The Key (18 page)

S
unday morning felt like spring, as if March had skipped over April and gone straight to May. A gentle breeze wafted a strand of hair across my face as I got out of the cab. After several rigorous shampooings, my hair was back to its original dark red, and while I’d declared the results of my adventures in alternative hair color inconclusive—the Madonna wig left me with sincere doubts as to just how much more fun blondes had, and my experience as a brunette had been too action-packed to offer a valid basis for comparison—it was nice to once again recognize my image in mirrors and other reflective surfaces.

The streets of Chinatown were thronged with honking cars, and the sidewalks were thronged with pedestrians. I wondered who had decreed that dim sum was a good idea for brunch. I was as fond of dumplings as the next person, but to me brunch just wasn’t brunch without Hollandaise and hash browns. Still, when Jake had suggested dim sum it seemed appropriate to feign enthusiasm, so here I was at the corner of Bowery and Canal Street, trying my best to ignore the animal carcasses hanging in the shop windows. As a general rule, the less my food resembled actual living beings the more appealing I found it.

“Stop rubbing your ear like that,” said a voice in my ear.

I jumped but managed not to shriek. Being wired was new to me, and I’d temporarily forgotten that Ben was watching from the control center disguised as a delivery van parked nearby.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he added.

I stopped rubbing at my ear, even though the tiny transmitter planted within itched. Instead, I shoved my hands in my pockets and scanned the scene around me. The knowledge that so many eyes were watching made me feel fidgety, and because they were watching it seemed extra important not to fidget but to maintain an air of cool composure. Peter, especially, had been less than sanguine about Ben’s plan to entrap Jake using me as bait, but I’d assured him I’d be fine with Ben and the colleagues he’d rounded up maintaining constant surveillance. Technically, this was still an offthe-books operation, as the powers that be seemed happy to blame Andrew Marcus for everything, but Ben had convinced a couple of his co-workers to help him out.

Of course, if we were going to entrap Jake, we also needed him to show up, and he seemed to be running late. I removed a hand from my pocket in order to check my watch. “It’s ten past twelve,” said Ben’s voice in my ear. I returned my hand to my pocket and resumed trying not to fidget.

A few more minutes passed before Ben spoke again. “Is that him? On the southwest corner? About to cross Canal?”

I checked out the southwest corner, squinting against the bright sunlight, but I saw nobody who even resembled Jake.

“Rachel, that’s the southeast corner. Look to your right.”

I could tell right from left, at least. This time my gaze landed on Jake, standing on the opposite corner and waiting for the light to change. He saw me and waved. In his weekend wear he blended right in with the tourists, smiling broadly beneath the rim of a blue baseball cap. I really didn’t understand the appeal hats held for men who weren’t losing their hair, but I’d have to get to the bottom of that on another day.

I plastered an equally broad smile on my own face as he loped across the street.

“Hey, there,” he said warmly, as if he hadn’t tried to kill me a few short days ago, and I submitted to a hug as if I didn’t find it infuriating that he thought I was too stupid to realize that he’d tried to kill me. “You hungry?” he asked over the din of traffic.

I nodded. “Always.”

“Good, me, too.” I saw his eyes glance down at my hands, no doubt looking for my engagement ring. I’d left it off on purpose, thinking that if I could manage to flirt even a little bit I’d be more likely to puff up his ego while simultaneously loosening his tongue. And it was probably my imagination, but his smile seemed to take on a more cocky aspect once he’d ascertained the ring’s absence. “There’s a place I really like a block or so up Bowery. It’s sort of a tourist trap, but the food is awesome.”

“Awesome,” I echoed. “What’s it called?”

“The Golden Panda or Buddha’s Garden or something like that. I can never keep these places straight.”

“You don’t know its name?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” he said with confidence.

That was all well and good for Jake, but I would have preferred to be able to give Ben and his surveillance team a bit more to go on.

“So it’s north of Canal on Bowery,” I said, striving to sound as if I always liked to state my destination in casual conversation. Jake put a hand on my back as we turned up the street, and I tried not to think about cooties. It would be hard to entrap him if I let my hostility show. I needed to ease things along gently if I were going to get him to reveal the critical details proving that he and Annabel had carried out the attack on Dahlia.

“So what about that Mark Anders?” he said, his tone all jovial collegiality. “That was crazy, wasn’t it?”

“Crazy,” I agreed.

