by Jane Heller
“Do you have to get that?” I asked.
“Yes. Michelle’s off today.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
We left the sunroom and walked in lockstep to the front door. Normally, whenever we were side by side, I felt dwarfed by her, diminished, but on this day, despite the height differential, I felt her equal.
She opened the door to find four men of varying shapes and sizes.
“Mrs. Lasher?” said one of them, the guy with the paunch and the Mets jersey. He had a nice, jolly smile.
“Yes?” said Tara.
“We came to talk to your husband,” he said, pronouncing the h in husband with lots of phlegm behind it. With a Russian accent, in other words.
“Stuart isn’t here,” she said. “But you’re Sergei, aren’t you? I remember when you stopped by to meet with him.”
“Correct,” he said with a little bow.
“You were selling him gold,” she said.
He seemed surprised. “He tell you what I sell him?”
“Yes,” said Tara. “But I don’t know where he is, Sergei. He’s, uh, traveling.”
“Then you must find him and tell him I look for him,” he said, and the sentiment was echoed in a choruslike way by his companions.
“I’ll tell him,” she said. “But I really don’t know when that’ll be.”
He smiled again, wider this time. “I don’t like to scare you,” he said, “but please find him fast or you have serious consequence.”
Tara looked at me for help. I didn’t know what to do, because the guy’s demeanor seemed so friendly and yet his words sounded so menacing, and I was confused. Or was he the one who was confused?
“Maybe you didn’t understand Mrs. Lasher because of the language barrier,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “She doesn’t know where her husband is at the moment.”
He bowed at the waist, just as he’d done before. “Who are you and what’s it your business?”
I squared my shoulders and stuck out my chin. “I’m her best friend.”
He nodded. “Then you have serious consequence, too.”
Before I could think of a snappy comeback, he stepped closer, apologized for having to disturb us on a lovely Saturday, then issued a final warning, the gist of which was this: If he didn’t hear from Stuart soon, we’d be sorry.
I’ve got to tell you: After a morning of apologies, neither of us had the energy to be sorry for anything else.
30
“Okay, Tara. Who the hell is this Sergei character?” I asked when the coast was clear and we were back in the sunroom.
“He’s some guy who used to work at Lasher’s. I think Stuart said he was in the produce department at the Westport store.”
“So what’s he all upset about? Did Stuart fire him? Are we talking about a disgruntled employee?”
She shook her head. “Supposedly, he’s in the jewelry business now. He came here once to sell Stuart some gold chains. It was the morning after you and Tony slept in the guest house, in fact.”
“He’s in the jewelry business? Then why wasn’t he wearing any?”
“Jewelry?”
“Yeah. Usually, people who sell it wear it, because they get it at cost. I didn’t see so much as a pinkie ring on either Sergei or his buddies.”
“Truthfully, I never bought the gold chains story. When I overheard them in the library that day and Sergei used the words ‘pure gold’ to describe what he was selling, I thought it might be drugs. Jimmy and I even confronted Stuart about it, but he never gave us a straight answer.”
“I think you should call Jimmy and tell him what just happened.”
“Good idea.”
She got up to call her brother-in-law, while I sat there counting my blessings that I hadn’t become a Lasher—that Tara had married Stuart and saved me the headache. Still, I had vowed to be her best friend yet again and, according to Sergei, that meant that her serious consequence was now my serious consequence.
“Jimmy was on another line, but Peg will have him call me right back,” she said, returning to the room.
“Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking about Sergei’s visit. Now that you’ve got this guy coming to your house and making threats, you can’t sit back and wait out Stuart’s disappearance anymore, Tara. Besides, Tony said the cops could turn up the heat on us the longer he’s missing.”
“On us?”
“Yeah. Because you’re the scorned wife who hated him and I’m the jilted fiancée who hated him. If he doesn’t show his face around here soon, they’ll decide that there was foul play and we’ll be at the top of their list of suspects.”
“Lovely.”
“We have to find out what happened to him. And we have to do it right away.”
Before she could answer, the phone rang. It was Jimmy. She told him about Sergei, then listened. And as she did, her normally rosy complexion turned pale.
“What did he say?” I asked when she hung up.
“He checked with Lasher’s Human Resources person, and guess what? Nobody named Sergei ever worked for them. Not in the Westport store. Not in any of the stores. So Stuart was lying to us. Such a piece of work, my husband.”
“Does Jimmy have any idea who Sergei is or how Stuart might have met him?”
“None. And he’s afraid to involve the police because, as I mentioned, he doesn’t want to stir them up and create a circus atmosphere at Lasher’s. And then there’s my book. I can’t let my asshole husband wreck sales.”
She twirled the ends of her golden locks around her index finger and looked hopeless.
“Okay,” I said, trying to be upbeat. “First things first. Regarding Stuart’s disappearance and how Sergei may or may not have anything to do with it, I think we should bring in a professional.”
“I already told you. We don’t want a scandal. No police.”
“Forget the police. I meant Tony.”
She allowed herself a half smile. “Your fiancé for hire?”
