The Devil's Interval (20 page)

“Well, his ended a lot more publicly and tragically than ours,” said Michael. “Although someone will get murdered if it ever happens again in our household.”

“I had really, really, really hoped he'd be a suspect.” I sighed.

“Well, he's not,” said Michael. “And you knew that going in—he had an alibi and validating witnesses out the door.”

“I know,” I protested, “but he's rich. He could have hired somebody to do it.”

“So did you learn anything useful?” asked Michael,

“I did,” I said. “I don't know what exactly, but I think that I did. Made me want to track down a few more loose ends.”

“Oh,” said Michael, turning up the hill to our house, “why doesn't that fill my heart with gladness?”

“You do,” I said, turning to him as we pulled into the garage. I unlocked my seatbelt and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You fill my heart with gladness.”

Even in the dark, I could see his dark eyes grow bright, reflecting light back at me. “Why, Mrs. Fiori,” he said. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

I moved my hand to just below his cummerbund. “How energetically,” I asked, “do I have to try?”

S
ometimes in the endless nights, when sleep was something to fear rather than seek, Travis found himself thinking about Frederick Plummer. It's not as if he knew the guy; Grace would hardly speak about him. Some Girl Scout code of honor or something—not talking to your sweetheart about your spouse. But sometimes Travis thought: You and me, Frederick, old buddy, now we've got stuff in common. And he would wonder what Frederick missed the most about Grace. He knew what he missed, and it had nothing to do with the sex, although that had been pretty damn good. He missed her saying a new word aloud to him, trying it out. “How would you pronounce c-h-i-m-e-r-a?” Sometimes he'd know; sometimes he wouldn't. But it didn't matter, because he'd taken to carrying a paperback Webster's in the glove box. He'd reach over and hand it back to Grace, and that day, they'd both learn something new. He teased her once about being such a perpetual student. “I bet you were a grade-grubber in school,” he'd said. She hadn't answered. He still remembered how the silence grew in the car. “Gracie? I'm just giving you a hard time,” he said. “I'm just remaking myself,” she said. “I've been doing it a long, long time.”

His thoughts went back to Frederick. Oh well, thought Travis, it's not as if Frederick and I were exactly blood brothers, even if we had Grace in common. It's not like I can move on to someone else, but Frederick can. Maybe that little firecracker, Ginger. Not my type, he thought, but that is one powerful armful of girl. He felt a smile sneak
across his face. “Go get her, Fred,” he said aloud. “Anyone would be better for her than that ice-cold prick, Bill Brand.”

M
ichael's moot court duo had nicknamed themselves “Death & Taxes” for the purposes of their temporary assignments as investigators. When I walked in the door after picking Josh up at soccer practice and Zach at Cub Scouts, the boys let out a shout, and began chanting, “Pizza, pizza, pizza!”

We followed the aromas to the den, and saw that it had been transformed into a war room. Seth and Krissy on the couch, tapping furiously on their laptops. Projected on the TV screen was a series of color blocks with times assigned to each one. Isabella, in black jeans and a lacy, red boat-necked top, was settled in our old rocker. Andrea, in her leisure hours adaptation of prep, was sitting cross-legged on the rug in loafers, pegged jeans, and a cable-knit sweater. “Holy Cow,” I said. “Is this what the situation room looks like at the White House?”

“Hi,
cara
,” said Michael. “Hey, guys—come get some…”

But before the words were out of his mouth, Josh and Zach had dropped to the floor next to the coffee table and were wolfing down pizza.

“Hi, Mrs. Fiori,” said Krissy of the golden curls, which were, I saw to my relief and Josh's disappointment, demurely tucked into a bun on the top of her head.

“Sorry we're cluttering up your entire den.”

I dropped my briefcase, and stepped out of my shoes. “No problem,” I said, “as long as there's a beer around here somewhere
with my name on it.”

“Hey, Maggie,” said Isabella. “Michael invited Andrea and me to join you guys this evening. And you just missed the little speech I made to the entire room.”

“Give me the highlights,” I said.

“Just one big highlight,” said Isabella. “That even though we're sitting around drinking beer and eating pizza, and even though Seth and Krissy are working for free, everything we do and say is protected by attorney-client privilege.”

“We agreed,” said Seth. “For us, it's kind of exciting to be in an attorney-client relationship.”

“It gets less exciting,” said Michael, “when you're just talking taxes.”

“So, does this apply to Andrea and me, too?” I asked.

Isabella considered. “Probably not, you're here as journalists.” She thought a minute and frowned. “Let's see how things go. I may ask you and Andrea to vamoose if I think we're getting on dangerous ground.” She glanced at Josh and Zach, then back at me. I raised my eyebrows in inquiry. Isabella shrugged and mouthed, “Okay for now.”

Half an hour later, Death & Taxes were in the midst of making their presentations to Michael, Isabella, Andrea, and me. Zach, stuffed full of pizza, was sitting on my lap, his head nodding, while he struggled to stay awake. Josh had begged to stay in the room and listen while he did his homework. “It's just dumb math problems, Mom,” he said. “I can practically do these in my sleep, and this way, I'll learn something at the same time. About law. And stuff. And attorney-client privilege,” carefully repeating the words he'd heard. His face had that careful, bland innocent look I knew my own held when I was trying to get away with something. Who could say no to someone who had learned techniques so skillfully at his mother's knee?

Seth quickly sketched out their work plan—he had taken legal issues and people, researching anything that could help Isabella; he had assembled a cast of characters, listing principals in Grace
and Frederick's life, with stars next to those who had testified in the trial, and developed a timeline. Krissy had delved into financial information on Frederick's company, the ownership of the Crimson, A Mom's Place.

