Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (17 page)

“He won’t rat me out. After all, he took me to The
Castle under false pretenses. He can’t afford to let that cat out
of the bag.”

Greene shakes his head. “How do you know it already
isn’t?”

“Does it matter? Maybe they’re waiting for me to
make the first move.”

Greene gives a slow shake of his head. “You’ll have
to go in alone. Are you up for that?”

“No problem. Cliff will probably be delighted to see
me.” Greene taps his pencil on the table for a minute, then says,
“Let’s hope he is.”

NOT ONLY IS CLIFF DELIGHTED to get my call, he can’t
wait to show me what he’s done to the townhouse.

It’s a little after three the following afternoon
when I step into the glazed porch of Angela’s once-prized
quarters.

Though the familiar black-and-white marble floors
remain intact, the Chinese Export vases and half-moon tables have
been replaced by stunning red lacquer chests topped with
contemporary tall black urns filled with generous bouquets of pussy
willow.

I sneak a glance at the modillion molding and search
for the camera. A more practiced eye would pick it up, but I can’t
see a thing.

When I ring, Cliff answers.

He’s wearing shades of blue: navy pants, silvery
blue shirt, navy Gucci belt and loafers—much like the gray outfit
he wore when Angela and I met with him at the Wells Hotel. How long
ago that seems now.

He leans forward, brushes my cheek with a passing
kiss and murmurs, “Are we still masquerading as Angela?”

“Yes, we are.”

Sotto voce he says, “You tell her I’m really mad she
cancelled. I had five appointments arranged. Too bad she couldn’t
make it.”

“Sorry about that.” I give him a toothy grin and
raise my voice. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Cliff. Thanks for
asking me by.”

“Oh, entirely my pleasure. To confess, I was dying
for you to see what we’ve done.”

He steps aside and I glide past him into a
completely remodeled living area. It’s nothing like the comfy
chintz-covered décor of a few weeks before. Black leather couches
and chairs piped in tan with chrome legs rise above blond wood
flooring. The walls are charcoal gray, the ceilings a lighter
shade.

Contemporary sconces up-light the room and above the
couch a spot highlights a line drawing of a voluptuous nude looking
skyward as she fondles her breasts.

“Quite a difference, don’t you agree?” Cliff ’s
mellifluous voice drips over my shoulder.

I turn to face him. “A true bachelor pad, Cliff. So
you.”

By the look on his face I can tell he doesn’t know
whether I’m kidding or not.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He motions me to
sit. “Wine?”

“Too early for that, how about a
diet-something.”

He frowns. “The larder is rather bare right now. But
keep the faith.”

We pass through the dining room. Gone is the
elaborate molding from the pre-war era. Instead, the walls curve
into the ceiling. Above the oval glass table surrounded by
high-backed upholstered armchairs, a matching recessed oval defined
by dim up-lighting gives added interest.

Cliff touches the wall and well-placed spots dance
down. “What do you think?”

“I love it. Of course, I liked the way it was
before, but this is stunning. So sophisticated. And how did you get
this done so quickly? Most remodels take months or even years.”

He gives me a smug look and rubs his fingers
together. “A lot of grease helps the squeaky wheel.”

We step into the once-drab kitchen. What a change
from the filthy four-burner stove and the groaning 1930s
refrigerator with the coil on the top.

It’s double the size with black granite floors and
countertops, a Viking six-burner range and a GE side-by-side
refrigerator.

Cliff says, “Our designer suggested we include the
maid’s room as part of the new kitchen but keep the bath as a
powder room. So much more space, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but grabs a
half-empty bottle of sparkling water from the refrigerator. “Is
this okay? Sorry, I don’t even have a lemon to dress it up.” “Fine
by me.”

The wall that once separated the kitchen from the
maid’s room is gone. Over a comfortable couch in soft back leather
and dotted with large pillows in reds and grays, a buxom nude faces
away; her legs are spread, and in lewd invitation her hands pull
her inner thighs apart.

“The same artist?” I ask.

Cliff whirls. “Uh, uh, yes. We found the pair in a
TriBeCa gallery. French, I believe.”

