They agreed to meet near the Brookfield Place behind Goldman Sachs, where hordes of people spent their lunch hour dining al fresco along the Hudson River. Gretchen had never liked the area, which felt to her like an upscale suburban mall. Who wanted a mall in New York City?
As Gretchen sat on a concrete bench waiting for Deborah, a huge cargo ship slowly eased past. Itwaslovely on the water, peaceful, almost. But then her phone rang, and her heart stopped.
Blocked. She didn’t want to risk answering. But how could she not, at this point?
“Hello?”
“We need to meet,” came the voice on the other end. The accent was unmistakable. She gripped the back of her damp neck with her free hand.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she said evenly despite her heart palpitations. “At the moment.”
“Bethesda Fountain. Six p.m.” And then he was gone.
Gretchen stared down at her phone, gripping it tightly. They wanted to be paid, surely. And that was fair. Inconvenient but fair.
She tapped on her text thread with Brooks. Three unanswered texts to him since she’d gotten home from the police station. Gretchen had made it clear it was urgent. She really wished he would call. But Brooks had been crazed lately with the run-up to becoming CEO of Grace Chemical. They’d talked a little about it at the memorial. His father was ailing, and though Brooks was the natural successor and deserved it after so many years of working so hard, there was some kind of hostile takeover in the offing. Gretchen hadn’t been paying enough attention to the details, probably. In general, she hadn’t been there for Brooks like she should have been. She’d even ignored his calls last week when hewas in the city; she’d been so overwhelmed planning the next Literary Lions gala that she simply forgot to get back to him.
It was possible he was just away now. He’d also hinted at the memorial that he and Melinda were having problems. No surprise, given that she was the most self-involved woman Gretchen had ever met. Maybe they were together somewhere now trying to work things out. Still, Gretchen worried that Brooks had heard what had happened and was avoiding her so that he wouldn’t have to tell her what he knew about Richard and Frankie. He would never lie to her, but he also wouldn’t want to be the one to share hurtful news.
Gretchen was just about to send Brooks another text when she saw Deborah headed her way wearing a stylish, black-flowered dress, large sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and chunky jewelry. Deborah had a thrift-store chic that always made her seem surprisingly mysterious.
“What’s going on?” Deborah was breathing heavily. “You’re white as a sheet.”
Looking at Deborah with her perfectly applied lipstick—neither too dark nor too dry—and her beaming smile, Gretchen felt a little better already. If anyone could help her sort this out, it was Deborah. They were still a team. Wordlessly, Gretchen patted the bench next to her. She needed another minute. Just one more. Deborah seemed to sense Gretchen’s hesitation as she sat down and took Gretchen’s hand.
“Richard’s been arrested.” Gretchen had already learned that quick and to the point was best in this situation.
“Arrested?” Deborah gasped, hand to her chest. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a mistake, of course. A terrible one. That will come out, eventually. But until then the situation will need to be managed appropriately, including at the office.”
“Is it…Does it have something to do with work? Like those managing directors at Merrill. This new district attorney seems hell-bent on making some kind of point about the financial crisis. Someone should tell him he’s twenty years too late.”
Gretchen suddenly felt so envious of those Merrill wives, when only last week she’d been looking down her nose at them. She’d even told Richard she thought those men should do “real time.” That was before she knew how fragile her own house of glass was.
“It’s not work related.”
“Gretchen, you can tell me,” Deborah said, giving her hand a warm squeeze. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to believe Richard is capable of it.”
Thatwastrue. No one was more loyal than Deborah.
“A woman he climbed Kilimanjaro with has been killed. Murdered. I don’t know how they got from there to Richard. Turns out, the police don’t have to explain why you’ve been arrested!” Gretchen laughed a bit too loudly. And for too long. She swallowed hard. “At least not right away.”
Deborah closed her eyes and kept them closed, her lips pressed together. Oh, God, she knew something. Something Gretchen was not sure she wanted to know. “What does she look like? This woman?”
Gretchen shuddered. She couldn’t help it. She pulled her hand away and clasped her palms together. “Why?”
Deborah shook her head gently, frowning. “There was a woman who showed up here earlier this week. I was just wondering if it could have been the same person.” She seemed disgusted—but at the woman, not Richard. “Richard wasn’t even here. She made it all the way up to our floor even though she was in a state—makeup smeared, hair falling out all over. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. I have no idea how she got past security. But she was quite pretty, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing. I was just wondering if it could be the same person.”
“No, no,” Gretchen said, though already she had doubts. “I can’t imagine she’d have that kind of audacity…They barely knew each other.”
***
The first time Richard had called from Africa, the connection had sputtered and stalled, but then there he was, finally, standing inan emerald-green clearing, a stunning mountain in the distance ringed with white, puffy clouds. Richard was grinning like a much younger man. Utterly elated—Gretchen hadn’t seen him so happy in years. Maybe not ever. It had been right to let him go, no matter how worried she was. And shewasstill worried.
“Look at this place!” Richard had beamed, turning in a circle so Gretchen could see his surroundings, rays of light exploding behind him as the sun set. “It’s stunning! Completely unreal.”
It was incredibly magnificent even through the phone. In the distance, Gretchen could see cocktails arranged on a table set at the edge of the hill—linens, stemware, a reasonable-size bar. A sundowner. A small group, ten or so people, stood around the table. It was hard to make them out at that distance, especially in their hats and other gear. But Gretchen thought she spotted Van. A former NFL player, he was always hard to miss.
