by Lowe, Sheila
“You can’t do that. Most of them aren’t going to see the show, and even if they do, you have to show them that he’s a lying piece of—” Claudia broke off, reminding herself that she was talking to her client. That meant she needed to maintain some semblance of professionalism, even though she’d only had a couple of hours’ sleep. She said, “If you cancel, he wins. You can’t let him win.”
“But how can I face them?”
“You are the baroness. After all you’ve been through, you can do anything.”
There was a long pause; then Grusha spoke in a stronger voice. “You are right. I vill not let that filthy swine destroy me.”
The commercials ended and the show came back on with a wide shot of the Hard Evidence set, Andy Nicholson relaxing in one armchair, Megan Jackson in the other, chatting and smiling. The camera panned across the applauding studio audience, zooming in on a close-up of the host.
After reintroducing Andy as the country’s foremost handwriting expert, which made Claudia want to puke, Jackson leaned in. Her expression was as hungry as a coyote chasing a rabbit as she urged him to continue “revealing the truth” about Elite Introductions.
But during the break, Andy must have thought better of what he had been saying. He began to back-track. “I don’t want to bad-mouth a colleague, so I’m not going to name names,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a way that suggested there was plenty to say, and he would love to spill his guts but was just too ethical. “You just have to be very careful how you choose a handwriting analyst. Especially if you’re an employer. Or in this case, a dating service.”
“The dating service you’re talking about is called Elite Introductions, isn’t it?” Megan Jackson prompted. She looked at the camera. “The owner of Elite Introductions is Baroness Grusha Olinetsky, the flamboyant Russian who sometimes appears as a guest judge on the popular dating show Your Perfect Match.”
“Clients pay obscene fees to get matched up,” Andy said, the camera flattering him. “But when I saw some of those handwritings—the people she asked me to analyze—well, I couldn’t in good conscience continue to work for her.”
“He is lying!” Grusha shouted, getting worked up again. “Sonya, what are you doing? Is my lawyer on the phone yet?” There was a pause while Sonya said something. “I don’t care how early it is! Claudia, what are ve going to do? He is hurting you, too.”
“Thanks, Grusha, I did hear that.” Claudia’s brain was spinning. “I’ll contact my attorney as soon as I get back to L.A.”
“What is that devil saying now? Oh my god!”
“. . . and she asked me to help her improve her handwriting,” Andy said, blowing any last pretense of client confidentiality. “She wanted to make it look more feminine, so I showed her how to add some embellishments—you know, twists and curlicues—to make it more girly.”
Megan Jackson, who had been sipping coffee, lowered her mug. “More girly? Why would she need to do that?”
Claudia held her breath. At the other end of her phone there was only the sound of Grusha’s quick breaths.
Nicholson gave Jackson an arch grin. “Well, that’s a long story, Megan.”
“And unfortunately, we’re just about out of time for this segment, but Andrew Nicholson, I hope you’ll come back soon and tell us the rest of this tale. It sounds fascinating. And now, after the break, our next guest . . .”
Claudia released a long sigh. At least Andy hadn’t totally outed Grusha. Somehow, he must know her secret. And he must have guessed that she would eventually learn of his appearance on Hard Evidence. What did he hope to gain?
Knowing Andy Nicholson, he might have done it purely out of spite. What a miserable piece of work he was. She thought of all the times they had crossed swords in the courtroom. If she were to waste energy hating someone, Andrew Nicholson would be at the top of her list.
Chapter 26
Cocktails on a Manhattan rooftop under twinkling lights. Or stars if you happened to look up. Potted ferns that belonged to warmer climes, somehow flourishing under space heaters that made the late-winter evening tolerable. Live jazzy music to chat by. A waist-high wall offered a view of other roofs—a city of roofs—from fourteen stories up. Romantic allure. What could be a better backdrop for an introduction to a potential love match than the roof of the building that housed Elite Introductions?
Two bouncers at the door looked like sumo wrestlers in T-shirts, their muscles bulging, shaved heads shiny under the lights.
