They were based in Newark, New Jersey, an interesting coincidence given the events of the last few days.
I didn’t know if Nicholas was Brandon’s father, uncle, or distant relative, but if I had to guess, I would say that he was his father, judging from the picture on the Web site and the strong family resemblance. Costas was on there, too, looking about as close to a Greek Neil Diamond as one could get, dressed in an extremely ornate smoking jacket with an ascot. Classy.
Great. Now “Cracklin’ Rosie” was stuck in my head. I took a little detour to see if I could find out what a “store-bought woman” really was, searching the official Neil Diamond Web site. No dice. This was going to drive me insane.
I thought about the family business and the impending Brandon and Amanda nuptial, jumping to the conclusion that Amanda was now going to do the family proud and marry her stepfather’s business partner’s son, a man she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Because, I deduced, if her family was down with arranging a marriage, divorce was probably out of the question.
I typed Nicholas’s name into the search engine, the same article about the joint venture coming up first, followed by a New York Times wedding announcement from 2003. I clicked it open, leaning in. There was a picture of Nicholas with a very young, very nubile, and extremely busty lady who was clad in the lowest-cut wedding dress I had ever seen. This was going to be good.
Athena Papadopolous, 27, of Great Neck, Long Island, wed Nicholas Tsagarakis, 48, on Saturday October 10th, at St. Spyridon Greek Orthodox Church in Manhattan. Ms. Papadopolous is in cosmetic sales for Henri Bendel and Mr. Tsagarakis is the owner of T&G Limousine. The bride was attended by sixteen attendants, including maid of honor Tiffany Caswell. Mr. Tsagarakis’s best man was his son, Brandon.
That was all I needed to know. Brandon was Nicholas’s son. I went back to my search on Nicholas and came up with four additional wedding announcements, the earliest dating back to 1980 and his union to Ms. Padadopolous being the most recent. What a dog. I wondered which union had produced Brandon. A couple of the weddings took place within a year of each other, making it impossible to tell.
I turned back around in my chair and stared out the window, seeing a few students walking along the little path that ran next to the cemetery and that dumped into the parking lot in front of Siena. I had a lot to digest, mentally. It was a gorgeous morning so I decided I had learned all that I needed to for the time being and that it was time to enjoy the weather. I left the computer on, but locked up my office and headed out, thinking that a trip to the river was in order.
I walked down the back staircase and through the student union and toward the exit by the commuter cafeteria, the smell of bacon distracting me and making me lose my train of thought. I veered off and headed into the cafeteria, placing an order with Marcus. I was standing by the coffee machine pouring milk into my coffee when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and found myself face-to-face with Merrimack, his beady little eyes trained on me.
“I heard we’ve been having some excitement in Siena.”
I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
He crossed his arms. “We’re not worried about what you can handle, Professor.”
I saw Marcus and a few of the cafeteria staff hovering behind the counter trying to eavesdrop but trying desperately not to look like they were. I focused on the spectacular view of the river behind Merrimack’s head to distract myself from getting mesmerized by his rat eyes. “And I have done my best to keep the entire situation quiet,” I recited dutifully.
He shot a look at the cafeteria staff and they dispersed, leaving only Marcus behind to tell me that my order was ready.
Merrimack wasn’t finished. “This wasn’t what we were expecting when we set up this living arrangement, Professor.”
“Me, either,” I agreed.
The look on his face told me that that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He seemed surprised and disappointed by my candor. “It is in the best interest of us all to find a replacement for Wayne.” He uncrossed his arms and made a step toward the cafeteria door. “Nothing would please me more than to send you home.” The look of disgust on his face stunned me. He exited into the hallway.
I made the rash decision to follow him. “Hey, Merrimack!” I called after him as he scurried down the marble-floored hallway toward his office.
He turned slowly, not believing that I had broken the unwritten code that he had established: he was the alpha male, I was the female who got pissed on, and I had to take it. Not so fast, buddy. I approached him, wishing I were doing anything but what I planned on. And that was setting the record straight. “Let’s get one thing straight,” I said.
“Please do not point at me,” he said.
I dropped my hand. “I am not your problem. If the evidence proves reliable, and I think a giant bag of dime bags of pot may prove irrefutable, Mr. Brookwell was going to turn out to be a giant problem for you.”
“Are you insinuating—”
“I’m not insinuating. I’m telling it as it is. Wayne was a dealer. Plain and simple. And you should thank your lucky stars that he got out of Dodge before his dealings hurt someone or he got found out and got dragged out of here in handcuffs.” I was on a roll. “Because let me be perfectly clear, Dean Merrimack: if it wasn’t for me and my . . .”—and here’s where I lost my momentum—“boy . . . man . . . friend . . . Crawford, you were going to be in a world of hurt. It’s only because of him that we have been able to keep this as quiet as we have.” I stopped, flushed and out of breath from my diatribe.
“Are you finished?” he asked, regarding me with loathing and contempt.
I straightened to my full six feet in my heels. “I am.” I turned and started back toward the cafeteria. “And now, I’m going to return to the cafeteria to eat my French toast.”
