Murder.com (10 page)

Despite a break-in and having my ass almost flung in
jail, I had been focused on work for the past few days trying to
get POP ready to, well, pop. Everything was now set, and we spent
the day making calls and meeting with various venture capital firms
in an effort to let them know that we were now ready to accept term
sheets for this round of funding.

Imogen was sitting in on most of
the meetings at the office. Since we were in the city, and it was
becoming very easy for her to come to work with me. One of the
endearing qualities that Imogen possessed was her desire not to
fall into the trap of simply being a lady that lunched. She wasn't
interested in shopping, lunching, and then getting a mani/pedi with
the girls whilst sipping a glass of wine, waiting for me to arrive
home after a hard day's work. She was smart as a whip, driven, and
a classic beauty. I was happy to have her by my side on a
professional and a personal level. Although, as I had recently
discovered, keeping her on a personal level meant taking some
steps—some would say nothing short of a leap—forward. I was working
on that.

After a string of meetings, we found ourselves back
in my office alone.

"I've forgotten how much I enjoy
work," she said.

"You've certainly got a knack for
it, my dear." I was thinking that I could possibly lure her back
into the working world.

"Well, Dutch, you do realize that
I did have a life before I met you."

"Dutch again?"

"Get used to it. I'm going to be
using it."

"Fantastic."

"As, I was saying, Dutch, I did
have a life once upon a time."

"You don't say. I just thought you
materialized in that house of yours when I moved into the
neighborhood."

"Ha. Ha."

"So, can I convince you now to
come work with me full-time?"

"I didn't say I liked work
that much
."

As we continued, engaged in our ridiculous
conversation, my office phone rang. I motioned to Imogen to give me
one moment and then picked up the receiver. Imogen lounged back in
her Aeron chair across the desk from me, prepared to eavesdrop on
my conversation.

"I was waiting for your call," the
voice on the line said.

"I was just about to ring you," I
replied, although I'd had no intention of calling him.

I mouthed to Imogen that it was Mike Miller on the
line inquiring about the POP deal. He asked if we could meet over
dinner to discuss it. I agreed, and we decided that we would
rendezvous at Gramercy Tavern around 8:00 p.m.

"And bring your colleague, what
was her—"

"Imogen?"

"Yes, that's the one. Bring
Imogen."

"Can you bring Clarke?" I
asked.

Mike paused and thought for a
moment. "He's indisposed this evening. But I'll let him know that
you were asking for him."

Always indisposed. I was getting
the feeling that he didn't want to see me.

I told Mike that we would see him later tonight, and
then I hung up. I looked directly at Imogen.

"What?"

Maybe I was staring a little too intently at
her.

"Looks like we've got him." I
said.

"
Hamo,
linea et sinker
," Ginny
responded.

"Huh?"

"Hook, line, and sinker…in my best
Latin."

"Showoff."

Gramercy Tavern was located right
around the corner from Union Square on Park Avenue South. The bar
at the restaurant was quite extensive and quite appealing to look
at while you were sitting enjoying a drink. It was constructed of
what appeared to be mahogany, with typical mirrors serving as the
backdrop to each shelf. The actual bar itself was also made from
some sort of dark wood, with miniature table lights and place
settings in front of each barstool about two feet apart. You could
walk in, sit at the bar, and enjoy a drink and something to eat off
the Tavern menu. Or, as Mike, Ginny, and I were going to do, dine
in the actual restaurant at 8 p.m. Imogen and I arrived around 7:30
in order to grab a quick drink at the bar.

I ordered a glass of Sauvignon
Blanc and Imogen had a glass of Pinot Noir. I stared out of the
window facing 20th Street. There was a definite late autumnal nip
in the air tonight. The passersby were bundled a bit more than
usual.

"Why did he call?" Imogen asked,
and took a sip of her drink.

"I think it's more along the lines
of why did he invite us out to dinner?" I said.

"Maybe he has something to tell
us?"

"Maybe he just wanted another
opportunity to impress us with his knowledge of Latin. Or maybe
he's also a detective in his spare time, looking for clues, and is
going to pump us for information."

"I was thinking that maybe he'll
tell us how he murdered Ted."

"I'm sure he'll divulge that even
before the appetizers arrive."

Imogen smirked at me disconcertingly and then
disapprovingly while she sipped her red wine. We chatted a while
and then decided to check in and be seated. The hostess walked us
over to our table, where Ginny and I proceeded to order another
drink while we waited for Mr. Miller to arrive.

Around 8:20 p.m., Mike arrived. He
walked over to the table with a woman I had never seen before. She
was short, petite, cute, and was dressed understated but in an
outfit that must have cost $3,000. And that wasn't including the
diamond earrings that she had dangling off her lobes. Her short,
straight black hair helped to accentuate her light brown eyes, as
did her high cheekbones and fair skin.

"Good evening, Max," Mike said as
he shook my hand. "I'm sorry that we're a little late. Kate had
quite a time getting into the city this evening."

Mike formally introduced Kate to
Imogen and myself. Kate was Mike's wife that we didn't know would
be in attendance. We shook hands all around, and then everyone was
seated. I told Mike and Kate that their tardiness was certainly
excused and to not think about it any further. They expressed their
thanks, ordered a drink, and placed their napkins on their
laps.

"I just love this place," Kate
said, and then went on to explain that was why she had decided to
join Mike out tonight. "I never can pass up a chance to eat
here."

