by Dana Dratch
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Geoffrey said, as Annie folded him forward with his head between his knees.
“Not on the area rug!” Dennis shouted. “I’ll never get the smell out. And Gracie bought it on our honeymoon. She’ll kill me!”
* * *
It only took us fifteen minutes to come up with a plan. Minus the time it took to soothe a freaked-out Geoffrey.
Dennis would answer resident calls, help anyone he could, mollify anyone he couldn’t, and basically reassure everyone that even though Leslie was gone, everything at Oceanside was fine.
In other words, lie.
Geoffrey would use his skills to scour the last four months of bank statements, gathering clues on where the money should have gone and where it did go. And Annie and I would run down any leads.
In the meantime, we would also follow up with any residents who had a connection to Leslie. I figured if we could fill in more of the blanks on who she was and where she was from, that might help us find out what she did with the money.
There was no telling how long we could keep Leslie McQueen’s house of cards going. I think all four of us realized we had a few days, at best. After that, we were going to have to give up, call in the cops, and let Dennis and Geoffrey—as well as the home values at Oceanside—take their lumps.
CHAPTER 33
As mourners go, we looked great. Annie was kitted out in a navy sheath dress with a matching bolero jacket. And she’d loaned me a fitted gray coat dress that accented my red hair.
Still, I was dubious.
We’d decided to visit Kelsey first. Technically, we were “paying condolences.” In reality, we were digging for dirt. Or, more specifically, dough.
One of Leslie’s tennis friends opened the door. Fiftyish, tan, and gristly, she’d opted for the classic “little black dress.” But to me, she’d always be Tennis Thing One.
“We just stopped by to see how Kelsey is holding up,” my sister said sympathetically, holding out a casserole we’d picked up at a local market.
For a condolence call, it was the price of admission.
“Oh, as well as can be expected,” Tennis Thing One said. “Kelsey, Anastasia from upstairs is here. She brought a casserole. Are you up for a visitor?”
Kelsey must have said yes, because her friend opened the door, collected the casserole from Annie, and whisked it into the kitchen.
Tennis Thing Two, also in black, was draped across the sofa holding a Kleenex box in front of Kelsey.
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Kelsey said cheerfully. She was decked out in a short-sleeved black crêpe de chine number with a ruffle at the knee, and four-inch black pumps. Her dark hair, parted in the middle, was gathered in a low chignon.
Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Or maybe just soap.
Call me jaded, but if any of these people had known what Leslie was truly like—and what she’d been doing with their money—I suspected there’d be a few less tears.
Annie, who seemed to know the script, alighted in an adjacent chair. I sat on the only other space that wasn’t someone’s lap. An ottoman.
“We were so sorry to hear about Leslie,” Annie said. “We just wanted to stop by and see how you were.”
“Oh, I’m holding up,” Kelsey said, brandishing a wad of tissues in one hand, and a lowball glass in the other. An identical glass rested on the coffee table. With a coaster, of course.
“It seems to come in waves,” Kelsey continued. “One minute I’m fine. Then I think of something I want to tell her and reach for the phone and . . .” She paused to blot her face. “It hits me all over again.”
“You poor dear,” Annie said. “Naturally, we wanted to send flowers to the family, too. But I didn’t have an address.”
I sat forward and watched, fascinated. For all anyone in this room knew, I could have been mute.
Kelsey looked startled. “Oh. Well, of course. I guess everyone will be wanting to do that. But I don’t know if they’re up to it quite yet. The family, I mean. But when they are, I don’t mind sharing their contact details.”
“Of course,” my sister agreed. “This was all very sudden.”
“So where was Leslie from originally?” I asked. What the heck—if polite wasn’t getting us anywhere, I might as well throw a grenade in the punchbowl.
“Charleston,” Kelsey said, taking a slug from her glass. “But Leslie’s been in Miami for ages.” She looked over at Tennis Thing Two.
“Simply ages,” her friend echoed, nodding.
The other one reappeared with a full tumbler of amber liquid and claimed the far end of the sofa.
No one had offered us so much as a stick of gum.
“She was a Miami girl at heart,” Kelsey said, and all three of them nodded. “She always said, ‘Life begins in South Beach.’”
For Leslie, a life of crime, maybe. Or did she end up here when things got too hot back home?
“At moments like this, it pays to remember the happier times,” Annie said, smiling. “How did you and Leslie meet?”
“Oh, that is a funny story,” Kelsey said, taking another long draw from her glass.
Nine times out of ten, when someone has to tell you a story is funny, it’s not.
“Almost two years ago, I was renting not too far from here. And I wanted to buy. Well, I am in finance, but of course, this was several promotions ago. You know how it is. Not long out of college. Tons of student loans. Of course I’d been salivating watching them build this place. But I knew I couldn’t afford it. Then I met Leslie at an open house, and that was it. When she learned Oceanside was my dream, she wouldn’t let me give up. We found a smaller unit coming onto the market. The list price was still waaay above my budget. But Leslie’s a champ. A total champ. She got the price knocked down and even helped me secure a deal on the financing. And we’ve been best friends ever since. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her,” she finished, mopping her dry eyes with the tissues.