That went well, I thought, as I sat by the window trying to cut my breakfast with shaking hands and an unstable plastic knife. I replayed the conversation in my head and determined that I had handled it precisely the way I wanted. What was Merrimack going to do? Fire me? Good. Maybe then I could go home.
I thought of Dobbs Ferry longingly and then flashed on my red bedroom and the amount of work it was going to take to fix that redecorating debacle. I took a bite of bacon, realized I wasn’t hungry anymore, and pushed my plate away.
Marcus wandered over and stood next to my table, wiping his hands on his pristine white apron. Marcus is a middle-aged Jamaican man with close-cropped white hair and an extremely sexy voice and accent. I could always count on him for a smile and a great meal, despite the fact that I was buying it in a college cafeteria.
“How are you, Alison? I heard you’re living on campus. Man, that’s gotta stink,” he said, smiling. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, leaning in to talk to me. “So what happened to Wayne?”
I ran my napkin across my maple-syrup-coated lips. “That’s a long story.”
“He coming back?” he asked, a little too interested.
“I don’t know. Right now, he’s in a spot of trouble,” I said.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What kind of trouble?” he asked, looking truly concerned. I wondered if Wayne ate in the cafeteria as much as I did; I didn’t recall ever having seen him there.
I put my wrists together to indicate Wayne’s legal status.
Marcus whistled through his teeth. “Really?”
“Really.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Did you know Wayne well?”
Marcus smiled again, this time a little sheepishly. “Let’s just say that we had a business arrangement.”
The realization of what he was telling me slowly dawned on me. I slumped in my chair. “You, too?” I asked, incredulous. I thought Wayne’s clientele consisted mainly of the kids on campus.
He waved his hands in the air. “No, no! It’s not what you think. My sister is going through chemotherapy and someone suggested that she . . .�
��—he struggled for the right word for the setting as students started to come into the cafeteria—“partake?” He explained to me how the antinausea meds she was supposed to take made her nauseous while the pot settled her stomach and gave her an appetite. “I saw Wayne making a little transaction in the back parking lot one day and got the idea that I could help my sister out by becoming one of his customers.”
That was convenient; if Marcus was anything like me, and it seemed he was, he wouldn’t have the first idea of where to buy a bag of pot. I don’t know why, but I felt a little better knowing that the guy who made many of my breakfasts and more than a few of my lunches wasn’t as high as a kite when he was doing so. I told him that I hoped he had a nice stash because Wayne wasn’t coming back any time soon.
Marcus gave me a quick hug before he went back to the kitchen, taking my plate of half-eaten food and tossing it in the garbage can. I finished my coffee and headed back to my office. It was only eight o’clock, but I knew Crawford got to work early. I took a chance and called him at the squad.
“Fiftieth Precinct. Homicide. Detective Crawford. How can I help you?”
I stifled a laugh. If you were calling to report a murder, would you sit through that litany of phone etiquette? “Hiya, Crawford.”
“Hi,” he said, sounding sort of glad that I called. I remembered him muttering that he hated me as we drove off from the encounter with the state trooper the night before and I wondered if there was some lingering anger. “What’s up?”
“What’s not up?” I said.
He waited a few seconds. “Care to elaborate?”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Here’s what I found out: Costas is partners with Amanda’s fiancé’s father—I think—in a limousine business. His name is Nicholas Tsagarakis. If I had to guess, I would say it’s the same limo company that Wayne was driving for. So Amanda’s engagement seems to me to be some kind of arranged marriage between the children of business partners. Kevin told me that Wayne was moonlighting for them. Extra money, I’m guessing.”
“Good work.”
“And the pot is definitely Wayne’s,” I said, saving the best for last.
“How do you know?”
“Besides what we learned from Mary Catherine, which was hearsay at best, let me just say that someone in the building told me that he had bought pot from Wayne for his sister who is undergoing chemo.” I pulled my chair up to my desk and pulled out a pad, making notes of what I had just told him. “But you can’t tell anyone.”
“An anonymous tip from an anonymous source who talked to someone who needs to remain anonymous? That’s not going to help me,” he said. “I need specifics.”
“Can’t give you any. It would put my friend in a precarious position.”
He let out a deep sigh on the other end. “I’ll tell Carmen and Gorman,” he said, like it was a threat. Carmen and I were becoming closer with every case (and there had been a couple over the past year), and Gorman? Well, I’d have him eating out of the palm of my hand in no time.
“You do that,” I said. “You coming over later?”
“I’ll see if I can. What role am I playing tonight?”
“Well, if you get here before eleven we can play firefighter saving damsel in distress.”
“Anything but a firefighter.”
“Graphic designer going over the design plans with the lead contact on the Anderson account?”
“That’s better. I’ll call you later,” he said.
Before he hung up, I wanted to know one thing. “Hey, Crawford? What’s a store-bought woman?”
“What?”
“A store-bought woman. ‘Cracklin’ Rose, you’re a store-bought woman.’ What does that mean?”
“I can only guess that’s it someone for hire. You know, available for dates?” he said. He let out a deep guffaw. “Where do you get this stuff?”
