Telling Lies (18 page)

Last night could have been a total disaster. But when Mike Imperiole had shown up, she had decided to answer as many of his questions as she could and to direct those that she couldn’t to Laurel. By the time she’d finished talking, they had had a few glasses of wine and were snuggled up in front of the living room fireplace. When Mike had left in the early hours of the morning, both of them were feeling better about the current situation and about each other.

A curt “Santangelo” jolted Helen back to the here and now.

“
Hey, big fella, it’s me, Helen.” She sat up straight, lingering thoughts of Mike adding a twinkle to her words.

“
Well, don’t we sound chipper this morning. What’s going on?”

Feeling herself begin to flush, Helen picked up the pen and notepad that lay on her desk. “I need your help again, Joe.” She ignored his baited barb.

“
Please, just tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with that bitch, Alexandra Hammersmith.
Madonne
, she practically had my balls for breakfast over that Sargasso insurance policy you made up. I had to do some fancy footwork to cover for you on that.”

Helen ignored the accusation in his voice and laughed. “Balls and feet? Any body parts she didn’t try to remove?”

“
Jeez, don’t remind me.” His sigh made its way through the phone.

“
Poor baby. Well, this doesn’t have anything to do with the charming Mrs. Hammersmith. Not directly anyway. But I’m not sure it’s going to be any easier.”

“
Okaaay.” Joe drew out the word. “Let me have it.”

“
I need some information on Miayamu Moto’s MMJapan Corporation. Specifically, their real estate holdings in New York City. I figured that since New York Fidelity insured a lot of big corporate holdings for foreign investors, they might be a client.”

Helen waited several beats for Joe’s response. “Hello? Hey, Santangelo, are you still there?”

“
How come you never just want the name of a good restaurant or tickets to a playoff game? You know, like a normal person?”

“
Aw, come on, what fun would that be? What I really need to know is if MMJapan owns or has an interest in any apartments, buildings, or small, private hotels in the city.” She clicked the pen she was holding on and off, her voice matching its quick rhythm, excited by the thrill of the hunt. “It’s common knowledge that they have a part of the Kitano, but I’m thinking something less conspicuous.”

“
What gives? It does have to do with Hammersmith, doesn’t it? Wasn’t Moto the one selling him the painting?” Joe’s voice was laced with suspicion. “Why do you need to know about his buildings? Isn’t he a recluse or something? Never leaves Japan from what I’ve heard. C’mon, what are you up to?” Helen could hear the exasperation in his voice.

She paused and reflected on how much more to tell Joe. “Moto might be coming to New York. I can’t explain all of it right now, but I really need to find out where he’d be staying.”
And, the less you know, the safer you’ll be
.

“
I don’t know if I can do this. If Fidelity insures any of the Corporation’s property, it’s proprietary information. If there’s no claim of fraud associated with the business, I have no reason to be looking into their records.”

Helen knew what Joe left unsaid—that he could lose his job over something like this. Alexandra Hammersmith might have complained, but a big gun like Moto might do much worse.

Helen rocked back in her chair as Joe remained silent. “You know I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important, and I’ll really owe you big time.”

“
Is that supposed to be an incentive?” Joe snorted. “I don’t think owing me is gonna work this time.”

Helen heard the change in his voice and knew he was wavering.
Don’t push too hard
, she reminded herself. “Well okay, if you can’t, you can’t.” Disappointment dripped from her voice. “I’ll have to find out some other way.”

“
Oh, shut up.” He wasn’t buying her poor-little-me act. “Let me see what I can do.”

“
Thanks. You won’t be sorry.”

“
I already am,” he growled and hung up.

“
Yes!” Helen clicked her pen furiously. “Find Moto, and Sargasso won’t be far behind.” She tingled with excitement, adrenaline kicking in. “I’ll get that murdering piece of scum and make him wish he never was born.”

Kips Bay

New York City

Lior couldn’t believe his luck. He was sitting in the truck across from Helen’s town house and had recorded every word of her side of the conversation with Joe Santangelo. “Yes,” he said aloud, mimicking the eagerness he’d heard in Helen’s voice and beat a little rhythm on the dashboard for emphasis.

What is it those “New Age” people like to say? It’s karma. Well, mine was good today. He shook his head in amazement.

Lior had driven over to Helen’s planning to retrieve the pens he’d planted the other night. They couldn’t be detected in a sweep for bugs—they would only go live when his receiver was on—but he didn’t want to take any chances on the devices being found. Especially now that he knew how involved Aaron Gerrard was in this Moto/Sargasso business.

He’d turned on the receiver in the truck to see if McCorkendale was home—if there were any sounds in the house, the pens would pick them up. He’d heard a radio playing softly somewhere inside and was just about to fire up the 4Runner and leave when she made her phone call. He couldn’t believe what he heard. Moto might be coming to New York. At least McCorkendale, and probably Laurel Imperiole and Aaron Gerrard, believed he was. Could he finally be trying to move the painting? Did he think that Delrusse had found a buyer?

Lior’s expression hardened. This was his shot, and he knew he’d only get one.

Lior was about to push the button that would beam this latest information up to the satellite and on to Tel Aviv. His finger hovered over the send button.
No,
he hesitated, then moved his hand away.
This is for me to take care of. Only me.
He could right the wrong that had been perpetrated more that seventy years ago. He’d tail McCorkendale and get Rebecca to run a search on Joe Santangelo and any New York Fidelity connection to Moto.

