Keeping Secrets Page 4

  Laurel and Matt had been dating for six months and she thought she was falling in love with him. She knew she was on the rebound from her former relationship when she met Matt, but couldn’t help herself. His handsome face with its sensual mouth and intense blue eyes, as well as his well-toned body had immediately intrigued her. Their attraction was very physical and he became her lover almost from the start. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing that drew her to Matt. They had other things in common, too, like baseball and walking all over the city. They enjoyed spending Sunday mornings relaxing together and lingering over The New York Times. The time they spent together was always fun and Matt was kind, generous, and emotionally available on many levels.

  The only thing that bothered Laurel about their relationship was Matt’s mania for privacy. It wasn’t as if Laurel didn’t know who he was or where he came from. She trusted Matt and was sure he wasn’t keeping anything important from her. It was just that he disliked talking about his past or his family and liked to “concentrate on the future, our future together.”

  Still, Laurel wished he’d let her into his life a little bit more and believed it would make their relationship stronger. She hadn’t met his few relatives in New York City, any of his associates at the bank, or his boss. While he, on the other hand, attended many of Laurel’s family dinners, as well as events sponsored by the magazine.

  Jenna called him her “Mystery Man” because of the way they met. They’d been out dancing at a club downtown and ran into some of Jenna’s friends from Prague. Matt suddenly appeared and joined the group. Later, he disappeared just as quickly.

  Laurel didn’t think Matt was all that mysterious. No wife or girlfriend hidden away somewhere, certainly, and she enjoyed spending time and relaxing with him. But, she was sure his desire for privacy meant he wouldn’t exactly be eager to be one of the subjects of her newest story idea, even if it was as a foil to the real villain. In fact, she knew he’d be furious if she couldn’t come up with the right way of introducing him to the idea.

  She’d only seen him angry once, when a cab driver ran a light and smacked into his BMW. His face had gone purple with rage, and she knew she’d need a better answer for his question about whether something was the matter. She opted for the middle ground between not quite a lie and not exactly the truth, striving to keep her tone even.

  “I’m just up early doing some research on a story for the magazine. The new, hot subject seems to be hidden identity.” She hoped she sounded offhand. “You wouldn’t believe how many people aren’t who they say they are, or effectively steal someone else’s identity. Some of our readers are emailing us about meeting people who just don’t add up, so John thought we should address the problem.”

  There. She got it all out in one long breath. Bringing John and the magazine into the conversation helped to keep the story idea strictly professional, which was probably the safest way to go.

  Laurel waited for Matt to respond. All Laurel heard on the line was buzzing. “Hey, are you there?” Damn. “Hello?” Did she lose the connection? Italians were famous for their sporadic telephone service.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Just me, still in Siena.” His voice was suddenly cold and sounded much farther away than Tuscany. Now where was his attitude coming from? She didn’t need this, not at all. Laurel was about to interrupt when he continued, “I just finished a meeting at the Monte di Paschi Bank.”

  “The holiest of the holy,” Laurel tried to lighten the mood. “Probably where Il Papa signed up for his free checking account.”

  No response from Matt. Why was this conversation with the man she thought she was falling in love with putting her in such a bad mood? Was she hearing things in Matt’s voice that stemmed from her own guilty conscience? She swallowed her annoyance. After all, she told herself, she was the one being evasive, not Matt. She shouldn’t hold it against him.

  “When are you coming back? Will you be here for Dad’s birthday dinner on Friday? John made a reservation at Provence Sud, and Dad seems to be looking forward to it.”

  There was that strange buzzing again.

  “I have business to take care of here,” he said finally. “That comes first. Don’t ask me to plan ahead to Friday.”

  Laurel could almost see the slight scowl creasing his forehead, which he couldn’t hide when he was angry.

  She tried to mask her irritation. “Well, where can I reach you? What hotel are you—”

  Matt cut her off before she could finish. “Hold it a minute.”

