Dark Room (19 page)

“And yet they’re all working.”

“I wish I knew why. All I know is that somehow it’s different.
He’s
different.”

“Maybe there’s more to Lane Montgomery than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.”

“Or maybe I’m just so attracted to him that I can’t think straight.”

“There’s no denying there’s chemistry between you.”

“Too much chemistry.” Morgan sighed. “I just hope there’s something besides that.”

“Relationships aren’t a science, Morg. We know that better than most.”

“We also know that lasting relationships require something more than physical attraction and great sex. Lane and I are total opposites. I’m super-cautious. He’s a daredevil and a player. I must be crazy.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Jill refilled both their glasses. “You’re having dinner with him tomorrow night?”

“More like midnight supper. Arthur’s plane won’t be landing until around tenish.”

“Okay, so a late dinner.” Jill took a sip of wine, slanting a casual look
in Morgan’s direction. “Any chance that late dinner will extend into breakfast?”

Morgan’s brows arched. “Aren’t you subtle?”

“Nope. Never have been. Never will be. Now answer the question.”

“Maybe. Probably not. It depends.” Morgan took a healthy swallow of Chianti. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“Decisive. I like that.”

Morgan rose. “There’s just one thing I
am
sure of right now. I need some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Want some?” She headed for the freezer.

“Don’t waste time and dishes,” Jill advised. “This conversation calls for two pints, two spoons, and no regrets.”

Five minutes later, they were alternating between sips of Chianti and spoonfuls of ice cream.

“I reviewed the crime-scene photos today,” Morgan blurted out.

Jill’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. “So that’s why you were at Detective Montgomery’s for so long. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted to see these.”

“At least I could have offered you moral support.”

“Thanks. But this was one of those things I had to do alone.” Morgan stared into her ice-cream carton. “I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. It was like being sucked into a black hole.”

“I’m so sorry. It must have been agonizing for you.” Jill gripped her spoon, stabbing at the ice cream.

“It’s okay. I’m hanging in.” Morgan leaned forward, squeezed her friend’s arm. Jill’s kind, loving nature was just like Elyse’s.

That made Morgan feel doubly guilty for the subject she had to broach now. “Did you and your mom touch base today?”

Jill looked surprised. “A little while ago, yes. But only for about ten seconds. She was on her way over to my grandparents’ to spend the night. That seemed kind of weird. I hope she’s not reacting to one of my dad’s indiscretions.”

“Not this time.”

Morgan’s solemn tone struck home, and Jill’s head came up. “Clearly, you know what’s going on. What did Mom tell you?”

“Nothing. What I heard, I heard from Detective Montgomery.” With a heavy heart, Morgan relayed the entire scenario to Jill.

“This has been going on all week?” Jill’s features tightened with concern. “She didn’t say a word.”

“Not to anyone. Not even your father. Although now that she’s aware of the link between Rachel’s hit-and-run and her own creepy episodes, she’ll want to fill Arthur in.”

“And he’ll be all over it,” Jill said, taking comfort in her own words. “There’s no way the two vans weren’t the same. Which means whoever did this drove all the way from Union Square to the Upper East Side then back to midtown, just to make a point.”

“Not a point. A message. Delivered to me. Via my family.”

Anxiously, Jill searched Morgan’s face. “He didn’t try to hurt Mom? You’re sure of that?”

“Positive. This was a scare tactic. Nothing more. If it was…” Morgan met Jill’s gaze, raw tears glittering in her eyes. “After losing my parents the way I did, I could never—
ever
—put Elyse, or any of you, in danger.”

“I know that. Does Detective Montgomery have a theory?”

“Yes. Besides scaring your mom, he also thinks the van driver hurt Rachel a lot more seriously than he was instructed to. He believes the order was to sideswipe her, knock her off balance. But hired hands are amateurs, and amateurs screw up. So Rachel was an innocent casualty.” Morgan’s lips thinned into a grim line. “There’s only one person this sicko wants to get to—me. He’s trying to frighten me into backing off. That’s not about to happen. Especially now. He’s just confirmed what Detective Montgomery and I already felt in our bones. He’s no random burglar. He killed my parents in cold blood. And he’s still out there.”

