A Match Made on Madison (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (26 page)

Mark lifted his finger to his mouth, and I realized that my pronouncement had just echoed through the Waldorf’s oh-so-exclusive lobby. The elevator couple shot a glance our way, the woman dismissive, the man condemning.

I blew out a breath and lowered my voice. “Look, I’m sorry to sound like a nit, but you’ve just thrown me for a loop.”

“Believe me, it’s nothing compared to how we feel. Anyway, given the circumstances, Lindy felt it best to call you.” I could tell he wasn’t in complete agreement, but considering I’d apparently led them to a life of crime, I suppose he had a point. “Can you come and get us?”

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I started to hang up and then realized I had no idea where to go, but fortunately Mark was more clearheaded. He pulled the phone out of my hand. “Mark Grayson here. We need to know where you are.”

I assumed Devon managed to impart the information, because he said something about not worrying and hung up the phone.

“Where are they?”

“The 19th Precinct,” Mark said, his hand against my back again as we moved toward the revolving door. “Do you want to tell me who I was talking to?”

“Devon Sinclair and Lindy Adams. They’re clients.”

“In jail?”

“Yes. Although I can’t imagine why. Devon works on Wall Street and Lindy is a fabulous girl.”

“Well, that explains everything.” His tone was dry but not condemning.

“Listen, I’m sorry to pull you into this.” He must have thought I was a magnet for trouble. “I’ll just get a taxi and be on my way.”

“Absolutely not. I’m going with you.”

“But—”

“No arguments,” he said. “I’ve got a driver, so it’ll be faster.”

He had a point. Besides, if I was really honest, I didn’t want to face the station house on my own. I had no idea what kind of trouble Lindy and Devon were in, but clearly if they needed bail money, it wasn’t just a parking ticket.

Mark’s driver opened the door, and I slid into the car. Mark followed suit, and after leaning forward to give the man instructions, he sat back, his smile wry. “I’ll say one thing, Vanessa, life certainly isn’t dull when you’re around.”

I wanted to respond. Something pithy, with the proper edge. But I couldn’t find the words. The truth was that two people I cared about had been arrested for something I somehow had managed to set in motion.

It wasn’t a pretty picture. I mean, what kind of matchmaker sends her clients to the big house?

Chapter 19

19th Precinct.
NYPD, 153 East Sixty-seventh Street (between Third and Lexington avenues), 212.452.0600.

The 19th precinct is a busy place, with more robberies than any other precinct in the city. It’s home to haute couture on Madison, coveted residences on Park and Fifth, the bric-a-brac of billionaires at Sotheby’s, Gracie Mansion . . . and also Pale Male and Lola, the two peregrine hawks who made their own love nest at 927 Fifth Avenue.

—www.kathleenoreilly.com

∞∞∞

So with a payload guaranteed to make the most discerning burglar’s day, you’d think that the men in blue would have other more pressing things to do than arrest Lindy and Devon. Of course, I wasn’t sure what exactly they’d been arrested for, so I guess I shouldn’t have been jumping to conclusions, but honestly, I couldn’t imagine Lindy ever doing anything illegal. She’s just not the type.

Mark’s driver pulled up outside the red brick building, its blue trimmed windows and doors making it seem almost cheerful, even in the half-light of the street lamps on Sixty-seventh. The building itself, dating back to 1887, is a lovely testament to turn-of-the-century Manhattan.

The inside of the building wasn’t as charming as the outside, but there were hints of the past, in the high ceilings and louvered doors. But I wasn’t here to admire the architecture. With Mark on point, we were quickly escorted upstairs to the room where Lindy and Devon were being held. At least they weren’t in lockup.

“Vanessa,” Lindy said, flying across the room to throw herself in my arms, “thank God you’re here.”

I glanced at Devon over Lindy’s shoulder, but he just shrugged, refusing to meet my eyes. “So what happened?” I pushed away from Lindy, searching her face. “How in the world did you wind up here?”

“Well, it’s my fault really . . . ,” Lindy began.

“What about him?” Devon, interrupted, frowning at Mark.

“This is Mark Grayson. You talked to him on the phone.”

