Telling Lies (5 page)

Helen smoothed back her short blond hair and let the story sink in a bit before she began working through her list of questions. “Do you know if Monica—or any of her friends or acquaintances—has mentioned seeing someone who looks like Jeff around the city?”

She could hear the puzzlement in Laurel’s reply. “No, I don’t think so. But I’m not sure she would have told me if she’d seen anyone who resembled him. She’d probably think her imagination was playing tricks, wanting Jeff to still be alive. Why do you ask?”

Helen considered her reply before answering. Laurel sounded strung out enough by her encounter with a “dead man,” and she didn’t want to add to her distress. “Sometimes, when people make a decision to make a clean break from a certain situation, they’re also drawn back to it.”

“
You mean like someone in the witness protection program who can’t stand living in Iowa?”

“
Sort of.” Helen had majored in psychology before becoming a detective and knew there were as many reasons for compulsive behavior as there were human beings on earth. If Jeff Sargasso had used 9/11 as an opportunity to disappear and change his life in an instant, he might eventually feel safe enough to return to New York to savor in his newfound freedom. But, Helen shuddered, if he thought Laurel had recognized him in Florence, where he must have assumed he was completely safe, he might feel threatened enough to eliminate the potential danger. If she were right, Laurel would have to be very, very careful.

Helen was up now, pacing behind her desk. Unlike Aaron, whose focus had been on the missing painting and the money, Helen was thinking more about the man, or the men, behind the deal. “Are you sure Alfred Hammersmith’s body was identified conclusively?”

“
Yes. His name was on the official list issued by the Medical Examiner’s Office. They were able to match his DNA to remains found in the wreckage.” Helen was friends with the Chief ME and lived down the street from his office. She reached over the desk and made a note to check with him about Hammersmith’s identification. “I even accompanied Monica to his memorial service in Darien, Connecticut.” Helen could hear the strain in her voice. “There must have been over three hundred people in the church and at least half as many came to the reception at his estate afterwards.”

Helen sat back down at her desk and wrote down “Darien,” followed by the word “wife” and several question marks. “How did Mrs. Hammersmith hold up?”

As Helen waited for her reply, she knew that Laurel was remembering the day. “She was very controlled. No tears. Ramrod posture.” Laurel paused. “You know, she’s about ten years younger than Hammersmith, and they’d only been married for five years.”

“
Now, that’s interesting.” Helen added “trophy wife” and “money” followed by several question marks to her notes.

“
She looked straight ahead during the entire service. But I do remember thinking that something about her was slightly off.”

“
Off?” questioned Helen.

“
Yeah.” Laurel sighed deeply. Helen could envision her twisting her fingers around the phone cord. “Her hair and makeup were perfect. And she looked very chic, too chic for a memorial service, if you know what I mean. She had on a beautiful black designer suit accessorized with rather large diamond earring studs and an enormous diamond ring. I don’t know. At the time, with all the grief people were feeling, that jewelry seemed inappropriate somehow.”

“
To people with boatloads of money, diamonds are always totally appropriate.” Helen laughed. “Even at a funeral.” She glanced at her notes. “So, he was about sixty when he died and fifty-five when they married. She would have been around forty-five then. Not your typical, young thing trophy wife. Any children?”

“
None on her side. He had sons from a previous marriage. His first wife died years ago, leaving him with two boys, Gary and David. They’re grown men now, in their late thirties, and both worked in his brokerage firm. They seemed very attentive to their stepmother and were constantly by her side.”

“
I’m impressed.” Helen twirled her pen in her hand. “You remember all this. You did your research on Hammersmith.”

“
I was desperate to help Monica and looked into everything I could. Of course, none of it really made a difference.”

Helen could feel her friend’s frustration seeping over the line from Italy.

“
Maybe we can change that now. How long are you planning to be in Italy?”

“
We were scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow, but I’m going to stay a while longer. I called John earlier and asked him for a little more time off from work. When I explained the situation, he agreed. albeit with the provisos that
I take care of myself and do everything Aaron suggests.
Sounds as though he were speaking for my dad, doesn’t it?”

Helen recalled Laurel’s boss, the dapper and wry John Dimitri, publisher of
Women Now
magazine, who was also her father’s best friend. She had no doubt that John’s concern for Laurel was sincere.

Laurel broke into Helen’s thoughts. “I think it’s important for me to be here. Jenna’s boyfriend Tony offered to introduce me to his father, Signore Walter Mariotti. Tony told me that Signore Mariotti is very involved in the art world in Florence and knows everyone connected to it. He collects Old Masters and has a gallery in the family’s villa in Fiesole just outside the city. I thought if I described Jeff …” Laurel’s voice trailed off at the mention of his name. “I mean the man I saw, Signore Mariotti might recognize him.”

“
If it was Jeff, he could have changed his profession,” ventured Helen.

“
It’s possible, but he was in the Uffizi, so I think it’s worth checking into.”

“
Will Aaron be staying in Italy with you?” Helen’s next question was met with stony silence, then mild annoyance.

“
We haven’t discussed that yet.” Helen rolled her eyes in exasperation. The young woman paused for so long before she continued that Helen had the weird sensation that Laurel could picture the face she was making all the way from Italy. Finally she continued in a more even tone, “Maybe Aaron should come back to New York and look into things from there. I know he’s just trying to watch out for me, but sometimes …”

Helen interrupted before she could finish her thought and start ranting about Aaron again. “I think that’s smart. He’ll have an easier time than I would getting access to any information the Feds have on the case.”
And that will give you a legitimate reason to ask him to leave, rather than telling him you want to watch out for yourself.

