From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set (15 page)

“Her name sounds familiar to me.”

“McAdoo Seasonings?
 
That’s her family.”

“I think I’ve put her on turkey.”

“That’s a curious way to put it, but in a way, I suppose all of
America has.
 
She’s been spread from
coast-to-coast.
 
And her reach goes
beyond the salt-and-pepper set, for which I’m certain she’s grateful.
 
Why limit yourself when there are so
many other things that can be crushed, blended and sprinkled?”

“Can I trust her?”

“I wouldn’t send you there if you couldn’t.”

“When should I see her?”

He looked across the room at Frank, who stood in front of a
fireplace, above which was a large mirror.
 
“What time is it, Frank?”

“Just after eleven, sir.”

“That was quick.
 
Did the mirror help?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gelling looked at Carmen.
 
“I adore him.
 
You should see
Babe now.
 
She lives on Park.
 
I’ll give you her address.
 
And please, after you speak with her, if
you could call me?
 
Or even call and
stop by afterward?
 
I’d appreciate
it.
 
I like to keep up.”
 
For an instant, she saw a flash of
vulnerability cross his face.
 
A
hint of fear.
 
“Knowing how things
are proceeding?
 
That’s what keeps
me going.
 
It’s what makes me want
to see tomorrow.”

CHAP
TER EIGHT

Babe McAdoo lived in a townhouse on Seventy-Fourth and
Park.
 
Given the long history of her
family’s seasonings, which Carmen knew were popular in the States, especially
around the holidays, when everything is breaded, roasted, dusted and stuffed,
the building was large and stately, one of those rare Manhattan mansions that
you stopped to marvel at due to its sheer size and beauty.
 

Carmen didn’t want to be on the street longer than
necessary.
 
She walked up a wide set
of granite stairs that led to two massive, lacquered mahogany doors, which
gleamed in the sun as if they’d just been polished.
 
She rang the doorbell and waited for
someone to answer.
 
When the door
opened, an older man in a black suit looked out at Carmen with cool
dismissal.
 

She knew it was because of the way she was dressed.
 
And that her hair was a mess because she
had no product with her at the Holiday Inn Express.
 
And that she wore no makeup for the same
reason.
 
She probably looked a hot
wreck.
 
She felt him judge her in
that instant and had to stop him when he started to close the door.
 
He thought she was a transient.
 

“Excuse me,” she said.
 
“I’m Carmen Gragera.
 
I have
an appointment to see Ms. McAdoo.”

His eyes widened.
 
“
You’re
Carmen Gragera?”

“I had a rough night.”

“Apparently.
 
I
apologize for closing the door.
 
Too
many people stop by to ask for money.
 
They come in droves.
 
I
thought—”

That I was a bum.
 
“That’s fine,” she interrupted.
 
“I know you’re probably used to seeing something quite different when
someone comes to visit Ms. McAdoo.
 
Women in Chanel.
 
Birkins.
 
Skin lifted so far,
it’s surprising they don’t have beards.
 
That sort of thing.”

“I’m afraid, I am.”
 
He opened the door for her.
 
“Please come in.
 
And forgive
my manners.
 
Ms. McAdoo is expecting
you.
 
I assume you’re carrying?”

She motioned toward her pocket and he removed her gun.

“It will be kept in a safe spot,” he said, putting it in his
jacket pocket.
 
“And the rest of
you?”

She held out her arms.
 
“There’s nothing more, but feel free to search.”

He did.
 
Satisfied,
he said, “If you’d follow me to the parlor, you can have a seat while I’ll
gather her for you.”

Gather her for me?
 
Am I dealing with another invalid?
 
“If now isn’t a good time—”

“She’s just upstairs doing her Turtle Breathing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Her Turtle Breathing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s part of her Zen workout.
 
After twenty minutes of Naval Chakra,
she always ends with a technique called Turtle Breathing.
 
When she arrives, you’ll find her quite relaxed.”
 
He paused and reconsidered his
statement.
 
“Well, as relaxed as Ms.
McAdoo can be.
 
I’ve never seen a
person with such energy.
 
It’s...inspiring.”

The way he said ‘inspiring’ made it sound exhausting.

They went to the parlor, which seemed as if it was sheathed in
gold.
 
Gold-colored wallpaper.
 
Deep gold curtains with massive gold
tassels at the five floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street.
 
A sprawling gold Aubusson rug that
stretched across the parquet floors.
 
Intricately carved gold moldings at the ceilings.
 

For punches of color, Babe McAdoo placed a black Steinway grand
in the front windows; large paintings on the walls circled the room; and four
bright red Victorian chairs, upholstered in crushed velvet, were at the room’s
center, facing each other with a marble-topped coffee table between them.
 
There was more, but as much as she
wanted to, she didn’t want to take all of it in.
 
She wanted to get to work.

And yet as Carmen sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, that
part of her that admired all that surrounded her couldn’t help but look and
assess.
 
What she saw was the real
deal, much of it left untouched.
 
Looking around, she thought a lot of people must have an enthusiastic
need for McAdoo Seasonings, because what she noted—from the painting of
water lilies by Monet to the authentic Tiffany lamp on the table beneath
it—couldn’t have been in their collection otherwise.

There was a disturbance in the air.
 
She heard footsteps coming down the
grand set of stairs she saw in the entryway.
 
Then a voice:
 
“Something wet,” she heard a woman
say.
 
“Something that pops on the
tongue.
 
A spritz of fantastic.
 
And maybe crackers.
 
Or something like that.
 
Figure it out.
 
It’s what you do best, Max.
 
