Escape (36 page)

He had a point. We had googled that. But there was still the fact of the window company, which, apparently frightened by the extent
of his crime this time, denied both sending him on a job and authorizing his use of the van. Still, he was defiant. He denied having been hired to torch the house and challenged the police to find any money he might have been paid. He claimed he had never heard of Duane Cray or his company, that he had found the cell phone in the van, and that whoever had put it there must be the bad guy trying to put the blame on him. He even agreed to take a lie-detector test—though hearing this via intercom in an adjacent room, James was skeptical.

“Guys who spend their lives lying come to believe their lies so completely that they don’t react,” he remarked. I agreed. I had read what he had.

Rocco continue to stonewall. When the detective asked if he had ever heard of Lee Cray, he said he had not. When the police chief asked if he had ever heard of Bell Valley, he said he had not. They explained the sentencing guidelines for arson and suggested that a judge might go more easily on him if he shared what he knew. He insisted that he knew nothing and was being framed.

His attorney arrived then, a white-hair named Sam Civetti, and the interview ended, just like that.

James immediately texted the lawyer’s name to his man in New York. We were barely back on the road when we learned that Civetti worked out of a one-man office in the same building as Albert Meeme. Granted, the building was a high-rise whose thirty-two floors held dozens of law firms. Anyone who wanted legal representation could find it there. And there was no long paper trail showing Meeme feeding cases to Civetti. But there was a short one.

I called Lee and Amelia to update them, then called Vicki.

“Okay, Vicki Bell,” I said, vaguely teasing, “it’s test time. I’ve talked with your mother and Lee, and they’re on top of things there. I need to know if you’ll behave while I’m gone and let them do their thing. Rocco Fleming won’t be formally charged in court until tomorrow morning. We thought we’d hang around here until then.”

“James isn’t rushing back to New York?”

“Not yet.” He hadn’t told the firm. But he was the one who had
suggested another night, and he wasn’t thinking of Manchester. His plan was to hang around Boston.

It was the vacation we wouldn’t have allowed ourselves if James hadn’t learned about the partnership freeze. We hadn’t brought clothes for an overnight stay, so after checking into the Four Seasons, we shopped. Yes, we spent more money than we should have. No, I did not need the bangle bracelets that James bought me. Did I like the bracelets? Yes. Did we both like our new clothes? Yes. Likewise dinner at the Bristol, though I suspected that the Kobe beef was amazing because of the time, the setting, the company.

I didn’t drink wine. But the dress I bought was fitted, which made it a particular splurge. While the fabric had a little bit of give, I wouldn’t be able to wear it in another two months.

We were living for the moment.

James wore a tie Tuesday morning, and my skirt was blue and my own this time, as were my three-inch sandals, additional products of our spree. If only in appearance, we were a power couple. My dad would have been pleased.

Rocco Fleming couldn’t have cared less. He was arraigned in Essex Superior Court in Salem and, as expected, entered a plea of Not Guilty. He was granted bail, which was arranged through a bondsman, but we never got to asking who had secured the bond, because more immediate news arrived first.

James’s detective, pulling international strings, had linked Duane Cray to the Panamanian investment firm into which trust disbursements had vanished.

He had also found e-mail communication between Duane Cray and Albert Meeme. The two had every right to e-mail each other, since Meeme was the executor of Duane’s family trust, but the latest exchange stood out. It was a discussion of the damage Lee could do
and the possibilities of dissuading her from pursuing her case, but it was largely in code. Lee was referred to as “the wife.” Money was mentioned—
she wants a bakery
—with Duane saying he’d gag before coughing up dough, pathetic as puns went. He said he knew where she lived. He said he knew who her protector was. Meeme’s only response was
Stay cool
. If there was a threat, it was veiled.

Sitting in the car outside the courthouse, we made the detective read us the e-mail exchange several times. When we finally let him go, James was guarded. He pulled at his tie, unbuttoned his collar.

“Can’t be sure,” he finally said.

“Because they don’t mention names?” I was perfectly happy playing bad cop to his good one. “That exchange is too coincidental. The scenario fits Lee. Duane Cray hired Rocco Fleming. And he won’t stop there.”

