"Just the normal stuff. A couple of questions and they were gone."
I was going to lie. At least about my police contact. She didn't need to know that I had become the prime suspect in their flawed investigation. I wasn't sure, yet, why I couldn't tell her the truth, but something, deep inside, pushed me in that direction. My gut.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it, Max. They had me scared the other day. I wouldn't want to see anything bad happen to you."
"I appreciate your concern, Kitty."
"I wish I was more like you. I'm not good with all of this police stuff. It looks like you have everything under control."
"I just tell the truth, Kitty. It works wonders," I said.
Kitty chuckled. "I'll have to remember that. And Max, I truly am glad that you're OK, and I really do appreciate all of your help. And Miss Whitehall's too."
I didn't acknowledge that comment.
"Dutch, you know"—she paused—"you should really marry that girl. She's delightful. And, really, aren't you tired of being a bachelor? Jesus, Dutch, you're forty. You might want to try marriage once in your life before you die."
She had a way with words. Subtle. That was all that I needed. Advice about my love life from Kitty.
"I will certainly pass along your kind words to Miss Whitehall. She'll be tickled to hear how highly you think of her."
Kitty thanked me again for my help and then disconnected.
"What was that all about?" Imogen asked.
"She told me that I should marry you."
"I'm beginning to like this woman."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Imogen and I had temporarily moved into the brownstone that I owned on 63rd between Madison and Park. The fact that Sergeant Williams felt the need to send over a uniformed officer to check up on my safety had clinched it for me. I'd had to move out of my house in the suburbs at least for the time being. After my chat with Kitty, we'd packed up some stuff and promptly relocated. Although I'd gotten a little pushback from Ginny.
"We can't just leave, Max."
"And why's that?"
"The detective said that we couldn't."
"He said that we shouldn't leave the state or disappear. And we're not. We're moving into our other house. If he's such a good detective, let him open a phone book. I'm sure they can use their crack investigative skills to find us."
I was glad that we had left. I didn't have to sit around waiting for uniformed police officers to drive by and check up on me. I hadn't done anything wrong. I didn't deserve that. If keeping tabs on me was so important, let them work for it. Who knew how long I really had before I ended up in a cell?
In addition to my temporary freedom, there were some additional benefits to city living. For starters, we had unlimited dining options. As I mentioned before, we enjoyed eating out. Also, we were closer to the action. I was closer to my office, and Imogen and I would be able to float around the upper crust of New York nightlife. We would also be able to keep our ears a little closer to the ground. After all, Baxter, Miller & Clarke was located in the city.
Despite a break-in and having my ass almost flung in jail, I had been focused on work for the past few days trying to get POP ready to, well, pop. Everything was now set, and we spent the day making calls and meeting with various venture capital firms in an effort to let them know that we were now ready to accept term sheets for this round of funding.
Imogen was sitting in on most of the meetings at the office. Since we were in the city, and it was becoming very easy for her to come to work with me. One of the endearing qualities that Imogen possessed was her desire not to fall into the trap of simply being a lady that lunched. She wasn't interested in shopping, lunching, and then getting a mani/pedi with the girls whilst sipping a glass of wine, waiting for me to arrive home after a hard day's work. She was smart as a whip, driven, and a classic beauty. I was happy to have her by my side on a professional and a personal level. Although, as I had recently discovered, keeping her on a personal level meant taking some steps—some would say nothing short of a leap—forward. I was working on that.
After a string of meetings, we found ourselves back in my office alone.
"I've forgotten how much I enjoy work," she said.
"You've certainly got a knack for it, my dear." I was thinking that I could possibly lure her back into the working world.
"Well, Dutch, you do realize that I did have a life before I met you."
"Dutch again?"
"Get used to it. I'm going to be using it."
"Fantastic."
"As, I was saying, Dutch, I did have a life once upon a time."
"You don't say. I just thought you materialized in that house of yours when I moved into the neighborhood."
