“We talked . . . politics,” I said. I’d have to be careful if I didn’t want to talk myself into a hole I couldn’t get out of.
“Boring!” Gilley sang, and began to ladle out some fruit for both of us. “What else?”
“Well . . . um . . . let’s see now . . . I talked about the boys, and we talked about the food, which was very good, and . . . um . . . the weather . . . and our plans for the summer . . . and . . .”
I paused because Gilley was eyeing me keenly. “What?” he said.
“What, what?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “What do you mean? I’m telling you what we talked about.”
“Catherine Cooper, I know full well when you’re withholding information. You do that, ’um . . . well . . . um’ thing every time!”
“What information could I possibly be withholding?”
Gilley wagged a finger at me. “Don’t know. But I know I want to know.”
I rolled my eyes and waved my own hand dismissively. “Oh, you. Truly, Gilley, it was a very tame evening. We sat, we talked, we got on quite well, and then, like a perfect gentleman, he walked me to my door, gave me a sweet kiss good night, and left me to get some rest.”
Gilley nibbled on a bite of melon. “Sure, sure. When you’re ready to come clean, you let me know.”
“You’re impossible.”
Gilley smirked. “Am I?”
“Yes. Anyway, how was your night? Did your pastry class love the meringues? And did you hear from Michel?”
“They did, and I did, but now you’re just changing the subject.”
“Oh, really, Gilley, you’re being impossible! I’m not hiding anything from you, okay? We had a perfectly lovely if uneventful evening and that’s all there is to it.”
“When are you seeing him again?”
I smiled. “Soon.”
“Hmmm . . . Okay, I buy that at least. And to answer your questions more specifically, my meringues were a total hit, as in I don’t even have any leftovers, and Michel called around midnight. He landed safely and he already misses me.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. “It’s a long way to Marrakesh.”
Gilley nodded and poured himself more coffee. “What’re you going to do about Shepherd?”
I stiffened. It was almost as if Gilley knew that Maks had wanted me to cut off contact with the detective. “What do you mean?”
“He stopped by here last night, didn’t he? I assumed you’d want to call him to find out what it was that he wanted.”
I put a hand to my forehead. “Oh, my God. I totally forgot about that.”
“From what I remember, he said something about a new development. I wonder what that’s about.”
“It could be he has a lead on Greta,” I said.
“That’d be good. It really eats at me that this assassin is still out there in the world, enriching herself one contract killing at a time.”
I shook my head in disgust. “I know what you mean.”
“Did Maks mention her?” Gilley asked. Gilley knew that Maks had some involvement with the people Greta was hired by, but he also knew that Abby had vouched for Maks and that I could trust him.
“He didn’t.”
“Odd that he wouldn’t mention the woman who tried to kill you. Especially since he had dinner with her on the night in question.”
“That was months ago.”
“True. But that was also the last time you saw Maks. He truly doesn’t know where she is?”
“I think if he did, he’d tell me.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“What’re you getting at?”
Gilley shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just surprised that you seem so willing to trust this man. Especially after you learned about his . . . associations.”
“Abby insists I can trust Maks, and that’s good enough for me.”
“How well does she know him, though?”
“Good enough for her to form an opinion—and a strong opinion at that—about his character.”
“Yeah, but you’d never heard of this guy before meeting him when he applied for the open suite in your building, right? What I’m saying is that your sister never mentioned him.”
“That’s true, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure there are plenty of people in my sister’s life whom I haven’t met or heard about yet.”
“Yes, but how many of them have had dinner with an assassin on the very night she tried to murder you?”
I sighed. This conversation was exhausting for all the things I had to keep close to the vest. “What’s your point, Gilley?”
“My point is that, even though I like Maks, I think you should be careful. He may be hiding something.”
Gilley had no idea how on target his intuition was. “I’ll be careful. But to your earlier point, I think it’d be a good idea to pay Detective Shepherd a visit today.”
Gilley clapped his hands. “Can I come?”
“No,” I said firmly. I didn’t want Gilley to know that Shepherd had sent a patrol officer after Maks, and I was definitely going to bring that up when I went to see the detective.
“You’re no fun.”
“You’re just noticing that?” I mocked, but reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey, but it’s a little awkward between me and Shepherd now that he knows I’m dating Maks, and I don’t think he’d like any witnesses when I show up again at his desk and remind him of that.”
Gilley frowned but he nodded too. “Fine. I get it.”
I got up from the table and took my dishes to the sink, but then I remembered something else I’d forgotten to ask Gilley about. “How’s that e-mail blast coming along?”
“I’ll have the rough draft of the copy ready for you to review by eleven.”
“Excellent,” I said, putting my bowl and coffee cup in the dishwasher. Wiping my hands on a towel, I added, “In the meantime, I’ll pay our favorite detective a visit.”
Gilley chuckled. “Remember when he wasn’t our favorite? Like, when he was our least favorite?”
“I remember,” I said with a laugh, and headed for the door. “I’ll be in the office in time to take you to lunch, all right?”
Gilley gave me a peace out and I was on my way.