My husband shot me an amused look.

“What?”

“You’re sure about that?” he asked.

“I am.”

He thought for a minute. “Then I think we’d better tell Lee. But in person. She’ll be frightened.”

We returned to Manchester-by-the-Sea to share what we’d learned with the police, and once we were on the highway again, I called Lee. Promising an update on what had happened in court, I told her we’d meet her at the inn at six.

I had one other call to make.

“Hiya, Emmie,” Jude said, picking up with a familiarity I was glad James couldn’t hear. He knew I had nothing going on with Jude, but he also knew the history. That put a different twist on familiarity.

“Where are you?”

“Actually, I am … in … Schenectady.” He sounded like he’d had to check a signpost to be sure.

“What are you doing there?” I asked, but immediately changed
the thought. It didn’t matter what he was doing there. Amelia had said he would watch Lee’s house, and he couldn’t do it from Schenectady. “How soon can you be back in Bell Valley?”

“Tomorrow. I’m spending the night here.”

“Lee needs protecting.”

“Lee always needs protecting, but nothing happens.”

“That may change, Jude. We’re closing in on the bad guys. We now have incriminating e-mail. Once they realize that, the ante goes up.” Albert Meeme, Duane Cray, and his brother—they’d soon know we’d been snooping, just as they had to already know that Rocco Fleming would rat on them to save his own skin. “Lee is the linchpin. All she has to do is to say that she was wrong, that she misunderstood what her husband promised her, that the trust fund is legit. If she drops her case, they’re safe. They’ll do anything to make that happen.”

“You’re watching too much TV.”

The remark annoyed me. “Actually, I don’t watch
any
TV, but I do know criminal law.” Jude did not, and his complacency was insulting. “Those murderers who claim insanity? It isn’t insanity. It’s jealousy and rage and fear. Do you want to expose Lee to that?”

“I can’t be her bodyguard,” he shot back, disgruntled. “Amelia needs to hire someone else. She can’t
pay
me enough to do this job. Sitting around is not my thing.”

I gentled. “Right now, you’re all we have. Please? We’re meeting at the Red Fox at six. Can you be there?”

“Hell,
no
. Come on, Emily. I have done nothing good in Bell Valley.”

I’d have to have been deaf not to hear his defeat. Coaxing, pleading, I said, “Here’s your chance to change that, Jude. Six at the inn. See you then.”

In the ensuing silence, James rolled back his sleeves. “Will he be there?” he finally asked.

I kept my eyes on the road. “That’s anyone’s guess. He’s struggling to figure out who he is.”

“You can’t do it for him.”

“No, but I can help.” I turned my head on the seat. His profile was hard—eyes unblinking, chin out a little too far. “He has potential, James, really he does. He just … 
sucks
at doing Bell Valley. He has too many emotional issues there.”

“You being one.”

“No. His issues started long before he ever met me. I am not the problem.” I pushed a hand into my hair, lifting it away from my scalp. I had worn it down that day, but now it felt heavy. “I don’t want to argue about this, not with you. Jude is not an issue for us. He’s an issue for Amelia and, right now, for Lee. It’d be great if he came through for them, but he’s not terribly reliable.” I smiled. “You, on the other hand, are.”

James was a minute softening. “That was smooth.”

“Easy to do, when it’s true.” I took his hand. “Have I told you how much I value that? Reliability, patience, smarts—you have it all, James. Thank you for being here.”

He didn’t speak. After a minute, quietly, he said, “I’m driving back tonight.”

“I know.”

“There’s just too much work to do right now.”

“I understand.”

“I may tell them I’m taking two weeks in August. I can’t keep killing myself for the firm. For all I know, they’ll freeze partnerships next year, too.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Any word from Walter?”

“Oh yeah.” I had called him Monday, but he was on vacation, so I’d left a message. “Here.” I thumbed through my in-box, bypassing notes from my parents, my sister, my yoga teacher. “No ‘Dear Emily,’ ” I said, and read Walter’s e-mail aloud. “ ‘I knew where this was going, so your cubicle is already filled. We boxed and mailed your personal stuff. Too bad. You’re a smart lawyer, you have a future somewhere, but not here. That’s the best I’ll be able to write in a
recommendation.’ ” I lowered the BlackBerry and looked at James. “I guess I burned that bridge.”

