Intrusion

by Kay, Arlene

  That explained Lucian Sand’s fervor, but it didn’t explain his attraction to me. I certainly understood the pain of losing someone you loved, someone who was part of you like a twin or Kai. But why put the heavy moves on a dull, dispirited widow who begged to be left alone?

  “Why the interest in our Dr. Sand? Don’t tell me you’re attracted to him.” Rand got that rakish look on his face. “Don’t worry. I totally understand. He is hot, hot, hot. Great body. That man spends more time at the gym than …”

  The look on my face dampened his enthusiasm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. B. Ready to do those financials?”

  ~

  When we met for dinner that night Candace Ott was wired. We ordered cocktails, perused the menu and got down to business. Whenever Candy has something to share, her eyes narrow, and she twists a clump of hair into a braid. She wonders why I always skewer her at poker.

  “I’ve got news,” she chirped, “but you go first.”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t dream of it.” I waved her on.

  “OK. Get this. I chatted up a few clients and got some great scoop.”

  Torture isn’t sanctioned by the ABA, but it sure is fun. I said nothing, showing Candy my stone face.

  “Betts, aren’t you curious?” Her cat eyes looked feverish.

  By the time the waiter appeared, took our order with a flourish and glided toward the kitchen, Candy’s patience was exhausted. She did a quick check of the area and took the plunge.

  “OK. Both of my clients knew Ian Cotter. Very well. Her eye roll was a thing of beauty. “Apparently, he provided those extra services to virtually every woman he met, not just Tatiana and her ilk. Several husbands found out, and one actually duked it out with him.”

  I rewarded Candy with a nod of approval. When I spilled my tale about Meg Cahill, she squealed.

  We sat silently while our waiter presented my cucumber and apple soup and her Salade Niçoise. Radius kept its temperature at a perfect sixty-eight degrees, but that didn’t stop me from shivering. Tommy had connected these dots months ago. He was troubled, and he had tried to use me as a sounding board. I’d failed him.

  “Oh, Betts, what are we going to do?”

  Candy whined like a spoiled schoolgirl. I had no one to cling to anymore, and her dependency grated on me. Why must I always be the strong one?

  “Calm down. Let’s take this step by step. Did you learn anything new about Mary Alice Tate?”

  She shrugged. “What’s to learn? She offed herself. Everyone knows that.”

  “Focus, Candy, focus. We know she had heart trouble. Right? She had an IMD.”

  “IMD? Isn’t that one of those explosive things they use in Iraq? What’s that got to do with anything?” She was losing interest. Immediacy was the key to keeping the mercurial Candace Ott engaged.

  “Implantable Medical Device, IMD, get it? Back to Mary Alice. In her case someone leaked confidential information. I don’t understand the area enough to gauge the link to CYBER-MED, and I’ve pumped Rand Lindsay to the limit.”

  Candy’s eyes sparkled. “How about pumping Lucian Sand? That would be something worth doing.”

  Deep breathing exercises didn’t work. To Candy’s delight, I blushed like a Cape Cod sunset. Sensing my vulnerability, she immediately pounced.

  “Aha! You have been thinking of him, haven’t you, Betts? Come clean. I hear that no one makes love like a Frenchman.”

  “Stop that right now, although I admit Lucian is attractive.”

  “Attractive? Honey, he’s downright gorgeous and very into you. I can always tell.”

  A good offense always works with Candy, plus it sidetracks her immediately.

  “I saw your sweetie, Arun Rao, today. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  We spent the next half-hour reviewing my day at CYBER-MED with special emphasis on Arun Rao.

  “He’s very intense, Betts. You know the type. Starts at your forehead and doesn’t miss anything.” She heaved a big sigh. “Not that I couldn’t up his game a bit. More polish and a little finesse, if you get my drift. I got the teensiest hint that he was completing a mental checklist.”

  I got it, all right. Arun Rao was robotic, making love by rote. I prayed he wasn’t using my friend, just as I hoped Lucian Sand wasn’t deceiving me.

  I patted Candy’s hand. “Just be careful. Remember, someone at CYBER-MET may be a murderer. Arun has motive, opportunity and the right skill set.”

  Candy batted her lashes and switched back to Tommy. “So, our boy was doing Tinkerbell and anyone else he could get. I’m not surprised.”

  “Tinkerbell?”

