When Isobel reached street level, she found herself on Tenth Avenue and 26th Street. As she headed south and east toward Andrew’s apartment, she reconsidered her fellow thespians in light of Angelina Rivington’s death.
Jemma had been working as an escort, so surely she knew the rules of the game, but what if she’d fallen in love with Harrison and their affair had continued, even after Candy was out of the picture? Maybe, like Candy, Jemma hadn’t felt threatened by Bethany. But if Harrison had also been having an affair with Angelina Rivington, maybe Jemma was the one pushed over the edge. In the same way that elegant Candy had felt threatened by Jemma’s sultry appeal, maybe Jemma felt she couldn’t hold her own against the striking, sophisticated Rivington. Isobel shook the thought from her head. Even to her, it seemed flimsy. Would that really be enough to drive Jemma to kill the judge? And besides, where would she have gotten a gun?
Unless she’d gotten it from Peter. What if, in addition to the two derringers, there had been a third gun, a different make with real bullets, and Jemma had taken it? If that were the case, Peter would have had to discover its absence before Vitelli asked him to inventory his weapons in order to lie about it. He’d already proven he had no compunction about withholding information by failing to mention Andrew’s disappearing act. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him concealing the fact of a missing gun. But why would he have brought along a third, loaded gun in the first place, unless he intended to use it himself? Could he and Jemma have been in cahoots? There were too many evasions, too many unanswered questions to believe that Peter wasn’t involved, but perhaps it was simply that he knew more than he was letting on.
Isobel passed a building where she’d once had a disastrous audition for a musical adaptation of Great Expectations. She’d accidentally packed two lace-up boots with different heel heights and tried to make a joke out of it by limping in, saying she wanted to be considered for Magwitch, the convict. She shivered at the memory and crossed the street in the middle of the block.
It was difficult to imagine what kind of link Tony might have had to Rivington, since Isobel still hadn’t traced him to Harrison. There were so many possible suspects, and she had little or no access to most of them, a frustrating impediment to her investigation. She wondered how the police were getting on, and if there were some way she could insert herself into the process. She still had Detective Vitelli’s card in her wallet. But what information could she share that wasn’t embargoed by the confidentiality agreement she’d signed with Sarah?
She stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, causing the woman behind to barrel into her.
“Sorry,” Isobel said absently.
The woman scowled and pushed past her.
Isobel resumed her pace and returned to the thought that had struck her so suddenly. Could there have been more to Sarah firing her than met the eye? Maybe—just maybe—Isobel was getting a little too close for comfort. Where had Sarah been that Saturday night? She’d been awfully quick to point out the article in the paper. Was she trying to ascertain whether Isobel had spotted her lurking around the perimeter of The Hostelry? Because if Candy had needed an accomplice, might she not have turned to her lawyer?
“That’s nuts,” Isobel muttered. An old man shuffling past her agreed.
“Nuts!” he yelled, waving his fist.
Sarah was a professional, a businesswoman. She didn’t go around shooting people to protect her clients. And as much as Isobel hated to admit it, Sarah had sufficient cause to fire her. Still, the idea was provocative. Who knew where Sarah was that Saturday night?
Isobel’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the number.
James.
Unbelievable. What on earth made him think she’d answer? Who would choose to be screamed at again?
Obviously, she would. Unable to contain her curiosity, she steeled herself for a tirade and picked up.
“What?”
“Don’t hang up. Just gimme a sec, okay?”
She opened her mouth to retort that a sec was more than he’d given her the other day, but thought better of it. “Hang on. I’m on the street, and it’s very loud.” She spotted a bank on the corner and darted into the lobby. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“You know me well enough to know this is hard for me,” he began.
“I take it you’re calling to apologize?”
“Not exactly.”
“What the—”
“I mean, yes! Yes, of course. But it’s more than that. Let me just start from the top, okay?”
Isobel gave a friendly wave to the security guard who was eyeing her curiously, then sat in the window with her back to him. “Go ahead. I won’t interrupt. And you know how hard that is for me.”
James cleared his throat. “There is no excuse for my behavior to you on the phone. But I have to tell you exactly what happened when you called.”
“You were at Jayla’s wedding.”
“I thought you weren’t going to interrupt?”
“Sorry.”
“They had just gotten to the part where they say the thing about forever hold your peace, and I jumped up. She thought I was going to object.”
“You told me that part.”
“Isobel!”
“Sorry!”
With her free hand, she held her lips together while he spoke.
