Dark Room

  “I doubt it. He’s discreet. But he’s also thorough. That’s why Morgan hired him.”

  “I know.” Arthur’s wheels were turning. “I just hope he treads carefully. One thing Pete Montgomery is not known for is his political correctness.”

  “He is known for his street smarts. He realizes you’re a public figure. I’m sure he’ll act accordingly.” Elyse paused for a second. “Arthur, if there’s anything I should know about Rachel Ogden, tell me now. I can protect you better if I’m armed with all the facts.”

  “I told you, there’s nothing to know,” he snapped, careful to keep his voice down. “If you don’t believe me, ask one of your high-paid detectives. You know, the ones who’ve been following me around for the past three decades, keeping track of my whereabouts.”

  Elyse made a sound that was half laugh, half snort of disgust. “I hate to disappoint you, but I discontinued their services years ago. Partly because the rag magazines did such a thorough job of keeping tabs on you, no PIs were needed. And partly because I was emotionally sapped. I love you, Arthur. More than anything. But I’m worn out, resigned. You are who you are. Relentless PIs and revealing snapshots are never going to change that.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I’m not perfect, Lyssie. But I’m also not lying. Not this time. I have no connection to that hit-and-run victim. I never met her. And I’m not sleeping with her.” A caustic note crept into his tone. “Neither of which is going to stop the Enquirer from saying otherwise.”

  “That’s true. But for what it’s worth, I believe you.”

  “It’s worth a lot.” Another pause. “How’s Morgan taking this?”

  “Not well. She and Jill are spending tonight eating pizza and watching movies. Hopefully, it will be good for her. But she’s not giving up. Threats or not, she’ll be right back at it tomorrow, digging up every lead until she and Detective Montgomery find Lara and Jack’s killer.”

  Arthur exhaled sharply. “That’s the worst thing she could do. Between the memories and the press, this could push her over the edge. And if the threats are real, she could be in danger. So could you. The hang-ups, the person following you, the white van…I’m not happy. I’m going to call Montgomery, hire some extra security, for you and for Morgan. Jill, too, for that matter.”

  “Thank you.” There was genuine relief in Elyse’s voice—relief and a touch of nostalgia. “When you’re like this…let’s just say that this is the man I fell in love with.”

  “Then keep that picture in your mind. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything. Starting now. You sit tight. I’ll set things in motion. And I’ll be home before you know it.”

  ARTHUR STARED AT his cell for a long moment after hanging up, his mind racing. He glanced across the great room, checking to see what Lane and Jonah were doing. They were standing by the fire, deep in conversation. Judging from the motions Lane was making with his arms and his body, he was clearly demonstrating some powder-skiing moves to Jonah.

  Capitalizing on this narrow window of privacy, Arthur walked off to a quiet alcove. He lowered himself into one of the lounge’s corner chairs, nursing his drink and waiting to make sure no one was approaching him. Bad enough he’d argued with Elyse while sitting in the middle of the room—albeit quietly and with very few guests in the vicinity. But it was crucial that these next conversations be conducted with no chance of being overheard.

  This whole situation was a disaster in the making. He was worried. And he was pissed. He had to protect his family. And he had to protect his career.

  Time to put the screws into Detective Montgomery. And then, time to call in a marker.

  MORGAN SIPPED HER Chianti, letting its soothing effects swirl through her system.

  “Is that some semblance of a smile?” Jill teased, crossing the kitchen and helping herself to another slice of pizza. “Hmm—could it have something to do with that call from Lane Montgomery?”

  “Good guess.” Morgan put down her glass and sank back in her chair. “It’s ironic. I see right through him. You know the package—effortless self-assurance, natural sex appeal, and enough magnetism to move a steel I-beam.”

  “You forgot a few things,” Jill supplied helpfully. “Great body, exciting career, and that independent male aura that draws women like flies.”

