Chapter 32
TUESDAY MORNING, AS I reached the Global Broadcasting building, I was surprised to see Nancy standing outside, waiting for me. That was so uncharacteristic I asked immediately, “What’s happened?”
“They’ve set the date for my trial. September twenty-fifth.”
A jolt of apprehension shot through me. “So soon? That’s less than three months away!”
She gestured toward the building’s ground-floor coffee shop, the Central Park Café. “Do you have time for coffee, so we can talk about things?”
“Absolutely. The show’s crisis du jour can wait.”
The cafe was only half full this morning. Summer vacations had temporarily thinned the ranks of the regulars. Nancy and I took a booth in the back.
I asked her if she’d had breakfast.
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
In an attempt to lighten the dark atmosphere caused by an approaching trial, I told her, “At times like these, best friends say, ‘you’ve got to keep up your strength.’ At least have some toast, or a muffin.”
Without waiting for her to agree, I ordered coffee for both of us and a blueberry muffin for Nancy. As soon as we were alone again, I asked, “Can’t Kent get the trial date moved back, maybe to after the New Year?”
“He doesn’t want to. We refused to waive my right to a speedy trial. Kent says that the quicker we get to court the better it is for me, because the State will have to rush in preparing their case.”
“And when people rush, they make mistakes. The prosecutors have a lot of cases to handle,” I said. While Kent Wayne’s strategy made sense, still the thought of Nancy going to trial so soon, or at all, made my stomach muscles clench with tension.
“Don’t look so worried,” she said brightly. “I’ve got an invincible team around me.”
I matched her bravado. “Bobby and Walter and Kent and Matt, and the two of us. Six against the State of New York.” I wanted to think the State didn’t have a chance, but I knew that in this David and Goliath battle to save Nancy, we were David. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a slingshot. At least, we hadn’t found one yet.
“There’s something else,” Nancy said.
“What?”
“Have you heard from Chet?”
“He calls a couple of times a week,” I said. “Last I heard, his father was almost ready to leave the hospital.”
“He’s home now. And Chet’s on his way back to New York.”
“I didn’t know that.” So he told Nancy before he told me. That’s interesting. “Chet’s been worried about you,” I said. “Every time we talk he asks how the investigation is going.”
“He’s been very supportive,” Nancy said. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not! I’m glad he’s such a good friend.” But I realized Nancy wasn’t really asking if I minded that Chet called her. Something else was going on. “We’ve been best friends for almost thirteen years. Out with it.”
Nancy looked down at the blueberry muffin her fingers were taking apart. “I know you and Matt . . . well, what I mean is . . . if things aren’t going to work out with you and Chet, how would you feel if Chet and I saw each other once in a while—I mean, just as friends.”
“I’d be very happy about it,” I said sincerely.
“I don’t even know if he would want to. He hasn’t said anything about it. I was just asking.”
“Don’t turn that muffin into crumbs, eat it,” I said. “You’ve got to stay healthy while we find out who really killed Veronica Rose. Chet’s going to be a great addition to Team Nancy.”
And maybe he’ll turn out to be the right man for you, I thought. Chet’s a wonderful person—almost as good a man as my best friend deserves.
CHET CALLED THAT night to invite me to lunch—lunch, not dinner. That told me I was right to sense that our relationship had changed.
“Name the restaurant,” Chet said. “How about something Broadway glamorous, like Sardi’s? Or French elegant, like Jean Luc’s?”
“I’ve got so much work to do. What if we just have lunch in the Central Park Café on the ground floor of the Global building?”
“You’re a cheap date. Here I’m willing to spring for the fresh fish of the day, and order chocolate soufflés for dessert.”
“How about we go to the cafe, and I promise to order the most expensive thing on the menu?”
“Whatever you say.” Pause. “How are you doing, Morgan?”
Now he’s calling me Morgan. He used to call me “gorgeous.”
“I’m okay, but I’m worried about Nancy, as you can imagine. Hey, wait a minute,” I said, as though the idea had just this moment occurred to me. “Instead of taking me to lunch, why don’t you take Nancy? Between my workload and following leads in the murder case, I barely have time to sleep. It would cheer Nancy up a lot if you could spend some time with her. Take her to dinner—maybe to a show. It’s been months since she’s had any fun. When you see her, she can fill you in on the investigation. You might even come up with some brilliant idea nobody else has thought of.”
On the other end of the line, Chet was silent for a moment. Then: “You’re a good lady,” he said softly. His words were a perfect example of an unspoken communication.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to run for saint, but if I win I’ll demand a recount,” I joked. “Go on, call Nancy. Give her something to look forward to.”
After we said goodbye, I picked up the Yellow Pages. It was time to buy a black wig.