Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery (12 page)

“Sorry,” she said around a mouthful. “This stuff’s addictive.”

Officer Thompson threw her a dark look. “It’s possible Ms. Callais is dead,” he said with all the finesse you’d imagine. “But it’s worth a shot to see if we can get this Vasquez dirtbag off the streets. So what we need you to do is to go on your channel and do a … what’s it called?”

“A Cate the Great segment about losing your nanny in a tragic fashion,” I supplied. Cate did these periodic essays as if she were Mickey Rooney’s spiritual heir. They focused on her challenges as a working mother and a female CEO. Because nothing speaks more to the plight of the working woman than a multimillionaire with a staff of a half-dozen and money to throw at all her problems. But apparently, her audience loved them. She aired them on-line on her Periscope channel and plastered them all over social media. Inevitably, they went viral, aided—of course—by the pieces her columnists wrote about them and the mentions they got from cable show talking heads.

She tilted her head in thought. “Hmm. It would certainly resonate. But it’s fundamentally dishonest. Whittier Media prides itself on its authenticity. I simply don’t elevate anything above the truth—not entertainment, not information, and, I’m afraid, not even helping the authorities.”

I stared at Officer Thompson. He gave me a blank look. I thought that was it, but Officer Jennings saved our bacon.

“Absolutely. I’m a big fan, Ms. Whittier-Clay, and I would
never
expect anything less from you. But I don’t think Ms. Field and Mr. Callais are planning to ask you to lie. And certainly, the NYPD wouldn’t agree to be part of something that’s not aboveboard. We’ve put in a permit for a live theatrical performance at Our Lady of Pompeii—that’s a Roman Catholic Church located in the Village. It’s where Ms. Callais worshipped. The play, if you will, will feature amateur actors, including Mr. Callais and Ms. Field, as well as several members of the Movie / TV Unit, who will be strategically placed around the venue. And you and your family, if you’d like to participate. We’ll work with you to craft a public statement that doesn’t contain any blatant lies.”

Cate shook her head slightly. “How … politic.”

Officer Thompson leaned forward. “It’s for the greater good.”

“And
The Times
is going along with this?” she addressed Victor.

He made a face like he had indigestion. It was true that the newspaper was running Helena’s obituary. But his employer didn’t necessarily know it was a ruse. Finally, he settled for the partial truth. “Yes.”

She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. “I don’t like it. But I want to help your sister; Audra just adores her. And I have my own reasons. My mother was a victim of domestic abuse.”

The room fell silent once more. This time, even Officer Jennings paused in her chewing. Cate got a faraway look in her eyes and said, “Well, let’s get this thing written and get on with it.”

F
rom Cate’s
office I headed straight home, tailed by the junior patrolman that Officer Thompson had insisted on assigning to protect me. The officer escorted me to my apartment and then returned to the street, where he sat in a squad car positioned so he could see the front door to my building and my window.

Victor had also been sent home with his designated bodyguard. After all the tension and activity, I felt oddly lonely and at loose ends alone in my apartment. If I’m being honest, I also missed his company.

I ate a light dinner, did a long stretching routine, then wandered around for a while, pacing aimlessly in the small space. Finally I drew a bath, adding calming essential oils to the hot water. I took a mug of herbal tea and my cellphone into the bathroom with me. I slipped into the tub and conference called my sisters.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s about time!”

They started talking over one another immediately. The combination of mother henning, scolding, and concern should have raised my already-high anxiety level through the ceiling, but I found it oddly comforting. More so than the bath and tea, even. My sisters’ attention and fretting was like an old, soft robe—familiar and cozy. It felt like love. I sunk further into the water and closed my eyes.

“I’m fine. I’m safe and sound with a police officer posted down on the street in front of my building,” I assured them.

“And Victor?” Sage asks in this sly, wink-wink-nudge-nudge voice.

“He’s right here in the bath with me,” I said dryly. “Also safe and sound.”

Predictably, Rosemary gave a scandalized gasp, and Sage giggled. I felt my lips curve into a smile.

“Kidding, Rosie. I’m just joking. He’s back at his place—also with a uniformed babysitter.”

“Thyme, really. So I take it Dave’s contact was able to help you?”

“He was. Officer Thompson is an interesting guy. He could pass for Ryan Samson’s twin ….” I paused to wait for Sage’s dreamy sigh. She
claimed
her new boyfriend Roman bore more than a passing resemblance to the movie star, as well. But seeing as how the guy was wearing a golf cap and sunglasses in just about every picture she sent us, who could know?

I continued. “He and his partner helped us convince Cate to post one of her video chats. It should be live now. Hang on; I’ll send it.”