“I still can’t get over what went down yesterday. And the way you tackled the guy—impressive stuff.”

“It was nothing,” I said, even though the places I’d landed were still sore. I could only imagine how poor Ben must feel.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I played football in high school,” I said.

“Really? Oh, you’re being sarcastic. Got it. Anyhow, it was awesome.” He moved his hand from my back to drape his arm casually over my shoulders. I had to force myself not to slap it away.

Jake continued on in this vein for another block, and I tried to keep up my end of the conversation while simultaneously sidestepping tourists and narrating our whereabouts. If you didn’t know better, you would have mistaken us for just another couple in search of brunch on a lazy weekend day.

Then Jake’s grip suddenly tightened around my shoulders.

Without warning, he pulled me into a small opening between two buildings, jerking my head roughly to one side.

“What are you do—” I started to ask.

But he clamped his hand over my mouth.

“Listen up,” he said, propelling me along the narrow alley. His voice had completely lost its jovial tone. “Here’s the deal. We’re going for a little trip. And I really don’t want to have to do anything that would leave any marks or bruises on you, so I suggest you cooperate.”

Since he now had me in a headlock, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter. I couldn’t even open my mouth wide enough to bite at his hand, which was probably just as well given my concern about cooties. I did manage a sharp elbow to his ribs, but the only effect it had was to make Jake tighten the noose his arm had formed around my neck. I may not have been on the football team, but it definitely felt like Jake had put in some time on the wrestling squad.

The alley opened up into a small back lot, empty except for a Dumpster and a black Range Rover with tinted windows. A thin wisp of smoke trailed from its exhaust pipe.

The door to the back seat opened, and Jake shoved me inside.

“No—” I started to yell as soon as he’d removed his hand from my mouth.

But before I could get much noise out, another hand descended. An enormous diamond on the ring finger caught the light, confirming that the hand belonged to Annabel Gallagher just before she pressed a damp cloth over my face.

I smelled something both chemical and sweet.

And then I smelled nothing at all.

C
onsciousness returned slowly. The black faded to charcoal and then to gray, and I became aware of voices and the hum of tires against pavement.

As far as I could tell, I was in the rear of the moving SUV. The seat had been folded down to create space for a prone body—namely, me—and I was lying on one plastic tarp while covered by another. I wanted to reach up a hand to push off the top sheet, but my arms were pinned behind my back. The creamy feel of silk twill around my wrists suggested that an Hermès scarf had been used to accomplish this, and when I tried to kick at the plastic with one foot the other foot came with it, which suggested that they were also tied together, although it was unclear if this had been done with an equally stylish and classy accessory.

The only silver lining was that Jake and I hadn’t actually made it to dim sum, because my head was throbbing and the accompanying nausea was sufficiently intense to make me glad that my stomach was empty.

In the front seat, Jake and Annabel were arguing.

“Please tell me you didn’t charge the drop cloths on a credit card,” Jake was saying.

“I never pay cash,” Annabel replied. “Except at that manicure place on Madison. They don’t accept American Express. Not even a platinum card. But they do a much better job than the place on Lexington.”

“The drop cloths are to make sure that there’s no trace evidence in the car.” Jake sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth.

“I know that,” she snapped. “And stop worrying. There won’t be any trace evidence in the car. But there will be trace evidence on the drop cloths no matter what. She’s lying all over them, spreading her DNA everywhere. We’ll have to get rid of the drop cloths when we get rid of her, so stop making such a big deal about the stupid drop cloths already.” I was still a bit spacey, and my first concern was that I was making a mess with my DNA and my second was for the scarf’s well-being. It would be a shame to get rid of several hundred dollars’ worth of designer silk.

“Yes, but if the drop cloths are ever found, they might be able to connect them to you because of the credit card records.”

“Nobody will find them,” Annabel said with confidence. “Why would anybody find them?”

“Even if they don’t find them, it’s a strange purchase for you. Do you shop at the hardware store a lot? I mean, it’s not exactly Barney’s or Bergdorf’s or any of your other usual spots. If anybody starts looking at your credit card receipts, that’s the sort of thing that would stick out.”

“Why would anybody look at my credit card receipts? You’re being absurd.”

“I’m not being absurd. And would you mind keeping your eyes on the road?”

“You are being absurd. And you had better not start in on my driving.”

“I’m not saying anything about your driving. Except that you’re supposed to watch the road.”

