The Manolo Matrix

by Julie Kenner

  “No. And isn’t the point of those things to be romantic? What on earth were you doing talking with the driver?”

  “Bad date,” he said. “And very beside the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “The horses have names. I remember the one pulling our cart was Thibideaux.”

  “So maybe there’s a horse named Bishop.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, but what about the rest of the clue? The clock and the petals and the ever-so-encouraging reference to being dead? And what are we supposed to do once we find this horse?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And what about the stalling reference? Are we supposed to go to the horse stalls? Or are we supposed to find the horse with his carriage?”

  Devlin frowned. He’d been imagining a scenario where they found the horse, found the carriage, then found the answer. The possibility that the answer might not be there—that they might have to go to the stables—frustrated him. Especially since he had no idea where the stables might be.

  “Dev?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “First we need to find Bishop. After that, everything else will fall into place.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No,” he said. “But I believe in positive thinking.”

  “Me too,” she said, then stood up. “Let’s go.”

  He grabbed her tote bag for her, and she headed toward the door, pulling it open, and then letting out a scream that just about ripped his heart.

  He leaped forward, only to have her hold out a hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Oh, shit, he scared me.”

  Devlin looked around her into the hall and saw the room service cart there, along with a startled-looking waiter in uniform.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am.”

  “Not your fault,” Devlin said. He slipped out, taking Jenn’s hand and tugging her along past the cart. Then he took the cover off one plate and grabbed a strip of bacon. “Want some?” he asked her. “Because I think we’re getting room service to go.”

  Chapter

  39

  JENNIFER

  “W e’re never going to find a specific horse,” I said. “We don’t even know that this is where he’s working from, especially now that the Plaza is essentially shut down.”

  The taxi had dropped us off catty-corner to the Plaza Hotel, soon to be the Plaza condominiums, with just a few hotel rooms thrown in for good measure and to appease the locals who’d gone ballistic at the thought of the landmark hotel being transformed into a truly exclusive domain. A compromise had been reached (amazing, really, when you realize both politicians and real estate developers were involved in the squabble) and now the place was undergoing massive renovations.

  All of which would be of no interest to me whatsoever, except for the fact that the most popular location from which to hire a carriage and driver for a ride through Central Park was the little area by the statue of General Sherman just across from the Plaza. And now that there were fewer tourists in the area, there were also fewer carriages.

  “We start here,” Devlin said. “We ask all the drivers if they know a horse named Bishop, and if they don’t, we get the name of the company they work out of. I’ll keep asking drivers and you call the companies and do the same. That’s my plan. Direct, to the point, and hopefully brilliant.”

  I didn’t have a better plan. Plus, I agreed that his was pretty good. So we headed past General Sherman to the line of carriages. There were only five lined up, and I felt a little twinge of pessimism. It must have shown on my face, too, because Devlin said, “It’s only eight. Still early. There are probably more carriages coming.”

  “Evening is the time for romantic rides,” I said. “And I don’t have until tonight. Hell, I don’t even have until lunch. For all we know, the clue’s just going to lead us somewhere else. Probably all the way down to Battery Park. If we even find the clue in the first place.”

  “We’ll find it,” he said.

  I wanted to be as confident as he was, but I wasn’t doing a very good job. Still, my pessimism wasn’t going to stop me from doing my damnedest to find Bishop. So while Devlin started at one end of the line, I started at the other.

  “Hi,” I said, to a twenty-something driver with a dark brown horse. “That wouldn’t happen to be Bishop, would it?”

  “Nah,” he said. “That’s Roger. Twenty bucks gets you the short tour around. Great way to see the park. Head back home and tell all your friends.”

  “Home’s Midtown,” I said, “but thanks anyway.”

  “No prob. Bring a date some night,” he added, but I’d already moved on to the next horse in the carriage line. This one wasn’t Bishop, either, but he did give me good news. So good, in fact, that I almost kissed the driver and horse. I managed to restrain myself, though I did yell for Devlin at the top of my lungs, causing every tourist and driver in the area to turn and stare.

