by Kay, Arlene
I was deep in thought until a brisk knock ushered in Arun Rao.
“Hi,” he said. “Got a minute?”
His suit was exceedingly well cut, Oxford Clothiers if I was correct. As he took his seat, I noticed square gold cufflinks and a fetching set of dimples. Rao was a hottie, but Candy was welcome to him. Something just didn’t ring true to me. He was too polished, too schooled in pleasing women. A mechanized sex toy complete with batteries.
“What brings you here?” I clothed the question in a smile.
He furrowed his brow and spoke softly. “I want to help.” He straightened his cuffs and turned liquid brown eyes on me. “Tommy’s murderer. I can help you find him.”
“Why don’t you tell the police? Sergeant Andrews seems very competent. Candy and I aren’t detectives, and neither are you. It might be dangerous.”
Arun swallowed twice before answering. “I have some skills that might help. Applied and Theoretical Cryptography is my academic discipline, you know.”
I threw up my hands. “You’ll have to be more specific, Arun. I’ve haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
That drew a big smile. “You sound just like Tommy. He told me that, too.” Arun leaned forward, palms on knees. “It’s pretty simple really. I decipher messages. Kind of like the old code-breakers but with computer data. A perfect fit for CYBER-MED, that’s what Dr. Meg always says. Anyhow, I help safeguard our patients’ information.” His sudden frown looked like a thundercloud. “That’s why Lucian Sand is such a lying bastard. Our data isn’t compromised. I wouldn’t allow it. Neither would Rand. He’s studying the same thing.”
My silence spoke volumes. Rao abruptly stopped his tirade and wound down.
“What does this have to do with Tommy?”
He tugged his ear. “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. If you find something, anything at all, bring it to me. If I can’t figure it out, I’ll find someone who can.”
I studied him for a minute. “And Dr. Cahill approves of this?”
He hesitated. “Don’t involve Meg. Just bring it to me. She wouldn’t understand. CYBER-MED is her whole world.”
“Why take a risk?” I asked. “After all, the murderer might be right here.”
Rao’s lips formed a thin line. “Tommy was my only real friend in Boston. He’d take a risk for me. I know that.” With a curt nod, he loped out of the office.
Rao puzzled me. He seemed earnest enough. On the other hand, his offer of help guaranteed him access to every aspect of Tommy’s murder. That generous offer might also be a very clever ploy by someone who murdered for fun. On that dreadful recording, Tommy had asked the killer why, said that the killer didn’t need the money. Neither Arun nor Dr. Meg needed money. According to Candy, Arun’s family was very comfortable, and her definition of comfort always involved lots of zeros. Meg and Carter Cahill were obscenely rich, if the Boston financial press was accurate. I gave myself a mental pinch for that display of Socialism. Everything depends on perspective. Some people might call the Buckley Trust obscenely rich. Kai had teased me about it, calling me his Bolshevik.
I spent the balance of the afternoon slogging through the balance sheet for CYBER-MED. It was boring, tedious work that yielded absolutely nothing. Four hours of mind-numbing activity had yielded only one tangible clue. Alas, “CC and Giraffe, KillerStartups” meant absolutely nothing to me.
Twelve
My pulse raced as I rushed home. Candy would be here any minute, armed with her makeup kit and Velcro rollers. I felt sick to my stomach. Maybe it was a touch of flu, but more likely the gut-clenching, mind-blowing realization that I would soon be with a man for the first time in a year. Not just any man, either. Lucian Sand shook me up at a cellular level. He knew things that no stranger should know, touched me as if we were longtime lovers.
I did my yoga routine, forcing myself into abdominal low breathing as Kai’s words echoed in my brain. He had taken me mountain climbing, insisted on it. Just one time. I’d begged him to forget it. My nickname’s Giraffe, not Nijinsky. Kai prevailed, as he always had, and one spring weekend we had motored to Jaffrey, New Hampshire, home of Mt. Monadnock. We ascended part of the White Cross trail, the easy one. Trouble started during the descent. My terror grew until I froze, paralyzed by fear. Kai reached out his arms to me and spoke softly. “Don’t be afraid, Lizzie Mae. You can do anything. You’re Wonder Woman. Take my hand. I’ll always be here.”
