Double Deception

by Terri Reed

“Really? What is it?”

  “A computer disk. I don’t know what’s on it, but I have to find it.”

  “And you know where it is?”

  “Maybe. I’m hoping so.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Kate, I’m coming out there.”

  “No, don’t.” She didn’t want to complicate the situation more by having her lawyer show up. Brody might take that as a sign she didn’t trust him or worse yet, that she was guilty of something.

  “Kate, don’t you think it would be better if you had an ally? Someone to help you in this quest? I am your lawyer. I’m on your side. Let me help.”

  She had help. Brody. He was here and willing. She didn’t want to analyze why she preferred Brody over Gordon. She just did. She tightened her grip on the phone. “Did you know about Pete Kinsey?”

  “What is there to know? He was Paul’s business partner. You knew that.”

  Closing her eyes against the hurt of Paul’s lies, she stated, “There was no Pete Kinsey.”

  “Kate, are you sure you’re all right? Maybe I should speak with your doctor.”

  “No! Paul and Pete Kinsey were the same man.”

  The silence coming from the other end of the line unnerved her. “Gordon? Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you, Kate.” A note of indulgent sympathy laced his deep gravelly voice. “Come home now. We’ll get you some help.”

  “Help?”

  “I know this has been a trying time for you. Guilt can play games with the mind.”

  Kate raised her brows in shock as the meaning behind Gordon’s words sank in. “I have nothing to feel guilty about. Do you think I killed him?”

  “Of course not, Kate. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Kate pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “I am not going crazy and I do not have anything to feel guilt about. Didn’t you help Paul with some of his business contracts?”

  “Are you questioning my integrity? After all I’ve done for you and your mother? I assure you I would have told you if I suspected anything inappropriate going on.”

  Contrition brought tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I know you would. You’ve been such a rock for me my whole life.” She wiped at a stray tear. “We found a letter. Gordon, Paul had yet another life.”

  “What other life?”

  “I don’t know yet. Does the name Petrov ring any bells?”

  “No. Is this person one of Paul’s clients?”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “Hardly. We’re going to New York to see if we can find the disk there.”

  “We?”

  The door to the room swooshed open. Her doctor stepped in followed closely by Brody, pushing a wheelchair.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” She hung up before Gordon could reply. She met Brody’s gaze. “My lawyer,” she said quickly to alleviate the wariness in his eyes.

  He gave a sharp nod and remained stonily silent as the doctor did a final cursory exam. Satisfied that she was well enough to leave, the doctor signed her discharge papers and left her in Brody’s care.

  When the second the doctor left, Brody asked, “What did he have to say?”

  “He didn’t know about Pete or Petrov.”

  “Did he know anything about the disk?”

  “No. He was ready to come here, but I told him not to.”

  “Why?”

  “I think it’s better if only you and I go to see this woman. If we show up with a lawyer in tow, she might get spooked.”

  “You don’t think a cop will spook her?” he asked with wry amusement.

  “Not if she doesn’t know you’re a cop.”

  “Ah.” His mouth kicked up on corner. “Undercover it is, then.” He walked to the closet. “Myrtle sent some fresh clothing from your suitcase.”

  Touched by the combined care of Brody and Myrtle, she smiled. “Thank you, Brody, for doing this. I hope it won’t cost you too much.”

  He laid the garments, khakis and an aqua-blue silk blouse on the foot of the bed and gave her a quizzical stare. “Cost me?”

  “I overheard you speaking with…your father?”

  The corners of Brody’s mouth tipped down. “Sheriff Talbot is not my father.”

  “Oh.” Kate blinked. She’d hit a nerve. She opened her mouth to ask, but he was already moving toward the door.

  “I’ll find a nurse to help you dress, then we’ll go find answers about your husband.”

  She knew the questions she wanted answered, but what questions did Brody have? And would the answers condemn her or absolve her?