W
ednesday morning couldn’t come fast enough for Monty.

He was up at dawn, out the door by seven, and making arrangements on his cell phone during the entire two-hour drive from his Dutchess County home to New York–Presbyterian Hospital.

By the time he arrived for the fifteen-minute interview Rachel Ogden’s doctor had grudgingly permitted, he’d lined up enough full-time security to keep an eye on Jill, Elyse, and Morgan.

Last night’s phone call from Arthur Shore had brought back memories of the riled-up man who’d ridden Monty’s ass after the double homicide seventeen years ago. This time, the congressman had raved about the vulnerability of his “girls,” and given Monty carte blanche about whom he hired and how much he paid them to watch Elyse, Jill, and Morgan round-the-clock.

There was no denying that Arthur cared about his family. That much, Monty could relate to. So he’d made the requisite arrangements, set the security team in place.

Now he had two interviews to conduct: first, Rachel Ogden; then, Karly Fontaine.

He didn’t expect either meeting to yield any earth-shattering revelations. After a fair amount of background digging, he still believed the two women were arbitrary pawns.

Still, a few curious pieces of information had come up, one pertaining to each woman. Neither was a glaring red flag. But both were interesting enough to address.

Karly Fontaine’s real name was Carol Fenton. She’d glamorized it when she moved from New York to L.A. and became a model. Nothing unusual there. It was the timing of it that captured Monty’s attention. Sixteen-plus years ago, just six months after the Winters’ homicides. Worth bringing up in conversation.

As for Rachel Ogden, she was the living embodiment of what Arthur Shore liked in his mistresses, right down to the fact that she gravitated toward successful, married men. In addition, her appointment book—which her assistant had agreeably shared with Monty—included a dozen recent client meetings, all generically listed sans names or numbers, and all conducted in hotel restaurants. Ironically, all the hotels in question were located within a several-block radius of Arthur Shore’s Lexington Avenue office, and all the meetings occurred on dates when Arthur Shore was in New York—reportedly in and out of his office all day.

There was no actual evidence that the two of them were sleeping together. That didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. And that, of course, piqued Monty’s interest, especially in light of the story Elyse Shore had told him yesterday.

His first impression had been that Elyse was being straight up with him. Still, there were a couple of points still bugging him.

The first was the timing of the accident.

The punk who’d mowed down Rachel Ogden had taken a huge risk. He’d ripped off the van on Tenth Street, driven to the Upper East Side to harass Elyse Shore, then shot over to midtown to hit Rachel, finally dumping the van in the Bronx. Talk about time and territory. He’d pushed the limits of both. Whoever hired him had to know that the longer the van went missing, the greater the chance it had of being spotted by the cops.
It was quite a risk to take, just to upset Elyse and put the fear of God in Morgan.

Then there was the news coverage.

The local media stations had broadcast word of the hit-and-run on the evening and the eleven o’clock news—complete with Rachel’s and Karly’s names. Yet, based on her surprise this morning, Elyse was clueless about the identities of the victim and the eyewitness, and equally clueless about the fact that they were both Winshore clients. For a savvy woman with a high-powered political husband, it seemed odd that she’d be so out of touch with the day’s current events.

So could Elyse be lying? Possibly. But why?

Monty could think of just one reason for her to devise such an intricate fabrication—and that is if she were the culprit, not the victim.

It was a long shot. But it had to be considered, especially in light of what he’d learned about Rachel Ogden. After all, how did that saying go? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Jonah had said that Elyse was in a foul mood when she’d shown up at her husband’s office. Well, orchestrating a scare tactic for your rival—one that went way further than planned—would do that.

If
—and Monty still considered it a huge if—Elyse had invented the story she’d told him to mesh with the timing of the hit-and-run, it would explain why she seemed totally oblivious to the identity of the women involved, and it would scrap the uptown leg of the van’s trip, making the timing and the route more plausible.

