5 Deal Killer (8 page)

“Hey, Gina,” the dog walker called out. “Just put a very tired Honey upstairs. She’s gonna sleep all afternoon after our walk.”

“Don’t count on it,” Gina said. “That dog’s always up for something.” She eyed the poodle. “Cute little thing. Whose is it?”

“Five-fifteen. I take her every day, same as Honey.”

Five-fifteen?
Gina smiled. “What’s its name?”

“Mimi. You’ve seen her before, I’m sure. They’ve had her forever.”

“Huh.” She nodded goodbye to Miranda and headed into the elevator, maneuvering the stroller into a corner. Humming a little tune, she pressed the button for her floor. Thanks to Mimi and Miranda, she’d find a way into the condo after all.

_____

Miles found Darby pouring over pages regarding mold detection. She’d told him about the Davenports, and that she’d contacted her San Diego attorney. Miles lent a sympathetic ear, assuring her she wasn’t at fault.

“Come on, love,” he said gently. “Leave the mold for a bit. I’ve contacted Natalia for an update and she suggested we meet in the park. What do you say?”

“An excellent idea. I could read through this stuff all afternoon and I don’t know that it would do me much good.”

“Exactly. After all, say worse comes to worse, which isn’t going to happen, but just say these disgruntled people do win some damages, your insurance will cover it, right?”

“I suppose, but that’s not quite it.” She looked up into his face. “It’s my reputation. I’ve always been so careful to get everything right, you know?”

“I do. It’s the same way in my profession.” He gave her a gentle smile. “I understand how you feel, really I do, but let’s put that sharp mind of yours to work on poor Natalia’s problems, shall we?”

Darby grabbed a light jacket and tucked her cell phone into the pocket. “Did Natalia sound worried about that threatening letter?”

“No, I wouldn’t say so. She sounds much better, actually. Perhaps the police have discovered something to do with Rodin’s death.”

“Where are we meeting her?”

“There’s a gazebo by the Great Lawn. It’ll give us a nice walk in the April sunshine.”

Miles slipped an arm around Darby as they exited the elevator and gave Ramon a quick wave. He was speaking with a tall man and barely acknowledged them.

“Looks like Ramon’s in a deep conversation,” Darby commented.

“The man’s a chameleon,” said Miles. “I’ve seen him be serious, flirty, funny, earnest, righteous—you name it, and Ramon can mold his personality to fit whoever he’s speaking with. A first-rate salesman, selling life the way it should be on Central Park West.”

Darby smiled. “The Way Life Should Be” was a popular slogan for her home state of Maine. “I’ll believe you when I hear Ramon
using some of your British expressions, Miles. That will be the true
test.”

He chuckled. They crossed the wide avenue and entered the park
, passing a man selling chestnuts in small paper bags. Miles halted and pulled out his wallet.

“Here’s the ticket,” he said, taking his change and the chestnuts. “Have you ever tried these, Darby?”

She nodded and took one. They peeled them in silence before popping the warm meats into their mouths.

“Delicious.” She took in the yellow-green leaves of the trees, the
swaying daffodils, and bright green grass. “Spring. Growing up I didn’t
see what the big deal was, but the older I get, the more I appreciate this season.”

“Rebirth and renewal,” Miles quipped. “The promise of life after winter’s icy grip, right?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, smelled a hint of something blooming. “It’s intoxicating.”

They reached the gazebo and paused. “Nat’s not here yet,” said Miles. He plopped on a wooden bench and patted it. “Put that little posterior next to me, Miss Farr, and let’s pretend we haven’t a care in the world.”

She sat down and regarded him. “We both know what I’m stressed about.”

“Yes.” He craned his neck, looking for Natalia.

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m my jolly old self, Darby. Granted, I don’t like being badgered by that Benedetti chap and the other policeman, nor did I enjoy Ms. Babson’s nasty hints that Rodin’s untimely death had something to do with me, but other than that, I’m just ducky.”

She touched his arm. “Natalia and her bodyguard are here.” His eyes flitted to the approaching pair and then back to Darby. “I hope you’ll remember, Miles—I’m in your court just the way you’re in mine. If something is bothering you, I hope you’ll trust me to help.”

He gave a tight smile but said nothing.

_____

The story in the
New York Times
gave no new details regarding Alec Rodin’s death, thought Rona, nothing that Sherry Cooper hadn’t shared when she’d called earlier. The Russian man had been murdered a stone’s throw from some of Columbia University’s most important buildings, stabbed with a sharp object.

