by Linda Palmer
Walter acknowledged her with a “Pleased to meet you,” and a gallant little incline of his head, but Nancy reached out and drew him into a hug.
“You’re Morgan’s friend, so you’re part of our little family,” she said warmly.
We reached Matt’s red brick townhouse on East Sixty-eighth Street a few minutes past seven. The big terra cotta pots on either side of the black lacquer front door were full of gloriously blooming scarlet geraniums. And, at the beginning of summer, Penny had edged the house with an eighteen-inch-wide bed of pink and red begonias.
Matt greeted us at the door, smiled at me, and said to Nancy, “No hard feelings, I hope.”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were just doing your job,” she said graciously.
Matt shook hands with Walter. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Maysfield.”
“You, too, but call me Walter.”
“Brandi and G. G. are here already,” Matt said, leading us into the living room.
G. G. was sunk into the soft cushions on one of the two sofas that flanked the fireplace, and Brandi came from the wet bar against the wall, bringing him a drink.
“Hi, there,” Brandi said with a cheerful little wave. She handed G. G. his Scotch over ice, then gave Nancy a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here with us!”
G. G. heaved himself up from the downy depths of the sofa’s cushions. He greeted me with the gruff warmth I’d become used to, and offered a big, rough hand to Nancy. “No hard feelings.”
“None at all,” Nancy said.
G. G. Flynn was two inches shorter, ten years older, about twenty pounds heavier, and had only a fraction of Matt’s hair. He looked like a TV stereotype of the overweight cop a few years short of retirement, but Matt had said G. G. was one of the sharpest investigators he’d ever known, and there was no one with whom he’d rather risk his life on the job.
After Matt introduced Walter to the Flynns, Brandi and I went into the kitchen to see if we could help.
“Out, both of you,” Penny said, shooing us back in the direction of the living room. “Everything is under control. I’ll be with you all in a minute.”
When Brandi and I rejoined the others in the living room, we found Walter and G. G. chatting like old friends.
“You have more murders in New York—you got a lot more people—but we got the corner on weirdness,” Walter said. “Did you ever find a body that’d been hit on the back of the head with an ax handle, then drowned in a tub of moonshine?”
G. G. snorted. “Kid stuff. Did you ever find one vic in two separate parts of a building?”
Yuck, I thought.
Brandi shuddered with revulsion. “Oh, Georgie, stop that. Can’t you two boys talk about something besides dead people?”
Walter was immediately contrite. He stood up from the club chair next to G. G.’s end of the couch. “My apologies, ma’am.”
Brandi beamed a delighted smile at him. “How nice.” She maneuvered around the other end of the couch to sit next to her husband.
Nancy said, “I’m going into the kitchen to say hi to Penny.”
“She’ll throw you out,” Brandi warned.
G. G.’s mouth curved into what I called his “Brandi smile,” that loving expression his big face took on whenever he looked at his wife. She settled onto the couch and he squeezed her hand. “I’ll be good,” he said.
Conversation turned to sports, with Walter and G. G. arguing the relative merits of the Miami Dolphins versus the New York Jets.
Returning from the kitchen, Nancy took the club chair opposite Walter, and charmed the men with her knowledge of both teams, and of her personal favorite, the Pittsburgh Steelers. She’d been a football enthusiast going back to our college days, but I’d never learned to tell a scrimmage from a down. I’m a baseball fan.
Behind the bar, Matt was pouring glasses of wine, and watching me. Being in the same room with him after our night together was a little awkward. I was as nervous as a teenager, but it was a good kind of nervousness, ripe with anticipation. Matt brought me a glass of red wine, we exchanged smiles, and I began to relax.
Penny came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of deviled eggs, baked mushrooms, and eggplant caponata with tiny little triangles of Italian bread for dipping.
“Something for everybody,” she said.
Matt took the tray from her and set it in the middle of the coffee table between the sofas, within easy reaching distance of all of us, while Penny passed out cocktail napkins and little hors d’oeuvre plates.
