Eye of the Beholder (11 page)

He walked aimlessly around the apartment, not wanting it to be true. What excuse could Kinsey possibly have for getting involved in drugs? She was a beautiful young woman with a respectable career, much too smart for this kind of nonsense. He must be wrong. But what if he wasn’t?

Guy got out the phone book and looked up her address and copied it down. He decided to figure out where she lived and pay her a visit. And he didn’t plan to call first.

Ellen Jones put her dinner dishes in the dishwasher, her mind racing with the events of the day. How would she defend her friendship with Mina when Guy found out the FBI had questioned Ellen about the Tehranis?

The fact that she had finished the first chapter in her new book should help to placate him, but that was only part of the problem. Ellen still had little hope of ever being published, and spending her days writing a novel that may never have an audience wasn’t her idea of doing something significant.

How she longed for the satisfaction she had experienced as a newspaper editor! She had never tired of being immersed in the drama and competing with the electronic media for breaking news. But the intensity was more than Guy had been willing to deal with.

He had convinced her to pursue something tamer and less intrusive to their personal lives. Ellen sighed. Nothing about the life they had now seemed tamer or less intrusive. Had they ever
been so cut off from each other—or so miserable? For the first time since their move to Seaport, she longed for the good ol’ days.

Guy pulled up in front of a classy two-story townhouse at 106 Allendale Court.
That’s her
“
itty bitty gray house”?
He looked again at the piece of paper on which he had jotted down Kinsey’s address. This was the right place.

He got out of the car and went to the front door. Lights were on inside and he heard a TV. He rang the doorbell and waited for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. Maybe he should have called first.

Finally the door opened and Kinsey stood staring at him, her jaw hanging open. “Guy! What are you doing here?”

“Should I turn around and leave?”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect it to be you. Uh, you want to come in?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. I’d like to show you something.”

Kinsey held open the door, and he stepped onto a shiny floor of black-and-white marble squares.

He followed her into the living room: Plush white carpet. Huge oil paintings. Glass tables. Black leather furniture.
Nice
.

“Would you like something to drink? I’ve got Pepsi or water, or I can perk some decaf—French Vanilla or Hazelnut.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Make yourself comfortable. What is it you wanted to show me?”

Guy sat on the couch, and a second later a gray cat jumped in his lap and startled him.

“Grayson!” Kinsey picked up the cat and put it in another room and closed the door. “Sorry. He’s just curious. Where were we?”

“I found something I’m puzzled about.” He reached into his sport coat pocket and pulled out the Baggie and held it up.

“What’s that?” she said.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Come on, Kinsey. I found this stuck down behind a couch cushion. It’s not mine. It has to be yours.”

She shook her head. “What is it?”

“Well, let’s see, it goes by lots of names: Snow. Nose candy. Blow.
Cocaine
.”

“Please tell me you didn’t drive all the way over here with that in your pocket? What if the cops had stopped you? You’d be on your way to jail with no defense!”

“I didn’t even think about it, that’s how upset I am! Now answer my question: Is it yours?”

“I don’t do cocaine! I’ve passed every drug test, and you know it.”

“Then where did it come from? You’re the only other person who’s sat on my couch.”

“What about your cleaning lady? She was supposed to be there Friday.”

“She couldn’t begin to afford this, and if she were dealing, she wouldn’t be cleaning apartments.” Guy let his eyes glide around the room and then locked gazes with Kinsey. “Nice condo. I’m surprised you can afford a place like this on what
we’re
paying you.”

“How dare you talk to me like I’m on the stand! I got a good divorce settlement, and I resent the implication! I don’t do drugs. And I don’t sell them.” Her eyes filled with tears and her chin quivered. “I’m hurt you would even think that, much less confront me with it. You know me better than that.”

“I’m just trying to determine how an illegal substance got into my apartment.”

“Did you ever stop to think the intruder might have left it there?”

“Wedged between the back of the couch and the cushion?”

“Maybe the police were following him and he needed a quick hiding place.”

“The police never alluded to that.”

“Come on, Guy. If the intruder had been under surveillance, they wouldn’t have volunteered anything. Maybe he’s a dealer.” Kinsey got up and started pacing, her hands moving with every word she spoke. “I just can’t believe you think I could be involved in anything illegal. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Actually, I think you’re a highly intelligent young woman. So surely you can understand why I have to confront you with it when there’s no other explanation.”

“There has to be, it’s not mine. I swear!”

“Then I suppose your fingerprints won’t be on this plastic bag?”

“Absolutely not.”

Guy breathed in and let it out. “Okay. You know I had to ask. I’m going down to the police station and turn this over before I get caught with it.”

Kinsey stopped, her face ashen. She sat in the chair facing him, her eyes pleading. “Don’t do that. Just flush it. Why get the police involved? It’ll be embarrassing for both of us.”

“Why? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Do you think Brent and the partners want this kind of publicity?”

“Am I supposed to just pretend I didn’t find an illegal substance in my apartment?”

“If you get rid of it, no one will ever know and there’ll be no harm done.”

Guy saw fear in Kinsey’s eyes. “Why are you so adamant about this?”