“He bled to death,” Sherry had said, adding, “Broad daylight, but it doesn’t sound as if there were any witnesses.”

“What a shame!” Rona exclaimed, although what she’d wanted to do was clap her hands with joy. “Poor little Nikita.”

“Nikita?” Sherry Cooper sounded puzzled. “If you mean Natalia, I wouldn’t waste your sympathy. That woman will be fine. She’s a twenty-two-year-old heiress who no longer has to marry the man Daddy selected. How sad can she be?”

“I see what you mean.”

“The important thing is to persuade them—especially Mikhail—
to sell the penthouse.” Sherry paused. “Of course, I can always
approach him on my own—”

“No, that wouldn’t be wise,” Rona interjected. “I’ve gotten to know Mikhail very well. Let me have a talk with him.”

Now Rona was searching in her phone for Kazakova’s number, having murmured a few more things about the “tragedy” and promising Sherry she’d find out about the penthouse as soon as possible. “I’m on it,” she assured her. “I’ll be back in touch right away.”

Rona scanned old emails with increasing anxiety. It was here somewhere, she knew it. Mikhail Kazakova’s contact information—but where?

At last she located his number, and a new set of anxieties surfaced. What if he’d changed his number? What if he only answered numbers that he recognized?

Her fears evaporated when the call was answered instantly with a clipped “Yes.”

“Mikhail, it’s Rona Reichels, from the third floor. We met a few years ago, when you first came to the city?” She was determined to keep things positive.

He grunted. “Yes.”

“I’m calling to say how sorry I am about Alec’s death.” Her voice was smooth. “I can’t imagine how you and Natalia feel at this very difficult time. If there is anything I can do, as a neighbor or a friend, I hope …”

“Thanks.” He cut her off, and was about to hang up. She scrambled for time.

“I’ve made a little something—a cake—and wanted to bring it over. It’s—it’s a tradition here when someone passes away. Neighbors like to bring by food. It shows that they care.”

She waited a moment. She was laying it on a little thick, like the frosting on this cake she’d have to hustle out and buy. “Are you home?”

“No.” A second or two passed. Finally, “You’ve made us a cake?”

“Yes—chocolate. I’m sure Natalia will enjoy it. Take her mind off this terrible tragedy …”

“Perhaps.” He paused again. “I’ll be at the condo in half an hour.”

“I’ll drop by then.” Rona hung up and sprang to her feet. She yanked her jacket from a hanger, tied it around a waistline that was just starting its middle-aged spread. Pocketbook in hand, she gave herself an order:
Get to a damn bakery—pronto.

_____

Darby thought Sergei Bokeria’s face wore a kinder expression than earlier, but it was hard to tell when the man’s natural expression was a perpetual scowl. Natalia, however, looked noticeably different. Gone were the dark circles, and although she still seemed pale, her demeanor was much more relaxed than it had been in the morning.

“I took a nap after my class,” she confessed, when Miles asked how she was feeling. “I barely slept last night so it was good to get some sleep.”

“I’m sure.” Miles’s voice was kind. “With finals coming up, you’re going to need lots of rest.” He paused, and asked gently, “What about the investigation? Have you heard anything else?”

She shook her head. “No. If the police have new information, they aren’t sharing it with me.” Her face brightened. “The good news is that I believe the threatening note I received is a joke.”

“A joke?” Darby’s voice was sharp. “What makes you think so?”

“I have a friend who says there’s a guy who reads the newspapers and sends out letters, just to see what happens. Other people have received them, too.”

“That’s terrible—not to mention, criminal,” Darby said. “Scaring people like that.”

“I know, but it seems it’s more of a prank than a real threat.”

Miles glanced at Bokeria’s bulging biceps. “The fact that you have Sergei on your side gives me a fair amount of comfort,” he said. “Still, I think you have to be on the lookout.”

Natalia nodded. “I know.”

“Did you show the note to Detective Benedetti?” asked Darby.

“No. I want to put it behind me, and move on to other things.” She tossed her head and her fringe of choppy bangs bobbed with emphasis.

Darby and Miles shared a glance. Just what “other things” did the girl mean?

“Do you need an extension on your paper?” Miles asked. “I’m happy to grant you one, considering the circumstances.”