I dried my free hand on the towel I’d had the foresight to hang over the edge of the bathtub then navigated to Cate’s Periscope channel. I forwarded the link to my sisters so we could watch it together. Although at this point, Maura had no doubt already saved and shared it to Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and a whole slew of other social media sites I was way too unhip to even know existed.

“Got it,” Rosemary said.

“Me, too,” Sage chimed in.

I hit the replay and watched as Cate leaned forward and stared into the camera with a sad smile and eyes that promised to fill with tears at any moment. She blinked and started speaking:

“Hi, friends. You know I like to keep my Cate the Great segments upbeat and inspiring. I usually focus on all the GREAT parts of being a working mama. But today’s a sad day for this mom … and for her little girl. I’m sure I’ve mentioned Audra’s beloved nanny before. Helena’s been caring for my sweetpea since I returned to work full-time; although, of course, I worked very hard even before I came back to the office. Remember what I always say: balance is a myth; aim to stretch! Anyway, New York’s Finest paid me a visit today.”
She paused here and choked back what sounded like real tears.
“Helena went missing last weekend. I scrambled to arrange a patchwork of care for little Audra, always believing that it would be a temporary solution. Today, I learned it’s permanent. Tomorrow, I’ll have to take my sweet angel to Our Lady
of Pompeii Shrine Church at eleven a.m. to say goodbye to
her
sweet angel, Helena Callais. Our Lady of Pompeii is the Roman Catholic Church in Greenwich Village that welcomes immigrants, those who speak Portuguese, in particular. It makes sense that Helena, who was from Brazil, would want to have her funeral Vigil held at Our Lady. I hope you’ll take a moment to think of us tomorrow and to give your pumpkin an extra squeeze before you leave for work. Cate Out.”

Rosemary spoke first. “Nice plug for her ‘Strength, Not Balance’ Campaign.”

I snorted. “It wasn’t nearly as clunky as the part where she explained where the Vigil would be, and why. But hey, if you parse her words, she didn’t actually say anything that’s demonstrably false. She’s pretty good.”

“If by good, you mean slippery and disingenuous, I agree.”

I let Sage’s disapproval go unchallenged. She worked for a stay-at-home socialite. Muffy Moore and Cate Whittier-Clay were as different as two mothers could be. Sage agreed with Muffy’s parenting style, for the most part. So it stood to reason she found Cate’s lacking.

“As long as it works,” I said.

“And if it does work, what then?”

“The hope is that both Gabriel and Helena hear about Helena’s funeral and can’t resist showing up. Ideally, not at the same time.”

“And then?” Rosemary pressed.

“Then the police arrest Gabriel and his minions, and Helena lives happily ever after.”

“Don’t you mean Victor and Thyme live happily ever after?” Sage asked.

I thought about that for a moment. “I’m not sure. Circumstances threw us together. This might just be an adrenaline-fueled fling, not a serious thing.”

They both started hooting and laughing at me.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and huffed in irritation. “What’s so funny?”

“You are,” Sage gasped between laughs. “Rosemary met Dave while he was investigating her for murder. And I rescued Roman from a killer. But, yeah, nobody starts a committed relationship under those sort of conditions.”

“You’re so clueless, little sis. But that’s why we love you.” Rosemary’s amusement was tinged with affection.

“Whatever. I have to go. I need to get a good night’s sleep for my big day.”

We ended the call and I traded my phone for my mug of tea. I focused on relaxing my muscles and then my mind. I was so chill I didn’t hear the
ping
that announced the arrival of a text message.

It wasn’t until I drained the bath and wrapped myself in my robe that I glanced at the screen and saw the notification. The text was from Victor.

Cate’s going viral. NYT obit in the a.m. Pieces all in place. Only thing missing is you beside me.

Warm anticipation blossomed in my chest and a stupid grin bloomed on my lips. I went to bed laughing at the giddy schoolgirl feelings that the financial reporter from Brazil stirred in me.

Sweet dreams
, I texted back before I turned out the lights.

I
slept soundly
and was awake well before the sun. But it felt strange to be back to my ordinary routine, even though I’d deviated from it for one day. It was as if the time I’d spent dodging gun-wielding attackers with Victor had changed everything—separating my life neatly into
Before Victor
and
After Victor
eras. Or maybe
Before Bad Guys
and
After Bad Guys.
Either way, I had to force myself to stay present in the moment as I met with my early morning clients.

During Cate Whittier-Clay’s workout, she focused entirely on her flexibility exercises and didn’t so much as mention the upcoming sham funeral vigil or the buzz surrounding her viral video. It was as though the visit to her office the day before had never happened. For once, I appreciated her laser-like attention on herself.

After Cate’s session, as I was leaving the Whittier-Clay penthouse, Audra peeked out from her bedroom.

