5 Deal Killer (5 page)

“After our appointment?”

“Just before he was killed, apparently.” Miles’s face was grim. “Nat, he was worried that you could become a target.”

Natalia glanced at Sergei Bokeria. The big man extracted a large envelope from inside his jacket and placed it on the coffee table. Natalia opened it, pulling out a piece of paper upon which crudely made words spelled out a message.

“Read it,” she whispered, her pretty young face wan. “I think you’ll agree the time for worrying has passed.”

_____

The poodle’s ribbon was red today, tied in a jaunty little bow at the top of its angular head. The animal sported a collar encrusted with sparkly red rhinestones, and Miranda would not have been surprised to see red polish on its pointy little claws. She took the dog’s leash from the maid, a skinny, pale thing who always looked petrified, and headed toward the elevator.

The Coopers’ lab, Honey, was a gentle, mellow dog that seemed to enjoy the antics of the poodle. Today it was one of the nannies, Gina, who had handed Miranda the leash, while in the background a toddler shrieked.

Together the lab and the poodle, Mimi, were easy to manage, but throwing her third client into the mix made it a challenge. Korbut, who lived in the rarified air of the top floor penthouse, was a young wolfhound eager to play rough with Honey, and he seemed to think that Mimi would make the perfect toy.

Miranda headed back into the elevator, herding in the dogs before pushing the button. It was not an unpleasant job, and it did leave her free to use most of the day in other pursuits. And there were fringe benefits as well.

The elevator glided up to the top floor.

Miranda stepped out and approached the penthouse door. Beside her, the poodle let out a little bark of excitement and was quickly shushed. Miranda pushed the buzzer. Behind the door, the wolfhound was whining, anxious to join his canine companions in a walk.

Miranda couldn’t help but smile as she watched Mimi dance on her little feet, cocking her head to the side and causing the ribbon to flip-flop. She knocked again, trying to ignore a rising feeling of irritation. What was it about rich people and their sense of time? No matter how clear you made it that you were on a schedule, that you actually
worked
for your living, they never seemed to get it. Whatever they were doing—even if it was a big fat nothing—was more important than somebody else trying to make a buck. She thought back to all of the excuses she’d heard over the years, including a few from Natalia Kazakova herself. Every lame thing from “I just ran to the Starbucks,” to “I forgot what time it was.”
Ugh!

This was why she’d insisted on having keys for all of her clients.

“Guess I’ve got to root around in the backpack,” she said to the two leashed dogs. Stuck in the penthouse, the wolfhound gave a muffled snort of frustration. “Hang on, Korbut—we’re working on it.”

Miranda took off her backpack and began searching through it
when the elevator arrived and its doors slid open. A powerfully built
man clutching a briefcase emerged. He wore a black vicuna coat, open over a polo shirt, and jeans. On his feet were tasseled leather loafers, no socks.

“Miranda,” he said, striding toward her. She saw that his heavy-lidded eyes were bloodshot.

Miranda stepped back, keeping the dogs between them.

“Don’t come near me.”

“That’s not the greeting I was hoping for.” He reached out over Honey’s broad back and tried to stroke Miranda’s dark skin. She flinched.

“
Milaya
, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sweet-talking me. You blow me off without a word …” Her brown eyes flashed.

“It was urgent business, but still, I should have let you know.”

“Damn right.” Her tone softened. “You look like hell, Mikhail. Where have you been?”

“I only just arrived. Something happened yesterday …” He paused
. “Natalia’s fiancé was killed.”

“Alec? How?”

“Murdered. Up by 114th Street.”

“God … how terrible. I liked him, at least I thought I did. I know you didn’t feel the same way.”

“That’s not true! I arranged the marriage, for Chrissakes!”

“You said your feelings had changed. Or don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember, Miranda. It’s just that … Well, Natalia is very upset. If she knew about our conversation …”

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and Natalia emerged, trailed by Sergei who wore his usual dark expression.

The girl’s eyes locked on them. “Miranda?” Her gaze glided from the dog walker to Mikhail. “I didn’t realize you knew my father.”

Miranda swooped toward the girl, wrapping her in a hug. “Honey, I have just heard about Alec. I am so, so sorry.”