“Maybe.” She bit her lip, looked into the distance. “Truthfully, I’m not sure if my heart’s still in it.”

Darby shot a glance at Miles.
He’ll be disappointed
, she thought.

“I understand, Nat,” he said kindly. “You’ve been through bloody hell. Tell you what—we can talk about it when you’re ready.”

She gave a shy smile. “Thank you, Professor Porter. Thank you for understanding.”

Darby met Sergei Bokeria’s eyes, searching his fleshy face for any sign of emotion. If the bodyguard had an opinion, he betrayed nothing.

Miles inclined his head toward Darby’s as they watched the petite woman and her bulky friend depart. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Natalia wants to forget about the threatening letter and doesn’t seem the least bit concerned for her safety. She’s willing to put her investigative paper—and presumably a new career—on the back burner, too.” Darby paused. “I don’t know what’s going on, Miles, but if I had to guess, I’d say Natalia’s in love.”

Miles grinned. “Ah! You think she’s met a prince, and he’s swept her right off her feet. In other words, a bloke kind of like me, is that it?”

Darby reached up and kissed him. “Let’s hope Natalia’s that lucky.”

six

Friday afternoons in New
York were full of anticipation. The weekend, with all of its promise, lay before the hordes of business-suited office workers like a treasure chest of possibility. Stiletto-wearing women longed for the comfort of forty-eight hours in flat
shoes, and nannies, such as Gina Trovata, looked forward to a
weekend free of diapers, oatmeal, and fraternal fighting.

Small wonder she found herself astonished when she volunteered to take a Saturday morning shift.

“Just the little boys,” Sherry pleaded. “The big guys have tee-ball tryouts, and Penn’s got to work.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Great. He’s going to have to stop these crazy weekend hours if we’re going to have any semblance of a family life, but you know Penn—his work is like a drug. And after all, it is tax season.”

Gina nodded. There were times she suspected that Penn stayed away for more reasons than just work, but she kept those suspicions to herself. Instead she smiled fondly at Trevor, reached down to hug him. “We had a good time in the park today, didn’t we Trevvie?” He gave a sloppy grin before scooting off to find his older brothers.

Sherry kept an eye on his progress. “Does he seem as if he’s doing any better?”

Gina answered quickly. “Definitely.” Trevor was taking his time in learning to walk, a development which greatly worried his Type A mother.

A sigh. “I hope so.” She brightened. “I’ve ordered in Chinese. Want to stay for dinner?”

“No, thanks.” Gina gathered up her vintage Dolce and Gabbana. If she hurried she would just make the crosstown bus. “See you at eight.”

The lobby bustled with activity as Gina worked her way through the executives returning home from work. She gave Ramon a wave, and when he called out, “Have a good weekend,” told him to do the same. Stopping to explain that she’d be back in the morning to put in more time might mean waiting twenty minutes for another bus.

A couple pushed by her, talking animatedly. The young woman looked familiar, and Gina took in her petite frame and two-tone hair while racking her brain for the name. Then it came to her: this was the Russian heiress with the murdered fiancée.
Natalia Kazakova
. The man with her was tall, sandy-haired, and good-looking in an angular sort of way. His gaze was directed toward Natalia, and yet Gina noticed that he seemed to be scoping out the lobby by looking over, rather than directly at, her. Gina smirked. He obviously didn’t realize he was already with the richest person in the room.

Where’s the bodyguard?
Gina asked herself.
Not like he’s usually hard to spot or anything.
A moment later she saw the big, bulky man enter the building, his demeanor alert, a discreet seven or eight steps between his client and himself.

The bodyguard gave Gina a nod of recognition as they passed.
He’s good
, she thought.
After all, I only met Natalia the one time
.

She left the building, emerging into the late afternoon sunshine and throngs of purposefully striding people. The mood felt light, as it should on a Friday in spring, but Gina was remembering a very different scene, months earlier, when she’d first met Natalia. It was back in the fall—October, she realized—just before Halloween. In fact, it was the holiday (if that’s indeed what a day devoted to disguise and way too much sugar really was—a holiday) that had prompted their meeting.

Gina’s business partner, Bethany, had suggested they check out a new bar on the Friday before Halloween. When Gina demurred, complaining that she didn’t own a costume, Bethany merely laughed. “I’ll bring something for you and meet you right after work,” she said. Gina couldn’t think of any more excuses, and so she’d said okay.

