Chapter 1
Tuesday, September 15
The first sign of trouble came at eleven when Scott Drayco’s cellphone rang. Attorney Benny Baskin’s voice chirped in his ear, “Just giving you a heads-up, boy-o. I’m sending over someone who wants to talk with you.”
“Who?”
“A client of mine. You’ll see.”
“Can’t you give me any more details than that?”
“I predict you’ll have a sudden desire to stop by my office afterward. Say tomorrow, about this same time?”
“Benny, what in the world—”
“Oops, there’s another incoming call. Gotta go.”
The attorney hung up, leaving Drayco with a surprising uneasiness to go along with his unanswered questions. Maybe he should blame it on a friend who’d sent a teasing text with the horoscope for Sagittarians, Today’s a good day to prepare for the unexpected.
He shrugged it off, tossed the phone aside, and slid onto his piano bench to tackle an engrossing Beethoven sonata. He’d only managed a couple of minutes of the first movement when the doorbell rang. Yet, even knowing someone was coming over thanks to Benny’s warning, Drayco almost jumped out of his skin. With a sigh, he gave the shiny Steinway a little pat and headed toward the front door.
When he opened it, a figure stood framed against a backdrop of rain so thick, he could barely see the sidewalk across the street. It was the last person he’d expected after Benny’s call—but he now realized why Benny was so cagey on the phone. The universal karmic gods certainly had a very dark sense of humor, and the score was horoscope, one, Scott Drayco, zero.
Darcie Squier pushed her way in, shook the rain off her red umbrella, and slid it into the stand by the door. He had to grudgingly admit she looked as good as ever, wearing a form-fitting turquoise knit dress that set off her dark hair nicely.
What the hell could she want? And what did Baskin have to do with it? When she’d told Drayco about her engagement months ago, Darcie said she still craved the physical relationship they’d shared. Was that why she was here?
He started to formulate a polite, but firm, “No,” when she shocked him. “You have to help him. Please say you will. I don’t trust anyone else.”
Her eyes were moist and not from the rain. Drayco helped her wriggle out of her raincoat and guided her into the den where he settled her on the sofa, heading to the kitchen long enough to make a cup of hot Earl Grey tea he handed over.
“What’s this all about, Darcie? Who do you want me to help?” He parked on the chair across from her.
“It’s Harry.”
“Harry Dickerman? Your fiancé?”
She gulped some of the aromatic tea before replying. “He’s been arrested and is in jail. But he didn’t do it.”
“Arrested on what charge?”
“Suspicion of murder.”
Drayco leaned back in his chair. “You’ve retained Benny Baskin.”
“I heard you mention him before. That he was the best. So I hired him, and now he wants you to assist. I’m begging you to say yes, even though I’m afraid you won’t.”
Drayco had a sudden craving for some tea himself, with a shot of vodka. Or maybe just the vodka. “Why don’t you start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”
“The murder was four days ago at our house in McLean. I wasn’t there at the time, but this woman arrived saying she needed to see Harry, and she’s apparently Harry’s ex-wife, well fake ex-wife, and—”
Drayco cut off her rambling. “Fake ex-wife?”
“I think so. I’m not clear on all the details. I’m still in shock. They let me see Harry, but he doesn’t know what’s going on, either.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“At the salon. With lots of witnesses. I came home to find the police there, the body being carted away, and Harry hauled off to jail. So, yesterday I hired Benny Baskin.”
“Why wait three days?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been in such a panic. I wanted to call you.”
“But you were afraid I’d give you the brush-off, is that it?”
She nodded.
“Oh, Darcie.” Maybe they hadn’t shared a deep love, but he’d thought she knew him better than that. “Are you sure Harry will want me involved?”
“I don’t care. It’s for his own good. He’ll just have to understand that.”
Drayco rubbed his temples. “All right, then. Assuming Harry didn’t murder his ex-wife, then someone might be trying to frame him, but who and why?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t known him all that long.”
“So I noticed.”
“Don’t be angry with me, Scott. Not now.” She set the tea down and clutched her hands together. “I’m afraid I’ll be charged, too, as an accessory or some such thing. That’s what they do in the movies.”
“Sounds like you have an airtight alibi. That should help.”
She was shivering, and that’s when he realized how wet her clothing was from the rain. “You’re soaked. Go get some of my clothes and give me your things. I’ll put them in the dryer.” He added quickly, “And you can hang out in the guest bedroom, watch the TV, while I make some calls. All nice and proper.”
She gave him a small smile. “Just hang out in the guest bedroom?”
“It’s much safer that way, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’m assuming you aren’t staying at Harry’s place?”
“A friend’s letting me bunk with her until I move back to Cape Unity. I don’t feel right being in Harry’s house without Harry. Not that I’d want to until the crime-scene people have taken care of the. . .of all of that blood.”
Drayco ushered her to the guest bedroom and dutifully took the wet clothes she handed him to the dryer. Truth be told, he was in a bit of shock, himself. He’d have been far more prepared for this if he’d heard of Harry’s arrest when it happened. But he was too busy wrapping up a case in Pennsylvania and out of touch with local Washington-area news.
He perched on the chair in his study to make some of those calls, but couldn’t stop obsessing over the fake-ex-wife part of Darcie’s tale. No doubt, Benny Baskin would fill him in on all the details tomorrow. But a “fake” ex-wife hinted at something deeper and more mysterious than simple jealousy. Just then, a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows. Seems the universe agreed with him.
He gave a longing glance over at the piano, wanting nothing more than to return to the Beethoven Appassionata sonata he was playing before he got Benny’s call. Why did stormy weather make him want to play something in a minor key? Must be his synesthesia. Pieces like the sonata with its F minor key created shimmering, elongated sepia ovals—like twisted noirish raindrops—to his ears. Later, he’d switch to something more upbeat, Chopin’s Mazurka in D major, maybe. Something, anything to chase away his dark mood.
Right now, he had an ex-lover in his bedroom and a date with the phone to make calls to everyone who might have more intel on the murder case. And to plot revenge against a certain pint-sized attorney who’d arranged all this and left out the details as a little “surprise.” Damn the man.
Drayco had the feeling Benny’s horoscope today was something along the lines of, Someone close to you will wish you harm. Or perhaps that was Harry Dickerman’s horoscope four days ago. But exactly who would wish Dickerman harm? As far as Drayco knew, he was a typical boring, rich businessman. . .one with a taste for much younger women. With that unpleasant thought, Drayco grabbed the phone and started to dial.
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