On the other hand, if Elyse was telling the truth, there was another, more unnerving fact to consider—one he had refrained from mentioning to Morgan. And that was that, on paper, Rachel Ogden’s description matched Morgan’s to a tee. Slight build. Corporate dress. Shoulder-length dark hair. Green eyes. Expected in the area of the St. Regis at hit-and-run time.

Following that logic, it was a very real prospect that the error made by the punk who’d stolen that van hadn’t been that he’d hurt Rachel Ogden too badly, but that he’d run down the wrong woman. And if
that
was the case, his orders might very well have been to kill, not injure, Morgan.

Lots of theories. An equal number of outstanding answers, some grimmer than others.

Monty pulled into the hospital parking area. He was impatient to have this chat with Rachel Ogden.

JILL HAD JUST
organized some files on her desk when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and punched it on with lightning-quick speed.

“Dad—hi. I’ve been waiting for sunrise in the Rockies so I could call. Glad you beat me to it.”

“Why the urgency?” Her father’s tension was palpable, even through the phone.

“Everyone’s fine. But last night, Morgan told me what’s been going on with Mom. I called her at Grandma and Grandpa’s right before I turned in, and she still sounded drained, but less stressed out. Talking to you obviously helped. Whatever you said calmed her down.”

“It did. And now it should calm you down, too. I just got off the phone with Detective Montgomery. He’s arranged for round-the-clock security to keep an eye on your mother, on Morgan, and on you. No one’s going to come near you—
any
of you.”

Even though she could have predicted her father’s reaction, Jill felt a surge of relief. “That’s great. Thanks, Dad. If nothing else, it will grant us peace of mind.” A forced laugh. “Not to mention that it will rescue Mom from spending another night with her parents. I know Grandpa’s your staunchest ally, but he drives Mom crazy. Her conversation with Detective Montgomery must have
really
freaked her out for her to decide to sleep over there.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“I invited her to stay with Morgan and me.”

“And?”

Jill sighed. “Morgan and I had scheduled a girls’ night. And you know Mom. Much as I told her she was one of the girls, she decided we needed our privacy to talk about personal stuff like guys. Particularly the guy you’re about to go skiing with.”

“Lane?”

“Yup. Did he tell you he’s taking Morgan out the minute your plane
lands tonight? Of course not.” Jill supplied her own answer. “Men never communicate about anything. So I’ll fill you in. There are some definite sparks between those two. They have late dinner plans tonight.”

“No great eye-opener there.” Arthur’s reply was tinged with dry humor. “Despite your belief that we men are clueless, I did pick up on the vibes between Morgan and Lane. Last night in the lounge, I saw him talking on his cell, and it didn’t look like a business call. So I’m not surprised they have plans.”

“It’ll be good for her.” Jill chewed her lip. “Morgan’s even more wound up now than she was when she first hired Detective Montgomery. Things were bad enough when she was dealing with her initial shock and pain over the reopened investigation. But now she’s dealing with the fact that people she loves are being directly affected. Instead of scaring her, it’s infuriating her. Forget the idea of her taking a passive role. If she has her way, she’s going to be right there, center stage, solving this case alongside Detective Montgomery.”

“That’s the worst thing she can do to herself,” Arthur said fervently. “She’s already on emotional overdrive. If she becomes any more obsessed with this investigation, she’ll make herself ill.”

“That’s why Lane couldn’t have come into her life at a better time. I hope they have a fabulous time tonight. At the very least, he’ll be a great distraction. But I have a hunch it’ll be more, maybe even explode into a full-blown romance. Either way, I’d be thrilled. Anything to divert her focus.”

“I agree.” A thoughtful pause. “Maybe you should spend tonight at our place. Extra security or not, I’m not thrilled with the idea of you or your mother being alone. I won’t be home until late, which means Morgan will be out with Lane until all hours. I’d feel better on all fronts if you stayed with us. Morgan, too, for that matter. I don’t want her walking into an empty house. I’ll talk to Lane, tell him to drop her off after their date.”

“Uh—I’d hold off on that,” Jill advised.

“Why?”

