Chapter Sixteen

 

“Uh, possibly you don’t realize how creepy that sounds,” I said after an astonished moment.

“I do realize. Which is why I had no intention of telling you yet.”

Yet?

“Tell me what?”

Seamus said almost desperately, “Can we please go somewhere we can speak in private?”

If Tarrant was wandering around up here, I sure as hell did not want him overhearing us. I nodded. “We can talk in my room.”

But Seamus shook his head. “No. There’s no place in this house where I trust we won’t be overheard. Let’s go back to my place.”

I glanced down at my blue dressing gown and pajamas. “I’m not exactly dressed for social calls.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not cold tonight.”

No. True enough. It was a warm summer’s eve. My reluctance was more about feeling…out of uniform. There’s something sort of vulnerable about traipsing around in your PJs, and I did not want to feel vulnerable around Seamus.

I did not want to feel much of anything around Seamus, now that I knew whose side he was on. Or whose side he wasn’t on.

I shrugged. “If you like. I don’t plan on staying long.”

I led the way as we crept down the stairs and went out through the dining room French doors. Though the night was warm, it was moist with humidity, mist rising from the newly mown lawn and cultivated flower beds.

The windows over the garage were dark, as were the windows of the main house. Seamus and I could have been the only two people awake in the entire world. It felt a bit like that. I had the impression he was marshaling his argument for the coming confrontation. I was pretty sure the evening was going to end with me firing him and ordering him off the property. The knowledge gave me no pleasure. I had liked him. Liked him enough that I had imagined there was maybe even potential for more.

And yeah, there probably had been—though I’d never pictured myself dating a cop—but it was all moot.

Though neither of us spoke as we picked our way across the dew-glistening grass, the night was alive with the sound of crickets and other insects. The full moon, drifting languidly as a lost balloon across the black canopy of sky, illuminated the empty drive and turned the garden silver, transforming it into something vaguely magical.

I was suddenly reminded of the night of the first séance and the pale balloons I had seen skimming through the purple-edged clouds. At the time I had been too distracted to do more than register the curiousness of so many stray balloons. Now, belatedly, I began to consider their significance. I vaguely recalled hearing something on the radio about an anniversary or a memorial service of some kind. I couldn’t remember the details—and maybe I’d got it wrong anyway. Maybe I was clutching at straws.

We reached the old carriage house, and Seamus led the way around the side of the building. He unlocked the door, and we stepped into the dark, diesel-scented interior. He flipped the wall switch, and the tube lights overhead buzzed into gray-green life.

Seamus started for the metal staircase, and I said, “This is fine. We can talk here.”

He said, “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink,” and continued up the stairs, his boots ringing on the metal rungs.

I hesitated.

He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a funny smile. “Afraid to be alone with me?”

I said in acid tones, “Yes, that’s it. It’s your animal magnetism. I fear I can’t resist your charms.”

Seamus laughed. “I meant, maybe you were still thinking I was one of the bad guys.”

Oh, right. I felt my face turn red and hoped the poor light would provide adequate cover. I said curtly, “You are one of the bad guys,” and started up the stairs after him.

When we reached his living quarters, he felt his way across the dark room, pulled down the window shades one by one, and then turned on one of the table lamps.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

I raised my arm to illustrate I was already about as comfortable as one could get, and Seamus said admiringly, “That is quite a bathrobe. What is that, brocade? I didn’t know people outside of old movies actually wore things like that.”

“Ha. Ha. Anyway, it’s a dressing gown.” And a Christmas gift from Aunt H. I didn’t actually swan around in brocade dressing gowns most of the time, but I’d figured if I was ever going to wear it, Green Lanterns was the place. “So what is it you have to tell me that couldn’t be said back at the house?”

“Do you want a drink?”

