Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery (11 page)

P
atrol Officer Jerry Thompson
was a man of action. I had barely finished explaining the plan when he chugged the rest of his beef broth and radioed for assistance, barking out commands in an alphabet soup of abbreviations that meant nothing to me. Victor pulled out his cell phone and called in Helena’s obituary. I could tell from his face that he felt guilty about misleading a coworker, but he plowed forward anyway. That just left me.

I squared my shoulders and fixed my resolve.
You can do this, Thyme. She puts her bra on backwards and then wriggles it around after it’s been fastened, just like everyone else.

I punched in the numbers and threw in a
soft
ohm
mantra while I waited to be connected.

Maura’s chipper voice sounded in my ear. “Whittier Media, Cate Whittier-Clay’s office. How may I help you?”

“Maura, it’s Thyme Field. I need to see Cate.”

“You need to see her? Like, you need to reschedule her workout or you want to make an appointment with her?”

“More like, I’m on my way with a reporter from the
Times
and an NYPD officer.”

Maura gasped. I smiled to myself. The statement was one hundred percent true, but I knew that Maura would misinterpret it the way I’d intended and think something was going down that involved Whittier Media. I heard the clatter of keys as she shuffled around appointments to clear a hole in Cate’s always-crammed schedule.

“Um, it looks like she has an opening at eleven. Can you be here that soon?”

I glanced at my watch. It would be tight, but presumably Officer Movie Star had lights and a siren.

“We’ll be there. Thanks, Maura.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Sage, do I need to call Cate’s attorney?”

I decided to take pity on her—in no small part because Cate was going to freak out on her for giving us an appointment no matter what; I might as well try to mitigate the damage.

“No, that’s not necessary at this point. Just tell Cate that Whittier Media isn’t implicated in this, um, police business. But let her know her help will be instrumental
and
will generate lots of good will from law enforcement and, more importantly, good press from
The New York Times
.”

Victor caught my eye and quirked his mouth as if to say ‘Oh, really?’ I just smiled. For all Cate’s rah-rah new media cheerleading, she still craved legitimacy. And in her eyes, it didn’t get any more legit than the paper of record.

On the other end of the phone, Maura let out a happy sigh. “I can definitely sell that,” she said, relief and enthusiasm replacing the dread in her voice. “See you in a few.”

I ended the call and joined Victor and Officer Thompson, who were standing near a black-and-white patrol car. Officer Thompson was gesturing a lot and talking in a loud, animated voice to an unimpressed female officer.

“No.
Nein. Nyet.
Am I speaking your language yet?” she asked.

“Come on, Jennings. Just lend me your wheels.” He flashed that movie star grin at her.

Jennings appeared to be immune to his stunt double charms. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not hoofing it back to the station after this shoot. I drove, you lose.”

He craned his neck and looked at Victor. “Okay if Jennings tags along? She’s a straight shooter.”

Victor glanced at me. I didn’t like it. You know the saying, three can keep a secret if two of them are dead? Four seemed even worse. But we had to get to Cate’s office before we got bumped from our slot. Maura was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a magician. She couldn’t hold Cate’s schedule open indefinitely.

I forced a smile. “Sure.”

Officer Jennings eyed us for a moment with a neutral look and then turned and shouted to another patrol officer, “Jerry and I have to talk to a wit in mid-town. Hold down the fort.”

The guy gave a two-fingered salute and went back to chatting up the makeup artist.

Officer Thompson ushered us into the back of the car then he and Jennings engaged in what appeared to be ritual bickering over the best route to the Whittier Media Building. Only after she acquiesced to following his directions, did we finally pull out into the flow of traffic. It occurred to me that the workplace dynamics between colleagues in a high-stress environment like law enforcement would make for fertile research ground.

Then I laughed at myself.
As if.
The odds of my returning to my graduate program grew longer by the day. I figured Cate was more likely than not to fire me for canceling her workout. And if she did can me, I wouldn’t be able to pay my share of the balloon payment on my parents’ debt. And we’d lose the resort.

