“I thought it would come through any day,” she explained, “and I knew that once you saw it you’d fall in love. Ari, it’s on this beautiful block, and it has gorgeous hardwood floors and massive windows. And they allow dogs!” She was sure that last part would be the clincher. Ari wanted so badly to have a dog, but they were strictly forbidden in his Brooklyn apartment.
“I don’t care if they allow American Kennel Club meetings,” he said. “You did this behind my back.”
“Maybe it seems a little impetuous, but—”
“A little! When did this happen?”
“Last week. I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
“And you thought I would just go along with it? After we talked about it? After I specifically said we had to wait until I could afford my share?”
“I knew you’d be a little mad, but—”
“But what? You thought you’d manipulate me even after we had a very clear conversation about this? Several very clear conversations.”
“Will you at least look at it?”
He blinked at her, stunned by the question. “Not a chance.”
She sat on the bed. “I... I don’t think I can get out of the lease.”
“Well then, I hope you’re very happy there.”
“Oh, c’mon, Ari.”
“How did this even start? Were you scanning real estate sites?”
“No! Megan called me about this great rent-stabilized place that came on the market. It was an opportunity.”
“But you didn’t call me. Text me. Nothing. You just went and signed a lease. Because you knew I’d say no if you asked me first.”
“You would have! And then you’d have regretted it.”
“Oh, please.” He opened the drawer with his gun and snapped it back into his holster.
“You’re leaving?”
“You don’t get to make unilateral decisions for us, Dana. It doesn’t work that way.” He grabbed his jacket and slid it on.
“I think you’d feel differently if you were willing to take the lead on the case. It would change everything.”
He turned to her, his eyes burning with fury. “I can’t take the lead!”
“Why not!”
“Because my girlfriend was drugged and doesn’t even remember if she pushed the fucking victim off the roof.”
Dana’s jaw unhinged as she tried to think of a response, but before she could find one, Ari was gone.
8
Dana knew it was useless to try to fall back asleep, but she could think of nothing else to do at that hour but lie in bed in the dark, listening to the white noise of traffic whooshing up First Avenue, punctuated by the occasional honk of an impatient driver. Well okay, she could think of two things. But right now, Dana wanted to stay sober and reason this thing out. She knew Ari didn’t believe she murdered Ivan. He couldn’t possibly. But she also understood that she couldn’t be officially ruled out as a suspect. At least not yet.
But once that happened, he would forgive her for signing the lease on the apartment. She knew he would.
Or maybe not. Maybe she had really fucked up this time. Maybe it was a mistake to sign the lease. But there was nothing she could do about it now, except apologize. She picked up her phone several times, wondering if she should text Ari to say she was sorry. If she admitted it was a stupid mistake—a terrible error in judgment—he would forgive her.
She held her phone and tapped out:
I was wrong. I’m sorry. Let’s talk.
She stared at the text, debating whether to send it. Maybe it was better to give him some time to cool off.
She tried to picture where he might be. Home, grabbing a couple of hours of sleep? Or maybe he went right back to the office and told the lieutenant he was recusing himself.
But no. Now that he had walked out, he didn’t need to recuse himself. He was free of her, and free to take the lead on the case. If she apologized now, it would put their relationship back on track, but derail his career. And that would be a roadblock to moving forward. Dana felt caught in a loop of impossibilities.
Unless...
Unless she let him walk away. Then he could take the case and see it through. They could get back together when it was all over. It probably wouldn’t even take that long. And by then, his anger over the apartment would be ancient history. They could get right back on the relationship train. He’d get his promotion and they’d have a beautiful future in the semi-sunny two-bedroom.
As far as Dana could tell, it wasn’t even a big risk. He loved her. He would want to get back together.
She backspaced over the apology and thought about what she should say instead. At last she typed out:
I think we both need a break.
Dana’s finger hovered over the Send button. Just do it, she told herself, before you change your mind. She swallowed hard and tapped the screen. There. She had done it, and hoped he understood that it was a gift. She was proud of her courage.
Dana stared at her phone, her heart thudding as she waited for a response. After a few minutes, she saw the gray dots indicating he was typing. Her hand began to sweat in anticipation, and then the dots disappeared.
“Come on, Ari. Say something,” she whispered to her phone.
She kept staring, willing a text to appear. The longer she waited, the more she worried about his reaction. She hated the thought of hurting him. But he was strong. And they were strong as a couple. They could weather this.
And then, at last, a message:
Is that it? No apology?
Of course I’m sorry, she thought. All I want is for us to be together. But she typed:
You’re the one who walked out.
There were no gray dots after that, just the cold chill of her empty bed, and a barren weekend stretching out in front of her as she tortured herself with the idea of calling Ari to explain that she didn’t mean any of it.
Later, when she was in the shower, Dana heard her phone ring. She wrapped herself in a towel and rushed out, diving for her phone. It was Megan.
“You okay?” her friend asked.