“It’s okay,” he finally said. “You’re doing something more important.”

I wanted to think he meant that.

We reached Bell Valley at five to find Rob in a frenzy. Lee hadn’t shown up for tea and couldn’t be reached on the phone, so Vicki was on her feet doing the work. Rob was distracted, trying to take over everything Vicki started, and Vicki was talking a mile a minute about Lee being upset that Rocco that was out on bail, which Amelia had learned from Sean and had tactlessly shared. Vicki was convinced Lee had run away to hide somewhere new.

I didn’t think so. When I talked with her, she had sounded fine. She couldn’t have lied so convincingly if she was already planning to leave, and besides, she had family here. She had friends here. I wanted to think I was one and that she would have trusted me enough to have called me if Amelia had scared her that much.

“Where is your mother?” I asked, pulling Vicki away from the dishwasher and steering her to a chair.

“At a board meeting at the Refuge, so she’s no help. But the real question is where’s Jude, because he was supposed to be guarding Lee and—I can load dishes, Emmie. Thirty minutes, the doctor said.”

“She times it,” Rob murmured as he stuffed wet coffee grounds into the trash. “Thirty minutes standing, fifteen sitting.”

“Where’s Charlotte?”

“At day care,” Vicki said, propping bare feet against the edge of the table. “Rob needs to pick her up.”

I shooed him out. “Tea is almost done. I can handle stragglers.” Looking hugely grateful, he took off.

Other than consolidating fruit and cookies, there was little in the parlor to do. Back in the kitchen, I tried Lee’s cell as I finished loading
the dishwasher, but there was no answer. I tried three minutes later, then three minutes after that.

“She does not sleep during the day,” Vicki announced, “and if she’s been in the shower all this time, she must be a prune by now. She has never not shown up like this, not like my brother, who
never
shows up when you need him. Does he not have an ounce of responsibility in that gorgeous body of his? I mean, what if she’s sick?
Really
sick? What if she had a stroke or something?”

“Why don’t I go to her house,” James offered. He had actually been drinking a cup of coffee, trying to stay out of the way. “Tell me how to get there.”

But Vicki rubbed the air as if to calm it. “No. Ignore me. I’m being emotional, because the timing of this is lousy, so I’m jumping to conclusions. Lee is healthy, and she’s tough. She can take care of herself.”

I eyed James. He didn’t look convinced.

I autodialed her number at increasingly shorter intervals, and was about to quit when she actually picked up. “Hello?” she said in a small voice.

“Lee! Omigod, we’ve been trying you forever. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was strange, numb. She never said much, but what little she did say usually had more feeling.

“Are you sick? Sleeping? It’s not like you to miss tea. We were supposed to meet you here at six.”

She cleared her throat. “Oh wow. I’m sorry. I think I have to skip the movie. I’m not really up for it. I kind of have a headache.”

I caught James’s eye. “A headache. Can I bring you anything? Maybe leftovers of some of the lentil soup you made yesterday.”

Vicki drew in her chin. There was no lentil soup.

“It was too salty,” Lee said. “I just want to sleep. Will you tell Vick that?”

“I will. Okay, Lee. Feel better.” I clicked out of the call and looked at the others. “Someone’s there. Someone must have been listening in.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?” James asked.

Vicki shook her head.

“Maybe a brother?” I asked. Lee came from a large family that, by her own admission, was shady. If someone from that old life had shown up—wanting to visit, wanting to
hide
—she might be upset enough to talk nonsense.

Vicki was on my wavelength. “There are several brothers, but she never told them where she was. Maybe they found out. Maybe they’re hitting her up for money.” But she didn’t really think that. I could see she was worried.

So was I.

When James made for the door, I was right behind, standing aside only to let in Rob, who held Charlotte.

“Where is Jude?”
Vicki hollered after us.

In Schenectady? On the road? Unless he was just about to reach Lee’s, it didn’t matter.

Chapter 23