Intrusion (6 page)

That coaxed a grin from him. His sea blue eyes actually twinkled. “My name is Lucian Sand, Dr. Lucian Sand.” He had the faint whisper of an accent. French, I think. Something about his sentence structure and phraseology suggested that English was an acquired language.

“Why were you following me?”

“Fortuitous, would you not agree? I wanted to meet you and your partner. Speak with you. As I mentioned, I had a discussion with your husband last year.” He stopped and spoke softly. “His accident was a tragedy. Please accept my condolences.”

I stifled a sob. Some day it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Some day when I was dead.

“I repeat. What do you want, Dr. Sand? I’m busy, and my partner, Ms.
Ott
, is unavailable right now.”

Lucian Sand leaned forward. He was taller than Tommy by several inches and had the taut body of a dedicated gym rat. I pegged his age at about thirty-five.

“I am a scientist, Mrs. Buckley, a professor at Concord University.”

“What’s your field?” Something about him aroused my suspicions. Maybe it was his passion. Admittedly, I was out of practice, but he had the lamest pick up line I’d ever heard. Invoking the name of my dead husband didn’t make me feel one bit amorous.

Another half-smile.
He had perfect teeth, not the Chiclets variety like Tony the Tornado, but straight, white teeth that fit his face. Too bad he wore that scruffy beard. I really loathe beards.

“It is rather boring, I’m afraid. My field is computer modeling, building and analyzing threat models. My specialty is implanted medical devices.”

The tea finally revived me. Now it all made sense. Lucian Sand was connected to CYBER-MED in some way. Why else would he lurk around the building, hiding in shadows?

My years at Harvard hadn’t been wasted: I could analyze a case study in record time. I’d gotten better grades than either Tommy or Kai with only half the effort. This was child’s play.

“Bottom line, Dr. Sand.
What’s your interest in us and CYBER-MED?”

He flushed. “You are very direct, Mrs. Buckley. I understand you and Ms.
Ott
are the new majority owners of the company. I have a proposition, strictly business, to make to you both.”

I gathered my things and rose, switching into frigid lawyer mode. “I’m afraid we’re not interested. Furthermore, until my friend’s estate is settled, any financial discussions would be premature.” I extended my hand.

Lucien Sand clutched my wrist. “Wait. You are playing a dangerous game. Look what happened to your friend.” Lightning flashed again in his eyes. “I tried to warn him too.”

I kept my voice calm. “Let me go, or I’ll scream. If you have any information about Mr. Yancey’s death, tell Sergeant Andrews of the Homicide division. Otherwise, leave me alone. Do you understand?”

He didn’t even flinch. “This isn’t over. Trust me on that.” He thrust a manila envelope at me without saying a word.

I pulled away, sped out the door and hailed a cab. No public transit today.

Six

“What does
he look like?” Trust Candy to focus on the big picture.

“Normal.
OK, I guess.” I hadn’t really studied him except for those eyes. Men didn’t interest me that way anymore. Probably never would again.

“Good body, I bet. Or is he doughy?
So many of those computer nerds go steady with a bag of
Cheetos
.
I mean, Rand is a great guy, but really …”

“He wasn’t fat.
Kind of athletic looking.
But unhinged, definitely unhinged. Avoid him at all costs. If he bothers us, I’ll call the cops.”

Candy pranced around her desk and slouched on the sofa. She was definitely hiding something.
Probably some business coup.

“I’m no Shakespeare scholar, Betts, but isn’t there something about a lady protesting too much? Lucian Sand sounds promising.”

“Forget about all that, it’s not important. You’re hiding something. Come on, out with it. You’re dying to tell me.”

“Guess who has a date tonight,” she purred, “with a new man?”

Time for a big, heaving sigh.
“Well, I know I’m not the lucky girl. Who is he?”

Her cat eyes sparkled. “You met him today, Betts.”

“The Tornado?”
I asked. “Kind of downscale for you, isn’t he?”

“Don’t be absurd.
Arun
Rao
called this afternoon. We’re meeting for drinks at the Four Seasons.” She checked the delicate
Patek
Philippe watch on her wrist. She’d ditched her father’s gift for something much more elegant.

“Oops,
gotta
run. Lucky thing I keep fresh clothes in here.”

I should have kept my mouth shut, but everything connected with CYBER-MED seemed odd. Now one of our partners was nosing around my friend.

“Candy, do you think that’s wise, getting involved with a business associate?”

“Involved? Whatever do you mean? Dating isn’t a felony, you know. I never took vows of celibacy. That’s your thing, Betts.”

 
Her blistering glare seared me as she swept out the door. Candy was right. I’d become a nudge, a perpetual scold, inflicting my misery on everyone else. Even in college I’d never dated much. Way too shy. When Kai found me, my world opened up. I couldn’t believe that a man like him would even notice me. Afterwards, every day was electric until death pulled the plug.

~

I couldn’t relax that night. Damn Lucian Sand! His accusations consumed me, rattling around my brain like a slippery screw. Twice I reached for a
Xanax
but thought better of it. How easily I could descend into oblivion, becoming a pill-popping, wine-swilling zombie.
No, thanks.
Alcohol didn’t really interest me. That was Kai’s thing. He was an oenophile, a true connoisseur who knew all the buzzwords and had a refined palate. I just went along for the ride. Sometimes sipping a glass of his favorite vintage comforted me, made me feel closer to him. It was tempting but terrifying to tiptoe down that slippery slope.

The envelope stayed there, an uninvited guest decorating the center of my
Chinoiserie
commode. I’m cautious by nature, prone to
overthinking
things. Not Tommy. He was intrepid, plunging into things without considering the downside. That’s what happened on Mount Washington. That’s what killed my husband.