“Would you like to get out and walk, Jake? Because that could be arranged.”

The bickering continued while I took stock of my situation.

I was tied up in the back seat of a moving vehicle, and I was fairly certain that on previous occasions one of the people in the front seat had tried to kill Dahlia while the other person in the front seat had tried to kill me. It also seemed clear that they were now discussing logistics associated with how to more successfully commit murder, and, more specifically, how to more successfully murder me.

The casual observer might have concluded that this would be a good time to panic.

But I had no need to panic. Thanks to the handy transmitter in my ear, all I had to do was let Ben and his colleagues know where I was. Then they could swoop in and rescue me.

I just needed to make sure that I got Jake and Annabel to tell all before any swooping and rescuing occurred.

“I think she’s awake,” Jake said.

“Should we dose her again?”

“No. We’ll need her awake to write the confession. Besides, the less chloroform we have to give her the better. I don’t want any of it in her system if she’s found.”

“She’s not going to be found. We’ll weight her down too well for that.”

“I hope not. But you always read about bodies washing up on shore—it’s probably better to be safe than sorry.” Jake raised his voice. “How are you doing back there, Rachel?”

“Just fine, thanks.” I raised my voice to be heard from under the plastic.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Uh, Jake? This might sound like a stupid question, but—”

“—there’s no such thing as a stupid question, Rach.”

“Do you have any idea how condescending you sound when you talk that way?” Annabel asked.

“I’m not being condescending. It’s important to create an environment where people feel comfortable taking risks,” Jake replied. He did sound condescending, and I disagreed with the premise that there were no stupid questions, even though it was something you heard people say a lot in professional services firms, but now didn’t seem like a good time to disagree with him on either front.

“I have two questions, actually.”

“Shoot,” he said, and while I couldn’t see him, I could picture his good-natured grin.

“Okay. Where are we going, and what are you planning on doing with me? Oh, and why? It would be good to know why. Although I guess that makes it three questions.”

“We’re on the Long Island Expressway, heading out to the Hamptons.”

“Any special reason we’re heading out to the Hamptons? It’s a nice day and everything for March, but it’s still not warm enough for the beach.”

“We have some business to take care of out there. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Jake, just tell her already,” interjected Annabel.

“No need to get her upset.”

“She’s probably figured out that she has a reason to be upset. You know, you just assume that any decent-looking woman is dumb and will believe anything you say. You’ve really become very sexist, and it’s not an attractive quality,” she said.

It occurred to me that helping to sow further dissension between my would-be killers might be beneficial. “It really isn’t an attractive quality,” I agreed. “He hides it really well, but once you get to know him—”

“—you find out that he’s a chauvinistic pig. Jake, you’re going to have to work on that.”

“I am not a sexist,” said Jake.

“Right,” said Annabel sarcastically. If this was how they got along when they were having an illicit affair, I didn’t hold out much hope for their prospects in a legitimate relationship, particularly since they were going to have to get by without a windfall from the Thunderbolt deal.

“I am not a sexist,” Jake repeated, clearly straining to keep his voice even.

“Whatever,” she replied.

“I’m not,” he said again.

“Yes, Jake, we heard you the first two times,” said Annabel. “Anyhow, Rachel, we feel bad about this, but we do need to get rid of you. So we’re going out to Glenn’s beach house. He keeps—whoops, I guess I mean kept, don’t I? I’m still getting used to that. Glenn
kept
a boat there, and once it gets dark, we’re going to take it out and drop you overboard. Might as well get some use out of the house and boat before that bitch Naomi takes over everything.”

“Why are you telling her all that?” Jake asked.

“She has a right to know.”

“What do you mean she has a right to know?”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“What tone?”

“
That
tone.”

“It’s not a tone.”

“Well then what would you call it?”

I didn’t want to be rude, but the squabbling was starting to get tedious, and the sooner I got the full story, the sooner the swooping and rescuing could begin, so I interrupted. “Uh, Jake? Annabel? I get what you’re up to, but I’m still a bit confused as to why.”

“Because Jake screwed up,” said Annabel.

“I did not screw up,” he protested.

“You screwed up,” she insisted. “If it weren’t for you, everybody would think Mark Anders or whatever that kid calls himself was the one who pushed Dahlia onto the tracks.”

“We were setting Rachel up, not Mark,” said Jake. “How was I supposed to know that I was giving him an alibi?”