Five minutes.
 
Is she in there?”

“She is, madam.”

“I’m dying to meet her.
 
I
need
this.
 
My body
craves
this.
 
It’s been too long.
 
Also get some cheese.
 
She might be hungry.
 
I heard she had a hell of a night last
night, poor girl.
 
Sprinkle the
cheese with the McAdoo lime chile pepper powder.
 
My blend—not the diluted one we
shuck on the shelves.
 
It’ll give it
a zing.
 
Not too much, though.
 
I don’t want to blow her head off.”

“Madam...”

“Poor choice of words, I know.”

“She’s right through there.”

“Five minutes, Max.
 
Not a moment longer.
 
You
know how I can be after the Turtle Breathing.”

“Of course.
 
Five
minutes.”

“Off you go.”

Carmen heard him hurry away.
 
She stood and faced the entrance to the
parlor.
 
What came through it was a
middle-aged woman, likely near sixty but with some medical assistance, she
appeared closer to fifty.
 
Babe
McAdoo had dark red hair pulled back into a tight chignon, which revealed a
thin, oval face sharpened by years of extreme wealth and all the pressures that
came with it.
 
She wore a pale
yellow caftan that was so delicate, it made her appear almost ethereal as she
moved.

“Hellohoware?” she said, coming across the room with her hand
outstretched.
 
“I’m Babe
McAdoo.
 
Call me Babe.
 
Everyone does, but only when I invite
them to.”

“Carmen Gragera,” Carmen said.
 
“It’s a pleasure.”

“Not under these circumstances, I’m afraid.
 
I understand you’ve been dealt a
blow.
 
And that you had a difficult
night.
 
And that someone is trying
to kill you.
 
And that you need my
help.
 
Gelling didn’t send you here
for just any reason.”

“He didn’t, though I was under the impression that my
conversation with him was private.”

“As much as it could be, it was.
 
I don’t know any of the particulars,
just the generalities.
 
Gelling had
to give me something in order for me to agree to see you.
 
I don’t see just anyone.
 
He knows that.”

Babe McAdoo turned and motioned toward the red chairs.
 
“So, sit,” she said.
 
“Right there.
 
That red chair.
 
Let’s sit and talk.
 
Let’s see what needs to be done and how
we can arrange the chessboard so it’s in your favor, not theirs.
 
I
live
for that!”

*
 
*
 
*

After Max returned with the cheese sprinkled with Babe McAdoo’s
private blend of their lime chile pepper seasoning, the crackers and two flutes
of bubbling champagne, Babe waved him away and lifted her glass to Carmen.
 
“Here’s to getting to know one another.”

Carmen lifted her glass, touched it against Babe’s, and took
the smallest of sips.
 
She rarely
drank, but she didn’t want to offend this woman, who might be able to help
her.
 
Still, to get there, they
obviously were going to talk, which made her tense.
 
She already went down memory lane with
Gelling.
 
She didn’t want to do so
again with another stranger.

But she would if that’s what it took to get Katzev.

Babe McAdoo surprised her.
 
She leaned back in her red Victorian chair and folded her right leg
elegantly over her left.
 
“You’re
all the same,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“None of you want to talk.
 
That’s not a criticism—just an observation.
 
Your privacy means a lot to you.
 
I know it does, for a wealth of reasons,
and I get it because my privacy also means a great deal to me because of who I
am.
 
I will tell you this,
though.
 
I’m no Gelling.”
 
She rolled her eyes and took another sip
of her champagne.
 
“The psychiatrist
in him has a thirst that won’t be quenched until his withered heart finally
shuts down and his spirit slips through his lips and hopefully through a parted
window.
 
Only then, when his energy
goes out into the universe and finds more answers to more questions than he
ever thought possible, will he truly be happy.”
 
She paused.
 
“I think.”

She put the glass down on the table between them, put some
cheese on a cracker and popped it in her mouth.
 
She closed her eyes and savored it.
 
“When I said that we should get to know
each other, I was just being polite.
 
You don’t have to share your secrets with me, Carmen.
 
However, I would advise that you tell me
those things you think will help us find the person or persons responsible for
killing your friend, Alex, and nearly you.
 
Otherwise, what’s the point?
 
You’d just be wasting my time, which I can’t have.
 
So, yes, you might have to spill a few
secrets along the way.
 
You’ll feel
uncomfortable doing so—I get it—but hopefully it will lead to a
successful conclusion.
 
Make sense?”

“I can agree to that.”

“Terrific.
 
Have a
cracker and some cheese.
 
You look
famished.
 
Malnourished.
 
Don’t be shy.
 
And if you don’t drink, then let’s not
pretend that you do.
 
What would you
like?”

“I’m fine.
 
Really.”

“You won’t be after my McAdoo lime chile pepper hits your
mouth.”
 
She called out for
Max.
 
“A glass of water, Max.
 
Lemon to freshen it.
 
Make it tall.
 
Tout suite!
”
 
She returned her attention to Carmen,
who was reaching for a cracker and adding a hunk of cheese because, truth be
told, she was indeed famished.
 

“What happened last night?” Babe asked.

Already, Max was coming toward them with a glass of water on a
silver tray.
 
A slice of lemon was
hooked right on the rim.
 
She took
the glass, thanked him for it, ate the cracker and cheese—and immediately
went for the water.

“You see,” Babe said.
 
“I knew you’d need the water.
 
It’s my own blend.
 
We tried
to sell it on the shelves, but no one bought it, not that I care.
 
The masses want it bland whereas I like
it hot.”

Carmen’s tongue felt scorched.
 
“Apparently.”