* * *
I found Shepherd at his desk tapping at his keyboard with his hands bound up in fists while his two index fingers darted and poked at the keys. It reminded me of two pigeons, each fighting for birdseed on the pavement.
“Good morning,” I said, stepping up behind him.
Shepherd stiffened. “Catherine,” he said curtly.
I went around his desk to take a seat in the chair opposite him, offering him a cool expression.
Shepherd’s office is toward the back of the East Hampton’s police station—which is quite a bit larger than you might expect for a super-affluent, mostly beach-season, coastal town. His desk is next to a window that usually has the blinds drawn, which I find sad, because I know they’re drawn due to the fact that the detective thinks the stunning view of the water on the other side of the blinds is nothing more than a distraction for his very serious police work.
“What’s up?” he asked casually.
“I believe I asked you the same thing last night.”
Shepherd sat forward. “Ah. That.”
“Yes. That.”
Shepherd got up and moved over to a credenza where a stained coffeepot held the remnants of the tar they thought passed for coffee around these parts. Filling one of the dingy-looking mugs with the brew, he brought it back to his desk and set it down next to him.
He then leaned back in his chair and cupped the back of his head with his hands, staring at me casually. “How was your date?”
It wasn’t lost on me that he’d failed to answer my question. “Splendid. Once you finally reined in Officer By-the-Book we had a lovely evening.”
Shepherd nodded, but I noticed a
n involuntary twitch to his lips and knew it for the green-eyed monster it betrayed. Shepherd was jealous, of that I was certain, but as he’d never really gotten around to officially asking me out even once in the past four months, I thought it rather ridiculous.
“Good,” Shepherd said. “Good.”
“Yes,” I replied, still looking at him expectantly.
Shepherd averted his eyes and rocked in his seat for a beat. “So what brings you by?”
I sighed. “Really?”
“What?”
“Are we really going to play this game round and round?”
“What game is that?”
“The one where you pretend that you didn’t tell me last night that you had some sort of a new development, and then not update me about it.”
“Ah, that.”
“Yes. That.”
“Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Why wouldn’t I want to hear it?”
This had to be the most unproductive conversation I’d ever had. And I’m the mother of tween sons.
“Because it involves your boy, Grinkov,” Shepherd said.
I stiffened slightly, and Maks’s warning about Steve came back to my mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that his story from the night I got shot—where he insisted that he was sitting in the restaurant alone, minding his own business when our friend Greta approached him for the first time to ask if he was eating alone and could she join him—is totally bogus. He knew her. Hell, he even walked into the place with her.”
My heartbeat ticked up. Of course, I already knew this, but I didn’t know how Shepherd did. “How do you know that?”
“The restaurant finally handed over their video of the parking lot from that night. Grinkov and Greta drove separate—that much is true—but they greeted each other at the door like they were best buds and into the restaurant they went. The hostess was a little fuzzy on remembering if she sat them together, but their server remembers that they were already sitting together when she approached the table.”
“Have you talked to Maks about this?”
“Not yet,” Shepherd said. “But I plan to.”
“I see.”
“Something about him doesn’t add up, Catherine.”
I nodded again, because, what else could I say? I couldn’t tip off Shepherd about Maks, and I found it difficult to outright lie to the man who’d saved my life. “Well, I guess you’ll have to do what you’ll have to do,” I said.
“That’s all you got?”
“What else can I say?”
Shepherd leaned forward and studied me intently. “How about, ‘Gee, Steve, that’s a big bad coincidence and maybe my new boyfriend knows more about Greta’s whereabouts than he’s letting on!’”
Shepherd’s face was flushed with anger. I couldn’t really blame him. “He’s not my new boyfriend,” I said. “I barely know the man.”
Shepherd made a dismissive sound. “Yeah, right.”
“Believe what you want, Detective. You’re going to anyway.”
“I’ll tell you what I believed, Catherine. I believed you and I were friends. I believed that you wanted to bring Greta to justice as much as I did. I mean, after all, she only tried to murder you and she actually shot me and murdered my wife!”
I bit my lip. In point of fact, Greta had murdered Shepherd’s ex-wife, and I wondered if he wasn’t making this even more personal because he was upset that I was dating Maks. “Of course I want to bring her to justice,” I said softly. “And if Maks knows anything that might be helpful to you, all you have to do is ask him.”
Shepherd looked at me for a long moment. I don’t think he’d expected me to keep my cool and sympathize with him. I think he was looking for a reason to be angry at me, and I’d be damned if I’d make that easy for him.
“What about you, Catherine?” he finally asked.
“What about me?”
“Are you going to be helpful?”
“Haven’t I always been?”
The hard expression Shepherd had been wearing since I walked in softened. And the corner of his lip quirked. “Not always,” he said. “In fact, mostly not.”
“That’s because you find it so difficult to accept help when it’s offered. But I promise you, Steve, I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll take you up on that.”
I blinked. What did that mean?
“The next time you see Grinkov,” he continued, “ask him about Greta. He knows more than he’s willing to tell us, that’s pretty obvious.”
