Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery (4 page)

“From her husband. When she was seventeen, she married—over our parents’ objections—a man named Gabriel. He was much older than Helena, almost a decade. And he had ... a reputation.”

“Was he involved in the drug trade?” I knew from listening to the news that Brazil had a high violent crime rate, thanks in large part to drug trafficking and gang warfare.

He shook his head. “Not the way you think. Gabriel was on the Rio police force, but he was—is—corrupt. There’s been a pervasive problem with corruption, especially in Rio, and the government has been working to clean it up. But it runs deep, and Gabriel has a lot of friends. As it turned out, he also had a temper. When Helena realized he would eventually kill her, she had nowhere to turn. The authorities would have laughed in her face.”

I shuddered. “I can’t even imagine.”

“It was a bad situation. I was already living in New York, so I helped her run. She’s here legally, just so we’re clear. I had to ask a lot of people for favors. And I set her up with the nanny service so she’d have work.”

“So you think her husband found her?”

He gripped his glass so hard I thought it would shatter in his hands. “I’m afraid he did. He vowed he’d track her down and kill her.”

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand why you don’t think the police would help. There’s all that blood—”

“I think he found her, yes.” He took a shuddering breath. “And I think she’s probably dead.” Tears shone in his eyes but he blinked them back and downed his drink. “But there’s a chance she’s just injured, and she’s on the run. So I can’t go to the police. Gabriel’s worked closely with your federal Drug Enforcement Agency on cross-border cases. For all I know he has friends in the NYPD narcotics unit. He’s connected. If I enlist law enforcement help in finding her, I’ll lead him right to her. I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t do
nothing
, Victor. Your sister—if she’s alive—needs help.”

“I’m not going to do nothing. I’m going to find her. The question is: will you help me?”

“
N
ooooooo
. No. No. No. Oh, hell, no.”

I held the phone away from my ear and waited for my oldest sister Rosemary to calm down. When I heard her pause to take a breath, I jumped in to explain. “You guys, you don’t understand. She’s his
sister.
What if it were one of you—”

Sage, our middle sister, cut me off mid-sentence. “Let me stop you right there. If one of us ever goes missing, you should go to the cops. The PO-lice.” She put heavy emphasis on the first syllable, which made me wonder how much of an accent she was picking up down there in Nowhere, South Carolina.

Focus, Thyme.

“Are you two even listening to me? Victor can’t go to the police. She might be running from her psychotic, policeman ex-husband.” I was getting exasperated now. These sisterly conference calls usually seemed like a good idea when Rosemary or Sage needed advice. But now it just seemed like a convenient way for them to gang up on me.

“Thyme,” Rosemary said in a careful, conciliatory tone, “let’s think this through. If the story this guy told you is true, Helena’s ex-husband is a very bad dude. That’s a reason to go to the authorities, not a reason
not
to.”

I exhaled and got ready to explain Rio de Janeiro’s culture of corruption for the umpteenth time.

But she wasn’t finished. “I know, I heard, he’s a dirty cop. And I guess your new friend thinks he has his hooks in dirty cops here, too? Or something? That’s ludicrous. It’s not like they have international crooked cop conventions. Please don’t get mixed up in this. Let me have Dave make some calls.”

“What’s Dave going to do, Rosie? Los Angeles is all the way on the other side of the country. I don’t think he knows every homicide detective in the United States. No offense.”

“None taken. But you’d be surprised. The police who aren’t busy breaking the law actually
do
get together at conventions, you know. He goes to conferences and stuff. And he may even have had a case where he had to coordinate with the NYPD. It could happen—it’s more likely than the notion that this Gabriel guy has a connection there. Will you at least let me talk to him before you go running off to play private investigator with a total stranger?”

I gnawed on my lower lip and thought. It seemed like such a reasonable request. Harmless even. But what if Victor was right? What if Helena’s ex-husband did have friends in law enforcement and it got back to him that Dave Drummond, a homicide detective in California, was asking questions? I could be putting Dave—and Rosemary—in danger.

“It’s a good idea, Thyme,” Sage urged.

I bit down so hard on my lip that I tasted blood.
Ouch.

“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable getting Dave involved. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to get him, or you, mixed up in something ugly.” I could hear my sisters gathering their breath to continue their lecture, so I hurried on. “Wait. Let me finish. I hear you, okay?” I paused. “And you’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ll tell Victor I can’t help him.”

“Really?” Sage pressed, clearly suspicious about my change of heart.