Stop it,
I told myself as Jennings hit the lights, activated the siren, and zoomed through an intersection, honking, shouting, and cursing at the drivers who were moving aside too slowly for her liking.
All this worst-case bellyaching isn’t going to help. Worry doesn’t change anything.
It was one of my father’s favorite sayings, only he put a dopey dad spin on it:
Don’t borrow sorrow from tomorrow
.

Victor gave me a concerned look, almost as if he could hear my thoughts, and squeezed my hand in his. Officer Thompson twisted around to talk to us through the wire cage that separated the back seat from the front.

“I called back to the squad room to get some more bodies on this. I figure we’ll need at least three or four blues in addition to me and Jennings here.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Victor beat me to it. “I think we need to be very discreet, given the … connections I mentioned before.”

Thompson waved a hand at his concerns. “Listen, don’t worry about that. Your guy’s some kind of undercover narcotics agent, right?”

“Yes.” Victor stared meaningfully at the back of Officer Jennings head.

“Right. We’re pulling together a team from Movie and TV. There’s two kinds of officers in my unit. Guys—”

“And gals,” Jennings corrected him.

“Guys
and gals
who were assigned by the luck of the draw, and guys and gals who came to the Big Apple with stars in their eyes. You know? Like, they moved here, waited tables and acted in crappy theater productions for a couple years and then realized their dreams were childish and unrealistic and joined the force. But, in their hearts, they think, maybe, just maybe, this is their chance to be discovered.” His voice grew distant, and his eyes were looking at something far off.

“You’re in the latter group, aren’t you?” I asked quietly.

He nodded. “It’s true. But the point is nobody goes from narcotics to Movie and TV. Just doesn’t happen that way. Your skell isn’t gonna have a contact in my unit. We’re on solid ground.” He sounded so certain that I felt my shoulders unknotting.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.” He turned back to the front and resumed poking at his partner’s driving skills.

I don’t know what kind of magic Maura worked on Cate, but she was barely fuming at all by the time we were ushered into her massive office, all white leather, hard angles, and glass. She looked at us over the top of her reading glasses when we traipsed into the room then waved her hand toward the sitting area, which consisted of two white couches facing one another across a Lucite and steel coffee table.

As she crossed the room to join us, Maura rattled off introductions and then stood at attention just inside the door, waiting to be dismissed. I’d already explained in the car that Cate did not shake hands. Germs, you know. So no one made the mistake of advancing toward our hostess with an outstretched hand.

“Thank you, Maura. Why don’t you order up some coffee for our guests. Does anyone prefer tea?”

“Green tea would be great,” Officer Thompson said.

Maura nodded and then backed out of the room. The two police officers stood awkwardly in front of the couch to the left of the table. Victor and I took seats on the one to the right. Cate started to lower herself into the captain’s chair at the end of the coffee table and stopped, hovering with her butt just inches above the cushion, waiting for Officers Thompson and Jennings to sit down first. They continued to stand there stiffly.

Finally, Cate sat down and crossed her legs. Only then did the two officers take seats on the couch. I had a feeling that the delay was the result, not of some etiquette rule regarding sitting with civilians, but of a prearranged effort to throw the high-powered executive off kilter. Judging by the squat Cate had just performed, it seemed to have worked.

“Maura tells me you need my help,” Cate said without preamble, directing her question to the police officers. She removed her glasses and twirled them around by one of the stems while she waited for an answer.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jennings confirmed, even though she hadn’t exactly been filled in on the details of what we were doing in Cate’s office.

Officer Thompson cleared his throat. “Our department, the Movie and Television Unit, is coordinating with Mr. Callais here on a sting operation.” He gestured toward Victor.

Cate turned her head in our direction. “And you’re a reporter from
The New York Times
.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Victor answered it anyway. “That’s correct.”

Her cool blue eyes slid over my face and she gave me a look that said, ‘I’ll deal with you and your bout of fake food poisoning later.’ Then she fixed her icy gaze back on Victor. “Now what would a financial reporter be doing in the middle of a Movie and Television matter?”

