Authors: Alexandrea Weis
Recovery (4 page)
“Oh please,” I scoffed.
Dallas went on, “I’ve never been married, have no children, and my parents died when I was twenty in a boating accident.”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “Boating accident?”
“My father built yachts. He and my mother were avid sailors.” Dallas looked down at the table. “Their boat capsized in a storm when I was away at college.”
“I’m sorry.” I paused as I tried to think of something else to say. “Are you an avid sailor?” I finally asked.
He picked up his half-eaten dinner roll. “I would love to spend the rest of my life sailing around the world.” He cocked his head to the side. “What about you?” he inquired, then took another bite from his roll.
I ignored his question. “You said you went to college? Is that true or part of the cover?”
“True,” he nodded. “Went to Brown. I studied ancient history with a concentration in ancient maritime history, but as far as our story is concerned, I am an architect and work for Lewis, Schribbner, and Libby here in New York.”
“An architect?”
“Lewis, Schribbner, and Libby is Simon’s idea, as is being an architect. A very rich architect, I might add, from a wealthy New England family.”
“Why a rich architect?” I asked, raising my voice slightly.
Dallas leaned over and placed his arms on the table before him. “To fit in better with your crowd back in New Orleans. And to appear as a more serious threat.”
“That’s it?” I shook my head. “Simon doesn’t think someone would believe I was interested in an architect from a poor family. Does he think I’m that shallow?” I paused as I looked into his eyes. “Do you think I’m that shallow?”
He sighed. “Nicci, I need you to remove your ego from this situation. Detach yourself from the job ahead and then you will be—”
“What?” I questioned, cutting him off. “Be more like you?” I felt a rush of regret race through me. He was doing this for David. “Sorry,” I quickly added.
“Apology accepted.” He smiled slightly. “All right, it’s your turn, Nicci. Tell me about yourself.” He waved his hand at me. “But I already know you like coffee and chicory only and take it black. You drink screwdrivers but prefer champagne. Your birthday is April seventh and you don’t have any friends and you don’t trust anyone.”
“David told you a lot.” I fell back in my seat as I scrutinized the man across from me. He was so different from David. Where David had been warm and thoughtful, Dallas appeared cold and distant. David could charm anyone with his gregarious nature. I doubted at times if Dallas even possessed a pulse beneath his perpetual scowl. “I still don’t see what you and David had in common,” I added.
“David liked the water, must have gotten it from his old man being a merchant seaman and all. I took him out a few times on my boat. We would drink, fish, and talk.”
“You have a boat?”
He nodded. “I like to go out on the water to get away.” He shook his head and sighed. “Which I never get to do very much of these days.”
I smiled playfully. “Hectic work schedule, eh?”
He picked up his drink. “Simon and I have been investigating David’s death for almost two years now. We’ve been working on an angle to get me back to New Orleans for some time. Then when Simon told me he had arranged for you to come to New York—”
“Simon?” I interrupted, raising my voice. “What do you mean Simon arranged for me to come to New York?”
“Simon had Hamper plan your little book signing tour. He wanted to meet you. Feel you out. See if you were up to this challenge.” He took another long swallow from his glass.
I wrapped my arms about myself, feeling the sour regret of someone who had been deceived. “And I thought I was coming here because of the success of my book.”
“Simon plans for every contingency, Nicci. You should know that by now.”
I wondered if he was right. But ever since my meeting with Simon yesterday, I had been filled with doubt about the sanity of this entire affair.
“I think Simon has overlooked a few things in this case,” I stated.
Dallas knotted his brows together as he put his drink back down on the table. “Like what?”
“What do I tell my father when I call him and say I’m bringing home a strange man?”
Dallas shrugged off my concern. “Don’t tell him anything. I don’t want anyone to know I’m coming back with you.”
“Just show up?” I could already hear my father’s protests in my head. “My father will be suspicious. He was there when I became involved with David and then with Michael—”
“The shrink,” Dallas interrupted.
I nodded. “He knows when I’m pretending with someone. He watched me with Michael and saw how I was with David.”
He tilted his head to the side. “And what did you do with David that you did not do with the shrink?”