I gave a little laugh. “Really. I mean, I don’t know what I was thinking. How could
I
help him anyway?”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up for caring. You’ve always been so kindhearted,” Rosemary said gently.

“That’s the truth,” Sage agreed. “Bringing home strays, organizing charity drives. I know your instinct is always to help. It’s what makes you Thyme. But this just isn’t something you can help with.”

“Yeah.” I waited a beat, then I yawned. “You guys are right, as usual. Thanks for talking me through it. But I’m pretty beat. It’s been a stressful day. I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sage asked.

“Positive.”

“You take good care,” Rosemary said.

“You, too. I love you guys.”

They chorused a response and we ended the call.

I folded myself backward into a deep backbend and held the position until I felt the tension drain from my muscles. Then I stood up, grabbed a black hooded sweater from the top shelf of my closet, pulled it on over my black long-sleeve shirt and leggings, and crammed my feet into my running shoes. I rummaged in my nightstand for the small flashlight I kept in case of a power outage. I flipped it on to confirm the batteries still worked then slipped it into my pocket.

I took one last look around the apartment before I let myself out, locked the door behind me, and jogged downstairs to the lobby where Victor was waiting for me.

W
hile I’d been
busy arguing with my sisters, Victor had been working the phones, too. By the time I met him in my lobby, he’d arranged to borrow a sedan from a friend who ran a car service. They must have been pretty good friends because the sleek black Lincoln pulled up alongside my building while Victor was still filling me in. A moment later, a second, identical sedan pulled in behind it.

The driver of the first car got out, shook Victor’s hand, and pressed the spare keys to the idling car into his palm. After a brief exchange, conducted in Spanish (which meant I was in the dark as to its substance), the driver hopped into the passenger seat of the second car and melted into the cross-town traffic.

Victor yanked the door open for me, and I ducked into the car. It was a perfectly serviceable car, spotlessly clean and fresh-smelling. It had a sort of faded luxury and was easily five or six steps above a public cab in terms of comfort but still a world away from the chauffeured limousine that ferried Cate and her family around. Thinking of the Whittier-Clays brought my mind back to Helena and the purpose of our late-night jaunt.

I buckled my seatbelt and glanced over at Victor, who was intently studying the backlit dashboard.

“So where are we headed?” I asked.

He frowned at the display and held up a finger. “Give me a second.”

I watched in silence as he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small, slim device. It had a black rubberized antenna-looking thing which was connected by a piece of metal to a box with an end that was designed to fit into the cigarette lighter. He plugged it in.

“What is that?”

“A GPS signal jammer.”

“Don’t you trust your friend to know where we’re going?” I squirmed in my seat. The notion of being untraceable made me slightly nervous, as it finally hit me that I didn’t actually
know
this guy.
Great time to think it through, Thyme.

“What? No, no. It’s not like that. I trust Jorge with my life. I’m trying to protect him. He’s from Rio originally, too. I’ve known him since we were kids. When I came here, he’s the one who got me a job driving cabs. But, Gabriel also knows him. If he’s in the country and he hasn’t found Helena, he’ll eventually come looking for Jorge. I’d like to give my friend plausible deniability, if nothing else. You see?” He wrinkled his brow in concern.

I considered his answer. “I guess that makes sense,” I allowed. “But why do you even have that thing? Is it legal?”

He studied my face and answered slowly. “No, it’s not legal. Sometimes, I want to be able to deny having met with a source.”

His explanation was plausible, but I could feel myself resisting this whole plan. “I guess I’m getting cold feet,” I explained.

He paused and searched my face. “Thyme, if you want to bail out now, I’ll understand.”

I looked at him for a long moment. Dark blue half-circles were forming under his eyes, highlighting his weekend of worry and fatigue. I thought of the bloodied towel and bedding in Helena’s apartment. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I’m in. I’d just really like to know where we’re going and what the plan is.”

He smiled, checked his mirrors, and eased the sedan into the travel lane. “That seems fair. To answer your first question, we’re going to visit a friend of Helena’s. Lynn was a nanny for a family in the Whittier-Clay’s building for a while. Helena used to run into her at the playground, Audra’s music class, that sort of thing. They struck up a friendship.”

“You said this Lynn used to be a nanny. What’s she doing now?”

“She’s an actor. She’s in a musical running in the East Village. The show ended about twenty minutes ago, so right now she’s probably nursing a glass of wine at an Italian restaurant around the corner from the theater waiting for us.”