He’d be ready and waiting. Then, he’d strike like a blitzkrieg.

Central Park

New York City

Laurel was enjoying the view from a lakeside table at the Boathouse Café. A pair of swans slid gracefully across the water, oblivious to the boaters rowing around them. It was lunchtime on a gorgeous New York City day. Happy, laughing people were reveling in every moment of their time in the sun. Wine and conversation flowed freely. Laurel sipped her iced tea as she took in the other diners. She wondered what she was going to say to her friend when she finally arrived.

Today had been Laurel’s first day back in the office, and things hadn’t gotten off to a great start. John had been more than generous about her taking the time off—he’d understood how important it was to her—but piles of work were stacked on her desk. Stories that needed editing, pitches from freelance writers, and nearly two weeks worth of messages and e-mails vied for her attention. Plus, her damn phone hadn’t stopped ringing.

First, it was Jenna from Fiesole. “Are you alright? Good,” she answered not waiting for Laurel to reply, “I told the Mariottis you would be just fine once you were back in New York. Tony and I are going to Milan for business then we’ll be back in the city in a few days. Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid,” she added in a rush and was gone. Good thing Jenna was her
best
friend and
always
showed how much she cared. Laurel smiled at her friend’s bossiness.

Next, it was her father. She’d tried reaching him last night but only got his voice mail. She apologized at length to his machine, telling him how sorry she was for her awful behavior. This morning, she had to do it all over again, voice-to-voice as it were. “Baby girl,” he’d said in a rather sprightly tone, “I accept your apology. I know you didn’t mean to be so rude and insensitive. Don’t get into any trouble today, okay?” He’d left her with his regular daily adviso.
Well, that was interesting.
She stared at her phone, wondering why he didn’t press her for more information.

After five or six more calls from other friends and urgent requests from the staff, John Dimitri rang, summoning her to a quick meeting in his office. Can’t say no when the boss calls, she sighed, although she suspected his request had more to do with his role as her friend rather than her publisher.

John greeted her with his version of open arms: a peck on each cheek and a slightly raised eyebrow. “How are you, darling?” She related the events of the past two weeks as if she were pitching him a story—one filled with deceit, lies, intrigue, and murder, which it actually was.

He listened patiently, one knife-creased trouser leg crossed over the other, silently examining his pristine nails. But when he looked up, his dark brown eyes were dead serious. “I want you to be careful. Leave this to Aaron and the police. Your father feels the same way. Do you understand me?”

She winced inside as she nodded her assent. John had obviously spoken to her father, his best friend, and as usual they had decided what would be best for her.

If one more person tells me to watch out for myself, I’m going to scream.
When Aaron had called to check in with her and tell her not to let anyone into her office whom she didn’t know, she just started to laugh. It was either that or go bonkers.

“
What’s so funny?”

“
Oh, it’s too hard to explain.” She shook her head in frustration. “Anything new?” The levity left her voice. She had been hoping to hear that Sargasso was in custody but knew Aaron would have already mentioned it.

“
We’re on it,” was his terse reply.
Don’t push
, she reminded herself.
He’ll tell you if something happens
. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“
I was planning to work through. I have a lot to catch up on.” She recalled all the interruptions this morning and the still present stack of work. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

Aaron hesitated before answering. “I was with Monica Sargasso earlier this morning. I drove her to her gallery and we talked for a while.” Laurel could imagine what they’d spoken about and how hard it must have been for Monica to hear. “She’d like to see you, and I think it might do her good.”

Laurel’s free hand flew to her forehead. Monica had taken over running the small gallery just off Madison Avenue at Seventy-fourth Street that Jeff had started. It had been touch and go for a while. But a few months ago, Monica had called with some great news. Thanks to an influx of funds from a new investor, things were finally looking up. Laurel had been nonplussed at Monica’s request to meet.

“
Oh,” she said to Aaron, twisting from side to side in her chair, “I’d love to see her, too, but I just don’t know what to say. I’m afraid that anything I have to tell her will make things worse.”

“
I don’t see how that could be possible. She’s your friend. She trusts you and needs you.”

He’s right
, thought Laurel.
Seeing Monica is important
. “But will it be safe? For her I mean. What if Jeff is watching her?”

“
We’ve got people with her and with Brianna at school. He’s not going to get near either of them. And I’ll send two of my best people to watch over you both. She suggested meeting at the Boathouse Café in Central Park. Said that you two often had lunch there.”

“
We did.” Laurel recalled all the times that they enjoyed eating in the park. “It’s close to Jeff’s gallery, so she could easily get away for an hour or so. Aaron …” trepidation filled her voice, “do you really think it’s a good idea?”

“
I do,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

Laurel bit her lower lip, still not sure this was a good idea right now. She turned away from the swans and looked toward the restaurant’s entrance. Monica was framed in the doorway, her short blond hair catching the sunlight, her face tense as she scanned the tables.
Monica’s just as nervous about meeting today as I am.

Monica seemed to be alone until Laurel noticed the two men who were ambling in a few steps behind her. Aaron’s guys, Laurel imagined. Monica saw her and made her way to the table. Laurel stood and hugged her friend, her feelings pouring out as they touched. They sat, and Laurel leaned in close. She took her friend’s hand in hers. “Oh, Monica, I don’t know where to begin.”