  “You know, Meg Cahill. I expect her to sprinkle fairy dust in the air some day and fly around the room. It’s all an act, of course. That woman’s a calculating bitch.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t have a chance to open all Tommy’s files. I’ll do that tomorrow. Meantime, I spent three boring hours on their financial statements, quarterly projections, and accounts receivable. Frankly, it was underwhelming.”

  “How so?” She was humoring me. I knew Candy had zero interest in anything but the bottom line.

  “Don’t spend your inheritance just yet. From what I could see, CYBER-MED barely breaks even. I’m sure they’re counting on getting more customers or a leveraged buyout. All that depends on maintaining a spotless reputation. It argues against cutting any corners. Too risky.”

  Sometimes Candy surprises me. This was one of those times. She tossed her head back and got that steely look. “Tommy wouldn’t allow shortcuts, not ones that jeopardized someone’s life. He was too ethical and too smart.”

  “He did something that made him a target. Maybe I’ll find it in those private files.”

  We shared dessert, spending several delicious minutes inhaling calories. Before we parted I gave Candy her assignment.

  “OK, Lois Lane, here’s your task. Chat up anyone involved with this Mary Alice Tate thing. Find out who benefited from her suicide.”

  Candy licked her spoon. “It was suicide, wasn’t it? I mean, what if someone knocked her off?” Those cat eyes gleamed with excitement.

  I held up my hand. “Whoa. Wait just a minute. Stop this conspiracy shit. I don’t care about Mary Alice Tate. It’s Tommy we’re focused on. Right?”

  “I guess. Then why have me snooping around? Doesn’t make any sense.” Candy pursed her lips in a mutinous expression I was very familiar with. Time to apply a liberal dose of soft soap, lavender scented.

  “Look. I thought we divided up the workload. I do the mind-numbing number crunching, and you do the personality stuff. Didn’t you tell me you’re far better at worming secrets out of people?”

  “Well.” Candy brightened as a man two tables over gave her the eye. “OK, Betts. I have a couple of ideas. The only one that stumps me is that Judge Jacob Arthur. One look at that man and you knew he never used grooming products.” She sighed. “All that money, and he let himself go to pot.”

  “I don’t suppose he had any family members in your social circle?”

  Candy knew everyone worth knowing in greater Boston.

  “Hmm. Let me think about that. He had two college-age daughters. I think they go to Boston College or somewhere else around here. Very Catholic, the judge was. Probably made them genuflect every day.”

  “What about Mrs. Arthur? Any connections to her?”

  A smile eclipsed every trace of pique. “Maybe. There’s a women’s forum in Back Bay tomorrow. Some dreadful cause like rehabilitating women convicts. Mrs. Arthur is the chair. She’s a therapist, you know, very big into self-help.”

  It was uncanny. I found myself reading Candy’s mind. “Oh, I get it. Sweet Nothings might offer free products to these poor unfortunates. Very public spirited.”

  Candy nodded. “The awesome Candace Ott might even be persuaded to conduct a session for them.” She gathered her things. “Let me make some calls tonight. I feel lucky.”

  Eleven

  Lucian didn’t call that evening,
not that I expected him to. I didn’t want to hear from him. He had probably found some simpler woman to pester, one without a murdered friend and an otherworldly husband. I busied myself with research. Mental exertion is just the ticket when personal demons overwhelm me. Tonight my target was Secretary of State Richard Chernikova. The Internet fairly buzzed with information about him. He was both lionized and vilified for his positions on virtually every issue except one: Liberals and conservatives agreed that his advocacy for stem cell research and diabetes prevention was admirable.

  Everywhere Chernikova went, he was surrounded by a phalanx of armed agents who were part of his protective detail. He wasn’t an easy target, and Tommy knew that. Why had he included Chernikova on his list? Perhaps the enemy was an unseen intruder within the Secretary’s own body.

  I rubbed my eyes as exhaustion overcame me. Candy would blow a gasket if she saw that. Rubbing one’s eyes is a cardinal sin punishable by sagging, aged lids. Guilty!