Laurel jumped on Helen’s use of the word “I.” “So you’ll help me with this?”

Helen glanced at her notes, smiled, and underlined several of the words she’d jotted down. “I would enjoy a drive to Darien. I hear it’s lovely in Connecticut this time of year. And while I’m there, I can drop in on Mrs. Hammersmith and see if she knows anything that she has neglected to share so far.”

“
Okay. Good.” Laurel sounded delighted that Helen would be on the case and cover her back. “I’ll concentrate on Signore Mariotti and see where that leads.”

The young woman hesitated. “I don’t think that Aaron will be too upset to be leaving me here, not after how I behaved this morning.”

“
Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Helen knew just how smitten the detective was.

“
Well, maybe I’d better go and be nice to him for a little while if I expect him to cooperate.”

“
Good idea.” Helen smiled as she thought about how Laurel was going to elicit this cooperation. “But, be careful. You could really ruffle a lot of feathers by asking questions. And, if it is Jeff Sargasso, he won’t thank you for outing him.”

“
I can take care of myself. If that bastard faked his own death, he deserves to suffer.”

Villa Franca

Fiesole, Italy

Cypress trees stood as silent sentinels guarding the edge of the road that serpentined its way up to the small town of Fiesole. The car swayed from side to side as Tony navigated the hairpin curves and steep hills. Laurel felt as though she were on a roller coaster. She leaned back against the car’s padded headrest and enjoyed the cool breeze that slipped through the open window and tickled her face. Staring down the hillside through breaks in the trees, she was captivated by glimpses of the panoramic view of Florence, growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

She, Jenna, and Tony were traveling to his family’s summer home, Villa Franca, in this beautiful town high above the city. They’d taken the rapid train from the Stazione Ferroviaria Santa Lucia in Venice late this morning, passing along the outskirts of the small towns and villages that made Tuscany one of Italy’s most beautiful regions. While the cities of Padua, Bologna, Ferrara, and Lucca whizzed by in a whirl of olive groves, grapevines, and formal gardens, Jenna and Tony chatted quietly about nothing in particular and Laurel feasted her eyes on the gorgeous countryside.
Fattoriae di campagna
, farmhouses turned into holiday villas, dotted the landscape and sunflowers filled the fields, lazily turning their faces upward to follow the sun as it made its way from east to west. It was quite the reverse of the journey from Florence to Venice that she and Aaron had made just a few days ago. Then she had been shaken and agitated by her encounter in the Uffizi and noticed nothing but the troubled expression in Aaron’s eyes as they discussed Jeff Sargasso over and over again.

Laurel couldn’t get Aaron out of her mind. She looked at her watch and shifted in her seat, turning her head to let the breeze play with her long, dark hair. Aaron had departed from Marco Polo Airport on an early morning Alitalia flight to New York. He was most likely home by now. In spite of all their bickering and differences of opinion, she missed him already. Sighing out loud, she shifted again as she noticed the sign for the turnoff to the
Piazza Mino da Fiesole,
the town’s picturesque main square. Thoughts of Aaron would have to wait. She had more immediate things to contemplate than where the relationship was going with her bossy and very sexy detective.

“
I forgive you. And so does Helen,” she’d said as she’d marched into their room after her telephone call to New York. “We know you can’t help being a take-control jerk, but we came up with a workable plan.” She’d ignored the raised eyebrows and skeptical smile that greeted her words.

“
Was that supposed to be a compliment?” he asked. “Does that mean we’re through fighting?”

Laurel had been smart enough to realize that continuing to voice their disparate points of view would just take them round and round without getting them anywhere. “Yes.” She’d slipped into his arms and kissed him lightly. “Helen’s agreed to help investigate Jeff Sargasso’s disappearance and his dealings with Alfred Hammersmith.” She’d looked into his eyes. “But we were both hoping that you’d work on getting additional information from the Feds.”

Aaron pulled back slightly without breaking their embrace. “And, I suppose the two of you will tell me everything you discover? Not keep it between ‘the girls’ and leave the ‘take control jerk’ out of the picture?”

“
We will. I promise. If we’re right, there’s too much at stake.”

Laurel had sensed that he wanted to believe her but couldn’t give himself over entirely to trust what she was telling him. In a way, she understood his hesitancy. When they’d met, her reluctance to let him in had almost proven fatal.

Finally, he’d let go of her and held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, you win. I’ll check the NYPD records and see what we have on the guy.” Before she could ask about the FBI, he’d continued. “I’ll call a friend at the Bureau and see if I can shake loose some information.”

She’d leaned over and kissed him again, this time with a passion he couldn’t ignore. “Jeez, is the word ‘sucker’ permanently tattooed on my forehead?” Shaking his head, he’d taken her hand and led her to the perfectly made-up bed.

Laurel brought herself back to the present as Tony drove through the
Piazza Mino
, then turned off on still another winding road flanked by lush gardens and overhanging trees. At the end of a long drive rimmed by more stately Cyprus trees stood Villa Franca, a rambling, 300-year-old stone farmhouse. As Tony pulled up to the entrance, the massive wooden doors opened, and Signore and Signora Mariotti flew down the stairs. With cries of “
Mamma! Papa
!” Tony jumped out of the car and embraced his parents affectionately. Lifting her bags from the trunk, Laurel watched the family’s reunion and recalled how surprised she always was by Italian parents and their adult children. Unlike most of their American counterparts, they really seemed to like each other. Looking over at the ever cool and collected Jenna, she shrugged her shoulders and winked as if to say, “Are you ready for this?”