“I know who he is,” Devon said, “but why is he here?”

“He gave me a lift. And he managed to get us up here to see you with a minimum of fuss. So I wouldn’t complain if I were you.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m just not sure I want Lindy airing our dirty laundry in front of a stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger,” I snapped. “He’s my . . .” I trailed off, realizing I wasn’t exactly certain what Mark was to me. As of an hour ago he was a client and quite possibly I could call him a friend, but somehow neither word seemed exactly right.

“I’m here to help,” Mark said, coming to my rescue. “It’s as simple as that.”

Devon nodded, but didn’t look all that enthused. In fact, if I had to describe it, I’d say he had the look of a teenager caught egging the headmaster’s house. (Not that I have personal experience, mind you. It was an apartment balcony, not a house, and I didn’t throw anything; I was just along for the ride.)

“Look, we’re wasting time talking about this,” I said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “I can’t do anything until I understand what happened.”

“Lindy took your advice,” Devon said, his tone a mixture of contrition and defiance.

“What advice?” I asked, addressing them both.

“I watched Grease," Lindy said, crossing the room to take a seat across from Devon, her composure restored.

“The movie?” I scrambled madly to make sense of the statement, but for the life of me I couldn’t see anything illegal about watching a movie.

“You said I should be like Sandy.”

I stared at her blankly, trying to remember.

“At Bungalow 8, remember?”

It came to me in a rush. Devon. Wandering eye. New and improved Lindy. “I remember. But I’m not seeing the connection between the musical and the NYPD.”

“Well, I thought that if I changed my appearance, like she did in the movie . . .” She shot a look at Devon, who first glared at Mark and then nodded reluctantly.

Lindy opened her coat, and it was all I could do not to gasp. It was Victoria’s Secret revealed in full-on Technicolor. I shot a look at Mark, but bless him, he was staring intently at the ceiling. The outfit, if you could call it that, covered only the most strategic places. Put it this way, if Danny Zuko had seen Sandy in that getup, the movie would have had an entirely different rating.

Which begged the question. “Okay, I’ll admit it’s a risqué outfit, but how exactly did it land you both in jail?”

Lindy closed her coat, wrapping it tightly around her. “Well, I was planning to surprise him at work. You know, arrive at his office and give him a hint of what he had to look forward to. I was just trying to show him that I could be as sexy as the other girls.” Fresh tears filled her eyes, and Devon reached for her hand, remorse coloring his expression.

“But I wasn’t there,” Devon said, with a wince. “I was uptown at my chiropractor’s office.”

“And I thought. . . ,” she sniffled, “well, I thought that I could just surprise him there.”

“You wore that to his chiropractor’s?” I asked, trying to get a handle on exactly what she was saying.

“Well, I had on the coat.” In any other city it would have been insane, but for Manhattan so far it was actually pretty tame. “So when I got there, Devon was still in with the doctor, so I took a seat to wait. And when he came out. . .”

“You flashed the office?” I asked, knowing full well that the answer was going to be far worse than that.

“No. Of course not.” For someone wearing less than a foot of silk and lace, she managed to sound pretty damn indignant. “I waited until we were in the elevator.”

“The elevator?” It was the first time Mark had said anything, and he sounded alarmingly like my father after one of my boneheaded moves.

“It was empty,” Devon said, as if that made everything all right. But we weren’t sitting in the 19th Precinct for nothing.

“I just meant to give him a peek,” Lindy said. “You know, to give him something to think about.”

She was giving me something to think about, and I didn’t appreciate the pinup pictures popping into my head.

“It was quite a peek.” Devon swallowed uncomfortably, his fingers tightening on hers. “I thought it was a commercial building. And it was late, I figured everyone had gone home.” He was practically squirming in his seat.

“Go on, just tell us,” I urged, although I already had a pretty good idea where we were headed.

He sighed. “I just kept seeing her in . . . well, that . . He waved at the raincoat, intimating the garb, or lack thereof, underneath. “And one thing led to another, and we, um . . . well, we sort of . . . got into the moment, if you follow my drift.”

