Deadly Interest (2 page)

My stomach growled.

Six-fifteen.

I made my way to the front door, and let a
very grateful Mrs. Vicks inside.

“
Oh, Alex, honey, thank
you so much. You’re a dear.”

She handed me my shoes as she kicked off her
own by the front door, stooping to place them neatly on a ribbed
rubber mat right inside.

I smoothed back my hair again, pushing at
its slick wetness till the water dripped down the back of my neck.
“Not a problem,” I said, lying through my teeth. I headed toward
the back door, but she stopped me mid-stride in the kitchen.

“
Hang on, let me give you
something.”

Her purse, a massive bone-colored vinyl bag
with a long, wide strap that I’d often seen her wear strapped
across her chest, was slung along the back of one of the chairs.
She started to dig into it and I wondered why she hadn’t taken it
with her to the drugstore. Or why she always seemed to be losing
her keys.

Before I could say a word, she held out a
five-dollar bill, shaking it to show she meant business.

“
That’s okay,” I said,
striving for polite, but wanting nothing more than to race home and
get moving. I inched toward the porch pulling my pumps back on. I’d
be sorry tomorrow that I put them on with these dirty wet feet.
“Really, it was nothing.”

As I turned, I knocked over some of the
papers on her table and cursed my bad luck. More time wasted,
picking them up.

I mumbled to myself, as I snagged all the
papers that had fallen, and I placed them on the table trying to
arrange them neatly.

Bank statements, all of them. From Banner
Bank with the distinctive double-B logo. I knew Mrs. Vicks worked
there. She’d been taking the bus downtown everyday since I was a
kid.

“
Don’t worry, I’ll take
care of it,” she said, taking the bunch from my hand. She stopped
for a moment, as though considering something, the five-dollar bill
forgotten on the table, much to my relief. “Alex…” she said, “while
you’re here…”

I turned. Almost out the door, I thought.
Almost.

“
Yes?”

“
You’re still a news
reporter, right?”

I still needed to get the ladder back to my
garage before I could even hope to get dressed for tonight.

“
I’m a researcher. It’s
not really the same thing.”

“
Would you be the person
to talk to if I knew something?”

I winced at her question. Another clap of
thunder shook the house and the sound of the pounding rain let me
know the storm’s intensity had increased. People always ask me what
to do if they know something. The “something” they’re talking about
can run the gamut from a neighbor who leaves his dog out all night
to howl at the moon, to a con man who’s plotting to talk an elderly
parent out of retirement savings. My stories are assigned to me by
my boss, Philip J. Bassett, not-so-affectionately known as Bass. I
rarely find anything on my own that warrants the local Chicagoland
coverage that our television newsmagazine provides.

“
Ahh,” I said. “That would
depend.”

I inched toward the stairs that led down to
her back door. She stayed with me, hovering close, her brow
furrowed and her lips tight, staring at the sheaf of bank
statements in her hand.

She glanced up then, and her eyes were
clouded. “It’s just that there’ve been some,” she looked askance
and tsked, “I don’t know. Just some things going on that I thought
my boss ought to know about.”

My left hand was on the metal doorknob. I
reached my right up to casually flick the flybolt open. “Well, you
should say something then,” I said, my words bland. A quick glance
at my watch. Six-twenty-five. Damn.

She cocked one hip and set her hand full of
paper on it, as though settling in for a talk. “But I did. And,
well, it’s like this—”

Desperate, I pulled open the door. “I’ll
tell you what, Mrs. Vicks,” I said, knowing I’d be sorry later for
making hasty promises now, “How about I stop by tomorrow and you
can tell me all about what’s going on?”

Her face brightened, the deep crisscross
grooves in her cheeks settling into cheerful smile lines. “You’re a
sweetheart, Alex. You always have been, even when you were a little
girl. Okay, it’s a date then.”

I grabbed the ladder and flinched at yet
another flash of lightning overhead.

She called after me, “I’ll make dinner,
would you like that?”

I opened my mouth to decline, thought better
of it, and said, “That would be great.”

She beamed. “I’ll make it something very
special.”

