Chapter Twenty-Four

Jessie returned to Sam’s place and searched her files again, even though a letter from Geneticell thanking Sam for her egg-turned-embryo donation would have grabbed her attention the first time around. Finding it before would’ve saved her from impersonating Sam to get her drug records, and from confronting Ian. But her search turned up nothing about the egg donation.

It was curious that the information was missing from Sam’s files at the condo and at Alden & Associates. The pictures Jessie had received revealed a mystery, but she struggled to connect Sam’s egg donation to her death.

In a ton-of-bricks moment, Jessie considered that the pictures had nothing to do with Sam’s murder, that they were meant to divert her attention, not focus it. She pulled them from her tote and studied each one again, scanning the faces and recalling the stories that she’d pieced together so far.

Helena. Ian. Elizabeth. Philippe…

An obvious suspect was conspicuously missing from the pictures—Senator Thomas Talmont. Even Michael Gillette was suspicious about his involvement in Sam’s murder.

Jessie had her suspicions, too. But less about Talmont as the murderer, and more about his affair with Sam as the motive.

Ian had claimed not to know about their affair. Philippe hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had Helena. Either Sam had been uncharacteristically discreet, or Jessie had touched on a reason that all of them might want Sam dead.

From what Jessie could tell, Talmont had loved Sam in his own warped way. He might’ve been willing to take the heat from a sex scandal to bring down the Aldens and Philippe, and to stop their momentum in the fight for embryonic stem cell research. If Elizabeth were involved, he’d win points for taking down a senator who sat across the aisle.

Voters might be more disturbed by the extortion scheme than by Talmont’s sex life. And he wasn’t up for reelection for four more years. Maybe he and Sam had been planning the big reveal. Sam would’ve gotten the attention she craved and humiliated their father before his Supreme Court nomination.

As sick as the scheme sounded, it made sense.

Jessie wondered if Philippe knew about Sam’s affair with Talmont. And if he did, would he say so?

She found his business card in her purse and dialed his number.

After three rings, he answered. “Philippe Lesort.”

“Hello, Philippe. It’s Jessica Croft.”

“Ah, Jessie. What a pleasant surprise.”

“I need to see you. It’s about Sam.” Jessie closed her eyes, hoping that he was available.

“I’d love to see you, chérie. But I’ve told you what I know about Sam. Shown you.”

“Now I want to tell you what I know. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“Not until later. Even then, I’m not sure. Hold on, let me check something.”

Jessie waited for an uncomfortably long time.

The sound of his voice startled her when he said, “Meet me at the corner of Seventh and E Street Northwest at six thirty.”

“I’ll be there.”

Jessie stood on the sidewalk at the busy intersection, waiting for Philippe. She counted along with the lighted digits on the pedestrian crossing signs, ticking off the seconds. Michael was supposed to be at Sam’s place at eight, so she hoped Philippe would arrive soon. They’d have plenty of time to talk, and she could get back and freshen up before Michael got there. Jessie smiled at the unexpected flutter in her stomach. She was anxious to see him, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

Hockey fans passed in a blur of red Capitals jerseys, braving the cold without coats, headed toward the Verizon Center to see the game.

“Need tickets, need tickets?” scalpers called.

Someone lightly touched her shoulder. “Hello, Jessie.” There was no mistaking Philippe’s accent.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

He warily glanced around at the crowd. “I forgot to check if there was a game tonight. I would’ve suggested somewhere else if I’d known.” He pressed his hand against the small of her back. “Come with me.” Philippe guided her to a nearby storefront that she might’ve passed without noticing, had he not stopped.

She glanced up at the small sign that hung above the door—flowing cursive in red neon. Red Velvet. Mmm, it sounded tempting. “What’s this?”

He opened the heavy wooden door, its glass center bordered with decorative wrought iron, then motioned her inside. “A cupcakery.”

Shoehorned between businesses on either side, the place was tiny, with minimalist décor and the sweet smell of cake baking. On a soaring gray wall hung a massive picture of a dozen iced cupcake tops.

“What kind would you like?” Philippe asked.

Jessie gazed at the tiers of cupcakes showcased behind glass. Their tops peeked out from under dollops of creamy icing, sprinkled with coconut, chocolate shavings, colored sugar crystals and fruit slices, or crowned with an espresso bean. “Surprise me.”

His eyes glinted with mischief. “I like a woman with a sense of adventure.” He tipped his head toward a small seating area. Tucked beneath a window counter was a row of fifties-style soda-fountain stools. “Grab us a seat.”

Jessie wove around the people waiting and was lucky enough to find two available stools. She hung her coat on a nearby wall peg, then sat and watched the passing crowd outside, unable to shake the feeling that someone watched her, too.

She turned to see Philippe making his way over, balancing two cupcakes on top of a white box.

He placed one on a napkin and slid it in front of Jessie. It was crimson cake with white icing and ruby sugar crystals. “Mademoiselle, they call this cupcake the Southern Belle, like you.”

Jessie hardly considered Virginia the south, but she wasn’t going to argue. “That’s a pretty name, but what kind is it?”