“Thyme?” she said in a small voice, her face half hidden by the door.

“Good morning, Audra.”

“Helena’s in heaven with Nana Clay, now. Did you know that?” Her little lips wobbled but she didn’t cry.

My heart sank. I’d hoped Cate would have kept the ‘news’ about Helena from her daughter. I walked over to the door and crouched to address her at her eye level.

“I know you cared a lot about Helena. And I know she cared a lot about you.” I didn’t know what else to say.

Luckily I didn’t have to try to come up with something, because just then Janie appeared in the doorway behind Audra. She held a black silk ribbon in one hand and a hairbrush in the other.

“Come on, sweetness, it’s time to do your hair and put on your dress.”

“But I don’t want to wear black. Yellow was Helena’s favorite color, like the sun.” Her lower lip started trembling again. This time, tears fell from her eyes, too. Fat, fast tears that ran down her cheeks in rivulets.

Janie put down the brush and hair bow and picked up the little girl. Audra threw her arms around her new nanny’s neck. Janie rubbed her back and made a soothing, repetitive hushing sound. I took a step closer and caught the other woman’s eye.

“Cate’s not really planning to take her to the church, is she?”

Janie raised her eyebrows and gave me a look that said it all. “Mr. Clay and I shared our thoughts about the idea, but Ms. Whittier-Clay feels that it’s important that the press see that she treats her daughter like a little human being and allows her to mourn.”

I bit down so hard that I drew blood from my lower lip.
Un-freaking-believable.
Cate not only told her kid that her beloved nanny was dead, she was going to drag the poor thing to the fake funeral vigil because of the optics. Nice.

Once I thought I could speak without shrieking, I said, “At least let her wear yellow.”

The nanny held my gaze for a long moment. “I suppose it would be fine. Poor girl. So much heartache for a little one.” She continued to rub Audra’s narrow back. The girl rested her head on Janie’s shoulder and sighed.

I backed out of the room and reversed course, headed not to the front door but to Cate’s kitchen, where I found her sipping her smoothie, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She looked up from the newspaper, which was spread out on the massive marble island.

“Did you forget something?”

“No. I need to talk to you.”

She arched an eyebrow but turned to her chef, who was busily cleaning the Vitamix blender. “Martin, leave that. I need to speak to Thyme for a moment.”

He turned off the water and bobbed his head then scurried away from the sink and out of the kitchen.

She waited a beat. “Well?”

“Well, I don’t think you should have told Audra that Helena’s dead.”

“That’s none of your business.” She took a sip of frothy green liquid and eyed me over the glass.

“That’s true,” I conceded. “But she’s in her room crying her eyes out over something you know isn’t true.”

“Oh, this is rich.
You’re
lecturing
me
about honesty? You seem to have an exceedingly casual relationship with the truth, Thyme. Here I am reading a fabricated death notice.” She slapped her hand down on the newspaper. “And you lied about being sick to get out of our session yesterday; you concocted this entire falsehood about Helena’s death and
begged
me to play along. And now you’re going to take me to task about doing just that?”

My cheeks burned because she was one hundred percent correct. I nodded. “I deserve that. But Audra doesn’t deserve this misery, Ca—Ms. Whittier-Clay. She’s just a child.”

“I know she’s a child. She’s
my
child. And as a result, the press will expect her to be at the vigil. I can’t very well take her without letting her know what it’s about. So, you have only yourself to blame for any sadness she’s feeling.”

I stared at her for a long moment wondering if she actually had a heart or if maybe she was some sort of ultrarealistic-looking android. I decided to try another tack.

“It won’t be safe. If the plan works, we’ll be luring a violent, vengeful man into the church. You can’t bring a three-year-old into—”

She raised a palm. “Let me stop you right there. I can see you don’t think much of my mothering but I’ve already communicated the safety issue to Officer Thompson. He’s added two additional officers to the crew. They’ll be masquerading as caterers, so they’ll be in the basement kitchen the entire time. As soon as the officers positioned on the street send word that Gabriel Vasquez has been spotted, my family will be whisked down to the basement and protected by the men there. So spare me your concern.”

I thought she was done, so I turned to leave. She drained her glass and put it down on the island just a bit harder than was necessary.

“Oh, and Thyme?”

I faced her. “Yes?”

“What you should be concerning yourself with is whether you’ll be losing a client as a result of your dishonesty. I don’t think you fully comprehend how valuable my time is. You wasted it yesterday morning; that’s not something I’m going to forgive lightly.”

My stomach churned. Cate was my most lucrative client. She paid a premium to have her session at her convenience, and she demanded a high degree of attention. I knew I was supposed to grovel now. But I couldn’t do it. I had to live with myself, after all.

