Crime & Counterpoint (38 page)

Two months later…

March was in like a lion before Zach and Abigail returned to Manhattan and apartment 2E. “I never want to get on another plane, train, or boat again,” Abigail griped. “Do you hear me, young man? We are staying put. Right here!”

Zach, suntanned and looking infinitely better, just grinned. “You liked it, don’t tell me you didn’t. Flirting with the – what was he? – a Duke?”

“Oh bollocks!” She slapped him playfully on the arm. “Get on with you now and take those bags to my room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, dipping his head, a grin turning up one corner of his mouth. The bags he carried bore tags which all said ‘Carnival’ on them. He inhaled deeply as he set the heavy suitcases down, pleased to note that his chest didn’t hurt at all, nor did his back. And he thanked God for it.

His eyes held less anger, less hollowness and were instead filled with spark and vitality. He had something to live for though he didn’t really know what he was going to do now.

He heard his grandmother bustling around, opening drapes and blinds, airing the place out. It did smell like no one had been here for a while – that empty, cold, mothball scent. He made a face but shrugged it off in the next instant.

She called to him distantly. “Hate to broach the subject, but have you given any thought to your next career?”

“Some,” he replied, unconcerned.

“Well,” she continued, “at least you’ve been careful. You should have yourself quite a nest egg by now. Eight years’ worth of interest accruing on a million-dollar payout should accommodate you nicely.”

“Uh, not if we do this every year,” he joked.

“I told you, I don’t bloody want to go anywhere again!”

He chuckled. Seeing the brochures and itinerary pamphlets sticking out of one of his grandmother’s bags, he pulled them out and fanned through the stack. They’d done everything, seemed like. Went to Europe, took the train through French countryside, stayed with family in Brighton – they were loaded by the way – hopped on a cruise from the sunbaked beaches of Naples which took them across the Atlantic in luxury, finally arriving in the Bermuda Triangle where they’d spent a week just relaxing before heading on an Airbus A330 back to JFK.

He’d spared no expense. Life, he’d finally realized, was about who you spend each moment with and not about waiting to die. And though she complained about it now, there was no doubt his taking two full months to spend in entirety with his grandmother had rejuvenated her spirit and body as well. He felt good for having made her happy.

Maybe they’d do it all again next winter.

He smiled at the thought as he tucked the packet of brochures back into the suitcase pocket.

Just then, there was a knock at the front door which he heard through the short hall. He stiffened, worried it was Shelley. His heart quickened until it felt like a rapid hammer. Well, there you had it. He’d just proved to himself that he hadn’t flushed her out of his system at all.

His broad shoulders drooped, but when he heard the visitor speak, he knew it wasn’t
her
, and he blew out slowly through his mouth, working to bring himself back to his post-vacation high. But the damage was done; the world was fading to grey again.

Firming himself, he went out of the room to face whoever it was. Not until he was within sight did he realize it was Ashleigh Greene.

“Oh the poor dear,” Abigail was saying. “Do you think I should come over and speak to her?”

“Yes, I think she’d really like that. I’ve just been so like, worried about her. You know?”

Abigail nodded concernedly. “Of course. I’ll come right away. Just give me a moment, Ashleigh.”

Ashleigh looked relieved though Zach noted she was wringing her hands just like–

“Zach?” She spotted him and smiled. “Wow! You look so… different. But I mean, like, good different. Have you seen Carrie yet?”

Reluctantly, he walked over, hands stuck in his jeans pockets. “No, I’ll probably go see her and Jared later.”

Ashleigh nodded a little too much, dropping her gaze. At the same time, they both started speaking: “So how is she–” and “Shelley isn’t doing–”

Ashleigh gave a strained smile and said, “You go first.”

“I just wanted to know how she is.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but his delivery couldn’t have fooled a deaf man.

“She’s, um,” Ashleigh paused to search for the right words before just dropping her hands in frustration. “Ugh! I promised Melissa I wouldn’t say anything, but I have to. You are such an ass. I mean, do you have any idea what you’ve done to her? She stuck with you for weeks even though her dad was all like not talking to her and then you leaving like that just really pissed me off!” Her eyes were as wide and blue as they’d ever been. “She thinks you hate her!”

Zach felt abuzz, his wires firing. “She still loves me?”

