Foxy Roxy (29 page)

“She was under my protection,” Roxy said.

Loretta melted. She must have recognized the emotion that bubbled just beneath Roxy’s exhausted control. She put her arm around Roxy’s shoulders.

Roxy said, “Kaylee was my responsibility, Lo. I should have checked on her. I should have made sure the house was a safe place for her to stay. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

Loretta hugged her. “Oh, honey. Let’s get your truck and go home. I have a gallon of ice cream I’ve been saving for the right time. This is it—the perfect night to get drunk on butterfat. You can squeeze your daughter tight. Think about the joys of being a grandmother. Get some distance from all this. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

They climbed into Loretta’s car, and ten minutes later, they pulled up to the intersection near Roxy’s truck. The police still had the block roped off. Even the television trucks had been pushed back. The whole scene suddenly gave Roxy a headache. Her stomach felt like a sour, very empty pit, and ice cream wasn’t going to fix that.

She had her hand on the door handle when Loretta reached across and grabbed her arm. “Roxy, don’t go all vigilante about this Falcone girl, okay? Promise you won’t do anything stupid?”

“I promise.”

Loretta gave a bitter bark of a laugh and released Roxy’s arm. “I can always tell when you’re lying. Okay, come home when you can, will you? Let us know you’re alive.”

“Tell Sage everything will be okay.”

“Sure.”

Roxy bailed out of the car. She ducked under the police tape and headed for her truck, pulling her keys from her pocket. A few crime-scene techs were milling around her front door, all of them muttering into their cell phones. For them, it was business as usual. But all Roxy could think of was Kaylee’s lifeless body.

Out of the tech group popped Zack Cleary. He spotted Roxy and made a beeline for her in long, loping strides.

“Hey,” he said, subdued.

Roxy mustered some bravado. “You look healthier than the last time I saw you.”

He blushed. “Yeah, sorry I lost my lunch earlier.”

“Tomorrow you can get a hose and wash off my stoop.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Where’s Nooch? Do you know?”

“I took him home. I hope that’s okay.”

“Did he fart in your car?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Surprised that he’d taken the initiative to look after Nooch, Roxy lingered. She wasn’t ready to climb into her truck yet. She jutted her chin at the crime scene. “How’s it going here? They find anything useful? Footprints in the dust? Fingerprints on the door handles? Any of that Sherlock Holmes stuff?”

Zack put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders as he looked back at the techs. “Some of that, yeah. Looks like the dead girl let the guy into the house, though. No sign of forced entry.”

“Kaylee. That was her name.”

“Right. Sorry.” Zack looked at her more closely. “You okay?”

“What else do they think? What kind of gun was used?”

“I don’t know, but they think the guy wrapped a pillow around the gun when he shot her. Kaylee.”

“I figured that out. What about shell casings?”

“What about them?”

“Were there any?”

Zack shook his head.

Same as Julius, Roxy thought. Either the killer picked up the ejected shells or used a revolver. “Are the cops asking all the neighbors what they saw?”

“Yeah, they canvassed the whole street. Not many people around here during the day, so nobody saw anything except a bunch of kids walking around like they wanted to break into a house, maybe.”

“That’s typical on this block. The cops will waste their time chasing down those kids. Did they talk to Dolores?”

“Who?”

Roxy pointed. “The lady who lives in this house.”

“She hasn’t been home.”

“How about on the other side? The doctor, Adasha Washington. She was probably sleeping during the day. Her shift started at seven, I think. Maybe she heard something before she went to work.”

“I don’t know. Look, I have something to show you.”

Roxy waited, jiggling her keys. Tomorrow she’d come back and ask a few questions by herself, without the cops watching. For now, she just wanted to get away, do some thinking. Find a few people and ask questions. The Hyde chauffeur, for one. He might know somewhere for her to start.

From underneath his jacket, Zak brought out a package. Wrapped in a plastic grocery bag.

Roxy almost stopped breathing. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Zack’s face was smooth of any expression. He lowered his voice. “From under the seat of your truck. I searched the vehicle. Before the crime-scene cops looked. It’s cash.”