Claudia had dressed for the occasion in black silk palazzo pants and a long beaded jacket over a gold shell. The outfit had been Annabelle’s suggestion. “You gotta take something fancy, just in case,” the girl had insisted. Having recovered from her pique over what she perceived as Claudia’s defection, she’d decided that it might actually be fun to stay with Monica for a few days. So Claudia and the girls had gone shopping, and now, seeing the results in the mirror, Claudia was glad she had listened to their advice.
The woman who called herself baroness smiled and floated graciously from one guest to another. Throwing her head back to laugh at something with a man who looked like Benicio del Toro. Dancing a few steps with someone she towered over in her six-inch heels. Excusing herself and hurrying forward to greet a new arrival.
To look at Grusha Olinetsky—fashionable in a simple black silk cocktail dress and diamond stud earrings, her black hair hanging loose, brushed back to accentuate high, full cheekbones that had probably been enhanced with collagen—no one would have guessed at her histrionics of a little more than twelve hours earlier. Knowing what she knew, Claudia thought she detected a certain brittleness under the coolly elegant facade that the matchmaker presented to her clients that evening.
She thought of the large sums of money these people had poured into Grusha’s coffers, all looking for their Mr. or Ms. Right. Every male guest she had met that night was a candidate for stud of the month: good-looking, bright, stylish, including the men over forty. The women were knockouts, too: self-confident, flirty, under thirty-five. Claudia fervently hoped that Grusha would not be introducing any of these Beautiful People to a killer.
Avram Cohen was among the first clients she had spied upon her arrival, but he had assiduously avoided her. She guessed that he was probably conjecturing whether she and Sonya had viewed the brutal video on his cell phone, and that he was embarrassed at the prospect.
He should be more than embarrassed.
He was currently giving the impression of being deeply absorbed in Aisha, the model whose handwriting Grusha had showed Claudia the day before in her office. And by all appearances, Aisha was lapping up his attention, engaged as she was in a great deal of smiling and fluttering of sable eyelashes. The lashes were far too thick and long to be natural, but they did an admirable job of framing the liquid amber eyes.
Dr. Ian McAllister moved among the guests, well-groomed and expensively tasteful in a dark suit. Claudia had refused his offer to pick her up for the party when he’d phoned midmorning, and his cold tone told her that he saw right through the lame excuse she’d made. Now he treated her to a sardonic smile, a reminder that he was on to her, before turning away to speak to a pair of identical twins in short dresses. Luckily, Claudia and Ian were both at the party to mingle, and from what she could see, he was mingling with great charm. So far, it had been easy to avoid being alone with him.
Donna Pollard sidled over to where she stood, watching the crowd. “Did you see who just arrived? Michele Frayer! Did you see her in Somewhere, Everywhere ? She was absolutely amazing.”
“Didn’t she win an Oscar last year?” Claudia asked, admiring the elfin features and slim body of the award-winning actress. Michele Frayer was a top box-office draw. What was she doing attending an introduction party when she could crook her little finger and have any man in town slavering over her?
As if she had already verbalized the question, the psychologist leaned close and stage-whispered, “She doesn’t trust any of the men she dates, so she wants Gru
sha to find her the perfect soul mate. I interviewed her last week. I was so nervous! Me, interviewing the most famous actress on the planet. But you know, I think I might be able to talk her into therapy.”
They watched the actress slip her velvet bolero jacket from her shoulders and hand it to a uniformed attendant who had materialized at her side. Under the jacket, she wore a pewter-colored brocade mini-dress, the strapless back showing off birdlike shoulder blades.
“She’s gorgeous,” said Claudia, finding Pollard’s behavior more than a little odd. Then her nose picked up a whiff of alcohol and she put the woman’s slightly slurred speech down to some preparty tippling.
Pollard, whose burnt orange jersey halter-neck dress did nothing to flatter her dumpy shape, grimaced. “She’s so tiny. Makes me feel like I weigh a thousand pounds.”