He lied.
Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t feel them. They cleansed my soul like a gentle rain, renewing my spirit. By the time Candy arrived I was resolute and composed. Tonight’s engagement was a mere blip on life’s radar screen. Lucian Sand was just another man.
Talk about your whirling dervish. Candy swept into my living room, hauling a treasure trove of self-improvement items. My face was a blank canvas, waiting to absorb whatever paint and spackle she applied. That made her suspicious.
“What, no whining about looking like a clown? OK, Betts, spill. How many Xanax did you take today?”
“None. I did yoga and meditated. Tonight is strictly business. “
Candy snorted. “Trying selling that to the hot Frenchman you’re dating.”
“I told you, he’s not my date.” Even I knew that sounded lame.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Candy waxed my brows with an expert flick of her wrist.
“Ouch! That hurt.”
“Much better,” she grinned. “At least now I know you’re still alive. By the way, Arun called me today.” She dabbed eye cream and moisturizer on me. “He’s going solo to that shindig. Apparently, Dr. Meg demands that they dance attendance on her. Not surprising.”
“Yeah. Rand’s going, too. Looks like half of CYBER-MED will be there.”
“Quiet now,” Candy ordered. “I can’t do your eyes if you’re babbling.” She proceeded to apply shadow, liner and mascara with dazzling precision. After a puff of powder and a splash of scent, she held up a mirror for me.
“Very nice, Mrs. Buckley. Although I think you need a new fragrance. This one is too tied up with Kai. You need something young and lively. French, of course.”
“Forget it. Fleurissimo is a classic. If it was good enough for Princess Grace, it’s fine for me, too.”
Candy heaved a gigantic sigh and attacked my hair with her brush. “Thank goodness you have great hair, not that you appreciate it. When was the last time you went to a salon?”
“Hey. I’m not like you. Spas are your mother ship, not mine. By the way, did you contact Mrs. Arthur? I thought that prison thing was today.”
“Tomorrow. I called her, and the woman was pathetically grateful. Used a lot of psycho-babble, you know the drill.” Candy’s smile verged on sinister. “Don’t worry. I’ll peel her like a grape. After all these years I’m an expert on shrinks. Here, time to drape your sari.” She fingered the exquisite peach silk emblazoned with gold. “Oh, my God, this is so gorgeous. Kai must have spent a fortune on it.”
“I guess. I’ve never worn it.”
“Now, now, don’t get all weepy on me. Stand still while I do this.” After draping, folding and tucking, Candy stood back, surveyed her handiwork and nodded. “Another miraculous transformation by Candace Ott. Take my word. You’re officially awesome.”
She was right. Awesome might be a stretch, but I looked different, unlike the sober lawyer and policy wonk of yore. For once I didn’t fight Candy’s attempt to glamorize me. Tonight I was playing the role of undercover operative. Lucian Sand was a prop, part of the scenery. Nothing more.
Lucian was punctual. Candy met him at the door, giving him a hug, a low wolf-whistle and a hero’s welcome. I couldn’t fault her judgment: the man was magnificent. He glided into my home, looking like every maiden’s fervent prayer. His tuxedo was traditional, a beautifully tailored Armani with notched satin collar and one-button front. Contrary to the old adage, this man made the clothes, not the other way around. When he turned toward me, I gasped. No more beard! T
hat scruffy face hair had concealed baby smooth cheeks and a fetching chin cleft. His startling teal eyes met mine in a blaze of fire.
“You … you look amazing,” I said. An unaccustomed tingling swept over me, lodging somewhere south of my waistline.
Lucian took my hand, brushing each finger with his lips. “And you, Elisa. You are a vision. As the poem says, you walk in beauty like the night.”
I felt a surge of anger at the Byron reference. Kai had loved that verse. We’d spent many nights holding each other and reading poetry. Now a stranger was intruding on something sacred.