  Laurel was stung by his abruptness. She felt more than a little angry. It sounded like he had put his hand over the phone, and Laurel could hear him speaking to someone nearby.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I can,” he said.

  Just like that, Matt was gone, and Laurel stared at the receiver in her hand. Who was he talking to? She felt a flicker of frustration mixed with jealousy. What had she said to cause such a reaction? She had other things to do today, more important things, than to worry about what was bugging Matt.

  Laurel called her office and left a message that she was working from home for the day. She decided it would be easier to talk to Anne and Helen without people in the office interrupting. Now, if only one of them would call.

  Chapter 8

  Tuesday, 6:28 a.m.

  After too many espressos and post-dinner Sambucas, or so Helen imagined, the guests from New Jersey finally left the Three Aces at about 5:30 a.m. Ralphie was one of the last to depart. Helen caught part of the conversation from her special vantage point next to the dumpster as he high-fived his buddies and invited them to join him at the after-hours club on West Broadway and Canal Street. Such bonhomie among thieves.

  They responded with a chorus of “Whaddya kiddin’?” “Yo, no,” and, “Gotta get home to the old lady.”

  This was the third night in a row Ralphie headed to the club and Helen figured he was either heavy into blackjack or one of the female dealers. He’d hang out until most normal people were having their morning coffee and bagels and then go home and sleep until late afternoon.

  Anticipating Ralphie’s choice for a nightcap, Helen had parked her Toyota on Grand Street, not far from the club. Her bag lady disguise made it easy to shuffle along behind him, muttering and peering into garbage cans as he made his way along the nearly deserted streets. After encountering a few plump rats out on the town for a midnight buffet, Helen said a silent goodnight to Ralphie as he knocked on the door of the after-hours hangout. She watched him enter, slipped into her car and drove uptown.

  Helen slid her car into the garage under her small brownstone on East Thirtieth Street. She was exhausted and soaked from the unexpected rain pouring down on her for the last few hours of her stakeout. I can’t wait to change, she thought. She entered her house, peeling off layer upon layer of her ragged disguise, letting each one fall in a trail behind her while she made her way to the bathroom. I’ll pick them up later. A long, hot shower followed by a snifter of brandy is what I need now. The flashing answering machine at the edge of her vision would just have to wait, too.

  As the steaming water poured over her small, compact body, Helen thought about the case. Stooping over in an old-lady pose for hours took its toll on her muscles. The pummeling of the shower, however, worked its magic and helped remove the soreness.

  I’ll call Joe first thing in the morning—okay, it’s already morning. Well, when I wake up later in the morning, I’ll tell him to check in with the Organized Crime Unit. Even though he worked for the private sector, he also stayed in close touch with the Feds. She’d bet an armor-plated Mercedes that they were watching the club as well and had it wired for sound. Maybe they caught Ralphie talking about the ring robbery on one of their tapes. If that was the case, they could help Joe collar him and might want to broker it for information on the subject of tonight’s big meeting. Helen smiled to herself. Sometimes, wiretapping was a beautiful thing, and she didn’t mind being a witness in whatever they
needed to bring in the members of the Mafia she had observed.

  After stepping out of the shower, she slipped into her favorite cashmere terry robe. What a change from the bag-lady outfit. She towel-dried her hair and walked downstairs to her den and the answering machine. Before checking the several messages Helen detoured to pour herself a small shot of Courvoisier. There was a message from Joe asking her to call. Then, the machine clicked over to the last one and Helen listened to Laurel’s familiar voice.

  “Hi. It’s Laurel. You were great tonight on Newsmakers. Your segment gave me an idea for something I’m working on and I could use your help. Call me as soon as you can so I can explain. It’s really important.” Laurel paused for a long moment. “If you speak to my dad, please don’t say anything.”