  “I stand corrected. But the scary part is that I’ve warned dozens of clients to stay away from his type. So what am I doing? I’m walking directly into the line of fire. I see all his flaws, anticipate every technique he’s using to draw me in—and yet…”

  “And yet they’re all working.”

  “I wish I knew why. All I know is that somehow it’s different. He’s different.”

  “Maybe there’s more to Lane Montgomery than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.”

  “Or maybe I’m just so attracted to him that I can’t think straight.”

  “There’s no denying there’s chemistry between you.”

  “Too much chemistry.” Morgan sighed. “I just hope there’s something besides that.”

  “Relationships aren’t a science, Morg. We know that better than most.”

  “We also know that lasting relationships require something more than physical attraction and great sex. Lane and I are total opposites. I’m super-cautious. He’s a daredevil and a player. I must be crazy.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Jill refilled both their glasses. “You’re having dinner with him tomorrow night?”

  “More like midnight supper. Arthur’s plane won’t be landing until around tenish.”

  “Okay, so a late dinner.” Jill took a sip of wine, slanting a casual look in Morgan’s direction. “Any chance that late dinner will extend into breakfast?”

  Morgan’s brows arched. “Aren’t you subtle?”

  “Nope. Never have been. Never will be. Now answer the question.”

  “Maybe. Probably not. It depends.” Morgan took a healthy swallow of Chianti. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

  “Decisive. I like that.”

  Morgan rose. “There’s just one thing I am sure of right now. I need some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Want some?” She headed for the freezer.

  “Don’t waste time and dishes,” Jill advised. “This conversation calls for two pints, two spoons, and no regrets.”

  Five minutes later, they were alternating between sips of Chianti and spoonfuls of ice cream.

  “I reviewed the crime-scene photos today,” Morgan blurted out.

  Jill’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. “So that’s why you were at Detective Montgomery’s for so long. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.”

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted to see these.”

  “At least I could have offered you moral support.”

  “Thanks. But this was one of those things I had to do alone.” Morgan stared into her ice-cream carton. “I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. It was like being sucked into a black hole.”

  “I’m so sorry. It must have been agonizing for you.” Jill gripped her spoon, stabbing at the ice cream.

  “It’s okay. I’m hanging in.” Morgan leaned forward, squeezed her friend’s arm. Jill’s kind, loving nature was just like Elyse’s.

  That made Morgan feel doubly guilty for the subject she had to broach now. “Did you and your mom touch base today?”

  Jill looked surprised. “A little while ago, yes. But only for about ten seconds. She was on her way over to my grandparents’ to spend the night. That seemed kind of weird. I hope she’s not reacting to one of my dad’s indiscretions.”

  “Not this time.”

  Morgan’s solemn tone struck home, and Jill’s head came up. “Clearly, you know what’s going on. What did Mom tell you?”

  “Nothing. What I heard, I heard from Detective Montgomery.” With a heavy heart, Morgan relayed the entire scenario to Jill.

  “This has been going on all week?” Jill’s features tightened with c
oncern. “She didn’t say a word.”

  “Not to anyone. Not even your father. Although now that she’s aware of the link between Rachel’s hit-and-run and her own creepy episodes, she’ll want to fill Arthur in.”

  “And he’ll be all over it,” Jill said, taking comfort in her own words. “There’s no way the two vans weren’t the same. Which means whoever did this drove all the way from Union Square to the Upper East Side then back to midtown, just to make a point.”

  “Not a point. A message. Delivered to me. Via my family.”

  Anxiously, Jill searched Morgan’s face. “He didn’t try to hurt Mom? You’re sure of that?”

  “Positive. This was a scare tactic. Nothing more. If it was…” Morgan met Jill’s gaze, raw tears glittering in her eyes. “After losing my parents the way I did, I could never—ever—put Elyse, or any of you, in danger.”

  “I know that. Does Detective Montgomery have a theory?”

