Eyes On You Part 29

"Me, too. And summer for me was always about reading, just spending endless hours in the library stalls, searching for new books."

"They probably have a table named after you at the Oneonta Public Library."

"Oneonta?" I asked, surprised.

He glanced in my direction. "Isn't that where your aunt lived?"

"How did you know?"

"You mentioned it on the ride to Albany."

"Oh, right." But I couldn't recall doing that. As much as I'd loved my aunt, Oneonta had stood for banishment, so I rarely uttered the name. I wondered for the first time if Alex had nursed a crush on me at work and researched my background. That would explain some of his eagerness to help.

I sipped my coffee and stared out the window, wondering where Vicky was at the moment. If the police ended up arresting her, the news would explode everywhere.

Without planning to, I drifted asleep and didn't wake until I felt Alex gently jostling my shoulder. "We're almost there," he said. "Can you give me the street address?"

"Oh, wow, sorry. I feel like a baby, sleeping the whole way like that."

"Will you need a lift home tomorrow?"

"Thanks, but I'll probably drive back with Ann."

"Okay, I'll check in with you if I hear anything. I may even b.u.mp into you at some point. I think we're having dinner in East Hampton tonight."

There was no awkwardness as we smiled and said goodbye, but I detected a degree of reserve from Alex, clearly because of the line I'd drawn.

Ann opened the door to her house, dressed in a bathing suit with a blue-and-white-print sarong knotted around her waist and her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. "Welcome," she said. "I'm so glad you decided to come."

"Thanks, I really needed this."

In one split second, maybe because of the coconut scent from her sunscreen, I felt overwhelmed with a sense memory of other summer days spent with Ann, a few of them here at the house. There was so much to lose if I didn't forgive her. I had to try.

"Who gave you the ride?" she asked, peering over my shoulder. I turned and followed her gaze as the car nosed away.

"Alex Lucca from work."

"The producer?" She took my bag and led me inside.

"Mm-hmm."

She wrinkled her nose a little, as if she'd picked up a hint of something burning.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's not a big deal."

"Come on, Ann. There's something."

"Okay, when he first started at the network a year or two ago, I fielded a weird call about him. A reporter from the Daily News fishing for info. Alex was in the DA's office, right? I think there may have been an issue when he was there."

I'd sensed from the beginning that Alex had misgivings about his ADA job. But it had seemed to be about him not finding law to be a good fit. "You have no clue what the reporter was getting at?" I asked.

"No. I contacted HR, and they said they'd checked references before hiring him, so I guess it couldn't be anything serious."

"Probably not," I said, but her comment felt like a branch snagging on my sleeve. It would be worth looking into.

"Why don't I pour you an iced tea," she said, changing the subject. "Then we can sit down and talk."

I followed her to the kitchen through a large living/dining area decorated beautifully with white ultramodern furniture offset by sisal rugs. With drinks in hand, we headed out to the patio. A swimming pool ran lengthwise behind the house, the bottom painted to make the water look Caribbean turquoise.

"Your timing's actually perfect," she said as we took seats at the outdoor dining table. "Five minutes ago, I heard from the personal a.s.sistant Potts uses on weekends. He wants me available for a call in the next hour. I bet it has to do with Vicky and that woman's death."

My body tensed. "If the police have already found evidence incriminating Vicky, this could blow up in a huge way this weekend," I said.

"Why in the world would Vicky kill her?"

"Because the woman was going to tell Potts that Vicky hara.s.sed her in ways similar to what was done to me."

Ann shook her head in shock. "You'll be cleared," she said, breaking into a smile.

"Ideally, yes."

"Robin, that's fantastic," she said. "You must be so relieved."

"She hasn't been arrested yet."

"It's not too soon to discuss how to handle the situation if she is. This is your comeback, and we have to be prepared, make sure we leverage the press the best way possible."

"I've been thinking about that myself."

"Let me see about lunch, and then we can discuss it."

A little while later, over salade Nioise, she helped me sketch out a rough plan. For background, I ran through the experience of locating Sharon and enticing her to the city. It was painful to rehash it.

"I can tell it hurts," Ann said, "but this will make your comeback story even stronger-that you worked so hard to prove your innocence."

By one, Potts still hadn't called. I helped Ann clear the dishes and then settled into a wrought-iron lounge chair by the pool. The house was set in the middle of a former potato farm, and I stared out beyond the pool, across a field covered with purple and yellow wildflowers. Far off to the left I could see another modern house and, to the right, an older shingled one.

I tried to read, but my eyes skidded off the page. Surely by now, I thought, there had to be some news. After about fifteen minutes, I wandered back into the house.

Ann was standing in the living room, her iPhone pressed to her ear. She looked perturbed and raised a finger, indicating she'd be off shortly. "All right," she said into the phone. "I'll let you know if there are any inquiries."

I held my breath as she tapped the screen to end the call. "News?" I asked.

"It's not what we wanted to hear," she said. "Vicky was questioned about the murder. But she has a solid alibi for the entire evening."

chapter 27.

"I can't believe it," I said. "Maybe she paid someone to do it."

Even as I uttered the statement, I realized how off it was. The crime had looked spur-of-the-moment, a case of anger escalating into homicidal rage. Not some paid killer's MO.

"Robin, I know you have good reason to believe Vicky is behind everything," Ann said. "And I've been so wrong to doubt you before. But wouldn't it make sense to at least consider other possibilities in this woman's death? Did she have a boyfriend? Isn't the boyfriend usually the killer in these sorts of crimes?"

I shook my head in dismay. "I don't know what to think anymore." I pressed my fingers to my temples. "Would you mind if I took a run right now? I could really use it."