  Laurel’s message had come in late last night, well after the Newsmakers segment aired, so she must have thought about it before she called. The message was disturbing. Laurel sounded stressed, and Helen, who made her living from measuring people’s reactions, surmised she was struggling to hide whatever was worrying her while leaving the message. She added Laurel to her list of calls to make after she slept. And, if Mike called, she’d respect Laurel’s wishes and not mention a thing.

  Helen tossed her towel aside, swallowed her brandy and headed for her bedroom. Her soft, warm bed was calling and she wasn’t about to resist. She snuggled in and drifted off to sleep thinking about the disguise she’d wear later—something comfortable and clean.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday, 10:54 a.m.

  Helen punched the snooze button on her alarm and rolled over. She could definitely use a few more hours of sleep. But, business called and another ten minutes would have to do. As she lay in bed, reveling in the comfort and quiet of her house, her mind came awake and focused on her plans for the day. First, a call to Joe Santangelo to fill him in on last night’s doings, then a report to sum up her findings and conclude her assignment. Finally, a call to Laurel.

  The alarm buzzed again. She couldn’t put it off any longer, or she’d never have enough time to do everything and pick up Ralphie’s trail at his apartment in the late afternoon. With a sigh, she flicked off the alarm, slowly sat up, and slipped out of bed.

  She took a quick wake-up shower then dressed in her favorite cashmere sweater and jeans, brewed a pot of the strong coffee she loved, and steamed the milk. Cappuccino in hand, she walked into her study and set it down on a coaster on the corner of the antique desk that was the room’s centerpiece. She opened the curtains to her small backyard with its maple trees and smiled as the late morning sun filled the study with a warm, mellow light. I always feel good when I’m in this room. Filled with mementos of family, friends and her most special cases, it was her safe haven, a place where the outside world was figuratively, if not literally, kept at bay.

  Helen’s parents had decided to retire to Santa Fe a few years ago and gave her the townhouse free and clear. Her father had owned a plumbing business and purchased the brownstone thirty years earlier. Working nights and weekends, he lovingly restored it to its original pristine condition.

  “No need to wait till we’re gone for it to be yours,” her father said as he smiled and handed over the deed.

  Helen couldn’t believe her good fortune. She had moved in immediately. Since there was no mortgage to pay or repairs to make, she could manage the house’s expenses and still enjoy the things she loved the most—delicious food, beautiful clothes, traveling, and spending time with good friends. Helen smiled at her memories, took a sip of her coffee, picked up the phone and dialed Joe Santangelo. She probably should have been irritated with him for sticking her in the middle of a mob fest, but neither one of them had expected what she’d stumbled upon.

  “Hey, big fella. Have I got news for you!” Helen filled Joe in on the events of the previous night’s stakeout, especially the big meet with the boys from Jersey, and suggested he contact the Organized Crime Unit. “I think we can turn Ralphie if we play this right and use whatever’s going on at the Three Aces to nab Mr. and Mrs. Park Avenue for insurance fraud.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure Ralphie would probably prefer staying out of jail rather than heading back to Rikers. Let me think about how to handle it,” Joe said.

  “Do you want me to stay on the job for a few more days?” Helen would make the time for Joe, as unpleasant as this job had turned out to be.

  “That sounds like a plan. In the meantime, I’ll call a buddy in the Organized Crime Unit and see if I can’t get them to swap a little information. I’ll tell them you’ll be on the scene so they’ll keep out of your way.”

  Fat chance of that happening, Helen thought as she said goodbye to Joe and hung up. She opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out the composition notebook for this case to make notes about last night’s activities as well as what she’d just discussed with Joe. Helen kept a similar book for each of her assignments. It helped her thinking process to write down all the facts by hand and made composing her final, computer-generated report at the end of a case much easier. Remembering (and writing down) even the smallest detail was critical. In fact, her life might depend on it, as it had once or twice in the past.