I resisted the urge to shout: NO, I DON’T WANT A DRINK, and sighed loudly enough to be heard in the back row. “No,” I said with exaggerated patience. “I don’t want a drink, thank you. I want to know what the hell ever it is you think you know about me that’s going to change my intention of tossing you out of here on your ear.” And then, because there’s a little bit of frustrated thespian in every theater critic, I swept over to the sofa, flung myself down, and crossed my legs. If I’d only had a foot-long cigarette holder, my performance would have been perfect.

“Well, I’m having a drink,” Seamus said.

“Jesus. Then pour me one as well,” I said irritably.

He brought back two tumblers and the bottle. We clinked glasses briskly. “Sláinte,” Seamus murmured.

I downed half my drink. There’s something really comforting about good whisky. This was Bushmills, my own brand—not to mention the brand of a few million other people—and I said, “What do you mean you know everything there is to know about me?”

Instead of answering directly, he said, “We met once before. A few years ago.”

“When?”

“You won’t remember. It was opening night for Outside Mullingar.”

I frowned. “I go to a lot of opening nights. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Seamus offered a rueful smile. “My timing was off. Then and now. You were in the middle of arguing with your boyfriend.”

Greg and I had argued a lot, so that didn’t ring any particular bells either.

I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“It was at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre. I came up and introduced myself, told you I was a big fan of your reviews and essays in the New York Magazine, and then your boyfriend walked up, you threw your drink in his face, and exited stage left.”

“Oh, that opening night,” I said. I still didn’t remember Seamus—or much about the play, for that matter—but now I knew why. That had been the night Greg broke it to me he was still technically married.

And even then, it had taken me another two years to figure out that whether Greg got around to divorcing his wife or not, there was no future for us.

“Anyway.” Seamus shrugged. “When your name popped up in connection with the Foxworth case—”

“And why would that have been?”

“We were trying to figure out if there was some reason Foxworth chose Russian Bay of all places in the world to resurface as Ogden Hyde. You seemed to be his only remaining tie to New York. Or the theater world.”

I opened my mouth, and Seamus said quickly, “It didn’t take us long to see that the connection was purely coincidental.” His smile was apologetic. “It’s no secret around town that you detested Hyde.”

Huh. I thought I’d hid my feelings better than that. Apparently not.

“I see.” That was overstating it a bit, but a picture was beginning to form.

Seamus said, “While we were assessing your potential involvement, I had to sort of…study you.” He grimaced. “Which hopefully doesn’t sound as stalkerish to you as it does to me putting it into words. Honest to God, it wasn’t like that. It was my job to learn everything I could about you, and I’m good at my job. That’s all.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. The more he protested it was just his job and he hadn’t been particularly interested in me personally, the redder and more self-conscious he got. Which, weirdly enough, was unexpectedly and disconcertingly flattering. He was so pained by the situation, it defused a lot of the voyeuristic element.

I raised my brows skeptically—mostly because I still couldn’t think of a good response—and Seamus got still more uncomfortable-looking and burst out, “I mean, I did of course still find you attractive. But I wouldn’t have dug into your background if my agenda hadn’t been professional. I’m not a creep.”

“Okay,” I said mildly, because I did believe him about that part. “But assuming that’s all true, I still don’t see why you’d let Aunt H. slip through the dragnet simply because of me.”

Seamus let out a long breath, like someone about to jump into a very cold lake. “It’s not only because of you,” he said, “although I admit I want you to like me and think favorably of me. My sister was in an abusive relationship. She’s a smart, independent, beautiful woman, but it took a broken nose, blacked eyes, and three cracked ribs before she was able to call it quits. And then it took me calling in favors to get her the support she needed and protection from that asshole.”

“I didn’t— I’m sorry.”

He nodded tightly. “I know firsthand that the system can fail victims.”

“You think Ogden—Oscar—was abusive toward Aunt H.?” I shook my head. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Seamus looked sympathetic. Sympathetic?

I said, “I don’t believe she wouldn’t tell me. She would know she could come to me for help.”