“Glowed,” I rolled my eyes, “according to my father.”
“Glowed?” Dallas mulled the word over in his head and then grinned at me. “I could make you glow if you let me.”
I sat back in my chair and glared at him. “Women must find your charm positively prehistoric.”
The grin fell away from his face and he leaned in closer to the table. “I will do whatever it takes to put up a convincing performance, Nicci. And if that means making you glow like a firefly, then so be it.”
Disgusted, I reached for my cocktail and decided to stop trying to figure out where the lies ended and the truth began with him. I watched as Dallas picked up his glass from the table and took a very long sip, finishing the contents in one swallow.
“Have you ever considered,” I began as I caressed my drink on the table before me, “that you and Simon might be wrong? That maybe it is one of David’s old clients out for revenge?”
“I worked in the white collar crimes division at the FBI for several years. These people,” he let his eyes wander briefly about the restaurant, “are not really into revenge. You have to trust me on this, I know this crowd, and murder is unfashionable to them.” Dallas waved at a nearby waiter and motioned to his drink.
“Everyone is into revenge,” I said as I peered into the crowded room. I thought of the people I knew back in New Orleans. Revenge was a way of life in the Big Easy. It was just human nature. “What about the man who tried to kill you and David in the bar, the one you told me about?” I asked as I looked over at him. “Obviously he was mad enough to come after you.”
He shook his head. “Coming into a very public bar after two much bigger men wielding a knife isn’t exactly someone hell-bent on revenge. It was just plain stupid.”
“So how is my crowd back home any different from the people David worked for?”
Dallas shrugged. “They’re not. But someone among them is different.” He lowered his voice. “Very different. And that’s why I need to become familiar with your friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” I insisted.
“But they think they’re your friends, and that’s all that matters to me.” Dallas folded his arms across his chest and stared at me for what felt like an eternity. “Look, Nicci, I’ve investigated every client David had worked with going back three years before his death. There were bankers, lawyers, industrial heavyweights, and a wide assortment of private duty assignments.”
“Private duty?”
Dallas frowned, looking uncomfortable. “Rich men and women like discreet investigations into the loyalty of potential partners or lovers. It’s one way to ensure there are no surprises inside or outside of the bedroom.”
My heart winced at his words. Perhaps I did not want to hear about David’s work after all. Maybe what I learned would jeopardize the image of David I had come to cherish since his death. But curiosity is stronger than logic sometimes.
“And did David do a lot of these private duty investigations?” I finally asked.
Dallas nodded. “Your publisher, Harold Hamper, was one.”
I shook my head, knowing my initial dislike for the wizened CEO had been well-founded. I was beginning to understand why David had wanted a clean break from Simon La Roy and his organization.
“How could you think someone wouldn’t want revenge on David for any these investigations?” I inquired
“David was involved in simple infidelities and petty white collar crimes. Sure, there were some big cases involving business espionage. But I found nothing from his past that could have resulted in his murder.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Dallas leaned in closer to me. “Do you know what kind of hatred it takes to put a bullet in the back of a man’s head? I do.” He paused. “You need a sick, twisted mind tortured by insecurity or jealousy to commit such an act. Besides, in my experience people only want revenge on the person who hired the spy, not the spy himself. No one ever had any reason to direct such anger at David until you came into his life. You were the catalyst, Nicci.”
Reason told me Dallas was right, but my heart still rebelled at such a suggestion.
I lowered my eyes to the table. “I guess I’m just having a hard time accepting that fact.”
“Whether you choose to believe it or not, Nicci, doesn’t matter. It’s the only lead I’ve got,” Dallas said, and then he cleared his throat. “I need to know now that you can handle this.” His voice resonated with concern.
I squared my shoulders. “I’m not some wilting magnolia, Dallas. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
He nodded as he sat back. “I’m so glad.”
Our waiter returned to our table with our salads and two fresh cocktails. We sat in silence as the young man placed the food and drinks before us.
David waited until we were alone again before he spoke. “After lunch, perhaps we should go over some more details before our flight tomorrow.”
“I was going to go Christmas shopping for my family after lunch. The stores still aren’t open back home yet due to Katrina.”