G. G. surveyed the tray. “Before I decide on this stuff, what’s for dinner? I gotta pace myself.”
“Chicken Parmesan, roasted red and yellow peppers, and steamed green beans. For dessert we’re having pineapple sherbet and miniature brownies.”
“Penny’s using us to test out things she’s going to make on her TV show,” Matt joked.
“Ma’am, I’ll be your guinea pig anytime,” Walter said.
Without my asking, Matt put two deviled eggs and a scoop of the eggplant mix on a plate and handed it to me. Nancy saw that gesture of intimacy—his knowing what I liked without asking—raised her eyebrows, and flashed me a smile of approval.
Matt picked up another plate and asked, “What can I give you, Nancy?”
Echoing the famous punch line from When Harry Met Sally, she said teasingly, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Brandi got the joke and giggled, causing Penny to look up in curiosity.
“What’s funny?” G. G. asked.
Brandi nudged him and said, “Tell you later, sweetie.”
Before I could steer the conversation onto less embarrassing ground, the doorbell rang. Penny went to answer it.
Matt told a story about his first week out of the police academy. “I got a tip from a numbers runner on my beat that there was a big-time drug trafficker in the Wildwood projects—he gave me the apartment number. Imagining winning citations and a gold shield, I went to the captain. Based on my information he got a warrant and arranged a full-on raid with the drug guys. I got to come along, but I had to stay in the back. I was still trying to Velcro my vest when they broke down the door and found a little old lady rolling joints for her husband who was going through chemo.”
“Oh, how embarrassing,” Brandi said. She was sympathetic, but G. G. and Matt were laughing.
Penny returned to the living room. “Now we’re all here,” she said.
Matt’s and G. G.’s laughter died when they looked up to see the man standing beside Penny.
Jaunty in a navy cashmere blazer and gray slacks, and carrying a gorgeous bouquet of tulips, daffodils, and tea roses, was B. Kent Wayne.
Chapter 23
PENNY WAS SMILING. “Matt and G. G., this is Kent Wayne, the defense attorney who got Nancy out on bail.”
Wayne nodded at Nancy, Brandi, and me, said, “Hello, again,” and handed Penny the flowers. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”
G. G., red faced and nearly apoplectic, exploded. “You son of a bitch!”
Shocked, Brandi squealed, “Georgie!” and grabbed his balled-up fist.
Wayne retained his cheerful demeanor as he asked G. G., “Have we met, sir?”
“Don’t you ‘sir’ me, you barnacle on a butt.”
“That’s colorful,” Kent Wayne said amiably.
Nancy was aghast. “G. G., what’s the matter?”
G. G. pulled out of Brandi’s grip and was struggling to his feet from the depth of the soft sofa cushions. Matt stepped over behind him. Placing both hands on his partner’s shoulders, he gently kept the older man seated.
Astonished, Penny looked back and forth between G. G. and Wayne. “What is going on?”
“We’ve met Mr. Wayne,” Matt said, his tone cold. “Professionally.”
Penny got it. “Oh, Matt, if he defended someone you arrested, you can’t hold that against him. That’s his business. Kent is our guest.”
“You call him Kent?” M
att’s teeth were clenched so hard I was amazed that he could speak clearly.
Wayne touched Penny lightly on the arm. “Perhaps I should leave.”
“Absolutely not!” she said. “We’re having dinner to celebrate Nancy’s release, and you belong here with us.”
I stood up and faced Matt. “This is my fault. When I persuaded Nancy to hire Kent Wayne, I didn’t know you and G. G. had a history—”
G. G. turned his burning gaze toward me. “He was your idea? Was that why you called me?”
“You called G. G.?” Matt asked.
Walter stood up, made the classic T sign with his hands, and said, “Why don’t we all jus’ take a time-out?”
Matt ignored him and kept his focus on me. “Why did you call G. G.?”
“I tricked him into telling me what criminal lawyer you two disliked the most because I wanted Nancy to have the strongest person to fight for her.”
