In the Club (14 page)

“How could you not believe me?” Concetta cried. “It’s the truth! I’ve told you everything that happened! I haven’t held anything back! You
honestly
think I killed Damien?”

“I don’t know whether or not I believe you killed Damien,” Park said, backing away from the chair. “But you’re expecting us to buy a pretty far-fetched story.”

“Damien was physically ill,” Concetta pressed. “He had blotches and weird hives all over his face. And even though he was weak, someone with a lot more strength than me had to have killed him!”

“One powerful blow to his temple was all it took to smash his brains in,” Park replied sharply.

Concetta shot out of the chair. Seething with rage, she held out her arms and gave them a shake, the sleeves of her sweatshirt falling past her knuckles. “You see this?” she cried. “I’ll tell you why I couldn’t have killed Damien! I’ll tell you what no one else knows—it’s the most humiliating thing in the world!” And then she shoved her hands out from under the sleeves of the oversized shirt and splayed her fingers slowly, showing more than just her newly polished nails. “I have rheumatoid arthritis! I can barely hold a pen some days, let alone pick up a stiletto and smash someone in the head!”

“Oh!” Lex gasped. “You do? Since when?”

“Since two years ago!” Concetta ranted. “Everyone thinks only old people get arthritis, but that’s not true. Lots of young people like us get it. It’s the most painful thing in the world! I have to get cortisone shots in my joints—which doesn’t exactly help how I look, ya know! Sometimes I wake up crying because of the pain, and some days I don’t want anyone to see my wrists or knees or anything because they’re so swollen. That’s why sometimes I can’t hold a pen straight or put on my own earrings or clasp a bracelet around my wrist. Half the time, I can’t even hold a spoon! And it’s the reason I
couldn’t
have killed Damien! There’s no way I would’ve been able to hold on to that stiletto and swing it at his head!”

“Concetta, I’m so sorry,” Madison whispered. “Did you…tell that to the police?”

“Yes,” she answered, hiccuping, dropping back down into the chair. “My parents made me. And you know what? The police still don’t buy it! They charged me with Damien’s murder anyway! They said that according to my medical records, my arthritis isn’t
that
advanced and that someone who only gets cortisone shots once every few months could still have done it!”

“But they released you on bail,” Madison said. “That counts for a lot. That has to mean something.”

“But look at my wrists!” Concetta held them out and up again. “You can see where they’re swollen. Do any of
you
think it’s possible? Do you still think I’m lying?”

Park stared at her. “I can’t really blame the cops,” she said. “I mean, you admitted that you and Damien were dancing, which isn’t something a person in lots of pain can do. But what I really think is that there’s something you’re not telling me about the Black Cry Affair.” She paused. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Someone in the club had a motive to kill Damien, and you know what that motive is, Concetta.”

Madison quickly applied the last coat of polish to Concetta’s nails, then capped the bottle and stood up.

Lex twisted the last piece of hair into place. She tightened it with the rubber band and pinned it down, then walked around the chair to join her sisters.

Concetta stared at each of them, her eyes wide and glassy, her breathing shallow. “I took an oath with my friends when I formed the Black Cry Affair,” she whispered, as if that would explain everything away.

“Yeah, you all took an oath,” Park said. “But I have a feeling Damien wanted to break that oath, that he wanted out of the game. And you, Emmett, Julian, and Jessica didn’t want that to happen, did you?”

“Maybe you were all afraid that Damien would blab about some of the things you guys do in the club,” Madison added. “Things that might embarrass you, or even get you into trouble.”

Lex clucked her tongue. “People don’t like their secrets being revealed. Some people will do
anything
to keep things private.”

Patting her hand nonchalantly over her hair, Concetta looked away from them. She was clearly uncomfortable. She kept shifting in the chair. She blew on her nails and flexed her fingers to study the brown polish.

“We’re waiting, Concetta,” Park said firmly. “Spill it. If you don’t, you’ll carry that sacred oath with you right into a trial and probably even a murder conviction.”