  Helen tucked away the notebook, picked up the phone and dialed Laurel. Her friend sounded even more anxious than she had on her message. Helen listened to Laurel explain what she wanted, then asked her to come to the brownstone at 3:00 and bring her notes so they could review them together. It’s more convenient to meet Laurel here than at the office, she thought, since I need to raid my closet to prepare today’s disguise and get ready for the stakeout.

  Climbing up to the converted maid’s room on the top floor of the townhouse, Helen relished the task ahead. Choosing a disguise from her closet was her grown-up version of playing dress up and the part of sleuthing she really enjoyed. Her closet was filled with hats, scarves, shoes, bags, wigs, temporary tattoos, nose and eyebrow rings and clothes. At a moment’s notice, Helen could transform herself from demure Midwest tourist to outrageous East Village punk.

  She had already varied her look a few times to tail Ralphie. First, she’d been a mother pushing a stroller, next an East Side matron, then last night, a bag lady.

  Who shall I be today? She perused her collection. I think, in honor of the big meeting at the club last night, a tourist from New Jersey. She pulled out a baggy blue-and-white nylon jogging suit, tennis shoes, the kind of oversized sunglasses an aging rock star wore, a huge fake Fendi tote bag, and a small digital camera, which would come in handy both as a prop and a tool. A bouffant blond wig completed the look. Now, I’ll blend in with all the other tourists wandering around Little Italy this afternoon, attempting to rediscover their Italian roots. Not even my own mother would recognize me. Thank God for that.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday, 11:25 a.m.

  Laurel felt marginally better than when she first woke up—Helen had finally called and set the wheels in motion. Laurel hoped she was doing the right thing. She and Helen were scheduled to meet later in the afternoon to go over the details. In the meantime, she worked on the notes Helen had asked her to bring to their meeting.

  Anne called right after that. She was safe for now, but David was looking for her all around Doylestown. “Oh, I’m really nervous,” she said. “I left a note for David like we discussed and went to my friend Cindy’s before her shift at work. She’s really been terrific and told me I can stay at her place as long as I need. I told her David and I argued and I don’t want to speak to him.

  “When he finally realized I wasn’t coming home, he must have gone a little crazy He called my cellphone over and over and left horrible messages. He must have figured out that I’d gone to Cindy’s and phoned there several times demanding she call him back and tell him where I was.” Anne’s voice picked up speed as she relayed the details. “Then he stopped at the restaurant and made up some story about not remembering where I said I’d be for the evening. When Craig, the bartender, said he really
didn’t know, David started yelling and insisted on speaking with Cindy and Art, the manager. Art told David to leave or he’d call the police. David was waiting outside, watching the door, so Art gave Cindy the keys to his car parked in the back. He made sure she left by the service entrance so she could get home without David noticing. These people have been so good to me; I don’t want them to have this kind of trouble.”

  Laurel listened intently, her stomach tightening with each word. “Have you gone to the police yet?”

  “I, um, no, not yet. I’m still not sure what’s going on and maybe … maybe David has an explanation for all this.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Laurel said. “I realize you care for him, but the situation doesn’t sound good. You really need to speak with the police and get out of Doylestown. Go somewhere safe.”

  Laurel sat down at her desk and reviewed her notes as she spoke. She’d researched the procedures various women’s groups recommended to help battered women escape their abusers. While Anne wasn’t in quite the same circumstances, the situation could change at any moment.

  “Listen to me carefully.” She hoped the conviction in her voice came through. “This is what you should do. You have to disappear. Disappear so totally and completely David can’t find you. That means you can’t go back to Meadeville or contact any old friends or relatives. That’s the first place he’ll look. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “Yes, but—” Anne began.

  “Make sure you take your driver’s license, credit cards, banking information, personal papers and your laptop,” Laurel continued. “Do you have all of that with you now?”

  “I do. I took them from the apartment.” Anne sounded shaken.

  “I know what I’m telling you may seem difficult and confusing, but it’s the only way to keep you safe.”