Claudia smiled. “I know what you mean. By the way, how’s your head? Any lasting effects from the concussion?”
“Let’s not talk about that here,” Pollard muttered, looking around nervously as if she were afraid they might be overheard. “I’m fine. That was just a random thing. Let’s drop it.”
Before Claudia could express her skepticism about the randomness of the break-in, Grusha advanced on them, bringing her famous guest with her.
“Michele, darling, Dr. Pollard you have already met, but I vant you to meet our new handwriting expert, Claudia Rose. She is visiting us from California. You may have seen her on TV before. And Claudia, I’m sure you recognize this beautiful young lady.”
Frayer might be a major-league movie star, but her manner was unaffected and sweet. She held out her hand and squeezed Claudia’s as warmly as if they were old friends. “I can hardly wait to have you analyze my handwriting,” she said, practically bouncing on her toes. “I had it done once before, a long time ago. It was amazing!”
Claudia returned her smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“I already wrote my sample this afternoon. I need to have my assistant run it over to the baroness’ office first thing on Monday.” Michele slipped her arm through Grusha’s. “I’m so pumped about all this. Do you have any idea how hard it is to meet the right person in this business?”
Claudia had to grin at her excitement. “Relationships are hard in any business, but yeah, for someone in your position, it’s gotta be especially important for you to know the other person’s motivations.”
“You’re so right about that.”
“As long as you have the right tools, you’ll be fine. Grusha will make sure of it.”
Michele, who had to be close to thirty, had the eagerness of a teenager. She said, “I’m dying to see who the baroness matches me up with.”
I wish she hadn’t said “dying.”
Grusha gave her guest a gentle tug. “Come along, then, dahling. Let me introduce you to some of the other guests, especially the men! I know their tongues are hanging out to meet you. Donna, why don’t you go and talk to Mindy Jarrett; she is looking a little vallflowerish over there. Claudia, I vant you to meet everyone. Please introduce yourself around. They vill all be thrilled to hear who you are.”
And of course, they’ll expect me to analyze their handwritings on the spot.
Browsing the glittering crowd while she decided whom to approach first, Claudia stiffened as an arm slipped around her shoulders. “Hey, sexy,” said Marcus Bernard, leaning down to speak directly into her ear. “You look fantastic.”
She gave Marcus a glance cool enough to make him drop his arm. “Thanks. I didn’t see you arrive.”
“You were too busy stargazing,” he said, teasing her. “Damn, Michele Frayer is a hottie. Who do you think Grusha has in mind for that tasty little piece of—”
“I wouldn’t know,” Claudia snapped, cutting him off. “I’ve only seen a couple of male members—” She broke off, blushing as she realized her gaffe.
Marcus threw back his head and laughed without restraint. “I’ll be more than happy to show you mine.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. You know what I meant.”
Ian McAllister sauntered over and joined them, moving to stand close to Claudia’s side. He looked down at her, his eyebrows arched. “Have I missed the hilarity?”
“Ah, the good doctor.” At her other side, Marcus edged a little closer, as if he were staking a claim on her. Not to be outdone, McAllister favored her with his version of a smile.
“You look especially fetching tonight, Claudia. But I see Marcus has left you empty-handed. May I get you a drink?”
Marcus cleared his throat loudly and gave Ian a nasty smile. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Doc, we were talking, not dancing. That means you don’t get to cut in.”
McAllister, who was a couple of inches taller than the construction mogul, gave him a condescending look down his nose. “Isn’t the baroness looking for you, Marcus? I’d be willing to bet she has a lovely young lady for you to meet. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To connect with a lovely young lady? I’ll be more than happy to take care of Ms. Rose.”
“Look, Doc, you’re here to make people comfortable, aren’t you? Well, you’re not making me comfortable. There’s plenty of gorgeous women here without your trying to horn in on Claudia.”
Beginning to feel cornered and not liking the sensation, Claudia interrupted. “This is all very flattering, but I don’t currently have a need to feel like a bone between two dogs. I’ll see you boys later.” She walked away, leaving them snarling at each other, and hurried downstairs to the powder room.
