Then Hang All the Liars (18 page)

“About what to do if you don't do the story?”

“Yes.”

“I will. I'll take care of everything. Consider the matter closed.”

Then she extended her hand. The emerald-cut diamond could knock your eyes out. “Thank you for all you've done. And thank you for coming to me. Mr. Burkett and I will be forever grateful to you.”

Sam stood, knowing that she was being dismissed. And
handled
,
as she'd been throughout the interview, which was fine with her. As long as Nicole Burkett took care of the dirty linen. But she couldn't quite let go.

“So you
are
going to shut them down?”

“Rest assured.”

“Good. And the girls?”

“Ms. Adams, my daughter is one of those girls. Everything will be taken care of. Don't worry. You've done the right thing.”

“Okay. Of course. So, good-bye now.” Sam turned and then turned again. Nicole hadn't moved an inch, as if she were anticipating the next question. “I don't understand why you didn't know about this. You obviously have resources and know how to use them.”

“I try not to meddle in my children's business. Particularly Miranda's.”

Sam shrugged. It wasn't much of an explanation.

Nicole could see that. “It's very complicated. The relationship. When this—this
business
is all finished, maybe we'll have another drink and I'll tell you about it.”

“Fine. Oh, I almost forgot.” Sam reached in her bag. “You'll want this list of owners of the club. Though Jane said they're probably fronts, covering for someone else.”

Nicole shook her head. “I won't need it.”

Okay. Right. Sure. She knew there was no point in asking why. She was beginning to get the drift that Nicole Burkett's sources and solutions were a hell of a lot more efficient than her computer.

“Good-bye now,” her hostess said. “And thank you.”

“Thanks for the drink. And—well, you have my number.”

She was going to die if she didn't find out how this all ended.

Nicole knew that. She nodded. “I'll call you.”

Twelve

“George, pass the biscuits, please,” asked Sam at the breakfast table the next morning.

“Here you are, my dear. Trade you for an update.”

“Well, I had a most interesting visit yesterday with Nicole Burkett, P.C.'s wife. What do you know about her?”

At that, Horace spilled the coffee he was pouring.

“Wait.” Sam laid a hand on her uncle's arm. “I've obviously asked the wrong person. Horace, did you want to get in here?”

“Well, I don't know, but there
are
those who say it's peculiar the lady seemed to arrive in this town with no baggage. She's hardly ever seen in public. Ask her a question about the past and she just smiles that pretty smile—is what I hear.”

“Arrived full grown as if from the head of Zeus,” George added.

“And those who would say she has some interesting friends,” Horace continued, “especially for a lady who doesn't get out much.”

“Interesting how?”

“Shady.”

“Big shady or little shady?”

“Big shady.” George beat Horace to it.

“
Excuse
me,” Sam said. “The two of you are sitting here, telling me over grits and sausage that P.C. Burkett's wife is hooked up with—shall we say an
underground
source of protection?”

The mob had never been a very visible force in Atlanta, though here, as in every big city, its presence was understood.

“Did you say that?” George asked Horace.

Horace looked around is if there were someone else in the room. “I don't think so.”

“But that's what you're implying. Am I right?”

“I'm just telling you what folks say,” Horace said. “They could be wrong. Folks don't know everything.”

Sam snorted. For the most part, what Horace's
folks
didn't know wasn't worth spit.

“Well, hell,” Sam said and reached for another biscuit. “More power to her. At least it's out of my hands.”

“That Tight Squeeze matter?” George asked.

“Yep.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Horace.

“You got time?”

He nodded and sat down. Sam poured him a cup of coffee, then filled them both in about her meeting with Nicole Burkett.

“I wouldn't want to be in their shoes.” Horace shook his head when she was finished. “Those, whoever they are, who're responsible for this mess. Not with Miz Burkett on their tails.”

“Hurry up in there,” Peaches called from the kitchen through the swinging door. “I've got a meeting to go to and I'm late already.”

“I mourn the loss of gentility in the world.” George sighed. “You can't even depend on being allowed the pleasures of a little conversation and a good cup of coffee.”

With that, Peaches marched into the breakfast room and snatched both their plates away. “You can depend on the fact that people've got better things to do than wait while you lollygag around at the breakfast table, gossiping. Now I happen to know that Nicole Burkett has always been helpful to the unfortunate in this city and I won't have you besmirching her good name.”

“No doubt she gave the literacy program a sizable donation,” Sam theorized to the blackberry jam.

“She most certainly did, for your information, and if you want anything else, please help yourselves. I'm gone.”

“Which means Nicole could be Jack the Ripper and Peaches would defend her all the way to the gallows,” said Sam.

“She's done the best she could—nothing lots of other women haven't,” Peaches snapped back through the closing door.

“And what's that?” Sam called.

For an answer, Peaches turned the dishwasher on. Then, through the whooshing and churning, they heard the back door slam.

“Shall I make some more coffee?” Horace asked, oblivious to Peaches, which was how they'd managed to stay married for fifty years.

