“Happy holidays, everyone,” said a few startling voices.
I turned to find the catering staff in the foyer. Virginia looked at them, and then at me, and the spell was smashed. Her smile faded as she said good night and one of the servers opened the front door. They all left, leaving an icy chill behind.
Caroline was still holding that angel. She returned it to the box, leaned back into the fleur-de-lis pattern on the loveseat, and shook her head.
“This is fucking horseshit,” she said.
“Your language,” Virginia said wearily, rubbing the space between her eyes.
“I don’t know how else to put it,” Caroline went on. “Dad wasn’t a saint … but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. We didn’t deserve to have him taken away from us. And he’s constantly being smeared for something he might not have done … and he could have been murdered … and if he was, the person who did it hasn’t paid. That’s horseshit.”
“You’re right,” I said, feeling as angry as Caroline sounded. “It is.”
*
I slid into the sedan parked in front of the house and slammed the door.
“What’s the matter?” Tony asked. “Did something go wrong at the party?”
I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him what I was plotting. But I couldn’t tolerate one more person warning me to leave this thing alone. So I just said, “Nothing happened. The party was fine. And I hate to keep you away from home any longer, but do you mind if I make a stop at that house at the bottom of the hill?”
“You mean the Georgian Colonial?” he asked, touching a button to defog the windshield. “I don’t mind at all … but what for?”
I tried to fabricate a story. I knew it would be easier if I lied to him. But I couldn’t.
“Because Senator Caldwell lives there,” I said quickly. “Former senator Caldwell, that is. She’s the woman Edward was having an affair with shortly before he died.”
Tony stared at me. “I know who she is. But I don’t know why you’d even think about going to her house.”
The heat was blasting; I flipped a switch to turn it down. “I just want to ask if she had anything to do with Edward’s so-called accident.”
Tony sighed and dropped his hands from the steering wheel to his lap. “Savannah,” he said, “if she did have something to do with it … do you seriously think she’d tell you?”
He was sensible and reasonable and so annoyingly right. “No,” I admitted, glancing through the windshield at hedges covered in Christmas lights. “But if I ask, and I’m looking right at her, I think I’ll know if she’s telling the truth … no matter what her answer is. I’ll just … feel it.”
He settled back into his seat. “I understand why you want to do this … but as your friend, I have to advise against it. You won’t know whether she’s telling the truth. The woman is in politics.”
I laughed even though I wasn’t in that sort of mood. “You might be right … but at least I can try. I might not get a chance like this again … and please don’t tell me it’s dangerous to prod people in high places. I’ve heard it all before.”
“From Alex?” he asked. “Because if this isn’t something he’d agree with, I’m not—”
“Alex is my boyfriend, Tony. He isn’t my boss.”
Tony leaned his forehead against his fingertips. “Don’t do this to me, Savannah. I put my faith in you to take care of her—remember? That’s what he said. If I go along with this and something happens to you—”
I shook my head. “Nothing will happen to me. You’ll be outside the whole time.”
“And I suppose you expect me to lie to him? I won’t, you know.”
“I don’t expect you to lie,” I said. “Alex doesn’t want me to investigate Edward’s death … and I appreciate his concern, but I can’t let it stop me. If you want to tell him, go ahead.”
Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head at the same time. “Fine,” he said, turning the key in the ignition to start the car. “I won’t say anything. But if he asks, I’ll answer … with the truth.”
“Sounds fair,” I said as he pulled away from the Tudor house and drove down the winding hill until we reached a palatial home with two floors and lots of windows. The house was white with black shutters, its Christmas decorations rivaled Virginia’s, and there were lots of expensive cars parked on a driveway that I walked past after I left the sedan.
“Happy holidays,” said a man who was guarding the front door. “And you are…?”
I stood on a slate path with snow-covered grass on either side, thinking he must have come from the same security company that was guarding Virginia’s house. Her guy was just as husky and had given me the same line.
“Savannah Morgan,” I said with confidence, like my name was surely on his list.
He scanned the paper stuck to his clipboard. “I don’t see you here.”
“That’s impossible. I have to be there.”
He looked again. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”
This was obviously going to take my best drama skills. I giggled and twirled my hair and gave him a wink. “Well,” I said, thickening my Southern drawl, “Carys probably forgot me.… Bless her heart. But I was invited, and I’m disgracefully late. So can you be a sweetie and let me in?”
I reached for the doorknob. He got in the way.
“Mrs. Caldwell,” he said, “never forgets to put her guests’ name on my list. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, sweetie … so do yourself a favor and leave before I call 911.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked innocently. “I’m just—”
“Full of crap,” he said. “You don’t even know Mrs. Caldwell … do you?”
This was hopeless. And I felt like an idiot. So I went back to my normal accent. “She knows me, sir. Can you please tell her that Savannah Morgan is here?”
He scratched his graying mustache. “How do I know that’s your real name? I need ID,” he said, so I unzipped my purse, pulled out my South Carolina driver’s license, and handed it to him. “This doesn’t look like you,” he said, studying my DMV photo too closely.