“What do you mean, you gave Mark an alibi?” I asked.

“Wednesday morning. You got me worried that Dahlia was on to the Thunderbolt scam and that she’d tip you off, too. So we tried to solve both problems at once. Annabel dressed up like you and pushed Dahlia onto the tracks.”

“I knew things were going too smoothly. First, Rachel’s boyfriend spells out for you when she’s going to be leaving the house.”

“That was lucky. You usually take a cab in the morning, don’t you, Rach? But Peter said you’d be getting off to a late start, and I figured you wouldn’t be able to find one. And with Gallagher out of the picture, there was no reason for Dahlia to come in early, so it was a pretty safe bet when she’d be getting off the subway. Everything went perfectly, even better than if we’d actually killed Dahlia. She doesn’t remember a thing.”

“Except it didn’t go perfectly,” Annabel pointed out acidly.

“But everybody thinks Mark did it,” I said. This wasn’t exactly true, but everybody who had any decision-making power thought so—otherwise, I would have been having a much nicer day. “You have nothing to worry about. I don’t understand what your problem is, much less what it has to do with me.”

“Tell her, Jake. It’s your fault.”

“It’s not my fault,” he retorted.

“It is too your fault.”

“Look, the only reason I had Mark come into the office early that day was to help with work we had to do to make sure that the Thunderbolt deal would get done on schedule. So if it’s my fault, it’s your fault, too.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“Well, it’s not my fault, either.”

This time I decided to interrupt before they could get a good rhythm going. “Just to make sure I understand, Jake, you’re saying that you made Mark come into work early on Wednesday, and now he has an alibi for when Annabel attacked Dahlia?”

“That’s right,” said Jake.

“And once the police get around to checking his alibi, they’ll realize that somebody else must have attacked Dahlia?”

“Exactly,” said Annabel. “So, we still need you to take the blame for that. We’re going to need you to write a confession before we go out on the boat.”

It was impolite of them to assume I’d be willing to take the blame, much less write out a confession, but the finer points of etiquette seemed to have escaped them, and now didn’t seem like a productive time for a tutorial on manners. “But what was my motivation?” I asked instead. “Now that everybody knows I didn’t kill Gallagher, why would they believe I wanted to attack Dahlia? It’s not like I was worried that she knew something incriminating about me or anything I’d done.”

“That’s easy,” said Jake. “You were in love with me, and you thought I was interested in Dahlia, and you were jealous. So you attacked her, but now you know you’ll be found out, and you can’t live with yourself anymore, and you can’t have me, so you’re going to write a confession and then drown yourself.”

It took me a moment to absorb this one, and when I did, it rendered me nearly speechless.

“You’ve—what—but—”

The nerve of the guy! Not to mention the out-of-control ego.

“Are you insane?” I finally managed to spit out.

“It’s not insane,” said Annabel. “I mean, he has his issues, but you have to admit he’s a good-looking guy.”

“The chicks dig me,” Jake agreed. “It’s incredible the way they just eat up the entire ‘I’m-not-so-good-at-relationships’ pathetic loser thing.”

“Grow up,” said Annabel in disgust.
“Chicks?”

“I’ve already planted a few rumors that things have been rocky with your fiancé,” added Jake. “And people know that we’ve been spending a lot of time together. And nobody would be surprised if they heard I was into Dahlia—have you seen the rack on her?”

“That’s so juvenile,” said Annabel.

“What’s juvenile?”

“You are! Did you really just refer to a woman’s breasts as ‘a rack’? I know more sophisticated thirteen-year-olds.”

“Maybe you should have stuck with Gallagher. Nobody would ever mistake him for anything less than middle-aged,” said Jake.

“Maybe I should have,” she said.

“Maybe you should have,” he repeated.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“No, you shut up.”

I was glad about the transmitter and my imminent deliverance, because it would have been truly tragic for my last hours on earth to be so lacking in witty banter. And I had all of the information I needed. It was time for the swooping and rescuing to begin.

“Ben?” I whispered as Jake and Annabel continued to argue in the front seat.

I waited for the voice in my ear to reply.

“You got all that, right, Ben?”

Nothing.

“Ben?” I whispered again.

And still nothing.

Then I noticed that despite the throbbing in my head and the queasiness in my stomach and the awkward position my arms were in and the way my neck still ached from Jake’s headlock, one body part felt pretty good.

My ear no longer itched.