“Why don’t we go shopping together?” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “It would give me a chance to spend some time with you.”
I shook my head as I felt a nagging stitch of suspicion pull at my gut. “Help our cover, you mean.”
He did not say anything but just looked down at his salad.
In a crowded restaurant filled with people, I was inexplicably overwhelmed by a desire to be alone. Away from Dallas and the ever-present loud, bustling traffic of the city outside. How was I ever going to pull off a cover with this man? How were two people who were no more than strangers going to convince the prying eyes of New Orleans society that they were a couple in love?
“I know just the place to go shopping,” Dallas stated, pulling me away from my doldrums.
“What?” I asked, unsure of what I had heard.
“I’ll take you to the shopping Mecca of New York.” He raised his hand to me just as I was about to open my mouth to protest. “I promise you will find everything you need.”
I laughed. “Let me guess. A junkyard?”
“No,” he grinned, “you’ll just have to trust me on this one.”
“Trust you?” I picked up my drink and let the sarcastic comment circling my mind die on my lips.
Dallas sighed. “I know, you don’t trust anyone. But you will learn to trust me, Nicci. Sooner or later, you will have to.”
A cab dropped us in front of Saks
Fifth Avenue a little after one o’clock. Dallas, dressed in his gray suit and a long black leather coat, seemed to attract the attention of several women who passed us on the street. He made sure he kissed me tenderly on the cheek as a few bystanders looked on.
I felt a bit surprised at my disappointment in knowing that his kiss was more for appearances than for me. But I had a part to play, I reminded myself.
We started up Fifth Avenue, peering into several different store windows as we mingled with the rest of the holiday shoppers. Dallas held my hand for a bit of the way and would turn to me and smile when he knew someone was watching.
“So whom are you shopping for?” he finally asked.
“My father, my uncle, Val, Aunt Hattie, and Uncle Ned.” I paused, thinking happily about my family. “And then there is Colleen.”
“Your cousin? The one who was married to Eddie Fallon?”
I laughed. “I’m not sure I would’ve called it a marriage.”
Dallas smiled playfully. “You’re the one who convinced Eddie to marry Colleen after she got pregnant as a result of what I believe David called a ‘rendezvous’ in Eddie’s BMW.”
“More like my cousin’s master plan. Colleen always had carried a serious torch for Eddie. Not long after the wedding, Eddie beat Colleen so badly it caused her to have a miscarriage.”
“Sounds like Eddie Fallon was more than a little frustrated because he was not married to you.”
I examined his impassive face before me and wondered what he was truly thinking at that moment. Sometimes it was hard to comprehend how much this man knew about my life.
Dallas glanced about the busy street. “A man who beats a woman is a man with a problem. From what I’ve learned of him, Eddie Fallon seems to have many problems.”
I thought of Eddie’s red mop of hair and his notoriously short fuse. Some of my earliest memories of Eddie had been of him getting into fights with the other kids in the schoolyard.
I looked over at a store window filled with mannequins playing in fake snow. “I’ve heard he’s a heavy drinker now, and my uncle told me he gambles a lot. It seems Eddie is trying to follow in his late father’s footsteps. Gerald Fallon was a disreputable man known for his gambling, drinking, and womanizing.” I shrugged as I turned from the store window. “At least Colleen got out of her marriage to Eddie with a hefty divorce settlement. She has been living the high life since then with boyfriend number four, or is it five? I can’t keep up.”
“What’s she like, your cousin?”
I rolled my eyes. “Always in trouble.”
Colleen was constantly being rescued from one predicament or another. Either she was drinking too much, staying out past her curfew, failing out of school, or sneaking off with hormonally challenged boys who happened to have the IQ of a gnat. For Colleen, life was a soap opera filled with too much insecurity and too little sense, all accentuated by a hefty dose of Jack Daniel’s.
“Are you and Colleen close?” Dallas inquired.
“We were close before David, and then I moved to Hammond and we kind of lost touch.” I had not realized until that moment how much I had missed having Colleen in my life.
Dallas stopped in front of a jewelry store and admired the window display. “And the rest of your family, what are they like?”
