Between the Lies (Book One - The Northern Lights Series) (13 page)

I was on my way up to the apartment when Newman called. “Harper thinks there might be some kind of surveillance at your place. We’ve looked once, but she wants us to take a better look.”

“If it’s okay with the Lyons family, it’s fine with me,” I said.

“Mr. Lyons gave us the go ahead.”

“When do you want to do this?” I asked.

“Early tomorrow would be good.”

“Do you need me to be there?”

“Not if you don’t want to be, but you might want to ask your attorney.”

“Do you think I’m in danger?”

“No. I think you’re guilty of killing one of my best agents, and using a past incident to gain the sympathy of your attorney and detective Harper,” Newman said, his voice laced with certainty.

“In that case, my attorney and I will both be present.”

“Yeah. That’s what she said.”

When I unlocked the door to the apartment, I knew something was off. Fear danced along my spine like a spider doing the rumba. In the dim hallway light, I saw the little door to the hidden cubby was open.

I tip-toed toward the opening and peeked in. A piece of paper and a single red rose laid inside. I realized the moment the scent from the blossom hit my nostrils that while I used to love roses, I now hated them. I leaned on the wall as an assault of dizziness and nausea washed over me.

Obeying the chain of command, I called Newman and said, “Get here, now.” In my panic, I hung up and continued to call for back-up.

“Lloyd!” I realized I was shouting into my cell phone, but I could not stop myself. “Someone was here. There’s a note and a rose. Please hurry!”

I didn’t stop to listen, but clicked off and dialed Harper. Similar words were shouted at her, and I heard her say, “I’m on my way,” before I moved on to Michelle’s number. I left her a message and let her know Lloyd and the others were on their way.

As fast as I could, I took pictures with my cell phone. I knew since my hands were shaking, they’d be blurry, but I had to do something. The urge to scream rose up in me, but I was afraid if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. I swallowed hard, trying to force the terror down.

The head of building security entered the apartment with his gun drawn. I had no idea what kind it was, only that it was bigger than the one I’d seen strapped to Harper or Newman’s sides. The theme song from
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
started up in my brain just as the private elevator door slid open. Alan and Michelle stepped out.

“Olivia, what’s going on?” Alan demanded as he watched Michelle walk over to the open cubby door.

Lloyd’s phone rang and I heard him say, “Yeah, Merle, send them up.” To Alan he said, “The FBI and police are on their way up.”

“Who called them?” Alan demanded.

“I did,” I said. “It’s Newman’s rule.”

“Why? Because you left a little door open?” Alan’s voice was not sarcastic. It was demeaning.

“No, because you said to cooperate with them . . . to tell them everything,” I said.

“There’s more to this, Alan,” Michelle said in a calm voice. “We will explain it as soon as they get here.”

He paced in the living room while the rest of us stood guard over the little door in the hallway.

Harper took pictures I knew would be clear then Newman collected the evidence.

“What does the note say?” I asked afraid to know, but more afraid not to.

“You can’t get away from what I know,” Harper read.

“What does that mean to you, Olivia?” Alan asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Michelle explained to Alan about the rape, the door, the message we tried to give my secret intruder, and about the other roses and notes. “We’re not sure how, but they all seem connected,” she concluded.

“How is this connected to the murder?”

“We don’t know that it is,” Harper said.

“It seems to me the common denominator is you,” he said pointing at me angrily, the veins on his neck standing at attention.

I felt myself shrink inside. The way I always did when one of the men in my life was angry.

Alan glared at me and said, “You told them about a ten-year-old rape?”

His disdain unleashed the storm brewing inside me. “Yes. Because someone who knows all about that is stalking me. Someone who has access to this building. Someone I can’t see, but who can see and hear me. Someone who knows what only the rapist, you, and I know. Someone who can evade security cameras and guards. Someone like you!”

“Don’t be stupid, Olivia,” he yelled as he stepped forward.

Michelle touched his arm, distracting him briefly. In fear tinged with defiance, I walked over and stood beside Lloyd.

“This is ridiculous,” Alan said, the volume of his voice rising.

“No it’s not, Mr. Lyons,” Harper said. “Think about it. Until now, only three people knew these details.”

“Are you sure about that?” Alan asked. “Olivia, what did you tell your stalker FBI friend before you killed him?”

Following a momentary silence, Newman said, “Mr. Lyons, I would appreciate it if you and your wife would please return to your private office and wait for me there.”