  Della had already curled up on her bed. At least one of us would get her beauty sleep tonight. I stifled a yawn and rose to join her. Then I saw it. According to the Boston Globe, the Honorable Richard Chernikova was the guest speaker tomorrow night at the High Hopes Ball, a fundraiser for the Joslin Diabetes Center. Kai’s family foundation gave generously to all types of charities in the Boston area, particularly the ones affiliated with Harvard. I leapt up, propelled by a sudden burst of energy. Mail still arrived addressed to Mr. Kai Buckley. My pulse quickened each time I saw those paper tributes, almost as if he were still alive. I stacked the flyers, solicitations and announcements neatly on his desk just as I’d done before that awful day. Candy considered it barbaric, but the ritual comforted me. Kai’s continual presence was something that sustained and nurtured me as it always had before. We were joined, irrevocably bound in life and death.

  I skimmed the solicitation pile and found it, an invitation to the High Hopes Ball. Each ticket was a pricey five hundred dollars. Several months ago, almost without thinking, I’d written a check, purchasing two seats in the names of Mr. and Mrs. Kai Buckley. Funny. I didn’t mind using his name, didn’t feel diminished at all. My husband was everything to me even now.

  Tomorrow—tonight, actually—I would see Richard Chernikova in person. Don’t ask me why. It wouldn’t resolve any questions about Tommy’s death, but it might motivate me. Besides, as a partner of CYBER-MED, it was my duty. Tommy was always big on duty.

  I flopped into bed with my head full of plans. Sleep immediately overwhelmed me until the persistent ringing of the phone brought me back.

  “Hello.”

  “Were you dreaming?” Even half asleep, I recognized that voice.

  “Are you mad? It’s three o’clock.”

  Lucian laughed. “I can join you. Share your dreams, perhaps.”

  “Go away.” I disconnected and burrowed into my pillows. Inspiration struck just before Morpheus claimed me. I grabbed my phone and stabbed the redial button. Lucian answered immediately, sounding disgustingly chipper.

  “Are you free for dinner tonight?” I asked.

  “For you?” He gave that throaty laugh. “Oui, Elisa, toujours.”

  “I’m serious. It’s a formal event, black tie, and I need an escort.” I deliberately avoided the more daunting term date.

  “How charming. What time shall I pick you up?”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll meet you at the Copley Plaza at eight o’clock.”

  “I insist on picking you up, if you want an escort.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, you’re not my guardian angel, you know.”

  “Are you so sure about that? Maybe I am.”

  Another throaty chuckle. Lucian must think I’m a riot.

  “Fine. I’ll see you at eight. Goodnight.”

  “A bientot. ‘Til then, ma belle.”

  ~

  Five hours later, after two double espressos and a cold shower, I still couldn’t believe it. What was I thinking? Did I think at all when it came to Lucian Sand? The man was trouble with a capital T, yet I’d asked him out. On a date. Me, Elisabeth Buckley, hermit, martyr and grieving wife. I hugged Della, taking comfort in her silky fur.

  Today’s schedule was insane: a morning conference at Sweet Nothings followed by four hours of maintaining the facade at CYBER-MED and a mad dash to get ready for the ball. Most of all, I dreaded Candy’s reaction to my new social life. I spent the entire morning procrastinating. It was craven and puerile, but I couldn’t help it. On the way out the door, I casually mentioned the High Hopes Ball to Candy, emphasizing the chance to mingle with Richard Chernikova. I reduced an elegant social event to a dreary business obligation that might connect to Tommy. After all, sponsors were invited to an elite after-party that sounded very promising.

  Candy wasn’t fooled for a moment. “Oh, my God! What are you going to wear? You know the media will swarm the joint because of Chernikova.” She leapt to her feet and started pacing. “I’m trying to imagine your wardrobe. Let me think for a minute.”

  I waited her out. Even cyclones ultimately run their course. Maybe if she agonized over my appearance, she’d forget the date issue. Fat chance.

  “You can’t wear black. It’s way too somber for an occasion with hope as its theme. I know. That peach silk sari Kai brought back from India. Just the ticket.” She sighed and plastered her face with a foolish grin. “Of course, I’ll have to help you. You can’t get into that thing without a dresser.”

  I nodded meekly and gathered my things. “Be there by six-thirty. The ball starts at eight.”

  “Hold on.” Candy did a quick pirouette. “You can’t go alone. You’d look like an outcast or an assassin.” She gave me the death house stare. “Wait a minute. I get it. You have a date, don’t you Mrs. Buckley? Fess up.”

  “An escort, not a date.”