The weather had been very different on that Friday afternoon.

Gina recalled a cold rain that poured down from gray skies, the kind of day that made Manhattan look its worst. Nevertheless, Bethany’d bustled in, costumes in hand, bringing along an extra one, because that was the way she was. “In case we meet someone else,” she’d said. The outfits were minimal but striking, befitting two women hoping to launch a vintage clothing store: three exquisite feather hats, two sets of silk gloves, a mink stole, and a beautifully beaded purse.

“You call this a Halloween costume?” scoffed Gina. “I’m not going out in this lame excuse for a—”

“Ta-da!” Bethany brought the
piece de resistance
from behind her back: three grinning Barbara Bush masks. “Well?”

“Now you’re talking.” That was the thing about Bethany: she was full of surprises.

Gina smiled at the memory, dodging the passersby and continuing her route toward the bus stop. Where exactly had she and Bethany met up with Natalia? The elevator? Gina thought back … no, it had been in the spa. They’d headed down to the spa and fitness floor to get dressed and have a quick hit off a joint Bethany had smuggled in her raincoat, and who had they nearly collided with in the women’s dressing room but Natalia Kazakova.

She was sweaty, and wearing workout clothes. Her face seemed pale, and the skin around her eyes puffy, as if she’d been crying. The two business partners exchanged glances before Gina spoke.

“Hey, you live in the building, right?”

A hesitant nod. “Yes. I’m called Natalia.”

“Gina, Gina Trovata. I work for a family on the eighteenth floor. This is my friend, Bethany.”

Nods were exchanged, and Gina continued. “We’re headed out to have a few drinks for Halloween, and we have an extra costume. Why don’t you join us?”

Natalia looked from left to right and seemed to consider the request. “I don’t know, I—”

“We’ve got a costume for you,” Bethany said brightly. “It’s nothing crazy or anything. We’re only going a few blocks from here—”

“I thank you, but I cannot attend.” The woman gave a sharp downward nod as if to emphasize her answer. “I cannot.”

Again the partners traded glances. “Is everything okay?” Gina asked. “You seem upset.”

“I am fine.” The young woman nodded emphatically.

“You’ve been crying …” Bethany’s observation was interrupted by a noise that sounded like a bark.

“Natalia!”

The girl started, and responded immediately. “That is my bodyguard. I must go. Again, I thank you for your kind invitation. I will not forget it.”

Gina remembered that she’d slipped from the room, her dark hair bobbing as she fled.

And that had been her one and only encounter with the wealthy Natalia Kazakova, until today’s chance meeting in the foyer. And the man with her? Was he an old friend? A Russian relative visiting New York? Or someone she’d met in one of her classes? She tried to place the young man’s face.

Gina reached the bus stop. She paused to catch her breath and saw the bus
lumbering down the road
toward her.

_____

Out of a voluminous leopard-spotted pocketbook, Peggy Babson pulled Detective Benedetti’s business card. She checked to see that no one was outside her office door and dialed the number.

He answered on the first ring. “Benedetti here.”

Breathlessly, she gave her name. “I may have more information
on the killing of the Russian man,” she said. “The one who was stabbed
near Pulitzer Hall?”

“Yes?” His voice was focused and sharp. She felt her heart beat a little faster. “What kind of information?”

“I’m not sure if it’s the kind of thing I should say over the phone …” she let her words trail off suggestively.

“I understand, but I’m afraid you need to tell me some details over the phone, Ms. Babson. I’ve got a lot on my plate today, so shoot.”

She bristled. “If you don’t have time to hear my information—”

“Listen, I’ve got time to hear it, I just don’t have time to come down there right now. You can come into the station if you’d like.”

The very thought made her shudder. This wasn’t working out at
all the way she’d imagined. On television, the psychic mediums were
treated so well …

“I remember very distinctly something that Professor Porter said
to Alec Rodin while they were arguing in his office,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Professor Porter said, ‘I will kill you.’”

She waited for Detective Benedetti’s reaction, twirling the phone cord around her index finger as the moments ticked by.

“I see. Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”

“I didn’t remember it. I’ve been very upset about the murder. After all, it happened right here, so close to where we work! It could have been me, Detective Benedetti, it could have been me.”

“What motive would Professor Porter have for killing that man?”
Detective Benedetti asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

“I sure as heck don’t know! That’s
your
job, Detective.”