“I wasn’t really trying to stop the wedding, but what was I going to say? That my phone rang? And then she’d ask me who it was and I’d say you, and she’d totally flip a shit. So you put me in a terrible situation.”
I put you…? Isobel thought, squeezing her lips harder.
“But like I said, there was no call for me to go off on you like that. You just hit me at a crazy, kind of emotional moment. So, I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.” The last few words came out in a rush, and Isobel couldn’t help but smile, even with her fingers clamping her lips.
“Can I talk yet?”
“Yeah.”
“I forgive you. And I screamed at you, too, so I’m sorry.” It was, in its way, hilariously awful, but she didn’t dare laugh. This was a tenuous détente at best.
“The other thing—well, the other two things I wanted to say are, well, first of all I’ve been kind of a dick for a while, and that’s not the person I want to be. So maybe we can patch things up. And, um…” He paused.
“It’s okay. Of course we can be friends,” Isobel said, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Sorry…this next one’s hard for me.”
“James. I’ve missed you. Does it help if I tell you that?”
“Um, yeah.” He gave a slight laugh. “Actually, it does. What I wanted to say is that I owe you. I mean, I want to make amends. You know what I’m saying?”
“Sort of?” It came out as a question, which Isobel supposed it was.
“I want to make it up to you. I wish I knew what to offer, but if there’s something I can do to make it right between us, I want to do it.”
Warm relief spread through Isobel’s chest. “Well, now that you mention it, there is. The truth is, I was calling you for help the other day. And since we’re being all open and honest, I have to tell you that it required some pride swallowing on my part. That’s why I flipped out right back at you.”
“Jeez, we’re some pair.”
“It would be easier for me to explain in person. I don’t suppose you’d want to meet for coffee or something?”
“That would be great. My treat.”
“I’m in Chelsea, and I have a little errand to finish up now, but I could meet you in an hour or so. Where’s good?”
“There’s a diner on the corner of 58th and Ninth. I have to head down there for class anyway.”
“Perfect. See you there.” She hung up, feeling a sudden rush of goodwill. “Thanks!” she called out to the guard, who gave a tentative, confused wave in return.
She knew what it had taken for James to call her, and she recognized the hand of his AA sponsor. Still, he had done it, and realizing she was important enough that he would make himself vulnerable forced her to admit how much she cared about him—and how much she’d missed him. She continued east on West 19th Street with an added spring in her step, crossing Seventh Avenue with a renewed sense of purpose.
She slowed when she saw the police car parked ahead, its lights flashing silently. Even-numbered buildings ran on the south side, odd numbers on the north. The car was parked in front of a low-rise apartment building on the north side. She continued past the car and casually glanced at the number as she went by.
It was Andrew’s building.
Her heart began to pound, but she kept walking until she reached the corner. Although she was sweating, she pulled on her jacket and let out her ponytail. Not that it would disguise her appearance all that well, but she didn’t want to attract notice by retracing her steps. She shaded her eyes and appraised the neighboring buildings for possible camouflage. There was an antiques store almost directly opposite Andrew’s building. She crossed the street and approached it, pretending to look in the window. A loud voice carried across the street, and she moved between two parked cars to get a better view.
A gray-haired woman in an orange flowered blouse and a clashing red bandanna was hollering at two policemen.
“You gotta let him get a lawyer. Everybody gets to have a lawyer!”
They didn’t respond, nor did Andrew, a wraith-like form cowering between the muscular officers, his hands cuffed behind his back. He looked dazed and disheveled, offering no resistance when one of the cops put a hand on his head and dipped him into the backseat more roughly than necessary. The police car drove off.
If only she hadn’t stopped to talk to James, she would have gotten to Andrew before the police picked him up. She might even have been there when they arrived. Frustrated, Isobel banged her fist against the hood of an SUV and jumped a mile out of her skin when the car alarm went off practically right in her ear.
She darted into the street, running in front of an approaching car whose driver gave her the finger. The gray-haired woman was leaning against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette.
“Are you a friend of Andrew Dahl’s?” Isobel panted.
“Who?”
“The guy who just got arrested. Are you a friend?”
“He rents from me, but his last name isn’t Dahl.”
“No, I know him,” Isobel said. “Andrew Dahl. He’s an actor.”
The woman snorted. “He may be an actor—says he is, anyway—but it’s Harrison. Andrew Harrison.” The woman peered closer at Isobel. “You say you know him?”
Isobel swallowed hard. “Um, I know who he is.”
At least, I do now, she thought, as the piercing wail of the car alarm continued to shatter the air around her.