“We’re going to dinner?” I looked down at my outfit and shrugged. I guess cat burglars, Johnny Cash, and urbanites all shared an affinity for black. I wouldn’t be
too
out of place.

“Lynn likes her pasta. And we need to eat sometime. I don’t think Duke’s cocktails can fuel us forever.”

“Fair enough. Helena’s been in touch with Lynn recently?”

He kept his eyes on his mirrors and executed a lane change while he answered. “They got their nails done together on Friday and then did some shopping, according to Lynn. She’s the best lead we have right now. As far as I know, she’s the last person to have seen Helena.”

I settled back into the seat and watched the buildings pass by in a blur of light. Most of my travels around the city were on foot or via the subway. Everything looked different from this perspective. New York seemed at once busier and smaller. And more dangerous, I hastily added, as a city bus laid on its horn and muscled its way into the space we were currently occupying. I squeezed my eyes shut as he slid the car into the parking lane to evade the oncoming bus. There weren’t enough relaxation meditations in the world to get me behind the wheel of a car in this city. Not on your life.

I focused on my breathing until we made the turn onto FDR Drive. Then I felt my shoulders relaxing just a bit and felt calm enough to converse. “How well do you know this actress friend?”

“She and Helena are pretty tight. I’ve met her a few times at happy hours and stuff.” He coughed into his fist. “And Helena set us up on a few dates.”

“You’re dating her?” This had the potential to be awkward. Also, why wasn’t his girlfriend helping him? Especially if she and his sister are friends?

He shook his head. “No. We went out a few times. She’s a great girl, we just didn’t hit it off—nothing in common.”

“Oh.”

After a moment’s silence, he said, “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

I had no idea how to respond to that.
Me neither? I didn’t ask? Are you on OkCupid?
There didn’t seem to be a good answer, so I just nodded and stared blankly out the window as we made our way through the unfamiliar neighborhoods. I hadn’t spent much time exploring the East Village, aside from one weekend when my sisters had visited and we’d zipped through in a whirlwind of appetizers and craft beers.

He cleared his throat a couple of times but, otherwise, we drove in silence until he pulled into a small parking garage sandwiched between a Chinese takeout joint and a rental car office. It was so tight inside that I found myself reflexively ducking as we drove up the ramp.

He eased the Lincoln into a spot and killed the engine. As we headed for the exit, I was glad to see him walking toward the stairwell. This was not the sort of establishment where I’d trust the elevator to work flawlessly—if at all.

I giggled, and he turned to give me a quizzical look. I pointed to the white metal sign affixed to the wall next to the metal door. Red letters warned:
Pedestrian Parking Only.

“Why would you park a pedestrian?” I laughed,

He frowned at the sign in confusion. “I literally can’t even imagine what that sign is trying to convey. What ...?”

He stared at the strange verbiage, transfixed, until I tugged on his sleeve. “Come on. Let’s solve one mystery at a time.”

L
ynn was waiting
for us at a booth near the back of the packed restaurant. She stood and waved as the host led us through the sea of tables toward her. Lynn looked like an actress. She was tall and thin. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in a cascade of bouncy copper-colored curls. Her bright green eyes were shadowed, mascaraed, and lined to perfection. Her glossy lipstick matched her hair color. A statement necklace set off her creamy collarbone.

I was suddenly hyper-aware of my post-yoga, head-to-toe black, disheveled appearance. I tried to take a discreet whiff of myself, but thanks to my surroundings all I could smell was garlic, crusty bread, and strong coffee. My stomach rumbled appreciatively.

“Victor!” Lynn called as we approached. She smiled broadly at him and came out from behind the table to sweep him into a hug.

I could feel the host giving me a sympathetic look and unconsciously stood up straighter. Like I always told my clients, posture is everything. I imagined a string connecting the top of my head to the ceiling.

“Lynn, this is Thyme,” Victor said as he extricated himself from her embrace and gestured toward me.

She extended a slim hand. “Hi. What an interesting name.”

“Thanks.” I shook her cool hand and settled myself in the booth across the table from her.

Victor hesitated in the aisle, swiveling his head from Lynn to me and back. She sat down and patted the booth next to her. He eased in beside me, and I felt an unattractive, but undeniable, little thrill of victory.

Lynn didn’t show any sign of reacting to his choice. She rested her forearms on the table and gestured to the menus. “I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and ordered for the table. I’m always famished after a show, but I hate eating in front of people who are waiting for their food. So, I just ordered a bunch of half-portions to share. Oh, and a bottle of Chianti.”