I noticed the Tennis Twins exchange a glance—and a little smirk—when Kelsey claimed “best” friend status. Trouble in paradise?
“She was such a people person, and so attractive,” Annie said, settling into her chair. “It’s a wonder she never married.”
“Oh, she did,” Kelsey said. “Fred McQueen.”
Tennis Thing One and Tennis Thing Two shook their heads in unison. I’m guessing they weren’t big fans of Fred.
“It just didn’t work out,” Kelsey continued, downing what was left in her glass. “From what Leslie said, I think he was a bit of a player, if you know what I mean. Or maybe they were just too young. That was sooo long ago.”
Was it my imagination or did the Tennis Twins blanch slightly? They were about Leslie’s vintage. And I’m guessing Kelsey’s not-so-veiled comments about Leslie’s age—including the marriage that was “sooo long ago”—may have hit a little too close to home.
“Finance is such a fascinating field, especially now,” I said, taking a page from my sister’s pay-a-compliment-ask-a-question playbook. “What do you do?”
“I’m a manager in investment products at Promethean National Bank,” Kelsey said proudly. “I’ve been there for almost a year.”
CHAPTER 34
Next stop, Quinn Whitmore’s apartment.
Annie and I figured that anyone interested in staging a memorial must have more than a passing acquaintance with the deceased. So I was curious what Quinn might have to say.
And whether he’d be slipcovered in black, like the last bunch.
“So what’s your take on the Leslie-Kelsey friendship?” I asked, as we exited the stairwell on the ninth floor.
“Not as close as she wants everyone to believe,” Annie said. “You caught the look between her two friends? Plus, she obviously has no idea where Leslie’s family lives. I asked for their address, and she was stalling.”
“Or just trying to control the flow of information,” I said. “Absent family, she gets to be the chief mourner an
d center of attention.”
Annie shook her head, smiling. “So young and yet so cynical.”
“You, by the way, are scary-good at information gathering,” I said.
My sister grinned. “So I could have been a reporter, huh?”
“You could have been a spy,” I said, then instantly regretted it.
“Did you know about Dad?” I finally asked.
“Did I know what about Dad?”
“That he was a spy.”
“For real?” she asked. “How did you discover that? And what did Mom say?”
“I haven’t had the nerve to mention it. You know how she gets about Dad.”
To put it simply, he was the love of her life. And I know the feeling was mutual. While almost no topic was off-limits in our family—especially if Mom was the one raising it—we tiptoed around the subject of Dad. Especially with her. It was just too painful.
“How did you hear about this?” Annie asked. “Spill.”
“You know my neighbor, Ian Sterling?”
“The hunky Brit who has a crush on you? Sure.”
“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” I insisted, as my face went hot. “We’re just . . . neighbors.”
That much was true. Now.
“Well, I kind of accidentally learned that he’s in the business,” I said. “Or was. Frankly, I think the place he’s running is some kind of covert meeting place or safe house, in addition to being a B&B.”
“He’s certainly in the right location—Northern Virginia, just outside D.C.,” my sister concluded. “Is that why you’re giving him the cold shoulder?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly. Anyway, one of his guests? Let’s just say she was in a related occupation. And she said I reminded her of Dad.”
The woman was a spy married to a spy. She was also an assassin. But no need to get into that.
“Damn,” Annie said. “Do you think she was telling the truth?”
“Only one person would know,” I said. “And I haven’t had the guts to ask her yet. I’m thinking full-on, intervention-style family gathering . . .”
“Definitely with Peter and Zara,” my sister added. “Maybe a catering tray and some light refreshments?”
“If we give her some of what was in Kelsey’s glass tonight, she might actually tell us.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” Annie said. “I crossed Europe with that woman. She can hold her Scotch. More important, she never has more than one. When we left the MacLeish distillery, she was the only one on the tour who could walk a straight line. Including the tour operator.”
“Sounds about right. But am I one hundred percent sure of my source? No. At the same time, the woman had no reason to lie. Not that I’m aware of. So who knows?”
“It would explain all those lengthy business trips,” Annie concluded.
“Yeah, but it makes me wonder what really happened on the last one. The heart attack? And if Mom’s been keeping secrets all these years, how do we even bring it up?”
“With love,” Annie said simply. “She loved him. We all loved him. And we’re all adults now. There’s no reason not to tell us the truth anymore.”
See what I mean about graceful? I’m convinced my sister could do anything.
“So what’s the deal with you and Ian?” Annie asked.
“He bugged my house.”
“No!”
“My bedroom, actually. But only because that’s where I keep the plug-in phone. Not because he wanted anything skeevy.”
“So what was he after?” my sister asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“His father was missing. I knew where the guy was, but had promised not to tell. And it looked like his father was going to have to go into hiding. Probably permanently.”
“So what happened?” she asked.
“Ian found out what was going on. Through the bug. And offered his dad a bit of assistance. I knew the dad’s situation, but I didn’t know about Ian’s . . . industry contacts. Now Harkins and his family are safe. Living out in the open. And Ian has a new baby brother. Alistair.”