Nancy was on her feet, moving to my defense. “Whatever Morgan did, she would have done the same for you, Matt, or Penny, or anyone who needed help. You know that.”
“It’s all right, Nancy,” I said. “Matt has every right to be angry with me.” I turned to G. G. “I’m sorry I lied to you—saying I wanted you to settle a bet about defense attorneys when I was really looking for the name of a legal top gun. I should have been honest with you.”
G. G. grunted and finally settled back against the sofa cushions, close to Brandi. “Forget it,” he said. “When a friend’s in trouble, we do what we have to do.”
“I won’t lie to you again, G. G.,” I said.
“So,” Penny said brightly to Kent Wayne, “now that everything’s all right—what can I get you to drink?”
If Penny thought that the evening’s rough spot had been smoothed over, she was wrong. From the stiffness of Matt’s shoulders, and the fact that he was not looking at me, I knew that everything was far from all right between the two of us.
IF ONE DEFINES “a pleasant evening” as being one during which blood is not spilled, then Penny’s celebration dinner party was a success. The food was certainly a hit. Matt didn’t eat much, but G. G. had his usual three helpings. Kent Wayne said he’d never had a better meal, and sounded as though he meant it. Several times I caught Wayne watching Penny with more than casual interest. She was particularly attractive tonight, with her gleaming brown hair falling loose around her heart-shaped face. Again, I thought that her warm smile and her easy laugh made her look like an earthy Madonna. What surprised me was when I realized how often that smile of Penny’s was aimed at Kent Wayne.
The small-town sheriff and the big-city lawyer turned out to be an entertaining team of storytellers. They kept most of us at the table laughing as they related some of their stranger experiences on opposite sides of the crime-and-punishment equation.
When the last drop of pineapple sherbet and bite of miniature brownie had been consumed, we all got up to help Penny clear the table.
“I don’t need help, really,” she said. “Besides, there’s only room for one other person in the kitchen.”
“Then I’ll help,” Kent Wayne announced. “Please let me—it’s a way to say thank you for including me this evening.”
Penny started to protest, but Wayne took a stack of plates out of my hands and maneuvered himself around behind her. “Lead the way.”
Penny said, “Well, if you insist …”
Matt glowered at Wayne’s back, but he followed Walter and G. G. back into the living room.
Nancy, Brandi, and I watched Wayne and Penny disappear into the kitchen.
“Wow,” Brandi said. “That guy’s some operator.”
“He won’t get anywhere with Penny,” Nancy said. “She’s still convinced her dead husband is alive.”
The skeptical expression on Brandi’s face made it clear that she wasn’t so sure this was true. “In my opinion, if Patrick Cavanaugh wasn’t dead he’d have come back to Penny by now. She’s been alone for seven years—that’s a long time without somebody to snuggle with.”
From Matt’s coldness toward me after he found out that I’d tricked G. G. into telling me about Kent Wayne, it didn’t look as though I was going to be snuggling with him again anytime soon.
IT WAS NEARLY eleven when Walter and I took Nancy back to her building at Eighty-first Street and Central Park West. On the sidewalk, we said good night, and promised to call each other tomorrow.
“I enjoyed your stories,” Nancy told Walter. She kissed him on the cheek and hurried toward the entrance. We watched through the glass doors until she was safely inside and at the elevator.
“Do you mind if we walk home?” I asked Walter. “It’s only nine blocks.”
“Fine idea. I’d like to stretch my legs.” Walter paid the cab driver, and we started walking down Central Park West.
Even though it was June it wasn’t hot yet. Vehicle traffic was light at this hour. We saw a young couple holding hands as they waited for a bus, but the only other pedestrians were on the other side of the street, strolling along the stone wall that bordered Central Park.
After a couple of blocks of companionable silence, Walter said, “I like that G. G. You know where you stand with him. No big-city bull hockey pucks.”
“I shouldn’t have tricked him.”
“You’ll prob’ly do worse in your life. Most people do. We ain’t perfect creatures.”
