got the axe.
“Wait a minute,” Isobel said. “You tweeted right after you booked us. Why did Bethany wait to fire you?”
“She only saw it that morning. Bethany went to The Hostelry’s website to check something, and they have their Twitter feed on there. They’d retweeted it, and she saw it.”
“Then how did Candy know you needed a job?”
“She came in to see the judge right after Bethany fired me.”
“She was there the morning of the dinner? Do you know why?”
Maggie folded her arms and her lips set into a line. “You ask an awful lot of questions, don’t you?”
And until this one, you answered them, Isobel thought.
She managed a lighthearted giggle. “I’m that sort of person. Curious about people. Aren’t you? I mean, what do you think happened at the restaurant that night?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Maggie swiveled her chair and started clacking away on her keyboard, a tactic Isobel, an old hand, knew was meant to indicate that she was busy.
“I have an idea.”
Maggie’s head whipped around. “You do?”
“Well, in a general sense, yes. Bu
t I need some information. And you’re the only one who can get it for me.”
“So that’s it. You tracked me down here because you want me to help you,” Maggie said sharply.
“No! I swear, I came by to see Sarah. I had no idea you were here. But I just realized that you can help me. I think. I hope.”
“Even if I can, why should I?”
“Because you must feel a little guilty about hiring us and then tweeting about it. And if my idea is right, you’ll be able to assuage that guilt.”
“I don’t know what kind of information you think I have—”
“The guest list. I need to see the guest list from that night. Do you still have it?”
Before Maggie could answer, Sarah’s door flew open and she came toward them, issuing instructions for Maggie as she approached. She slowed when she saw Isobel.
“What are you doing here?”
Isobel cleared her throat. “I have to talk to you about something.”
Sarah glanced at Maggie, whose expression remained neutral. Isobel sensed Sarah debating with herself, but after a moment she waved a fistful of papers over her shoulder. “Wait in my office.”
With a last imploring look at Maggie, Isobel retreated to Sarah’s office. She hoped beyond hope that Maggie still had access to the guest list and would give her a copy. In the meantime, she had a question or two to put to Sarah.
THIRTY-FOUR
Sarah slammed the door shut behind her. “You came to see Maggie,” she accused.
Isobel’s hands flew up defensively. “She was a total surprise. Honest!”
“So you didn’t talk about the judge at all?” Sarah raised a dubious eyebrow.
Isobel gave a wan smile. “I didn’t say that.”
Sarah circled behind her desk and sat down. “I really like you, Isobel. But I’m still very angry about what you pulled with Candy.”
“I know,” Isobel said, sinking into the visitor’s chair. “That was completely out of line. In every way. I’m so sorry.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Do you have another job?” Sarah asked finally.
“I’m hostessing at the restaurant where Delphi works.”
“And how’s that going?”
Pushing aside an image of Carlo furiously grabbing Delphi’s iPhone from her, Isobel forced a smile. “It’s going.”
“Okay, what’s on your mind?”
“Empire State Youth Camp and Candy’s connection to it.”
“Candy had nothing to do with it,” Sarah said quickly.
“But you know about the camp.”
Sarah exhaled slowly, as if trying to keep her emotions at bay. “It’s the real reason she left Harrison. It wasn’t that hussy in the photograph. That was just for public consumption.” She took off her glasses and addressed the earpiece, avoiding Isobel’s eye. “Candy knew about the camp, because a friend’s son was sent there, though not by Harrison. Word on the inside is that Harrison makes money off the camp. That got back to Candy, and she confronted him. He admitted that he’d invested money in it, and that was the last straw. In return for a generous settlement, she promised to keep her mouth shut.”
Isobel was appalled. “How could she possibly accept money generated by such a horrible enterprise?”
“She didn’t keep it. She funneled it all into juvenile legal aid charities. Candy makes plenty of her own money. She wanted to redirect Harrison’s profits into something that would benefit kids in need.”
Isobel shook her head, uncomprehending. “But how could she—and you—not go to the authorities?”
“Candy was afraid they would find some way to implicate her. Like the Madoff thing: she must have known, she was living off the investment during her marriage. Anything like that would have been a major professional blemish. She didn’t want to be the whistle-blower, although I pointed out that she could have asked for, and probably received, immunity. As for me…” Sarah paused. “Well, I was tempted, believe me. But confidentiality made it impossible for me to act.”
“And you know who the other investors were, right?”
“No idea.”
Sarah had admitted so much else that Isobel believed her. “Gordon Lang, Angelina Rivington, and her partner, Mason Crawford. The whole thing was set up under the auspices of Rivington Properties. Now two of the four investors are dead. What does that sound like to you?”
“Like somebody is trying to stop them.”
Isobel paused. “Andrew Harrison was at The Hostelry that night.”
Sarah gave a little gasp. “Who invited him?”
“Nobody. He was one of the actors. He’s changed his name. He’s now Andrew Dahl.”
