Death On the Dlist (2010) (19 page)

“Behind the curtains, for sure.”

“And I noticed he didn’t follow us down to get the morning paper. It’s been sitting at the edge of his front porch steps since we got there. He didn’t want to be questioned for the time it would take to lean over and get the paper. And now he’s hiding behind the curtains? Yep. We just may have our man.”

Kolker took the wheel, one cop in back, one riding shotgun. He cranked up and eased away from the front of Anderson’s house. When interviewing a potential murder suspect, better to work in teams. Anything could turn on a dime and go sideways.

“He still looking?”

“He’s still looking, boss.”

“Good.”

Kolker eased into surprisingly heavy traffic for a cul-de-sac in a suburban neighborhood.

Lots of station wagons, big heavy sedans, and mom-type SUVs. Everybody was heading to preschool.

Anderson didn’t fit here. Something was wrong.

Kolker looked back at the house, back at the curtains in the front window.

Something didn’t fit. He knew it in his gut.

Scott Anderson . . . golf pro. Something was wrong.

HAILEY LOOKED THROUGH THE TINTED WINDOW FROM THE BACK OF THE
black limo GNE sent to pick her up after her last patient of the day. It was Mazz again. As with her other clients, they’d continued regular phone sessions and Skype while she had been in Atlanta.

Mazz was a high-priced CPA-turned-financial-guru with a stable of wealthy clients. Hailey had long suspected him of criminal activity. Today, Mazz was kicked back in an Armani suit that had to have set him back at least three thousand dollars. Hailey saw the tag on the inside of the jacket when he took it off and hung it on the coat rack standing just inside the door to her office suite.

She’d prepared his coffee just as she heard the buzzer alerting her he was downstairs waiting to be let up. She’d learned Mazz liked his coffee piping hot, loaded with heavy cream and four packets of sugar. Even with all that cream and sugar, he stayed rail thin. Must be the stress of criminal enterprise.

“You look tired, Mazz. Bad night?”

“Oh, Hailey. If you only knew. It was the monkey again.”

“Oh, no! The monkey . . . What happened this time?”

As if she didn’t know. An evil carnival monkey, actually an IRS agent in disguise, had plagued Mazz for over two years now. Typically in the dreams, two chunky IRS agents chased Mazz through variations of an intricate maze. Sometimes he was lost between high hedges, sometimes he’d be caught in a stone labyrinth, sometimes wandering through a dense forest, and sometimes going through a series of rooms connected by elaborate hallways and secret trap doors.

Whenever Mazz thought he’d eluded the gang of IRS agents, all dressed in dark blue polyester suits with rayon-mix ties, the monkey would literally jump out of nowhere onto his back, screeching loudly.

“It was the house again.”

“Oh, no.” Hailey kept her face completely expressionless, as usual when reliving Mazz’s monkey dreams.

“Were you a fly this time?”

“No. I was a bird.”

“Well, that’s good. At least they weren’t picking off your wings again.”

“That’s true, Hailey. They couldn’t tear my wings off. But Hailey,” Mazz began twisting the Hermès bandana he always pulled, neatly folded into a square, from his back pants pocket. “I tried earlier to fly away out one of the windows . . . but it was locked. But I didn’t feel like a fly . . . I was more of a . . . a . . . falcon. Some sort of bird of prey. I was definitely not a fly this time. But I crashed into the window and then I had human legs again. I looked down and saw them running. I turned around, and it was the big guy chasing me, the one with the incredibly plain navy suit.”

Mazz always described what other dream characters were wearing in great detail.

“Poly-rayon tie again?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Hmm,” she said, nodding, “no natural fibers . . . again.” Hailey made a note.

“So I got to my hiding place, you know, behind the metal file cabinets down in the furnace room at the bottom of my office building.” She nodded. Same place he always ended up.

“Hailey, they didn’t find me. They disappeared. I could hear their feet, running away down the halls till it just went silent. And then I woke up.” Mazz was soaked with sweat. He looked across the three or so feet that separated them, she in a wingback chair facing the window, Mazz on a buttery-colored sofa beside her. His expression was one of amazement . . . disbelief. How could he be so confounded by the same dream he’d been having for over a year?

“I think the fact that you were not a fly, didn’t have your wings torn off, and actually had human feet and legs is a huge step forward.”

“Totally agree, Hailey.”

“But what do you think, in your real life, triggers the dream? The IRS agents, the running, the monkey?”

Mazz suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable and pulled at the neck of his shirt.

“Hailey, that’s a tough one. I forgot to tell you, I gotta go early today.” He had practically leaped off the sofa and headed to the door.