A tide of loneliness swamped me. In all my life I’d had only three friends I could count on. Two were gone forever, and Candy was currently incommunicado. I cursed the shyness that had stunted my life.

For Christ’s sake, Lizzie Mae, buck up! Open the damned thing, and get it over with.

 
Damn! Lucian Sand was nothing but trouble. Maybe the whole thing was some sort of bizarre joke. I picked up Della’s brush and groomed her silky coat. Even if he was the Nutty Professor, I couldn’t discount Lucian Sand’s information. My best friend’s murder was a reality, not a joke. Maybe a change of surroundings would clarify my thoughts.

Before heading to Sweet Nothings, I reached out to the law. Mark Andrews was still at work despite the late hour. I’d counted on that. He didn’t look like the type to cut out early for a hot date.

“Mrs. Buckley,” he drawled, “this is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

I decided to play it cool.

“Just checking in.
Any developments on my friend’s murder?”
After a long pause I stuttered, “Thomas Yancey, I mean. That’s his name.”

“Thanks for jogging my memory.” Sarcasm stung me like a whip’s lash. “Still there, Mrs. Buckley?” he asked after a while. “Do you have anything to report?”

“Not really. I hoped you’d found some leads. You know, the crucial first forty-eight hours after a murder …”

Scorn wafted out of the telephone. Andrews was probably enjoying this. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” he asked. “You and Ms.
Ott
couldn’t wait to hotfoot it down to CYBER-MED. Beat me to it.”

“Now just a minute.”
By an act of sheer will, I stopped talking. I refused to justify my actions to this cop. Our trip to CYBER-MED had been strictly
business
.
“Back to my first question, Sergeant.
Where are we on Tommy’s case?”

Andrews didn’t soften the blow. “
We
are nowhere, Mrs. Buckley.
I,
on the other hand, have made progress. The impound lot has the car used in the murder, a black Mercedes stolen that very night.”

I gasped when he said that word. Murder is a cruel, hard word, but Tommy wore a constant grin that crinkled his eyes. He loved animals and specialized in practical jokes, couldn’t wait to spring them on you. Nothing about him was cruel or hard.

“He’d hate that,” I said. “Tommy despised Mercedes, called them Nazi cars.”

 
“I’m sure his thoughts were elsewhere that night. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Motive.
What was the motive?”

Andrews had exhausted his small store of charm. “When I learn that, I’ll make an arrest, unless you and Ms.
Ott
beat me to it. Now, if there’s nothing else …”

I cleared my throat. Andrews is a public servant, and I am one of the public.

“Who owned the car?
The one that killed Tommy?”

His sigh was audible. “It belonged to a little old widow from Wellesley who had pasted photos of her
Yorkie
all over the dashboard and didn’t even know it was gone. And before you ask, she’s half blind and has no children, nephews or friends connected to Thomas Yancey or CYBER-MED. It’s a dead end.”

I should have told him about the clippings. Probably should have mentioned Lucian Sand, too, or hinted about Tommy’s love life. Something deterred me, something I could never explain. Andrews would sneer at anything I offered now. I didn’t have proof. There was plenty of time for that.

~

Sweet Nothings occupied the third floor of a Beaux-Arts building in the shadow of Prudential Center. Its renovation — paint, hardwoods and art — focused more on style than substance. Like Sweet Nothings itself, everything looked young, bright and bursting with optimism.

After a quick nod to Otto, the guard, I strode toward the elevator. The mysterious Lucian Sand had probably sent me on a fool’s errand. Something about that man irritated the hell out of me.

The hallway swelled with a cacophony of work noises blended seamlessly with a dash of salsa music and banter. We’d pulled plenty of all-nighters here. Those were good times, filled with hard work, shared purpose and mutual affection. Candy, Kai, Tommy and I had breathed life into a concept and watched it thrive, almost like giving birth. I gulped. No time to dwell on that.

Our conference room is the makeup equivalent of Ali Baba’s cave. Every manner of pencil, shadow, lip gloss and foundation is on display, accompanied by a neatly printed card and plenty of mirrors. I shivered at the contrast between this joyous space and my grisly task. Tommy had spent many hours here, planning, arguing and kibitzing. Now I was here pondering his murder.

There are no brick and mortar stores at Sweet Nothings. Our business plan mandates an Internet-only presence. Candy’s mission involves scheduling live e-chats to promote new products and answering questions. She’s a genius, a natural saleswoman with a pinch of larceny. Employees revere her commitment to quality and her willingness to improve everything. Products are handmade in small batches by local workers, most of whom are holistic zealots.

Before leaving home, I’d done a quick check of Lucian Sand on the Concord University website. His CV was typical of the Northeast intelligentsia, Exeter and MIT, with one glaring exception. His original academic discipline was philosophy, of all things. He had gotten a PhD at the Sorbonne. That explained the whisper of French in his voice. Nothing explained or excused his brusqueness.

The palms of my hands moistened with fear.
Time’s
up, Lizzie Mae, no more stalling.
I placed the envelope face down on the conference table alongside a bottle of Pellegrino. A tall crystal goblet winked at me as I slowly sipped the bubbly water. Ritual was useful. It distanced me from whatever was to come. Candy is normally the fanciful one; I’m the pragmatist of our duo. Not tonight.

Get on with it,
I scolded.
You’ve waited long enough.
Was someone cooking the books? Tommy had six months to
suss
it out, and he’d be onto a financial scam faster than a flesh-eating virus. We’d always competed with each other tooth and nail to find the right answer, but Kai laughed at both of us. He had no need to prove himself.