The elevator door opened. She walked in and punched the 5 button. The silent ride up reminded her of the one in the elevator of the Hills Hotel, the three of them on their way up to exact revenge on Jerry Key, laughing nervously, flush with a slight buzz and the anticipation of doing something naughty and getting away with it.
Except they hadn’t gotten away with it—someone else might have gotten away with murder.
The elevator door slid open. Tallie stepped off and found apartment 512. She knocked, and a few seconds later, Kara swung open the door. She wore a sulky pout and a skanky tank top…with no bra.
“It’s about fucking time,” she said. “I was starting to think you were going to try to pull a fast one now that Jerry Key is out of the picture.”
“Hello to you, too,” Tallie said wryly. “I assume you heard about Jerry?”
“Yeah. Too bad—we sort of got along.” She leaned on the door frame and smiled. “Emphasis on ‘long.’ ”
Tallie winced. “Jeez, Kara, have a little respect.”
Kara smirked, then looked her up and down. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I was almost mugged.”
Kara tsked. “You really should move to a safer part of town.” Then she angled her blond head. “Maybe if you ever get your promotion.” She smiled, then flipped her hand over and waved her fingers in a “gimme” motion.
Seething, Tallie reached into the bag and withdrew the manuscript. “You might want to read up—”
“Thanks, Tallie,” Kara cut in, then yanked the envelope out of her hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m expecting company, so I’ll see you Monday.” The door swung closed with a bang.
Tallie gaped, incredulous, then trudged back to the elevator, feeling icked out. If she hadn’t needed a shower before, she certainly needed one now. The doorman, who was standing outside near the curb stealing a smoke, gave her a parting glare. Tallie shrugged it off and turned toward her apartment, feeling somewhat less burdened now that the manuscript was where it was supposed to be.
She was climbing the stairs to her apartment when she realized she’d forgotten to stop by the post office to pick up her mother’s package, and the post office had already closed.
Chapter 23
Tallie dragged herself to the grocery Saturday afternoon, then spent Saturday night the way she always pictured a swinging single in New York City would: surfing the Internet for news stories about the life and death of a supersleaze literary agent.
The sheer volume of stories returned by the search engine, she decided, was due to Jerry’s many media contacts. The tone varied, however, depending on whether the byliner was shocked, gleeful, or philosophical. There were articles about his career and writers he had made famous. There were articles about his reputation and the gruesome way he’d died. There were spin-off articles on the inappropriate use of cell phone cameras, the underworld of S&M, and how many murders occur in New York City hotel rooms.
The photo of Jerry had gone global, appearing in nearly every news item she could find, including many written in foreign languages, because Jerry had been a popular personality at the annual London and Frankfurt book fairs.
She felt compelled to print the articles that contained details of the crime scene—Jerry was stabbed once in the chest with a serrated knife, estimated time of death between 8:00 P.M. and midnight. A maid arrived the next morning to find him lying in blood-soaked sheets. Tallie closed her eyes, trying to drive that horrific scene from her mind.
They had left an anonymous message with the desk for a maid to come to Jerry’s room within minutes after they left so he wouldn’t be bound all night. Either a maid hadn’t gone to the room, or she had gone, then left at Jerry’s request and then the murderer had arrived. Tallie pressed her lips together. Or what if a maid had gone to the room, but the killer had answered the door and sent her away?
Tallie sighed, once again plagued by the thought that they could provide the police with information that at least might help narrow down the time of the murder. She toyed with the idea of making an anonymous tip, but she’d have to use a pay phone across town, and with all the video cameras in use today, she was afraid the call still somehow would be traced back to her.
Around one in the morning she turned off her computer and, still too wired to sleep, walked over to her rickety bookcase. Keith Wages’ face and proffered hammer floated into her mind. She’d left a message for him on his voice mail, a breezy note about retrieving her bag, but she hadn’t heard back. Then she glanced toward the computer and cringed—he might have tried to call while she’d had the phone line tied up. On the other hand, it was Saturday night and the man was probably out on the town, looking for someone desperate enough to drive all the way out to Brooklyn with him to get laid.
She frowned and leaned over to browse her newly alphabetized book collection. After fingering the spines of several good friends, she pulled out Blood Trouble, her favorite Gaylord Cooper book. The story took place after retired CIA agent Griff Edwards had met Fiona White, but before they were married. Their relationship had just begun to evolve, subtly affecting Griff’s willingness to accept risky assignments. She thought the romance had added much-needed depth to Griff’s hard-nosed character, and personally, she had delighted in his late-night calls to Fiona after a long, hard day of kicking terrorist/communist/serial killer ass.
She settled onto the couch and pulled a lap quilt that Felicia had given her around her legs, hoping the reading would make her sleepy. She opened the book and thumbed past the copyright page, her gaze landing on the dedication page.
For A.C. in Albany
Her mouth quirked; she wondered if A.C. could be Ron’s mystery man in Albany. Then she laughed at her musings…as if Ron would share something that personal with someone as unstable as Gaylord. And as if Gaylord would dedicate his book to a friend of Ron’s. And as if there was only one Albany. Besides, the book was three years old.
