Telling Lies (4 page)

She wished she could say the same for her mind. She’d been dreaming when the church bells had roused her. And, as so often happens with an unsettling dream, it had faded away, leaving the merest remnants floating just out of reach of her consciousness. All she could remember was an uneasy feeling of being at the Uffizi, pursuing Jeff Sargasso endlessly through miles and miles of echoing corridors. No wonder she was tired.

She wondered where Aaron was. They hadn’t gone to bed under the best of circumstances, their continuing disagreement about Jeff Sargasso leaving them both frustrated and cranky. Laurel suspected that Aaron hadn’t gotten much sleep, either. As they toured Italy, she’d learned that he was an early riser, needing to get moving as soon as he was awake. He’d probably dressed and slipped out quietly to walk the city and think things through. A little smile played across her mouth. She could picture him, his gray eyes intent, taking in the scene at one of the café bars on a side street off the Grand Canal, drinking espresso, and watching the boatmen gulp down their early morning pick-me-up shots of grappa. She sat up in bed, her smile vanishing as memories of yesterday flooded back. She and Aaron had discussed the situation over and over, first in Florence, then on the train to Venice, and again in The Danieli’s lounge, when they’d met up with Jenna and Tony.

Laurel thought about Jenna, her best friend and most trusted confidant. A jewelry designer whose outrageous ideas and impulsive personality somehow translated perfectly into amazing baubles sought after by wealthy women in New York and Europe, she never held back from saying exactly what was on her mind. Then there was Jenna’s boyfriend Tony Mariotti, a gorgeous Italian male model who unfortunately—according to Jenna—had a brain as well as a body. They were both in Italy for work but had happily agreed to meet Laurel and Aaron for a few days of fun in Venice and sunning on its famous Lido Beach on the Adriatic Sea.

Unfortunately, conversations with Jenna and Tony tended to be a little like a competitive tennis match; long volleys sailed endlessly back and forth, with neither opponent wanting to give up the point. Spectators were a captive audience, whipping their heads back and forth to follow the play.

Jenna rolled her eyes and spoke in her most dramatic voice. “Laurel, you must be imagining things. No one who was on one of the top floors of that tower could have survived. There’s just no way.” She picked up her Campari and soda, ready to move on to the next subject.

“
But, it could be possible. Laurel knows this man from before.” Tony shrugged in that way Italians have when they’re sure the point they’re making is the only correct one. He was rewarded with a dirty look for his trouble.

Nodding her thanks at Tony for his support, Laurel barely masked her annoyance as she glanced at Jenna then at Aaron, who was sitting quietly, taking in the conversation. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I didn’t imagine anything. It was Jeff Sargasso whom I saw this morning. I know I’m right about this.”

And so it had gone, until finally exhausted, they’d all said goodnight, and Aaron and Laurel had walked back to their room in stony silence.

The Danieli was one of Laurel’s favorite hotels. Only steps away from the Piazza San Marco, it was one of the city’s most lavish and romantic palazzi.

Entering its beautifully restored gilt and marble lobby always made Laurel feel like Cinderella, stepping into a fairy tale. But even its magical elegance hadn’t been able to dispel the dark thoughts that had plagued her since leaving Florence. Sighing, she slipped from under the comforter and psyched herself to start her day. She’d wait for Aaron to return and allow him to take her to breakfast and make up for his stubbornness of the day before. Her stomach was grumbling, and she realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s late lunch, and then only a few bites. Wishing Aaron would come back soon, Laurel went to take a shower. Breakfast at La Terrazza, The Danieli’s rooftop restaurant with its spectacular views of Venice, was just what she needed. That and a way to find Jeff Sargasso again.

* * *

“
No, grazie
. No coffee for me, thanks.” Aaron held up his hand to the waiter standing at his elbow ready at the slightest nod to fill his cup from a steaming pot of The Danieli’s strong, black espresso.

Laurel was surprised at Aaron’s refusal. He loved coffee and usually drank it by the potful. “How many cups did you have with the boatmen?” She’d been right in thinking that that’s where he’d wandered off to.

“
Oh, maybe five or six,” he grinned sheepishly. “But they weren’t exactly whole cups.”

Laurel raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Well, what kind of cups were they then?”

“
They were more like half cups.” He held his hand, thumb and forefinger close together to emphasize his point. “You know for one little sip of coffee.” Aaron picked up the empty cup in front of him and mimed tossing it back in one gulp, pinky finger sticking out sideways.

She laughed. “Well, this
is
Italy, and they are small cups. That’s why they call them
Tazzini.
” She held her own fingers close together to emphasize her point while making fun of him. “And, you’ve certainly got the moves down perfectly.” Laurel bit into the dense, crusty ciabatta roll the waiter had placed on her plate, holding out her pinky the same way Aaron had. “What else have you been up to while I was sleeping?” she asked between bites. She signaled the waiter to bring her another roll.

Aaron waited a beat. “I spoke to Helen,” he cleared his throat, “about Jeff Sargasso.”

Laurel stopped chewing and stared at him, her light mood vanishing in an instant.

Laurel had met Helen years ago when the private investigator was hired by
Women Now
to do a background check on a New York politician the magazine was profiling. Later on, when Laurel had needed help on a story she was working on, she contacted Helen. Although the story had led to a murder, the two women had bonded and become close friends. Aaron knew Helen as well, from her interaction with his precinct. In fact, she was the one who had brought the couple together.

When Laurel hadn’t reached Helen yesterday, she’d left a message saying that she’d call her back this morning. “You did what?” She struggled to keep her temper. This was just like Aaron, interfering in things without first discussing his plans with her. Trying to take control. Well, she wasn’t going to let that happen.