  “Yes. Besides scaring your mom, he also thinks the van driver hurt Rachel a lot more seriously than he was instructed to. He believes the order was to sideswipe her, knock her off balance. But hired hands are amateurs, and amateurs screw up. So Rachel was an innocent casualty.” Morgan’s lips thinned into a grim line. “There’s only one person this sicko wants to get to—me. He’s trying to frighten me into backing off. That’s not about to happen. Especially now. He’s just confirmed what Detective Montgomery and I already felt in our bones. He’s no random burglar. He killed my parents in cold blood. And he’s still out there.”

  NINETEEN

  Wednesday morning couldn’t come fast enough for Monty.

  He was up at dawn, out the door by seven, and making arrangements on his cell phone during the entire two-hour drive from his Dutchess County home to New York–Presbyterian Hospital.

  By the time he arrived for the fifteen-minute interview Rachel Ogden’s doctor had grudgingly permitted, he’d lined up enough full-time security to keep an eye on Jill, Elyse, and Morgan.

  Last night’s phone call from Arthur Shore had brought back memories of the riled-up man who’d ridden Monty’s ass after the double homicide seventeen years ago. This time, the congressman had raved about the vulnerability of his “girls,” and given Monty carte blanche about whom he hired and how much he paid them to watch Elyse, Jill, and Morgan round-the-clock.

  There was no denying that Arthur cared about his family. That much, Monty could relate to. So he’d made the requisite arrangements, set the security team in place.

  Now he had two interviews to conduct: first, Rachel Ogden; then, Karly Fontaine.

  He didn’t expect either meeting to yield any earth-shattering revelations. After a fair amount of background digging, he still believed the two women were arbitrary pawns.

  Still, a few curious pieces of information had come up, one pertaining to each woman. Neither was a glaring red flag. But both were interesting enough to address.

  Karly Fontaine’s real name was Carol Fenton. She’d glamorized it when she moved from New York to L.A. and became a model. Nothing unusual there. It was the timing of it that captured Monty’s attention. Sixteen-plus years ago, just six months after the Winters’ homicides. Worth bringing up in conversation.

  As for Rachel Ogden, she was the living embodiment of what Arthur Shore liked in his mistresses, right down to the fact that she gravitated toward successful, married men. In addition, her appointment book—which her assistant had agreeably shared with Monty—included a dozen recent client meetings, all generically listed sans names or numbers, and all conducted in hotel restaurants. Ironically, all the hotels in question were located within a several-block radius of Arthur Shore’s Lexington Avenue office, and all the meetings occurred on dates when Arthur Shore was in New York—reportedly in and out of his office all day.

  There was no actual evidence that the two of them were sleeping together. That didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. And that, of course, piqued Monty’s interest, especially in light of the story Elyse Shore had told him yesterday.

  His first impression had been that Elyse was being straight up with him. Still, there were a couple of points still bugging him.

  The first was the timing of the accident.

  The punk who’d mowed down Rachel Ogden had taken a huge risk. He’d ripped off the van on Tenth Street, driven to the Upper East Side to harass Elyse Shore, then shot over to midtown to hit Rachel, finally dumping the van in the Bronx. Talk about time and territory. He’d pushed the limits of both. Whoever hired him had to know that the longer the van went missing, the greater the chance it had of being spotted by the cops. It was quite a risk to take, just to upset Elyse and put the fear of God in Morgan.

  Then there was the news coverage.

  The local media stations had broadcast word of the hit-and-run on the evening and the eleven o’clock news—complete with Rachel’s and Karly’s names. Yet, based on her surprise this morning, Elyse was clueless about the identities of the victim and the eyewitness, and equally clueless about the fact that they were both Winshore clients. For a savvy woman with a high-powered political husband, it seemed odd that she’d be so out of touch with the day’s current events.

  So could Elyse be lying? Possibly. But why?

  Monty could think of just one reason for her to devise such an intricate fabrication—and that is if she were the culprit, not the victim.