  TEN

  They took an uneventful commuter flight from Hyannis to JFK International Airport. From there they hailed a taxi. Kate sank back into the cab’s distressed, red leather seat next to Brody and tried to relax as they traveled down the scenic route along the edge of Jamaica Bay. Anxiety kept her from enjoying the view of sandy beaches, glistening water and strands of trees springing up out of little islands dotting the bay.

  She tried not to think too much about what they’d find in Brighton Beach. She hoped this would be the end. And feared that it wouldn’t.

  The taxi slowed as the traffic became more congested. They inched through various neighborhoods of Brooklyn. Soon they were entering the area known as Little Odessa. She tried to see everything at once yet her heart pounded so loudly in her head it was hard to concentrate and process the interesting sights, so different from those of Los Angeles or the Pacific Northwest where she’d grown up.

  “Hey, stop the car,” Brody said, his attention riveted on something to his right.

  Kate started as the cab abruptly pulled to the side of the street.

  “What it is?” She grasped at his sleeve.

  Brody pointed out the window to a large, two-story gray concrete warehouse with the words Lanski’s Imports emblazoned across the front.

  Puzzled, she stared at Brody.

  He tugged his wallet from the back pocket of his navy twill pants and pulled out a business card. He flipped it over so she could see the writing. “What’s that from?” she asked.

  “I found this among Paul’s things in the bungalow. Wasn’t sure if it meant anything.”

  Then she remembered.

  Brody opened the car door and said to the driver, “Wait. We’ll be right back.”

  A car horn blared and Kate stiffened. The cabby cursed at the black Lincoln Continental waiting impatiently behind them. Another honk. They sure weren’t in Havensport anymore. The quaint little town with its friendly and relaxed pace had grown on her in the short amount of time she’d been there.

  As Kate slid out of the cab behind Brody and stepped onto the sidewalk, the sun bounced off the pavement and scorched her skin. No cooling summer breeze here.

  She followed Brody to the black metal front door of the business. Brody pushed open the door and they stepped in. Men of various builds and ages moved about at a quick pace. Boxes and crates lined the walls. At the other end of the building a large bay door was rolled up. Trucks were being loaded by men driving forklifts burdened by huge crates.

  A big burly man with a shaved head and handlebar mustache met them as they moved farther into the work area. He looked impassable in his worn denims and red work shirt straining to contain bulging muscles. “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to see the owner,” Brody answered, his tone crisp, authoritative.

  The man’s narrowed gaze raked over them and a chill slithered down Kate’s spine. Her senses went on alert. She’d experienced the same type of chill the times she’d thought she was being watched.

  “This way,” he finally said and walked away.

  “Stay close,” Brody whispered. “Keep your eyes open.”

  She nodded, though she didn’t know what she should be looking for.

  They were escorted to a staircase that led to a windowed office. The small room was messy and the furniture old. Behind a large scarred oak desk a man in his late fiftie
s with a full head of white hair regarded them with little warmth in his light-blue eyes. His brown suit was well tailored, its obvious cost at odds with the shabby conditions of the office. He steepled his well-manicured hands. “What can I do for you?” he asked, his accent heavy and foreign.

  Brody’s tense posture had Kate’s nerves jumping.

  “Are you Mr. Lanski?” Brody asked.

  “I am. What do you want?”

  “We’re looking for information on a man named Paul Wheeler.” Brody asked.

  The man shrugged, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “I know no one by this name.”

  “How about Pete Kinsey?”

  The older man’s brow dipped together. “Again, I know no such person.”

  “Does the name Petrov ring any bells?”

  The man waved a hand. “Petrov is a common name. I know nothing of these men. Now, I am a busy man. You go.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Brody said as he ushered Kate out of the office and back through the warehouse to the street.

  Kate breathed a sigh of relief to see the cab still sitting at the curb. As they slid into the backseat, she said, “That was a waste of time.”

  “Not so much. I think Mr. Lanski recognized all three names. Whether he knows the three are the same man remains to be seen.”

  She stared at him in surprise. “How can you tell?”

