"This is fine," Abby assured him, managing a weak smile. "Thank you for the ride."
Several minutes later as she neared her building, she heard someone call her name. Slowing her pace, she glanced over her shoulder, but none of the people behind her seemed to be paying her any attention.
"Abigail Carpenter?"
Abby's head snapped sideways, and she was surprised to find herself looking into the face of the man she'd seen talking to Harold Billings the day before. The same one she'd been sure she had seen somewhere else. Despite the vague sense of familiarity, she took an involuntary step back, as if some unknown force warned her to keep a distance.
"You are Abigail Carpenter, aren't you?"
"Who are you?"
He smiled and she saw he had a rather large gap between his two front teeth. Not that it mattered, but it was the kind of thing she thought she would have noticed and remembered if she'd been introduced to the man before.
"An acquaintance of an acquaintance," he said, being vague.
"I'm sorry, I don't know you. If you'll excuse me." She hiked her purse strap up her shoulder and turned away, an uneasy urgency driving her to get away from him.
"Wait," he said, tailing her, "I've got an offer you might be interested in."
Abby stopped and faced him. "Look, I don't know who you are, but if you're trying to sell me something, I'm not interested."
"I'm not selling anything. I'm offering you a chance to tell your side of the story."
It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did, she wanted to scream. Stay calm, she told herself. She didn't know for sure if she'd jumped to the right conclusion.
"Are you a reporter?" she asked coolly.
"Give me an exclusive, and I'll let you tell your story anyway you want."
"What's your name?"
"Luke Lerner, with The Dish," he said, parodying a bow and showing his gap again.
Anger was a white-hot thing flaming through her veins, a wildfire threatening to burn out of control. Her eyes narrowed beneath the heat of her fury.
"You want an exclusive," she said, her tone deceptively even. He was nodding and smiling again. She half expected to see drool spill from his mouth.
"Go to hell, you slimy excuse for a human being." She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. "There's your exclusive, you bastard."
She stormed off. Her entire body shook with the force of her rage. She was surrounded by faceless people, just forms and blobs creating a human obstacle course as she tried to wend her way to her office as quickly as she could manage in high heels.
Someone brushed against her side. "How long have you and Gage Faraday been lovers?"
Abby ignored him and kept walking, her arms pumping at her sides.
"Did your husband know about your affair? Is that why he turned to other women?"
"Stay away from me, or I'll file a harassment report against you." She darted around an elderly couple. He stayed with her.
"Is it true Gage Faraday and your husband came to blows, and Faraday threw your husband out of your house onto the sidewalk?"
Her breathing halted. Oh please, she thought, don't hurt Gage because of me…please don't hurt him.
"Is it true, Mrs. Carpenter?"
"No it's not true," she lied, her voice not as calm as she'd like. "I don't know where you dug up such a ridiculous story. Now leave me alone."
"That particular story came from your neighbor, a Mrs. Henderson, who said she saw Faraday toss your husband out the door. Would you care to elaborate, maybe explain what led up to the altercation?"
Any control she'd managed to hold on to snapped. She jerked to a stop, her fingers digging into the sides of her legs. "You leave Gage out of this," she snarled.
Not realizing what she was doing, she laid her palms against his chest and pushed with both hands. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward a few steps before getting his balance.
"You can say whatever you want about me or Dick in that excuse for a paper you slum at, but leave-Gage-out-of-it."
"Or you'll what," he taunted, "sick your lover on me? Tell me, how badly did Faraday want your husband out of the way so he could have you all to himself?"
In a rare show of violence, Abby fisted her hand and punched Luke Lerner square in the eye before he ever saw it coming. Gasping, she stared in shock. She'd just hit the man!
"Hey, what's going on here?" a fortyish man said, stepping between them and taking Lerner's arm. "Do you know this man, miss? Is he bothering you?"
"No, I, I don't know him." Her mouth trembled, and she started to back away. "He, he won't l-leave me alone," she stuttered, still stunned by what she'd just done.
"Let go of me," the reporter said, trying to shake free.
"Leave the lady alone," she heard the Good Samaritan say as she wove through the throng of pedestrians rushing to their next business meeting, or any of a dozen other places.
Her mind raced, crowding with thoughts. Luke Lerner could hurt Gage. The police considered him a suspect in Dick's murder. As long as he was connected to her, he was vulnerable. She had to protect him.
~~~
Harold Billings heard a soft click and looked up. Now here was a surprise, he thought, his gaze traveling over the woman standing in front of his now closed office door. She regarded him with barely concealed contempt, her high breasts rising with each heaving breath she took. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
"Ah, Abigail, so you're back. I was looking for you earlier."
She approached his desk with slow, but angry strides. She had long legs, lovely legs. A few years ago when she and Dick had rented a beach house down the Jersey shore, Dick had invited him to come down for a few days. He'd seen her in a bikini. He knew what she hid under her prim business suits, and he knew with whom and what she'd been doing with that luscious little body of hers lately.
"I'll just bet you were," she said with a note of accusation. "Don't keep me in suspense. You've made a point of avoiding me the last couple of days. Not that I'm complaining, but I am curious why all of a sudden you would be looking for me."