Natalia nodded numbly. “It’s awful.” She swayed a little on her feet as Miranda released her hold “Papa …”

Mikhail moved swiftly to his daughter’s side. He pulled her tightly
toward him and closed his eyes. She was crying, big, gulping sobs, while he stroked her streaked hair.

Miranda flicked the leashes and the dogs trotted obediently to the elevator. Korbut would have to miss his walk today. She pushed the button, got in, and descended without a word.

four

“YOU ARE NEXT,” mused
Miles, remembering the words spelled out on the threatening letter to Natalia Kazakova. He pulled on a tweed jacket and pocketed the apartment’s keys. “I can’t say that I like the idea that Alec Rodin’s killer is after Nat.”

“Perhaps,” said Darby. “I agree that whoever wrote the note knows
about Alec’s death, and the relationship between Alec and Natalia. Whether the author of that letter is the actual murderer—I’m not sure.” She slung a small purse over her shoulder.

“I think she’s in danger, but she didn’t seem keen to follow our advice and go to the police, did she?”

“No, Miles, she didn’t. Truthfully, I’ll be surprised if she tells them.”

“Sergei and Natalia’s handling of that paper means they’ve destroyed any evidence—fingerprints, you name it.”

“If there were any to begin with. According to what Natalia said, we could be dealing with a very sophisticated operation here.”

“The FSB?”

“Exactly. Miles, I think we need more information on that orga
nization.”

“Agreed. I’ve got a colleague back in London who covers Moscow. I’ll see what he knows about the FSB, without revealing anything to him about Nat or her article.”

“Good idea.” She cupped her chin in her hands, thinking. “So the murder victim worked for a top Russian agency shrouded in mystery, the sword that killed him was a Russian saber, and now Natalia, a lovely young Russian heiress and the deceased’s fiancée, appears to be in grave danger.”

“Appears? I’d say she’s in it up to her Russian shoulder blades. I’m surprised you’d think otherwise.”

“You know me, Miles. I tend to be on the skeptical side. I mean, what’s the connection? Natalia doesn’t seem to be a genuine threat to anyone.”

He pushed the button for the elevator and waited for Darby to enter. “Nevertheless, she’s got to contact Benedetti and Ryan and tell them about that threatening note. Maybe they can find the connection.”

“Yes. In the meantime, it’s lucky she has a bodyguard.”

“Indeed,” Miles said drolly. “Our friend Sergei looks as if he could stop a speeding freight train.”

“Do you think that her father has any idea of what’s going on? She never once mentioned him.”

Miles shrugged. “He’s the fertilizer magnate, correct? Maybe she doesn’t want to deal with his …”

“Sshh!” Darby giggled as the elevator stopped on the fifth floor. The doors opened and an elderly lady entered. She was wearing a smart navy suit of soft wool, and her gray hair was well-coiffed and tucked under a little cap. On her stocking-clad feet were what Miles and his countrymen called “sensible shoes.”

Darby nodded in her direction, but in true New Yorker fashion, the woman stared straight ahead and kept silent. When the elevator reached the lobby, she marched off first, barely acknowledging the doorman when he called out a hello.

“Ramon,” said Miles, pulling the doorman’s attention away from the tight-lipped matron. “This is Darby, my friend who is visiting from California. Darby, meet Ramon.”

“No kidding! You’re this sorry guy’s girlfriend, huh?” His broad face broke into a grin. Inclining his head as if to whisper, he said, “I like to kid old Miles ’cause he’s so prim and proper, being an Englishman and all that.” He cocked his head, giving the young woman an appraising glance. “What about you? You’re from Southern California, right?”

“Actually, I was born and raised in Maine.”

“Really? You sure don’t look like you’re from Maine. Not exactly white bread, are you? I can say that because I’m a mutt myself—Cuban and Polish. What about you?”

“My mother was Japanese and my father was a New Englander.”

He whistled. “Well, there you go. No wonder you’re so pretty and exotic. I’m always saying that we’re all Americans, when it comes right down to it. Good old melting pot.” He jerked a thumb toward Miles. “Except for Mr. Bean over here.”

“Mr. Bean!” Miles was incredulous. “Can’t say I’m too keen on that comparison. I was thinking Daniel Craig, myself.”

“Ha! In your dreams, Porter, in your dreams.”