Standing in front of the mirror, she almost laughed. Almost any other woman would be flattered to pieces by being pursued, not by just one, but two personable, wealthy men. But then, other women weren’t trying to determine whether one of those men was a vile killer.
She touched up her lipstick and blush, tipped the attendant, and headed back up to the party. She wished Jovanic were with her. Everything was more fun with him there. She headed for the bar with every intention of fortifying herself with a glass of wine. Someone had already poured several glasses and set them out on the bar top for self-service. Claudia started to take one.
“Wait!” The command came from Ian McAllister. “Don’t drink that!”
Claudia’s hand arrested midreach. Dammit, she thought she’d shaken him. “Did you and Marcus kiss and make up?” she said.
Ian damned her with a faint smile and ignored the jibe. “I’ve got something extraspecial for you,” he said. “Show me you’ve forgiven my bad behavior of last night; just give me a few minutes. Please?” He asked so nicely that she thought it would be churlish to refuse.
He led her to a table secluded behind a Chinese fan palm and with a formal little bow drew out a chair for her. On the table were a rocks glass half filled with a clear liquid and two crystal goblets, about two ounces of something green in each. Claudia took in the arrangement with more than a little misgiving. “What’s this?”
“The clear one is water,” he promised. “Watch.”
Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, Ian produced a plastic bag from his pocket. From the bag he removed a silver slotted spoon that resembled a small cake server. After he had thoroughly cleaned the spoon with a handkerchief, he took a sugar cube from the bag and placed it on the spoon, which he laid over one of the goblets. Next, he drizzled water from the rocks glass over the cube.
“Is this some sort of drug?” Claudia asked suspiciously.
“Of course it’s not a drug. It’s an absinthe drip.”
“I thought absinthe was a hallucinogen. Isn’t it outlawed?”
“Not to worry, Claudia dear. It’s perfectly legal these days.”
“But it’s made from wormwood, isn’t it?”
“Wormwood isn’t the problem,” Ian explained patiently. “It’s an ingredient called thujone that was thought to bring on hallucinations. There’s only a tiny amount of thujone in the modern drink, so you have nothing to worry about. It does have a very high alcohol content.” He o
ffered her the goblet with a smile. “Here, sniff. It’s flavored with anise. Do you like black licorice?”
“Yes, I like licorice, but I’m not sure—”
“Surely you don’t think I would harm you? Oh, come on, Claudia, you must allow me to make up for the other night. You’ll love it. It’s called the Green Fairy.”
“I’ve heard it’s called the Green Devil.”
She took the goblet and put it to her nose. It didn’t smell much like licorice to her. She took a tentative sip, half expecting to keel over in a dead faint or have some other exotic reaction, but nothing untoward happened. Ian was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to enthuse over his concoction. She gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, but it tastes like medicine to me.”
He abruptly snatched the glass away, the liquid splashing over the side and onto her hand. “Forget it,” he said, turning his back on her and muttering something that Claudia thought might have been “Philistine.”
What’s wrong with the men in this club? she asked herself, blotting absinthe off her hand with a tissue that she dug out of her evening bag. The three whom Grusha had identified as suspects all seemed to have serious personality problems. How in the world had Andy Nicholson let them get by? How had Grusha?
She was still sitting at the table, wondering how soon she could respectably leave, when she became aware of a commotion just a few feet away, near the roof entrance. She got up and moved around the palm, which was blocking her view.
What she saw made her wonder whether she had fallen asleep and walked into a bad dream.
Chapter 27
Andy Nicholson was hugging Michele Frayer as if she were his long-lost cousin. Frayer shrieked in delight as several other guests took in her performance with questioning glances.
Across the rooftop, Grusha looked stricken. Even at this distance, Claudia could see the emotions chasing across her face. Hurrying over to the matchmaker, she took her arm, offering her support. “Don’t say anything,” Claudia said. “Just breathe.”