  Candy waved her arms. “Pish tosh. You’re going with the devastating Doctor, aren’t you? Oh, Lord, Lucian Sand in a tuxedo. What a sight. Men always look like a million bucks in a penguin suit anyway. Remember when we launched Sweet Nothings?”

  My heart contracted into a sodden heap. How could I ever forget? Kai and Tommy had looked like gods in their finery, especially Kai. I recalled the moonlight twinkling off those silver streaks in his hair. We danced and drank champagne until dawn, then went to the harbor to watch the sunrise.

  Candy touched my arm. “Hey, don’t be sad. Those were happy times, but they’re in the past. Kai and Tommy moved on. You need to make new memories, too, Betts. Kai would want that.”

  I blinked back yesterday and faced forward. “You’re right, of course. See you tonight.”

  Through divine intervention or something very like it, I snagged a cab immediately. The driver lurched through the streets, jabbering into a cell phone in some foreign tongue while I put on my game face. In all likelihood, someone at CYBER-MED had taken my friend’s life, someone who thought murder was fun. I shivered at the memory of the cassette and that raucous laugh. Tommy had sounded surprised, puzzled even. That meant the murderer was unlikely, not the stock movie character that radiates menace. Who knows? Maybe a petite, pixyish woman with a rich husband might fit the bill.

  I finalized my plans before entering CYBER-MED. Today was definitely a research day. I had four hours to pore over Tommy’s private files and glean whatever information I could from them. One inconsistency plagued me. If his murderer was at CYBER-MED, why were Tommy’s personal files left intact? Wiping a computer clean is no big deal in a place loaded with brainy techno-geeks. I had theories, not answers. A crafty killer might leave the files there, particularly if they seemed innocent enough. A blank computer could shine a bright neon light on CYBER-MED. Time may also have been a factor. Andrews and his crew had sealed the office almost immediately. Their forensic squad sifted through most of Tommy’s stuff within two days of his murder. According to Arun Rao, they had removed the crime scene tape on the day that Candy and I first arrived.

  I flashed my badge and stabb
ed the button for the fourth floor. Through bad luck or rotten timing, Meg Cahill, clutching a stainless steel thermos, was waiting on floor three. We both nodded, assuming the masks of civility that avoid workplace bloodshed.

  “Mrs. Buckley … Elisabeth. I didn’t expect to see you today.” Her voice was as perky as ever. “I feared that our dull routine had driven you away.” She did a quick appraisal of my outfit without dropping her smile one inch. I was wearing a classic, an olive Chanel pantsuit that contrasted nicely with my hair. Kai had bought it in Paris, along with a Hermes scarf. Even Candy approved of me when I wore it.

  I upped the wattage of my smile, picturing Meg Cahill wearing the leather teddy that Tommy had so vividly described in his diary.

  “CYBER-MED is fascinating. I have so much to learn that it’s humbling. Was the whole thing your idea, Meg?”

  Dr. Cahill lowered her eyes like a penitent. “I had lots of help. So many of my patients had pacemakers and the like that when the technology changed, I saw both a need and a business opportunity.”

  I held the door for her when we reached four.

  Not everyone succumbs to flattery, but my instincts told me that Meg Cahill just might.

  “I’m not very creative,” I said. “That’s my partner Candy’s bailiwick. She’s a genius.”

  Meg’s lip curled a bit. “Yes, I can see that. Makeup is a challenging venture.” She gave a little wave and strode toward her office, heels clicking on the limestone floors.

  Fortunately, I’m not the violent type. Candy would have sensed the scorn and decked her. I comforted myself by comparing the profit margin at Sweet Nothings with CYBER-MED’s. No contest.

  I closed Tommy’s office door, fired up his computer and opened those private files. No need to peruse his black book today. That vicarious trip through his love life would sustain me for months. The other directories looked commonplace. I scrolled down his personal calendar, looking for anomalies. He had scheduled daily exercise sessions. No surprise there. Tommy and Kai were both gym rats with the bodies to prove it. My pulse quickened as I saw a notation made one week before his murder. “CC and Giraffe, KillerStartups.” What the hell? CC meant only one thing, Cotton Candy, our special name for Candace Ott. Giraffe was my much-loathed moniker. It was probably his snide way of mocking us, a jab at Sweet Nothings and all it stood for. I hadn’t seen Tommy at all that week, hadn’t taken his calls. That was a millstone that weighed heavily upon me. Perhaps Candy had the answer