I didn’t go into my whole “Costas looks like Neil Diamond” thing so we just hung up with him grateful that I didn’t give him my elaborate explanation of why I needed to know this vital information.
I plugged away at my computer for a while, corrected a couple of papers, and played a couple of hands of solitaire, noting that I still had over an hour until my next class. I would never get up this early ever again. It gave me too much time to get into trouble.
I decided to head back up to the dorm to find Amanda. I passed my car, and checked for boots, tickets, or any other notification that I was a blatant scofflaw but there was nothing. I hoped that was the case when I returned to the dorm at the end of the day because I had big plans and I needed my car.
I found Amanda on the girls’ floor; she was coming out of the bathroom, her hair wet, a towel wrapped around her body, her pink flip-flops on her feet.
“Professor Bergeron?” she said, surprised to see me on a residence floor at this hour.
“Is this a bad time?” I asked.
She smiled. “Kind of. Wait here.” She went into her room and left me in the hallway to peruse my surroundings. It wasn’t exactly a hotbed of activity, with every door closed and only the sound of a few showers running in the communal bathroom. She came out a few minutes later, this time in a St. Thomas sweatshirt, jeans, and the pink flip-flops. She asked me what I was doing on the floor.
When she asked me, it occurred to me I wasn’t sure how this was going to play out. I decided to go for it and just tell her my plan.
She was more receptive than I ever would have imagined.
And when I saw that—the excitement on her face mixed with anticipatory glee at maybe seeing Wayne—
I had a sinking feeling that perhaps my plan was just a wee bit ill-advised.
Thirty-Two
Amanda was as excited as I had been on my first stakeout. I played the Crawford role and told her to take it down a notch.
Amanda looked over at the Brookwells’ house. “I’m just excited to see Wayne,” she said.
“You may not see Wayne,” I said. “I just have a hunch that this is the only place he could have gone.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
I had to admit that I really didn’t know. “I thought we’d just sit here and wait to see if there was any sign of him.”
The afternoon sun turned to dusk and then night fell quickly, even though it was spring and we were getting the extra hour of daylight. I handed Amanda a PowerBar and a Gatorade and told her to eat; I knew that we could be sitting in Scarsdale for a long time, so I had packed some refreshments. I can’t think if I’m hungry and I wanted to be able to make split-second decisions should the situation call for it.
I had been deliberately vague with Crawford when he had called to say that he could come for dinner, but it would be closer to nine. I let him off the hook by saying that I had a lot of papers to correct and he had a lot of sleep to get. He was just tired enough not to protest and actually sounded relieved. I wasn’t happy about that, but I was glad that I wasn’t subjected to his usual third degree about where I was going, what I was doing, and why. As far as he was concerned, I was safely ensconced in my room, ratty old St. Thomas sweats on my tired body, eating Trader Joe almonds and correcting bad essays.
I ripped open a PowerBar with my teeth. “How did you meet Brandon?” I asked, taking a quick look over at the Brookwells’ house, every window ablaze with interior lights.
Amanda’s mouth was full of gooey PowerBar but that didn’t stop her from answering. “My stepdad. He introduced us.”
Just like I thought. “And love at first sight?” I asked, taking a swig from my cherry-flavored Gatorade.
“Not really,” she admitted. “I thought he was hot but I wasn’t sure we would get along at first.”
“How come?”
“He’s kind of old-fashioned.”
Which to me sounded like code for bossy and possessive but I kept that to myself. “But you got beyond that?”
“Sort of. He knows that I want to have a job after I graduate and he’s fi
ne with that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m a communications major, so what I do is basically up to who hires me,” she said ruefully. Having been an English lit major at St. Thomas, I knew what she was talking about. Had I not wanted to teach, I’m not sure what I would be doing right now.
We sat in silence for a few moments.
“Do you love him?” I asked, immediately regretting pushing the conversation when I saw Amanda turn and look out her window. Because I could see in the reflection that I had upset her.
“I guess so.”
Not a ringing endorsement for this union. I didn’t say anything else because, really, what could I contribute besides “run as fast as you can!”?
“Is Brandon involved in the family business?”
She shook her head. “Yes. He graduated last year and he’s doing more there now. The idea is that he takes over at some point and we’ll be set for life.”
“So, it’s a profitable business.”
She spoke softly. “It is now.”
“Which means?” I pushed.
She turned toward the window again. “I’ve said too much.”
I wondered what she meant, but I could tell I had gone too far and didn’t want to press any further. It seemed like Costas and Nicholas had the whole thing figured out. I chewed on that for a minute while staring at the Brookwells’ house.
“What is it that you see in Wayne, Amanda?” I left out the part where I wanted to tell her she deserved much, much better.
“He’s gentle. And kind.”
Probably because he’s stoned all the time. Stoner boyfriends are like that. Always pleasant, but not much in the ambition department. I had made that mistake once.
“He’s just a really cool guy. Different from Brandon. Less intense.” She smiled. “Sure, he’s got to figure a few things out but he’s really cool. And he’s very good to me.”
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