“
See, I knew you’d react this way. Just don’t get crazy with me, okay?” Aaron held up his hands to deflect the hostility coming his way. “I did some thinking about this Jeff Sargasso, and it’s possible, just barely mind you, that it was him you saw.”

Laurel could feel her face growing hot, all the frustration she’d felt at not being believed rising like steam from a boiling pot. “What?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What happened to ‘It couldn’t be him,’ and ‘There’s nothing we can do, Laurel’?” She mimed Aaron’s deep voice and flung her arms around in the air, attracting the attention of the other diners on the terrace. “
Now
you believe me?” Her eyes bored into Aaron’s. “So, now I’m right. Why?”

“
C’mon. I know you. And, you’re not going to give up until you settle this one way or the other.” He held her stare with one of his own, not giving way at all.

“
You know me? So you thought I wouldn’t mind you calling Helen for me?” Laurel’s voice became hard. “To accomplish what? To placate me just a tiny bit so I wouldn’t obsess over this and ruin our vacation? Or,” her expression grew colder and more unflinching, “do you honestly think I’m right?”

“
Well, no.” Aaron finally cut his eyes away, trying to mask his uncertainty. “I’m not sure, but I wanted to give
you …”

Aaron didn’t get to finish. Laurel took the roll she’d been holding and threw it at him, then pushed back from the table. “Oh, please. Save it.” She started to rise. “What is this bullshit? If you don’t think I’m right, why did you call Helen?”

“
Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He brushed crumbs off his shirt. “I admit it; you might be right. Don’t get too nuts about me calling Helen.” He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your friend is as stubborn as you are. She wants to hear all about Jeff Sargasso, but she wants to hear it from
you
.” He emphasized the last word. He looked down at his watch, then at Laurel. “She’s expecting your call in about ten minutes.”

Kips Bay

New York City

Helen was sitting in her study, sipping a Cappuccino, feet up on her desk. She glanced around, contemplating the subtle but important changes she’d recently made to this warm and inviting room. After her last case, which included a surprise visit from a New York City mobster, she had decided a few more safeguards would be in order. She had called in a private security company and had them install several new defenses. Now her beautiful antique desk had a small, secret, and easily accessible drawer that held a new derringer, replacing the one she’d lost during the case. The old panic button she hadn’t been able to reach the last time had been replaced with one that could be voice activated from anywhere in the room by a code word. Helen had chosen “pecorino,” after her favorite Italian cheese. She’d also had state-of-the-art anti-bugging devices planted throughout the house. The one in the study was disguised as a small crystal ball placed on the fireplace’s mantle. Its transmitter swept the room twice a day and was programmed to report any irregularities to the security firm’s central office. She thought about the similar one that sat on the dresser in her bedroom amidst her perfume bottles and the small clock in the kitchen that held a third transmitter. Helen smiled as she looked at the gleaming ball. In a pinch, it could come in handy for fortune telling. Helen felt safe and content, at least for the moment.

Helen knew how fortunate she was to own this house and to have the means to maintain it. Her family wasn’t rich, not by today’s standards, but her father had done well in his plumbing business and had purchased the brownstone, a fixer-upper, nearly thirty years earlier. Slowly but surely he’d restored it to its original grandeur and Helen had helped whenever she had free time. She loved it from the moment they’d moved in. And when her parents retired and relocated to Santa Fe, they’d given it to her.

With no mortgage to pay and no repairs to drain her finances—her father made sure he’d left the house in perfect condition—she could spend the money she earned from her successful business on the things she really appreciated: good food, beautiful clothes, traveling and enjoying life with her small circle of good friends. Helen smiled at her memories and took a sip of her coffee,

Right on time, the phone rang. “Laurel, how are you?” Helen’s smile at hearing the young woman’s voice widened into a grin as Laurel broke into an immediate outburst about Aaron.

“
I can’t believe that low-down chauvinist called you without telling me.”

Helen stifled a laugh. It seemed that Aaron was in big trouble. Poor guy. She was hard put to keep the amusement from the “ahas,” “uh huhs,” and “ohhs” she interjected during Laurel’s rambling rant about Aaron, “the big man who was trying to take over.”

To Helen it sounded like Aaron had taken a cue from Laurel’s overprotective but lovable father, Mike, who tended to watch over his daughter as though she were a six-year-old. Helen had imagined a vacation in Italy would have been just what Laurel and Aaron needed as they continued to negotiate the bumps and potholes of getting to know each other better. But she could tell that the relationship was just as stormy now as when it had begun in Helen’s kitchen. Laurel wasn’t entirely wrong. Aaron could be as controlling as any man who was in charge of anything or anyone, but Laurel was no slouch in the control department, either.

With a sigh, Helen placed her coffee down on the desk next to her and patiently listened for a few more minutes. Tucking the phone under her chin, she leaned over to gently massage her sore feet. “Hey?
Lau…rel
. “She drew out the young woman’s name. “Are you done complaining about Aaron? Can we get down to business now?” When she heard the blessed sound of silence on the line, she sat up and planted her feet on the floor. “Good. Now tell me your version of what happened in Florence.”

As Laurel related her encounter with Jeff Sargasso, or “alleged encounter” as Aaron had called it, Helen reached for a black composition notebook, cracked it open, and began jotting down the highlights of Laurel’s story. When Laurel finished, Helen flipped back through several pages filled with notes and questions. She didn’t doubt the young woman’s sincerity, but like Aaron and Jenna, Helen was skeptical that anyone caught in the heart of the maelstrom of 9/11 could have survived. That was, of course, if Jeff Sargasso had actually been on one of the top floors of the North tower when it collapsed.