“Call. The. Police!” I yelled.
The bartender moved to the end of the bar and picked up the phone. A manager appeared at my side as the entire restaurant fell silent, everyone staring at me and Maks. “What seems to be the trouble here?” the manager asked.
“There’s a woman in the parking lot,” I told him, lowering my voice so as not to alarm anyone else. “She’s armed and extremely dangerous. She shot a detective this afternoon, and she’s a trained assassin. She came with him. We can’t let him leave.”
Maks’s hand went to his heart, as if he were stunned by my accusation. But then his gaze moved to the door, and his eyes narrowed. “She drove here herself,” he said softly. “I can describe her car.”
I was trembling as I stood next to the manager. The bartender called out to me, “I have the police on the phone,” he said. “What should I say?”
“What is she driving?” I asked Maks.
“A white Jag. I don’t know the license plate.”
Focusing on the bartender, I said, “Tell them that the woman who shot Detective Shepherd is leaving Mitchell’s at this very moment driving a white Jag. Tell them she’s a trained assassin, responsible for murdering several other people here in East Hampton, including Joyce McQueen.”
The bartender’s eyes widened, and he relayed the message to the dispatcher. He then said, “Can you describe her?”
“White, mid-thirties, gray eyes, brown hair, about five feet seven inches tall, wearing a tan leather jacket and matching slacks.”
The bartender spoke into the phone, and Maks sat down in one of the chairs. Meanwhile a low murmur had started up among the patrons, and the manager continued to stand by my side protectively.
“It makes sense,” Maks said to me. “But you must believe me, Catherine, I had no idea she was an assassin.”
“Then who did you think she was?” I demanded.
“An accountant,” he said simply.
“I don’t believe you,” I snapped at him as a hot volt of anger surged up inside me. The betrayal was almost more than I could stand. I’d had romantic feelings for this man!
“I’m sure you don’t,” he said to me. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t believe me either. But if I may, to prove to you that I am not your enemy, please ask your sister about me.”
My brow furrowed. “What?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly.
“Ask Abigail.”
My eyes narrowed as my suspicions returned. “She doesn’t go by Abigail, and if you knew her, you’d know that!”
He smiled almost amusedly. “Fine, then ask her husband, Dutch. Agent Rivers might confide to you about who I am and whether I’m a good guy or not.”
I found myself blinking furiously as my mind tried to catch up with the words coming out of Maks’s mouth. “How do you know my sister and her husband?” I demanded.
“It’s a long story,” Maks said. “One you should ask them about.”
Distantly, I heard the sound of sirens approaching and felt both relieved and nervous about having the police show up at the restaurant.
But I also had to know, so I pulled out my phone and, keeping my eyes on Maks, I called my sister. “Cat!” Abby said warmly as she answered the call. “You have so been on my mind lately. And I’ve been meaning to call, but I’ve been working a case that’s had me really busy. How are you? Are you okay?”
“Abby,” I said, my tone serious. “You need to tell me about Maks Grinkov.”
Total silence spoke loudly on my sister’s end of the call. When she spoke again, her tone was careful . . . clipped even. “How do you know Maks Grinkov?”
“How do you know Maks Grinkov?” I replied. “Abby, I’m not playing a game here. You need to tell me about him.”
Another long silence from my sister ensued before she finally said, “I’ll need to call you back.”
With that, the little brat hung up on me, and I lifted the phone away from my ear to verbally swear at it.
Just then Maks’s phone rang, and he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve it. Looking at the caller ID, he smiled gamely at me before he answered the call with a cheery, “Hello, Abigail. Lovely to hear from you.”
My jaw dropped. Leaving the protective side of the manager, whose attention was moving to the door and the approaching police sirens, I went to Maks and glared at him. He ignored me in favor of speaking to my sister. “I can assure you I did no such thing,” he was saying. “I was looking for rental space, and she had some available. I took it without realizing she was your sister.”
My sister must’ve asked another question because Maks’s eyes went to me, and he grimaced ever so slightly. “I don’t know,” he said, staring straight into my eyes. “Possibly. I’m still trying to figure that out, but if she is, I’ll use everything at my disposal to protect her.”
“Give me the phone,” I said angrily.
Maks handed it over without hesitation.
“Abby,” I said, my voice low and even, “you need to tell me about Maks.”
“I can’t do that, Cat,” she replied. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s classified.”
I barked out a mirthless laugh. “This is not the time to be joking around!”
“I’m not joking. I swear. I can’t talk to you about him.”
It was my turn to say nothing for a long moment. At last, I said, “Is he trustworthy?”