"Ha. Ha."
"So, can I convince you now to come work with me full-time?"
"I didn't say I liked work that much."
As we continued, engaged in our ridiculous conversation, my office phone rang. I motioned to Imogen to give me one moment and then picked up the receiver. Imogen lounged back in her Aeron chair across the desk from me, prepared to eavesdrop on my conversation.
"I was waiting for your call," the voice on the line said.
"I was just about to ring you," I replied, although I'd had no intention of calling him.
I mouthed to Imogen that it was Mike Miller on the line inquiring about the POP deal. He asked if we could meet over dinner to discuss it. I agreed, and we decided that we would rendezvous at Gramercy Tavern around 8:00 p.m.
"And bring your colleague, what was her—"
"Imogen?"
"Yes, that's the one. Bring Imogen."
"Can you bring Clarke?" I asked.
Mike paused and thought for a moment. "He's indisposed this evening. But I'll let him know that you were asking for him."
Always indisposed. I was getting the feeling that he didn't want to see me.
I told Mike that we would see him later tonight, and then I hung up. I looked directly at Imogen.
"What?"
Maybe I was staring a little too intently at her.
"Looks like we've got him." I said.
"Hamo, linea et sinker," Ginny responded.
"Huh?"
"Hook, line, and sinker…in my best Latin."
"Showoff."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gramercy Tavern was located right around the corner from Union Square on Park Avenue South. The bar at the restaurant was quite extensive and quite appealing to look at while you were sitting enjoying a drink. It was constructed of what appeared to be mahogany, with typical mirrors serving as the backdrop to each shelf. The actual bar itself was also made from some sort of dark wood, with miniature table lights and place settings in front of each barstool about two feet apart. You could walk in, sit at the bar, and enjoy a drink and something to eat off the Tavern menu. Or, as Mike, Ginny, and I were going to do, dine in the actual restaurant at 8 p.m. Imogen and I arrived around 7:30 in order to grab a quick drink at the bar.
I ordered a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and Imogen had a glass of Pinot Noir. I stared out of the window facing 20th Street. There was a definite late autumnal nip in the air tonight. The passersby were bundled a bit more than usual.
"Why did he call?" Imogen asked, and took a sip of her drink.
"I think it's more along the lines of why did he invite us out to dinner?" I said.
"Maybe he has something to tell us?"
"Maybe he just wanted another opportunity to impress us with his knowledge of Latin. Or maybe he's also a detective in his spare time, looking for clues, and is going to pump us for information."
"I was thinking that maybe he'll tell us how he murdered Ted."
"I'm sure he'll divulge that even before the appetizers arrive."
Imogen smirked at me disconcertingly and then disapprovingly while she sipped her red wine. We chatted a while and then decided to check in and be seated. The hostess walked us over to our table, where Ginny and I proceed
ed to order another drink while we waited for Mr. Miller to arrive.
Around 8:20 p.m., Mike arrived. He walked over to the table with a woman I had never seen before. She was short, petite, cute, and was dressed understated but in an outfit that must have cost $3,000. And that wasn't including the diamond earrings that she had dangling off her lobes. Her short, straight black hair helped to accentuate her light brown eyes, as did her high cheekbones and fair skin.
"Good evening, Max," Mike said as he shook my hand. "I'm sorry that we're a little late. Kate had quite a time getting into the city this evening."
Mike formally introduced Kate to Imogen and myself. Kate was Mike's wife that we didn't know would be in attendance. We shook hands all around, and then everyone was seated. I told Mike and Kate that their tardiness was certainly excused and to not think about it any further. They expressed their thanks, ordered a drink, and placed their napkins on their laps.
"I just love this place," Kate said, and then went on to explain that was why she had decided to join Mike out tonight. "I never can pass up a chance to eat here."
Gramercy Tavern was one of my favorite places as well. I expressed that sentiment to Kate, and she smiled. Imogen as well offered up her praise for the food and decor.