“There are all kinds of abuse,” Seamus said. “But either way…victims don’t always come forward, don’t ask for help. For different reasons. The point is, I’m sympathetic to your aunt’s situation. It’s not my case. It’s not my business. Okay? All I want is to close my case. I want to recover as much of the embezzled funds as I can—that’s my job—and figure out whether—”

“What about Liana?” I interrupted. “Is she an accessory or what? If she’s not Ogden’s sister, who the hell is she?”

“Her real name—well, her real stage name—is Lacey Labanca.”

I chose to overlook the real-stage-name conundrum. “Labanca? Seriously?”

“Yes. She starred in most of Foxworth’s films. From everything I’ve been able to discover, they had just gotten involved when the bottom dropped out of Foxworth’s finances. When he disappeared, she went with him.”

“True love.” My tone was acerbic.

Seamus shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it was the three million.”

“Is she for sure an accessory?”

“No. We don’t know exactly what she knew or didn’t know when she threw in with Foxworth. It’s possible she was crazy in love.”

“She’d have to be crazy to agree to pose as his sister for years.” I considered what had to have been going on behind Aunt H.’s back all the while she was married to Ogden. “Jesus.” I drained my glass and set it on the table. “I’ll have another, if you don’t mind.”

He took the glass, splashed another ounce or two over the ice, and handed it back. Our fingers brushed, and it was sort of comforting.

He said, “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve got to promise not to confront Liana. Promise not to do anything that might interrupt or interfere with my investigation. I’m very close to breaking this thing wide open, but if you tip off Liana, you’re going to fuck this up for everyone, including your aunt.”

I sipped the whisky and brooded. For years—years—Ogden and Liana had carried on together under Aunt H.’s roof while Ogden bled my aunt dry. And after Ogden had—not a minute too soon—driven off the cliff road, Aunt H. had continued to provide a home and shelter for that treacherous bitch Liana. I wasn’t sure I could contain my desire to throttle Liana—seeing that I’d wanted to throttle her before I knew the truth about her relationship with Ogden.

“Artemus,” Seamus said quietly.

I glanced at him and scowled. “I understand. You realize that Liana is probably behind this whole fake haunting of Green Lanterns?”

“Yes. I have a theory she’s working with Tarrant.”

“Liana and Tarrant? Would this be a strictly business arrangement, or would she be Labonking the butler as well?”

Seamus had been in the process of taking a sip of his whisky. He choked, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and said, “I haven’t yet determined that.”

“I see. And you’re sure Liana a.k.a. Lacey doesn’t have a criminal record?”

“Yes. I’m sure. Unless you count her filmography.”

I grunted. “I’ll try not to clue Liana in. Personally, I think the ill-gotten gains will be long gone by now. Ogden always spent money like water.”

“I hope not because that would complicate things. I’m relying on the recovery of the money to wrap up this case with the minimum of attention.”

“What if you can’t come up with the loot?”

His expression was not encouraging. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Yeah. Great.” Any way this played out, Aunt H. was going to be devastated. And I’d been thinking her being suspected of knocking off her husband was as bad as it could get.

I finished my drink, put the glass down. I was very tired. Very worried. And I didn’t imagine that was going to change anytime soon. How much simpler life had seemed twelve hours earlier when I’d agreed—okay, maybe against my better judgment—to a date with Seamus.

A date? Dating was something that had happened in another lifetime. A safe, civilized lifetime where Ogden’s greatest sin had been fooling around with Aunt H.’s gal pals. Where all I’d suspected Liana of was being a kook. Where it would never have crossed my mind Aunt H. could have been desperate enough to tamper with the steering column of Ogden’s BMW.

I put my hands on my thighs, preparatory to pushing off the sofa.

Seamus said gruffly, “Wait.”

I looked my inquiry.

He offered an uncharacteristically nervous smile. “It’s just… You don’t have to go.”

Obviously, I didn’t have to go. He wasn’t throwing me out. But why wouldn’t I go? What was left to say?

I must have shown my confusion because Seamus said quickly, “What I mean is, why don’t you stay?”

“Why…”

He said with greater confidence, “Why don’t you stay, Artemus? Please. I want you to stay.”