Concetta rose out of the chair. She turned and stared out the window again. She said quietly, “Damien got bored with the club. He started arguing with us, with everyone. I don’t know what his problem was, but…but I think he saw something he didn’t like. Or he experienced something that bothered him. I don’t know. But yes—we were all scared that he might leave the club and talk about it to people.”

“Okay. I hear that.” Park took a step toward her. “Does anyone in the club use glitter?”

“Glitter?”
Concetta repeated the word as if it were an obscenity. She looked at Park and crinkled her nose. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Like hair gel or hairspray with glitter in it, or
anything
with glitter in it,” Park replied.

Concetta thought about it for a few moments. Then she said, “Julian polishes his gold chains with some sort of oily glitter. Why?”

Park felt Madison and Lex staring at her intently. “By any chance, did Julian and Damien maybe not get along?”

“They had an argument yesterday,” Concetta said, her voice low, her tone reluctant. “I heard them in the Chamber. It was after we’d finished up our session. Julian was really pissed off that Damien wanted out of the club. And, ya know, Julian’s so
strong
—those big muscles.”

“And what did you hear?”

“Emmett and I heard them arguing. It got pretty loud. Julian kept asking Damien why he wanted out, why he wanted to leave the club.”

Park, growing more impatient by the second, nearly lost her cool. She sighed, then quickly regained her composure. “And what exactly did Damien say to that?”

“I don’t know,” Concetta said tersely, clearly irritated. “I…I really wasn’t listening that much.”

“
Think,
Concetta.”

She huffed. “Damien kept calling Julian a liar. That’s all I remember.”

“Has Julian ever said anything about…explosives?” Madison asked her, trying to sound offhanded. “Or about any of the chemicals that were found here in your house?”

Concetta shrugged. “He’s always saying he wants to blow up the school. But everyone says that when they get annoyed.”

Madison gasped.

“And
you
claim you don’t know where those chemicals came from,” Park said. “So if you’re being framed, one of your fellow Black Cry Affair role-players is framing you. Maybe it’s Julian.”

“I won’t believe that,” Concetta whispered. “I’ll
never
believe that.”

“Maybe you should start thinking about it,” Park continued. “If you want anyone to believe your story, then someone else had to have killed Damien, right?”

“Yes, but that could’ve been anybody at Cleopatra!” Concetta screamed.

“No, it couldn’t have.” Madison shook her head, thinking about the break-in at St. Cecilia’s, the dynamite mixture, and the glitter found in Mother Margaret’s office. “Everything ties back to the Black Cry Affair. But the police might not see it that way. As far as the law is concerned, you killed Damien in a fit of passion. And the fact that traces of those chemicals were found in this house just makes you look like more of a psycho.”

Concetta was silent, trying to avoid their eyes.

“You can’t afford not to listen to us, Concetta,” Park said. “In a matter of days, a trial date will be set for you, and with the way it looks right now, you’re going straight to jail.”

“I told you what happened! I ran out of that cage!” she ranted.

Park sighed. “But who besides us is going to believe that?”

“So then…” Concetta gulped. She took a step toward them. “You’ll help me?”

Madison and Park glanced at each other.

“When’s the club’s next meeting?” Lex asked.

“We’re supposed to meet tomorrow night,” Concetta said. “I can’t leave the house because of the court’s orders, and my parents have to meet with our attorneys tomorrow night. Emmett called me and said we should still meet. But maybe we won’t. I’m not sure yet, with all that’s happened….”

“No,” Madison told her. “You should
totally
meet tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Park smiled. “Because whether or not you like it, Concetta, we’ll be there. We’re the newest members of the Black Cry Affair.”

13

The Deal

“T
rail him,” Lex said firmly.

She was sitting alone in the back of the limo, staring out the tinted windows at the muscular, well-built figure striding up West Eighty-fourth Street. She slipped on her sunglasses and draped her favorite black silk scarf over her head for added effect. If she needed to set off on foot, she would do so without being recognized.

