5 Deal Killer (15 page)

Rona followed her daughter into the living room and sat down on a leopard-patterned chair. “Dinner, but we had to cancel.”

Devin’s delicate eyebrows shot up. “I see.” She tossed the magazine back to the table. “Too bad.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve got a date.”

“New boyfriend?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not exactly. A business associate.” She reached into a pocketbook that was slung across her chest. “This is for you. Some of what I owe you.” She handed an envelope to Rona and leaned back.

Rona peered inside. A thin stack of one hundred dollar bills.

“How much?”

“Two thousand. It’s a start.”

“Yes, a good start.” She narrowed her eyes. “What about your loans? Are you paying them?”

“They’re being taken care of.” She checked a cell phone that Rona hadn’t realized she was carrying. “I’ve gotta go.”

Devin stood. She was wearing makeup and a low-cut blouse that revealed her generous cleavage. “Bye.”

“Thanks for coming over,” Rona said. “And thanks for this.” She held up the envelope.

“You’re welcome.” Devin gave a shy smile. “Bet you never thought you’d see any of what I owe you, huh?”

“I’ll admit I’m surprised.” Rona smiled. “Pleasantly surprised.”

“Okay, bye.” To her surprise, Devin leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek.

She barely had time to say goodbye to Devin before she’d opened the apartment door and vanished.

_____

“So, is Hideki happy?” Miles spooned some sauce over the servings of scaloppini and placed a plate before Darby. He’d set the table overlooking the park with two placemats and lit a wide sequined candle, and the effect was very romantic.

“Yes. He’s all excited about opening a new division of Genkei
Pharmaceuticals here in the city. I’ll have to make sure he waits until he owns the building, before he starts tearing things down, but other than that, it’s all good.”

“Congratulations.” Miles lifted his wine glass and they touched rims. “He’s lucky to have such a wonderful broker.”

“Remind me of how wonderful I am when I’m in the middle of a mold lawsuit, okay?” Darby grimaced. “Anyway, I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’m not thinking about anything except how happy I am to be here with you and this wonderful meal.”

“Tuck in, then. See how it tastes.” Miles watched as she cut a small piece of pork, dipped it in the sauce, and savored the bite.

“Delicious. The sauce is light, but flavorful, and the meat is cooked to perfection. You have many wonderful talents, Miles Porter.”

“Mmmm.” He leaned over and they kissed lightly on the lips. “Mind you, I can’t cook a thing without having someone special to prepare things for, so there you have it.”

“A symbiotic relationship.”

“Exactly.”

“Speaking of relationships, Todd Stockton told me an interesting story. Apparently Rona Reichels—the one we met up in Natalia’s penthouse with the cake—was Mikhail’s real estate agent.”

“Lucky girl.”

“Apparently not. She never got a commission when he bought in the building.”

Miles whistled. “Which would have been what, close to a million dollars?”

“The property sold for $83 million. Figuring four percent for the commission, and then splitting it up—a million is probably about right. Enough to make anyone pretty darn angry.”

“How did it happen?”

“According to Stockton, someone convinced Mikhail that he didn’t need to use Rona.” She waited until the Brit raised his eyebrows. “Alec Rodin.”

“Mikhail’s future son-in law.”

“That’s right. Remember, Alec was a developer in Russia. That’s how he and Mikhail first met.”

“Do you think Rona has held a grudge all these years?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you?”

Darby leaned back and thought a moment. “I’d like to say no, that I’m above all that, but the truth is, Miles, that’s a lot of money. If I felt like I worked for it, that I deserved it, yes, I’d have a hard time letting that anger go.”

“Could that anger have pushed Rona to kill Rodin? Even after four years?”

“Perhaps if she has other stresses in her life, yes.”

“Such as …?”

“Some kind of health issue, money problems …”

“Yes.” He put down his fork and knife. “Something that could have tipped her over the edge.” He made a face. “Isn’t it strange that we’ve heard nothing new about Rodin’s murder? It’s almost as if no one cares. Natalia has moved on, who knows where her father is, and there aren’t any grieving relatives demanding answers. I feel like his death is a lost cause.”

“I agree. I don’t mean to judge, Miles, but I am surprised that Natalia appears to have forgotten all about her fiancé. There’s something strange about her behavior.”

“Could it be cultural?”

