Intrusion (13 page)

I got it, all right.
Arun
Rao
was robotic, making love by rote. I prayed he wasn’t using my friend, just as I hoped Lucian Sand wasn’t deceiving me.

I patted Candy’s hand. “Just be careful. Remember, someone at CYBER-MET may be a murderer.
Arun
has motive, opportunity and the right skill set.”

Candy batted her lashes and switched back to Tommy. “So, our boy was doing
Tinkerbell
and anyone else he could get. I’m not surprised.”

“
Tinkerbell
?”

“You know, Meg Cahill. I expect her to sprinkle fairy dust in the air some day and fly around the room. It’s all an act, of course. That woman’s a calculating bitch.”

“Hmm.
I didn’t have a chance to open all Tommy’s files. I’ll do that tomorrow. Meantime, I spent three boring hours on their financial statements, quarterly projections, and accounts receivable. Frankly, it was underwhelming.”

“How so?”
She was humoring me. I knew Candy had zero interest in anything but the bottom line.

“Don’t spend your inheritance just yet. From what I could see, CYBER-MED barely breaks even. I’m sure they’re counting on getting more customers or a leveraged buyout.
All that depends on maintaining a spotless reputation.
It argues against cutting any corners.
Too risky.”

Sometimes Candy surprises me. This was one of those times. She tossed her head back and got that steely look. “Tommy wouldn’t allow shortcuts, not ones that jeopardized someone’s life. He was too ethical and too smart.”

“He did something that made him a target. Maybe I’ll find it in those private files.”

We shared dessert, spending several delicious minutes inhaling calories. Before we parted I gave Candy her assignment.

“OK, Lois Lane, here’s your task. Chat up anyone involved with this Mary Alice Tate thing. Find out who benefited from her suicide.”

Candy licked her spoon. “It was suicide, wasn’t it? I mean, what if someone knocked her off?” Those cat eyes gleamed with excitement.

I held up my hand. “Whoa. Wait just a minute. Stop this conspiracy shit. I don’t care about Mary Alice Tate. It’s Tommy we’re focused on.
Right?”

“I guess. Then why have
me
snooping around?
Doesn’t make any sense.”
Candy pursed her lips in a mutinous expression I was very familiar with. Time to apply a liberal dose of soft soap, lavender scented.

“Look. I thought we divided up the workload. I do the mind-numbing number crunching, and you do the personality stuff. Didn’t you tell me you’re far better at worming secrets out of people?”

“Well.” Candy brightened as a man two tables over gave her the eye. “OK, Betts. I have a couple of ideas. The only one that stumps me is that Judge Jacob Arthur. One look at that man and you knew he never used grooming products.” She sighed. “All that
money,
and he let himself go to pot.”

“I don’t suppose he had any family members in your social circle?”

Candy knew everyone worth knowing in greater Boston.

“Hmm.
Let me think about that. He had two college-age daughters. I think they go to Boston College or somewhere else around here. Very Catholic, the judge was. Probably made
them
genuflect every day.”

“What about Mrs. Arthur?
Any connections to her?”

A smile eclipsed every trace of pique.
“Maybe.
There’s a women’s forum in Back Bay tomorrow. Some dreadful cause like rehabilitating women convicts. Mrs. Arthur is the chair. She’s a therapist, you know, very big into self-help.”

It was uncanny. I found myself reading Candy’s mind. “Oh, I get it. Sweet Nothings might offer free products to these poor unfortunates.
Very public spirited.”

Candy nodded. “The awesome Candace
Ott
might even be persuaded to conduct a session for them.” She gathered her things. “Let me make some calls tonight. I feel lucky.”

Eleven

Lucian didn’t
call that evening, not that I expected him to. I didn’t want to hear from him. He had probably found some simpler woman to pester, one without a murdered friend and an otherworldly husband. I busied myself with research. Mental exertion is just the ticket when personal demons overwhelm me. Tonight my target was Secretary of State Richard
Chernikova
. The Internet fairly buzzed with information about him. He was both lionized and vilified for his positions on virtually every issue except one: Liberals and conservatives agreed that his advocacy for stem cell research and diabetes prevention was admirable.

Everywhere
Chernikova
went, he was surrounded by a phalanx of armed agents who were part of his protective detail. He wasn’t an easy target, and Tommy knew that. Why had he included
Chernikova
on his list? Perhaps the enemy was an unseen intruder within the Secretary’s own body.

I rubbed my eyes as exhaustion overcame me. Candy would blow a gasket if she saw that. Rubbing one’s eyes is a cardinal sin punishable by sagging, aged lids. Guilty!

Della had already curled up on her bed. At least one of us would get her beauty sleep tonight. I stifled a yawn and rose to join her. Then I saw it. According to the
Boston Globe
, the Honorable Richard
Chernikova
was the guest speaker tomorrow night at the High Hopes Ball, a fundraiser for the
Joslin
Diabetes Center. Kai’s family foundation gave generously to all types of charities in the Boston area, particularly the ones affiliated with Harvard. I leapt up, propelled by a sudden burst of energy. Mail still arrived addressed to Mr. Kai Buckley. My pulse quickened each time I saw those paper tributes, almost as if he were still alive. I stacked the flyers, solicitations and announcements neatly on his desk just as I’d done before that awful day. Candy considered it barbaric, but the ritual comforted me. Kai’s continual presence was something that sustained and nurtured me as it always had before. We were joined, irrevocably bound in life and death.

I skimmed the solicitation pile and found it, an invitation to the High Hopes Ball. Each ticket was a pricey five hundred dollars. Several months ago, almost without thinking, I’d written a check, purchasing two seats in the names of Mr. and Mrs. Kai Buckley.
Funny.
I didn’t mind using his name, didn’t feel diminished at all. My husband was everything to me even now.