Julian Simmons had just emerged from his town house. He was dressed in gray jeans, a white tank top, and scuffed Timberlands. In the late-afternoon light, he looked like an ordinary New Yorker headed for a walk. Maybe he was going to Zabar’s for salmon and a loaf of fresh French bread. Maybe he was joining a girl for a sunset stroll in Central Park.

Or maybe,
Lex thought,
he’s out to accomplish something far more sinister.

She’d dropped Madison and Park off at the penthouse and told them she had errands to run. Then she’d given Donnie strict orders to cut across to the West Side and park a few spaces behind the Simmons town house. They’d waited for nearly an hour before Julian finally came outside.

Now Donnie was driving slowly up West Eighty-fourth Street, hot on Julian’s tail.

“Don’t lose him,” Lex said. She was hanging over the partition as she stared out the windshield. She kept moving her head from side to side, trying her best to keep a close eye on Julian even as pedestrians cut through her field of vision. It wasn’t easy. A warm Saturday in Manhattan, people revving up for a night on the town. The crowds were thickening.

“Let’s hope he starts walking a little faster,” Donnie said. “I’m tying up traffic driving ten miles an hour.”

Lex frowned. “Just ignore the honking. It’s mostly cabs, anyway, and
they
wreak havoc on the streets all the time. Let ’em sweat it out.”

“Okay.” Donnie settled more comfortably into the seat. He kept the limo moving at a slow pace as Julian continued walking east.

Lex kept her gaze focused on his firm butt. It was a perfectly nice butt, obviously the result of a hundred daily power-squats, but she wasn’t about to let her attention slide. Not even a little bit. There was still too much to investigate. And there were still too many unanswered questions swirling around.

An image of Concetta flashed through Lex’s mind: the tears on her face, the fear in her eyes, the way she’d held out her hands when telling them about her arthritis. And the desperation in her voice, the conviction she’d used when speaking those four powerful words:
I didn’t kill him.

Even now, Lex couldn’t help but feel sorry for Concetta: the poor girl was living through a nightmare, and she wasn’t off the hook by any means. She was still the main suspect. She was still the Mozart Murderer and the Canoli Killer. The police were keeping Concetta under house arrest because they didn’t believe her story, nor did they view her as a girl with a handicap, incapable of delivering that fatal blow.

This last bit of information intrigued Lex most. Truth was, she didn’t blame the cops. No matter how you looked at it, Concetta was still surrounded by elements of guilt. Her disease didn’t release her from the place of the damned—it actually heightened the suspicion being cast on her. The cortisone shots. Regular medical visits. Hospitals and doctors and pharmacists. Concetta had direct access to certain drugs, certain chemicals and mixtures. What if sodium carbonate was one of them? What if she
had
been mixing stuff up in a clandestine laboratory like those Park had read about on the ATF Web site? And why?

And then there was the matter of her condition. How advanced was her arthritis? Did she really suffer stiffening pain on a daily basis? If she’d been able to dance and walk around in stilettos, couldn’t she have slammed Damien in the head?

Probably.

But the motive for the crime—passion?—just didn’t compute.

There was more to Damien’s murder, and if Concetta had a
different
reason for wanting him dead, she wasn’t spilling it.

But she had pointed the case in a whole new direction.

According to Concetta, Julian used a glittery substance to polish his jewelry. Julian had argued with Damien only hours before the murder. And Julian, whether consciously or unconsciously, had voiced a desire to blow up the school.

When you rolled all that into a pretty little bunch, what you got was suspicion.

At least Lex thought so. It was really more of a hunch on her part, a nagging sensation that wouldn’t dissipate. Why had Damien wanted out of the club? Why had the thought of Damien’s departure angered Julian?

The club,
Lex thought.
It’s not just a group of role-players. There’s more to it than any of us knows. There’s danger in the Chamber.

Now she shivered as the words danced through her mind. Tomorrow, she, Madison, and Park would be invading the Black Cry Affair, walking directly into the eye of the storm. It was a necessary step, but also a frightening one. Lex couldn’t help but wonder if Concetta’s willingness to let them into the club was a trap. What if something truly evil awaited them in the Chamber? What if Damien was only the
first
victim?

