by Maryann Reid
“Jesus.” Blake felt icy fingers squeeze her heart. “Thank you so much for going to see about her. Can you do one more favor for me?”
“Do you want to try for plane tickets for tonight, or wait until morning?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
June 14
Miami, Florida
While her red-eye flight from New York to Miami was still in the air, Blake received a text message from Edith:
Margot sat, her plate untouched, at a table with one other patient gulping his food as if he hadn’t been fed in a week. Blake, Matt, and Suki crowded around the table. Matt and Suki tucked into their food with good appetites, but Blake felt awkward about eating while her best friend sat silent, head bowed, uninterested in the bacon, eggs, and grits in front of her.
Blake eyed her own tray of ham-and-cheese croissants and orange juice, and had an idea. “Hey, hon. Would you rather have my breakfast? I’ll be glad to swap.”
There was no reaction from Margot, but the other patient at the table looked up, his face alight with hope, and offered, “If you don’t want that, I’ll eat it.”
After pausing to think of a polite reply, Blake said, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Evidently satisfied, the hearty eater returned his attention to his grits.
Minutes passed without a word from anyone. At last Blake nibbled a ham-and-cheese croissant and said, “This is really good, for hospital food. You should try it.” She held an untouched one out to Margot.
Her friend glanced at the food, then slapped it out of Blake’s hand. It went flying, coming apart in midair, the ham splashing down in the grits of a patient at a nearby table, one half of the croissant with the cheese stuck to it falling on the floor, and the other half bouncing off the back of a patient’s head. The patient promptly dived under the table, screaming, “They’re doing it again! Stop them, make them stop!”
“You could have given it to me,” sulked the hearty eater at Margot’s table. He snatched the other untouched ham-and-cheese croissant off Blake’s plate and ran away with it.
Matt watched all the mayhem with slack-jawed alarm. Suki continued serenely eating her Cheerios, except for a pause to whisper to Matt, “Never a dull moment in an insane asylum, it seems.”
That whisper got Margot’s attention, however. “I am not insane,” she snarled, and got up from the table and tromped out of the dining room.
Blake abandoned her tray and hurried after Margot. When she heard footsteps moving fast behind her, she knew Matt was following them. Suki, probably, was devouring her cereal and observing life in a psychiatric ward.
Margot plunged into an open door, and Blake found that it was a private bedroom. A television was tuned to some televangelist, but the sound was muted. Margot threw herself on the bed and lay on her side, with her back turned to Blake.
For a minute or maybe two, Blake stood in the doorway looking at her friend. What can I say to help her? In all the years she’d known the woman, she’d never seen her so angry and helpless.
If that’s all I’ve got, it’s better than nothing. No way am I going to fly from New York to Miami and never even really talk to her.
“You know, Margot, we’ve known each other twelve years now. I remember you and Thomas hadn’t been married long when he introduced us. He hadn’t talked you into giving up your flower shop yet. You were outgoing and energetic and enjoying every moment of being alive. No wonder he fell in love with you. So did I, in a different way of course.”
She stopped, thinking of Margot as she used to be. A totally different woman than the one who’d just tried to kill herself, and was now outraged at being still alive and rejected by her husband.
“Before you met Thomas, and for almost a whole year after you met him, you had a life of your own and it made you happy. If you were happy without him once, you can be happy without him again. Why don’t you start another florist business?”
“Why don’t you fuck off,” Margot responded, in a shaky voice.
I know that voice. You sound that way when you’re feeling something you don’t want to. Blake allowed herself a fleeting smile. So I accomplished something by coming here, thank goodness.
“There’s something I need to give you before I go. I was going to save this until your birthday, and give it to you along with a present, but I think you need it now.” Blake opened her purse and took out the note and autograph she got from Amanda Brown, the night she went out with Brett for the first time. “I went to a dinner club one night, and Amanda Brown happened to be performing. I asked her for an autograph for you, and she wrote a note to go with it. I’ll just put it on top of the TV.”
She laid Amanda Brown’s note on the television set, as promised. Then she stepped to the edge of the bed and patted Margot’s shoulder, and didn’t mind when Margot flinched at her touch. “I love you, lady. If you need anything at all, you tell the staff here to let me know. I’ll see you when you’re feeling ready to face the world again.”
Blake turned around and nodded at Matt. He walked her back to the dining room, where Suki had finished breakfast and sat watching the large flat-screen television with the patients.
“Come on, Suki,” Blake said. “You and I can spend the day visiting my mom, and Matt can see his woman while we’re back in Miami. We’ll fly back to New York in the morning.”
#
Jacinta Bertrand was happy to see Blake, but saddened to hear of Margot’s suicide attempt. “I won’t lie to you, mija. When we lost your father, there were times I thought about killing myself. But I had you, and I had my work. Now I look back, and I’m glad I stayed. My daughter makes me proud, and there are people alive today who might not be if I hadn’t been their nurse. Your friend will be glad someday that you saved her life.”