He motions me back toward the living room.

Once we’re seated, I take a sip of the flat,
tasteless water. “You say ‘we.’ Do you have a roommate?”

“I’m rather embarrassed to tell you this, but my
roommate is my mother. She was the reason I bought the place. Poor
thing, she was renting a great sublet on Park Avenue, but the
building went co-op last month. Such a shock.”

Cliff lies very well. It’s almost as if he’s been
rehearsed.

He takes a gulp of wine. “It’s the perfect setup.
We’re hardly in each other’s way. Of course, you’re familiar with
the floor plan. If I want to entertain, she’s quite comfortable in
her own space.”

“Is she in? I’d like to meet her.”

Cliff takes a second swig. “I must say I’m surprised
she hasn’t popped down. Curious creature that she is, she usually
comes when the doorbell rings. But then, she hasn’t been well. She
must be resting.”

When I stand, Cliff jumps to attention, plainly
relieved I’m not going to press the issue.

“I know she would want to meet you. Perhaps you
could come again when she’s having one of her good days.”

“That would be nice. I’m back at the Wells.” “Ah,
within walking distance.”

————

I head for Lex, then go right and enter the
Ninety-Sixth Street entrance to the elementary schoolyard. When I
knock on the side of the truck, the panel slides open to reveal
Greene and Jaime standing behind two men in earphones.

The detective waves me toward a speaker. “Listen to
this.”

He pushes a button and we hear Cliff say, “I’m
sorry. There wasn’t any way I could bring it up without seeming
suspicious.” There are unintelligible words, then, “How in hell am
I supposed to know about the jewelry? I wasn’t there—remember? You
and Larry were.”

More muted conversation followed by a door slamming.
Cliff, muttering beneath his breath, fades for a few seconds before
the bug picks up his returning footsteps and his knock.

“Look, we don’t have to involve Larry. Not if you
don’t want to. Just let me in. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jaime touches my arm. “What do you think that means?
What Danes just said about not involving Larry?”

One of the men in earphones turns. “There’s
more.”

He takes the tape out of the machine and inserts
another.

Cliff is saying, “Not yet, we’re not quite ready.
There’s at least three full days’ work left to do before we can
even think of proceeding with the plan.”

More whispers.

Cliff seems agitated. “No. No. I said not yet. I
won’t be comfortable until we discuss this with Larry.”

There’s another muted exchange, then both doors bang
shut. Cliff clomps down the stairs to his suite, slams the door
and, once he’s in the bedroom, starts throwing things. Next it
sounds like he falls on his bed and slams against the headboard,
then the phone clicks in and a number is punched.

After a few rings, a voice says, “I told you not to
call this number.”

The connection breaks, then a number is punched in
on a cell and Cliff says, “Damn it, this is serious. She wants to
push up the date. But there are things that still need to be done
before we can properly execute stage one.”

Another silence, then Cliff gives a terse, “I know,
I know. But I can’t stop this without your help. Please, Larry, we
have to meet. You’re the only one who can control the
situation.”

I’M SEATED ACROSS a narrow table from Jaime Platón,
who is studiously trying to avoid touching my knees with his.
Pretty hard to do since we’re both tall people.

His hesitant invitation was almost comical until I
realized that, until this afternoon, he considered me his
colleague. And now, depending on how the evening progresses, things
will forever be different between us.

I’m not a mind reader. Those very same thoughts
raced through my head when Jaime asked me to dinner.

He waited until Greene worked out the surveillance
schedule with the two men in earphones. When he dismissed us, we
headed back to our makeshift office above the deli.

After exiting the van, we walked over to Lex and
hailed a cab and rode in silence, until the cab stopped for a light
at Fifty-Ninth.

Throngs of shoppers poured out of Bloomingdale’s
clutching bags of their Christmas purchases, their heads bowed
against the opposing phalanx, who also wove and dodged.

Jaime covered my hand with his and said, “Would you
consider having supper with me this evening? I’ve discovered a
wonderful French restaurant that has incredible foie gras.”