“Brilliant, Ramon, now that you’ve thoroughly insulted me in front of my girlfriend, tell me, who was that handsome older lady who walked out just before us?”

“The one who can’t give anybody the time of day? That’s Mrs. Graff. She lives on the fifth floor with her maid, although I guess to
day you’d call her a ‘personal assistant’ or something. Usually Yvette —
that’s the maid—is the one doing the errands, walking the dog—you know. They’ve got a cute little poodle named Mimi. You hardly ever see Mrs. Graff leave the building. She’s one of those rich, eccentric types—likes to keep to herself.”

Not an easy feat with Ramon around
, thought Darby.

Miles clapped a hand on the doorman’s shoulder. “Thank you, Ramon. It’s nice to know who my neighbors are, even if I’m only here for a few more months.”

“Anytime, Miles. I know everyone in the building by sight, and nearly everyone by name. After all, there’re only two hundred residences.” He pushed open the door for them. “Where you headed?”

“I’m off to take Darby for a fabulous brunch.”

“Can’t do better than The Camellia.” He glanced at his watch. “Nine o’clock. Want me to call for reservations?”

“Already taken care of, my good fellow.”

“Tootles, then.” Ramon gave a little bow. “I’ll be seeing you
again, Darby.”

“Definitely,” she said, smiling, as they strolled onto the sidewalk. Nudging Miles with her elbow, she teased, “Girlfriend, huh?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling her close and giving her a hug. “
Girlfriend
. You know, I happen to like the sound of it.”

“I see,” she said. To herself she thought:
Me too, Mr. Bean.

_____

As they finished up their brunch of salmon and lox, Miles asked Darby her plans for her visit in the city.

“Plans? I’m here to see you,” she said, wiping a dab of cream cheese from her lips. The Camellia had been every bit as good as Ramon had promised, and Darby was stuffed.

“Now come on, love, I know you better than that. You’re here to spend time with me but you’ve got more than that on your Darby agenda.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that,” she protested, pretending to pout. “I’ve barely landed and you’re questioning my reasons for being here. What kind of a host are you, anyway?”

“A realistic one. Fess up, Darby, you’re planning to acquire a boutique agency here—or land a new listing. Am I right?”

“Wrong. I’m here to relax and spend time with you—when you’re not teaching or grilling me about my motives.”

“That’s all? No properties to preview for any clients? No hot buyers to meet for drinks?”

She paused. “Not really.”

“Not really? Aha! So you do have a secret real estate plan.”

She laughed. “Hardly. But now that you bring it up, I did have an email from Hideki Kobayashi a few weeks ago, asking me to check on possible locations for his company in New York. I suppose that counts, right?”

Miles’s rugged face wore a triumphant look. “That’s my girl, always ready to make the next deal. So your wealthy Japanese businessman wants a slice of the Big Apple, eh? How will you get up to snuff on what’s available in the city?”

“I won’t completely—not in a week, anyway, but I can sure give it a shot. Of course, there’s the small matter of licensing, too. I’ve managed to make deals in Maine and Florida, but I’m not accredited here.” She waited as the waitress set their check in the middle of the table and discreetly departed. “I have a few leads on Manhattan brokers, including a guy from Maine who’s a partner in a new start-up. I’ll do my own research on properties, and then make a few calls. If I like what one of them has to say, I’ll invite that broker to work with Hideki and me.”

“Isn’t Kobayashi the one who bought the island estate down in Florida?”

Darby nodded. “Yes. He fell in love with a waterfront compound that had belonged to a pro golfer.” She pictured the acres of manicured grounds, guest house, pool house, and killer views of the Gulf of Mexico, and smiled. It had been one of her biggest sales to date, and had launched her friendship with the high-powered pharmaceutical executive.

“Don’t you run the risk of losing Hideki to this chap if you refer him?”

“Me, lose a client?” Darby laughed before the memory of the Davenports and their displeasure flitted into her mind. “I’ll refer
him for this transaction only. Besides, Hideki is a friend, and very loyal.” She took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice and savored the sharp, clean taste. Her stay in Florida a year earlier had spoiled her as far as citrus was concerned, but this juice was every
bit as good as what she’d enjoyed off the tree while staying on Serenidad Key.

She glanced at her watch. “Hadn’t you better get to your class, Professor Porter? Your students will be waiting anxiously.”