“Oh, my Lord, I feel goose bumps.” Candy saved the day. “You’re a man of many parts, Dr. Sand. Science and the arts are a potent combination.” She put her arm through his and tugged him toward the sofa. “Our Betts is quite the beauty, isn’t she? Who said redheads can’t wear peach? Nonsense.”
I finally gathered my scattered wits. “We can’t stay, Candy. The dinner starts at nine, and I don’t want to miss Chernikova’s speech.”
Lucian pinned me with an icy stare. “Ah. You are a fan of American imperialism?”
When I glared at him, he laughed. So did Candy. Apparently, I was the only one not in on the joke.
“You’re so easy, Betts. Lucian was only teasing.” Candy gave him a playful shove. “That’s the same way Kai and Tommy used to ruffle your feathers. You never learn.”
She was right. How had Lucian figured that out? He must think me a humorless prig.
“Ready, Mrs. Buckley?” He fixed an agate stare on me. Blue lace agate, that’s what his eyes looked like now. Calming, restorative. I keep a blue agate on my desk to soothe me. It’s gotten quite a workout since Kai’s death.
“Sure.” I gathered a cashmere wrap, my purse and some attitude. Tonight’s mission concerned Tommy and the scoundrel who murdered him, nothing else. I had no right to flirt and flutter like some aimless coquette.
The elevator was packed with Boston’s upper crust, taking in the night air. Lucian stood beside me, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder. It felt good, rather like Della’s stolid presence. For the first time in ages, I didn’t feel lonely and sad.
He’d left his Porsche parked at the curb. Our aged doorman leapt to assist us with an alacrity born of a well-placed bribe and the hope for more. Some folks inspire that kind of treatment, but I had never mastered the knack.
“We could have walked, you know, or taken a cab. The hotel’s not very far from here.”
He shook his head and made the risky transition into Boston traffic. “You look much too exquisite for a stroll, no? And cabs …” His brows raised. “That simply would not do. Let me handle the transport while you tell me the plan. The truth, this time.”
I’d flunked Prevarication 101. That made lying an unappealing option. Lucian would peel apart my story layer by layer until he exposed the truth. Better to get it over with.
“Tommy had a concern or a connection, something with Richard Chernikova. I don’t understand it, but he left me a clue. I hoped that seeing Chernikova might help somehow. I know it sounds stupid.”
Lucian looked straight ahead. “There’s more. You’re hiding something.”
It was risky telling him things. Lucian was a stranger and might well be the killer. True, he had given me the disk, but that could be a clever ploy or a cynical sleight of hand. My social skills are limited, but I’ve always had keen business instincts. Why else would Kai have called me Wonder Woman? I went with my gut and trusted Lucian.
“Tommy sent me a list of four names. Three of them are already dead, and Chernikova is the fourth.”
“Hmm, names. Nothing else?” He applied the brake and turned toward me. “Who were the others?”
“No one particularly famous. You probably read about one of them, Judge Jacob Arthur. He died during a big tax fraud trial. Another guy made the news, too. Ian Cotter dropped dead in some bimbo’s bed. Lots of jokes about that one, you know, dying with a smile on his face.”
Lucian wedged the Porsche between a stalled pickup and a motorcycle. “And the third?” His voice showed absolutely no emotion.
I sighed. “That was a suicide, a friend of Candy’s actually. Mary Alice Tate.”
He swung into the hotel entrance, joining the line for valet parking. “Why did this woman take her life?”
“It was a money thing. Word got out that she wasn’t really related to the Tates, and that meant she wouldn’t share in the estate. Someone got the results of a DNA test.”
“There is a connection, I presume.”
Now came the hard part. It was supposition, not fact. He could demolish any argument I made with one spurt of logic. Good thing I went to law school. Banter is my stock in trade.
“The three dead people were clients of CYBER-MED. I’m not sure about Chernikova.”
Lucian waited for me as the attendant helped me alight. My movements were ungainly, more lurch than light. It’s not easy to navigate a sports car when wearing a sari.
He gripped me firmly around the waist, keeping me steady.
