Three Fates

  “May I help you, madam?”

  Tia considered it the height of willpower that she didn’t simply leap out of her shoes and cling by her fingernails to the ornately plastered ceiling at the inquiring voice.

  Reminding herself there wasn’t a flashing GUILTY sign on her forehead, she turned to the clerk. “No, thank you. I’d like to look around a bit.”

  “Of course. I’m Janine. Please let me know if you need any help or have any questions.”

  “Thank you.”

  Janine, Tia noted as the clerk slipped discreetly away, was dressed sharply in a black suit that made her look skinny as a snake and nearly as exotic. And quick as that snake, she’d summed up and dismissed Tia as beneath notice.

  It stung a bit, even though Tia reminded herself that was the point. She’d worn a dull brown suit and a cream-colored blouse—both of which she intended to throw out as soon as she got home—because they helped her fade into the woodwork.

  She wandered to a rosewood secretary and saw out of the corner of her eye that the other clerk, male this time, was as disinterested in her as Janine.

  There were other clerks, of course. She had the layout of Morningside flipping through her mind as she wandered. Each showroom on each floor would be manned by at least two eagle-eyed clerks. And each floor would have a security guard.

  They would all be trained, just as they were at Wyley’s, to separate the customers from the browsers, and to recognize the signs of a possible shoplifter.

  She remembered enough of her own training to have geared her wardrobe and her mannerisms for the job at hand.

  The expensive and unflattering suit. The good, practical shoes. The simple brown purse, too small for serious pilfering. They gave her the look of a woman with money but no particular style.

  She didn’t linger long at any display, but moved from spot to spot with the vague and abstracted air of a browser killing time.

  Neither the clerks nor the guards were likely to pay more than minimal attention to her.

  Two women came in—a mother and daughter by the look of them, Tia decided. Janine pounced. Tia gave her points for speed and smoothness, as she’d scooped up the two potentials before the male clerk had gotten off the mark.

  While attention was focused across the room, Tia slipped the first listening device out of her purse and stuck it under the front lip of a secretary.

  She waited for alarms to sound, for men with guns to burst through the door. When the blood stopped pounding in her ears, she heard the women discussing dining room tables with Janine.

  She continued around the room, giving a pate-de-verre paperweight in the shape of a frog a long study. And attaching another bug to the underside of the George III refectory table on which it sat.

  By the time she’d worked the first floor she felt so competent she began to hum. She plugged another bug under the railing as she walked up to the second level. She brought Jack’s diagram back into her mind, located the cameras and did her job.

  Each time a clerk approached, she smiled wispily and declined their help. When she reached the third floor, she saw Janine showing her customers a Duncan Phyfe dining room table, seating for twenty.

  None of them so much as glanced at her.

  She had one bug left, contemplated where it would do the most good. The Louis XIV sideboard, she decided. Angling her body away from the camera, she opened her purse.

  “Tia? It’s Tia Marsh, isn’t it?”

  The word eek sounded clearly in her head, nearly fell off her tongue as she spun around and stared at Anita.

  “I, um, oh. Hello.”

  “Casing the joint?”

  The blood that was pounding between Tia’s ears drained into her toes. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you are the daughter of a competitor.” Anita chuckled, but her eyes were sharp as sabers as she slid an arm around Tia’s waist. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in Morningside before.”

  In the van, Malachi had to be forcibly restrained from charging out the door. “Hold on,” Jack snapped. “She’s fine. She’ll handle it. She knows this was a possibility.”

  “I haven’t been,” Tia managed and felt a smile try to wobble onto her face. Use it, she ordered herself. Use your fumbling ineptitude. “It seems so odd, you know, never having been inside. I had an appointment a few blocks away, so—”

  “Oh, where?”

  “With my holistic therapist.” The lie brought a blush to her cheeks and gave the claim perfect credence. “I know a lot of people think alternative medicine is hoodoo, but honestly, I’ve had such good results. Would you like her name? I think I have a card.”

  She started to open her purse again, but Anita cut her off. “That’s all right. I’ll just call you if I have a need for . . . hoodoo.”

  “Actually, well, that was just an excuse. I came in because I thought I might run into you. I had such a nice time at our lunch the other day, and I . . . I hoped we might be able to do it again.”

  “How sweet. I’ll check my calendar and give you a call.”

  “I’d really like that. I’m free most any time. I usually try to schedule my medical appointments in the morning so I can . . .” She trailed off, cleared her throat, took a couple of labored breaths. “Oh dear. Do you have a cat?”

  “A cat? No.”

