Liar, p.15
Liar!, page 15
What should I put in the notation? The usual: Petty cash. Tips. No one would question it. Satisfied he was in control of the situation, J.R. put on his jacket and locked the inner door to his office. On his way out, he noticed one of the assistants busily working at her desk. Had she noticed he was still here? Did she see the creep come and go? Should he say good night? Better if he did. No need to act suspicious. Even if she’d seen the extortionist, she wouldn’t know who he was or why he’d been here. She was too far along the corridor and away from the corner to see who came and went from J.R.’s office. Hank could have been there to see someone else in the executive suites. J.R. walked closer and cleared his throat. The assistant jumped.
“Mr. Pierce, you startled me!” She was almost embarrassed.
“Sorry. You’re working late tonight, Margie.” J.R. smiled at the newbie.
“Yes, a lot of contracts are coming in and I have to log them. Must be the interest rates,” she mused.
Or the tax breaks, he thought. The city and state were giving away tax credits like candy on Halloween. They needed to continue to rebuild and renew the city. There were monolithic skyscrapers growing all over Manhattan, but many were only partially occupied, and the older buildings were in much need of repair. There was a big push to save centuries-old neighborhoods and the local shops. Incentives were in abundance. The only hitch was you needed a lot of money to begin with. Money makes money.
“Don’t stay too late. And remember to order a car to take you home.” J.R. may have been spoiled, but he wasn’t a brat when it came to his staff.
“Yes, thanks, Mr. Pierce. Have a good night.”
J.R. took the elevator down to the lobby. He sighed as he looked south toward the Flatiron Building, one of the most iconic structures in New York City. The triangular-shaped building at the crossroads of Broadway and Fifth Avenue was completed in 1902. J.R. snickered, remembering that the original architects neglected to provide space for ladies’ restrooms, so management had to designate different bathrooms on different floors. Brilliant. Yes, much has changed, and much has not.
J.R. decided to walk the thirty plus blocks home. He strolled down Fifth Avenue and through Washington Square Park, where there was always something going on. Jugglers, dancers, fire-eaters (when the FDNY wasn’t looking), guys selling nickel-bags of pot, unicyclists. It was a circus at almost any time of the day. Once he crossed the park, he was on LaGuardia Place, surrounded by the buildings of NYU. The crowd was an eclectic mix of students, businesspeople and local neighborhood folks. He walked several more blocks through SoHo until he came to Franklin Street, where he and Lindsay lived. He checked his watch. Forty minutes to walk two miles. Not bad. He wasn’t even winded. He’d thought the walk would calm him down, but he couldn’t sit still. He took a quick shower, put on some casual clothes and decided to walk to Raoul’s for dinner. That would take another fifteen minutes. Maybe he would be able to relax by then.
Just as he was about to leave, Lindsay came in.
“Hey, honey!” she squealed, wrapping her shopping bag–filled arms around his waist. “Where you off to?” She untangled herself from his hug.
“Thought I’d go to Raoul’s tonight. I have a hankering for jumbo lump crab beignets.” Then he snorted at his own use of the word “hankering.” Unfortunately, it was an inside joke he could not share.
“What’s so funny about crab beignets?” Sometimes Lindsay would catch a few things.
“Nothing. I just don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘hankering’ before.”
“Huh. I don’t think you have either.” She plopped the bags onto the white sofa. “Want some company?”
J.R. hesitated. Did he? Not really, but if he said no, she would get suspicious. “Sure thing. Are you ready to go now, because I am famished. I walked home from the office.”
“Wow. Impressive,” she said in her squeaky tone. “Just give me five minutes to refresh.” She sauntered down the hall to their massive bedroom. It was big enough to be a studio apartment for one person. She flung open the built-in wardrobe cabinet. It, too, was larger than some living rooms in New York. If you even had a living room. Truth of the matter was that most apartments in New York looked more like Seinfeld than Friends.