  Devlin raced over. “Bishop?” he said with a glance toward the horse.

  “Not this one, but he says Bishop works this corner.”

  “They should be along anytime. He’s usually here before me. Probably already in the park,” the other driver said. I didn’t know his name, but I decided he was my new best friend.

  “Should we wait?” Devlin asked. “Do you know for sure he’s here today?”

  The driver shook his head, and I felt the fear well up again. “Sorry. He hardly ever misses a day, so I’d lay odds he’s here. Of course, he coulda gotten an all-day job. Wedding. Someone gettin’ engaged, that kinda thing.”

  I met Devlin’s eyes.

  “We’ll hope not,” he said.

  “We can’t just wait around,” I said. “Tick tick, remember?”

  “I know. How long’s the ride through the park?” he asked the driver.

  “’Bout twenty minutes.”

  “We’ll wait fifteen. He’s not back, we’ll call his boss. Guy must have a cell phone.”

  “Sure thing,” the driver said. “He’s with Central Park Carriages. Not my outfit, but a good place. Owner’s solid. He’ll track Sean down if he can.”

  “Sean?”

  “Bishop’s driver.”

  “Right,” I said. To Devlin, “So, we wait?”

  “We wait.”

  And so we did. Neither one of us really spoke, but we both hopped to our feet like little electrified bunny rabbits every time a carriage arrived. Six new ones in the next ten minutes, and none of them Sean or Bishop.

  I was sitting there fretting again, when another carriage pulled up, this one with a ruddy-faced driver and a thin, brown horse. Not the hefty workhorses we’d seen pass by already.

  Considering the way our luck was going, I was slow to get up, letting Devlin take this one. He did, waiting as a young couple climbed out, patted the horse, then headed to the crosswalk. As they walked away, Devlin approached the driver and said something. The driver answered, they chatted some more, and then Devlin turned to me with an expression I recognized but wasn’t expecting to see: success.

  I was on my feet in about three seconds, shoving my way through the crowd as I trotted toward the blue carriage.

  “This is Sean,” Devlin said, introducing me to the driver. “And that’s Bishop.”

  “Hello, Bishop,” I said, rubbing my hand down the horse’s nose. “Hiya, Sean. We’re very glad to see you.”

  “Always glad to have a fare,” Sean said, with an Irish accent. “But why are you so interested in this rig?”

  “We’re interested in the horse,” Devlin said as he held out a hand for me, then helped me up into the carriage.

  As Sean looked on, Devlin followed. “All right,” Sean finally said, climbing back up onto the driver’s bench. “I can take a hint. No questions.”

  “Thanks. Just the short ride, okay?”

  “You got it.” Sean turned around long enough to make sure we were settled in, then urged Bishop on. And suddenly, there I was, taking a romantic c
arriage ride through Central Park in decidedly unromantic circumstances. I glanced over at Devlin and smiled. What a pity…

  I reined myself in and managed to focus, half-listening as Sean described the sights, and half-watching as Devlin slid his hand in between the padded seat and the padded back of the bench.

  So I wouldn’t be sitting there like a dolt, I scooted over to the facing seat and started doing the same thing. Nothing there.

  “Maybe there’s a storage container somewhere?”

  Devlin looked around, but didn’t see anything. He half-leaned out of the carriage, but, still, nothing.

  “I know I should just keep on with my tour—there’s the ice-skating rink, by the way—but you got my curiosity brewing. You lose something back there?”

  “Just looking around,” I said.

  “And what’s all this about you two waiting for my carriage specifically? I’m flattered, but I’m the inquisitive sort.”

  Devlin and I exchanged a glance, and after a second, Devlin drew in a breath. “We’re on a scavenger hunt. Follow clues through the city kind of thing.”

  “And a clue led you to me?”

  “Your horse. And your carriage,” I said.

  “Actually, that raises a good point. Is this the carriage that Bishop usually pulls?”

  “Yup. Cornelius—that’s my boss—he’s good about keeping us with the same horse and carriage.”

