May the Best Man Die Page 16

  “Hey!” There was someone fiddling with the driver's door of the van. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, hi.” Lou turned toward me with a sheepish smile. “Uh, Frank said you'd have that box of stuff for him. I was going to put it my car for him.”

  “I don't have it yet,” I told him. Filipo hadn't returned to work yesterday, so now Joe and I were both furious at him. “Besides, Frank's staying here tonight.”

  He nodded ponderously. “Guess I'll go, then. G'night.”

  “Lou, wait.” My toes could get a little icier, and he was much more likely to spill the beans now than at a crowded party. “You were telling me something, remember? About your investments? You really got me curious. . . .”

  He moved closer. “You got me curious, too. About you.”

  My big mistake was to hesitate, wondering how to fend him off without blowing the chance to question him. Before I knew it, I was on the receiving end of the kiss that I'd wanted from Kevin and most certainly did not want from Lou. His embrace seemed to go on forever, but in fact, in a spectacular example of bad timing, it lasted just long enough to embarrass Frances Sanjek.

  “Oh!” she squeaked, coming around the back of the SUV. Her pinched little face peered out from the fur-trimmed hood of her jacket like a squirrel from a tree hole. “Oh, I'm so sorry!”

  Lou dropped his stranglehold at the sound, and I stepped quickly away from him. My coat was all askew, and I was still straightening it when Eric Sanjek appeared behind his wife—and Charles Tyler right behind him.

  “I didn't mean to barge in on you two,” Frances simpered. “I guess you just couldn't wait to be alone! Come on, Eric, let's us older folk go home.”

  She pulled a cute, conniving grimace at me—I wanted to slap her—and hopped into the passenger seat of the SUV. Eric, amused, shook his head and turned away. But Tyler stood his ground, staring at me, his face stiff with fury. If he had been Jove, I'd have had a thunderbolt clear through my forehead.

  I closed my eyes and swore under my breath. Of all the people in the world, suddenly Charles Tyler was the one whose respect I most cherished. When I opened them he was gone, and Lou was retreating to his Porsche, with a muffled “See ya!” tossed over his shoulder.

  I climbed wearily into Vanna and started up the heater, waiting for the Sanjeks to drive away. My fingers were frozen, too, by now, and I was deeply sleepy. At least there was one small comfort left: my coffee thermos was still lying on the front seat. I unscrewed the cap and tilted it to my lips to get at the last warm, shade-grown mouthful.

  But the demons of mischief weren't done with me yet. There were three mouthfuls. One went into me, and the other two ran down the cleavage of the goddamn purple dress.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  JUST WHEN YOU THINK THINGS CAN'T GET ANY WORSE, THEY don't.

  Sometimes, anyway. Saturday morning was one of those times. I slept blissfully late, and then received three phone calls, each one more welcome than the last.

  The first came from my contented client Ivy. “Last night went great, Carnegie. I have to tell you, I wasn't sure about the sushi business, but Eric and Frances raved about it.”

  That's what made Ivy my kind of millionaire. She genuinely cared about being hospitable to her future son-in-law's parents.

  “Glad to hear it.” I rolled out of bed and stretched. “How's Sally today?”

  “Oh, we made up,” she laughed, answering my real question and easing my mind. Mother–daughter feuds make for difficult weddings. “She promised to behave herself tonight, and I put the fear of God into Frank about it, too. Got a pen? I have the names of the reporters who'll be there. Maddie lined up some TV coverage, along with the papers.”

  We ran through the details of the party, from the antipasto buffet to the strolling carolers to the “Welcome to MFC” gift packs for the Habitat employees. All the while I was debating whether to ask Ivy about that awkward little scene in the driveway.

  “One last thing,” she was saying. “I decided to invite some of my marketing department. Once the merger is in place, they'll be cooking up a campaign for our new shade-grown products, and I want them to network with the Habitat folks. So figure on another dozen guests.”

  “I'll take care of it.” I hesitated, and then ventured, “Charles seemed to enjoy himself last night. I, ah, saw him walking the Sanjeks out to their car.”