She flipped to the first page and began to read. Despite knowing the plot line of the story, she was quickly absorbed in the characters and their interactions. But somewhere after chapter three, she started to nod off. With great relief, she switched off the lamp and wiggled down in the cushions. Imbedded in the softness was almost like sleeping in someone’s arms….
But her dreams were troubled, fraught with graphic, violent images and dark, desperate fear that she couldn’t pinpoint or outrun. She woke late Sunday morning with a stiff neck and a sense of impending doom. An icy rain blew against the windows, the day as gray and thick as potter’s clay. Her head felt just as dense, muddled from the bad dreams that, unfortunately, hadn’t ended simply because she’d woken up. She slogged to the kitchen for some bad coffee, then gazed out the window longingly. A run would help to work out some of her sleep kinks, but risking hypothermia to ease muscle stiffness seemed rather counterproductive. When she had cleaned, however, she had found her long-lost jump rope, which seemed like a good way to release some pent-up energy and get in a short workout. About ten minutes into the jumping, her doorbell rang.
Her traitorous thoughts instantly flew to Keith, but she squashed them. Good thing, too, because when she opened the door, Mr. Emory stood there glaring at her.
“What?” she asked, panting from the exertion.
“Someone reported a loud thumping noise,” he said in a monotone. “Like jumping.”
“Not like jumping,” she said, holding up her jump rope. “It was jumping.”
He scowled. “Knock. It. Off.” He turned on his heel and strode away, fists clenched.
Tallie frowned after him, then closed her door and sighed. She opted for a quick shower and was contemplating braving the weather to see a matinee when the phone rang. She hesitated, knowing it was more likely to be bad news than good, and picked it up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Tallie, it’s Mom.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then remembered her pledge to be more patien
t with her mother. She smiled into the receiver. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Fine, your father and I just got back from church. Did you go this morning?”
“Um, no.” Although, in hindsight, it would have been a more productive use of her time.
“Oh. Well, Jacqueline Berry asked about you. I told her you were getting a big promotion.”
Tallie winced. “The promotion isn’t a sure thing, Mom.”
“Still…if that handsome boss of yours is handing over one of the company’s biggest authors—what did you say his name was?”
“Gaylord Cooper.”
“Right—then a promotion can’t be far behind.”
“One can hope,” Tallie said painfully. Ron missing and Jerry dead—when did things get so crazy?
“How did you like the gift?”
She winced again. “Well, I got busy yesterday and didn’t make it to the post office before it closed.”
“You know, they’ll only keep it for a couple of days, then they’ll send it back to me or it’ll go to one of those dead mail facilities. There’s one in Alabama that has a website offering items for sale. Your dad bid on a socket wrench set.”
Tallie dropped into her green chair and laid her head back. “Oh?”
“He needs a certain size wrench to fix the washer properly and said the washer is so old, they don’t make that size anymore, but this particular socket wrench set has the right size.”
“Good.”
“Yes, because I don’t want to get a new washer with all those newfangled features. Just more to tear up, if you ask me.”
“Right.”
“How are you feeling—did you get over your cold?”
“Yes, I’m feeling better.”
“You should take a multivitamin, you know.”
“I do, Mom.”
“But does it have extra Vitamin C?”
“I’ll check the label.”
“And calcium. You’re getting older now. You need to pay attention to your bones.”
At a twinge on her scalp, Tallie rolled her eyes upward. Was that another hair turning gray? “How’s the weather, Mom?” Always a safe subject.
“Dreary—I can’t wait for spring to get here so I can give the house a really good cleaning.”
Like it needed a really good cleaning. “Yeah.”
“Speaking of which, have you talked to Sheila Wages’ son?”
Tallie frowned—was there a connection? “Well, Mom, actually Keith and I have seen each other…a few times.”
“Oh,” her mother said in that universally hopeful mother singsong.
“But only as friends,” Tallie added quickly. “He’s really not my type.”
“Is he ugly?”
“I didn’t—”
“Because Sheila’s husband is no movie star, let me tell you. But Henry is a nice person and that’s what matters. And he has good teeth.”
“Right. Well, actually—”
“Besides, Tallie, the lights will be off most of the time.”
Tallie blinked—was her mother talking about what she thought she was talking about? Ew. “Mom, Keith isn’t bad looking.”
“Oh?”
Tallie sighed. “He’s just not my type.”
“Really?”
“He’s a cop.”
“So Shelia told me. Did he tell you that he owns his own home?”
“Yes.”
“Three bedrooms, and Sheila said it is nice. He has a room set up for her and Henry so they can visit.”
“It’s in Brooklyn.”
“So?”
“So…he’s just not my type, that’s all.”
Her mother expelled a long-suffering sigh. “All right—call me crazy for thinking my daughter would want to be set up with a nice-looking man with a respectable job who owns his own home.”
Tallie pushed her tongue into her cheek. “Mom, please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Worry. Fret. Fuss.”
“I’m your mother, Tallie. That’s my job. So I want to see you settle down before I die, so sue me.”