“That’s a good idea, Alan,” Michelle urged. “But Agent Newman, I’m Ms. Morgan’s attorney and will be staying.”

“Michelle. . .” Alan’s voice was a growl.

“Alan, go.”

Man, I wished I’d said that.

“Mrs. Lyons, in view of your husband’s obvious anger, I have to ask, isn’t your representation of Ms. Morgan a conflict of interest?” Newman asked.

She stood a little taller and said, “It is unusual, but it is not a conflict. My family supports my involvement as does my client. I would appreciate it if you don’t read more into my husband’s outburst. He’s been through a lot lately.”

“Well, it certainly keeps the family in the loop, doesn’t it?” Newman asked.

“If you are questioning my wife’s integrity. . .” Alan started.

Michelle interrupted her husband and said, “My client’s confidentiality is secure. You don’t have to like our arrangement, but you do have to respect it. If you choose not to, I will follow the chain of command and see that you are removed from investigating your friend’s murder. So far, that is the only conflict of interest in this case.”

Alan turned toward the elevator and the agent backed down.

“A sweep of the apartment is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Is that correct, Agent Newman?” Michelle asked.

“Yes.”

“Would it be possible to call your team in sooner?”

“No. I don’t have an overtime budget,” Newman said, leaving no room for negotiation.

Michelle decided it was time for a plan. “Fine. I think it’s essential that we provide Ms. Morgan with protection at least until the sweep is concluded. Lloyd, I’ll be sure you’re paid over time if you’re available to stay downstairs and monitor the building.”

He nodded.

“What do you say, Harper?”

“I’ll stay with Olivia,” the detective said.

“Great. That means you can go home, Agent Newman. I’m sure Mrs. Newman would appreciate that.”

“There is no Mrs. Newman,” the agent said.

“Well, perhaps you should remedy that,” Michelle said sweetly, but with one eye brow raised. “You do have an unseemly edge that could be eased by the love of a good woman.”

The tall FBI guy’s eyes widened as if he’d been sucker punched. With him neutralized momentarily, Harper headed for the living room, putting note pads and pens on the coffee table. Michelle steered Alan into the elevator, escorted me to the coffee maker.

I watched Newman take notes, bag the paper and rose, and was grateful when Harper volunteered to stay, citing it would be easier than calling in another officer or agent.

Lloyd promised to stop by with fresh cinnamon bagels in the morning.

Before he left I said, “Lloyd, I am beginning to believe there is good reason Jillian trusted you. Thank you for staying. ”

He looked at me with a mix of surprise and sadness. “I’m grateful for Jillian’s confidence in me,” he said. I saw the door close and heard it click shut behind him, and I shuddered. The room felt less safe with him gone.

“Ms. Morgan,” agent Newman’s voice had a demanding edge to it. “Please bring the other notes you have from the intruder to me tomorrow.”

“Gladly. Can I drop them off with your assistant or do you need to be there?” I asked.

“Hand them directly to me. Call first to be sure I’m there,” he said.

“I’ll do that. Now, I believe we’re done for tonight.” I said as I opened the door for him. My slight act of assertiveness felt great.

I shut the door behind him with a little more pressure than needed.

“Lloyd is hot in an old west Matt Dillon sort of way,” Harper said as she kicked off her shoes.

“You watched Gunsmoke?” I asked.

“Yeah. When my dad got off work, we’d watch the reruns together.”

“Well, just remember, Miss Kitty, Old Matt was never tamed.”

“Well there’s that,” she said with a flirty grin on her lips. I got the feeling she didn’t mind a romantic challenge at all.

“Ida Louise Lyons was a strong woman, fiercely protective of her family and close friends. Besides us, her only other love was the art she collected and created. She was greatly loved and will be deeply missed.”

Michelle’s eulogy caught me off guard. The Dowager was an artist? Maybe I’d heard her wrong; the sound wasn’t great in the cathedral balcony.

I’d come in early and stepped over the velvet cord that had a sign hanging from it that read,
Reserved for the Choir
. I hoped that was for Sunday services and not for funerals.

The service had all the heavy ritual I’d expected and the burial wasn’t much different. I by-passed the slow processional to the cemetery, and wearing my casual suit and sunglasses, watched from the passenger seat of Deacon’s golf cart.