“Look, I know respected professionals who snort coke. I don’t. And I don’t want to answer a gazillion questions for the police—and especially not the DEA. What other people do is their business. I don’t want to be forced to point a finger.”

“Why do you care? What they’re doing is illegal.”

“But not turning them in
isn’t
. Look, if it gets out that I knew, it’ll look bad for the firm, and Brent will find a way to get rid of me. I’m good at what I do. I’ve done nothing wrong. Please don’t put my job in jeopardy.” Kinsey seemed focused on her hands for half a minute and then looked up at him. “Besides, you don’t want everyone at the firm to know I spent the night at your apartment. If the police question you, it’s going to come out.”

“We’ll just have to tell the truth. They all know I’m devoted to Ellen.”

“Oh, but there’s a side of Brent that would just love to prove your religion’s a farce.”

“Brent
already
believes my religion’s a farce. But he knows me and knows I’d never cheat on Ellen or get myself mixed up in drugs.”

“Really? Are you sure enough to risk the respect you’ve earned just to turn in a bag of cocaine the police will probably never be able to trace back to the dealer?

 10
 

G
uy Jones went inside his apartment and bolted the door. He pulled the drapes, took off his sport coat, then removed the bag of cocaine from the pocket and stuck it in the kitchen cupboard next to the sugar.

He went in the living room and flopped on the couch and put up his feet. He probably should have gone to the police and turned over the cocaine. But Kinsey had made a good point.

Was
getting involved in this worth risking the respect he had earned, especially if it didn’t lead to a conviction? Was it worth losing Kinsey as his secretary? Was he willing to let the media spin the story, knowing that anything that was reported would reflect on the firm—and any mention of Kinsey’s overnight at his apartment would sound sleazy? If only he’d told Ellen when he’d had the chance. Was he prepared to deal with all that?

It was all Guy could do not to flush the cocaine down the toilet and forget he’d ever seen it. He wanted to get on the phone and tell Ellen everything that had happened and get her input. But how objective could she be after he hadn’t been forthcoming? And how forgiving?

Ellen sat out on the veranda, relieved to feel a cool breeze blowing off the gulf and glad that midnight would mark the end of September.

She glanced at her watch: ten after nine. Guy was taking his
sweet time calling her—probably his way of getting back at her for ignoring him over the weekend.

But how had he expected her to react? His sharp criticism had cut a swatch out of their relationship that still needed mending. She hoped it would improve his mood that she had finished the first chapter in her new novel, but doubted it would be enough to stave off his anger when she told him about being questioned by the FBI. She just wanted to get it over with.

The phone rang and she hurried inside to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Ellen, it’s Mina. Is this bad time to talk?”

“No, I was just sitting outside on the veranda. How is Ali?”

“He stares at nothing and doesn’t want to talk.”

“No wonder. It has to be horrible having his integrity questioned in the media.”

“Ali made FBI see he had nothing to hide. This is his reward?”

“Is the media still hassling you?”

“They wait outside like pack of wolves—not for truth, for lies. Ali will not talk to them.”

“Do you know if the FBI found Bobak?”

“Yes, Ali led them to Bobak but was not allowed to talk to him. My husband feels great sorrow turning nephew over to FBI.”

“He did the right thing,” Ellen said. “They’ll let Bobak go if he’s innocent. But with all that’s at stake, they can’t very well disregard his speaking out against the U.S.”

“He is young fool with big mouth. But he is not terrorist.”

“Then he has nothing to fear.” Ellen sat at the breakfast bar. “The FBI questioned me today, too.”

“No … I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. If they were going to talk to someone, it’s good they came to me. I had nothing but positive things to tell them.”

“You are kind, Ellen. And good friend.”

“I’m just truthful. I’m sure the FBI has questioned the people Ali works with, and I can’t imagine that everyone didn’t have nice things to say about him.” Ellen heard sniffling. “What is it, Mina?”

“My heart breaks for my husband. He is afraid people will not respect him after he is dishonored this way.”

“People are scared. But most are reasonable. Anyone who knows Ali knows what a warm and caring person he is … and what a good doctor. They’re not going to change their opinion just because the FBI questioned him.”

“I wish it were so, my friend. But I am not so sure.”

Ellen heard the call-waiting signal. “Mina, can I call you back? I need to take this call. It’s probably Guy.”

“You go. I’m going to bed. It’s been exhausting few days.”

“Sleep well,” Ellen said. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.” She switched over to the other caller. “Hello.”

“You
are
home,” Guy said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Actually, I’ve been home all day. I cancelled everything else and worked on the book. I finished the first chapter.”

There was a long pause.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Guy said. “Are you happy with it?”

“I think so. It’s intriguing anyway. So how’s your day been?”

“Interesting, to say the least. I stopped by the apartment this morning on my way into the office and surprised a burglar.”

“Good heavens! Inside or outside?”

“Inside. I had put my hang up bag in the closet and was standing at the dresser, looking for a client’s business card, when I had the weirdest feeling that someone was in there. I looked around the apartment and didn’t see anyone; and just as I stuck my head in the bathroom, someone shoved me from behind and I went headlong into the wall.”