The limo lurched over a pothole. Hailey looked up at the canopy of trees overhead as the car slowed down after following a long, winding driveway that went straight through a swath of apple orchard. After over an hour on the expressway, she was here, at the mansion of Sookie Downs.

It was a monster, set far off the main highway, down a winding one-car driveway in the center of a huge apple orchard. Parked in a circular drive at the front exterior, the thing loomed over them.

“I think you’re supposed to wait.” Hailey leaned toward the front seat and spoke through a plastic partition between herself and the driver.

“I’ll be right here.” He said it reassuringly from his spot in the front seat behind the wheel. She had no idea why she’d been summoned, but her curiosity caused her to agree to come.

“Thanks.” Hailey slid across the long, leather backseat, pushed open the heavy car door, and stood beside the limo, looking all the way up to the top of the home. It was more like a castle than a home, complete with turrets on the left and right front sides.

Turrets? In East Hampton? Who knew.

There was a tall and impressive set of steps leading to the front door and Hailey climbed them to ring the bell. She could hear it plainly, echoing a series of chimes.

No answer.

She waited a few moments, then pressed the bell again. After a few more moments of waiting, Hailey could hear movement and then the front door swung open. Just over the threshold stood a short, dark-haired woman dressed in formal maid’s attire.

Hailey was taken aback. She’d never actually known anyone who had servants in their home . . . servants who dressed in uniforms as if they were working at a luxury hotel. The woman smiled through the open door at Hailey. She wore a long-sleeved, light blue dress, covered by a crisp white apron with black, rubber-looking shoes so as not to make a sound as she made her way around Sookie’s mansion. The uniform was topped off with a little white kerchief-looking headpiece, almost like a mini-mantilla.

“Good afternoon. Are you Ms. Dean? I’m Consuela and Ms. Downs is expecting you. Please, come in.”

The woman was pleasant. Hailey stepped in to follow behind after she gently shut the front door and motioned to Hailey to come along.

The entrance hall was cavernous with a hardwood parquet floor. The ceiling was vaulted, and a huge crystal chandelier hung down from its joist in a thick, wooden beam that went from one end of the hall’s overhead surface to the next. Hailey’s footsteps sounded out loudly as they crossed the entrance hall into a formal living room. The carpet was baby blue and the furniture looked antique and uncomfortable. Across the distance of the room, Hailey looked ahead into a den.

Although it was just as large as the living room, it was only a little less formal, with a brownish sofa and chairs whose centerpiece was a large stone fireplace. It fleetingly brought to mind the Manhattan penthouse apartment of Fallon Malone, not in the schematic or color scheme, but because every wall was covered with shots of its owner.

Framed photos of Sookie Downs with every sitting president dating back to the fifties, when she was a little girl, were prominently displayed. As a child, she appeared in the photos along with her father, who was pictured in full military regalia.

Consuela stood silently behind Hailey, also gazing at the wall of photos. She must have seen them a million times. “Please, have a seat, Ms. Hailey. Can I bring you anything? Would you like a glass of wine? Ms. Downs is very proud of her collection.”

“Her collection? Of what?”

“Fine wines.” Consuela looked as if she were confused Hailey did not know she was referring to wine. “Ms. Downs collects wines from all around the world. She even has a climate-controlled wine cellar . . . I’m sure she will show it to you. She can control its temperature by remote!”

“Oh, my, remote-controlled temperature in her wine cellar. Now that is really
something.
But, no. Thank you.” It was way too early to be hitting the wine. The woman looked disappointed, as if she’d specifically been instructed to make guests happy.

Hailey quickly added, “Maybe later?”

Since Consuela still looked worried, Hailey decided to ask for something. “Let me see then . . . may I please have a cup of hot tea? With milk? Skim if you have it . . .”

The woman smiled broadly, as if getting a cup of tea for Hailey would absolutely make her day. “Oh, yes, Ms. Hailey. I’d be happy to get that for you. What type of tea would you like?”

“Irish Breakfast . . . I don’t guess you have that on hand. It’s so much harder to find than English Breakfast or chamomile.”

“We do have it, as a matter of fact. Mr. Russo called to tell us it’s one of your favorites, and Ms. Downs insisted we have it for you today. I will be right back. Here, Ms. Hailey, sit here. It’s the most comfortable chair in the house and Ms. Downs wants you to be comfortable. She is on a call and will be right along.”