"Why to offer my condolences, of course. I mean, Abby, the papers, and with everyone talking about it." He shook his head. "To be the object of such a titillating scandal, well, it must be frustrating."
Her eyes narrowed. "Did Dick tell you about his scheme to discredit GFI?"
He studied her a moment. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh," she said, wrapping her arms around her waist, "I think you do. You told that reporter from The Dish everything in his article, didn't you?"
Harold chuckled. "You wound me. I shouldn't be surprised you'd try to blame me, though. You never did like me, did you? Why is that, Abby?"
"It had to be you. He accosted me out on the sidewalk a few minutes ago. It was the same guy I saw you talking to out front yesterday, so don't pretend you don't know him. You already told me Dick showed you my diary, and there are only a handful of other people who know about it."
"Have you forgotten Dick was one of my best friends? If he'd confided in me that he'd done something illegal, I never would have told a reporter about it. And Senator Carpenter is like a second father to me. Do you think I'd embarrass him by exposing his daughter-in-law as an adulteress?"
She flinched at his insult.
"You're quick to blame me," he said with a sneer. "But did you ever stop to think what you saw yesterday was nothing more than a reporter stopping one of your coworkers hoping to discover something?"
She eyed him in silence, as if processing his words. She swallowed and the smooth skin on her neck rippled. There was a question in her eyes now, as if she wasn't as sure as she'd been a minute ago.
"I know you showed Mr. Norwell that article on Friday. He told me you'd given it to him."
"He had a right to know. After all, Faraday is a client, and it could reflect badly on the firm when people find out the account manager handlin
g his account is sleeping with him."
"So you were just protecting the firm," she said sarcastically. "Nothing but altruistic motives?"
"Naturally." He smiled. "What else?"
"You were upset when you lost the Riv One account. I think you wanted to get back at me because of it. And I'm not convinced you didn't tell that reporter about my diary and about the Attorney General's investigation, maybe for the same reason."
"I told you," he said no longer amused with her accusations, "I'm not his source. Even if I knew about the investigation, I wouldn't have discredited Dick's memory or hurt the senator."
"Friends even in death?" She raised her eyebrows as if to mock him. "How sentimental of you."
His fingers itched to slap her. Miss high and mighty strutting around with her nose in the air all the time. The bitch needed to be taught a lesson in humility. Maybe someday he'd get the chance to do it.
"I don't think I'd talk to the press again if I were you, Harold," she said, then turned as if dismissing him and started for the door.
His jaw tightened. She had no respect for him. She didn't realize what he could do to her if he wanted. She was merely a woman, a small one at that.
"Is that supposed to frighten me? If I decide to talk to the press, there's nothing you can do about it. You have no influence over me, Abby, and I'm not afraid of you, so be careful who you threaten."
She stopped at the door, half turning and looked at him. "I'm not threatening you. It was merely a warning. You may not be afraid of me, Harold, but if Gage Faraday ever discovers you were responsible for those stories in the paper, you should be very afraid what might happen then."
He pushed out of his chair. "Don't go running to your boyfriend accusing me." He knew all about Faraday's reputation for dealing with people who crossed him. "I told you it wasn't me."
"Then I guess you have nothing to worry about, do you?" she said matter-of-factly, and walked out of his office.
~~~
Sitting at her desk several minutes later Abby covered her mouth with her hands, her fingers still shaking from the encounter with Billings. What if he hadn't been the one to talk to the reporter? Maybe Lerner had been waiting around just to talk to someone who knew her. That's what people like him did.
She didn't know what to think now. Other than the police, the only other person who knew about both her diary and details of the state investigation was Gage.
There were maybe four or five others who knew about her diary, but none of them could have known about Dick's involvement with the probe. None knew about his affair with the woman who'd forged the letter. Gage had told her the Attorney General hadn't released any of the specifics about the case except to Detective Simms.
Abby pushed her hands over her face and dragged them through her hair. So who was giving information to the press? She'd thought she had it all figured out, that Dick must have told Billings about his scheme. But if Billings was telling the truth and wasn't the source for the story, the only other logical assumption was that someone with the police had leaked the information. She couldn't believe it was Simms. Would Baker have said anything? Maybe, but wouldn't he be jeopardizing their case by doing so?
Of course, Billings could be lying. Was he really capable of the kind of loyalty he professed to have for Dick and his father? Not being the most objective person in his case, it was hard for her to imagine the man possessed many redeeming qualities, but he and Dick had been best friends. Dick had once said Harold Billings was the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother.
She wasn't an adulteress. She closed her eyes. How many people would believe the reporter's insinuations and slap the same label on her that Billings had? What would her parents think? Had they heard about this morning's story yet?
How naïve she'd been to hope Friday's article would be the end of it. Hadn't she learned better? The Dish was just the beginning. Other papers would pick up on the stories, and they'd become legitimized in the eyes of readers. It would get worse, much worse, and the scandal would be even more horrific. It was bad enough when she'd been made out the pathetic victim. Now she'd be portrayed as a murdering adulteress, and Gage would be crucified right along with her.