I squared my shoulders. “If you think you can find another instructor with my level of experience, feel free. But I won’t apologize for prioritizing the safety of another human being over your ability to execute a full split. And, if, as you say, you have past experience with domestic violence, I can’t imagine you’d expect me to.”

I held myself ramrod straight and hurried out of the penthouse without waiting to see her reaction. I made it all the way to the elevator before I gave into my shaking knees and leaned against the wall.

I
was still more
than a bit jittery when I raced home to change out of my yoga clothes and into something more appropriate for church. I hated confrontation more than anyone I knew, and standing up to Cate Whittier-Clay was something I never dreamed I’d do.

When I’d come out of Cate’s building, Officer Leah Yee, who’d relieved the poor guy who’d sat outside my building overnight, bolted out of her squad car and grabbed my elbow. She said I looked so pale that she was afraid I was going to faint and had insisted on stopping at a corner market to get me a bottled water on our way to my apartment.

My heart rate had returned to normal during the drive, but my hands were still clammy and the tight knot in my stomach showed no signs of dissipating. If Cate fired me, I really would have to scramble to make up the lost income.

Don’t borrow sorrow from tomorrow, Thyme,
I reminded myself for the second time in as many days. Thinking about my dad just made me think about what he and my mother had done. My whirring thoughts were going from bad to worse now.

I needed to still my mind before it spun completely out of control. I didn’t really have time for it, but I needed it. I settled myself on a thin cushion on the floor of my studio, crossed my legs in lotus position, rested my palms on my thighs, and fixed my gaze on the floorboard about four inches away. I let my thoughts pass without focusing on them.

When my breathing was even and my stomach was unknotted, I exhaled one final time and then unfolded my legs and stood. I checked the time and strode purposefully toward my bathroom shower stall where I’d hung the black dress that Victor had given me while I’d showered earlier. That was one of my mom’s tricks. Back in the days before green dry cleaning (whatever that was), she’d been leery of the chemicals used by our neighborhood cleaner. So she always hung her dressy clothes in the bathroom to give them a good steam while she showered.

I hoped nobody would notice when I showed up in the same dress I’d worn yesterday, but I didn’t have a lot of choices. Most of my clothes were appropriate for the exercise studio, a girls’ night out on the town, or cleaning my apartment. Aside from the black dress, the only thing I owned that was even remotely appropriate was a navy and white chevron print maxidress—and that was a real stretch. Not to mention, I sort of wanted to save that for the date that Victor had promised.

A small thrill of excitement ran through me at the thought, and I rolled my eyes at myself.

Ten minutes later, I met Officer Yee on the sidewalk in front of my building, looking entirely presentable, if I do say so myself.

“Feeling better?” She asked.

“I am.”

She nodded. “You look better.” Then she glanced down at my feet and gave a nod of approval. “Flats. Smart—in case you need to run.”

In case I need to run?

After she ushered me into the car and entered the flow of traffic, I leaned forward and asked, “Do you like working in the Movie and Television Unit?” It was my lame attempt at small talk in the hopes that chatting would distract me from the images of scenes I might need to run from today.

“Oh, no, I’m not assigned to Movie and TV.”

“What?” I was sure I’d misheard her.

The hint of panic in my voice must have registered because her eyes slid up to the rearview mirror and met mine. “Don’t worry, Ms. Field. You’re in good hands. I’ve been in the Patrol Services Bureau for six years. I’ve got your back.”

“Oh, sure, of course. I’m just surprised. Officer Thompson and Officer Jennings said this, um, play would be staffed entirely by officers from the Movie and Television Unit. It’s … well, it’s a groundbreaking performance,” I finished lamely because I had no idea how much, if anything, Officer Yee knew about what we actually planned to do at Our Lady of Pompeii. But given her cryptic comment about running, I figured she knew
something.

“No sweat. I’m just your ride. I’m supposed to hand you over to Jennings and Thompson at the church and then go back to patrol duty. I guess the Mayor’s Office of Media and Entertainment was chapped that Thompson got so many bodies assigned to your, uh,
play
. Somebody from over there called up the Planning Officer and ripped him a new one because a movie starring His Honor’s favorite actress got shafted on traffic control. They had to do a lot of last minute shuffling and ring kissing to make everyone happy.” She shared the news about the interdepartmental squabble almost gleefully, as if the sheer pettiness of the problem delighted her.

It occurred to me that it likely
did
delight her. She probably saw more than her share of humanity’s dark underbelly. A pissing contest that started because the mayor had a crush on some movie star? Now that was likely nothing but entertainment for Officer Yee.

But, for me, it was another thing to worry about. The team Officer Thompson had assembled was being reshuffled. Cate was bringing her three-year old. And that blasted knot was back in the pit of my stomach.