“Not really.” She put the phone down and wrapped her wet hair in a towel before picking it up again. “You?”
“I’m with Jamie and his mom.”
“Jamie?” Dana repeated, surprised. She knew Megan had hit it off with Ivan’s son, but that didn’t qualify her for the role of caretaker in the aftershock of a death. “How did that happen?”
“After they took his dad to the morgue, Jamie went straight out to Long Island to be with his mom. She’s disabled—did you know that?”
“No idea.”
“She was obsessing on what exactly happened at the party. Jamie was too shook up to answer her questions, so he called me and I came.”
“That’s...a lot of responsibility. How is she?”
“Sad. Confused.” Megan lowered her voice. “I think she has an inkling of the kind of guy her husband is. Was.”
“Shit.”
There was a pause, and Dana heard Megan take a breath. “I was wondering if you could come out here.”
“Me?” Dana asked. It was the last thing she expected to hear.
“Jamie has some...information. He wants to talk to you.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But it’s hard to do this stuff over the phone. And things are so weird here. I could use the support, to tell you the truth. It’s me and the Dennisons, and it’s a little awkward.”
It didn’t take Dana long to decide. Megan needed her. And besides, the trip to Long Island would give her a good excuse to pop in on her sister, who had been avoiding her calls. Dana worried that Chelsea was privately nursing the sorrow of another miscarriage, and she wanted to let her know she didn’t have to keep it a secret.
&nbs
p; 9
Two hours later, Dana arrived at the Port Washington Station and took an Uber up to the Dennisons’ address in Sands Point. She knew it was one of the most exclusive areas in Long Island—the coveted Gold Coast—but Dana was still struck by the beautiful drive through winding, wooded streets, with estates carefully tucked back and mostly out of sight down long driveways.
As the car turned onto an entryway paved in smooth white stones, a massive iron gate opened to let them in. The house itself was an oversized mansion that looked more like a hotel than a home, and Dana tried to imagine the kind of people who had enough money to afford almost any house they wanted, yet chose this one. The architectural style managed to look cold and impervious despite the obvious Tuscan influence. Perhaps it looked better in summer or spring. But in the fall, surrounded by northeast foliage and tucked in among historic colonials, it looked as if it were dropped into the wrong spot, like tomato sauce on a bowl of oatmeal. If it weren’t for Megan standing outside in front, she would have been tempted to tell the driver to circle right back to the train station so she could clear her palate.
“Yikes,” Dana said, as she got out of the car and surveyed the property.
“I know,” Megan agreed. “It belongs in Architectural Indigestion.”
Dana gave her a hug. “How’s Jamie?”
“More focused on his mom than anything else. How are you? No offense, but you look like shit.”
Dana let out a long breath and gave Megan the news. “Ari and I decided to take a break.”
Her friend’s eyes went wide in alarm.
“It’ll be okay,” Dana said. “I didn’t want him to have to recuse himself from the investigation.”
“And you broke up over that?”
“It’s just temporary,” Dana insisted. “We’ll be fine.”
Her friend looked skeptical. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Me, too, Dana thought, as Megan gave her arm a squeeze. Normally, this revelation would be followed by an hours-long conversation. But it would have to wait.
She followed Megan into the house, which was nearly free of walls, with one room flowing into the next and no interruption of the vast expanse of modern gray driftwood flooring—the kind favored by Californians and the decorators of cancer centers. The furniture was angular and pristine, as if untouched. It was the opposite of welcoming. Don’t sit here, every carefully spaced piece seemed to say, this is just for show.
Megan led Dana into the kitchen, which had ornate white wood cabinetry, a dripping crystal chandelier and a massive center island with a marble top. A stout woman with dark hair was wiping down the counters, while Jamie sat at the long oak table with a woman in a wheelchair—his mother, Dana presumed. Though underweight, with bony wrists and brown circles under sunken eyes, she was still attractive. Her cheekbones were sharp and her small eyes crystal blue. Dana could imagine the healthy version of her in walking shorts on a golf course in Connecticut. She wished she had asked Megan what put the woman in a wheelchair.
Jamie introduced her by her full name—Blair Dennison—and added that the person at the counter was their housekeeper, Marta.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dana said to the new widow. “I can’t imagine how hard all this is.”
Mrs. Dennison pulled a tissue from her cardigan sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “I always thought he would bury me,” she said, in a husky voice.
A former smoker, Dana thought, and pictured Blair and Ivan as a young couple sitting in a club at some time in the distant past, drinking highballs and flicking cigarettes into overflowing ashtrays.
Jamie rubbed his mother’s back. “Are you tired, Mom?”
She nodded. “I think I’ll lie down for a while.”
Marta offered to take her to her room, and she accepted. “Don’t forget to offer your friend some tea,” she muttered, as she was wheeled off.
“I hope I didn’t drive her away,” Dana said, when she was out of earshot.