"Not at all. I was just going to work out on the patio and then make a dessert."

I dug out my running shoes and laced them up while sitting under the front portico. Before I broke into a jog, I tried Alex's cell. It went to voice mail immediately, so I left a message.

I headed in the general direction of the ocean. My legs had been craving this, and for a while I let myself relish the sensation of my feet coming down hard on the pavement and the rush of air through my lungs. But before long, my thoughts were scrambling crazily, grabbing all my focus.

Vicky might have an alibi, but somehow she had to be responsible for Sharon's death; it was too big a coincidence otherwise. That meant she'd sent another person to the apartment, a cohort who was supposed to reason with Sharon but ended up striking out. After all, Vicky must have arranged for an accomplice to plant the brownie in my basket when she was in D.C.

Maybe, I realized, the person who had left the brownie had also killed Sharon. How was I going to solve the whole freaking puzzle? Two days ago I had allowed myself to believe that the situation was coming to a head. Now everything I'd banked on was like dust sifting through my fingers. If the police didn't find Sharon's photo of the Barbie, or refused to turn it over to me, I was back to square one with clearing my name. And Vicky was still at large.

Then I stopped in my tracks and replayed the words that had surged through my brain. Vicky at large. I was on a stretch of road with just a few houses, houses with empty driveways because the inhabitants were hanging at the beach. What if Vicky were trying to track me down this weekend and had determined where I was? For all I knew, she was the one who'd followed me to Westport.

I reversed course and headed directly back to Ann's, my legs pumping so hard they ached by the time I reached the house. Maybe this time I am being paranoid, I thought, reflecting under the portico. There was no way Vicky could find me here. Still panting, I walked around the house to the patio, where Ann was typing on her laptop at the table.

"Anything new?" I asked.

"Nothing so far, but the quiet is scaring me. Some reporter's bound to find out Vicky was questioned."

Then what? Would I end up part of the Sharon story, making my situation even worse?

I traipsed back to the guest room and tried Alex again, but it still went to voice mail. After changing into my bathing suit, I returned to the patio and plunged into the pool.

Just being in the water reminded me of my swim in Westport, my arms slicing hard through the water so determinedly. I'd started to find my way back that day, and I had to keep going.

I swam for thirty minutes, and afterward, despite my nap in the car, I slept again on the lounge chair. Later, Ann lit the grill to barbecue steaks for dinner. It was even hotter out than it had been earlier, so she suggested we eat in just our suits and robes, in case we wanted to take an evening dip.

She served the meal at eight, the outdoor table lit with candles in hurricane lamps. The food was fabulous, but I could only poke at it. I stared out at the darkening sky above the field. Why hadn't Alex called yet?

"Robin, I know this has been a setback," Ann said, pouring us each another gla.s.s of wine. "I'll help you, I promise. Tell me what I can do."

"There's one thing, but it won't be easy," I said.

"Spell it out."

"As you know, the Internet searches were done when Keiki was at her desk, but I've learned there's a way to do that remotely. I need to convince Potts to have an outside forensic firm examine my work computer. I was counting on Sharon's story forcing him to take that step. Now I have to do it without that."

"Okay, I'll talk to Potts," she said. "It will probably be better to wait until Monday, when I can do it face-to-face."

"He won't like you pushing on this."

"Tough. I'm not going to let you down again."

"Thank you, Ann," I said. It was clear she was doing everything in her power to undo the damage to our friendship.

I helped her clear the dishes and load the dishwasher and then carry the dessert plates out to the patio. She'd made blueberry crumble.

"Why don't we sit by the pool and have the crumble there," she said. "I was at that table so much of the afternoon."

It was dark out, the only illumination coming from the hurricane lamps and the light at the bottom of the pool. I looked across the field. I could no longer see the outline of the houses; only one of them had lights on. My fear returned, unbidden.

"Okay," I said hesitantly.

"What?" she asked.

"I just feel a little nervous tonight, with Vicky free. It's stupid to worry out here, but I can't fight it."

"I understand completely. Let's go inside as soon as we're done with dessert. I'll lock up after that."

We settled into two of the lounge chairs, the desserts set on a small table between us. "Actually," she said, climbing back out of her chair, "why don't I lock the front door right now."

As she went inside, my phone rang from the pocket of my robe. I dug it out, expecting to see Alex's name, but Bettina's was on the screen instead.

"Sorry to call on a Sat.u.r.day night," she said. "There's something I need to share with you."

"Not a problem," I said, on full alert. "Tell me what's up."

"Remember that item we ran on the survey Potts commissioned, the one that raved about you?"

"How could I forget it?"

"The writer is this borderline-hysterical columnist named Natalie, and she called me out of the blue tonight. There's been some buzz about Vicky Cruz being questioned by the police in a murder investigation, and Natalie was all in a panic that she might be swept into it somehow."

"But how?" I asked.

"Right after the item ran, Vicky apparently called Natalie, demanding to know who the source was. So the little fool ended up telling her. She claims she did it in exchange for other information Vicky had. Natalie has no idea if any of this is related to the murder investigation, but she wanted to cover her a.s.s with me in case it leaked out."

"What kind of information did Vicky share?" I asked, alarmed that info might be about me.

"Something vile about an executive at a totally different network, but that's not the part that's important. What I thought you should know, darling, is who leaked the original item to Natalie. It was your own PR person. Ann Carny."

For a few seconds I was too stunned to say anything. "Did Natalie have any idea why she did it?" I inquired, my voice lowered.

"Carny simply told her she was delivering a tidbit she thought Natalie would find worthwhile."