"I'm glad that we have a chance to get together and break bread tonight," Mike said, shifting the conversation. "It was nice to see you the other week, Max, and to meet you, Miss Whitehall."
"Please, call me Imogen."
"Very well then, it was nice to see you too, Imogen. I thought that you and Kate might hit it off, so I am thrilled that you were able to make it tonight."
"I'm flattered," Imogen lied with convincing authenticity.
"So what do you usually order?" I asked Kate, trying to move this conversation along.
"I simply must have the marinated black sea bass. It is divine."
"Sounds delicious," I responded, looking at the menu while eyeing the braised lamb shoulder with broccoli puree.
We ordered dinner and engaged in some small talk while we all sipped our wine and sized each other up. Mike was busy making nice with Imogen, and Kate was busy looking around the restaurant at everything but Mike. I was intently listening to Mike and Imogen, although nothing of importance was said, while I finished my wine and then promptly ordered another glass.
Small talk was the common denominator between the four of us while we enjoyed our dinner. The changing weather, the city, shopping, and restaurants were all riveting topics that were explored. Imogen looked bored. Kate looked exasperated, and Mike always looked the same—intense. About halfway through our meal, which was delicious, Imogen excused herself to powder her nose. To my surprise, although it was an extremely common occurrence, Kate excused herself as well and joined Imogen.
After excusing the ladies, I took a bite of my braised lamb. It was fantastic. Mike finished swallowing a bite of his spinach fettuccine and then spoke.
"I spoke to Clarke, and we're in."
"Great," I said, wondering why and how much he was interested in investing.
"This is a slam dunk for us. We're very optimistic about POP. Cygnus inter antes."
"Latin again?"
"Yes, Pop is a swan among ducks."
This Latin crap was getting on my nerves.
"I'm glad that you see the potential in POP."
"A hundred million. I'd say that's recognizing potential, presuming we arrive at the proper equity for such an investment."
"And Clarke's on board with that?"
"I know. It's a little outside of his character, but, in all honesty, it was his idea. I wanted to come in a little more conservative."
This statement was interesting. Clarke was notorious for dipping his toe into any opportunity before jumping in. There was no doubt that he was jumping in headfirst with this. He couldn't be that bullish on POP. Yet another mystery to decipher.
"I'm sure we'll come to terms," I said.
"Good. We can get working on the term sheet next week. I'll have my colleague give you a ring."
"You'll have to thank Clarke for me. I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"It's not a vote of confidence. It's a sound investment."
We toasted to the pending investment, and then I decided to rock the boat a little.
"I don't want to suck the life out of this dinner, but how was the funeral? I was thinking about you guys the other day. Must have been hard."
He put his fork down on his plate and swallowed. I liked getting under Mike's skin. Although I should have trodden lightly. The guy was about to give me a hundred million dollars.
He peered right through me. "It was terrible. Just terrible."
"I would imagine."
"I don't think you could. Seeing all those people. Seeing Kitty. It was all just overwhelming."
"Was Kitty all right?"
"She seemed to be handling it well. Or the best one could handle losing a husband. But I didn't even get a chance to talk to her. I couldn't bring myself to do it."
He hadn't talked to her. She had lied. I couldn't understand why she would have done something like that. It didn't make any sense.
I decided to get off the funeral subject. "How do you think Ted would have felt about POP?"
Maybe that was the wrong direction to go, because this question further flustered Mike. He took a sip of his wine while he thought through his answer.
"Ted and I weren't exactly on the same page as of late. It seems that as we aged, our investment strategies were not always in line."
"It happens. We're in a subjective business," I said.
"To be successful in this business you need to see the future. Ted was busy living in the past. Clarke and I both agree, that's a dangerous place to live." Mike paused. "Have you ever had any problems with partners?"
"I rule my kingdom now."