“I think so too, Mama.” Blake squeezed her mother’s hand.
They were sitting outside on lawn chairs. Jacinta had just recently ceased needing to wear braces on both legs and her left arm. She’d winced when she lowered herself, with help from her second-shift nurse, into the lawn chair. But now she was watching cottony clouds drift overhead, breathing in the crisp ocean air, so happy she glowed.
Suki was nearby, casually practicing some jujitsu moves she needed to master to earn her fourth-degree black belt. Abruptly she stopped, raised a hand to shade her eyes from the bright afternoon sunlight, and stared down the winding island road. “Boss, are you or your mom expecting company?”
“Not me,” Blake said, and stared down the road herself. She couldn’t see anything yet, but she wasn’t surprised. Suki’s senses often seemed to be supernaturally keen.
“Me neither,” said Jacinta. She labored to sit up straighter, and the nurse rushed to her side to assist her.
In a matter of seconds, four people came into view around a curve in the road. As they got nearer to Jacinta’s condo, Blake realized that two were wearing island security uniforms and two were Miami police officers.
Suki turned her head to look at Blake. “This isn’t going to be good news.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Blake? Have you had some kind of trouble?” Jacinta’s dark eyes were locked on Blake’s face, reading her expressions like a book.
“Lang and I ran into each other in New York. That’s all. I can’t think of any reason why Miami police would be coming to see me about that, but who knows.” Blake shrugged and awaited the arrival of the officers.
“Well…maybe it’s about the drunk who hit me.” Jacinta chewed her bottom lip, consumed by doubt and worry.
A few minutes later the
two security men and the two police officers turned into Jacinta’s driveway. They halted there for a minute, carrying on a whispered conversation among themselves. Suki gave them her full attention.
“There’s been a fire,” the bodyguard told Blake as the four men crossed the lawn to reach them. “One of your Miami properties has burned to the ground, Boss.”
“You heard us talking?” one of the police asked Suki, his eyes in danger of popping out of his head.
“She probably reads lips,” the other police officer suggested.
“I heard you fine. You”—Suki gestured at the policeman who’d spoken first—“had your back turned to me. I couldn’t possibly have been reading lips.” She turned her usual blank face to the second officer. “And you decided to be the bad cop, and your friend here will be the good cop.”
Blake wanted to scream because yet another disaster had struck her, and she wanted to laugh at the facial expressions of the police officers as they looked at each other in alarm because their plan had been ruined before they ever got started. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced herself to stay calm. Opening her eyes again she said, “I suppose, from all that, the fire must have been arson. Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the first officer managed, his voice faltering.
The second officer stood up straight and looked down his nose at Blake, evidently determined to take control of the situation. “You had motive to hire someone to burn the place down, Ms. Bertrand. We got an anonymous tip that you’re having financial trouble because of that place you bought in New York, that Spears thing. Our informant said your investment partners are threatening to call in their loans to you. Insurance money could be real useful to you right now.”
Don’t let them intimidate you, Blake told herself. You’re innocent, and you can afford damned good attorneys and investigators to prove it. “I can prove I’m already making other arrangements to solve that problem.”
“Well, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.” The second officer winked at the island security guards, who both sneered appreciatively.
For the first time, Blake realized that she and her mother weren’t welcome on the island. She understood now why Suki had started the conversation by unnerving the police and island security, and wondered what else the bodyguard’s keen ears had heard them say while they thought themselves out of hearing range.
“You’ll need to come with us to the station and give a statement to the detective working this case, ma’am,” said the first policeman, finding his courage again.
“Hire an attorney before you talk to them anymore, Boss,” Suki advised. “You’d be surprised how many people prefer private security to the police, because some people go into law enforcement to be thugs with a badge to protect them.” She was giving the second police officer an icy stare that Blake was grateful wasn’t aimed at herself.
“Let’s get this over with.” Blake got to her feet and bent down to hug and kiss her mom. “Don’t worry, Mama, they’ve got it all wrong. I’ll clear this up and see you again before I go back to New York.”
“Be careful, mija,” Jacinta whispered as a tear rolled down one cheek.
“I’ll contact Antonio, Boss,” Suki said as she fell into step next to Blake, following the police officers and island security. “He’s got a cousin who’s a lawyer. They should be able to recommend a good criminal attorney for you.” A few seconds later, though Blake hadn’t heard anyone say anything, Suki growled, “Because she’s got a right to an attorney, you prick.”
“Criminal?!” Jacinta gasped.
They’d barely climbed aboard the police speedboat when Suki, who had been texting, said, “Get your BlackBerry out and take down this name and number, Boss. Antonio’s cousin said the best criminal defense attorney in Florida works for the firm our security agency uses. We happen to have a number to reach him on weekends.”
Blake entered the attorney’s name and number in her BlackBerry’s contacts list, and before the police boat reached the mainland, she was arranging for her new defense attorney to meet her at the station.