The fact that this man is a hunk has not gone
unnoticed. And what single woman in her right mind would even think
of turning down an invitation from a hunk?

My slight hesitation prompted a quick and resigned,
“Of course, if you are uncomfortable, I would certainly
understand.”

I put my hand on Jaime’s and gave a gentle squeeze.
“I’d love to share some foie gras with you.”

————

And so here we are. The sauterne, ordered to
accompany the first serving of foie gras, is perfect. The
presentation of the tender morsel—sublime. And to top everything
off, random snowflakes flitter gently past the picture window
facing the street.

Our waiter hovers above us. “Is everything to your
satisfaction?”

Jaime nods. “A touch more sauterne would be
nice.”

I can’t help but note that his manners are
impeccable.

At that, a small voice says, “Bill’s manners aren’t
so bad, and what’s this have to do with manners anyway?”

I mentally swat that away. This is no time to be
thinking of Bill Cotton or his long-legged blonde. Not only have I
not heard one word from the worm since our heated encounter, but
Mindy Cha’s assessment of Bill’s relationship with the toothy woman
still grates on my gut.

I take a few bites of the foie gras before I bring
up Bill.

Jaime stares at me for a few seconds and takes a sip
of his sauterne. “I was hoping it might be over between you
two.”

“Who says it isn’t?”

“The look on your face every time his name is
mentioned.”

I let out a long breath, partly to relieve the ache
where my heart should be, partly to gather my thoughts.

Jaime stares down at his empty plate for a second,
then looks up. “No more about Bill Cotton, okay? I’m more
interested in your future. Not your past.”

He waits a few minutes then says, “You know about
next Monday?”

When I shake my head, he continues. “Greene and I
are going in.”

I raise my brows. “In?”

“The townhouse should be empty. Both suspects will
be in New Jersey. It’s supposed to be the Christmas Bash. The last
party before the holidays.”

Damn. I’d kill to be in on that little foray, but
the signals he’s sending don’t seem very inviting. Best just to let
it slide and try Greene. After all, he’s the leader.

The rest of the evening flies by. Jaime is not only
a highly entertaining raconteur but has a great sense of humor. By
the time the crème brûlée arrives, we are more than good
friends.

Since the flurries have stopped, we leave the cab at
Madison and Ninetieth to stroll arm in arm the few short blocks
back to the Wells. And when Jaime suggests we have a drink in the
almost empty bar, I readily agree.

We settle on a comfortable love seat off to one
side.

Jaime waves at the bartender and asks me, “Do you
like tequila?”

“I’m a Texan. What do you think?”

The bartender stands there until Jaime asks, “Do you
carry Corazón? The Añejo? If so, we’ll have two. Neat.”

Everything between Jaime and me seems so relaxed, so
right, that I hardly notice I’ve ended up in the curve of his
arm.

We laugh about our first meeting in Angela’s
apartment. How he answered my phone, found me sleeping and how
indignant the man on the line sounded.

Jaime brushes my cheek with his lips. “You know, I
think I fell a little bit in love with you right then.”

I’m not shocked. He’s been sending eye messages all
evening, and I’ve enjoyed every one.

I like the way he slides his other arm to circle me
and turn me to face him.

His kiss is the natural next step. His lips are soft
against mine, but he doesn’t force the issue and allows me plenty
of opportunity to make a graceful exit if I choose.

“Corazón. The Añejo.” The bartender sets the glasses
on the table and departs.

Jaime leans forward and hands me my drink. Then he
settles back beside me. “I think that was very, very nice. No?”

I nod and meet his gaze. “I think that was very,
very nice. Yes.” We linger for a moment at my door. It would be so
easy to ask Jaime in and give my sagging ego a much-needed boost.
Instead, I accept a friendly kiss on the cheek and watch him
disappear into the elevator lobby.

Jaime cares for me. And more than just a little.
He’s bright, witty and a hunk. What’s not to like?

So, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I let go of Bill
and get on with my life?

I’M WELL INTO MY dark hotel room before I see the
outline of a man standing against the dimly lit window. I jam my
hand inside my purse, grab my Beretta and release the safety, then
realize it’s Bill.