  “Yes, I thought he'd be exhausted by then, but he insisted. He insists on making an appearance tonight, too, to show the whole family together. We should get some nice press out of it.”

  So Charles hadn't said anything about me and Lou. Good. I mulled this over as I wandered to the kitchen and munched a bagel. Maybe I was worrying too much, and that thunderbolt look Charles gave me had been more surprise than anger. Still, Sally wouldn't be the only one on her best behavior tonight. I'd have to come up with a substitute for my long-lost jade silk. . . .

  I kept hoping to hear from the elusive Andrea, but the second call, right after the bagel, was from Lily. We'd been on the outs for less than a week, but it felt far longer, and it was delicious to catch up. She avoided the subject of Darwin, except to say that the two of them were leaving shortly to take the boys to a Christmas matinee.

  “Tell me fun stuff,” she said. “Girl talk.”

  So I told her everything, from the big things (Kevin Bauer) to the more routine (the sushi party) to the kind of minutiae that no one would care about except your very best friend.

  “It was your shade of purple, Lily, but the style was outrageous! And of course I can't return it now, with coffee stains all down the front. It did the job, though. Lou Schulman got pretty forthcoming.”

  “You think Schulman knows something?” End of girl talk.

  “Well, not necessarily. But he was involved with Jason Kraye in some way, and he's been trying to conceal the fact. It's the only real lead we've got. Is Mike getting anywhere with retracing Darwin's route that night?”

  “Not yet. But he's not giving up. And the lawyer Aaron found for me says that unless they come up with new evidence against Dar, he probably won't be rearrested.”

  She paused, and I could read her thoughts. “Probably” wasn't all that comforting. And not being arrested for murder isn't the same as being exonerated.

  “Lily, we're going to work this out, I promise. Listen, Schulman used to work for a dot-com named Dark Canyons. It's defunct now, but maybe there's still information available.”

  “If there is, I'll find it,” she said. “It'll be a relief to have something to do.”

  “That's the spirit. Hey, what can I bring for Christmas dinner, besides an action figure toilet? If I can locate one.”

  “You can forget about that,” she chuckled. “I've convinced Ethan that superheroes use a special men's room in another dimension.”

  “Ooh, you're good.”

  “Mothers know everything. You could just bring some nice crusty bread from the Market, since you're right there these days.”

  “Done. And I'll probably see you before then, anyway. You take care, my dear.”

  “You, too.”

  I had just gotten dressed when the phone rang again. Third time's the charm, and this call was utterly charming: my landlady, telling me I could go back to the houseboat. My exile was over.

  “I'm sorry it's been so long,” she quavered. “But I wanted everything safe and sound for you.”

  “Thanks so much, Mrs. Castle. I'll be home for Christmas! I'm going over right now.”

  I called Joe with the good news.

  “That's marvelous, Carnegie! Not that you weren't welcome at my digs, but it was getting to be a bit much, wasn't it? Eddie will be thrilled, of course.”

  “Well, yes. But you've been great, and so has Kelli and everyone else. Can I keep my keys for a little while, till I get everything moved?”

  “No problem. By the way, I've got a little surprise for you.”

  “Tell, tell.”

  “Remember w
e talked about doing a panini bar sometime, where guests pick out Italian ingredients at a buffet and the chef grills them on ciabatta bread?”

  “Joe! Did you arrange for panini at Habitat tonight? On this short notice? You're a magician.”

  “I believe I am. Enjoy your homecoming.”

  Better and better. Happily humming, I scooped up my stuff, revved up Vanna, and was soon pulling into the little parking lot for houseboat owners on the east shore of Lake Union.

  I hurried down the dock, enjoying the familiar hollow sound of my footsteps on the worn wooden planks, and admiring my neighbors' Christmas decorations. There were wreaths on many of the doors, garlands of lights and greenery along the weathered railings, and even a life-sized Santa doll propped up in someone's canoe, swaying gently as the canoe bobbed at its mooring.