Lindsay decided on a pair of skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and a short, red leather jacket, with Jimmy Choo high-heel, red patent leather sandals. She brushed some purple eyeshadow on her lids and then lipstick to match her jacket and shoes. The crisis came when she couldn’t decide which handbag to use. She called out, “Honey? What handbag should I bring?”
J.R. thought how lucky she was that picking out a handbag was the biggest challenge of her day. Being one who was also stuck on labels, J.R. had a good idea of her accessory inventory. At least he knew who her favorite designers were. “What are you wearing?” He mockingly squinted his eyes, as if he could see through the wall.
“Jeans, tank, red leather jacket,” she called out from the master bathroom.
“The Hermès Bridado backpack.” Why did he know that? What was up with his constant need to show off the extent of his handbag knowledge? He remembered when he was younger, his father was the same way. Only the best. Then something changed, and his father wasn’t as obsessed with brands, labels and the trappings of money. Then it hit J.R. like a brick. The change happened after the abduction. But why? That was a subject he was not about to broach. Not now. Not ever. With some luck, the subject would be reclosed after five thirty tomorrow when he met good old Hank again.
Lindsay bounced down the hall. She hadn’t changed a bit in thirteen years. Same body, same face. J.R. could not complain. At least, not for the moment.
Dinner was superb. Authentic French cuisine, along with a wonderful bottle of 2010 Aile d’Argent Blanc du Château Mouton Rothschild from Bordeaux, France. “The vintage is the same year we were married,” J.R. said as he swirled the light, lemon-colored liquid in his glass.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Lindsay said. “So, how was your day?” She always asked.
“Good. Fine.” He indicated to the sommelier it was acceptable to pour. He turned his attention back to Lindsay. “And yours?” He would much rather hear of her inane antics than think about his last appointment.
“Briana and I met at the Sisley-Paris Spa at the Carlyle, then we went to the Met for an hour.” She sipped her glass of wine. “Yum.”
“You never go to the Met.” At least not that he could recall.
Lindsay perused the menu and peeked her head above it. “I wanted to see the Gala dresses on display.”
Now, that made more sense to him. “Speaking of art, you know my mother is having a show in SoHo in a couple of weeks.”
“Yep. The twenty-fourth. Or was it the fourteenth?” She kept reading the list of entrées.
“It’s the twenty-fourth. Lin, can you please make sure you put that on your calendar? It’s very important to her, and she has some friends coming in from out of town.”
“Of course. I shall be your perfect date.” She didn’t bother to move the menu to say it to his face.
“As you always are.” He stared straight at the menu she was holding up in front of her.
Lindsay recognized a few of the other diners in the restaurant and waved a hand covered in bling. For no apparent reason, J.R. found himself adding up the amount of money Lindsay was wearing: $900 shoes, a $4,000 bag, at least $25,000 in jewelry. The engagement ring he’d bought for her was at least $15,000. Jeans? Probably $500, $300 for the tank top, and a guess of $7,000 for the jacket, and at least $700 in lingerie. He lost track of the total. It had to be over $30,000. And that guy was looking for a mere grand? J.R. was glad Hank had never seen Lindsay in person. He would have upped the ante by several thousand. But then again, what did he even have over J.R.? A lie? Big deal. At least that was all Hank thought it was. Or so J.R. hoped.
They decided to skip dessert and get some ice cream on the way home. As shallow as Lindsay was, at least she was perky and fun. She asked for one small scoop of pistachio with some of those “cute sprinkle things!” They opted for cups instead of cones. The sidewalks of New York were not known for their smoothness, and Lindsay was wearing five-inch-high sandals. Like most men, J.R. liked to see his wife in high heels, but they surely weren’t practical. One slight misstep and that beautiful Saint Laurent jacket would be an ice cream sundae.
* * *
At the Stillwell Center, Chi-Chi was working well into the night. There were several pieces she had to finish before she left for New York. She also wanted to make something for Camille as a show of appreciation for her generosity. She guessed her taste was classic. Simplicity and elegance.
