“I can’t believe she had the nerve to admit it to you.”
“I’m sure it was purely strategic on her part. Better to lay her cards on the table now and manage the fallout, rather than having me learn about it later from a third party.”
“Of course.” Trying to protect her assets as best she can.
“Something else to consider,” Roger says, grimacing. “You and I spoke about Mulroney last week on the phone, and like I said, I think Marion’s been eavesdropping.”
“Okay, but if Marion blabbed about that, too, and it got back to Wargo, it still doesn’t give him a reason to kill Mulroney. I hired the guy solely to deal with my disappearance.”
“What if Wargo didn’t realize Mulroney’s true purpose? What if he thought you’d hired a PI to investigate Jaycee’s death?”
I nod dully. Maybe he’s right.
“I should call the police here and in White Plains, then,” I say. “Let them know the possible connection.”
“Absolutely.”
I have even less appetite than a few minutes before, but because of the effort Roger’s mustered, I manage to finish my french toast and coffee. We use the time to strategize how to inform my father about the attack before the news makes its way to him and decide that Roger will call him as soon as it’s a decent hour in California, and I’ll follow up later.
When I return to the guest bedroom after breakfast, my phone’s ringing from the top of the dresser. Hugh, probably. I need to loop him in, of course, no matter what our status is.
But to my surprise, it’s Derek, my contact at the company sponsoring the podcast. Odd. He’s never once called me on a weekend.
“Sorry to bother you on a Sunday,” he announces. “Got a minute?”
“Of course. Is everything all right?”
“I was told you were dealing with an emergency—which, by the way, I’m sorry to hear—and that you might not be able to host the podcast this week.”
I groan inwardly. This has Sasha written all over it.
“May I ask who told you that?”
“I don’t recall exactly; I had a phone message from my assistant. But I’m thinking that rather than simply posting an old podcast, it would be great to give Sasha a crack at hosting the show. And that way we can introduce our new tagline rather than having to hold off another week.”
My blood is boiling.
“There must be a bit of confusion, Derek,” I say. “There was a slim chance I wasn’t going to make it, but I’ve sorted it all out. I have every intention of being there on Tuesday. Should I call Bob and reassure him?”
Bob’s one of the top dogs at the company, and the one I made the sponsorship deal with. The time has come to finally invoke his name.
“No, not necessary,” Derek says, his upbeat tone fading. “Sorry if I misunderstood, and sorry, as well, for interrupting your Sunday. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
Call ended and phone in hand, I collapse on the bed and study the ceiling, looking for answers that can’t be found in endless feet of perfect dentil molding.
I need to go back to New York, I realize. For starters, I can’t be in this house when Marion returns, especially after what she’s done. And if Roger’s theory is right—that Wargo killed Kurt Mulroney—I don’t have any reason to be afraid in the city.
Plus, I need to host the podcast. Derek’s aware that he’s crossed a line, but I know he could find a way to outsmart me, paint a false picture of me to Bob as someone who’s suddenly lost interest or is unwilling to be a team player.
And it’s essential for me to talk to Hugh. Not only about the attack but also about us. Dr. Erling’s right. I’m not going to find any answers sitting out here, trolling through LinkedIn.
I prop myself on one elbow and call him. When he answers on the second ring, we exchange awkward pleasantries and then I recount last night’s events to him, the emotion drained from my voice.
“Ally, this is horrible. Do you want me to drive out and pick you up?”
“No, I’ll take a car back. In the next hour. But... but I’m only coming if you’ll be honest with me.”