The priest’s voice traveled around the headstones on a warm breeze full of the fragrance of floral arrangements. I resisted the temptation to focus on Alan’s grief and watched the panoramic view. He and Michelle stood together, his hand resting on the handle of a wheelchair. In the chair sat an old woman, her back rounded from age. She wore a simple black dress, a small hat with a veil, and black gloves. I assumed she was Aggie.

Michelle had told me that the nanny was a small woman who loved her charge and had a special friendship with the Ida Lyons. When she told me about the relationship, I’d snorted and said, “What did Aggie have on her?”

Michelle had resented my comment. “Neither Mother Lyons nor Aggie had secrets from the family.”

“We all have secrets, Michelle. Even matriarchs and nannies,” I’d said cynically.

The priest read from a small book, prayed, and did something with his hands—a sort of crossing motion. Then the mourners began the trek back to the waiting limos. Across the way, the homeless guy watched. His gaze seemed to fix on Alan and the little woman in the wheelchair. As if sensing something, Alan looked up, and the scruffy guy nodded at the grieving son. My former lover stumbled, but quickly regained his balance. The old one said something, and Alan must have given her an answer explaining his lack of grace. When I glanced back up, the other uninvited guest was gone.

At the car, Alan said something to Michelle and then walked back to his mother’s casket. There, he stood alone, his hands behind his back, head down. He took my breath away when he slipped a pink rose out of the spray that rested on his mother’s casket and placed the flower on Jillian’s grave.

Age and sorrow had made him more attractive. I’d never seen him look so handsome. I longed for him in a way that was beyond romantic, and might have been considered spiritual if I believed in myths.

At the car, Michelle waited beside the uniformed chauffeur. She held out her arms and Alan walked straight into them. Their embrace was tender and extended. They wiped the tears from each other’s cheeks before getting into Ida Lyons’s shiny black Cadillac.

“Well, Missy, I got to get the boys busy on filling Mrs. Lyons’ grave. I’ll take you back to your car now,” Deacon said.

“That’s okay. I’ll walk,” I whispered through my tears.

“You sure?”

I nodded and sniffed.

“Here you go,” he said, handing me a handkerchief.

Accepting his kind gesture was easy. Navigating my way through the peace of the cemetery while truths I’d ignored for years gnawed at me was hard.

I’d always been the other woman—the one he used. She’d always been the wife—the one he loved.

I opened my car door and the scent of rose assaulted me. My scream sliced through the quiet of the place. On the leather passenger side seat of my car sat a rose in a beautiful crystal vase. In bold letters a note said, “I am always watching.”

About the time Deacon pulled up beside me, I heard another car roll to a stop, and Harper said to someone, “Please get Newman and come to the lot by the caretaker’s office.”

I was back on Deacon’s cart when the unmarked car pulled up and the occupant lowered the window. “What were you doing here?” Newman demanded. “Your presence was a blatant act of disrespect to the Lyons family.” He shut off the car and got out.

“Oh for crying out loud, Newman,” I started. “You just don’t get it do you? I was Alan Lyons’s mistress for ten years. The little girl buried beside Mrs. Lyons is my daughter, her granddaughter. Besides, who cares about protocol right now? There’s another rose, vase, and note. Please, do your job without judging me. And for your information, my attorney knew I wanted to attend and asked only that I stayed a discreet distance away from the family, which I did.” I wasn’t yelling. What I heard come out of me sounded like a snake whispering a deadly warning before striking. He must have heard it too because he stepped back.

Not done yet, I asked, “What are all of
you
doing here?”

“Mr. Lyons asked us to be here. He thinks it’s possible the murderer is actually after him and not you,” Newman stated as if it were the truth.

“Really?”

“It’s a possibility that needs to be proved or eliminated,” Newman said.

“Is there a rose and a note in his limo?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Newman muttered.

“Newman, take care of this crime scene. Olivia, get in my car. Now,” Harper commanded.

Before I could move, I heard Deacon say to Newman, “Agent, there are things about the lady you don’t know.”

“You’d be surprised,” he sneered at my kind friend.

“I’ll be okay, Deacon. I’ll stop by as soon as I can to catch you up on things.”

“You’ll be most welcome, Missy.” Determined to do all he could for me, he turned back to Newman and said, “I’m going to ask you again. Please be kind to her. She’s been through an awful lot. I’d consider it a personal favor from one military man to another.”

“You served?” Newman asked.

“Korea,” Deacon said. “Spent some time as a prisoner of war. I notice things others might not.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Newman said and followed his words with a brief salute.

My friend returned the act of military respect and said, “That’s all we can ask, son.”