She forced the thought from her mind and kept her eyes locked on Julian. “He’s making a left on Central Park West,” she said, tapping Donnie’s shoulder.

“I got him,” Donnie replied, quickly following suit.

The limo trailed Julian for another ten minutes as he continued walking north. When he reached the corner of 103rd Street, he hailed a cab and climbed inside.

“Now that’s strange,” Lex said. “Why wouldn’t he just get in a cab right near home? Why walk almost twenty blocks to do it?”

“Pretty weird,” Donnie murmured.

Lex, still leaning over the partition, gave Donnie’s shoulder another tap. “Follow that cab!”

He glanced at her. “Seriously?”

“Of course! How else would we trail him?”

Donnie gave a little shrug, then said, “Okay.”

Lex nodded as the limo sped up. Her pulse quickened, adrenaline replacing the chilly stabs of fear. She stared out the windshield, squinting to get a closer look into the back of the cab. The images were bouncy and chaotic, but she thought she saw Julian pull a bandana around his head. Why? To disguise his identity?

They cut across to the East Side.

“They’re getting on the FDR Drive,” Donnie commented in his usual monotone.

“Follow them.” Lex’s fingers tightened around the edge of the partition.

Donnie kept the limo at a comfortable distance from the cab, staying several cars behind it. The traffic lightened as they drove uptown. Most people were coming into Manhattan, not leaving it.

The cab stayed left, crossing the bridge and continuing onto Bruckner Boulevard.

Lex sat back for a minute and glanced out the window. To her right, the sky was a canvas of color: purple and pink as the sun began to set in the west, white and bright where the light reflected off buildings and rooftops. Airplanes circled LaGuardia Airport. A helicopter thrummed overhead.

Five minutes later, the limo was exiting the three-lane highway. Lex spotted the cab four cars in front: it made a sharp right off the ramp and then continued through the inner-city neighborhood. They were in the Bronx. Narrow streets, small apartment buildings going gray with neglect. Kids were playing on sidewalks as an open fire hydrant spewed cold water into the air. Where on earth was Julian going?

As she stared out the windows at their surroundings, Lex felt a quick stab of panic. The limo had never looked so out of place. She caught pedestrians turning to stare at it as they drove by. Had the cab driver noticed them on his tail?

The cab came to a sudden stop in front of a small corner bodega.

“Damn,” Donnie said. He couldn’t pull over without blowing their cover, so he drove past the cab and turned onto a side street and cut the headlights.

Lex peered out the back window just as Julian got out of the cab and ran into the bodega. He was wearing a bandana over his head, and sunglasses shielded his eyes. Why had he gone into the bodega? She hated that she couldn’t see him. A full minute ticked by. She was about to climb out of the limo for a closer look when Julian appeared again, darting back into the cab with a water bottle in his right hand.

That’s it?

Lex bit down on her lip. Poland Spring was crappy, but surely Julian hadn’t gone all the way to the Bronx to avoid being seen buying it. There had to be more to his little trip. Her hunch was burning.

The cab shot past them again.

Without needing to be prodded, Donnie hit the lights and started trailing it.

They drove in concentrated silence for several minutes, winding deeper into the unfamiliar streets. The squat apartment buildings and two-story houses disappeared as the landscape changed to flat, concrete parking lots and industrial yards. Lex lowered the window and inhaled the scent of diesel fuel and trash. A briny scent also filled her nostrils. A few seconds later she realized why: straight ahead was the river, its flat surface gleaming as it caught the last rays of sunlight.

The cab turned into a wide lot packed with cars. It was a construction site complete with two hulking cranes, scaffolding, and dozens of men walking around in orange hard hats.

Donnie cut the headlights and pulled over. He turned around. “You don’t want me to drive in there, do you? They’d definitely notice a limo.”

“I know.” Lex weighed her options. The cab was out of sight now, but she knew it couldn’t have gone far: the lot was bordered by water and the entrance and exit points were probably one and the same.