Most of Chi-Chi’s work was bold. It was wearable art. She decided on a thin bangle bracelet with a polished amethyst embedded in a simple design. It was elegant yet casual and could be worn any time of the day. She was in the back of her shop, putting on the finishing touches, when she was surprised by Cullen.
“Oh, my goodness. You scared the daylights out of me!” She put her hand to her chest.
Cullen sheepishly held out a bag. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I brought you something to eat.”
“You are a love. Thank you.” Chi-Chi patted a stool for him to sit on. She peeked inside the bag. “You are too good to me.” She opened the wrapped sandwich. “What about you?”
“I already had something.”
“Why are you here so late?” Chi-Chi bit down on the ham and brie sandwich.
“Oh, that sister of mine.” He feigned a sigh. “She wants to find out more information about that new armoire.”
Chi-Chi dabbed her mouth. “I thought she was going to put that on hold until we got back.”
“As if. You know Luna. She is like a dog with a sock in its mouth.”
Chi-Chi snorted. “That is funny. Did she learn that from Wylie?”
Cullen laughed. “No, I think she taught it to him!”
“What are you going to do about the armoire?”
“She wants to call Chris to see if he can try to get fingerprints from it.”
“That’s a tall order, isn’t it?” Chi-Chi asked.
“Could be. I don’t really know, but if Chris thinks it will make Luna happy—or I should say, placate her—he’ll go through the motions.”
“But doesn’t that mean he would have to ask someone in a lab to do the work?”
“I suppose.” Cullen shrugged. “Anyway, she wants me to use special gloves and take the piece apart.” He twisted his mouth to the side, the same way Luna did when she was in deep thought.
“What are you planning to do?” Chi-Chi continued to enjoy her sandwich.
“I hope I can stall her until we’re back from New York.”
“Sounds like you could use some help?” Chi-Chi asked.
“Don’t I always when it comes to my little sister?” He cracked a smile.
“I have an idea. I am so busy, but my apprentice can’t work late. I’ll ask Luna to help me with the packaging and shipping. That should get her out of your hair.” Chi-Chi crumpled the napkin, put it in the bag and tossed it in the trash.
“You are brilliant.” Cullen stood and kissed her on the forehead.
“And we shall keep this little secret between us.” Chi-Chi broke into her beautiful smile.
“I owe you,” Cullen said. Another excuse to take her out for a romantic dinner. Cullen was thrilled their relationship was growing. But slowly. Very slowly.
Luna must have sniffed out a conspiracy because she seemed to have shown up out of nowhere. “Owe you what?” She stuck her nose in their direction.
“He asked me to make something for Camille. I was planning on giving her a bangle with an amethyst, and then I thought maybe I could make a set of bracelets with a different stone in each. She can stack them up or wear each one individually. Mix and match.” Chi-Chi was on a roll. “Elle said she likes elegant but simple. See?” Chi-Chi handed Luna the bracelet she was working on. “I still need to polish it, but you get the idea?”
“Beautiful. I think it’s a stupendous idea!” Luna held up the bracelet to the light so the amethyst shone.
“I’ll make one with aquamarine, one aventurine, a watermelon tourmaline and a clear crystal. I should call Elle to see if she wants to join us, or if she has a different idea in mind.”
“Oh. What about Chris?” Luna said thoughtfully. “I’m sure he’ll want to chip in, too.”
“All you will have to pay for is the materials. Somewhere between one hundred and one hundred-fifty dollars each.” She paused. “Is that okay?”
“Sure! Fine with me. I’m sure Chris won’t have any objections. Besides, it will save him the trouble of figuring out a gift.” Luna chuckled. She leaned back to check the clock in the atrium. “Wow. It’s nine o’clock already. Do you think Elle is still up?”
“I am certain this can wait until morning.” Cullen was getting fidgety and wanted to put the plan in motion. “Chi-Chi has a lot of work to do.”
Chi-Chi sighed. “I do. And Marie can’t work late, so I’ll be doing all the packing and shipping myself.”
Cullen took a beat before saying, “Luna? Why don’t you give Chi-Chi a hand? You said you didn’t have any freelance work, and you can see your clients during the day.”