Tomorrow—tonight, actually—I would see Richard
Chernikova
in person. Don’t ask me why. It wouldn’t resolve any questions about Tommy’s death, but it might motivate me. Besides, as a partner of CYBER-MED, it was my duty. Tommy was always big on duty.

I flopped into bed with my head full of plans. Sleep immediately overwhelmed me until the persistent ringing of the phone brought me back.

“Hello.”

“Were you dreaming?” Even half asleep, I recognized that voice.

“Are you mad? It’s three o’clock.”

Lucian laughed. “I can join you. Share your dreams, perhaps.”

“Go away.” I disconnected and burrowed into my pillows. Inspiration struck just before Morpheus claimed me. I grabbed my phone and stabbed the redial button. Lucian answered immediately, sounding disgustingly chipper.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” I asked.

“For you?”
He gave that throaty laugh.
“
Oui
, Elisa,
toujours
.”

“I’m serious. It’s a formal event, black tie, and I need an escort.” I deliberately avoided the more daunting term
date
.

“How charming.
What time shall I pick you up?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll meet you at the Copley Plaza at eight o’clock.”

“I insist on picking you up, if you want an escort.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you’re not my guardian angel, you know.”

“Are you so sure about that? Maybe I am.”

Another throaty chuckle.
Lucian must think I’m a riot.

“Fine.
I’ll see you at eight. Goodnight.”

“A
bientot
.
‘Til
then,
ma
belle
.”

~

Five hours later, after two double espressos and a cold shower, I still couldn’t believe it. What was I thinking? Did I think at all when it came to Lucian Sand? The man was trouble with a capital T, yet I’d asked him out.
On a date.
Me, Elisabeth Buckley, hermit, martyr and grieving wife.
I hugged Della, taking comfort in her silky fur.

Today’s schedule was insane: a morning conference at Sweet Nothings followed by four hours of maintaining the facade at CYBER-MED and a mad dash to get ready for the ball. Most of all, I dreaded Candy’s reaction to my new social life. I spent the entire morning procrastinating. It was craven and puerile, but I couldn’t help it. On the way out the door, I casually mentioned the High Hopes Ball to Candy, emphasizing the chance to mingle with Richard
Chernikova
. I reduced an elegant social event to a dreary business obligation that might connect to Tommy. After all, sponsors were invited to an elite after-party that sounded very promising.

Candy wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“Oh, my God!
What are you going to wear? You know the media will swarm the joint because of
Chernikova
.” She leapt to her feet and started pacing. “I’m trying to imagine your wardrobe. Let me think for a minute.”

I waited her out. Even cyclones ultimately run their course. Maybe if she agonized over my appearance, she’d forget the date issue.
Fat chance.

“You can’t wear black. It’s way too somber for an occasion with hope as its theme. I know. That peach silk sari Kai brought back from India.
Just the ticket.”
She sighed and plastered her face with a foolish grin. “Of course, I’ll have to help you. You can’t get into that thing without a dresser.”

I nodded meekly and gathered my things. “Be there by six-thirty. The ball starts at eight.”

“Hold on.” Candy did a quick pirouette. “You can’t go alone. You’d look like an outcast or an assassin.” She gave me the death house stare. “Wait a minute. I get it. You have a date, don’t you Mrs. Buckley? Fess up.”

“An escort, not a date.”

Candy waved her arms.
“
Pish
tosh.
You’re going with the devastating Doctor, aren’t you? Oh, Lord, Lucian Sand in a tuxedo. What a sight. Men always look like a million bucks in a penguin suit anyway. Remember when we launched Sweet Nothings?”

My heart contracted into a sodden heap. How could I ever forget? Kai and Tommy had looked like gods in their finery, especially Kai. I recalled the moonlight twinkling off those silver streaks in his hair. We danced and drank champagne until dawn, then went to the harbor to watch the sunrise.

Candy touched my arm. “Hey, don’t be sad. Those were happy times, but they’re in the past. Kai and Tommy moved on. You need to make new memories, too, Betts. Kai would want that.”

I blinked back yesterday and faced forward. “You’re right, of course. See you tonight.”

Through divine intervention or something very like it, I snagged a cab immediately. The driver lurched through the streets, jabbering into a cell phone in some foreign tongue while I put on my game face. In all likelihood, someone at CYBER-MED had taken my friend’s life, someone who thought murder was fun. I shivered at the memory of the cassette and that raucous laugh. Tommy had sounded surprised, puzzled even. That meant the murderer was unlikely, not the stock movie character that radiates menace. Who knows? Maybe a petite, pixyish woman with a rich husband might fit the bill.

I finalized my plans before entering CYBER-MED. Today was definitely a research day. I had four hours to pore over Tommy’s private files and glean whatever information I could from them. One inconsistency plagued me. If his murderer was at CYBER-MED, why were Tommy’s personal files left intact? Wiping a computer clean is no big deal in a place loaded with brainy techno-geeks. I had theories, not answers. A crafty killer might leave the files there, particularly if they seemed innocent enough. A blank computer could shine a bright neon light on CYBER-MED. Time may also have been a factor. Andrews and his crew had sealed the office almost immediately. Their forensic squad sifted through most of Tommy’s stuff within two days of his murder. According to
Arun
Rao
, they had removed the crime scene tape on the day that Candy and I first arrived.

I flashed my badge and stabbed the button for the fourth floor. Through bad luck or rotten timing, Meg Cahill, clutching a stainless steel thermos, was waiting on floor three. We both nodded, assuming the masks of civility that avoid workplace bloodshed.