One point for Cate (well, Maura). She’d done some research before we arrived. Although, minus one point because she didn’t seem to connect the surname Callais to her missing nanny. So, net gain: zero points.

“Actually, it’s more that the authorities are helping me with a private matter,” he told her in a professorial tone.

“Oh?”

She waited.

“My sister is missing. We have reason to believe she’s hiding from her abusive ex-husband, who just happens to be in law enforcement.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Cate said in a voice that sounded more bored than sympathetic. “But I’m not sure how any of this involves Whittier Media.”

“My sister is Helena Callais. Your nanny.” His voice cracked. I patted his thigh in a quick gesture and hoped no one noticed.

“Ah. The vanishing Helena. You know, Audra’s still crying herself to sleep.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry to hear that. And I know that Helena would be, too. She’s very fond of your daughter.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “You have to believe me—if she didn’t believe her life was in danger, she never would have pulled a disappearing act.”

At the words ‘her life was in danger,’ Cate suddenly became interested in the conversation. She sat up straight and gave Victor her full attention.

“I’ve been trying to find her—with Thyme’s help,” he continued.

“Thyme’s a yoga instructor,” Cate pointed out.

“Yogalates, actually.”

They both ignored me. Victor said, “She has a background in psychology and has been instrumental in helping me try to figure out what happened to Helena.”

Cate pursed her lips and appraised me for a moment as if maybe I wasn’t
quite
as limited as she’d always believed.

“And what did you two learn?”

“We learned that Gabriel, Helena’s ex, had been in contact with her. We learned that she staged a violent scene at her apartment before she took off, and we learned that Gabriel has at least two armed, dangerous men combing the streets of New York looking for her.”

“That’s where you come in,” Officer Thompson interjected. He lowered his voice an octave or two, maybe in an effort to sound more official. Whatever the reason, it seemed to work.

“Of course. What can I do to help?”

A small knock sounded on the door. I walked over and opened it for Maura, who wheeled in a cart of drinks and snacks.

“Thanks,” she whispered. And then she was gone as quickly as she’d come. I wondered whether she had a stomach ulcer. I wondered how much money she made as the assistant to an uptight, controlling media mogul and whether it was worth all the stress.

My musings were interrupted by the realization that everyone was looking at me.

“Sorry, what did I miss?” I asked, flustered.

“It’s your plan, Thyme. You should do the honors,” Victor said.

“Oh, uh, okay.” I returned my coffee mug to the cart and kept my hands steady by sheer force of will. Cate Whittier-Clay made me nervous when she was in a modified camel’s pose with her elbows pinned behind her back and her face red from concentration and her consistent failure to
breathe
while she exercised. Sitting in her corner office, wearing her stylish Nina McLemore suit, and staring at me with rapt attention, she absolutely terrified me. She may as well have been breathing actual fire.

“Based on everything we know, Helena went underground because she knew Gabriel was coming for her. And, given the way his thugs are acting, she made the right call. But, she didn’t leave any way for anyone to contact her—probably an effort to protect her family and her friends—and
your
family. So I was thinking if we had a high-profile, well-publicized funeral for her, then it might achieve two goals: one, it will probably smoke out Gabriel—or at least his henchmen. And they’ll give him up, right?” I turned to the police officers.

“They always do on television,” Officer Thompson deadpanned.

“And the second goal?” Cate asked.

“If it gets enough press, Helena might find out about it. Since she knows she’s not dead, maybe she’ll reach out to Victor—or one of her friends.” That second part seemed weaker in the cold light of Cate’s office than it had at midnight through a haze of exhaustion and wine, but I nodded with authority as I said it.

Cate blinked. “Don’t take this the wrong way—but are we sure she’s alive?”

I hesitated, thinking about the note in Victor’s pocket.

“No,” he said in a thick, strangled voice. “We’re not.”

The air suddenly felt heavy and hot. The only sound in the otherwise silent room was the noise of Officer Jennings chewing as she gnawed her way through a handful of Cate’s favorite chef-made granola.