Murder.com (9 page)

"One more thing: don't disappear.
You need to be accessible. When I call, you need to be
around."

"I don't have any cruises planned,
so I think we're good."

"And save the
wisecracks."

* * *

Ginny and I spent the rest of the
day at my house lounging around. I wasn't very much in the mood to
do any work. I knew Imogen felt the same way.

"Max, what are we doing?" Imogen
asked as she put her head on my shoulder while we reclined on the
couch. Sinatra was playing in the background.

"Relaxing, my dear. We had quite
an eventful morning," I said, trying to sound unmoved by the events
of the day. I ran my one free hand through Ginny's straight hair.
The other one was tensely choking a glass of scotch.

"You know that's not what I
mean."

"Despite my impending arrest, I'm
quite enjoying this private eye stuff," I said.

That comment elicited a slight giggle. Probably a
nervous reaction.

"You do? I find it all a little
frightening after this morning."

"I don't blame you. It's uncharted
territory for both of us."

"Uncharted territory? We spent the
better part of today in a police station being grilled by a
detective and just narrowly escaping your arrest!" Imogen lifted
her head off my shoulder for added emphasis.

"Pardon me, my dear, maybe those
were not the most appropriate words." I took a sip of my scotch.
Ginny laid her head back down on my shoulder. "Look, we're in this
mess, like it or not. We're both smart. We'll get to the bottom of
this."

"That's a lot of
we
, Dutch," she said,
smirking.

"Now you're calling me
that?"

"I like it. It's
catchy."

"Jesus Christ, Imogen."

"Figured it was a good time to
test it out."

"Yes, perfect," I said. "Right in
the middle of a romantic moment."

"Speaking of which, we're quite a
team. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Team. Yes. I quite like that," I
said.

"Me too." Imogen nuzzled in a
little closer between my neck and my collarbone. "Maybe it's
time
we
make
this
official."

There it was. No maître d' to save
me this time. I took a sip of my scotch and contemplated this
statement. I sat there silent for a moment and then took another
sip.

"I think we're nearly there, my
dear," I said. "If I don't end up behind bars."

That was a terrible answer. I knew
that, but I couldn't think of anything better.

"Nearly there? Jail? Jesus, Max,
you're impossible sometimes."

"Better than at the beginning of
the journey, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed, but we should be doing a
victory lap by now." Imogen turned her face toward my eyes and put
her finger on my lips. "Close the deal. It's time."

Ginny motioned me to lean down toward her with her
finger then lifted her head slightly, and we kissed.

"I love you, Max."

"I love you too,
Imogen."

We were back at my house.
Confident that we were not in any imminent danger. I'd planned on
heading into the office around 11 a.m. this morning, but my plans
were derailed slightly when I saw a police car driving slowly up my
driveway. It finally stopped, the policeman, dressed in full
uniform, got out, and before I knew it the doorbell rang. I invited
him in, he entered, and we stood two feet from the front
door.

"Mr. Slade."

"Yes, officer."

"I'm Officer Sam Chen. I hope I'm
not intruding."

"No, no. Don't be silly. What can
I do for you?"

"I just wanted to pop by and to
make sure that everything was OK here."

"Yes, everything is fine
he—"

"Who is at the door?" Imogen
inquired as she strolled down the stairs.

By the time I could answer, she had a visual on the
cop.

"Good morning, ma'am."

"Well, good morning, officer. What
brings you here this morning?"

"As I was telling your husband
here—"

"We're not married," Imogen stated
for the record. "Although I'm working on it," she added.

I stood there listening to this conversation unfold.
Imogen was on a mission to bring this union about. I was slowly
beginning to agree. Although airing our race to the altar in front
of a random cop was not necessarily an endearing quality.

The officer ignored Imogen's
revelation.

"As I was telling Mr. Slade, I
stopped by to check on you both to make sure that everything was OK
this morning."

Imogen descended the stairs and was now standing
next to me in the foyer.

"Everything is just fine, officer.
Is there something we should be worried about?" Imogen
asked.

"No, no. Sergeant Williams just
asked me to do him a favor. I was happy to oblige."

"Well, we certainly appreciate
your help, officer. As Imogen said, we're both doing just
fine."

Sergeant Williams. That was the
name of the man who was making my life miserable. Checking up on us
as if I was some sort of a flight risk. Hell, checking up on me as
if I had done anything wrong.

"I'm glad to hear it." He paused.
"I'll tell you what—if you two don't mind, I'm going to stop by
every now and then to see how you're doing."

Keep tabs on me. That was what the sergeant wanted
to do. Make sure I was being a good boy while he tried to build a
bogus case against me. If that was what Daddy wanted, that was what
Daddy was going to get. At least to his face.

"That would be great," I said.
"I'm honored the police care that deeply for our
well-being."

Imogen didn't say a
word.

Officer Chen didn't acknowledge my
sarcasm. "My pleasure," he said as he shook my hand. "You two stay
safe now."

Imogen and I walked the officer to the door and
watched him get into his car. Moments later, he pulled out of the
driveway.

I turned to Imogen. "We're getting
the hell out of here."