  “And this would be called a surrey?” I asked, looking around the blue buggy.

  “I call it a vis-à-vis. You know, ’cause four folks can sit looking at each other. The real name? You got me there.”

  “Anyone take a ride recently and hide anything?”

  “Nothing I’m aware of.”

  “Shit,” I said, but mostly to myself.

  “We’re coming up on the dairy,” Sean said, pointing out a building to the right. “Folks come there now to play chess, stuff like that. You want me to keep up with this?”

  “Go right ahead,” Devlin said. To me, he crooked a finger.

  As Sean continued to describe the surroundings—the large rocks that lined the carriage path were typical of the island’s topography—Devlin and I stared at the notebook where he’d copied the clue.

  “This part,” I said, pointing to the bit about the Beast. “Maybe it refers to Bishop. Maybe the clue’s hidden in Bishop’s saddle.”

  “She’s pulling a carriage,” Devlin said. “She doesn’t have a saddle.”

  “The thingamajig, then,” I said, pointing vaguely toward the horse and the big strap of leather around her chest. “The thing attached to the carriage.”

  “Not a Beast, but dead, and no use stalling,” Devlin said, his voice thoughtful.

  “And the clock ticking line, too. Don’t forget that.” I certainly couldn’t forget it.

  “Don’t worry. That’s definitely at the forefront.”

  “Damn rollerbladers!” That from Sean, and both Devlin and I whipped forward to face him. His already red face colored more. “Sorry. But that girl just cut right in front of Bishop. Almost spooked the old girl. Bad enough she was on the lane in the first place.” He looked like he had more to say, but he kept his temper in check. “Never you mind. It’s no problem now.” But he turned, looking down the lane in the direction the girl had gone, and I could almost see the angry vibes rising off of him. In the distance, I could just make out a blond ponytail swinging rhythmically over tight black biker shorts and a black Lycra top. One of those typical Manhattan pretty girls who was convinced the normal rules didn’t apply to her.

  I tried to focus back on the clue, but something about the girl’s cockiness nagged at me. And then, in one quick burst of inspiration, I had it. I was right! I had to be right. “Devlin,” I said, grabbing his hand. “I’ve got a pretty big ego and all, but what if the ticking clock thing doesn’t really refer to me?”

  Devlin shook his head, clearly not following.

  “Broadway reference, right?” I looked wildly around, then found what I was looking for: a chrome bud vase with a single tulip inside. “The Beast. What if it means Beauty and the Beast? He’ll stay a beast if he doesn’t find love by the time the last petal falls. But not me. I don’t stay anything at all. I end up dead,” I said, lowering my voice so Sean couldn’t hear.

  “Not a beast, but dead,” Devlin said, clearly picking up on my groove. “I think you’ve got something.”

  I scooted over to the far seat and tried to tug the vase out of its holder, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Inside,” Devlin said, moving to sit next to me.

  I nodded, then yanked out the tulip. And then, even though I really didn’t want to, I stuck my finger down inside and found…nothing. I looked at Devlin, panic really building in me now. “It’s almost nine. I’m running out of time!”

  “You’re sure there’s nothing in there?”

  “Positive!”

  “You think your next clue’s in the vase?” Sean asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “It’s our best guess,” Devlin said. “But it doesn’t look like there’s anything in there. Mind if I unhook the vase, just to make sure?”

  “If you can get it off, be my guest.”

  As Sean went back to steering us down the path, Devlin opened his pocket knife to the screwdriver, then went to work on the metal band that kept the vase secured to the side of the carriage. “Damn, this thing’s tight,” he said, grunting with effort. “Okay, I think I got it loose. See if you can tug out the vase.”

  I balanced on the front seat, grabbed the top of the vase, and pulled. It didn’t come free, but it did wiggle, and that gave me enough confidence to keep at it. A few more turns from Devlin’s screwdriver and a few more tugs from me, and the vase slipped free.