  “Reaction. Something.” She began to wheeze until customers and clerks looked nervously in her direction. “Allergies. Asthma.”

  The wheezing and gulping air made her light-headed so that her stumble was genuine, and effective. She dragged the inhaler out of her purse, used it noisily.

  “Come on. Come with me. For heaven’s sake.” Anita dragged her into the elevator, jabbed the button for the fourth floor. “You’ll upset the customers.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” She continued to suck on the inhaler while the thrill of success jolted through her system. “If I could sit down. Minute. Glass of water.”

  “Yes, yes.” She dragged Tia through the office suites. “Bring Dr. Marsh a glass of water,” she called out, then all but tossed Tia into a chair. “Put your head between your knees or something.”

  Tia obeyed, and grinned. In Anita’s manner was all the impatience and irritation the sturdily healthy feel for the sickly. “Water.” She croaked it, then watched Anita’s gorgeous shoes march across the gorgeous carpet.

  “Bring me a damn glass of water. Now!”

  By the time she spun back into the room, Tia had the last bug firmly attached to the bottom of her chair.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Easing up, Tia let her head fall back weakly. “Such a bother. Such a nuisance. Are you sure you don’t have a cat?”

  “I ought to know if I have a goddamn cat.” She grabbed the water from her assistant’s hand and thrust it on Tia.

  “Of course you would. It’s just usually cats that cause that quick and violent a reaction.” She sipped the water slowly. “Then again, it could be pollen. From the flower arrangements, which are lovely by the way. My holistic therapist is putting me on a program that combines herbs, meditation, subliminal reinforcement and weekly purges. I’m very hopeful.”

  “Great.” Anita looked meaningfully at her watch. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, very. Oh, you’re busy, and I’ve taken up so much of your time. My father hates his workday interrupted, and I’m sure you’re the same. I hope you’ll call about lunch soon. I . . . my treat,” she added and knew she sounded pathetic. “To thank you for your help today.”

  “I’ll be in touch. Let me walk you to the elevator.”

  “I hope I didn’t disrupt your day,” Tia began, then stopped as Anita’s assistant got to her feet.

  “Ms. Gaye, this is Detective Robbins, NYPD. He’d like to speak with you.”

  Tia controlled a hysterical urge to laugh. “Oh. My. Well. I should get out of your way. Thank you so much. Thank you for the water,” she said to the assistant and hurried to the elevator. She bit the inside of her cheek u
ntil it hurt, kept right on biting until she’d gotten to the main showroom and out the door.

  New Yorkers were too used to lunatics to pay any attention to a drably dressed blonde giggling hysterically as she ran down the sidewalk.

  “YOU WERE BRILLIANT.” Malachi all but hoisted her into the back of the van, then caught her in a rib-crushing hug. “Bloody brilliant.”

  “I was.” She couldn’t stop the giggles. “I really was. Even though I nearly wet my pants when Anita spoke to me. Then I thought, if I can just get into her office for a minute, I can put the last little mike there. But I kept wanting to laugh. Nervous reaction, I suppose. I just . . . somebody shut me up.”

  “Happy to.” Malachi closed her mouth with his.

  “If you kids would settle down, you might want to hear this.”

  Jack switched the audio on, took off his headphones.

  “. . . understand what a police detective might want with me. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks, Ms. Gaye, and we appreciate your time. It concerns a property you owned, a warehouse just off Route Nineteen, south of Linden, New Jersey.”

  “Detective, my husband owned a number of properties, which I inherited . . . Oh, you said ‘owned.’ I recently sold a New Jersey property. My lawyers and accountants handle most of those details. Is there some problem with the sale? I haven’t heard anything to indicate it, and I know the deal was finalized earlier this month.”

  “No, ma’am. No problem that I’m aware of.” There was a slight rustling sound, a pause. “Do you know this man?”

  “He doesn’t look familiar to me. I do meet a lot of people, but . . . no, I don’t recognize him. Should I?”

  “Ms. Gaye, this man was found inside the warehouse in question. He was murdered.”

  “Oh my God.” There was a creak as Anita sat. “When?”

  “Time of death is often hard to determine. We believe he died very close to the date you sold the warehouse.”

  “I don’t know what to say. That property hasn’t been in use for . . . I’m not completely sure. Six months, perhaps eight. This should have been brought to my attention. I’ll have to contact the buyers. This is dreadful.”

  “Ms. Gaye, did you have access to the building?”

  “I did, of course. My representative was given all the keys and security codes, which would have been turned over to the purchasers. You’ll want to contact my real estate representative, of course. Let me have my assistant get you his information.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Ms. Gaye, do you own a gun?”