I liked feeling his arm around me. It was comforting, familiar. I shook off sentiment the way Della shed water, vigorously. Easy does it, Lizzie Mae.
As we followed the crowd toward the Grand Ballroom, I saw a familiar face. Rand Lindsay, looking surprisingly svelte, was checking invitations. He grinned like a Cheshire cat when he saw us.
“Mrs. Buckley. Luc, my man.” He gave my escort a bro-hug and checked our table number. “Wow, you’re at the head table. I’m impressed. That’s where Dr. Meg and her hubby always land.”
Lucian looked unperturbed. I wasn’t as sanguine.
“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea. We don’t have to stay, if you’d rather not.”
“Nonsense,” Lucian said. “I enjoy seeing old friends. Will Arun Rao be there also?”
Rand did a quick shuffle. “Nope. He’ll be sitting way back in Siberia. That’s part of our job tonight, filling in for absent guests and paying attention to single ladies.” He took my hand and twirled me around. “I declare, Ms. Elisabeth, you are a knockout. Dr. Meg will claw your eyes out.”
It was my turn to flush. I’m not good at accepting compliments. I always suspect their sincerity. Tonight was a different matter, though. Lucian’s reaction buoyed my spirits and helped me believe in myself. If not an outright knockout, I might be at least a TKO.
“You’re a terrible flirt, you know, but thanks anyway.” I winked at Rand and followed the waiter to our seats.
Meg and Carter Cahill were enthroned in the middle seats of a large, elaborately decorated table. Beautiful silver candelabra highlighted a centerpiece of orchids and baby’s breath. I recognized the man across from them as Cap Coleman, the president of the Harvard Medical Center. He had once been Kai’s squash partner in a charity tourney.
Meg’s jaw dropped slightly when she saw us. She recovered nicely, stretching her lips into a seamless faux smile. Her husband was oblivious. Carter Cahill, a large, florid fellow, sized us up with the challenging stare common to little league coaches. He had already drained his wine glass and was actively seeking more.
“Elisabeth, how nice of you to come.” Meg checked my sari with a practiced eye. “And Dr. Sand. An unexpected pleasure.”
Lucian gave her a half bow and shook hands with her husband and the other guests. I renewed my acquaintance with the Harvard honcho, who reminisced about Kai and his tragic loss. Lucian eyed me speculatively as though gauging Kai’s impact on my psyche.
I don’t discuss Kai’s death with strangers. They never understand. Kai died, but he’s never left me. Even now, as my cheeks glowed from Lucian’s kiss, my husband was by my side, cheering me on. “I’m your number one fan, Lizzie Mae.” That’s what he’d always said.
Shortly before nine the lights dimmed. A pair of muscular agents preceded the Secretary of State as he ascended the dais and took his seat. His tablemates, all executives of the Joslin Center, gave Richard Chernikova a hearty we
lcome. A phalanx of waiters immediately circulated with our blameless, tasteless repast of boiled scrod, squash and red cabbage.
“Meg tells me you’re the new honcho at CYBER-MED.” Carter Cahill’s tone was one notch short of snide. Like many self-made men, he occasionally dipped a toe over the line between audacious and obnoxious.
I activated my charm initiative. “I’m trying to learn the ropes with Meg’s help. It’s quite an enterprise.”
Lucian barely moved. He dabbed the corners of his mouth as they twitched in a smile. His foot gently nudged my toe in appreciation of a superior snow job.
Cahill nodded vigorously. “You bet it is. My wife left one of the best practices in the nation to start CYBER-MED. We expect a payback, right, Hon?”
A faint tinge colored Meg’s cheeks as she patted her husband’s arm. Lucian and the Harvard honcho jousted about the relative merits of Harvard versus MIT, a debate that had raged for decades.
I was fascinated by our guest of honor. He picked at his food while fixing the crowd with a bright, unwavering gaze. His prominent nose and skeletal hands reminded me of a raptor, a bird of prey prepared to devour any enemy.
Why was his name on Tommy’s list? This man had already survived two assassination attempts and was as closely guarded as the President himself. CYBER-MED was the least of his concerns.