Bass was pacing the foyer of the Convention
Center when I got there. As I passed through the second set of
glass doors, held open for me by the studly young valet, I watched
my diminutive boss taking short-man strides across the dense maroon
carpet. A wide set of double staircases leading to an empty loft
above, curved like huge parentheses around his pacing area, keeping
him contained. Centered high above, a crystal chandelier the size
of my kitchen sent glimmers of brightness throughout the spacious
entryway, but did nothing to brighten his obviously sour mood.

Bass was alone, head down, hands gesturing
as though in conversation. People passing by might think he was
talking on one of those cordless headset phones, but I knew better.
Bass talked to himself often. Indeed, from the look on his face and
the movement of his lips I could tell he was muttering. About me,
no doubt. Behind him, along a gold-brocade wall, three sets of open
double doors framed the busy ballroom beyond, like three giant
animated pictures. The guests were seated, chatting in low tones as
the wait staff mingled, trays balanced atop gloved fingers. Soup
was being cleared away, salads were looming; I was later than I
thought.

Bass looked up. He scowled.

“
Where the hell have you
been?”

Ignoring him, I headed toward the coat check
to the foyer’s far left. I handed two young girls my shawl, taking
a plastic token in return. Turning toward the ballroom, my eyes
scanned the sea of round tables, all covered in white linen, with
light-refracting crystal held by manicured hands. I felt the tip of
my own ripped nail close in on my fist and I grimaced.

Bass scurried to walk with me as I ran my
hands down the sides of my indigo blue gown, smoothing it. My dress
was the only thing that hadn’t gotten screwed up tonight. It was
silky and cut on the bias with a demure slit that slithered up from
its calf-length hem. I’d pulled back my damp hair into a chignon,
and the last glance I’d taken in the mirror before I tore out of
the house made me believe that I’d at least managed a little bit of
elegance.

Bass had a nervous jumpiness about him that
made him look, in his black tuxedo, like a sixty-year-old
ring-bearer with ants in his pants. “Do you have any idea what it
would’ve looked like if you hadn’t shown up?” he asked for the
second time.

“
I’m here, aren’t I?” I
took a deep breath, centering myself before moving toward the open
doors. Every woman knows that her attraction is in her mind—people
will react to her based on how she feels about herself. Tonight I
was determined to dazzle.

“
Everybody’s been asking
where you are. Where were you, anyway?”

I was a few inches taller than Bass most
days. Tonight, in my three-inch heels, I felt like an Amazon woman.
Standing close, forcing him to tilt his head far up to look at me,
I pasted on a smile and ignored his question.

“
Just show me to our
table.”

* * * * *

William Armstrong, my partner at work, stood
as we approached. “Alex,” he said.

Holding out the chair next to his for me,
his expression was one of concern, eyebrows close together over
sparkling blue eyes. When I shot him a crooked grin, his face
relaxed and I watched his eyes move up and down my body, as though
seeing me for the first time.

Something about that man’s smile turned my
knees weak. I’d never seen him in a tux before, but his just over
six-foot frame wore it so splendidly, that I had to bite the
insides of my cheeks to stop myself from saying “Wow!”

“
You look great,” he said
in a low voice as he pushed my chair in.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Thank you.”

As William sat to my left, Bass took a seat
next to his long-time girlfriend, Mona. I murmured apologies for my
tardiness to them. Two chairs to my immediate right were currently
unoccupied but had been claimed, as evidenced by a wineglass with
red-lipstick marks, and two crumpled napkins lying on the vacant
seats. A man’s Armani jacket, draped so that the tag faced outward,
shouldered the chair next to mine.

“
Can I get you something?”
William asked, leaning forward, his fingers poised on the tabletop
as though to boost himself upward at my command.

William’s solicitousness took on a peculiar
quality when I realized we were seated together, like dates. I
managed to say, “No thank you,” and turned to my boss, who
smirked.

Bass had made comments in the past about
William and me having a secret fling going, and when I realized my
protestations to the contrary only served to encourage him further,
I shut up about it and let him believe what he chose.