“Thanks, no. Please don't let us keep you from getting on with your day, Horace,” said George.

“Just one more thing.” Sam stopped him. “No, two.”

“Yes?”

“One, is Randolph Percy still staying at the Claridge Club?”

“Last I heard.”

“Good. I'm going to see if I can find him this morning right after I make my calls. Two, you remember the other day when we were talking about Felicity Edwards?”

“I do.”

“And something came up about maybe she'd had a baby?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Horace pulled his favorite Braves cap out of his back pocket and settled it on his head. He wore it for chauffeuring, but felt it helped his cogitation, too.

“It was a really long time ago. And there's never been any proof of it. But there were—”

“—folks who said—” Sam interjected.

“—that that's the reason Miss Emily went up to New York and why Miss Felicity came home with her. That she left a baby up there.”

“What do you think?”

“I don't know. I'm just telling you—”

“I know. What folks said.”

*

Sam liked to do all her phone calling in the morning, catching people before they'd had time to get ensnared in their day.

One.
Beau had rung her the previous evening, but by the time she got home she hadn't been able to reach him. In a clinch somewhere, no doubt, with some sweet young thing.

“Dr. Talbot, please. Samantha Adams.”

“Sammy!”

He'd gotten lucky, all right. He was never this cheerful in the morning.

“So what about the puppy?”

“No ‘Good morning, Beau? How are you this beautiful morning?'”

“Good morning, Beau. How are you this beautiful morning? So what about the puppy?”

He made a
tsking
sound. “Can't find a thing. But then, I don't know what the hell I'm looking for.
Puppies die, Sammy, usually one in every litter. Natural selection. Mother Nature.”

“Screw Mother Nature.”

“Boy, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed!”

“I did not. I'm just not willing to let this go because Emily's sure it means something—part of a chain—and now I've got to call her and tell her to blame it on Mother Nature. You want me to quote you on that?”

“Undetermined causes.”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Beau.”

“Christ. I can't make it up, you know.”

“Why don't you run a few more procedures? Keep trying?”

“And I have a few other things to do with my time.”

“Oh yeah? I bet. And you never did get back to me on what Beth had to say about Miranda Burkett.”

She could hear him smack himself in the forehead with his open hand.

“I swear, I've been running so, I haven't—”

“It's okay, Beau. It's all right. I've taken care of it.”

“No, really, I'll call her right—”

“Done. Finished. Don't worry your pretty little head about it.”

He growled like a dog.

“Never gonna be part of a team if you can't keep up with the pace, Talbot. Listen, gotta dash. I'll check with you later.”

*

Two.
Emily answered on the first ring. Sam told her what Beau had said.

“Oh, dear. Well, I'm sure he thinks I'm a dotty old lady.”

“He does no such thing. He's embarrassed because he fell down on the job. He'll stick with it.”

“You're going to so much trouble for us, Sam. I don't know how we're ever going to thank you.”

“Don't be silly. How's Felicity?”

“No better, I'm afraid. If I could just get her stabilized on her medication again. But she insists on that swill of Mr. Percy's.”

“How
is
that gentleman?”

“Well, I'm afraid I wouldn't use such a polite appellation. But to answer your question, I don't know. He hasn't been around for a couple of days.”

“Maybe his ardor's cooled. This could be a good sign.”

“I wish I could count on it. Wouldn't that be wonderful?” Emily sighed. “But that would probably mean that he'd given up here and was off searching for another goose to produce his golden egg. Some other poor woman who might not have anyone to defend her.”

“You're absolutely right. Well, I'm hot on his trail. The newspaper's morgue should have clips for me today, and if there's anything there, I'll add it to my ammunition. I'm going to see him.”

“Today?”

“Yep. Hoping to catch him in.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“What do you mean, Emily?”

“I don't know. I guess I'm afraid if he's confronted directly, he might—well, there's no telling what he might do. I'm awfully worried about Felicity.”

“I know you are, but I do think I ought to go and see him. We can't just pussyfoot around with this forever. The man needs to be told to bug off.”

“I'm sure you're right. And I'm sure you're the one to do it.”

But she didn't sound so sure. What the hell was her hesitancy about? Emily was the one who'd told her
about Percy in the first place. Well, maybe she was scared. After all, she was an
old
lady.

“I wish you luck.”

“You don't think he can be scared off, Emily?”

And as she asked, she had a vision of who might best put the heat on Percy—short, dark guys in overcoats with strategic bulges under their arms—if what Horace said about Nicole's associates were true. Wouldn't hurt to ask. After all, the lady owed her. And what was the point of having connections if they couldn't do you a little favor? She shook her head. She'd been watching too many gangster movies.

“I don't know if he can be scared off or not. Surely other people have gotten on to him. And there's no way of knowing what he's done.”

“Well, I'm off to beard him in his den. I'm loaded for bear. Hold down the fort and any other metaphors you can think of. I'll keep you posted.”

*