“Yes, of course, she does! And it’s like” – she shrugged – “I don’t know, killing her or something. She’s totally not herself.”

“You sure it’s not just something with her dad?”

“No, they’ve been hanging out a bunch,” she said, waving her hands, “and he and her mom even go to the club and watch her play. She’s playing there again, by the way.”

He frowned and dropped his gaze. “I can’t see her.”

“Did you not hear me?” she pressed just as Abigail returned to them.

Abigail took one look at her now-miserable grandson and guessed the problem, but she wisely kept quiet – inwardly, however, she was pleased to see that he hadn’t gotten over the girl he had gone for weeks without breathing a word about. “Alright, Ashleigh, I’m ready,” Abigail announced. A care package in her hands, she followed Ashleigh to the door. She threw one glance at Zach. “Oh, and dear? When you leave just be sure to lock up. I might be a while.” Her tone was pure insouciance, but as she turned away, a small smile played on her lips, twinkling her azure eyes.

Zach cringed as the door shut. Alone with his thoughts, he grabbed the back of his suddenly aching neck, reliving every moment he’d ever spent with Shelley. The desire to go to her right now was so strong it scared him. His heart pulsed dangerously. Thinking he’d better get back to his neck of the island and put more than a few steps between them, he bolted out, locked the door, and practically ran down the hall.

He needed a distraction. Maybe now was the perfect time to start his hunt for a new career.

Abigail ran a brush through Shelley’s now-washed hair as she applied low heat from a blow dryer. The girl was sick. Just a common cold, but it wasn’t wearing on her very well.

“I suppose I got home just in time,” Abigail said cheerily.

Shelley, head clogged and nose stuffed, nodded and clutched the soft blanket around her shoulders tighter. She had the chills, and her chest hurt with every breath.

“So. Ashleigh tells me you’ve been playing at the club. You did call in sick tonight, didn’t you?”

Again, Shelley gave a nod.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to go out in this condition. And she also mentioned you’re going to be performing at the Lincoln Center at the end of this month. Is that true?”

She nodded weakly, not the slightest hint of spark entering her dulled eyes. In fact, she looked sicker at the mere mention. “It’s only a showcase of past and present Van Cliburn finalists. Nothing special.”

“Well, I think that sounds simply splendid, but I’ll let you get better before you tell me all the details.” Abigail turned off the dryer and set it down on the bathroom counter. “There, I think that’s good enough. Don’t want you getting split ends.”

“Thank you,” Shelley managed, sounding like several frogs had made their home in her throat. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Abigail smiled tenderly and hugged Shelley. “I am too, dear. And I think Ashleigh is as well. Poor girl; she didn’t know what to do with you.”

Shelley’s lids were drooping with the fever, so Abigail urged her to her feet, led her back to the bedroom, and settled her in bed. Sheets changed, pillowcases changed, everything fresh and Spring-clean.

“I’ll make you some ginger tea with lemon,” Abigail said as she tucked the covers around the chill-swept girl. “You’re going to be fine.”

Shelley didn’t seem confident of this as she closed her glazed brown eyes. Abigail was almost out of the room when she heard Shelley ask in barely above a whisper, “How’s Zach?”

Abigail smiled broadly. “Oh, he’s wonderful. Just wonderful.” She started out and missed the hot tears that started trickling down Shelley’s flushed cheek.

Carter banged on Zach’s door the next day loud enough to break it down. Finally, the man answered. “You’re back!” Carter boomed and gave his absentee friend a man-sized hug, clapping him firmly on his shoulder.

Zach grinned as Carter released him with a punch.

“You son of a bitch, you didn’t even tell me where you went. You never called, you never wrote,” Carter dramatized. “I finally got some decent sleep!”

“I’m sorry, man,” Zach ragged, “Next time, I’ll give six weeks’ notice.”

“Damn right.” Carter looked around. “God, this place smells like dead carcass. No offense.”

Zach smirked. “Yeah. I’m thinking of moving.”

“You should.” Carter bobbed his head even as he walked to the grimy windows. “You definitely should.” He wrestled open a few of the panes, finding them fairly stuck. Brisk air that hadn’t quite gotten the swing of spring blustered inside, but it helped with the scent of decay and refreshed the apartment quickly. Brushing the grey dust off his hands, Carter turned around. “So guess what? I got the promotion to Deputy Chief of Investigations.”