  “It was in his eyes.”

  She processed that as the cab re-entered the steady flow of traffic. Brody asked the driver to take them to their original destination.

  The taxi stopped in front of a five-story walk-up brownstone building. Kate climbed out of the cab and gazed around as Brody paid the fare.

  Off in the distance, the concrete skyline of New York City rose sharply to the clouds. Kate took in the sights and sounds of the colorful neighborhood. Old men with round, craggy faces peered at them as they shuffled by. Several men wore medals attached to the lapels of their shirts.

  Her heart stuttered at a long-forgotten memory. She had found a star-shaped medallion by accident once in Paul’s belongings when they were moving into their shared apartment. He said the medallions had been given to those who’d fought for Russia long ago.

  At the time she hadn’t thought twice about how he knew this. She’d asked how he’d acquired the piece and had accepted his answer, that a client had given it to him. But his knowledge and his possession of the medallion made sense now that she knew he had some connection to that country.

  Possibly a close connection.

  That medallion now rested in a shoebox along with Paul’s watch, wedding band and gold money clip. Anger moved through her, weakening her desire to go any further.

  Two young women pushed past her. They spoke in Russian, as did most of the residents of Brighton Beach.

  Bold letters splashed across signs over stores and the sides of buildings: Cyrillic writing that she didn’t understand.

  She clutched her purse tighter to her side as if the small black leather bag could protect her in some way from the inevitable—facing the other woman in Paul’s life. Had he given her the love and tenderness, the security, Kate had craved?

  “Ready?” Brody asked.

  Somewhere inside the building before her was a woman who might possess the answers they sought. She wondered if her quest for the truth was about to end. Would she finally be at peace or left more adrift? She gave Brody a tight smile. “I don’t know if ready is the right word, but let’s do this.”

  “You can handle it, Kate. You’re strong.”

  His words warmed her heart. With him by her side she could do this. God had known she’d need someone to lean on. She said a silent prayer of praise and asked for God’s strength.

  Together they moved up the stairs. Brody pushed the button next to the name of the woman who’d written the letters. A garbled noise came from the intercom. Brody spoke into the square box. “We’re looking for Olga.”

  A moment later, the front door buzzed. Brody opened the door and they stepped into the building’s small foyer. Peeling blue paint and water-stained linoleum attested to the age of the place.

  A television droned somewhere and the smell of cabbage sent Kate’s nose twitching. Above them, a door opened with a squeak and then a blond woman leaned over the dark wooden stairwell railing. She was too far away for Kate to make out her features.

  “Olga?” Brody asked.

  “Yes.” She stared at them warily. “What do you want?”

  “We were hoping you could help us with something. May we come up?”

  The woman didn’t answer.

  Kate tried to give a reassuring smile, though her insides were knotted up. She didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to face the woman Paul had had an affair with. But Kate would face her and the situation. She’d come this far; she had to see things through.

  “We’ll only take a few moments of your time,” Kate offered.

  Still, the woman only stared, as if trying to decide. “It’s about Pau…Petrov,” Kate said, past the lump in her throat.

  The woman’s eyes widened and she waved them up.

  Kate glanced at Brody as they climbed the stairs. “Do you think she knows he’s dead?”

  “I hope so,” he muttered.

  “Me, too.” She also hoped the woman already knew about her because Kate didn’t want to be the one to deliver two devastating blows at once. His death would be enough of a shock.

  On the fifth floor, they walked toward the open doorway of the last apartment. Music drifted out, teasing Kate’s memory. She knew the tune. One of Paul’s favorites. She swallowed past the hurt tightening her chest and sought Brody’s gaze.

  He placed his hand firmly on the small of her back, infusing her with the power necessary to walk into Paul’s third life.

  The apartment was a surprise. The muted burgundies and blues splashed throughout the living room created a homey and inviting atmosphere. White lace curtains hung over the single-paned windows, the mixture of Mission-style, sixties retro furniture and a smattering of antiques giving a hip, garage-sale impression, so unlike the rest of the building.