"I don't think I can do it again," she whispered to the room. The pointing fingers, the stares, the whispered words behind a hand as eyes followed her every move she—was afraid it could destroy her if she had to face it all again.
When Madeline had shown her the tabloid this morning, Abby hadn't wanted to believe it. In a moment of weakness she'd left the office with one thought in mind. She had to see Gage. Gage would know what to do. Gage would make everything all right.
He'd comforted her. He'd promised her they would get through this, that it would blow over and all she needed to do was trust him and let him take care of her.
She smiled with bittersweet remorse. If only it were that simple. How she'd love to let him take care of her, but that would be weak, and she'd never liked feeling weak.
Her throat tightened convulsively as she fought the urge to cry. She wouldn't give in to histrionics, especially not when anyone could walk in and witness her defeat.
If she got through today, then surely she could get through tomorrow. That was how she would deal with it. For the time being, she would only think of her life in terms of one day. And every day she would only have to concentrate on getting through that one day.
What of Gage though? Her heart ached, silently weeping, because she already knew the answer.
Her ex had accused Gage of fraud. The police considered him a suspect in Dick's murder, something that wouldn't have happened had it not been for her. Now his reputation was being slandered, and he'd been embroiled in a scandal…because of her. After Lerner's insinuations, she feared Gage would be portrayed as a ruthless murderer who'd killed Dick to eliminate his competition.
Abby got up and went to the window. The sun ricocheted off the mirrored panels of the building on the corner, and she squinted from the glare.
She'd loved him forever. She would not let them destroy him. And as hard as she tried to think of an alternative, there was only one way to protect him. She knew what she had to do.
~~~
At five twenty-eight that afternoon Eugene Simms thanked a certain developer in Florida for his patience with the Philadelphia police in the ongoing murder investigation of Dick Carpenter, hung up the phone, and leaned back in his chair. He scanned the notes he'd scribbled across the yellow legal pad on his desk.
After finally getting in touch with the guy late Friday afternoon, Baker had gotten the same story as they had the first time they'd questioned him. So Gene had decided to call him again, just in case Baker had missed something.
Why had Carpenter waited so long to give the developer an answer rather than agree to sell while he was in Florida? That was a new piece of information. But according to the developer, Carpenter took almost two weeks before calling to say they had a deal.
Maybe he hadn't been convinced his wife would sign the property over to him. Abby Carpenter claimed he'd been holding up their divorce but had said he'd let it go through if she would sign the land over to him as part of their settlement.
Gene picked up his pencil and tapped it against the edge of the desk, mulling possibilities. Carpenter wouldn't have waited. Abby Carpenter had said she wasn't attached to the property. Carpenter knew that. The deceased knew how badly she wanted the divorce to go through. He would have agreed to sell knowing she'd agree to almost anything to get out of the marriage. Everything Gene had learned about the man told him that's how it would have gone down.
The point stuck in his craw. He couldn't get past it. If Carpenter didn't agree, he ran the risk of the developer discovering it was his wife who held title to the property, in which case he could have, most probably would have, contacted her and the deceased would have been out a pretty chunk of cash.
Carpenter might have been a sleazy bastard, but he wasn't stupid. He would have cut the
deal on the spot, unless—
Unless why, damn it? He wanted time to think of a convincing explanation he could use to convince his wife as to why he wanted the property. Yeah, that's brilliant. Shit. He couldn't because he had an attack of conscience. And all the fish in the lake jumped out, stood on their tails and clapped. Gene threw the pencil on the desk.
Something was there, just beyond his reach. He was missing it. Even if he were to have gone on vacation, it wouldn't have been there. He didn't even like the place. Abby Carpenter's words came back to him. But he did go, Mrs. Carpenter, he thought. His eyes widened. Or had he? He grabbed the handset and hit redial for the last number called.
"Baker," he barked while he waited for an answer, "get in here."
The rookie appeared in the doorway, a fine example of conscientious eagerness. Amazing how motivating the threat of writing parking tickets for the next three months could be.
Gene held up a finger when he got the developer's voice mail. "This is Detective Simms again. I know you were leaving for the day, but something's come up you may be able to help us with. It's important we speak as soon as you get this message." He left three numbers, including his home number.
Withdrawing three photographs of Dick Carpenter from the case folder, he addressed Baker. "Take these up to Madison. Tell him I need eight by tens of each and see if he can do anything about the resolution on this one." He held up a picture of Carpenter standing next to his father at one of the senator's rallies and put it on the top of the other two. The photo had been taken a few years ago and was the best full face shot they had of their vic.
Baker came forward and took the pictures. When he was still there a moment later, Gene glanced up without lifting his head. His partner shifted his weight, looking indecisive. "Are you on to something?" he asked, swallowing.
Gene took pity on the guy. "It's just a hunch, but Mrs. Carpenter may have helped us out more than she realized." He hitched his head toward the door. "Tell Madison those enlargements are a priority. I'm going to see what I can do to hurry along the subpoena for Carpenter's bank records."
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