Pink Balloons and Other Deadly Things (Mystery Series - Book One) (16 page)

“Mrs. Burnham, I’m not stupid.”

Brodsky tapped his pencil impatiently. “Okay, Vogel was taking kickbacks? How? In cash?”

“Shea said she didn’t have absolute proof, so she couldn’t tell her boss. Said she was bidin’ her time.”

“Who were the kickbacks coming from?”

“Well, Vogel was in the marketing department, so---”

I grabbed Brodsky’s arm. “She was head of marketing. Everything had to go through her office.”

Rostow nodded. “Yeah, well, I guess she was in a position to throw business in certain directions. Only thing the Shea dame said she knew for a fact was that Vogel was spendin’ a lot of time and money at Elizabeth Arden’s in the city, and she was pretty damned sure it was courtesy of the Wallace-Bowden ad agency.”

IT WAS PAST TEN when we finished with Rostow and left the building.

“I'm crippled,” I grumbled. “Couldn't you have---”

“Christ, Carrie, what bad movie did you get that ‘come down to the precinct’ crap from?”

“No movie. From you.”

“What? I never---”

“Yes, you did. Walking down to the pier on Monday. You were trying to scare me. And it worked, so I thought I'd give it a shot.”

He started to laugh.

“Why do you suppose she'd do something like that? Erica, I mean.”

"Greed." He offered his arm. “Grab hold.”

I did, enjoying the contact, and hobbled along trying to match his long strides. “But she had a good job. And they were going to be married right after the divorce.”

“Remember, he was insisting she sign a prenup. It meant your children came first. Maybe she was getting even.”

That sounded like Erica.

“You were asking him about men,” I said as we arrived at the car. “Who told you Erica was cheating on Rich?”

“Dot Shea.”

“Well, I guess turnabout is fair play. He was cheating on her.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know who the woman in the restaurant was.”

Herb Golinko knew about Rich's women, though. And Dot would probably have known. She took all his calls, opened his mail, knew how many times a day he went to the bathroom. But how would she have known about Erica’s activities? “Did she say who Erica was fooling around with?”

“Client,” he replied, opening the car door for me. “Maybe there's a connection with the ad agency. I’ll check it out.”

“Blackmail,” I muttered as I scrambled in. “Who might’ve been blackmailing Erica?” Meg came to mind. Maybe that was what the fight in Haji's was about. Except I couldn’t see Meg throwing pretzels. She’d be more likely to have thrown a bottle.

“Why kill her? Nothing to gain with her dead.”

“Okay, okay, lemme think.” There had to be a way these unconnected bits of information fit together. “Maybe Dot was blackmailing Erica, they had a fight-—no, that wouldn’t make sense. Because then who killed Dot?”

“Maybe your husband found out about the affair or the kickbacks or both, and
they
had a fight. And then maybe he realized Dot Shea could have incriminated him.”

“She wouldn’t have.” Dot’s instinct to protect and defend Rich was as ingrained as mine had always been. “I just can’t accept that Rich is capable of...”

“Madame Therapist,” Brodsky said, not unkindly. “When are you going to face up to who Rich Burnham is?”

“I know who he is.” I replied uncomfortably. “I’ve learned a lot this past year. I know he’s weak and he uses people.”

“He’s worse than that. He’s a liar, a cheat, and a fraud.”

Why did that keep hurting? “But not a killer.” I didn’t want my children’s father to be a killer.

“Not under ordinary circumstances, but maybe when push came to shove---”

I shook my head adamantly. “You don't live with a man for eighteen years and not know something like that.”

He actually groaned. “I’ve heard that so many times it’s gotten to be a joke. ‘John? I’ve known him forever. Wonderful guy, wouldn’t swat a mosquito.’ And I’m there when they find his baby with a pillow over its head because it wouldn’t stop crying. He was silent for a minute. Then he said softly. “You’d think you’d get used to it. You never do.”

We were on the parkway. My mind drifted back to another spring when I was in the car on the Palisades Parkway.

I was ready to give birth to Allie. We were racing into the city to New York University Hospital. I remember Rich’s reassuring voice when I panicked because the contractions were coming faster and harder than I had been led to believe in our Lamaze classes, and I was losing control of the breathing exercises. I remember his soothing hand rubbing my back, the gentle way he calmed my fears, got me back on track. I remember him sitting by my bed all night when things went wrong, and I had to have an emergency Cesarean. And I remember how he railed at the nurse who was late with my pain medication. Was this a man who could murder the woman he loved?