“I wonder. Her marriage to Rodin was arranged years ago, right? Maybe she didn’t have very deep feelings for him in the first place. Maybe she loved him early on but then grew out of it.”

“Maybe I’ll discover more if she and I start working on this story.”

“Any news on that?”

“No. I’ve left the ball in her court, so to speak.”

“I see.” Darby finished her meal and took a sip of her wine. “I’m stuffed.”

“Don’t say that—I’m taking you out for authentic Italian gelato for dessert.”

Her dark eyes twinkled. “In that case, I have a little room left.”

thirteen

“Fancy a Monday morning
walk in the park before I head off to class? Work off last night’s gelato, perhaps?”

“Definitely.” Darby accepted the steaming mug of coffee from Miles and peered out the window. “Looks like another nice day.”

“Warm, too. I guess the weather turns nasty tomorrow, with rain showers, but it should clear up for your flight back to California on Thursday.”

“Ugh. I don’t want to think about going back to work.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like you, love.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Maybe you’re growing tired of the whole West Coast thing?”

“I don’t know. I love working with ET, but other than that, I feel like my ties are more on the East Coast now. There’s Tina, and Helen, and Hideki, and …”

He looked at her expectantly. “And me?”

She wrapped him in a hug. “And you. Miles, I think it’s getting harder and harder to leave you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s … it’s painful.”

He kissed her deeply and mussed her glossy hair. “That’s a good thing, love. One of these days you’ll realize you don’t want to leave me. Then you’ll know how I feel every time you say goodbye.”

_____

Detectives Benedetti and Ryan were standing in the lobby as Darby and Miles exited the elevator.

“Gentlemen,” Miles said. “We’re certainly seeing a lot of you lately.”

“I wish we could say we were here on a pleasant errand,” Benedetti commented.

Darby and Miles exchanged glances. “Can you tell us?” Darby asked.

“Not really.” He glanced around the lobby. “Next of kin notification.”

“Dear God. Nothing to do with Natalia Kazakova, I hope?”

“No, Mr. Porter.” Ryan squinted at the lanky journalist. “You’re awfully concerned for Ms. Kazakova’s safety. Why is that?”

“She’s my student—that’s why.” Miles’s voice was a trifle indignant. “She’s been through a lot, and I only hoped …”

“Thank you for setting our minds at ease, detectives.” Darby cocked her head toward the door. “We need to go, Miles.”

He gave her a questioning look as she tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

“Why is it I feel I’m a piece of Turkish Delight, being stretched this way and that?”

“I could see they weren’t going to tell us anything, so I figured we should get on our way,” Darby explained. “Clearly, they have unpleasant work to do.”

“Another tragedy involving someone in the building,” said Miles. “I can’t help but wonder who’s about to get devastating news.”

An attractive woman passed them with three dogs on leashes. One, a lanky wolfhound, dove toward Miles’s sneakers.

“Hey!” he jerked away his foot.

“No, Korbut!” yelled the woman, yanking the dog’s leash. She rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry. He’s got a thing for running shoes. Don’t ask me why.”

Miles chuckled. “As long as he hasn’t a ‘thing’ for ankles, I guess.”

“Is that Natalia Kazakova’s dog?” Darby asked.

“Why do you ask?” The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“We were in her apartment, and I recognize him.”

“I’m sorry to sound so suspicious. Yes, this is Natalia’s dog.” She reached out a hand. “I’m Miranda Styles. I live in the building, too.”

Darby and Miles introduced themselves.

“So you’re in Charlie Burrows’s apartment?”

“Yes.” Miles eyed Korbut, who was now sniffing a trash receptacle. The other dogs, a fussy-looking poodle and an aging lab, waited patiently. “You know Charles?”

“I served a term on the residence owners’ board,” she explained. “Fortunately or unfortunately, you get to meet most of the residents.” She reached over to scratch the lab’s ears. “When is he coming back to New York?”

“His plans are a trifle up in the air, I’m afraid,” said Miles.

“I see.” Miranda Styles struggled to keep Korbut from once more investigating Miles’s shoes. “We’d better head off. Nice to meet you.”

“Interesting career choice, that,” Miles commented. “Do you think it’s the only thing Ms. Styles does?”

“From what I hear, dog walking can be pretty lucrative.” Darby watched the brisk pace at which Miranda trotted the dogs along.

“Speaking of lucrative, what’s next for your Mr. Kobayashi?”