It was a perfectly reasonable, even warm, gesture. And yet, it didn’t sit right with me. It was presumptuous, or overbearing, or ... something. I sneaked a peek at Victor’s face. From the way his jaw was set, I suspected he wasn’t thrilled about Lynn’s move, either. I was beginning to see why they hadn’t made a love match, despite the fact that the woman was flipping gorgeous.

“That’s fine,” he said flatly.

Just then, two members of the wait staff arrived in a flurry of dishes, goblets, and goodies. After my first bite of spicy rapini tortellini, washed down with a sip of wine, I forgave Lynn for being pushy. After a mouthful of the crusty, yet soft, Italian bread dipped in warm olive oil, I was ready to date her myself. We devoured the food in silence for a few moments.

Then Lynn said, “So, what’s going on with Helena?”

Victor had been mopping up some stray marinara on his plate with a hunk of bread. In response to her question, he pushed the plate aside and let out a long breath. “She’s missing.”

She froze, her wineglass halfway to her lips. “Missing?” After a beat, she took a drink. “What do you mean?”

His voice was grave, urgent, persuasive all at once. “Let’s start at the beginning. Friday afternoon, Helena started to cry at work and told Audra she was going to miss her, which, you know, is odd.”

She nodded her agreement. I felt myself mirroring the movement.

“Then, on Sunday morning, we were supposed to meet for brunch at that Greek diner she likes near her gym.”

“Theo’s?”

“Right. She never showed. I called her a couple times, but she didn’t answer. This morning, I still hadn’t heard from her and she still wasn’t picking up her phone, so I stopped by her place. She didn’t answer her door buzzer, and the super wouldn’t let me in.”

“Where does she come in?” Lynn pointed her fork in my direction, but addressed the question to Victor as if I weren’t there.

I gave her a look, but my priority was the calamari, not her manners. It wasn’t the typical fried, rubbery calamari—you know, the stuff that’s best served drowning in marinara sauce. This was perfectly grilled, lemony and garlicky, with a hint of spice. I speared another piece and let Victor field the question. After all, she was his friend or girlfriend or whatever. His problem, not mine. Plus, the more talking they did, the more eating I could do.

“Thyme works with Audra’s mother. She was at the penthouse, watching Audra, when I went to see if anyone there knew where Helena was.”

She eyeballed me. “You work with Cate Whittier-Clay? Doing what?”

It was hard to be offended. I hardly looked the part of media maven. “I’m her trainer. Every morning, she does some Pilates, yoga, a little bit of barre work. When Helena didn’t show up this morning, she more or less roped me into taking care of Audra until she could find a replacement.”

That got a little laugh and a nod out of her. “I can see that. Helena says Cate’s a piece of work.”

Victor brought the conversation back around to the subject at hand. “Anyway, Thyme was kind enough to help me put up some missing person flyers when she got off work. I convinced her to keep helping me.”

“I’ll bet you did. You can be
verrrry
persuasive.” Her tone was thick with innuendo.

He ignored it. “Right. So we went to Helena’s place to check one more time. We actually let ourselves in and looked around, but she wasn’t there.” I noted that he omitted the whole blood everywhere thing. I wondered whether Helena had confided in Lynn about her past.

Lynn popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and chewed. She had a contemplative expression on her face, as if she was deep in thought. “So, no one’s heard from her since I saw her on Friday night?”

“Right. Exactly. As far as I know, you were the last person to see her.”

Her green eyes clouded a bit. “She seemed okay,” she said haltingly in a tone that suggested she didn’t believe her own words.

“Just okay?” Victor pressed.

“Yeah, just okay. She wasn’t her usual bubbly self, but she didn’t say that anything was wrong. She was just kind of quiet. We went for manicures. She didn’t really say much when we were in the salon. But when we went to check out, the cashier told me Helena had already paid my bill.” She tapped her glittery, red-gold nails against her glass. I had to admit, her manicure looked pretty good. I curled my own unpolished fingernails into my palms.

“Why would she do that?” Victor asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was kind of weird, but she said she just wanted to thank me for being such a good friend to her.”

A parting goodbye gift? Right on the heels of her tearful conversation with Audra about missing her, too. Helena was starting to sound like a person who knew, or at least suspected, that her days were numbered.

An involuntary shiver raced down my spine, and I pushed my dish away. I placed my linen napkin over the uneaten food.

Beside me, Victor looked as though he’d lost his appetite, too. He coughed into his fist and cleared his throat. “And after the nail salon, you went shopping, right?”

“Right.”

“Clothes shopping?”