“Well, sure!” Luna was more than happy to accommodate her friend. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll get to it!”
Cullen hoped Luna had put the armoire out of her thoughts for the time being. He knew he had to stop thinking about it himself before Luna started to read his mind. Again.
Luna twisted her mouth. “What about that armoire?”
“What about it?” Cullen pretended it had no special meaning.
“When are we going to try to track down whoever wrote that stuff?”
“Oh, please, Luna. That can wait.”
“But what if it’s recent? What if someone was locked in there at the Longmire place? What happened to that person?” Luna looked genuinely concerned.
“Well, there isn’t much we can do about it right now.” Cullen sighed. “Besides, Chi-Chi needs your help more than some elusive stranger. Then again, maybe it was just a prank.”
“Huh.” Luna was a little deflated. “All right, but promise we’ll get on it as soon as we come back from New York.”
“Promise.” Cullen held out his pinkie.
“Pinkie swear!” Luna was buoyant, a rather natural state for her. When she wasn’t meditating, she was like a bag of bubbles.
Chi-Chi grinned at her two best friends. She wished she and her brother were more playful, but in many ways her relationship with Abeo was not very different from Luna and Cullen’s, except Chi-Chi was the more serious of the siblings. Chi-Chi was often talking Abeo out of a sticky situation, like the brushup he’d had with Jennine May, the owner of Clay More Pottery. Jennine had a reputation as a man-eater. She reminded people of the character Blanche from The Golden Girls. She actually wore similar outfits that resembled lingerie. Even in public. She took a bit of getting used to, and any man over the age of twenty-one needed to be on high alert when he was around her. One weekend, Abeo arrived earlier than expected, and Chi-Chi was not about to change her plans with Cullen to spend time with her brother. It had been their first official date. Abeo was left to his own devices and found himself literally in the clutches of Jennine. He blamed it on the champagne, but it wouldn’t take much for Jennine to pounce. The next day, he was terribly embarrassed, and Chi-Chi had to lie to Jennine and tell her Abeo had to leave abruptly. She didn’t tell Jennine he was actually hiding out in Chi-Chi’s house.
“Okay, you two. Leave me to my work.” Chi-Chi pretended to scold them.
“Don’t you need my help?” Luna asked.
Cullen’s eyes grew to the size of hockey pucks, giving Chi-Chi a pleading stare.
“Yes, I do. You can stay. Mr. Bodman, I am going to have to bid you adieu for the evening. Thank you again for the delicious sandwich. Between the two of you, I will be getting fat.”
“Highly unlikely.” Luna snickered.
“But I truly appreciate your kindness and looking out for me,” Chi-Chi said in her endearingly formal manner.
“Always a pleasure.” Cullen pretended to tip his imaginary hat. “See you tomorrow.” He turned and let out a sigh of relief. Chi-Chi would keep Luna occupied long enough to put off any detective work she was planning.
“So, tell me where to start.” Luna walked over to a long table under a row of wooden compartments with shipping cartons, silver gift boxes, tissue, a bolt with liquid silver beads, brown paper, bubble wrap and labels. A postage machine sat at the far end.
“These three pieces need to be gift boxed with the description card and tied with liquid silver strings.”
“I think I can handle that.” Luna put on a pair of cotton gloves so as not to get fingerprints on the jewelry. “Huh.”
“I know that ‘huh.’ What is on your mind?” Chi-Chi asked but kept working.
“Fingerprints,” Luna said. “I told Cullen I wanted to ask Chris to dust the armoire for prints.”
“And what did Cullen think of that?”
“What do you think?” She carefully wrapped one of the finished pieces in fine tissue. “All of my ideas seem crazy to him.” She sighed.
“Oh, I think that is just his way of protecting you.”
“From what?” Luna turned toward Chi-Chi.
Chi-Chi burst into a big grin. “From you!”
“Everyone is a comedian.” Luna made a face.
“I think Cullen may feel you are asking the fine marshal to do something that is, well, not part of his job.” Chi-Chi knew she had a point.
