A Dangerous Widow (A Dangerous Series) (15 page)

“You know that I’m in,” he said in a soft
voice.
 
“How could I leave you like
this now?”

He looked troubled when he said
that—genuinely concerned for my well-being—and so I reached out for
his hand and held it in my own.

“I had to do this tonight.
 
I hope that you understand.
 
I can’t bear the thought that, if
Michael was murdered, whoever killed him just gets to continue to go on with
their lives.
 
I swear to you that,
after tonight, I’ll follow your advice going forward and behave.”

“When have you ever behaved?”

“It’s been sixteen years, Ben.
 
Both of us have grown up since we were
together.
 
I know when it’s worth it
to take a risk, and I also know when it’s best to step away from one.”

“I just hope that you’re right about
tonight.”

“You’ll see that I am.”

“But don’t you see?” he said.
 
“If you are, and if you’ve awoken a
long-sleeping beast, it could all go wrong.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I need another drink,” I said after we’d
cooled down.

“To be honest with you, I’d like one myself,
but I never drink on duty.
 
And
given the speed at which you’re moving tonight, I need to remain sharp.
 
That said—when I do get home?
 
Trust me, I’ll be having a Guinness or
two.”

“You deserve one.”

“Has my hair gone gray yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You sure about that?”

“You’re as handsome as ever.”

His face softened when I said that, and then
he leaned in to kiss me.
 
“Let me
get you another martini.
 
I’ll get
myself another seltzer.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go to the bar.”

He took my hand and I followed him through
the crowd.
 
Only this time, the
atmosphere around us had shifted.
 
People were looking at me with curiosity.
 
Sidelong glances struck me from all
sides.
 
Was it because Ben had just
kissed me, or was it because word of my speculations surrounding Michael’s
death had since become part of the party’s DNA?
 
Either way, all eyes were on me as we
wended ourselves toward the bar.

“Are you feeling what I’m feeling?” Ben
asked.

“Oh, I’m feeling it.”

He stopped for a moment.
 
“Sooner rather than later, the press are
going to question you.
 
What do you
plan to say to them?”

“Nothing more than what I’ve already said to
Bill, Maxine, and Mark—that certain circumstances have led me to question
whether Michael’s death was an accident.
 
I won’t speculate going forward—I’ll just say that I’m
investigating all possibilities.
 
All I want is for that alone to get into the morning papers.
 
Because, if Michael was murdered, then I
will become a target.
 
You and your
team can take over from there.”

“To a point.”

“Fine, I get it.
 
To a point.
 
But if we play this correctly—if
we outwit whoever killed Michael, which we must if it’s true—then we
win.”

“Maybe I will have that drink,” he said.

“I wish you would.”

“I’m joking, Kate.
 
You’ll be all right here?”

“I’ll be fine.
 
I can handle myself when it comes to the
press.”

“Then give me a second,” he said.
 
“And stay on point if a reporter
approaches you.”

“I will.”

But no one approached me.

When Ben returned with our drinks, I’d
remained untouched by the press despite the fact that it was becoming
increasingly obvious that I’d become
the
topic
of conversation.
 
Glancing around
the room, I had to wonder if these people even knew what a poker face was.
 
Because every time I caught someone
looking at me, it was clear from the tense, questioning, and even stunned
expressions on their faces that they didn’t know what to make of the news that
was being passed down from person to person, group to group.
 
But since I couldn’t control the
situation at this point, I decided to just let it be.

“Cheers,” I said to Ben.

“Cheers,” he said.

I took a sip, and then wondered.
 
“Have you ever had a martini before?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“I haven’t.”

“Then take a sip.
 
And please don’t look at me like
that.
 
Just one sip—and then
you’ll see that this cocktail was delivered to us from the heavens.”

He smiled at me when I said that, and then
he just shrugged and acquiesced.
 
“I’ll only commit to one sip.”

“Then make it a good one.”

He did, and when he did, he screwed up his
face.
 
“Holy shit, that’s strong.”

“What did you expect?
 
It’s pure vodka.”

“I might have to have a little talk with
your liver later.”

“She won’t hear of it.”

“No wonder you’re in warrior mode tonight.
 
That drink alone would drop anyone’s
inhibitions.”

“Consider it an acquired taste that I
acquired years ago.
 
I love
them—but two is my limit.
 
Otherwise—and you should know this going forward, Ben—if I
even dared to have a third, I’d become one mother of a hot mess.
 
And if that happens, think about what
you’d have on your hands then.”

“It’s not as if I haven’t seen you at your
worst when it comes to having a bit too much to drink, Kate…”

“What can I say?
 
When we were young, you might have
picked me off a floor or two.
 
I’ll
concede to that.
 
I’ll own my
shame.
 
And by the way, if I didn’t
thank you for that then, allow me to thank you for that now.
 
Because I’m sure that whatever party we
were at, you helped me make a graceful exit.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, and we
both laughed.
 
And after so much
tension between us tonight, it was good to laugh with him again.
 
Despite how we’d been thrown together
again, it hadn’t escaped me that somehow, after all these years, it was still
easy to talk with him.
 
To be with
him.
 
The banter we once had hadn’t
left us.
 
It was still right there,
a vague memory brought straight to the forefront as if no time has passed
between us at all.
 

And it was quickly growing deeper.

“Kate?” a man’s voice said to my left.