Newman walked up to Harper’s car and looked at me. “You talk to your dead daughter?”

“I do. Do you talk to Mickey?”

“I make him all kinds of promises,” he said.

“I promise you something, Newman.”

“What?” he snapped.

“I promise you I did not kill Mickey.”

He stared at me and although I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew the look. I was getting sick of talking to men in mirrored sunglasses.

Harper asked, “You feel like drawing?”

“No. Why?”

“Your friend Deacon said something about a homeless guy that makes his soul itchy. He said you’d seen him too. I need to find a way to ID the guy. Deacon saw him running away immediately after he heard you scream. The old man said the guy smiled as he took off at what was a ‘pretty good clip.’”

A tap on the car window nearly landed me in Harper’s lap. There stood my friend and protector. Harper lowered the side door window and asked, “What’s up, Deacon?”

“There’s just one more thing. It always bothered me; the homeless guy wore leather shoes . . . you know, the kind with a slot for a penny on the top.”

“Penny loafers,” Harper offered.

“Yes. These were dark brown with thick black thread. I knew an old shoe cobbler once who taught me a thing or two. Those shoes looked handmade.”

Harper thanked Deacon and assured him that his observation had been important to the investigation. I sat still, but my insides were shaking.

“Olivia, are you okay?” Deacon asked.

“No.”

Before I could say anything else, Harper asked, “Deacon, did you get any information on this guy when you hired him?”

“No. He’s homeless,” Deacon answered. “Those folks don’t have official identification and they rarely use their real names. If you ask them, they lie or move on. He did what I told him, we paid him with a little cash, gave him a sack lunch every day he showed, up and he had a room at the shelter to sleep in every night.”

Harper thanked Deacon and added, “This man is dangerous. Please be on guard. Do not approach him or speak to him if you can avoid it. I doubt he’ll be back, but if you even think you see his shadow, call me.”

“I will for sure, detective. Missy, you come back when it’s safe. I’ll keep an eye on your girl for you.”

As we pulled out of the cemetery, Harper said, “You need to call your attorney.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Harper, I cannot call her today. For right now, can that be your job?”

She made the call.

Then Newman said, “Things are escalating. I’d like to put more eyes on Ms. Morgan, and the Lyons Shipping building.”

“Worried about me, Newman?” I asked, feeling snarky.

“Not so much. I just want you around to pay for what you did to Mickey.”

“If you were a dog you’d be a pit bull, Newman.”

“Thanks, but make that a pit bull with lock jaw. I’m not letting go.”

“I’m glad, Newman. Really glad,” I said. And I was.

Back in the apartment, Harper wandered around making sure I was alone. She called Lloyd and asked him if he wanted some extra hours. He said he’d be over in about an hour. Harper decided it would be wise to stay until he got there, just in case. She asked him to bring supper for three—whatever he wanted.

When he walked in with a couple of pizzas, I felt suddenly dizzy and plopped down on the couch. Harper brought me a large glass of cola over ice, and I drank it like I’d been lost in the desert for a week. She took my glass and refilled it.

After eating a single piece, I announced I was going to bed and they could work out my security issues.

When I woke up the sun was peeking over the horizon. I walked out to the living room and found them where I’d left them. Lloyd stretched out on the couch and Harper in one of the wing-backs with her stocking feet on a footstool. Their jackets hung over dining room chairs. Seeing their holstered guns, I felt a little relief that any bad guy wanting to hurt me would have had to go through them first.

It wasn’t wise, but when I hit the coffee grinder button, it was funny. My granny would have said, “Those two moved liked they’d been shot out of a cannon!”

And they did.

They reached for their guns, but caught themselves before any damage was done, except to their pride. When I lifted my finger from the grinder button the only sound in the room was my laughter. It was a little on the hysterical side, but it felt good.

“Good morning,” I said. “Harper, you know where the bathrooms are. There are extra tooth brushes in each one. I don’t want my heroes to have furry teeth.”

I fixed scrambled eggs and toast as a peace offering. Over our first cup of coffee for the day, I asked, “Which one of you is going with me to the bank and then to Newman’s office?”

Lloyd stretched and volunteered. “It’s my day off. I’ll go with you before I head home.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Good idea. We can’t have someone attacking you for the notes,” Harper said.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said.

“Why did you think you needed someone to go with you then?” Harper asked.

“Newman,” I said. “He’s like a blood hound on the trail, and the only scent he can recognize is mine.”