“Dad, do I have to paint you a picture? It’s possible that their
date
might last longer than expected. Your instructing Lane about where to drop Morgan off would definitely throw ice water on any romantic plans he might have.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I see your point. How do you suggest I handle it, then?”

“Don’t handle it at all. I’ll tell Morgan where I’ll be, and that she’s welcome to join us if her dinner ends before sunrise. Either way, she won’t be alone.”

RACHEL OGDEN WAS
propped up in her hospital bed, looking pale and definitely weary, when Monty walked in. Still, there was more than a trace of curiosity in her wide green eyes as she asked him to sit down.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Monty began. “I’m sorry about your accident.”

“I look worse than I feel,” she replied with a faint smile. “I just finished my morning physical therapy session. I’m convinced their goal is to divert my attention from my injuries to the pain they inflict.” She took a sip of water. “My doctor said you’re a PI. I don’t get meeting requests from many of those.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Monty sized her up as he settled himself in the armchair across from her bed. Even banged up and having undergone surgery, she was clearly great-looking. Devoid of makeup, she looked young, but Monty could tell that she had a presence that would make her seem older, more sophisticated. He’d be willing to bet that when she was at her corporate best, Rachel Ogden was a ball-breaker.

“Morgan hired you to investigate the accident?” she was asking. “Why? Is there something more than the police have told me?”

It was Monty’s turn to smile. “There’s always more than what the police tell you. I should know. I was one of them for thirty years.” He flipped open his pad. “You’re aware that both you and Karly Fontaine, the woman who called in the accident, are clients of Winshore?”

She nodded. “My assistant told me. I asked her to send Karly flowers as a thank-you. We never met before, but she was apparently right behind me on that street corner.” A rueful grimace. “Two New Yorkers, rushing to their appointments with their minds rushing elsewhere. Typical.”

Monty grunted his understanding. “Let me begin with the obvious. To your knowledge, is there anyone who’d want to hurt you?”

“In business? There are a handful of people who’d do anything if it meant beating me up the corporate ladder. In reality? No one I can think of.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

A shrug. “I’m a management consultant, Detective. The youngest in a brilliant and cutthroat company. My colleagues aren’t known for their big hearts. That doesn’t mean they’d run me down.”

“What about outside of work? People you’ve had falling-outs with? Ex-lovers?”

“Or their wives?” Rachel shot him an astute look. “I’m sure you’ve done your homework. You know I’m not a Girl Scout. That’s one of the reasons I went to Winshore, to change the profile of the guys I got involved with. As for the married men in my past, trust me, they were either estranged from their wives, or forgetful about mentioning they had one.”

“Is one of those men a major political figure?”

For a moment, Rachel looked blank. Then her brows shot up. “Are you referring to Congressman Shore?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Probably because you’d either get sued or get your ass handed to you if you did. But I’m willing to answer the question, since I’m very fond of Morgan. No, Detective, I’m not sleeping with Arthur Shore. I may be less than stellar about my choice of partners, but I’m not stupid. Why? Is one of his mistresses a suspect?”

Monty liked this girl. She told it like it was, accepted her flaws, yet made no apologies for them. “There
are
no suspects. As things stand, this was an accident caused by a cowardly idiot. I’m just covering all the bases.” He jotted down a few notes. “In your opinion, was the fact that you were the victim just a random event? Could it just as easily have been Karly Fontaine who was hit?”

“Sure. If she’d been in a little more of a hurry and gotten by me before I darted ahead, she’d have beaten me into the street. That’s why I doubt this was some premeditated plot. It was too iffy.”

“I see your point.” Monty wrote down a few more words, then rose. “I don’t want to overtax you. As it is, your doctor wasn’t too thrilled about my visiting so soon after your surgery.”

“I won’t lie.” She winced. “It hurts like hell. But I’m a fighter. My assistant’s on her way over here with my BlackBerry. I’ll be caught up by noon. So if you have any more questions and my doctor gives you a hard time, just e-mail me. I’ll get right back to you.”

“Thanks. You take care of yourself. The world of corporate barracudas awaits.”