The comfy chair was located directly in front of the wall of fame, and whoever sat there looked directly into dozens of Sookie Downs’ posed “candid” shots. In just moments, Consuela was back with a full tea service on a silver tray. She handed a cup of piping hot Irish Breakfast to Hailey and left the room again.

Hailey was left alone to examine all the presidential photos on the wall. Hailey looked back to the first one to the left again. It must have been one of the earliest. Out on a landing strip of some sort stood a tall, lean man who was dressed in military garb and obviously Sookie’s father.

Looking carefully, Hailey recognized immediately the significance of the embroidery on his shoulders. There were four stars on either side. He was a four-star army general. Extremely rare.

In his arms, he held what was clearly, from the photos, his only child. Beside them stood President Dwight D. Eisenhower. Hmm. Hailey quickly calculated that, based on the picture, Sookie must be at least in her fifties.

Wow. The miracle of modern science. Hailey would have guessed Sookie to be in her forties instead of mid-to-late fifties.

Hailey could see the resemblance of Sookie, the child, to Sookie Downs, the woman full grown. But over the years, that similarity had become much more vague. Mousey brown hair as a child turned red somewhere in her twenties and instead of dulling over time with age, it became more and more vibrantly red. It was plain to see, when photographs taken over the years were displayed side by side, that extensive work had been done on Sookie’s eyes, nose, chin, neck, and cheeks.

She looked altogether different than she had early in life, but still, the same gray eyes stared out from every photo. Overall, the effect was pleasing. Sookie was an extremely attractive woman, tall and thin with shoulder-length red hair and a physique toned by years on the tennis courts, and then later, whatever the scalpel could offer.

Next in the row were more shots of Sookie and her dad, but with JFK, LBJ , Nixon, and Carter. Then, the photos’ backgrounds changed, from out in the field with her dad to shots with the
Harry Todd
background behind her. There were Reagan, Bush Sr., Clinton, and George W. Bush, each standing with Sookie. Then there was an Obama event with Sookie in a formal gown along with the President and Harry Todd in tuxedoes at some sort of gala.

The rest of the wall was literally covered with photos of Sookie, with all sorts of celebrities, stars, and dignitaries, ranging from rock bands to ambassadors to screen legends and politicians.

Impressive.

Having given Hailey enough time to soak in all the photos and framed news and magazine articles about Sookie and
The
Harry Todd Show
, the woman herself breezed into the room as if the timing wasn’t intentional. Hailey briefly wondered if she pulled the same effect on every guest before making her entrance.

“
Hello
, Hailey!”

Hailey turned. Sookie was perfectly made up and her gleaming auburn hair had obviously just been blown out. She was tricked out like a twenty-year-old in $800 Christian Louboutin spike-heeled shoes with red soles. Hailey recognized the label on her “distressed” jeans and remembered seeing them priced at over $500 a pair. The ensemble was topped with a bright pink cashmere sweater that came just above her belly button. Even her nails were perfect, each one gently rounded on the tip and lacquered to match the pink cashmere.

Hailey stood up and extended her hand. Sookie held it lightly and briefly, her palm and fingers cool and dry to the touch.

“So! I finally get to meet the woman the
camera just loves
!
You’re absolutely wonderful! Harry
loves
you! Thank you for coming all the way out here . . . I hope the drive wasn’t
too horrible . . .
”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t bad at all. And I got lots of work done on the way.”

“You worked in the car?”

“Oh, yes . . . I dictate patients’ notes right into a little hand-held recorder. I take the information from entries I make during sessions, then send it to a transcription service. It comes back to me within a day or two, all neatly typed and ready for the patient’s file.”

“Oh, my. You’re so . . .” Sookie paused, searching for the right word . . . “
industrious!”
She kept on a light smile and sat down gracefully on the deep sofa parallel to Hailey’s seat. As Sookie sank into the sofa, Hailey took the cue and sat again in the chair facing both Sookie and the wall of Sookie photos. Suddenly it struck her that there wasn’t a single picture of the woman’s children on display. Somehow, Hailey couldn’t imagine Sookie Downs ever being pregnant, but apparently she was, twice.

“How are your children?”

“Oh, they’re wonderful! Just wonderful! They attend St. Pius private school. It’s really the best out here, but I just hope they don’t fill them up with all that
religion
!
I don’t want them to be freaks!”

Hailey was silent. Some of her happiest memories were those involving her little Methodist church back home. She’d practically grown up there, running up and down the halls, exploring the quiet sanctuary while her mom practiced away on the organ. Oblivious to Hailey’s silence, Sookie went on. “You know, I just love your hair. Who does it? It looks so natural! I have mine touched up in the city . . . costs me a fortune.”