“We’re checking into a few things with the building, and then he’ll buy it,” Darby explained. “Genkei Pharmaceuticals will join the ranks of New York City’s many corporations.”

“Why did Hideki want to be here?”

“Oh, same as anyone, I think. It’s the hub of the universe, right?” Darby smiled. “He’s also an incredibly shrewd businessman. Manhattan is an investment. Barring some kind of disaster …”

“Another Superstorm Sandy? Or terrorist attack?”

Darby nodded. “Exactly.”

“The thing is, no one can live their life in fear of things like that, can they?”

Darby stopped and scrutinized Miles’s countenance. She thought back to that summer day, long ago, when she’d said goodbye to her parents, never knowing that their afternoon sail would lead to their deaths.

Have I been living in fear
, she wondered? She thought of the anxiety she carried around regarding her unhappy clients, the Davenports, and their allegations of mold. She thought about her reluctance to make long-term plans—with Miles, with Maine …
With life
, she thought.

Her parents had not lived that way. They’d met on a chance encounter in Boston, fallen in love, married, and moved to Maine, with little thought of what an interracial relationship on a remote island might entail. They’d had a child, raised her on that island, confident that she’d find her way in the world, having known their love …

“What is it, love?” Miles’s voice held concern. He reached out and rubbed Darby’s cheek with the back of his hand, a tender gesture that caused her eyes to well with tears.

She let herself be enveloped in a hug. Later, she’d tell him that yes, she wanted to visit England, but for now she allowed him to comfort her in the midst of Central Park.

_____

The basement of the Pulitzer building was a dusty, dark place, even at ten o’clock in the morning, but Peggy had thought ahead and brought a small flashlight. She’d already entered Miles Porter’s office and removed the moth-eaten scarf, and it was safely inside the plastic bag along with the butcher apron. She shone the flashlight down the stairs, saw the giant hulk of the boiler, as well as the massive hot water tank. She frowned. It was pretty clear no one came down here. Important evidence would be a long time in coming to light if it were placed in the basement.

Reluctantly she climbed back up the stairs. This whole thing was becoming annoying and she felt an anxious itchiness that she associated with her penchant for collecting.

And then she saw it. A huge potted plant—a tree, really—in the corner of the entryway. The perfect place to put something if you were in a hurry to dispose of it …

Quickly she lifted the plastic bag over the plant’s soil and released its contents. Bunched together on the dirt, the apron and scarf looked natural, as if they’d been tossed there. She stepped back. Yes, it was perfect.

Peggy stuffed the empty plastic bag in the pocket of her spring jacket. She found the custodian replacing paper towels in the downstairs bathrooms and reminded him to water the ficus tree outside her office. “You’re probably watering them all today, right? Even the ones in the lobby?”

He nodded. “Just one of my many duties, Peggy.”

She ignored the sarcasm and gave a heavy sigh. “I keep thinking the cops will make some headway on that murder.”

“Now, what murder would that be? They’re a dime a dozen in this city.”

“The one that happened a block away, of course. The Russian fellow. I know the police are looking for evidence.”

He slammed shut the dispenser. “Yeah, well, I’ll be sure to keep my eyes peeled.”

Later, when she saw the detectives enter the building, Peggy Babson could not resist a small triumphant smile.

_____

There was a throbbing in her head, a dull, persistent ache that the migraine medicine couldn’t touch, and Rona Reichels suspected, even as she gulped down a drink, that nothing would relieve her of the pain. If she could only sleep, she could forget about the pain, forget, too, about the death of her daughter, Devin.

How had the police detectives put it?

An accidental overdose.

A neighbor had thought it odd that the blaring music of Devin’s alarm had not ceased after an hour, and had called the building superintendent. He’d knocked repeatedly and then finally entered her apartment, finding her sprawled across her queen-sized bed.

In her system was a toxic cocktail of Valium, Oxycontin, and alcohol. “We see this happen more than we’d like,” said the portly detective. “Unintentional overdosing on prescription meds. Sometimes the victim takes a sedative, gets confused or drowsy, and forgets they’ve already taken a dose, and then takes more. Or they take another drug. Unfortunately, when you add sleeping pills to the mix there’s little difference between the amount that helps you nod off and the amount that can kill.”