Gramercy Tavern was one of my favorite places as
well. I expressed that sentiment to Kate, and she smiled. Imogen as
well offered up her praise for the food and decor.

"I'm glad that we have a chance to
get together and break bread tonight," Mike said, shifting the
conversation. "It was nice to see you the other week, Max, and to
meet you, Miss Whitehall."

"Please, call me
Imogen."

"Very well then, it was nice to
see you too, Imogen. I thought that you and Kate might hit it off,
so I am thrilled that you were able to make it tonight."

"I'm flattered," Imogen lied with
convincing authenticity.

"So what do you usually order?" I
asked Kate, trying to move this conversation along.

"I simply must have the marinated
black sea bass. It is divine."

"Sounds delicious," I responded,
looking at the menu while eyeing the braised lamb shoulder with
broccoli puree.

We ordered dinner and engaged in some small talk
while we all sipped our wine and sized each other up. Mike was busy
making nice with Imogen, and Kate was busy looking around the
restaurant at everything but Mike. I was intently listening to Mike
and Imogen, although nothing of importance was said, while I
finished my wine and then promptly ordered another glass.

Small talk was the common
denominator between the four of us while we enjoyed our dinner. The
changing weather, the city, shopping, and restaurants were all
riveting topics that were explored. Imogen looked bored. Kate
looked exasperated, and Mike always looked the same—intense. About
halfway through our meal, which was delicious, Imogen excused
herself to powder her nose. To my surprise, although it was an
extremely common occurrence, Kate excused herself as well and
joined Imogen.

After excusing the ladies, I took a bite of my
braised lamb. It was fantastic. Mike finished swallowing a bite of
his spinach fettuccine and then spoke.

"I spoke to Clarke, and we're
in."

"Great," I said, wondering why and
how much he was interested in investing.

"This is a slam dunk for us. We're
very optimistic about POP.
Cygnus inter
antes.
"

"Latin again?"

"Yes, Pop is a
swan among ducks
."

This Latin crap was getting on my nerves.

"I'm glad that you see the
potential in POP."

"A hundred million. I'd say that's
recognizing potential, presuming we arrive at the proper equity for
such an investment."

"And Clarke's on board with
that?"

"I know. It's a little outside of
his character, but, in all honesty, it was his idea. I wanted to
come in a little more conservative."

This statement was interesting.
Clarke was notorious for dipping his toe into any opportunity
before jumping in. There was no doubt that he was jumping in
headfirst with this. He couldn't be that bullish on POP. Yet
another mystery to decipher.

"I'm sure we'll come to terms," I
said.

"Good. We can get working on the
term sheet next week. I'll have my colleague give you a
ring."

"You'll have to thank Clarke for
me. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"It's not a vote of confidence.
It's a sound investment."

We toasted to the pending investment, and then I
decided to rock the boat a little.

"I don't want to suck the life out
of this dinner, but how was the funeral? I was thinking about you
guys the other day. Must have been hard."

He put his fork down on his plate
and swallowed. I liked getting under Mike's skin. Although I should
have trodden lightly. The guy was about to give me a hundred
million dollars.

He peered right through me. "It
was terrible. Just terrible."

"I would imagine."

"I don't think you could. Seeing
all those people. Seeing Kitty. It was all just
overwhelming."

"Was Kitty all right?"

"She seemed to be handling it
well. Or the best one could handle losing a husband. But I didn't
even get a chance to talk to her. I couldn't bring myself to do
it."

He hadn't talked to her. She had
lied. I couldn't understand why she would have done something like
that. It didn't make any sense.

I decided to get off the funeral
subject. "How do you think Ted would have felt about
POP?"

Maybe that was the wrong direction
to go, because this question further flustered Mike. He took a sip
of his wine while he thought through his answer.

"Ted and I weren't exactly on the
same page as of late. It seems that as we aged, our investment
strategies were not always in line."

"It happens. We're in a subjective
business," I said.

"To be successful in this business
you need to see the future. Ted was busy living in the past. Clarke
and I both agree, that's a dangerous place to live." Mike paused.
"Have you ever had any problems with partners?"

"I rule my kingdom
now."

"So you don't know what it's
li—"

"I do. I've had my fair share over
the years. The thing I learned about partners is not to have
any."

Mike laughed.

"If only it were that easy," Mike
said, then sipped his wine. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you asking about
Ted?"

Talk about a pointed question. I
tried to remain light and conversational. "Just
curious."

"The reason I ask is that we've
never worked together and then you, pardon the pun, pop out of the
blue the other week with an investment opportunity, meet with me,
and now we're sitting here having dinner."

I needed a moment to try to
formulate an answer. He had caught me off guard, so I sipped my
wine. Then I began to speak: "If I'm psychoanalyzing the situation,
I'd say that hearing the news about Ted made me think of you guys.
Ted was a peer of mine. Maybe I got a little sentimental.
Subconsciously, it probably made me contact you about
POP."

"Didn't you two have a
history?"

"Something like that. It was a
lifetime ago."

The answer just lingered in the
air like Kate's expensive perfume. Mike's expression remained the
same, intently listening, or so it appeared. He took a bite of his
fettuccini and then a sip of his wine, allowing my response to
marinate.

"POP is going to make us both a
lot of money," he said, finally.

The ladies returned.

"You boys miss us?" Kate playfully
said as she sat down.