Mona reached past William toward me. “It’s
so good to see you again, honey,” she said. Her fifty-something
careworn face was mottled from years in the sun, her black hair a
shade too dark to be natural, but the creases bunching up near her
pale brown eyes and the deep grooves around her mouth made it clear
this was a cheerful lady.

I clasped her little-girl hand,
half-concealed under rock-studded gold rings. “You too,” I said
with feeling. “How’s the big guy been treating you?”

“
He better treat me real
nice,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “I booked us a reservation in
one of them Sybaris swimming pool suites tonight.” She leaned back
and slapped Bass playfully on the arm. “Didn’t I, honey?” She
laughed then—deep-throated and merry—a surprising sound from such a
small person. Next to her, Bass looked away, reddening. How a
fellow as cranky as Bass could have snagged a gem like Mona had
always been a mystery to me.

I spied our station’s anchor, Gabriela Van
Doren, and her date seated at the next table, chatting it up with
the general manager from our competing station. I turned to
William. “Why is Gabriela over there?” as it occurred to me that
she had apparently been invited to bring a guest.

William shook his head and shrugged.

Perplexed, I placed my hand on the back of
the empty seat next to me and addressed Bass, “Then who’s sitting
here?”

A cool hand covered mine. “Hello, Alex.”

My stomach clenched, but I forced a smile as
I looked up. “Dan,” I said, trying to keep the surprised
disappointment out of my voice. I pulled my hand out from under
his, but I wasn’t quick enough. He snagged it, long enough for his
eyes to flick over my ragged nail, and lift an eyebrow in
disapproval. I maintained eye contact, smiled, and returned my hand
to my lap, pretending that it was the height of fashion to have a
splintered middle fingernail.

“
How have you been?” I
asked, my voice flat.

Behind him, his new girlfriend Pamela
hovered with blond perfection. She and I had met, just once, under
strained circumstances.

“
Great,” he said, flashing
a bright oh-so sincere smile. “And you?” Without waiting for my
answer he half-turned toward his date. “I’d like to introduce you
to—”

“
Pam,” I finished. “We’ve
met.”

“
That’s right,” Dan said,
smoothly.

She blinked a couple of times in feigned
confusion, smiled faintly, and wrapped her hands around Dan
Starck’s shirt-sleeved biceps. “I prefer Pamela,” she said. She
gave his arm what was obviously meant to be a proprietary
squeeze.

He glanced back toward her with a sly smile,
running a finger along his own jawline the way men do sometimes, as
though to verify that they really did remember to shave that
morning.

Like a model from the cover of GQ, he wore
local fame like an inner glow, radiating brilliance from his
perfect white teeth to his golden-tanned and trim body. As
beautiful as his latched-on accompaniment was, however, she paled
in comparison to his confident radiance. The way she held on to
him, two-handed, protecting him from my evil clutches, delivered a
welcome boost to my self-confidence.

It had been a while since he and I were an
item, and despite the fact that the breakup had been a mutual
decision, in retrospect I couldn’t help but believe that the
relationship that had preceded it had been all his doing. He’d
sought me out, wooed me, and when I responded to this handsome
hunk’s undivided attention by moving in with him, I discovered that
in addition to clothes and toiletries, he expected me to bring all
my station’s stories, informants, and secrets into the
relationship, too.

That didn’t happen.

I drew my line and he drew his. It was when
I stepped back to get a better look that I realized there was no
overlap.

A gloved hand placed a chilled salad in
front of me and I picked up my outermost fork. Dan leaned close,
his shoulder skimming mine. “Good luck tonight,” he said. His eyes
caught the light from the crystal chandeliers above us.

Sincere or mocking—I still couldn’t
tell.

I stabbed a cherry tomato and brought it to
my lips. “The same to you.”

* * * * *

The moment we’d all been waiting for came
just as the last remaining parfait glasses disappeared—stolen away
by quick-fingered busboys. The table before us emptied so quickly
and unobtrusively that it went from cluttered to clear as though by
magic. As final crumbs were scraped off white linen, the master of
ceremonies took the podium in front of tall, crimson curtains. A
local author, he’d been tapped for duty after his latest book hit
the New York Times Bestseller list. He scratched his trim beard and
began his introductory remarks.