Gwen and Garth were getting divorced, so that was already taken care of. And the company was stronger with Garth at the helm. But those were both rational considerations and how often is murder a rational act? Still, thinking of Gwen’s expression when she talked about Ronnie and vice versa, these were not people in love. If Ronnie was proclaiming the glories of loving the one he worked with, he was either snowing somebody big time or in love with someone else. Could that relationship have enough meaning to provoke a homicidal confrontation? Was there a triangle at the heart of this merger? Had Garth been Ronnie’s rival in love as well as business?
It was time to visit the Harem.
Without tipping my hand to Peter.
“You’re ahead of me, Peter. I didn’t pick up on anything between Ronnie and Gwen. Maybe they both felt it wasn’t appropriate for the piece I’m doing. Or that it would be impolite to publicize their romance so soon after Garth’s death.”
“Impolitic is more like it. Neither one of them can afford to attract any more attention from the cops. But speaking of cops and attention, I should let you go, right?” He stepped out of my way, content to let me leave now that he had established
that he was indeed ahead of me on the investigative path. The fact that he might be headed in the wrong direction hadn’t occurred to him, but then again, it rarely did. And if I tried to warn him, he was going to think I was jealous, so I could refrain from saying anything with a relatively clear conscience.
“I should be leaving,” I agreed. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said, scooping up my hand and kissing it again. He smiled, more genuinely than he had yet, and watched me as I walked out of the bar. I know, because I glanced back over my shoulder as I exited. Just out of curiosity. Honest.
Six
“YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP telling these people the truth.”
It actually pleased me that Tricia’s mood had improved enough for her to lecture me. When I’d called her after leaving the Flatiron Lounge, she hadn’t been very happy.
I’d stepped outside and told myself the need to take a deep breath was only about the change in temperature from inside and had nothing to do with Peter Mulcahey. The city was trying to release the heat it had gathered during the day and I needed to do the same. Absorbing so much information and suppressed emotion in one day had left me a little light-headed and the Scotch mist with no dinner had nudged that along nicely. I wanted to track down Tricia and Cassady, see if they’d eaten yet, and sort out the day’s events and facts. I thought about calling Kyle, but he was never done with work this early and, besides, I needed to talk to someone about Peter. Kyle was not the ideal candidate.
But as I took my phone out of my bag, I felt like a coward for coming up with a reason not to call Kyle. I had nothing to hide: I’d met Peter for professional reasons and anything else that had happened had been Peter’s doing, not mine. If I told the story right, Kyle might even be amused. Or not.
The call went straight to voice mail and I tried not to feel
relieved. I left a cheery message to say that I was meeting Cassady and Tricia and hoped he’d call me when he was done. After hanging up, I went through the automatic review process my brain initiates every time I leave a message: How dorky did I sound? Did I say everything I needed to? Did I say more than I needed to? Did I remember to say good-bye?
To shut my brain up, I called Cassady. Her phone went straight to voice mail, too. My batting average was terrific tonight. I left her a message about it not being even close to eight o’clock and how could she have given up on me so soon, and then, before the review process could even start, tried Tricia. Her phone rang at least and I decided that, if I got voice mail from her, too, that it would be a divine sign to go home, get
It was time to visit the Harem.
Without tipping my hand to Peter.
“You’re ahead of me, Peter. I didn’t pick up on anything between Ronnie and Gwen. Maybe they both felt it wasn’t appropriate for the piece I’m doing. Or that it would be impolite to publicize their romance so soon after Garth’s death.”
“Impolitic is more like it. Neither one of them can afford to attract any more attention from the cops. But speaking of cops and attention, I should let you go, right?” He stepped out of my way, content to let me leave now that he had established
that he was indeed ahead of me on the investigative path. The fact that he might be headed in the wrong direction hadn’t occurred to him, but then again, it rarely did. And if I tried to warn him, he was going to think I was jealous, so I could refrain from saying anything with a relatively clear conscience.
“I should be leaving,” I agreed. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said, scooping up my hand and kissing it again. He smiled, more genuinely than he had yet, and watched me as I walked out of the bar. I know, because I glanced back over my shoulder as I exited. Just out of curiosity. Honest.
Six
“YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP telling these people the truth.”
It actually pleased me that Tricia’s mood had improved enough for her to lecture me. When I’d called her after leaving the Flatiron Lounge, she hadn’t been very happy.
I’d stepped outside and told myself the need to take a deep breath was only about the change in temperature from inside and had nothing to do with Peter Mulcahey. The city was trying to release the heat it had gathered during the day and I needed to do the same. Absorbing so much information and suppressed emotion in one day had left me a little light-headed and the Scotch mist with no dinner had nudged that along nicely. I wanted to track down Tricia and Cassady, see if they’d eaten yet, and sort out the day’s events and facts. I thought about calling Kyle, but he was never done with work this early and, besides, I needed to talk to someone about Peter. Kyle was not the ideal candidate.
But as I took my phone out of my bag, I felt like a coward for coming up with a reason not to call Kyle. I had nothing to hide: I’d met Peter for professional reasons and anything else that had happened had been Peter’s doing, not mine. If I told the story right, Kyle might even be amused. Or not.
The call went straight to voice mail and I tried not to feel
relieved. I left a cheery message to say that I was meeting Cassady and Tricia and hoped he’d call me when he was done. After hanging up, I went through the automatic review process my brain initiates every time I leave a message: How dorky did I sound? Did I say everything I needed to? Did I say more than I needed to? Did I remember to say good-bye?
To shut my brain up, I called Cassady. Her phone went straight to voice mail, too. My batting average was terrific tonight. I left her a message about it not being even close to eight o’clock and how could she have given up on me so soon, and then, before the review process could even start, tried Tricia. Her phone rang at least and I decided that, if I got voice mail from her, too, that it would be a divine sign to go home, get
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