“Suppose so. I wish I didn’t have to leave you to your own devic
es. You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Right. I’ll be busy until mid-afternoon or so. Where should we meet? At the flat, or somewhere more exotic?”

“Let’s talk later on and see how your day has gone.”

“Fair enough.” Miles paid the bill and leaned toward her. “Goodbye, my little real estate detective,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. “One night in the city and you have a murder to solve.” He shook his head. “Wish I didn’t have to run but I’ll speak with you soon.”

Darby watched as he walked past the tables and exited the restaurant, a tall, good-looking man who never failed to turn female heads. She thought of Natalia, wondering if she had a little crush on
Miles. Then the image of the crudely constructed death threat
popped into her head.

She shuddered.
How would I feel if I received a note like that? Most likely, terrified
…

Rodin’s killer was out there, somewhere, and so was the person who had written that note. As Darby picked up her purse and prepared to leave the restaurant, she wondered if Miles was right and they were one and the same.

_____

From the wooden bench that creaked beneath his considerable weight, Sergei Bokeria watched the door to Schermerhorn Hall, waiting for Natalia Kazakova to emerge. The day was shaping up nicely, he thought, feeling the sun warm against his face. It reminded him of his boyhood in the Ural Mountains, playing outside in the first nice days of spring. There had been a small seasonal creek behind his house, brimming with muddy water once the winter snows melted, and the little boys of his village often congregated there. They’d gather stones and try to dam up the creek, and he remembered the feeling of the icy water as it splashed over his hands, the sound of innocent laughter, and the smell of the damp earth beneath his boots.

The bench sat in a compact little park with a constant parade of students and faculty streaming past. Bokeria watched the groups laughing and gesturing animatedly, wishing Natalia was among them. She was a bright, personable young woman, and yet had failed to make any American friends while in college. Sergei was not sure why, but he suspected Alec Rodin had had something to do with it.

He won’t be a problem any longer,
thought Sergei. Privately he’d spoken to Mikhail about the condition of Alec’s body, told him how it was punctured in several places by the sword. He, Sergei, had been the one to identify Alec’s lifeless corpse when it had proven too much for Natalia to even contemplate.

A shout brought the bodyguard up short. Instantly he was on his feet, his hand going toward the concealed weapon at his waist. But it was only a trio of college boys, shrieking when their Frisbee became entangled in the limbs of an old tree. He watched them leap upwards, trying to dislodge it, and then tossing their shoes toward the disc. When one of their sneakers became caught in the tree as well, there was even more shouting.

Sergei glanced back at the classical classroom building and then at his watch. A feeling of unease began in the pit of his stomach and rose slowly upward. Natalia should have been out of class by now. She was nearly ten minutes late.

A loud rumbling made him jump. An image of tanks, rolling by during a Victory Day parade from his boyhood, flooded his brain. His family had journeyed to Moscow to be bystanders at the event honoring World War II veterans of the Red Army. He recalled the awesome sight of the waves of tanks—more than one hundred—and the high-stepping soldiers, numbering close to eight thousand. Just when Sergei had thought the extravaganza could not get any more magnificent, his father pointed to the sky. Overhead scores of helicopters, transport jets, and bombers zoomed, seeming to buzz the buildings.

This rumbling did not come from a Soviet-era tank, but from a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, driven by a man who might be Sergei’s age, his hair, where it peeked from the helmet, starting to gray.

He let out a snort of exasperation.

All this talk of the FSB … what if it was true? Someone had sent that threatening message. What if Natalia’s classroom paper was truly dangerous, and ex-KGB officers had somehow infiltrated the classroom and kidnapped her? His heart began to hammer and his palms, normally dry, grew damp.

He rose fluidly from the bench and took a step forward.

Just then the door to the building opened. Sergei paused, waiting and watching, his breathing irregular, until at last Natalia emerged. She was smiling—not her usual dreamy, faraway smile, but a big grin that made her face glow. Beside her was a tall young man wearing a business suit. He was smiling as well, telling her something funny perhaps, and gesticulating with long, gangly arms.

Sergei’s mouth twisted into his own version of a happy expression. So she had a friend after all, and he was a good-looking guy. Could he have been the one on the phone with her before dinner? Sergei took several steps backward, eased himself back onto the bench and continued to watch.