Tallie gripped the phone. “Mom, are you sick?”
“No, my doctor says I’ll live to be a hundred.”
“Well, I promise, I’ll settle down before you’re a hundred.”
“You get that sharp tongue from your father’s side.”
“Well, tell Dad I said hello. I’ll call you later in the week.”
“Okay. Tallie?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Tallie frowned. “Careful?”
“Call it mother’s intuition, but I’ve had this feeling all week that you were in some kind of trouble.” Her mother gave a little laugh. “You probably think that’s stupid.”
Tallie’s chest suffused with affection. “No, I don’t think that’s stupid. But don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine.”
“If you say so. Call me when you get your package.”
“I will.” Tallie disconnected the call slowly, buzzing with renewed appreciation for a mother’s bond with her children. She pressed her hand over her heart until she could feel the even thumping beneath her fingers. Could her mother telepathically sense that something was wrong with her child’s universe, or did she sense Tallie’s stress in her voice, in her forgetfulness? Regardless, knowing that her mother was constantly putting those “feelers” out there made Tallie feel blessed. And knowing that her mother would be devastated if she knew what her daughter had done to humiliate another human being made Tallie feel vile. But beyond what her parents would think of her, Tallie was feeling rotten all on her own. The ever-present gnaw in her gut was why people walked into police stations and confessed to crimes they’d committed years earlier.
Massaging her stomach, Tallie noted that the rain had slacked off. She glanced at her watch and moved to her coat closet; she had to get out of this apartment, and a matinee would be a good way to pass the afternoon. For a half second, she was tempted to wear Felicia’s coat, but considering her penchant for accidents lately, she decided to pass lest she ruin hers too.
Tallie considered calling Felicia and inviting her to go, then changed her mind. Felicia had made it clear that it wasn’t a good idea for them to be seen together until things died down.
Er…bad choice of words.
Chapter 24
Felicia decided that the pain she’d been referring to over the past few months as “migraines” was in fact baby headaches compared to the true sparkling torture currently hammering at her brain. The weight of the wet cloth on her forehead was almost too much to bear. Under different circumstances, she might believe that she was having a stroke, but she was utterly certain that the agony in her head was a manifestation of her guilt, disbelief, and anguish over what she’d done to Jerry. The picture of him was seared indelibly into her brain, with phrases from the newspaper attaching and revealing themselves at will.
A source in the NYPD insinuated there’s no sense of urgency in solving the Hills Hotel murder because it was committed during rough sex play. “The murder will be investigated, of course, but we have other cases pending that merit priority.”
In other words, the pervert had gotten what he deserved.
Considering her involvement, she should have been glad that the crime seemed to have sunk beneath the police department’s radar. Instead, it made her feel even more despondent about Jerry’s death.
Her head vibrated. It was as if all the pain she had wanted to inflict upon Jerry had been inflicted upon her instead, and on some bizarre level, she welcomed it. Being incapacitated on her couch was better than pretending everything was okay when the only man she’d ever loved was lying on a slab somewhere waiting to be dressed in a suit cut up the back.
She covered her mouth with her hand to smother a sob, and the reverberation in her head felt as if she were riding the clapper of a huge, tolling bell. Gong…GONG. A moan escaped her.
“Felicia, sweetheart?”<
br />
It was her mother’s voice, and at first she thought she was hallucinating. But then fingers wrapped around hers, and she recognized Julia’s dry, cold touch.
“Felicia?”
She heard a click, and even through her eyelids, the light was too much to bear. She sucked in a breath and shielded her eyes with her hand. “Turn it off,” she said past a clenched jaw.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart!” her mother yelped, her voice stirring more inflamed receptors in Felicia’s brain. “Do you have a headache?”
“Migraine,” she whispered, hoping her mother would follow suit.
Julia sighed. “I suppose that’s why your phone ringer is off. I called Del, and when he said you hadn’t left your place all weekend, I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t you call me?”
Felicia would have laughed if it wouldn’t have hurt so much. Call Julia? Why? So her mother could talk non-stop about Rick or Steve or whoever was the flavor of the week? Instead of speaking, she opened her eyes one sliver at a time until she could make out Julia standing next to the couch in the darkened room, her face pinched with uncharacteristic concern. Rather than speaking, Felicia moved her head slightly back and forth on the pillow.
Julia shrugged out of her coat. “I’m going to snoop in your bathroom,” she murmured, her voice more hushed this time.
Felicia didn’t respond, just glad to be able to close her eyes again.
A few minutes later, her mother returned, then Felicia felt a hand on her side, nudging her.
“Roll over, sweetheart. Onto your stomach.”
Felicia lay immobile a few seconds longer, working up the effort to turn herself over. She slowly lifted the wet cloth, now tepid, from her forehead. Her mother helped her, and soon she was lying facedown, her head turned in the direction of the open room. She opened one eye enough to see her mother roll up the sleeves of her silky blouse, then undo small vials. The aromas of lavender, peppermint, and eucalyptus essential oils rode the air, distracting her from the pain almost instantly as her brain processed the pleasing scents.
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