“Velours rouge—red velvet.” He slid the box onto the counter, with his devil’s food cupcake on top.

Jessie gestured toward the box. “What’s in there?”

“One for Liam.”

“He’ll be thrilled.”

Philippe smiled impishly. “He gets the yellow cake, I get the frosting.”

“What about Elizabeth?”

All traces of humor disappeared from his face. “Senate’s in session tonight, so she’ll be late. She wouldn’t eat it anyway. Spontaneous indulgence isn’t her style.” He hesitated, a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering a time when she’d been different. “Sometimes you have to let yourself go and let life surprise you. There are so many unexpected pleasures, you just have to be open to them.”

Jessie stared at him, bewildered. “You’re quite the romantic.”

“And Elizabeth is not,” he murmured, almost too quietly for her to hear.

Unsure how to respond, Jessie peeled the paper from her cupcake and took a bite, the tangy-sweet icing melting on her tongue.

“What did you want to tell me about Sam?” Philippe asked.

“I’ve found out that she might’ve had an ongoing affair with Senator Talmont, up until she died.”

One of Philippe’s eyebrows twitched, but the movement was barely noticeable. “Where did you get that information?” He bit into his cupcake.

“From Michael Gillette, the security consultant. Do you know him?”

Philippe blotted his mouth with a napkin. “Only as an acquaintance. I see him around town at some of the events. A few years ago, he did some security work for Helena and Ian. They might still do business with him.”

Jessie tensed. Michael had told her he’d done work for the Aldens a couple of years ago. She hated to imagine him aligned with them now.

“What else do you know about him?” she asked.

“He’s ex–Secret Service. Nice enough guy. Smart. He’s got a good reputation in the security business.”

“Do you know if he’s involved with anyone?” She tried to sound nonchalant.

Philippe cocked his head, a corner of his mouth tugging with intrigue. “You find him interesting?”

“No,” she lied, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m just trying to decide if I can trust him.”

“Chérie.” He leaned in close beside her, smelling like chocolate and expensive cologne. His breath was warm on her ear. “You can’t trust anyone in this town.”

She shivered, distracted by his closeness and his words. He sat back and she met his gaze. “What about you?”

He looked away and was silent for a moment. “I’m an outsider. I don’t count.”

She could relate. “What about Sam and Senator Talmont? Were they having an affair?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you, and I couldn’t tell you whether to believe Michael Gillette.”

Jessie’s heart sank. “Ian said it wasn’t true.”

His expression tightened. “You’ve talked to Ian?”

She nodded. “I went to his office today. He seemed surprised when I asked if Sam and Talmont had a relationship. He said it was ridiculous.”

Philippe smirked. “He didn’t want to admit that Sam would choose a fortysomething man who wasn’t him. Ian was possessive of her, and too much into her business. He wished he could get into more.”

Jessie recalled accusing Ian of looking at the pictures and videos of Sam and the senators. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have been jealous.

“He told me about her egg donation to Geneticell,” she said.

“That was no revelation.”

“It was to me.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I keep forgetting—”

“That I didn’t have a front row seat for Sam’s life.” Jessie hated the briary tone of her voice and hoped he understood that it was more about guilt than defensiveness.

“I thought you might know,” he said, “because Sam wasn’t shy about using her egg donation story as a lobbying tactic. It really impressed Elizabeth, even though she was already in Sam’s camp and supported Geneticell’s work.”

“How did you get involved with Geneticell?”

“A little American biotech company needed more funding. I recruited some Canadian venture capitalists who happen to hold public office. Respected foreign leverage helps to get their controversial research done while their U.S. address qualifies them for government grants.” His eyes lost their shimmer. “It’s all incestuous.”

“Geneticell was a smaller company before?”

He nodded. “With a different name—Cell Line Strategies. Helena worked for them briefly.”

Jessie needed a flow chart to keep all the history straight. “When?”

“Before she and Ian were married, and just before she opened Alden and Associates. She was only with them about ten months, but that led to the biotech focus of her firm. And to her breakup with your father.”

His words swelled in Jessie’s ears. “My father had a relationship with Helena?”

Philippe pressed his lips together. “You didn’t know that?”

Jessie shook her head, realizing how stunned she must look. She tried to imagine her father and Helena as a couple, but couldn’t.

Philippe rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer.

“How long were they together?” she asked.

“I’m sketchy on the details. When I came on the scene, their relationship had been over for a while. By then, Helena and Ian were intertwined in countless ways, including marriage. Elizabeth and Helena have been friends through it all, so that’s how I found out.”

Jessie looked at the remnants of her cupcake. There were several bites left that she no longer had a taste for.

Philippe checked his watch and sat up straight. “I’ve got to go relieve the nanny—in twenty-six minutes and counting.” He stretched tall as he stood, sturdy-shouldered and dark, striking and mysterious. “I’m not sure I’ve been helpful.”

Jessie managed a wan smile. “Thanks for coming.”

He swept the cupcake box off the countertop, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry,” he whispered.

Her gaze followed him as he left the store and strode up the sidewalk, heading home to his son, and back to his life. She folded her napkin around the rest of her cupcake, got up, and threw it in the trash.