“So Ian broke the rules to save the people he loved?”
“Yeah, basically.”
“Sounds like something you’d do,” my sister noted.
I hate it when she’s right.
CHAPTER 35
As we sat on the sofa in Quinn Whitmore’s apartment, I was struck by how much the place resembled Annie’s. Surrounded by walls of floor-to-ceiling windows, it gave me that same sense of floating above the Earth in the deep blue Miami sky.
Quinn could have been fifty or seventy. He greeted us wearing a snow-white guayabera and pressed khakis. His feet were bare. With a square bronzed face, high cheekbones, and graying light brown hair just long enough to be stylish, he gave the impression of family money. Lots of it.
His home was a minimalist’s dream. Mostly modern furniture with a few well-chosen antiques; there were just enough places to sit—or set a drink—without blocking the views or feeling the least bit cramped.
If Architectural Digest had needed another condo to sub in the month they featured my sister’s penthouse, this one would have filled the bill.
“To what do I owe the honor?” he said, carrying a tea tray in from the kitchen. “It’s not every day I get two lovely ladies knocking at my door.”
“Dennis wanted us to find out a little more about what you had in mind for a memorial service for Leslie,” Annie said.
Since we didn’t know just what his relationship was to Leslie McQueen—or whether we needed another condolence casserole—we had decided to mask our fact-finding mission as a fact-finding mission.
“I had the definite impression that Dennis Chu was less than interested in the ideas of this old duffer,” he said, pouring three cups from a white bone-china pot.
Annie smiled. “He was a little overwhelmed. That’s why we volunteered to help out. I guess you’ve heard—Grace is having twins.”
“I hadn’t heard it was twins,” Quinn said amiably. “Double trouble—good for them!”
I spied a plate of sliced pound cake on the tray and tried not to drool. That promised lunch had never materialized, thanks to the election-cancellation fliers and our “condolence visits.” I was ravenous.
“I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a loss,” Annie confessed. “I didn’t know Leslie all that well.”
Quinn chuckled. It seemed an odd reaction.
“She certainly knew you,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Vacuumed up every story in every gossip column. Constantly pumping the neighbors for tidbits. A bit obsessed, I’m afraid.
“Oh, not in a bad way,” he added when he saw what must have been the shocked look on my face. “No, she was just curious. And I think she rather saw you as something of a rival.”
Annie’s expression was hard to read. And I knew her. But she was used to drama. I’d noticed she just tended to float above it.
“I wish I’d known,” she said. “I’d have made more of an effort to be friends.”
“My dear,” Quinn said, “I don’t think it would have made a damned bit of difference. Leslie was what she was. And she was a firecracker, that’s for sure. She certainly livened up this place.”
“How did you meet?” I asked, finally snagging a piece of cake.
“Here at the pool,” he said. “She wanted to host a poker evening and was looking for a couple of extra players. I said it sounded like just the thing. We all had such a good time, she ended up hosting the game a couple of times a month. And I was a regular. You’d be amazed what you learn about someone across a card table.”
Especially if they’ve had a few cocktails.
“So where was she from originally?” I asked. “We’d like to send flowers to the family.”
“No real family anymore,” Quinn said. “She has an ex-husband. But from the sound of it, they didn’t get on too well. From what she said, he’s some kind of bank executive. And they lived in Charlotte. But that
was a long time ago.”
Not all that long, if he was helping her hide money. Could Leslie McQueen have a partner in crime?
“I guess you’ve heard they postponed the election,” Annie said. “Just for the time being.”
“Ah yes,” he said, smiling broadly. “The election. No doubt how that would have turned out.”
“It did look like Leslie had a lock on the competition,” I said, trying to sound neutral.
“Of course she did,” Quinn said, laughing. “Her competition didn’t exist.”
“I’m sorry?” my sister asked.
Quinn leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Those other four fellows? Totally fabricated. They were straw men.”
The pound cake halted halfway to my mouth.
Quinn sat back, a broad smile on his tanned face.
“No one knew them, so no one would vote for them,” I summarized.
He nodded. “It’s all about name recognition. Brand recognition. Who’s the best-known candidate on the ballot? The most popular brand? Leslie McQueen.”
I dropped the cake onto my saucer. “And to be on the safe side, she spreads a few stories to her friends about rotten things the other four have been caught doing recently, then lets the gossip mill take over.”
“Just so,” Quinn said, folding his hands in his lap.
“That’s why she called a special election,” I said, snapping my fingers. “So many of the snowbirds and building regulars are away from here in July. So they wouldn’t be around to ask questions or maybe throw their hats in the ring. They’d just send in their ballots. And for the price of a cocktail-party-slash-campaign-rally, Leslie would get an extra year as president of the homeowners’ association.”
Quinn nodded, grinning from ear to ear.
“You knew about this?” my sister asked him, astonished.
“My dear, it was my idea.”
CHAPTER 36
Annie had been stony since we’d exited Quinn Whitmore’s place.
“That’s vile,” she whispered finally, as we approached the door to the stairs. “Absolutely vile.”