  My houseboat held the coveted position at the end of the dock, with a panoramic view of the lake. From the Made in Heaven office upstairs, or my narrow front porch down at water level, you could see all the way from the downtown towers to the south, past Queen Anne Hill and the Fremont Drawbridge on the west shore, to the green slope of Gas Works Park to the north. I wouldn't have traded that view for all the mansions in Washington State.

  As I paced the dock now, my lungs expanded with the thrilling, unmistakable scent of a large body of water, and I felt my spirit expand as well. Welcome home. I strode up the gangplank, instantly adjusting my gait to the slight sway of the platform under my feet, and looked around.

  Aside from the patches of new lumber here and there, showing raw and clean against the faded old boards, the place didn't look much different. Inside, as I went happily from room to room—there weren't many, but I loved each one—my cell phone sounded.

  “So how'd it go, Stretch?”

  “Oh, hi. It went fine.”

  “What did you learn, and what'd you have to do to learn it?”

  “Ha, ha. Lou and Jason both worked for an outfit called Dark Canyons. They made on-line pop-up ads.”

  “I hate those things!”

  “Me too. But listen to this. When I asked Lou about high-tech investing, he said he never played the stock market, but that he's got something going on now that's going to make him a lot of money.”

  “Now that's interesting,” said Aaron. “What kind of something?”

  “I don't know, but I'm going to see him at a function tonight, and I'll try to find out more.”

  “You do that. Meanwhile, I've found out something interesting myself, about Jason Kraye's gambling companions. It might be nothing, but—”

  “Can you tell me quick, Aaron? I want to unpack. I'm back home in my houseboat!”

  “Hey, congratulations. You know, I've got something to show you, too. I'll come on over.”

  “But—”

  But he'd already hung up. Aaron lived at the Lakeshore Apartments, a low-end development not far from me, so I was still putting clothes away when he arrived. He wore his navy pea coat, and was brandishing a large manila envelope.

  “Here it is, Slim!”

  “Here what is?”

  He slapped the envelope down on my kitchen table. “Go ahead, open it.”

  Curious, I drew out a thick sheaf of documents. Commonwealth of Massachusetts . . . Judgment and Decree . . . I slid them back inside and closed the clasp.

  “Aaron, we agreed not to talk about this.”

  “I'm not talking, I'm just showing you.”

  “I don't need to see your divorce papers.”

  “Sure you do. You made such a big deal about trust, so here it is, documentary evidence, absolutely legal. Trust me, I'm a born-again bachelor.”

  “But that's not the point!” I rubbed my forehead; big headache coming on. “You're divorced, fine, I believe you. But am I supposed to forget about what happened?”

  “What do you mean, what happened? Nothing happened.” He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away and walked into the living room. He followed, raising his voice. “Just because I didn't tell you every detail of my life story the first day I met you—”

  “Being married is not a detail!”

  I felt my face flushing, and turned away toward the sliding glass door of the porch. I hated being put on the defensive like this. Am I being unreasonable? No. Honesty is honesty. I have my principles. I'd been burned too many times lately; I refused to risk it again.

  “When were you going to tell me, after we made love the first time? Just mention it in bed one morning: ‘That was great, honey, and by the way, I'm married'?”

  “But I'm not married, not anymore! And I'll tell you anything you want. If you remember, I've been trying to tell you the whole story for the past week. You won't listen.”

  “I don't want to listen!” Not to some lame tale about how his wife didn't understand him. “Aaron, this is pointless. It wouldn't have worked out for us anyway.”

  “Why not?” He approached me at the glass. “Just tell me that.”

  “We're not compatible. We argue all the time. I can't stand your smoking. And besides,” I added, turning petty in my resentment, “you're too short for me.”

  He flinched, and I wished the words unsaid, while they still hung in the air.

  But Aaron wasn't hurt, he was angry. “Are we back to that? Honest to God, Stretch, for a smart woman you can be so stupid.”

  “There's nothing stupid about it! I'm just not comfortable being taller than the man I'm with.”

  “And why exactly is the man you're with supposed to be bigger than you? You want equal pay and equal rights and equal everything, but the guy is supposed to be able to drag you to his cave?”