I noted how his eyes lingered for a moment on a rather elegant gold key chain shaped like a yacht.
“Is this a formal questioning, Mr. August?”
“Nicci,” he said, rubbing his gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I need to know about your relationships with these people and about your history with them. It will help me weed through my list of suspects.” He tapped his forefinger on the tip of my nose playfully. “All right?”
I had a sneaking suspicion he was not telling me everything that he was thinking and it unnerved me. “You suspect someone in my family could have killed David?” I asked warily.
“No,” he shook his head. “But I do think it was someone in your circle of society. And to get close to them, I need to ask these questions.” He turned away from me. “Tell me about your father and uncle,” he ordered over his shoulder.
I sighed and fell in step behind him. “Oil and water despite the genetic similarities. Uncle Lance is a drinker, gambler, and an all around fun guy. My father is quiet and inherited my grandfather’s head for business.” I paused and took in the busy street traffic. “They both came and stayed with me in Hammond during the storm, and I found myself on more than one occasion acting like a nursery school teacher assigning time-out to two feuding toddlers.”
Dallas stopped walking and turned to me. “The three of you must be very close.”
“Yes. We are all we have.” I laughed. “Except for when Lance is married.”
He clapped his gloved hands together. “He’s been married five times, right?”
I surveyed some of the stores along the street. “Yes, wife number five, Linda, left before Katrina hit. He met her at my engagement party to Michael. They were married right before David died.”
“And your father has never remarried?”
I recalled how my father’s green eyes had never regained their sparkle since my mother’s death. “He told me once he had no interest in getting married again. He loved my mother dearly and was devastated with her loss.” I sighed. “We both were.”
He searched the street ahead of us. “What about your aunt?”
“Hattie?” I laughed as I considered my mother’s scatterbrained sister and her propensity for being late to everything. “Aunt Hattie is…well, Aunt Hattie. You’ll see what I mean. She is married to her third husband, Ned Vasterling, an attorney and a really great guy. He’s been a caring stepfather to my cousin, and how he has remained married to my aunt is one of the most compelling mysteries of all time.”
“And she was the one who introduced you to the shrink?” Dallas inquired as his eyes inspected mine.
I stopped and stared at him as I felt the frigid New York air envelop me. A picture of Michael and his pale blue eyes suddenly appeared in my mind. I quickly shut out the image and forced myself to push any thoughts of Michael to the darkest corners of my memory.
“Yes,” I finally confirmed. “Aunt Hattie introduced me to Michael at Colleen’s wedding.”
He grinned as if he was truly enjoying himself. “Ah yes, the wedding. That was when you found out David had been hired by Samantha Fallon to destroy your family’s business.”
Samantha Fallon. Even the name of the woman caused my hands to reflexively curl into fists. “Sammy was a competitor to my father’s scrap metal business years ago. She was always looking for a way to take over Beauvoir Scrap. I guess she thought she found a way when she hired David to feed my father false information, hoping he would make some bad investments and bankrupt the company. But now my father has diversified into plastics recycling, and Sammy is not a threat anymore.”
“So your father took David’s advice and expanded out of scrap metal,” Dallas said, coming up to me.
I nodded and pulled my coat closer around me, feeling more than a little exposed because he knew so much about my past.
“David could have destroyed Sammy,” Dallas went on, his voice firm. “He could have turned on her with the information he had about their deal to ruin your family’s business. David took away her chance at getting Beauvoir Scrap and having the largest scrap metal business in the South.” His eyes found mine. “There’s a motive for murder.”
“Sammy?” I paused, almost laughing. “I just don’t see her as a killer.” The idea of Sammy, dressed in one of her couture gowns holding a gun over David, was almost comical.
“She didn’t have to pull the trigger, Nicci. She could have hired someone, like she hired David to seduce you.” He paused as he watched me for a moment. “And the woman who showed up at David’s gallery, the one who knew Flo Tyler?” he asked, heading down the street again. “She is your aunt too?”
I fell in step beside him. “Auntie Val. Well, technically not family, but she has known my father and uncle since before I was born. She was a good friend to my mother and has always been there for me.”