She let out a breath that sounded relieved. “He’s the most trustworthy person you’re ever likely to meet, Cat. I don’t know what’s going on, or what you’ve gotten yourself involved in, but if Maks says he’ll protect you and keep you safe, then he will. Even if it costs him everything.”
“That’s a little cryptic,” I said, but I was now looking at Maks a bit differently.
“I guess I can tell you this,” she said. “It once cost him almost everything to protect me and Dutch. And by everything, I mean, everything.”
“Everything,” I repeated. “You mean like his life?” I asked.
“Yes. And more.”
“All right,” I said, with an eye to the door as the first officer showed up on scene. “I have to go. But I’ll want to talk to you later.”
“Definitely,” my sister said.
As I handed Maks his phone back, he said to me, “I’ll be limited in what I can share with the police about Greta.”
I studied his face, looking for any hint of deception, but what I found there instead was an earnestness that couldn’t be denied. “Will you talk to me about her?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” I said. “When?”
“Soon,” he promised.
“Okay,” I relented, turning to greet the officer approaching me.
* * *
The next day, I woke early after a restless night and headed over to Chez Kitty to find Gilley sipping coffee and looking rather glum. “Morning,” I said, moving to get a cup of the good stuff.
“I can’t believe she got away. Again!” he moaned.
“I know,” I said, pouring the coffee into one of the largest mugs I could find. Bringing it to the table, I sat down and added, “Maks believes she’s left the Hamptons, and likely she’s left New York. He said that now that she knows that I’ve told him who she is, she won’t want to be anywhere near him.”
“But who is Maks?” Gilley asked.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure yet. My sister knows him, and she says that I can trust him, but who he is in all this, I have no idea.”
“It’s a mystery wrapped in a mystery,” Gilley said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But with any luck, we’re out of it. I mean, if Greta has left the area, then we shouldn’t need to worry.”
Gilley scowled. “Why do I have the feeling this isn’t the end of it, though?”
I frowned too. Gilley had just given voice to the nagging feeling in the pit of my own stomach. “Maks is heading out of town
again,” I said.
“But I thought he just got back?”
“He did, but with this whole Angel of Death thing going down, he says he needs to tie up some loose ends up north.”
“Where up north?”
I shrugged. “Maybe Canada?”
“So much secrecy,” Gilley mused.
“On the plus side, I think I’ve found Erma a job.”
“You have?” Gilley said. “Where?”
“A colleague of Marcus’s,” I said.
“Oh, God. Do you really want to risk your good relationship with that wonderfully beautiful attorney?”
“Erma had a job interview yesterday,” I said. “She sent me a text while we were at the hospital, and she said it went really well. She said she and the attorney understood each other, and she thinks it’ll be a great fit.”
“They understood each other?” Gilley asked.
I shrugged. “Marcus told me that his colleague is a bit . . . off.”
“Ahh,” Gil said. “Well, that’s some wonderful news then.”
“It is,” I said, wrapping both hands around the mug of hot brew. It was an especially chilly morning, and I was struggling to feel warm.
“What’s going to happen to Carmen after all this?” Gilley asked next.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure exactly. She’s going to come in and speak to Shepherd’s lieutenant later this morning, and her witness statement should help fill in a few of the gaps in Heather’s murder file, which, now that you’ve recorded Joyce’s confession, can probably be closed. And Erma mentioned something to me about Carmen looking for work in Florida, which reminds me, I think I have a few contacts in the Fort Lauderdale area. Maybe someone will need some personal assistant help and I can find Carmen a job.”
“That would be nice of you,” Gilley said.
“I just want everyone to come out of this with a little peace,” I said. “I think I still feel really bad that Joyce never found peace after her daughter died. She found revenge, but that’s hardly a satisfactory ending for a long life lived.”
“So true,” Gil mused.
We sat in companionable silence for a bit before I said, “Any word on Shepherd?”
“Not yet. It’s too early to text Sunny, but I’m anxious to know if he’s improved.”
“I still can’t believe he dove in front of that bullet for me.”
“Thank God he did, though, Cat,” Gil said, reaching out to squeeze my hand.
“Yes,” I said. “Indeed. And I owe him for that. We should go to the hospital later and check in on him.”
“We can do that.”
And we did do that. For the next three weeks, in fact, Gilley and I made the daily pilgrimage to the hospital to check in on Shepherd, who slowly but surely got better and regained his strength.
Finally, just a few days before Thanksgiving, as I was putting fresh sheets on my sons’ beds, preparing to have them home for the holiday, my phone rang, and caller ID indicated it was the East Hampton P.D. “Hello?” I said, tentatively.