“Dahl was his mother’s name,” Sarah said quietly. “What’s he like?”
“Shell-shocked. By that I mean that he seems like a shell of a person, and he’s kind of shocked by everything around him all the time.”
“And you think he did it?” Sarah asked.
Isobel shook her head. “The police brought him in for questioning, but he claims he didn’t know the party was for his father until he showed up. But it got me thinking. What if there was someone else there that night—another guest—who had some connection to the camp? What if Candy—okay, maybe not Candy,” she amended after seeing Sarah’s face harden, “but someone—Bethany, Maggie, even Harrison—put a person on that list, either knowingly or not, who wanted revenge?”
“Why stop at the guests?” Sarah asked. “There was an entire restaurant staff, most of them young. It could have been any of them.”
“I see why that’s appealing, but this had to have been premeditated. And the person had to know there was a murder mystery happening. The timing was too exact.”
“Maybe the killer wasn’t a real waiter but was just dressed as one,” mused Sarah. “He or she could have been hired by someone in the judge’s inner circle and come prepared to kill.”
“Exactly. But if that’s the case, and it wasn’t Candy, she could be in danger.”
Sarah looked puzzled for a moment, but then she understood. “You mean Gordon.”
Isobel nodded. “Last man standing. With Harrison and Rivington both dead, he’s so close to being the sole beneficiary of Harrison’s will, but only if—”
“If the boys are found to be using illegal substances and Candy is dead,” Sarah finished.
Isobel sat back in her chair. “There’s a whopper of a motive for you.”
Sarah gnawed a fingernail. “And you’re right. He couldn’t have done it alone.”
“I’ll have to figure out a way to get the names of the restaurant staff, but Maggie has the guest list. I had just asked her for it when you came out. She’s thinking about giving it to me. Maybe you can persuade her?”
Sarah was on her feet like a shot, but when she opened the door, Maggie was standing there, poised to knock. She crossed the room and handed several printed pages to Isobel.
“This is for you.”
James was surprised to get an email from Professor Lin asking him to meet her in her office that afternoon. When he pushed open the door, he was even more surprised to discover that she wasn’t alone. Brandon Hart, the dean of undergraduates, was seated in one of her two visitors’ chairs.
“Am I in trouble?” James asked before he could stop himself. His last experience facing down an undergraduate dean had not ended well. He tried to remind himself that he was not a frightened nineteen-year-old, but a mature and responsible adult who had done nothing wrong, but his heart was hammering in his chest all the same.
“No, of course not,” said Hart with an indulgent smile. He had thick, shiny black hair brushed off a low, square forehead in an upsweep that made him look more like a Hugo Boss model than an educator. The kind of guy James would be inclined to take a reflexive dislike to if they met at a party. He forced himself to stay open and friendly.
“Please, have a seat,” Professor Lin said.
“Professor Lin told me about y
our conversation the other day and your interest in juvenile defense,” Hart said. “I understand she directed you to a lawyer who can provide a list of inmates at Empire State.”
James nodded, mystified.
“We’d like a copy of that list. Can you do that for us?”
A little warning bell went off in the back of James’s mind.
“I don’t even know if my friend will be able to get it,” he hedged.
Hart ran a hand through his gelled hair. “Having that list could help us shut down the camp, especially with the proof you say you have about the financial interests.”
“Why don’t you ask Peter Catanzaro for the list yourself?”
But as soon as James asked the question, the obvious answer came to him. Of course they’d asked, and for whatever reason, Peter hadn’t given it to them. Neither Lin nor Hart rushed to respond. James’s eyes flicked between them, aware of the need to tread carefully.
“Listen,” he said genially, “I don’t know whether or not my friend will be able to get the list. But if she does, I’ll copy it for you. How’s that?”
Hart started to say something, but Lin interrupted him. “We can’t ask for more than that. Thank you.”
Hart stood up. “You know, there are some excellent internships available in this field. Unfortunately, you’re quite a bit older than the students they normally consider, but my word carries a lot of weight. I’d be happy to advance you for one if you’re interested.”
But only if I deliver the list, James added silently.
“That would be very kind,” he said aloud. “Thank you.”
Hart nodded to Lin and took his leave. James stayed in his seat, staring after him.
“I apologize if that seemed heavy-handed,” Lin said.
How was he supposed to respond to that? James wondered.
He faced her with a steady gaze. “If you haven’t had any luck getting the list from Catanzaro, I don’t know why you’re so sure my friend will.”
Lin leaned back in her chair and regarded him cannily. “Dean Hart is even more dedicated than I am to addressing the injustices in the juvenile system. He’s also very influential. If your friend cares about your career, I’m sure she’ll make a special effort. You’re a fine student, James, but you are starting a little late, and there is that little blot on your academic record.” She inclined her head toward her office door. “He can make that disappear, you know.”
And Justice for Some Page 19