It didn’t take much imagination, actually, and well, put it this way, it was something I’d just as soon have kept out of my mind, thank you very much, and from the look on Mark’s face he was feeling very much the same. However, I knew I had to soldier on, so I bit my bottom lip, striving for something akin to dispassion, and asked the key question. “What I don’t understand is how that led to this?” I waved at the room in general as if the gesture itself would yield answers.

“We didn’t think to stop the elevator,” Lindy said.

The picture dancing around my head took on new proportions as I anticipated the rest of what she was going to say. Mark coughed into his hand, I think to hide laughter, but I didn’t dare look at him, as I was in danger of losing it myself.

“And when it opened, there were, um,” Lindy paused, still staring down at her hands, “witnesses.”

“Underage ones.” Devon had lost all signs of indignation, instead looking very much like he’d like the floor to open and swallow him whole.

“How underage?” Mark asked, his countenance under control again.

“Nine and eleven. Apparently there are apartments in the building.” He released his breath on a sigh. “And a rather refined woman and her grandchildren were on their way to dinner.”

“How bad was it?” I asked, not certain I wanted to hear the answer.

“Put it this way,” Devon said, “they got a whole new meaning for the name Pale Male.”

There were certainly parallels. Pale Male was the famous hawk who lived, and loved, on a building on Fifth.

Mark was coughing again.

“So I’m assuming the grandmother is the one who called the police?”

“Yes,” Lindy said. “Apparently we didn’t notice the doors opening as quickly as we could have. It was nothing short of a high-rise peep show, I’m afraid.”

“She actually threatened a civil suit,” Devon said, still not quite meeting my eyes.

“Let’s tackle one thing at a time,” Mark cautioned, his tone all business now. “What are the charges here ?”

“Indecent exposure and something about soliciting a minor?”

“I don’t think I even want to know how the latter occurred,” I said, my mind already presenting various options, none of them good.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Lindy said. “I swear it. I only wanted to comfort the child, I don’t know how the woman could possibly have thought that I was . . . well, you know, interested in him.” She shivered at the memory and Devon pulled her into his embrace.

“It all happened really fast. One minute we were scrambling for clothing and the next the grandmother had called the police.”

“It’s all so horrible,” Lindy said. “I’d never do anything to hurt a child.”

“I’m sure they know that,” Mark assured her. He really was a nice man. “It’s just that it was traumatic for everyone and the woman had no choice but to call the police.”

“And they had no choice but to book us,” Devon said, shaking his head. “And of course, now there’s a question of bail.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I suspect they’re just trying to teach you a lesson. I can’t imagine for a minute that they’re really going to go through with this. It’s clear that you’re both remorseful. And I suspect once the grandmother has had a chance to cool off, she’ll see that pressing charges isn’t really going to accomplish anything.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Lindy asked.

“Then we’ll find a good lawyer. It’s not the best situation in the world, but it’s not overtly criminal, either. Let’s just wait to cross that bridge until we get to it. Right now, I’ll go and see about posting bail.”

“I should do that,” I said, my mind still reeling. “I mean, after all, I seem to have set this whole thing in motion. If only I’d never mentioned Grease.”

“As I recall,” Mark said, shooting another reproving look at Lindy and Devon, “there were no naked people in Grease. And certainly nothing to inspire that particular kind of elevator gymnastics. You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really sorry,” Lindy said. “I saw the papers this morning, I know this is the last thing you needed today.”

“It’s fine,” I said, shaking my head, either to disagree with my own statement or perhaps in dismissal of the entire fiasco-laden day. “I’m just glad I could help. Although Mark is really the one you should be thanking.” That was an understatement, of course. He’d been absolutely amazing. Not only taking appropriate action, but refraining from comment as the story unfolded.

“We didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Devon said. “We just got sort of carried away.”

“Well, hopefully, your witnesses will see it that way. Especially the one old enough to fully comprehend what was happening.”

“You don’t think this will make the papers, do you?” Lindy asked, her voice trembling. “My family would be so horrified.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Mark said, striding back into the room. “I talked with the arresting officer, and I was right, the woman doesn’t want to press charges. It’ll only make it worse on the kids.”

“So we’re free to go?” Devon asked. “What about the bail?”