On the heels of that recollection came the memory of the morning Matt was born, a mere two years later. I saw Rich standing in the doorway of the operating room having refused my request to come in, ignoring me as he discussed his latest investment with my obstetrician. And I remember that he left for the office as soon as Matt was delivered. Still, that only meant there had been a change in his feelings for me, a change that the birth of a son had, for a time, obscured. It didn’t make him capable of murder.

Ted and I said little until we arrived at my office.

“I haven't got my car,” I murmured as I stood on the curb. “I should’ve had you drop me at home.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he replied. “What time do you finish?”

Suddenly I just wanted to be alone. “Six. But don’t bother. I have to do some shopping. I'll grab a cab.”

Again I had the feeling he’d read my mind.

“Right.” His voice was cool. “See you.”

THE FIRST MESSAGE on my answering machine was Ruth-Ann reminding me that Monday was Memorial Day and asking if we were still having overeaters group. Would I please call her and let her know? The second was Vickie wanting to tell me all about the interview. She’d call me back later at home. I put my head down on my desk and listened to Hamilton Grinch blast me because Jerry was refusing to come for training, did I know why? Yeah, I knew why. He was given everything he wanted, including enough money to buy recreational drugs. He had no reason to make the effort to change.

When a familiar voice said, “Carrie?” I thought it was coming from the machine. No message followed and I looked up. Rich was leaning against the doorframe, his left arm in a sling, his drawn face a patchwork of Band-Aids.

Strangely, I felt none of the old preprogrammed emotions—-not shock, not concern at his appearance—-only a mild curiosity as to the cause of the injuries, and anger for Matt and Allie's sakes.

“Where the hell’ve you been?”

“Lay off, will you?” He held up his hand as if warding off a blow, limped over to the leather recliner and dropped into it. “I was in a car wreck.”

He waited for my response-—a word of sympathy for his suffering, or at the very least relief that he was okay. I couldn't manage it.

“Whose car? Yours is in your lot.”

“A friend’s. What's the matter? Don’t you believe me?”

“The police’ve been looking for you. They checked the hospitals.”

“I didn't go to a hospital.”

“Who set your arm?”

“A doctor. Someone my friend sent me to.”

Lady or man, I wanted to ask. “What friend?”

“What's the difference?”

Half a story. Why couldn’t he ever tell a whole story?

“Why didn’t you call? You must’ve known the children would worry.”

“I was half out of it.”

“Sympathy pains in your other arm? Couldn’t pick up the phone?”

“They gave me stuff for the pain.” He fluttered his broken wing so I could see the cast. “Jesus, you’ve gotten hard.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“It’s not becoming.”

“Forgive me. We’ve had a little excitement of our own since you disappeared.”

I wondered why I’d never noticed how close-set his eyes are. If he’d been involved in what had happened to Erica and Dot, would I see it in those eyes?

He leaned back in the chair and closed them, barring my glimpse into his soul. “The cops told me about Dot. Man, what a nightmare!”

Dot's distorted dead face materialized. I struggled to exorcise her ghost.

“The police know you’re back?”

“I've been to the precinct.”

That surprised me. Had Ted Brodsky been there, I wondered if Rich would have walked out of that station so readily. The words popped out. “They didn't hold you?”

He sat up so quickly, the footrest flew back, striking his calf. “Ow! Damn!” and glared at me as though I'd somehow engineered it. “Hold me? Why?”

“Well, it didn’t look great, your disappearing when you did.”

“Had to get away,” he mumbled, rubbing his leg. “Going nuts, living in the house where it happened.”

“Where were you?”

“Connecticut.”

“Connecticut? What's in---”

“Cops told me you were the one found Dot.”

“Yes.”

“How was that? What were you doing in her apartment?”

Darned if I was going to let him put me on the defensive. “I went there looking for you.”

“Why would I be there?”

“Come off it, Rich. I know about you and Dot. I know about all of them or at least, most of them. I even know about you and Meg.”

That was blowing the lid off.

He had the gall to look injured. “Again, me and Meg? You’re hallucinating!”