  It was a long shot. But it had to be considered, especially in light of what he’d learned about Rachel Ogden. After all, how did that saying go? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Jonah had said that Elyse was in a foul mood when she’d shown up at her husband’s office. Well, orchestrating a scare tactic for your rival—one that went way further than planned—would do that.

  If—and Monty still considered it a huge if—Elyse had invented the story she’d told him to mesh with the timing of the hit-and-run, it would explain why she seemed totally oblivious to the identity of the women involved, and it would scrap the uptown leg of the van’s trip, making the timing and the route more plausible.

  On the other hand, if Elyse was telling the truth, there was another, more unnerving fact to consider—one he had refrained from mentioning to Morgan. And that was that, on paper, Rachel Ogden’s description matched Morgan’s to a tee. Slight build. Corporate dress. Shoulder-length dark hair. Green eyes. Expected in the area of the St. Regis at hit-and-run time.

  Following that logic, it was a very real prospect that the error made by the punk who’d stolen that van hadn’t been that he’d hurt Rachel Ogden too badly, but that he’d run down the wrong woman. And if that was the case, his orders might very well have been to kill, not injure, Morgan.

  Lots of theories. An equal number of outstanding answers, some grimmer than others.

  Monty pulled into the hospital parking area. He was impatient to have this chat with Rachel Ogden.

  JILL HAD JUST organized some files on her desk when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and punched it on with lightning-quick speed.

  “Dad—hi. I’ve been waiting for sunrise in the Rockies so I could call. Glad you beat me to it.”

  “Why the urgency?” Her father’s tension was palpable, even through the phone.

  “Everyone’s fine. But last night, Morgan told me what’s been going on with Mom. I called her at Grandma and Grandpa’s right before I turned in, and she still sounded drained, but less stressed out. Talking to you obviously helped. Whatever you said calmed her down.”

  “It did. And now it should calm you down, too. I just got off the phone with Detective Montgomery. He’s arranged for round-the-clock security to keep an eye on your mother, on Morgan, and on you. No one’s going to come near you—any of you.”

  Even though she could have predicted her father’s reaction, Jill felt a surge of relief. “That’s great. Thanks, Dad. If nothing else, it will grant us peace of mind.” A forced laugh. “Not to mention that it will rescue Mom from spending another night with her parents. I know Gr
andpa’s your staunchest ally, but he drives Mom crazy. Her conversation with Detective Montgomery must have really freaked her out for her to decide to sleep over there.”

  “I’m sure she had her reasons.”

  “I invited her to stay with Morgan and me.”

  “And?”

  Jill sighed. “Morgan and I had scheduled a girls’ night. And you know Mom. Much as I told her she was one of the girls, she decided we needed our privacy to talk about personal stuff like guys. Particularly the guy you’re about to go skiing with.”

  “Lane?”

  “Yup. Did he tell you he’s taking Morgan out the minute your plane lands tonight? Of course not.” Jill supplied her own answer. “Men never communicate about anything. So I’ll fill you in. There are some definite sparks between those two. They have late dinner plans tonight.”

  “No great eye-opener there.” Arthur’s reply was tinged with dry humor. “Despite your belief that we men are clueless, I did pick up on the vibes between Morgan and Lane. Last night in the lounge, I saw him talking on his cell, and it didn’t look like a business call. So I’m not surprised they have plans.”

  “It’ll be good for her.” Jill chewed her lip. “Morgan’s even more wound up now than she was when she first hired Detective Montgomery. Things were bad enough when she was dealing with her initial shock and pain over the reopened investigation. But now she’s dealing with the fact that people she loves are being directly affected. Instead of scaring her, it’s infuriating her. Forget the idea of her taking a passive role. If she has her way, she’s going to be right there, center stage, solving this case alongside Detective Montgomery.”

  “That’s the worst thing she can do to herself,” Arthur said fervently. “She’s already on emotional overdrive. If she becomes any more obsessed with this investigation, she’ll make herself ill.”