“I’m told Val Easterling is a feisty widow who is very well connected in your part of the world. She was the one who arranged for David to meet you at the engagement party she was giving for you and the shrink at her house on Lake Pontchartrain.”
“Her former house on Lake Pontchartrain,” I corrected. “Auntie Val’s place was wiped clean off its foundation by a twelve-foot storm surge from Katrina.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Where is she living now?”
“Val bought a place in the French Quarter.” I smiled to myself as I thought of the jolly woman who was like a second mother to me. “You’ll meet her at Christmas dinner. She always spends Christmas with our family.”
Christmas. I pondered the coming holiday for a moment. How would the solitary Dallas August get along with my rather eclectic group back home?
We walked on for a bit and inspected a few more decorated windows without speaking. I took in the tall gray buildings overshadowing us, the cold cement below our feet, and listened to the cacophony of the frigid city surrounding us. In an instant, my heart yearned for the towering oaks, warm sun, and the southern peace of home. Like the phantom pain from a missing part of you, my body ached to be where it had always felt whole.
Dallas reached for my hand and pulled me closer to him. “And what of the former fiancé, Dr. Fagles?”
I remembered the bulky man with the childish giggle and my insides immediately curdled into a sour mess. “Michael Fagles was an anal-retentive jerk who was more interested in running my life than letting me live it.”
“But you humiliated him. Dumped him after your engagement party and went back to David. He could have wanted revenge,” Dallas stated calmly.
I stopped walking and shook off his hand. “What are you doing?”
He stared at me. “I’m looking for motives. It will help you to understand why I will do the things I do when we get to New Orleans.”
My gut clenched. “What things are you going to do?”
He leaned over and whispered into my ear, “You’ll just have to wait and see, Nicci.”
Two hours later, I was loaded down with shopping bags from all along Fifth Avenue as we rode in a cab heading back to the hotel. I noticed even Dallas had a bag or two in his hands, having darted into a few stores when I was busy somewhere else. I figured his shopping bags meant that he had a girlfriend or two stashed away. I chided myself for entertaining the notion that Dallas August was not emotionally attached to anyone. What I knew about the man would fill a thimble, and it was obvious that he did not intend to ever let me know more than was absolutely necessary for the job.
We were talking casually about our shopping adventure and watching the people on the street when Dallas quickly sat up and tapped on the cab divider.
“Pull over here,” he ordered.
The dark-skinned driver nodded and pulled over to the first available spot by the curb. Dallas reached over to the door and then turned to me.
He took my hand. “I want to show you something.”
I eyed him warily. “What?”
“You.”
Dallas glanced over to the cabbie waiting patiently on the other side of the bulletproof divider. “Wait here. We’ll be a few minutes.”
The cab driver nodded, put the car into park, and left the engine running while the meter on the dash ticked away the fare. Dallas pulled me from the car, leaving our bags of presents in the backseat. He led me past a few shops until we came to a rather small picture window filled with several paintings resting on easels.
I looked in at the dark oils of the New York skyline casually arranged in the display and a nagging uncertainty started to creep up from my toes.
With too much exuberance, Dallas walked over to the glass door at the entrance to the gallery and held it open for me, encouraging me inside with a flourish of his hand.
We stepped through the doorway to be greeted by dozens and dozens of paintings either hanging on the walls, out on easels, or on benches around the gallery floor. Some were pictures of various New York attractions done in an array of bright oils and a few charcoals. Others were portraits of older, very well-established Manhattanites dripping with diamonds and dressed in the city’s hottest couture.
“It’s the gallery Flo bought for David,” Dallas explained, coming up behind me. “She sold it last year to an art dealer, but there is something still here of David’s I want you to see.” He took my hand and dragged me through the gallery.
We were halfway across the showroom floor when a tall, slim, and very graceful woman with dark brown hair approached us.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked in a seductive voice.
Dallas studied her for a few moments and I felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy grip me.
“We are looking for your David Alexander paintings.” He smiled at her but never let go of my hand. “His Jennys,” he added with a fake-sounding reverence in his voice.
The woman nodded to him. “Right this way,” she instructed. She led us away from the main showroom through a side doorway.