“Catherine,” Shepherd said.
“Oh! Detective, did you get sprung from the hospital?”
“I did,” he said. “And I’m just leaving the station.”
“You’re back at work already? Is that wise?”
“No, but I’m a stubborn son of a gun, so what’re you gonna do?”
I shook my head and laughed. “I suppose just get out of your way until you come to your senses.”
“I’m taking it easy,” he said. “Just putting in a few hours at a time.”
“I think you should be resting, but I’ll table that opinion as it’s not likely to dissuade you.”
“Speaking of tables,” Shepherd said. “You hungry?”
I glanced at my watch. It was quarter to six. “I could eat.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”
Shepherd arrived looking very dapper, in gray slacks and a black sweater. He’d lost at least ten pounds, which gave him a leaner, fitter look, and one that made him even more appealing.
“You look good,” I said, as I answered the door.
He smiled and offered me his arm. “Thank you. As do you.”
I wondered at his chivalry and good mood. “What’s up with you?” I asked, when we got in the car.
“What do you mean what’s up with me?”
“Well, forgive me, Detective, but for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been this . . . how shall I put this . . . um . . . playful?”
Shepherd laughed. “I have my moments. And, Catherine, can you and I make a deal?”
“What kind of deal?”
“Can you call me Steve? Or even Shepherd. The whole ‘Detective’ thing is a little too formal for me.”
I smiled. “I can do that, Steve. And if you’d prefer to call me Cat, I wouldn’t mind that either.”
Shepherd turned onto the road and said, “Actually, I like Catherine. It’s regal, and it suits you.”
I felt myself blush and found again those same complicated feelings I’d had for Shepherd when he’d taken me out to dinner before. “Okay,” I said simply.
We chatted for a bit in the car about the Angel of Death case. Maks was still in Canada, and he’d flat-out refused to discuss Greta with me on the phone. I was beginning to wonder if he was ever coming back, but he kept assuring me that he would definitely fill me in very soon.
And I hadn’t shared with Shepherd that Maks knew Greta. Maks had informed Shepherd’s lieutenant—who’d responded to the restaurant personally—that he’d been seated alone and that Greta had approached him, told him she was dining alone too, and would he mind if they shared a table and some company? Simply to be polite, he’d accepted her invitation, and they’d had a pleasant dinner together, talking about nothing more serious than the weather.
The story sounded plausible, especially when Maks told it, but it bothered me that he knew much more about her than he was willing to share with the police.
At some point, I wanted to try to convince him to talk to Shepherd about it, but for now, I was keeping his secret.
In short order, we arrived at our destination, and my mood went from curious and happy to upset and angry in the scope of about two seconds. “No. Uh, uh. No!” I snapped.
“Hey,” Shepherd said, pointing to Pierre’s. “Trust me, okay?”
“I cannot believe you brought me here!”
“Catherine,” he said gently, holding out his hand to me. “Please. Trust me.”
I rolled my eyes, and after a moment I took his hand. He squeezed it, then hopped out of the car and came around to my side, opening the door for me as I got out.
I followed him inside, bracing myself for all the judgmental stares that I was sure would follow my entrance into the eatery, but after I entered and we approached the maître d’, I saw all the waitstaff gather in front of us to greet us warmly with smiles and gentle pats to the arm.
After we were shown to a table, I glanced around the room and realized everyone was looking at the two of us and smiling kindly. Pierre himself then arrived at our table and said, “Ms. Cooper, Detective Shepherd, you honor us tonight with your presence.”
“We do?” I said, a bit confused.
“Yes,” Pierre said. “You’re heroes, aren’t you?”
“We are?” I said, turning to Shepherd. This was news to me.
“You saved each other’s lives,” Pierre said. “I read the article today in the paper. What an incredible act of bravery from each of you.”
Shepherd grinned at Pierre and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t immediately stopped the flow of blood,” he said. “And she managed to coax a confession out of a murderer all in the same afternoon.”
“Extraordinary,” Pierre said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Tonight your meal is on the house,” he said. “And I’ll have my chef prepare something special just for the two of you.”
With that, Pie
rre bounced off, and I turned to Shepherd. “You know,” I said slyly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say that this is your way of apologizing to me for having arrested me so publicly.”
Shepherd focused on the wine menu. “Maybe you know better then,” he said. And then he lifted his gaze to look me in the eye and say, “And maybe this is also my way of having another meal out with you, Catherine. Something I could get used to.”
Oh boy, I thought. Oooooh, boy . . .
Coached to Death Page 33