“I know it’s cash.” Carmine’s chunk of bills looked the same as when she’d moved it from Kaylee’s car to her own truck. “And you took it. What do you think? That I’m going to let you keep it?”

Zack was shaking his head. “It’s not like that. I took it out of the truck because I figured you didn’t want the cops to find it.”

Once again, he surprised her. And Roxy didn’t like that the kid was capable of keeping her off balance. “You’re the cops, in case you haven’t noticed. At least you’re damn close. What the hell are you thinking, kid?”

Although her voice sharpened, Zack stood his ground. “I’m thinking maybe you should keep it a secret. You know, for a while.”

“And you want some of it? For removing incriminating evidence? For saving me from an arrest, is that it? It didn’t take you long to find a way to earn your protection money. Congrats, tiger. You’re a dirty cop before you’re even officially sworn in.”

Zack opened his mouth to protest.

But her cell phone rang. When Roxy opened it, Flynn said in her ear, “Are you under arrest?”

“Nope.”

“Then you’d better come over here.”

She could hear the kitchen noise behind him. “Now?”

“Hurry up,” Flynn said before disconnecting. “I’m feeding some Hydes.”

Roxy closed the phone, opened the door to her truck, and climbed behind the steering wheel. Then she caught sight of Zack standing on the sidewalk.

“I’m not a dirty cop,” he said, “I’m not. I just wanted to help you.”

She knew she’d regret it, but she heard herself say, “Get in the truck.”

22

To take the bull by the horns, Henry decided to telephone Arden Hyde. And a couple of hours later, they walked into Rizza’s together for a late supper. The pretheater crowd was long gone, and even the second seating seemed to be thinning out. They were shown to a table near the fireplace in a high-ceilinged dining room with tall windows and pillars made of tree trunks. Using the Hyde name always got good service, but Henry backed it up. The hostess winked at him as she pocketed the fifty he slipped her.

At the table, Henry said, “It’s good to see you again, Arden. Shall we order a bottle of wine?”

“Okay.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“No.”

She scanned the menu for a long time, nibbling the nails of her left hand.

Henry put down his menu. Arden looked sleekly blond tonight, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and some kind of exotic textile thrown around her shoulders, hippie style. She was definitely more presentable than she had been earlier. But her foot jiggled incessantly, and he noticed all her cuticles were red. The front of her hair was cut in long bangs, which she tended to use as a screen.

He decided he’d chosen the right person to question concerning Quentin’s plan for Monica and the situation with Julius’s will. Henry planned to pop Arden like a cork.

After a few minutes of watching her obsess about the menu, Henry said, “I recommend the chef’s choice. It’s always an interesting culinary experience here.”

“Okay. I like adventures.”

She flattened her menu on the table and looked straight at him, a sign she had gathered her courage. “So what’s this all about, Henry?”

His only mistake might have been the choice of restaurant. In Rizza’s, there was always a waiter swooping in to refill glasses or a busboy slipping dishes away. The tables were tightly packed, too, with snippets of conversation flying around like mosquitoes. The tempo of the place was busy, but maybe that would work in his favor, Henry thought. If the atmosphere were too intimate, Arden would be even more nervous.

He leaned across the table. “I was delighted to see you this morning. You looked all grown up.”

She linked her hands in her lap. “I am.”

“So maybe we should get better acquainted.”

With a brave tilt of one eyebrow, she said, “Now that I’m legal, you mean?”

He smiled genuinely. “You’re beautiful, Arden. And polished now.”

“You liked me pretty well when I was a kid.”

“You were tantalizing.”

“So you’re a gentleman these days? That’s the way you want to play it?”

“How would you like me to play it?”

The wine steward leaned over their table then, asking about drinks, so Henry ordered a bottle without any fanfare. The exchange gave Arden a chance to think things over.

When the steward went away, she said, “I always liked you, Henry. And I was flattered that you picked me to—well. But all my aunts and cousins said you were looking for a way to marry into the family, and after we—after that time we were together, I worried that I’d made a big mistake. So I went away. You’re hard to resist, you know.”