When I turned with Ben, I faced Eli
Rosenberg, a well-known reporter from the
Times
.
 
I’d known Eli for years, reaching way
back to the days with Michael when StoneTech had become such a force that we
suddenly found ourselves being invited to parties such as this.
 
Eli was a stylish, good-looking
gentleman somewhere in his late sixties who covered the society pages for the
Times
.
 
I
knew from reading his column after all these years that there were those whom
he disliked, and those whom he championed.
 
For reasons unknown to me, he’d always championed me.

“Eli,” I said as I reached up to kiss him on
each cheek.
 
“I haven’t seen you in
months.
 
I think the last time was
when you covered the last big Red Cross event.
 
It’s so good to see you.”
 

“You look lovely,” he said.
 
“And I have to say that that’s some
dress.
 
You know I need to ask who
you’re wearing.”

“Valentino.”

“I thought so.
 
And it’s magnificent.”

“Off the rack,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows at me.
 
“You don’t say?
 
Well, you’d never know it, because it
looks anything but.”

“And you certainly look sharp,” I said as I
stood back to look at him.
 
“But
when don’t you?
 
How have you become
more handsome than the first day we met?”

“Eating well?
 
Exercise?”
 
He rolled his eyes at me.
 
“Please, let’s just face it—all of
that, plus a heaping dose of Botox.”

“Good for you.
 
Because, believe me, when it’s my time
for the Botox boxcar to arrive on my doorstep, I’m so getting in.”

“Who knew that a lethal poison such as
botulism could be turned into a youth-giving miracle?” he said.

“And who even cares?
 
Let’s just be happy that it was.
 
I mean, look at you.
 
Unlike so many people around us, you
haven’t gone too far.
 
You’ve just
smoothed everything out.”

“God, I’ve missed you, Kate, especially your
frankness, your lack of judgment, and your willingness to have fun.
 
Covering this circuit has been boring
without you in the mix.
 
So many of
them are so damned stiff.”

“I’ve also missed you, Eli.
 
But before we go any further, I should
introduce you to Ben Cade,” I said, motioning toward Ben as the two men shook
hands.
 
“We’ve been seeing each
other for a few months now.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ben.”

“The pleasure is mine, Eli.”

“Knowing Kate as I do, I’m certain that she
chose well after Michael.
 
I hope
that you’ll come to see me as a friend just as Kate does.”

“I’m sure that I will.”

For a moment, Eli looked uncomfortable, and
then he just sighed.
 
“And about
that,” he said.
 
“About
Michael.
 
Kate, you know why I’ve
come over.”

“Let’s just say that I have a feeling that
it has nothing to do with my dress or with any mentions of Botox.”

“It doesn’t—though I do love the
dress.
 
And I’m beyond thrilled to
see you.
 
Still, while I don’t
normally find myself in situations such as this, I’m nevertheless a journalist,
so if you’re willing, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Eli Rosenberg and I weren’t friends on a
personal level, but we certainly were on a professional one.
 
And that relationship was one of the
main reasons he was soft-balling this situation right now.
 
If he were anyone else—such as a
reporter from the
Daily News
or the
Post
—he would have just gone straight in for the
kill and tried to catch me off guard with a blizzard of questions.
 
But that wasn’t who Eli was, which was one
of the many reasons why I admired him so much.

“It’s OK, Eli,” I said.
 
“I know what this is about.
 
You can ask me whatever you want.”

From his pants pocket, he removed a small,
digital recording device and showed it to me.
 
“I need you to understand that this will
be on record,” he said.

“I understand that.”

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I am.”

“I’m about to press the button,” he warned.

I put my hand on his arm and said, “Press
it.”

As he pressed a button on the recorder, I
saw a tiny red light appear on the top of it, and then Eli held it discreetly
in front of his chest, likely so that as few people as possible would know that
he was interviewing me.

“From what I’ve been hearing, tonight you
apparently made a few candid remarks to Bill and Maxine Witherhouse, which have
since turned this room on its side.
 
Everyone is talking about what you presumably said.
 
What I want to know is if you, in fact,
said anything at all.”

Eli had been so good to me over the years
that he deserved for me to be as straight with him as I could be.
 
Not only because I liked and respected
him, but also because I knew that right now I was in the very best of hands.

“You’re talking about my suspicions
surrounding Michael’s death?”

“I am.
 
Would you care to elaborate on them?”

“For you, I will.”

“I believe that Michael has been dead for
five years.
 
Am I right about that?”

“You are.”

“Then I have to ask, Kate—why are you
questioning his death now?
 
Everyone
knows that it was ruled an accident.
 
Anyone who knows you or knows of you will never forget that Michael fell
down that staircase because your dog rushed him.
 
It was a freak accident.
 
What’s changed your mind to make you
think that it might have been something else?”

If I told him that it had been a psychic
that had led me down this road, I’d lose all credibility with him and with the
rest of the world.
 
So, I decided to
remain as vague as possible—while nevertheless baiting the hook.
 

“A recent series of events that I can’t
discuss for personal and private reasons have led me to believe otherwise.
 
And believe me, Eli, if I could discuss
those reasons with you now, I would, if only because I know that you wouldn’t
turn them into something scandalous.
 
That’s just not who you are.
 
But since I can’t go into detail just yet, I hope that you’ll understand
why I can’t.
 
Right now, I can’t
show my hand, because, if I do, it could reveal too much at the wrong moment.”