  Devlin grabbed it from me immediately, then turned it upside down and smacked it sharply against his thigh. I stared, at first baffled, and then incredibly relieved as something cylindrical and wrapped in duct tape finally came dislodged.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “Gimme.”

  He did, and I put my manicured fingernails to good use, destroying the polish, but managing to get the tape loose. Slowly, I realized that what I was revealing was a shot glass from the Jekyll & Hyde Club, a kitschy restaurant a few blocks away. And there, nestled at the bottom under a large cotton ball, was a pink and white capsule filled with tiny little granules.

  I shook the capsule out into my hand, then looked up at Devlin. “That looks like an antihistamine. Don’t tell me all this time we’ve been freaking out over the possibility of me getting a rash.”

  “I know you’re nervous,” he said. Smart man. “Take it.”

  Our voices were still low, and I don’t think Sean heard. More, I didn’t want him to hear, which meant that I had to restrain myself from screaming in frustration, fear, and a whole bunch of other indefinable emotions. The truth is, I have a phobia about pharmaceuticals, and the thought of now taking some pill of unknown origin was enough to make me more than a little queasy. Too queasy, and I might throw the whole thing up. And how counterproductive would that be?

  “Just take the damn thing,” Devlin said.

  Right. Sure. No problem.

  I’d just about convinced myself to do that when I realized we were back where we started. “Home again, home again,” Sean said, pulling Bishop to a stop.

  I caught Devlin’s eyes and he nodded. I understood what he meant—let’s get down and away, and then you can take it. Despite the freaky circumstances, I felt a rush of warmth. I’d never really communicated this well with anyone before. So well that we didn’t even need words. Was it Devlin? I wondered. Or was it just the circumstances?

  At any rate, Sean climbed down from the driver’s bench. I half-stood, then reached out to take Sean’s offered hand. As I did, I automatically scanned the crowd behind him, tourists and locals come to either take a ride or ogle the horse. As Sean’s fingers closed around mine, I saw a flash of blond hair in the nearby crowd. The people sh
ifted, and I saw the biker shorts, black Lycra top, and rollerblades of the girl from the path.

  She looked up, I saw her face, and the world turned red. Bird Girl!

  And, goddamn it, she was holding a gun!

  “Devlin!” I screamed, kicking out and catching Sean in the chest. He went sprawling on the concrete just as a shot rang out, barely missing Devlin, who’d thrown himself down inside the carriage.

  I yelped and stumbled backwards as the crowd scattered, clearing a path for Bird Girl’s next shot.

  Not that we were waiting around.

  I scrambled up and onto the driver’s seat, taking the reins and screaming, “Go!” Not horse-speak, but Bishop knew what I meant, and she bolted onto the street.

  I heard the crack of wood as a bullet stuck in the side of the carriage.

  I gasped, bouncing as the carriage lurched over curbs, Bishop going as fast as she could toward Fifth Avenue.

  Devlin scrambled up next to me. “She’s back there,” he said. “On those damn rollerblades.”

  “She’s going to catch us,” I yelled. “There’s no place for us to go. Bishop’s just not maneuverable enough.”

  He took the reins and pulled Bishop to a stop. “Come on,” he said, yanking me down to the ground. He grabbed a passerby and handed him the reins. “This horse belongs to Sean. He’ll be along any second.” To me, he yelled, “Run!”

  I didn’t argue. I ran, Devlin right beside me. Fifth Avenue was wall-to-wall people, and even though she’d fired at Devlin back by the horses, I didn’t think she’d fire into the crowd. Back there, she’d had a clear shot. Here, though, well, she’d likely hit a tourist. More, she’d likely get caught by a civilian looking to play hero. Whoever Bird Girl was, she wasn’t dumb. I already knew that much.

  And that, I hoped, gave us an advantage.

  Only one block, and I had a stitch in my side and my lungs were burning. “Not…a…runner…” I managed.

  “Just keep going,” Devlin said, and, damn the man, he didn’t even sound tired.

  I sucked in air, slowing as I looked back. About a block away I saw a flash of blond, moving fast in our direction. Shit!