“That’s a bad picture. I had a sore throat … and a sunburn, too. And my hair color is—”
“You live in New York?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I haven’t changed my license yet because—”
He shoved it at me. “This won’t work. Got anything else?”
I wasn’t sure. I reached into my bag and rummaged inside until it slipped off my wrist and landed on the lawn and every single thing in the purse scattered onto the snow. I crouched down to snatch up my brush and my lipstick and Edward’s papers with no help from Mr. Friendly. He just stared at me as he shoved a piece of Trident into his mouth.
“I don’t have any other ID to show you,” I told him, straightening up. “But I am who I said. Can’t you just cut a girl a break and tell Mrs. Caldwell that I’m here?”
He shrugged. “She’s busy hosting a party. What could possibly make me bother her?”
I had a pretty good idea. I should have gone that route from the beginning—it would have been less tiring. I reached into my purse again, pulled out some cash, and slipped it into his hand. He was expressionless as he stuffed the money into his pocket and went inside.
I waited in the cold, shivering and staring at the front door until it opened. The guard came out and resumed his post while a slim, pretty, fiftyish woman stood in the doorway. She had caramel-brown hair and wore a stylish green dress, and all she did was look at me.
I heard music and chatter behind her. “Mrs. Caldwell,” I said, “can we please talk?”
She glanced over her shoulder at a throng of guests. Then she reached toward a wrought-iron coat rack and grabbed a jacket that she slipped into as she closed the door and came outside.
“You don’t know where I am,” she whispered to the guard while she yanked up her zipper. He nodded, and she turned to me. “Come this way.”
The garage door rose. I saw a Lexus and a snowblower and paint cans on shelves. She walked in, I followed her, and she pressed the remote again to shut us inside.
“I’m sorry about this,” she said. “But I have people here.”
She had people here. She didn’t want them to see her with me. I folded my arms, thinking she was being blunt and rude so I might as well be, too. “Have you informed those people that you were having an affair with my father?” I asked, surprised I didn’t sound as nervous as I felt. “Or did they figure it out after your husband left you?”
She leaned against the car and started talking like a politician. “Your father was a friend of mine … nothing more. He helped me with my career, and he was a good and loyal man. I told you all of this when we first met at that party last summer.”
“I remember. But I doubt you were a friend to him. I saw you on TV during the summer, Mrs. Caldwell. I’ve watched your speech online so many times, I can recite it: If Mr. Stone violated his ethical principles by not investigating Amicus Worldwide … it was of his choosing and completely unrelated to me. Is that correct?”
She nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“But is it correct?” I asked.
“Of course it is.”
My teeth clenched. I knew I’d be able to tell if she was giving me the truth.
“Maybe the news reports are accurate,” I said. “Maybe Edward didn’t ask Stone News to investigate Lake Kolenya as a favor to you—because your husband was the COO at Amicus and you wanted to get reelected. Or maybe he didn’t know what was going on because you tricked him into believing Amicus wasn’t killing people.”
She seemed uncomfortable in her jacket. She tugged at the zipper and pulled it down. “Don’t accept everything you hear in the press,” she said, but I ignored her.
“How did that little arrangement work out?” I asked. “People have gotten sick and died, Mr. Caldwell is out of a job, you’re not a senator anymore, and both of your reputations have been ruined. So has my father’s … but unfortunately, he isn’t here to defend himself. And maybe you had something to do with that.”
I’d spit out every word in a fast-moving stream so I wouldn’t lose my nerve, and they made her mouth drop. I thought she might fly into a tirade and toss me into the snow for insinuating she was a murderer, but she didn’t. She just turned around, walked to a step that led to an interior door, and plopped onto it.
“Savannah,” she said in such a familiar way that it practically confirmed her relationship with Edward. I wondered if he’d talked about me with her, if he’d shown her that picture that had been taken on the bleachers at Charleston High. “I cared for your father … and I can assure you that I had nothing to do with his death. Please believe me.”
The last sentence was said so pleadingly that I did believe her. But I wasn’t going to make her feel better about any of this because I was positive she’d done a lot of things wrong.
I stayed quiet as she stood up slowly, pressed a button on the wall that opened the garage door, and plastered on a phony smile when she motioned toward the exit.
“Good night,” she said, but I didn’t move.
“Is everything okay, Mrs. Caldwell?” the security guard asked from behind me.
She nodded. “Ms. Morgan was just leaving.”
I spun around, stormed past the guard, and veered around cars in the driveway as I headed toward the sedan at the curb. My eyes were on the ground and I was close to the car when I heard a deep voice.
“Hey,” it said. “You almost ran me over.”
I looked at amused blue eyes that belonged to a young man who seemed to be about my age. He was tall and had a muscular build, and he was dressed in a long gray coat with a suit underneath. His face was handsome—a cross between ruggedly masculine and adorably boyish. The nose was straight, the jaw was solid, and the mouth had two pointed peaks in its upper lip. He had a thick crop of tawny brown hair with a few stray wisps that skimmed his forehead, and his smile was the kind I’d seen on posters inside dentists’ offices—the ones with slogans like KEEP ON FLOSSING AND YOU CAN LOOK THIS GOOD.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still flustered from everything in the garage.