#
June 14
New York, New York
Lang Bertrand soaked in his Manhattan hotel room’s hot tub, drinking iced vodka and congratulating himself. Sal and Luca had burned down the money-laundering Cuban restaurant in Morningside during Blake’s flight from New York to Miami. Making good use of Brett’s tales of his time with Blake, Sherry had anonymously phoned Miami police about Blake’s financial woes with the Wishman Spears.
And if Blake somehow managed to squirm out of this mess, Lang still had a mission for Brett and schemes for Gabby’s participation in Blake’s reality television show. Yes, it was a splendid time to be Lang Bertrand, and a miserable time to be Blake.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
June 14
Miami, Florida
Her police escort led Blake into a small room with a wall-mounted video recorder and a table and four chairs, two of which were already occupied. One occupant was a Detective Dixon, a middle-aged man with a shiny bald spot, dressed as if he’d watched too much Miami Vice as a child. The other man seated in the room was also middle-aged, but he was a handsome Latino with graying temples and faded jeans. As soon as she stepped into the room, the Latino gentleman stood and pulled out a chair for her.
“I was warned you don’t shake hands,” he said with a smile as he sat down again. “I’m Enrico Torres with Elliott, Torres, Collins, & Rhodes, and I specialize in criminal defense. Have you been advised of your rights, Ms. Bertrand?”
“Only by my bodyguards.” She turned her attention from Torres to Dixon and asked, “Am I under arrest?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet, ma’am,” Dixon drawled. “Now, where were you—”
“Excuse me, Detective, but my client is under no obligation to answer your questions. Moreover, she has not had an opportunity to consult with her legal counsel about whether it’s in her best interest to do so.” Torres folded his arms across his chest and fixed a cool stare on Dixon.
“So consult.”
“Now, don’t take this the wrong way”—Torres flashed a toothy smile at Dixon—“but my client and I would like to talk alone, and somewhere we can be sure we’re not spied on.” He gestured at the camera.
“We’re not well equipped that way, Mr. Torres.”
“I didn’t imagine you are.” Torres leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “You haven’t decided whether to charge my client with a crime, and you can’t provide facilities for her to talk with me before she chooses whether to answer your questions. Seems to me that Ms. Bertrand here should be free to go, until such time as you arrest her or she and I return at our convenience to speak with you voluntarily.”
It took a few seconds for Blake to realize the noise she heard was Dixon grinding his teeth. She looked at Torres and wondered if he was somehow related to Suki, because he had that same blank-faced expression she often wore.
At last Dixon grumbled, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right, Torres.” He stood, nearly tripped over Torres’s outstretched legs on his way to the door, and slammed the door so hard it opened. “I’ll need you to stop on your way out and leave us your contact information, Ms. Bertrand. We’ll probably want to talk to you soon.”
Torres stared at the detective with frank astonishment, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows. “Really, Dixon. My client is filming a new reality show for NBC, owns properties all over Miami, and has a residence on Fisher Island. If you can’t find her when you want to talk to her, it’s probably time you retire.” He walked side by side with Blake to the front office, where Suki paced like a caged tiger.
“You okay, Boss?” Suki asked.
“She’s free to go, for now anyway.” Torres consulted his smartphone and said, “I’m in court tomorrow, Ms. Bertrand, but I can see you after hours. Can you come to my office at half past five? We’ll order dinner delivered and discuss your case.”
Blake frowned. “I can be there, but the producers of The Takeover are going to be mighty unhappy about delaying filming.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Bertrand, those producers aren’t looking at a possible thirty years in prison for first-degree felony arson. If it were me, I’d tell those people they’re the least of my worries.” He waved to Blake and Suki as he opened the station door. “See you tomorrow at half past five, ma’am.”
Blake ran a hand through her hair, knowing she was making a mess of it and, it seemed, her whole life. “Suki, would you do me a favor and call a taxi while I call Vanessa and Vickie?”
“No problem, Boss.”
#
June 15
Miami, Florida
At five-fifteen Blake and Suki climbed out of a taxi and knocked on the front door of Elliott, Torres, Collins, & Rhodes. The law firm leased one of the oldest and most distinguished buildings in Coral Gables, a Spanish colonial mission built of cut white stone, with a cobblestone courtyard and a breathtaking view of the Atlantic. Ionic columns flanked the arched door, which was made of some heavy dark wood and etched with elegant patterns that resembled conch shells.
“They must do well to afford this place,” Suki murmured as Blake knocked again.
A ruffled-looking pretty young Latina opened the door then. “I’m so sorry, I was on the phone with a client and had to ask him three times to please hold.” She offered them a rueful smile and waved them inside. “I’m Mr. Torres’s paralegal, Yolanda. He isn’t here yet, but he told me to expect you and to make you comfortable. We’ll be in this conference room here. It’s the most convenient place we’ve got for a business dinner.”
Yolanda showed them into a long, narrow room with a brick fireplace and chandelier light fixtures. A long banquet table dominated the room, surrounded by cushioned chairs that proved to be a fluffy delight to sit in. “Can I bring you anything to drink?”