  “Don't be silly. It's only that—”

  Something happened then, but even afterward I wasn't sure exactly what. I remember he pulled on my left arm, and gave a little shove to my right shoulder, and before I finished my sentence, I was lying on my living room carpet with Aaron on top of me, his hand cushioning the back of my head from the fall and his face inches from mine.

  “If I wanted to drag you somewhere, Slim,” he said, not even breathing hard, “I would.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  NOW, THERE ARE A LOT OF WAYS THAT A SITUATION LIKE THAT could go.

  I could have said—I almost did say—“How dare you?” In which case, Aaron could have made an equally melodramatic reply and covered my heaving bosom with burning kisses, or my burning bosom with heaving kisses, or something to that effect.

  Alternatively, I could have screamed my head off and brought charges for assault.

  As it was, I just gulped air and gazed into the warm brown eyes above me, entirely perplexed. A moment passed. Aaron smiled slightly. I opened trembling lips.

  Someone started banging on the houseboat door and calling my name.

  “That's Larry,” I said.

  “‘That's Larry?' Aaron's eyes widened, then he rolled away onto his back and, to my considerable annoyance, began to laugh uproariously. “I just pulled off the coolest maneuver I've ever tried on a woman and all you can say is ‘That's Larry'?”

  You had to hand it to Aaron Gold. He had a slight stature and a huge ego and an irritating way of asking endless questions, but he also had a lead-lined, armor-plated, bulletproof sense of humor. The man could laugh at anything. Right now he lay on the floor chortling, then rose smoothly to his feet and reached down to help me to mine.

  “And who is Larry, pray tell?”

  “My neighbor.” I brushed myself off. My hands were trembling, too. “He fixes things for me, so behave.”

  When I opened the kitchen door Larry Halloway bounced in like a beach ball, buoyant and spherical and cheerful as ever. He was over thirty and under sixty; premature baldness and a baby face made it hard to tell much else. He'd been my neighborly neighbor since I moved in, always ready to clear a drain or trace a short circuit.

  Today Larry was clad in corduroys and a down parka, but he also carried a fancy ski jacket, all zippers and flaps and garish black and yellow
stripes, like a huge hornet.

  “Carnegie, the prodigal daughter returns! I thought those workmen would never leave. Country music all day long, I almost went crazy. They had some great tools, though. This is yours.” He pushed the jacket at me and smiled over at Aaron. “Howja do! Larry Halloway, and you are?”

  “Aaron Gold. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleasure's mine! Did you see the new siding they put in on the north wall? Nice neat job—”

  I broke in. “This isn't mine, Larry. Where'd you find it?”

  “Oh, I didn't find it, someone gave it to me to give to you. A Chinese girl, I didn't catch her name, but I figured you would know. She had your business card, anyway.”

  Aaron went very still, and the hair on the back of my neck stirred.

  “Crying like a baby, too,” Larry continued. “I invited her inside but she was in a tearing hurry. Said she couldn't take the jacket with her and she didn't want anyone else to have it. At least I think that's what she said. Heavy accent. Mind if I look around? Hope those guys did a good job for you.”

  “Sure.” I waved him absently toward the living room, and laid the bulky garment on the kitchen table, on top of Aaron's manila envelope. “Aaron, do you think this belonged—”

  “To Jason Kraye? Must have.” His hands, quick and deft, checked the inner collar and patted down the pockets. “No name tag, but from what you told me, Li Ping wasn't exactly overrun with gentlemen callers. Gloves . . . tissues . . . aha! What do you suppose this is?”

  He held up a piece of white cardboard. The size and shape was familiar: a compact disc mailer. It bore an uneven line of postage stamps, and a blue sticker that said Priority Mail.

  But the FROM and TO lines were blank.

  We both stared at the mute, unrevealing white square. Then Larry returned, full of grudging approval for the repair job, and Aaron slipped the mailer out of sight.

  “Not bad, not bad. Got to go. Aaron, pleasure to meet you. Carnegie, let me know if you find any loose wires or anything. Sometimes these guys mess things up while they fix things up!”