His smiled broadened. “That’s all right. You can knock me down any day.”
I glanced at the ground again, feeling the awkwardness that comes from being near the most physically gifted men. I was flattered that he was flirting, but I couldn’t flirt back. There was an equally beautiful set of blue eyes waiting for me on Staten Island.
“Excuse me,” I said.
I walked to the sedan. I opened the door, slid onto the seat beside Tony, and locked myself inside as he turned the key in the ignition. The car started up, WCBS came on, and he pulled away from the curb.
“So did you find anything out?” he asked doubtfully.
“What I found out,” I said as we started down the dim and tree-lined street, “is that I need to keep trying to find things out.”
Tony looked at me for a second as he steered the car. He kept quiet, and I thought that was probably because he didn’t want to encourage or dissuade me. He just nodded and turned up the latest sports news on the radio while I looked at the passenger-side mirror, watching Handsome Stranger walk toward that sprawling white house.
Ten
Less than an hour later, Tony stopped the car in front of my building. I picked up my purse and twisted toward him in my seat.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” I said. “And Monday is Christmas Eve. You better not work for the next two days.”
He gave me a military-style salute. “Yes, boss.”
I smiled, opened the door, and stepped onto the sidewalk. “I hope you and Allison have a wonderful holiday. Give Marjorie a kiss for me.”
He nodded. “Merry Christmas, Savannah. You do me a favor too, okay?”
I leaned into the car. “What’s that?”
“Take a break from your detective work … at least for the holidays.”
I crumpled my mouth, thinking for a moment. “I’ll give it a shot,” I said, but that didn’t last long—only until after I was in my apartment and I’d brushed my teeth and removed my makeup and changed into my fleece pajamas. Then I took Edward’s notes out of my purse, brought them to my office, and spread them out on the desk.
I read them so many times that I figured out his scrawl. The notes appeared to be snippets of business meetings and telephone calls with terms like upfront buying and audience profile and effective frequency. Media jargon, I figured—and useless to me. But I hadn’t swiped those pages believing they’d hold clues. I only wanted them because they were Edward’s.
The landline on my desk rang. I picked up the receiver and heard Alex’s smooth voice.
“Hey,” he said.
How amazing that one syllable spoken by the right guy could thrust me into a romantic mood. “Are you at home?” I asked, looking at the time on my computer monitor in front of me. It was just after midnight and already Sunday. “How was work?”
He yawned. “I’m at home … and work was okay. I’m glad I won’t have to be a bartender much longer … but I found out that I do have to work tonight … and Monday, too. I’m really sorry I won’t be able to spend Christmas Eve with you.”
I grabbed a barrette off my desk and pinned up my hair. “So am I … but I understand. And we’ll have all of Christmas Day together. Well … you and me and Mom and Tina, that is.”
He chuckled. “I’m looking forward to it. You’re still planning to cook?”
“Definitely,” I said. “I’d love to take everyone someplace special, but I can’t throw Mom into the New York water that quickly. It’d shock he
r system. She needs to ease into things … and she’s used to homemade ham for Christmas, so that’s what I’m giving her.”
“That sounds good, Savannah. I guess I’ll swing by your place early on Tuesday morning, and then we’ll head over to Kennedy to pick them up?”
I gave him a smile even though he couldn’t see it. He’d agreed to be the airport transportation weeks ago, without any nudging—and it was a little thing that meant a lot.
“That’ll be perfect, Alex. Now I should let you go … you must want to go to bed.”
“Yeah,” he said with a yawn. “But first tell me about the party. Did everything work out okay?”
I felt so bad for having no intention of telling him about Senator Caldwell, and I felt even worse for ogling another man—but I brushed it all off. I had nothing to feel guilty about. I was sparing Alex worry by keeping my investigation a secret, and Handsome Stranger was irrelevant. I’d never see him again.
“It was fine,” I said, “except for one thing: Jackson Lucas was there.”
“You’re kidding. Should I assume that prick was smart enough to keep his distance?”
Alex knew what Jack had done last summer, and I often worried they might run into each other while Alex was working at a party here in Manhattan or on Long Island, and Alex might not be able to control his temper. I was glad they hadn’t crossed paths so far, and I hoped they never would.
“Amazingly, he was not,” I said. “I think he wanted to apologize … but I wouldn’t listen. Anyway, enough about him … get some sleep and I’ll see you soon.”
We hung up but I still sat there, looking at Edward’s words until they blurred. I finally turned the papers over, stood up to leave, and noticed something when I leaned over the desk to shut off the lamp. There was writing on the back of one of the pages—Edward’s writing—and it was a phone number with the area code 202. I sat back down and searched for the number online but learned nothing except 202 is the area code for Washington, D.C.
Independently Wealthy: A Novel Page 9