“Why not? He’s a mystery writer. He spends his days dreaming up murder plots and then solving them. Not only that; he’s got amazing contacts in law enforcement, on the street, you name it. I’ll bet he can figure out who Sergei is and why he’s so interested in finding Stuart. Maybe he can even find Stuart himself.”
“Part of me doesn’t want him to find Stuart. It’s been a pleasure without him around. If the past few days are any indication, my life will be fantastic after I divorce him—if he’s still alive for me to divorce, that is.”
“You do have to find him, and if anyone can help, it’s Tony. I know he can. So what do you say? Should we twist his arm?”
“You’re the one who manages to get him to do things he wouldn’t otherwise do, aren’t you? I’ll leave this in your capable hands. Speaking of which, how can we ensure that this mess won’t affect Simply Beautiful?”
“You haven’t told Julie Farrell about Stuart, right?”
“Not a word.”
“So as far as she’s concerned, you two are the blissfully happy couple you wrote about.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then there are a couple of options. Either you tell her what’s going on and see if she wants to postpone publication or you don’t tell her what’s going on but we cancel the publicity campaign.”
“Actually, there’s a third option,” she said. “I don’t tell her what’s going on and we follow through with the publicity campaign as planned. That’s my pick.”
So I was right. Tara couldn’t resist the spotlight. “The third option will be tricky. We’ve only got a month until your launch party at Julie’s apartment. If Stuart doesn’t turn up in one piece in time to stand by your side at that party, it’s going to be hard to explain to the media why your adoring, poetry-writing, violin-playing, simply beautiful husband isn’t there.”
“You just said Tony’s the best at all this stuff, that he would find Stuart, dead or alive.”
“He is the best, but w
e’ve only got four weeks to—”
“You also said you and he are very close now,” she added, interrupting me. “And you have me to thank for that. If I hadn’t been so persistent about inviting your ‘fiancé’ here for dinner, you might never have become—let’s see, what are you two, exactly?”
“We’re not engaged, if that’s what you’re hinting at. We’re just enjoying each other’s company for now.”
“Which is another way of saying you’re in love.”
“In love? Come on. He has the worst track record when it comes to women. He’s had girlfriend after girlfriend, without putting a ring on any of their fingers. I care about him, sure, but there’s no point in being in love with him.”
“Amy Sherman. You and I have a long history together. I know you better than anybody. You may have fooled me with the fake fiancé thing, but you’re not fooling me about your feelings for Tony. You love that guy, whatever his track record is. I can see it on your face. And who can blame you? He’s smart and adorable and rich. The whole enchilada.”
“Getting back to finding Stuart,” I said. “I’ll ask Tony if he’ll take time off from his writing to investigate. But as for the publicity for the book, we’ll have to—”
“Carry on as if Stuart hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“What? Oh, Tara. I’m the last person to pull back from a publicity campaign, but Betsy Kirby, my pain-in-the-ass boss, breathes down my neck and doesn’t let me get away with anything. And then there’s Scott, my assistant. Keeping him out of my business is always a challenge. So how in the world could I execute an effective campaign while pretending that Stuart hasn’t disappeared?”
“Hey, we’ve both been doing plenty of pretending lately. This shouldn’t be a stretch for either of us.”
“True, but, practically speaking, what am I supposed to say when the media wants to interview you and Stuart together?”
“That he’s away on business.”
“How about if it’s a radio show that wants to do a call-in interview with him?”
“Say he’s far away on business and there’s no cell-phone signal where he is.”
“Okay, but magazines like People are going to want a photo of you two sipping champagne in the bathtub. What do I tell them? That Stuart can’t do the tub thing because he’s traveling the outer reaches of the globe in search of the most virginal olive oil?”
“Works for me.”
That night, I waited until after Tony and I had made love and he was, literally, putty in my hands before I related what had happened at Tara’s and asked him if he’d investigate Stuart’s disappearance.
“You realize you’re asking me to put aside my novel,” he said. “Trying to find a missing person is a full-time proposition.”
“I know. But you’re our only hope.” I nibbled his earlobe for extra emphasis.
“Connie won’t want me to stop writing,” he said. “She’s got a tight deadline.”
“I’ve got a tight deadline, Tony. Tara’s book party is in precisely three weeks, four days, and twenty-two hours. I can hear the clock ticking in my sleep. If Stuart isn’t there, the book is toast and so’s my job. Hell, if he isn’t there, Tara and I could be toast. You said it yourself. The longer he’s gone, the more attention the police will give the investigation. You don’t want to see me in handcuffs, do you?”
He smiled. “I’d love to see you in handcuffs,” he said as I continued to nibble. “Actually, I might have a pair in the closet. Should I get ’em?”
“Another time. Listen, don’t worry about Connie. I’ll handle her.”
“Even so, there’s no guarantee that I can be the hero here,” he said, starting to become aroused again.
“You’re my hero no matter what,” I said, abandoning his earlobe so I could nibble farther south, down the side of his neck.
“That’s very sweet, buttercup, and I’d like to pitch in, but—”
“And then there’s the fact that Sergei included me in his threat,” I said, climbing on top of him when I realized how quickly he’d risen to the occasion. “You wouldn’t want any harm to come to me, would you? Not when we’ve only just discovered how much we mean to each other?”