Not two seconds later my phone
rang. It was Kitty. Imogen was not happy when I answered the phone,
and when she realized with whom I was speaking, she left the living
room and walked into the kitchen. Jabber must have been in
agreement, because she followed Ginny away from me. I sat down on
the couch, quickly coming to the realization that I would not be
going into work today, and proceeded to talk to Kitty. She told me
about the funeral, how nice it was, and how Ted would have been
touched to see that so many of his friends and colleagues had come
out to honor his life.

"I want to apologize for my
behavior the other day, Dutch."

"There's nothing to apologize for,
Kitty."

"There is. I was rude. Rude for
arriving unannounced and rude for interrupting your dinner with
Miss Whitehall."

"I thought we covered all of that
already, Kitty."

"We did. But I wanted to make sure
that you understood how very sorry I am."

"Duly noted." I said, trying to
get to the real reason that she had called.

"I also wanted to apologize for
losing my temper the other day," Kitty said, fishing around for
something.

"I hadn't even noticed," I lied.
Of course I had noticed.

"Come now, Dutch. We both know
that you can tell when I'm miffed. You always could," Kitty said,
bringing a rush of flashbacks into my consciousness.

I smiled a bit, but Kitty couldn't
see that across our mobile connection.

"I really should have thanked you
for sharing that email with the police. We certainly need their
help if we're going to get to the bottom of this mess."

"
We?
" That certainly seemed to be the
word of the day.

"Of course,
we
. With you passing along materials
to the police and meeting with Mike, I assumed, naturally, that
you've decided to help with the investigation."

She'd caught me off guard. How did
she know that I had met with Mike?

"I met with Mike about a business
opportunity, Kitty." I was fishing for more information.

"Oh well, I didn't realize, pardon
me. He mentioned that you two met when I saw him at the funeral. He
didn't mention what you two had discussed. I just assumed you had
spoken to him about the email."

Kitty was lying. It wasn't just
that I could sense the subtle change in her tone. I felt it in my
gut. Maybe Carrington and I shared the same internal organ. I was
inclined to trust mine as well
.

"Oh, Kitty, how is one supposed to
broach that subject? 'Oh hey, I saw you sent a nasty, possibly
threatening email to your colleague who, as it happens, recently
wound up murdered?' We didn't discuss it."

Ginny walked back into the living room. Jabber was
still following her.

"Silly me," Kitty said then added,
"What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are you all right? Have
the police bothered you?"

I wasn't sure how much I should
divulge to Kitty. There was something odd going on here. She had
just lied moments before, or at least I thought she had lied. And
it was a little odd that she cared so much about my well-being all
of a sudden.

Until the other day, I had not spoken to Kitty in
years. Of course, I had seen her now and again at the occasional
social function. I would usually just give a wave from across the
room. And if by chance we ended up face to face, it was usually two
air kisses, a quick hello, and I would exit stage left. Minimal
contact.

"Just the normal stuff. A couple
of questions and they were gone."

I was going to lie. At least about
my police contact. She didn't need to know that I had become the
prime suspect in their flawed investigation. I wasn't sure, yet,
why I couldn't tell her the truth, but something, deep inside,
pushed me in that direction. My gut.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, Max.
They had me scared the other day. I wouldn't want to see anything
bad happen to you."

"I appreciate your concern,
Kitty."

"I wish I was more like you. I'm
not good with all of this police stuff. It looks like you have
everything under control."

"I just tell the truth, Kitty. It
works wonders," I said.

Kitty chuckled. "I'll have to
remember that. And Max, I truly am glad that you're OK, and I
really do appreciate all of your help. And Miss Whitehall's
too."

I didn't acknowledge that
comment.

"Dutch, you know"—she paused—"you
should really marry that girl. She's delightful. And, really,
aren't you tired of being a bachelor? Jesus, Dutch, you're forty.
You might want to try marriage once in your life before you
die."

She had a way with words. Subtle. That was all that
I needed. Advice about my love life from Kitty.

"I will certainly pass along your
kind words to Miss Whitehall. She'll be tickled to hear how highly
you think of her."

Kitty thanked me again for my help and then
disconnected.

"What was that all about?" Imogen
asked.

"She told me that I should marry
you."

"I'm beginning to like this
woman."

Imogen and I had temporarily moved
into the brownstone that I owned on 63rd between Madison and Park.
The fact that Sergeant Williams felt the need to send over a
uniformed officer to check up on my safety had clinched it for me.
I'd had to move out of my house in the suburbs at least for the
time being. After my chat with Kitty, we'd packed up some stuff and
promptly relocated. Although I'd gotten a little pushback from
Ginny.

"We can't just leave,
Max."

"And why's that?"

"The detective said that we
couldn't."

"He said that we shouldn't leave
the state or disappear. And we're not. We're moving into our other
house. If he's such a good detective, let him open a phone book.
I'm sure they can use their crack investigative skills to find
us."

I was glad that we had left. I
didn't have to sit around waiting for uniformed police officers to
drive by and check up on me. I hadn't done anything wrong. I didn't
deserve that. If keeping tabs on me was so important, let them work
for it. Who knew how long I really had before I ended up in a
cell?

In addition to my temporary freedom, there were some
additional benefits to city living. For starters, we had unlimited
dining options. As I mentioned before, we enjoyed eating out. Also,
we were closer to the action. I was closer to my office, and Imogen
and I would be able to float around the upper crust of New York
nightlife. We would also be able to keep our ears a little closer
to the ground. After all, Baxter, Miller & Clarke was located
in the city.