“I appreciate your reminding me of that, Ms. Babson. Thank you for your call and don’t hesitate to contact me again if you remember anything else.”

Click.

Peggy stared at the phone in disbelief. Sarcasm? Skepticism? These were not at all the reactions she’d expected from Detective Benedetti. He’d sounded almost as if he didn’t believe her! Hadn’t he cared about the information she’d taken the time to relay? Why, Miles Porter could be a murderer, and the lead detective on the case wasn’t even willing to come to her office to follow up a lead.

She contemplated her options. She could complain to Detective Benedetti’s supervisor, give him a piece of her mind. She could go down to the station and ream out the Detective in person. Or she could investigate on her own.

That was it! He needed a motive, she’d find him a motive. She’d use her keen intuition and developing psychic abilities, just like the professionals on television. She no longer liked the tall Brit anyway. He was too full of himself, cocky. The very qualities she’d expect in someone who stabbed a poor foreigner in broad daylight.

Peggy Babson decided to formulate a plan on her commute back
to Queens. Her pulse beat a little faster. She checked her watch and wished it were already time to leave.

_____

“So which do you prefer,” asked Miles as he and Darby rounded the corner of the park, “walking here or in the wilds of Maine?”

“Hmmm … a hard choice.”

“Really? I should have thought you’d have blurted out your hom
e state instantly. Those beautiful craggy cliffs and tall pines …”

Darby laughed. “You’re right; I love the wild, untamed nature of Maine. But there’s something special about places like this that generations of humans have carefully manicured, too. And I love the idea that way back when, people realized how important green space is, and preserved so much of it, smack in the middle of the city.”

Miles nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean.” A roller blader with a pink Mohawk skated gracefully past them, licking an ice cream cone as he passed. “And who’s to say you can’t see wildlife in Manhattan?”

She chuckled. “So what’s on our agenda for tonight?”

“I was hoping you’d ask. I thought we’d go out for drinks and a nibble or two, and then I thought I’d bring you to see a genuine New York show.”

“Really!” Darby smiled. “That’s exciting. What will we be seeing?
”

“I’m keeping it a surprise, but I’m sure you’ll like it.” His face was boyish, the most relaxed Darby had seen him since her arrival.

“Can’t wait.” She reached for his hand and sighed. It felt wonderful to be with him. She could almost forget the Davenports and their lawsuit …

She pushed her anxiety aside. Miles was right; the situation would
take its course and there was little she could do in the meantime. She thought about Natalia, about the unexpected turn of events her life had taken with the murder of Alec Rodin.

“Were you surprised to hear Natalia say she was giving her investigative piece a rest?” Darby asked.

“The theft of the Russian palaces? No, not really. It’s a shame, because she seems to have a good source, but let’s face it: poor Natalia has too much on her plate right now. I’m sure she’s overwhelmed with details for Rodin’s funeral back in Russia, and who knows what her role is in all of that. Her finals are undoubtedly consuming any available energy she has right now. And, if you’re correct in thinking she has some sort of love interest, why, it’s no wonder she’s distracted.”

“I wonder about her father. He must be here, helping her get through this. She’s awfully young to be dealing with a murder investigation alone. Wouldn’t you think so?”

“She’s got Sergei, remember that,” said Miles. “As for Mikhail Kazakova, I don’t know whether he is in the states or not, but I know someone who will know for sure.”

“Ramon?” guessed Darby.

“Yes. We’re nearly back at the building. I’ll ask him—even if I have to endure being called Mr. Bean again.”

_____

The cake smelled rich and chocolaty, and Rona, who had a definite
weakness for sweets in general, was practically swooning by the time
she returned to Central Park Place. Ramon rushed to open the door
for her and she gave a curt nod of thanks.

“Where’s the party?” he asked, eyeing the bakery box.

“It’s a gift for a friend,” she sniffed, not wanting to let the doorman know she had a store-bought cake.

“Lucky friend.”

“I didn’t know you liked cake, Ramon. I’ll be sure to think of you the next time I’m out.”

He smiled, and Rona made a mental note to buy the doorman a cake. After all, it was good business practice to suck up to anyone and everyone who could be a source of leads.

She took the elevator to her floor and hurried to the apartment. Once inside, she removed the cake from the box and looked for a plate on which to put it. Gingerly, she lifted it and placed it on the plate, happy to see that it fit nearly perfectly.