He kissed me hard on my mouth and rolled me over. We indulged in some pretty hot kissing for a minute or two.
“I’ve got a question for you,” he said at the first opportunity.
“What?” I said, breathless and longing for more.
“Do you ever stop pitching? Or am I doomed to be your poor browbeaten author who always gets talked into doing what he doesn’t want to do?”
“Oh, I think you’re doing exactly what you want to do,” I whispered, resting my case.
31
“You want Tony to what?” said Connie after I popped my head into her office, confided in her about Stuart, and told her I’d asked her star writer to stop writing. Little did I know that Julie Farrell had just lectured her about the importance of getting her manuscripts to the production department earlier, so my timing wasn’t great.
“We’re only talking about three weeks,” I said. “Tara and I need him to find out what happened to Stuart—before her publication party.”
“Tara and you? Don’ttellmeyou’refriendsagain?”
“What?”
“I said, Don’t tell me you’re friends again?”
I nodded. “I know what you’re thinking—that she’s manipulating me, just like the old days. But I volunteered this time. Besides, we’ve both made mistakes, and she’s really in a bind now and I can’t not help her. Which is why Tony has to take a break from working on his book. He’s a professional crime solver. You’ve said so yourself.”
“Look, I’m not his keeper. He’s a grown man and he can do what he wants. But if that book is late and we have to bump it back in the schedule, it’s your ass on the line, not mine.”
“Enough said.”
“Good. So what’s with you and Tony on the personal side?”
“On the personal side?”
“Yeah. Now that you two spent all those months together, pretending to be engaged, you’ve fallen for him, right?”
“What do you mean by ‘fallen for him’?”
“You know damn well what I mean. Do you love the guy or not?”
“I—” First Tara. Now Connie. Couldn’t I just enjoy Tony without defining our relationship? Okay, so the truth was, I wasn’t ready to let myself love him. Not before I knew how he felt about me. “I like him a lot” was how I answered the question.
“It would be very helpful if you could tell me about Stuart’s specific duties at Lasher’s,” said Tony. He and Tara and I had gone to Lasher’s headquarters that night for a meeting with Jimmy, figuring he was the best place to start. At first, it was awkward between us—between Jimmy and me, that is. After all, I hadn’t seen him since I first got engaged to Stuart. But I’d always liked Jimmy and bore him no ill will, so we quickly moved to the matter at hand.
“It pains me to say this about my own brother,” he began, “but Stuart had no patience, no follow-through when it came to business.” He stopped, caught himself. “I can’t believe I’m talking about him in the past tense. He could be alive, right?”
“Of course he could,” said Tara, patting him on the hand.
“What I’m trying to say,” he continued, “is that Stuart is drawn to shortcuts, and his shortcuts usually result in trouble for the company.” He related the episode about the mislabeling of melons.
“Was there any trouble at the time of his disappearance?” asked Tony.
“Only that profits in general have been down,” said Jimmy, “and yet Stuart continued to live like a king. His personal debts were mounting and he was feeling pressure from his creditors.”
“Interesting,” said Tony as he scribbled in a small notebook. “Getting back to his job—what, exactly, is his role at the company?”
“For the past year, he’s been in charge of our imported delicacies. He came to
me a while ago and asked if he could handle caviar, truffles, and the like.”
“Not a huge part of your inventory, I’m guessing.”
“No, except that it’s gotten more complicated recently, particularly the caviar. After the Soviet Union collapsed, the whole industry went crazy. Their government used to control the harvesting of the sturgeon, as well as the exporting of the caviar, but now the poachers and smugglers run the show, and the sturgeon’s practically endangered. So Stuart’s been spending time finding legal sources to keep up with our customer demand.”
“Legal sources?” asked Tony.
“Legal as of 1998,” said Jimmy. “That was the year the U.S. government put strict guidelines in effect to control the exporting of the good stuff.”
“When you say ‘the good stuff,’ you mean beluga?” asked Tara.
“Yeah,” he said. “The real Russian beluga from the Caspian Sea. Caviar lovers call it ‘black gold.’”
She and I looked at each other.
“Black gold?” we said in unison.
Jimmy nodded. “Why the reaction?”
“Because the mysterious Sergei, the one Stuart claimed used to work in Lasher’s Westport store, but who didn’t, came to our house to sell Stuart ‘pure gold,’” said Tara. “We thought he was selling jewelry or even drugs, remember, Jimmy? Well, it must have been caviar. They were probably talking about black gold.”
“A good possibility,” said Tony. “Sergei could be one of those sources you mentioned, Jimmy. But not a legal source.”
“If he’s a smuggler, he’s taking big chances in this country,” said Jimmy. “The new guidelines make it tough on them. The federal Fish and Wildlife Service requires permits at every port. They even take samples from shipments and use DNA testing on them.”
“Yes, but Stuart was so secretive about him, so it would make sense that he’s a smuggler,” said Tara. “I just don’t know why he showed up at my door and threatened me. It’s not as if I had anything to do with the business.”
“Maybe Stuart owes him money,” said Tony. “Maybe he wasn’t paid for the last shipment because Stuart’s financial situation is worse than anybody thought.”