“Hey, that’s awesome,” Zach enthused. “Congratulations.”

“
And
, remember that chick Vienna?”

Zach grimaced, stomach rolling with the memories. “Don’t mention her.”

“Turns out? She’s the daughter of the head of the Brother’s Circle in Europe.”

“What?”

Carter held up a finger. “Don’t get too excited. We can’t find her.”

“Great.” Zach went to his fridge if only to cover his true feelings. “Glad I’m out,” he muttered.

“Yeah, about that. I have it on good authority that if you wanted your job back you could have it.” Carter followed Zach. “Cervenka’s still unaccounted for and you had the most contact with him.”

Zach found a few beers and pulled two out. He popped them both open and slid one over to Carter.

Carter caught it but didn’t take a drink. “I’ll take that as a no. So what’re you gonna do? Sit on your ass and get fat?”

Zach screwed up his face and lifted the cold bottle to his lips, tipping it back. Then he glanced at the Heineken. “You know I tried some really amazing stuff in Heidelberg.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Carter a folded-up piece of paper. “Here.”

Carter opened up the scrap of paper and read aloud. “A hint of dates, some nutmeg, a splash of pomegranate… What the hell is this a fruitcake recipe?”

Zach raised his beer with a grin. “Made me think of you.”

“Ha ha.” Carter rolled up the paper and tossed it at Zach. “You’re hilarious.”

Grinning, Zach swatted the wad away, and then sobered up as he set the bottle down. “Sorry, I took off without telling you.”

“I know. I figured out why without too much trouble.” Carter sighed. “But you can’t avoid her forever.”

“I don’t need to. Just until I find a new job. Maybe I’ll move to California or something. That’s where my uncles are.”

Carter scowled. “That sounds like running away to me.”

“I’m not running. I’m trying to let her breathe. I want her to figure out that she doesn’t need me or anyone else to be happy.” Zach raked a hand through his hair. “I want her to reach her potential.”

“Couldn’t she reach it with you?”

Self-deprecatingly, he shook his head and tucked his chin to his chest. “Not as long as she has to choose between Henri and me.”

Carter eyed him and then decided he would drop the topic. “Oh yeah. So Rick got into the FBI thanks to a letter someone
finally
wrote.” He smiled.

Zach dropped his gaze. “Should’ve done it when he asked. He deserved it before he saved Shelley’s life. And mine.”

Carter scrunched his face in confusion, but then it dawned on him though he could scarcely believe no one had said anything. “Uh huh.” Clearing his throat, he started backing towards the door. “I gotta get back to work. Just wanted to stop by and say I’m glad you’re back in one piece.” He opened the door and smirked. “Nice tan, by the way. Really brings out your general ugliness.”

Zach mock backhanded him. “You’re such an ass.”

Carter grinned and then ducked out. As he walked down the corridor, he deemed a trip to the law offices of Mitchel, Weston & Sons was in order.

James, legs propped up on his desk, flipped through a contract he was marking up for an investment merger when Carter strolled in unannounced and shut the richly-stained door.

James looked up in surprise, a nice view of Central Park East behind him. “You know every time you walk in here, my stress levels spike like you wouldn’t believe.”

Carter chuckled. “It’s not my fault all your clients are white-collar criminals.”

“Not all,” James protested. “Just most.” He pointed to a stuffed, brown leather chair. “Have a seat.”

“Nah, I can’t stay long. I’m already running late, but I wanted to fill you in on the latest. The prodigal has returned.”

James, who’d returned his attention to the contract already, dropped the thick document altogether and lowered his polished Ferragamo’s to the carpet. “Jesus, finally! Thought he decided to stay in Brighton.” He jumped up. “I’m gonna tell my Dad right now.”

Confused, Carter followed James’ determined stride out of the office. “Tell him what? That the guy he doesn’t want within a hundred-mile radius of his daughter is back?”

James shook his head. “No. It’s not like that. Just, uh,” – he paused outside his dad’s closed door – “don’t tell Zach you talked to me.”

“Don’t worry I won’t, but that’s not all I came to tell you.” Carter stepped closer and lowered his voice to nearly inaudible. “He thinks Rick shot Kazanov.”

James’ expression sagged. “Shelley didn’t say anything?” He groaned. “Perfect. Who’s gonna break it to him?”

In one accord, they both looked at each other and had the same idea.