“I can do that,” I said. I didn’t know if I was saying it simply to placate Shepherd or because I too was curious if Maks was perhaps withholding information from me. If he was, I reasoned, it was only to protect me.
“Good,” said Shepherd. “Let me know what he says.”
“I will,” I promised, hoping that I could. “Are you going to question him too?”
Shepherd shuffled some papers on his desk. “Not yet. I want to hear what he tells you first. But don’t worry, I won’t let on that you were the one who told me anything.”
There was something about that statement that I didn’t trust, and I had the feeling that when Shepherd spoke to Maks it would be to set him up and try to catch him in a lie, which would accomplish two things: one, it would put Maks on notice that Shepherd was suspicious of him, and two, it would sow some mistrust between Maks and me.
“Great,” I said, pushing a smile to my lips before getting up. “Thanks for the update, Detective.”
He nodded and attempted to smile back at me, but there was something between us now that was unpleasant and cold, and I was very worried that, if given half a chance, it would grow into suspicion and betrayal. “Have a nice day,” he said without even a hint of warmth.
“You too,” I replied, then hurried away.
* * *
I met Gilley for lunch at our favorite little bistro a block and a half north of my office building. Walking into the restaurant, I’ll confess that it was very reassuring to see Gilley’s smiling face tucked in our favorite corner booth away from most of the other patrons. At least he was one friend I could always count on.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey yourself!” I noticed immediately that Gilley looked excited about something. “I ordered us both the Caesar salad, no cheese for you, extra croutons for me.”
“Perfect,” I said, taking a seat and unfolding my napkin just as the server appeared with our food.
The moment he disappeared, Gilley slapped his thighs excitedly and said, “Guess what?!”
Taking up a fork to poke at my salad I said, “The new season of Big Brother starts soon?”
Gilley laughed. “I wish! That’s this summer.” (Gilley is a BIG reality TV junkie. And the crazier the contestants, the more he loves them.) “No, you got a new client!”
I pulled my head back in surprise. “I did?”
“Yes! And he’s quite well spoken, at least on the phone he is.”
“Who is it?”
“His name is Sam Dancer.”
I felt my eyes widen and for a moment I didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t look happy,” Gilley said.
I shook my head and forced a smile. “No, sorry. That name sounded familiar to me for a moment, but now that I think about it, it doesn’t.”
I took a sip of water to cover the fact that my nerves were a bit rattled. I hadn’t expected for the espionage to start so soon.
“You okay?” Gilley asked.
“Yes. Of course. I think I’m just unnerved by my visit with Shepherd.”
“Uh-oh,” Gilley said. “He’s upset that he found out you’re dating Maks, isn’t he?”
“He is,” I said. At least I was pretty sure that was the truth.
“Ah, well, he’ll get over it. But I’m sorry he was a jerk to you.”
“It
’s okay, Gilley, not to worry. I’ll rally. So, when is this Sam Dancer coming in for our first meeting?”
“This afternoon at three o’clock,” Gilley said. “You had nothing on the books for that time.”
“Perfect,” I said, making sure to sound perky so that Gilley wouldn’t suspect something was off. But something was off. Maks hadn’t left me with anything to pass on to Sam, so I wondered what this first meeting would be about.
“Oh, and,” Gilley continued, “I wanted to ask you if it’s okay if I’m not there when he arrives. He said on the phone that he prefers to have total privacy for his weekly meetings with you. I checked him out on social media just to be sure he’s not a serial killer, and he’s super normal. Boring even, which is probably why he needs a little life-coaching advice from you. He’s a waiter at Chez Mans who loves ultra-running, the classics, and bird-watching. Hello, snore.”
I laughed lightly. “He hardly sounds like a snore, Gilley. I’m sure there’s more to him than you might think. And of course you can have the afternoon off. Do you have anything special planned?”
Gilley bounced in his seat. “A massage with Reese. He had a cancellation and I snagged it!”
I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head. Reese, the masseuse at Woodhouse Spa, was a bone of contention between Michel and Gilley. A gorgeous young man who looked remarkably like a young Christopher Reeve, he was an unapologetic flirt with both the ladies and men. Gilley had a major crush on him, and Michel knew it and didn’t like it.
Truthfully, it surprised me that Michel took issue with Gilley’s crush on Reese, because Gilley had a crush on most handsome men.
Perhaps it was because there was actual touching going on during Gilley’s massages, or perhaps it was that Reese had all the same physical characteristics that Michel had—dark hair, beautiful light-blue eyes, square chin, long, lean frame—however, on Reese the combination was the kind of beautiful that should only exist in heaven, whereas Michel was the kind of beautiful that made you sigh sweetly and enjoy the lovely view. Two beautiful men to be sure, but in the looks alone department, Reese was the clear winner, and maybe that bothered Michel.
“Are we not mentioning this to Michel?” I asked Gilley.
“Only if you want me to get divorced,” Gilley said. He knew I wouldn’t mention it to his husband, but inwardly I laughed at how nervous it made Gilley to even joke about.
To Coach a Killer Page 6