Jamie shook his head. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve been fending off calls from friends and relatives all morning. The news is spreading and the phone doesn’t stop ringing, but she refuses to see or talk to anyone. Well, except for me and my brother, who’s on a flight right now from California. But she’s glad I have Megan here to keep me company so she’s free to withdraw. It’s all too much for her.”
Last night, the noise of the party was so overwhelming Dana couldn’t have any kind of conversation with Jamie. But now that she heard him speak, she could see why Megan was drawn to him. He wasn’t just intelligent, but fast-talking and hyper-articulate. Dana had known people like him—there were a lot of them in the theater world—loquacious and outgoing types who had been gifted children with a lot to say and the need to blurt it all out while people were still listening.
He pulled a china mug from a cabinet and held it up to Dana. “Tea? Please say yes so I can tell my mother I’m a good host.”
She accepted, and he filled the cup with hot water from a special spigot next to the sink. He placed it in front of her, then pushed forward a rectangular wooden box filled with an impressive assortment of teas. Dana rifled through the selections and chose an organic green tea, which she plunked into the hot water. Jamie took a seat across from her, where his own cup seemed to remained untouched.
“You must have a lot to do,” Dana said. “Funeral arrangements, calling relatives.”
“They have people for that,” Megan said.
Jamie offered a small smile, as if grateful she lightened the mood. “She makes it sound worse than it is,” he said. “My uncle is handling most of it.” He paused. “But yeah, we have people.”
“And you’re okay?” Dana asked him.
“Not really,” he said. “I just haven’t taken it all in yet.”
Dana nodded, studying him. He seemed composed for someone who had just last night seen his father’s gray matter oozing onto a sidewalk. But grief, she knew, was a fickle beast, and could be kept at bay for long stretches. A lot of people couldn’t begin the process until after the burial, when it finally became real.
After a pause, Megan looked at him expectantly. “Go on,” she said. “Tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Dana asked.
Jamie wrapped his hands around his cup and stared off, unfocused. “We had a visitor here about two weeks ago.” He directed his gaze back at Dana. “Eleanor Gratz.”
Dana blinked back, surprised. Why would the Shopping Channel buyer be paying a visit?
“Eleanor came to your house?” she asked.
“Uninvited.”
“Why?” Dana asked.
“She wanted to talk to my mother, but my father wouldn’t let her inside. I only heard a few seconds of the conversation before he stepped out onto the porch with her and shut the door.”
This was a surprising piece of information. “What did she want with your mom?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I have a guess.”
Dana took a sip of her earthy tea. “Go on.”
Jamie glanced at Megan and back at Dana. “It probably won’t surprise you to know my dad was a bit of a...player.”
He said it so pointedly that Dana surmised he knew what had happened with her last night. She gave Megan a look that said, What did you tell him?
Megan shrugged in response. “He’s an investigative reporter. He asks questions.”
“Anyway,” Jamie continued, “my theory is that Eleanor knew about my father’s behavior, and threatened to tell my mother.”
“You think she was blackmailing him?” Dana was incredulous. It didn’t seem at all like the Eleanor she knew.
“Maybe not for cash,” Jamie suggested. “Maybe she was trying to force his hand with the company. I mean, if anybody knew his secret plans to abandon fashion for electronics, it was Eleanor. So maybe she tol
d him to back off or she would expose him to my mother.”
“I’m still trying to figure out if the dots really connect,” Megan said.
Dana paused to consider it as she replayed her conversation with Eleanor. If the formidable Shopping Channel exec had known about Ivan’s plans for the company, she had certainly kept it under wraps.
Dana took another sip of her tea and dabbed her mouth with a napkin, stalling, as she decided whether she should share a certain piece of information. At last, she let out a breath. “We talked about him.”
“We?” Jamie said.
“Me and Eleanor. She warned me to watch out for him.”
Jamie looked at Megan. “See?”
“On the other hand,” Dana said, “your father went through with his plans for the company. Doesn’t that disprove your theory?”
“He was a pretty wily guy,” Jamie explained. “And determined—especially since he was always so protective of my mother. He tried to shield her from any kind of stress, because it can trigger a flare-up like that.” He snapped his fingers, and Dana was tempted to ask how such an ostensibly considerate guy could act like such a pig, but she kept her mouth shut.
“I know my father,” Jamie continued. “He would have found a way to deal with a threat to my mom.”
“Such as?” Dana asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he threatened her back. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I watched from the window and could see the two of them arguing on the front porch before she stormed off.”
“Does your mom know any of this?”
Megan leaned forward. “He wants to tell her.”
Dana turned to him. “Why would you do that?”
“Well, obviously I have to go to the police with this. I mean...”
“Obviously,” Dana echoed. The police would want to know about Ivan’s possible enemies. And here was one who was actually at the party. Still, the idea that Eleanor could have murdered Ivan was preposterous. She was just so open, so quick to tell you what was on her mind. Hardly the profile of a killer.
The Rooftop Party Page 6