Rona hadn’t known Devin took sleeping pills, but she wasn’t surprised. She herself suffered from insomnia and took a sedative nearly nightly. As for the pain pills, Rona remembered a tennis injury—a torn rotator, or something like that?—for which Devin was treated last spring. Had that doctor been the one to prescribe Oxycontin?

“Was she alone?” Rona barely recognized her voice, which seemed
to come from somewhere far away, as she questioned the detectives.

“We saw no evidence anyone was with her.”

Rona had nodded. Devin, her lone wolf. She closed the door behind the men and collapsed on the couch, getting up only when she remembered the insurance policy tucked inside her dresser drawer.

_____

Eleven a.m.
Gina dialed the number for Vera’s apartment, praying that by some miracle Yvette would be out and she would not have to speak with her. Her prayers were answered when the clipped voice of Vera Graff answered the phone.

“Thank God,” Gina blurted, upon hearing the woman’s quick hello. “How are you feeling, Vera?”

“Just fine,” she said, brushing off Gina’s concern as if it was an unwanted breadcrumb. “How are plans for the store progressing?”

“Moving right along. I hope you can keep the first of June free. That’s when we plan to have our opening.”

“I’ll try.” Vera waited, no doubt wondering why the young woman had called.

“I wanted to talk to you about the missing sword,” Gina said. “The one you told me about.”

“Surely you aren’t selling weapons in your vintage clothing store?”

Gina laughed. “No. Not yet, anyway.” She cleared her throat. “Vera, I was thinking that you ought to tell the police about the theft, if you haven’t already.”

“It seems so trivial. Why?”

“Because it may be important. The Russian student—the one who lives in the penthouse—her fiancé was murdered with an antique sword. What if it was yours?”

“What if it is?”

“Don’t you see, the murder and the robbery could be related. Perhaps the same person who stole your sword killed Alec Rodin.”

“But I hate talking to policemen,” Vera scoffed. “I don’t like having them snoop around my things …”

“They aren’t going to snoop. They’ll appreciate the lead. And if you don’t want them to come to your apartment, I could go with you to the station.”

“Absolutely not.” Vera sighed. “I suppose I should do my civic duty and call them. Will you come over when they’re here? You know the whole thing will terrify poor Yvette. She can’t stand anyone in a uniform.”

“Yes,” said Gina, thinking that it was going to be enjoyable, in a perverse way, to see Yvette’s face when law enforcement appeared. She hoped to heck they wore their uniforms, with big, shiny guns strapped to their hips.

“Call me when you hear from them,” Gina said. “I’m at the Coopers’ house until noon.”

“You’re sure about this, Gina?”

“I am. Make a list of anything else that’s missing. Let’s see if we can help the cops catch this guy.”

_____

When ET called and gave Darby the news that Carl and Jill Davenport were suing Pacific Coast Realty over a mold infestation, she surprised herself by feeling philosophical, rather than panicked.

“It’s out of my hands,” she told her assistant. “I feel I treated them honestly and fairly, and if indeed there is a mold problem in their home, it was not something I knew about, nor could have reasonably known about.”

“Very well said,” ET murmured. “Attorney Hitchings has voiced the same sentiment to myself and Claudia. We won’t discuss it, but you should know that we are both in your court.”

“Pun intended?”

ET groaned. “Darby, I never use puns intentionally, you know that.”

“Hey, lighten up. If I can make a joke about this, you can, too.”

“I suppose.” ET gave a little cough. “Are you still coming home on Thursday?”

“Yes. Time to face the music.”

“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

Darby thought about the moments she’d wasted worrying about the lawsuit and shrugged them off. “Yes, Miles has been a wonderful host. We’ve eaten great meals, seen a show, and toured MOMA. And, I met with Hideki yesterday and put an offer in on a fabulous building in the Flatiron district of the city.”

“And how are you managing to sell real estate in New York without a license from that state?” he asked delicately.

“Relax,” she laughed. “I’m just getting a referral.”

“Good. You’re somehow keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“Yes. For all its glitz and glamour, this city isn’t all that exciting.”

“Meaning no one has asked you to solve any crimes.”

Again she laughed. She hadn’t told ET about Alec Rodin. “Right.”

“Let’s hope your uneventful stay continues, and you come home in one piece to California.” ET was silent a few moments. He knew all too well his friend’s propensity for putting herself in harm’s way. “I mean it, Darby. Keep yourself safe.”

“No worries,” she said blithely. “I laugh in the face of danger.”