“I'd never have thought of that,” I confessed. “That's great.” Krissy's cheeks flushed. “You get a bunch of fledgling tax lawyers helping out,” she said. “We always want to follow the money.” She had also looked at everyone else's work and highlighted what she called AWE factors. “What does that mean?” I asked.

“It's an acronym we made up,” she explained, “Anomalies, weirdnesses and exigencies.”

“ 'Scuse me,” said Josh, “What's an exigency?” He gave me a “See, Mom, I'm learning a new word” triumphant look he knew I'd be a sucker for.

“Oh,” said Krissy, “it's something we should investigate, urgently—because it doesn't make sense.”

“Thank you very much,” he said solemnly.

“You're so welcome,” said Krissy. “It's nice to see someone who's hungry to learn. Your parents must be very proud of you.”

Michael caught my eye and controlled a smile.

“Okay, AWE me,” I said.

Seth cleared his throat. “We have a PowerPoint to run through on each of them,” he said, “but I'm not sure all the slides are appropriate for our…”

“Entire audience,” finished Michael.

“Okay, guys,” I said, gently rousing Zach. “Run and see Anya. I'll come help with your bath in a few minutes, Zach. Josh, you can finish your homework in your room or at the kitchen table.”

Grumbling, they both wandered across the floor and out the door. “Good night,” called Krissy.

Josh stuck his head back in the room. “Good night. Thanks for the vocabulary help,” he said.

Once they were gone, Michael dimmed the lights, and Krissy fired up her PowerPoint. The first slide read:
“Who else knew about Grace and Travis's taste in S&M?”
Yes, I thought, probably not the
best question to put in front of my boys.

“We think this is an important point,” said Krissy. “Whoever murdered Grace had to know about the nature of the sexual relationship between her and Travis Gifford. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to stage the scene in the car and essentially set up a frame for Travis.”

Half an hour later, the room was in complete shambles—smelling faintly of pizza and beer, with cartons scattered everywhere, as the Death & Taxes duo dug through boxes to back up one point or another.

“So,” Seth said. “Want to review the five points quickly, and see if you or Isabella can answer any of them? And assign one of us to follow up on the others? Or, in some cases, we think you or Isabella may be the only ones who can follow up.”

He clicked the first slide on again.
“Who else knew about Grace and Travis's taste in S&M?”

“Ginger knew,” said Michael and Isabella in chorus.

Added Isabella, “It's in the trial transcript. Ginger said Grace told her about the kind of sex play she and Travis had liked, and that Grace had found herself increasingly compelled by it. And by extension, it seems as if Bill Brand might have known, too, if Ginger had told him. It seems like the kind of thing a wife would tell her husband. A little too juicy to keep to yourself.”

Krissy typed Ginger's name on the screen, and added Bill Brand's name with a question mark.

“Who else?” asked Michael.

“Not Ivory,” I said. “I asked her directly. She said it didn't surprise her, but she didn't know specifically.”

“Should we assume Frederick didn't know? Unless Grace got a real taste for the rough stuff and introduced it into their marriage?”

“Or,” mused Seth, “if some of that came up in their adventures at the Crimson?”

Krissy added Frederick to the screen with another question mark.

“Who else?” asked Michael.

“Could be anybody,” I offered. “Another one of her friends, a therapist, her Brazilian wax specialist. Ginger's father.”

“Her father?” chorused the entire room.

“Gus. Ivory's friend and, well, sometime lover, I think. Although not exactly the kind of information you'd share with your father, no matter how unconventional he was.”

“Did we know Ivory's live-in is Ginger's father?” asked Michael.

“I did,” I said.

“Me, too,” said Isabella, “although it hardly seems important. He and Ivory alibied each other. They were both at some obscure art-house film in the Mission that night.”

“I thought Ivory had a stroke,” said Andrea. “That's why her memory is shaky about events around the time of the murder.”

“She did,” said Isabella. “Right after Travis was arrested. But she was fine the night of the murder, and the cops vetted both of them after Travis became a suspect. They both had pretty complete recall about this quite eccentric one-night-only showing of some independent flick about a West African musician who comes to New York and gets a gig playing in a klezmer band and ends up converting to Judaism.”

“Not something you could catch another night at the multiplex,” observed Michael.

Isabella shrugged. “Well, good enough excuse to start an alibi for both of them. And then, that mutual alibi got corroborated by some off-duty cop who happened to be at the movie that night and happened to notice Ivory and Gus, because he didn't think they looked as if they belonged together. So, the short answer is—we don't know if Ginger confided in dear old dad about her willingness to play Miss Scarlett at the Crimson, along with her best pal.”

“I can't imagine she would,” I said, “given how protective Gus is.”

“Okay, so back to who knew about Grace's taste in the rough stuff,” Seth reminded the group.

“Someone
else
at the Crimson?” offered Isabella.

We all fell silent.

“Field trip,” said Seth, a little too eagerly. “I think we need to
check out the Crimson first hand. Who's in?”

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Absolutely not. I'm probably on thin ice even asking you guys to look at these issues. I don't want to think about the ethical implications of sending you to a sex club.” He set his beer bottle down, a little forcefully. “Forget it. Plus, you couldn't afford the cover charge. And I'm sure as hell not paying for you to go.”

Seth looked crestfallen.

“Okay,” said Krissy, “next up.” She clicked the mouse and the next AWE question appeared.
“Who had a key to the Plummers' house?”

“This is important,” said Krissy, “in order to check out the possibility that Travis was telling the truth, that he had, in fact, delivered Grace home, and that someone else had been waiting for her there.”