Donnie was staring at her intently.

Lex grabbed her purse and tightened the scarf around her head. “Wait for me here,” she said quickly. “If I’m not back in five minutes, come look for me.”

“Wait.” Donnie held up a hand. “You really think it’s safe? Let me come with you.”

“No.” Lex shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I can run faster in heels than any woman in New York.” She popped the door handle and climbed onto the tarmac. A mild breeze swept past her, sticky and damp. The sunglasses darkened her view, but they were an absolute necessity.

She threw a fast glance over her shoulder. She ran to the beginning of the lot and hung a right. She crouched down when she spotted the cab.

Julian got out. He said something to the driver, then turned and started walking toward the far end of the parking lot.

Smoke billowed in the air as a jackhammer tore up the pavement. Two construction workers were screaming commands at each other. Lex darted in between two cars and followed the row toward Julian. Her head was already beginning to ache from the noise. She looked over her shoulder again to make sure she hadn’t been spotted. That was when she realized how fast her heart was beating. The adrenaline, now laced with fear, was giving her the shakes. She thought about running back to the limo, then scrapped the thought. No. She wouldn’t turn into a wimp. She had survived far more dangerous situations than this—Fashion Week, Saks in December, the Latin Grammy Awards afterparty—and she wasn’t about to get intimidated.

She took a deep breath and powered along the edge of the lot. Julian was walking faster now. She watched as he made subtle gestures to a tall white guy in a construction hat waiting beside a green SUV—a guy who seemed to recognize Julian at once. Julian raised his right hand in salute and nodded twice. The tall white guy did the same.

Lex reached the end of the lot. There was nowhere else to go except straight ahead—and into Julian’s field of vision. Then she spotted the two Porta Potties to her right. The thought of standing anywhere
near
a portable toilet made her stomach lurch, but she had no choice. She wouldn’t be able to see Julian and the other guy clearly without standing upright.

Damn.

Clutching her purse tightly, she dashed to the first stall and pressed herself up against it. The light was dying, the shadows long and deep. She inched her way to the door, yanked it open, and climbed inside. The space was claustrophobically small—and it smelled unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was a massive, cloying, impossibly offensive odor. In that moment, Lex decided that every member of the male species should be barred from ingesting prunes.

Her eyes began to tear. She slid the door open a few inches and realized that she’d made the right decision: she had a clear, unobstructed view of Julian and the other guy.

They were walking toward each other in the shadow of the scaffolding.

A chorus of jackhammers started beating the air again, but Lex didn’t move to cover her ears. Instead, she reached into the magic purse and pulled out a bottle of custom-mixed perfume. She sprayed some of it into her scarf, quickly pressing it over her nose and mouth. Then she trained her eyes on what was going on outside.

Julian and the guy quickly shook hands. Backlit by the purple sky and the shimmering surface of the water, their movements were entirely visible. Their meeting happened in a matter of seconds.

The guy glanced around and dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans.

Julian did the same, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and handed it over.

The guy accepted the cash with his left hand. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and dropped something into Julian’s palm.

A small, square plastic bag.

Even from her position several feet away, Lex saw the quick flash of white from inside the bag before Julian deposited it in his back pocket.

Then the guy turned around and started back to his SUV.

Julian started walking back across the lot.

Lex quietly closed the door of the Porta Potti. She held her breath, weighing what she had just witnessed. A drug deal, obviously. She wondered if Julian had purchased cocaine or Ecstasy, then found herself gasping for air. Throwing open the door, she stumbled outside into the damp breeze, grateful for the noise of the jackhammers and the caw of seagulls overhead. Had her heels touched that godforsaken toilet? She hoped not. She’d have to chuck the shoes before going back into the penthouse. She clamped a hand over her nose and mouth as the stranger skidded off in his SUV. Full night was only a few minutes away. She caught a fleeting glimpse of Julian as he turned left at the end of the lot and continued back to the waiting cab. All around her, the construction site was quieting down. Men were yelling orders and coming off the rig parked out on the river.