I wanted to smack him across his lying mouth. I came around my desk and leaned over him. “I’m talking about when she modeled for you. Remember that? Because Brodsky knows all about it.”

“About what?”

“About you and her, and her husband who’s in jail, and Erica and the kickbacks---”

“Kickbacks!” He sprang out of the chair, grabbing my arm with his free one, hurting me. “What are you talking about?” His voice became menacing. “I’m warning you, Carrie, if you've tried to make trouble for me---”

“Don't you threaten me!” The anger exploded up from the pit of my stomach and flew out of my mouth, engulfing me, engulfing
him
. I jerked away and pushed him back into the chair. “You hear me? Don't you ever threaten me again!”

He was stunned. This wasn’t the old Carrie who had capitulated so easily under his killer lawyer’s attack.
“You make trouble, you'll shoot yourself in the foot, lady. He's got the money, he's got the power”!

He backed off. “I didn't mean---”

“Yes, you did! You and that hatchetman you hired to do your dirty work. But it’s over. Finished. You don’t have power over me anymore.”

He staggered to his feet. “I can't deal with you when you get emotional.”

“When I stand up to you, you mean.”

“Jesus, I came here to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say. Now get out of my office. I’ve got a patient coming.”

As if to prove my point, there was a knock at the door.

“There she is. Good-bye, Rich.”

Our eyes locked, but he was the first to drop his. With a shrug, he turned and opened the door and came face to face with Ted Brodsky.

“Mr. Burnham. I was hoping I'd find you here.”

“I was just leaving.”

“You won’t mind giving me a few minutes of your time before you go running off again, will you.”

It wasn’t a question.

Rich shifted his weight, darted a nervous glance out the window as if hoping he could magically sprout wings and fly away. “Look, I've had a rough couple of days, and I’m not feeling a hundred percent right now.”

“Yeah, sorry about your accident.”

“I was on my way home.”

“This won't take long.” He indicated the recliner. “Grab a seat.” I glanced nervously at the clock. Ten fifty-five. Phyllis Lutz was due any minute.

“Uh—-Detective, I have a patient at eleven.”

“Looks like we’ll have to do this at the station then, Mr. Burnham.”

“I was just there!”

“Sorry to put you out.”

“Christ almighty, how many times do I have to go over the same thing!”

Brodsky opened the door. “We’ve got two murders. Don’t know what the killer’s beef is, or if he or she might kill again. You knew both victims. From the looks of the Shea murder scene, it appears you might be in danger. Sorry, but you're an important link.”

From behind Rich’s back, he nodded at me. “Go right home after you finish here. I'll call you.”

I PONDERED THAT in the few minutes before Phyllis was due to arrive. Why instructions to go right home? Did Brodsky want to keep tabs on me? Was I moving up on the suspect list again? I didn’t think so. He must think I could be in danger. From whom? Rich? Erica and Dot were both connected to Rich, he'd made a point of saying that. Could that be the link? Rich had seemed shaken when I’d brought up the kickbacks and his relationship to Meg. But then, creating smokescreens had become an art form with him. Maybe Ted thought the danger might come from Meg. But why would Meg want to hurt me? I was no threat to her. Why hadn’t she told me about her husband? About knowing Rich? Were all these players intertwined somehow? I shook my head, hoping the jumble of facts inside would fall into place, hoping to shake off my growing fear.

Phyllis was a no-show, so at eleven-thirty I took a lunch break. Odd, I thought. Her message had said she would call if she couldn’t make it today, and Phyllis rarely misses an opportunity to bitch about her life, even if she has to pay for it.

From twelve to five I saw five more patients, doing my best to give them my best. I was inordinately grateful to Liz Brannigan who, when she picked up her son, Timmy, after his EEG training for his Attention Deficit Disorder, put her head around the door to tell me I was doing a terrific job.

I spent the next hour transcribing notes but quit when I noticed my hand trembling.

The skies were angry, and there were ominous rumblings in the distance as I left the office and dashed up Piermont Avenue to the market. Since the children wouldn’t be home for a couple of days, I decided to treat myself to a few gourmet items that weren’t on their list of favorites. Their plans had been made several weeks earlier, but the timing of the trips was God-sent. I was hoping the break would help restore their equilibrium and, as a bonus, their faith in their mother.