"So you don't know what it's li—"
"I do. I've had my fair share over the years. The thing I learned about partners is not to have any."
Mike laughed.
"If only it were that easy," Mike said, then sipped his wine. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why are you asking about Ted?"
Talk about a pointed question. I tried to remain light and conversational. "Just curious."
"The reason I ask is that we've never worked together and then you, pardon the pun, pop out of the blue the other week with an investment opportunity, meet with me, and now we're sitting here having dinner."
I needed a moment to try to formulate an answer. He had caught me off guard, so I sipped my wine. Then I began to speak: "If I'm psychoanalyzing the situation, I'd say that hearing the news about Ted made me think of you guys. Ted was a peer of mine. Maybe I got a little sentimental. Subconsciously, it probably made me contact you about POP."
"Didn't you two have a history?"
"Something like that. It was a lifetime ago."
The answer just lingered in the air like Kate's expensive perfume. Mike's expression remained the same, intently listening, or so it appeared. He took a bite of his fettuccini and then a sip of his wine, allowing my response to marinate.
"POP is going to make us both a lot of money," he said, finally.
The ladies returned.
"You boys miss us?" Kate playfully said as she sat down.
"Loads," I said, winking at Imogen.
Ginny gave me a giant Cheshire Cat grin that said, Just wait until I tell you what we were discussing in the loo.
"So, what's for dessert?" I asked as we all were on the verge of finishing our dinner.
"Max, have you tried the apple pie with vanilla ice cream?" Kate asked.
"Best in the city," I declared. It was fantastic.
We ordered two servings of the pie. Each couple was going to share one.
"I wonder how Kitty is getting along?" Imogen asked, and my mouth dropped upon hearing her utter this statement. I would have kicked Ginny under the table if she had been sitting
a little closer.
Mike looked visibly shaken. Which, for him, meant he blinked a little more than usual and fidgeted a bit in his seat.
"Oh, you know her?" Kate asked Imogen.
"I've met her once or twice out and about," she lied.
"I despise the woman," Kate said.
"Kate—" Mike said.
"Honestly, Mike, I can't stand her. She's positively dreadful."
Mike appeared even more annoyed. He shot Kate a glare that could stop an IPO.
"I wish she woul—"
If Mike could have, he would have grabbed Kate's throat. Instead, he looked directly at her with his piercing green eyes, and in the most direct of tones said, "Not here."
Kate stopped in her tracks. Defeated, she picked up her fork and took a bite of the apple pie and vanilla ice cream. "Delicious," she coldly stated, maintaining eye contact with the plate.
The awkwardness faded as we finished our dessert. Mike looked at his watch and declared that it was getting late. I told Mike that if he had to go it wouldn't be a problem, and that it would be my pleasure to take care of the bill. He objected, but I insisted, so he took me up on the offer. He thanked Imogen and I for joining them this evening. We all exchanged some pleasantries and then Mike and Kate walked out of the restaurant.
"What the hell was that?"
"Ladies talk in the loo, luv."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I took a sip of my coffee and waited for an explanation. Imogen, finishing a bite of her apple pie, grinned and then continued to chew, as if she wasn't in any hurry to fill me in on her investigative breakthrough. I sat back and watched her delicate mouth move, all the while imploring her to finish her pie.
"Can't a lady eat in peace?"
I assured her that, yes, indeed, your dining partner could eat quietly but usually not at a restaurant and certainly not after they had just dropped a bombshell on you. Ginny just laughed. She was a tease sometimes. I liked that about her. I picked up my coffee and took a sip. My eyes drifted across the restaurant back to the window facing 20th Street. A light flurry was now falling from the sky, large snowflakes slowly descending and floating about, pedestrians scurrying along the scene like a moving postcard. The restaurant had taken on the incandescent yellow glow of candlelight, warming the room. The blur of a waiter slid by me at a quickened pace, balancing a tray, and all the while the white noise of restaurant chatter filled the air.
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