  “Yes. Three. My husband . . . Detective.” Another pause, longer. “Am I a suspect?”

  “These are just routine questions, Ms. Gaye. I assume your three guns are registered.”

  “Yes, of course they are. I have two at home, one in my office, one in my bedroom. And I keep one here.”

  “It would help if you’d turn the guns over to us, for elimination. We’ll issue a receipt.”

  “I’ll arrange for it.” Her voice was stiff now, and frigid.

  “Could you tell us where you were on September eighth and September ninth?”

  “Detective, it’s beginning to sound as if I should contact my lawyer.”

  “That’s your right, Ms. Gaye. If you want to exercise that right, I’ll be happy to interview you, with your attorney, down at the station. The fact is, I’d just like to cross my t’s here and let you get back to work.”

  “I’m hardly going to be dragged into the police station to be questioned about the murder of a man I don’t even know.” There was the slapping sound of paper against paper as she flipped through her desk calendar.

  She rattled off times, appointments, business and personal time. “You can verify most of this with my assistant or, if need be, my domestic staff.”

  “I appreciate that, ma’am, and I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s upsetting.”

  “I’m not used to being questioned by the police.”

  “No, ma’am. Case like this, you’ve got to look at all the angles. It’s a puzzler why this guy would go all the way out to New Jersey to get shot. And in that building. Well. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Gaye. Some place you got here. First time I’ve been inside. Some place,” he reiterated.

  “My assistant will show you out, Detective.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  There were footsteps, the sound of a door closing. Then, for several long seconds, nothing but silence.

  “Asshole.” It was a vicious whisper and made Jack grin. “Stupid bastard. Idiot. The nerve, the fucking nerve of him coming here to question me like a common criminal. Do I have a gun? Do I have a gun?”

  Something fragile broke with a sad tinkling of glass.

  “Didn’t I leave the goddamn murder weapon behind where a ten-year-old could find it? But he comes here interrupting my day, insulting me.”

  “Bingo,” Jack shouted, then sat back.

  “She did it.” Tia shuddered as she lowered herself into one of two chairs bolted into the van’s floor. On audio, she could hear Anita snap at her assistant to call her lawyer. “I know we believed she did, even knew it on some level. But to hear her say it, just like that, annoyed because she’s being inconvenienced. It’s horrible.”

  They listened as Anita swore at her assistant when she reported the lawyer was in a meeting.

  “Our Anita’s having a bad day.” Jack turned in his chair. “And we’re going to make it worse. You still in?” he asked Tia.

  “Yes.” She was pale, but the hand she lifted to Malachi’s was steady. “More than ever.”

  GIDEON WATCHED AS Cleo bundled her hair under a black watch cap, as she stepped back, turned in the mirror to study herself.

  “What do you think?” She did a quick pirouette. “It’s the latest in nighttime B and E fashion.”

  “You’ve plenty of time yet.”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to check out the look.” Dressed in black jeans, black sweater, black sneakers, she gave her reflection one more hard stare. “It works on me. The Gap. Who’d have thought it?”

  “You’re not nervous.”

  “Not particularly. How hard can it be not to break into a place?” She did a couple of deep pliés to check the give of the jeans. “Too bad there wasn’t time to hunt up a cat suit.” When he didn’t respond, she straightened. “What’s up, Slick?”

  “Come here a minute.”

  Willing to oblige, she crossed to him and was surprised when he drew her into his arms, hard.

  “Wow. What’s this about?”

  “There’s always a chance something will go wrong.”

  “There’s always a chance a satellite will fall out of the sky and land on my head. Doesn’t keep me hiding in the basement.”

  “When I dragged you into this, I didn’t know you.”

  “Nobody drags me anywhere. Got it?”

  “I didn’t care about you then. I care about you now.”

  “That’s nice. Don’t start making me all squishy.”

  “Cleo, you don’t have to do this. Wait,” he said when she started to pull away. “Let me finish. Tonight’s not such a big step until you look at the whole. If things work, we’ll be taking it up a level. A very big level. The next time you put on that cap, it’ll be to break into Anita’s house, to take something from her she’ll kill to keep.”

  “Something that doesn’t belong to her.”

  “That’s not the point. You heard her on that tape. She killed a man, and she won’t hesitate to kill another. She knows who you are.”

  “She knows who I am anyway.”

  “Listen to me.” His fingers tightened on her arms. “Jack could get you out of this. He’d know the way—people, papers. You could disappear, with the money he’d give you for the statue. She’d never find you.”