We were nearly home when Walter said, “You got nice friends. I even like the lawyer.”
“Matt doesn’t. He told me Kent Wayne gave G. G. a terrible time on the witness stand a couple of years ago. That’s why he’s so angry with me. G. G.’s like a father to Matt.”
“Your young fella has a stiff neck that goes all the way down to the soles of his feet. If he doesn’t loosen up some, he’s gonna lose the best thing that could ever happen to him.”
“What’s that?”
“You,” Walter said.
“Matt and I have other problems,” I said, remembering that a few months ago he’d said we couldn’t see each other because I had more money than he had. Maybe he forgot about that in Boston, but maybe it was still a barrier between us, and he was using what I did with G. G. to keep us apart. “I don’t have time to figure Matt out. We’ve got to help Nancy beat a murder charge.”
“Best way to do that is to find out who killed the woman. Then maybe everybody kin relax a little, have some fun.”
I replied with a quote: “‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.’”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so,” Walter said. “Junie an’ I used to watch Jeopardy every night.”
Chapter 24
IT WAS THE morning after Penny’s awkward dinner party, and Matt hadn’t phoned. I wondered if I was living under some kind of a curse. Romantically speaking, I’d been alone for five years after the death of my husband, Ian. Six months ago I’d finally worked up the courage to start living like a grown-up woman again, and what happened? Twice in those six months I’d made love with a man—and both of them promptly vanished from my life, either literally, like mysterious Nico Andreades, or figuratively, like Matt.
Magic was still curled where he’d slept on the pillow next to mine. I reached down to give him a few loving strokes. “I guess it’s still just you and me, fella.”
Magic’s response was a wide, pink yawn.
A few minutes later, as I was about to leave the apartment to meet Link for our Thursday morning breakfast, the phone rang. My pulse quickened with anticipation. I snatched up the receiver—but it wasn’t Matt on the other end of the line.
“Morgan, it’s Arnold.”
That was a surprise. “Hello. How are you, and how is Didi?”
“Didi is still in great distress, as you can imagine. I’m calling because I understand you went to Boston.”
“Who told you?”
“Cathy Chatsworth.” I heard the distaste in his voice as he pronounced the name of the Bost
on gossip columnist. “Vile woman.”
“I’m not too fond of her myself.”
“She said you were investigating Veronica. I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“Nancy’s been accused of murder,” I said sharply. “I thought if I knew something about Veronica I might be able to develop a theory as to who really killed her.”
“And did you?”
“I learned about some people who didn’t like Veronica. One of them might have killed her. If Nancy’s actually put on trial, other possible names will at least let her lawyer plant reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. I’m sorry if you’re upset, Arnold.”
On Arnold’s end of the line, I heard a heavy sigh. “All Cathy Chatsworth knows are a few … about certain activities Veronica wasn’t proud of. She never knew who my wife really was. I did.”
“Then tell me about her, please. I would have gone to you in the first place, but I know how hard this must be for you, and Didi.”
“It’s terrible,” he said softly, “but I’d like to talk about Veronica. After spending time with that bitch in Boston, your opinion of Ronnie is probably negative. I want you to know about the woman I fell in love with, who gave me Didi.”
I looked at my watch and decided that I had to see Arnold while he was willing to talk. Later, he might change his mind. “What are you doing right now? I could come over to your place—”
“No! Didi’s resting. I have an appointment on the West Side this morning. I could come to your apartment first. Say, in twenty minutes?”
“Perfect.”
As soon as we said goodbye, I dialed Link’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Hi, it’s Morgan. Something’s come up. I’m sorry, but I can’t meet you for breakfast. How about an early lunch in my office? Tommy will be away at an Affiliates meeting.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “What I want to talk about can wait a few hours. If I can’t see you this morning, I’ll go to the gym.”
“Thanks, Link. I’ll tell Betty not to interrupt us.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that,” he joked, adopting an exaggerated version of the tone he uses when his character is about to make love to a woman in our story.