  But it was the woman standing by the scarred, round oak table in the dining room who drew Kate’s attention. Willowy and fragile, the tall blond blinked at them with trepidation. Her statuesque build and coloring were so different from Kate’s. She didn’t know if she’d have felt better about the other woman if they’d resembled each other.

  “Olga, my name is Kate Wheeler and this is…my friend, Brody McClain.”

  “You know my Petrov? Is he safe? I have not heard from him in a long time.” Her heavy accent rolled off her tongue in a lyrical cadence.

  A sick feeling settled in the pit of Kate’s stomach.

  Shuffling footsteps came down the hall of the apartment. A tiny elderly woman, wearing a worn, faded orange housecoat and powder-blue slippers, stopped at the doorway to the living room.

  The woman had Olga’s blue eyes, but her stooped shoulders and wizened face led Kate to guess this must be Olga’s grandmother. The woman eyed them curiously, then spoke to Olga in Russian. Whatever Olga said in return earned them a scowl.

  “My grandmama does not approve of Petrov,” Olga explained and then said something more to her grandmother, to which the elderly woman made a face and shuffled back down the hall.

  Kate wished her own grandmother had been around to warn her away from Paul. Though she couldn’t honestly say she’d have listened, as Olga clearly hadn’t. Paul had been so charming. Had appeared to be the kind of man who would give her the stable and secure life she’d dreamed of. If someone had warned her that he’d turn out to be such a louse, she’d have laughed. She wasn’t laughing now.

  Brody stepped forward. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  Olga frowned, her blue eyes wide with worry. “Tell me, please.”

  Brody glanced at Kate and she saw the same dread in his eyes that crept up her own spine.

  “Olga,�
�� Kate said. “Petrov sent you a package. Do you still have it?”

  Confusion entered Olga’s eyes. “Yes. Where is Petrov?”

  Kate hesitated, then said, “We have some bad news. The man you know as Petrov is…”

  “Is dead,” Brody finished for her, his tone expressionless. But his eyes held an anger toward Paul that touched Kate. Brody was angry on her behalf and on behalf of this young woman. She couldn’t deny how good his support felt.

  Olga blinked as huge tears welled in her eyes. “No. No, I don’t believe you.”

  Kate forced the feelings Brody stirred within her to a far corner of her heart and took Olga by the hand, leading her to the dark blue couch. “I’m sorry we have to be the ones to tell you.”

  “Who are you? Why do you tell me this? Petrov cannot be dead. I’d know. My brothers would have told me. His mother would know.”

  Kate blinked, stunned by this revelation. “His mother?” She turned to Brody, who’d sat in a chair across from them. “Paul told me his parents were dead.”

  “Who is this Paul?” Olga’s lower lip trembled. “What have you done with my Petrov?”

  Pushing aside her own hurt and anger over her dead husband’s deceit, Kate took a deep breath. “Your Petrov was also Paul Wheeler, my husband.” She didn’t even try to explain about Pete Kinsey.

  Olga dropped her chin and drew back. Her gaze darted between Kate and Brody. “You lie. This cannot be.”

  Kate dug in her purse for her wallet and pulled out her wedding picture. With shaky hands, she handed the photo to Olga.

  Olga stared at the photo without taking it. Tears slipped down her face. “I do not understand.”

  “Nor do I.” Kate sympathized with Olga, understood the pain of realizing she’d been deceived.

  “Olga, we need the package that Petrov sent to you.” Brody’s words brought the situation back in focus for Kate.

  “Please, Olga. It’s very important. It may be the key to why Paul…Petrov was killed.” She hated the way her voice wavered when she said his name.

  “Why should I trust you? I should call my brothers.” She rose.

  Brody made a gesture of entreaty. “There’s no reason why you should trust us. We’re strangers to you. All we can say is that whoever killed Petrov is now after Kate. Will you please help us so we can stop them?”