“It’s a relief to hear your side of things. After you left town so suddenly, I feared my lovemaking wasn’t up to snuff.”

Her color changed. “How would I know? I’d never—well, I was ashamed of myself for getting seduced in a closet, so I ran away.”

“It was more of a dressing room wasn’t it? I remember a lot of hanging ball gowns and a very comfortable sofa. I’d had a little too much champagne at your uncle Julius’s wedding to Monica.”

“And then you had that allergic reaction to the champagne.” She smiled shyly, but then Arden’s face clouded, perhaps recalling the less appealing details of their tryst.

Gallantly, Henry said, “I remember how lovely you were. And deceptively mature. After I realized you were underage, though, I knew I’d made a grave mistake.”

He also remembered a very messy interlude—not at all his usual conquest. It had been a low point for Henry—a clumsy attempt to seduce the least objectionable of the Hyde women, but a lapse in judgment nevertheless. With careful strategy, he might make amends tonight, though.

A waiter brought crusty bread and a dish of olive tapenade, and then came the water glasses. While the quiet flurry of service continued, Henry tried to keep the conversation rolling.

He said, “Julius seemed very happy at that wedding. He and Monica both.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.” Arden fiddled with her silverware. “I keep thinking he’ll walk into a room and say something funny. I really miss him.”

“He loved you very much, I’m sure.”

“Who didn’t he love? He had a lot of joie de vivre. Okay, except maybe Dodo.”

“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I think those two were actually very fond of each other. You shouldn’t take their arguments to heart.”

She glanced up to gauge his sincerity. “Uncle Julius never had anything nice to say about her.”

“That was a game between them.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

Arden did the peekaboo with her bangs again. “That’s actually very nice to hear.”

The wine came, and they ordered food. Henry asked her about Florence and she babbled awhile. Gradually, she relaxed and became animated. From years of strategic dating, Henry had come to recognize that the best companions were women who knew how to get a man to open up about himself. But Arden talked and talked.

She talked so much that eventually he realized why. Between courses, she excused herself, and when she returned to the table, she was so radiant that the man at the next table got up to help her with her chair.

Arden leaned into the candlelight, refreshed by whatever she’d snorted in the bathroom. She was smiling at last. “I’m having a good time. I didn’t expect that.”

“Why did you come out with me if you didn’t think you’d have a good time?”

“I don’t know. It was like a dare, I guess. But I think I like you, Henry.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

She laughed. “Monica likes you, too. But my dad? Not so much.”

Henry split the remains of the bottle into their wineglasses, glad that she had brought the conversation around to where he wanted it. He signaled for a second bottle. “Why is that?”

Smothering a giggle behind the long fingers of one hand, she said, “Maybe Daddy doesn’t like another rooster in the henhouse. I saw the way Monica looked at you. So did Daddy.”

“She’s in a very emotional place right now. She can’t be held accountable for her actions. Besides,” he added with sideways smile, “she’s too old for me. Surely Quentin sees that.”

“I think he sees a rich widow and an opportunistic younger man making goo-goo eyes at her.”

“I do nothing of the sort!”

“You do it with subtlety, of course. Just like you’re flirting with me tonight.”

“I’d have to be dead not to flirt with you, Arden. You’ve grown up so nicely. But really, we’re just friends, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Just friends.”

Henry figured the time was right to lean across the table. “I’m actually glad to see your father so protective of Monica. Especially accompanying her to see Dorothy. That must have been brutal.”

“Yes, brutal,” Arden echoed.

“It doesn’t take a genius to see the whole family is distraught about Julius. But—true to form—they’re trying not to show it, right? Everyone uses their own special coping mechanisms.”

“Yes.” Arden picked up her fork uncertainly. Her buzz was fading, so he guessed it had been cocaine in the bathroom.

“It’s hard work sometimes,” he said. “Playing referee in a complex family. That’s your role, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, although it was clear the idea had never entered her head until now. “Daddy’s especially putting a lot of pressure on me.”

Henry contrived to appear concerned. “Oh?”

“Trying to make me take a job with Hyde Communications. Maybe that would be easier.”