Monica dove her hand into a huge black purse and pulled out her cell phone. “You lying pig. I’m going to get the cops here to take your sorry butt to jail.”
Genny grabbed Monica’s hand but missed because she was so drunk. Or was it the roofie? “No, don’t call the cops, I only want to get out of here.”
She looked at Thomas, on his knees now. “You did drug me,” she said to him. “I feel really dizzy and sick, so you must have.” She felt a bolt of rage and tried to kick him as he was getting to his feet, but she missed.
“Forget about him, Genny. Let’s get out of here. If you’re not better by the time we get to your place, I’ll call the cops. Believe me, everyone got a good look at him, and he’ll go to jail for it.” She whirled around to Thomas, now leaning against a light post. “Don’t you try to follow us, you got me, you creep?”
“Let’s just go,” Genny said as bile rose up into her throat. Oh, no, please, she didn’t want to get sick.
There wasn’t a taxi in sight. “Well, we’re not far from your place, right, Genny?”
Genny couldn’t answer, she was too busy simply keeping herself upright, putting one foot in front of the other.
It took a long time to get to her building on Pine Street, since every single step was a trial and error, but finally, with Monica supporting her, she managed to get her key into the outside lock.
It was past midnight. No one was around at that hour, certainly not the doorman, Sidney, who liked to snooze the night away in the storage room behind the counter.
Monica helped her onto the elevator. Genny studied the board, finally punched the button for the fourth floor. When the elevator doors opened, Genny was wheezing, barely able to walk. “I’m not going to make it.”
“Sure you will. Hang in there, Genny, you’re doing fine. Don’t worry, I’m here.”
Monica took the key out of Genny’s hand when they reached her door at the end of the corridor, opened the door, and eased her inside.
“Yes, Genny, you made it. I’m proud of you. Now let’s get you inside, and everything will be all right, I promise.”
CHAPTER 29
Chevy Chase, Maryland
Tuesday morning
When her cell blasted out the horse-race trumpet call, Lucy’s hand jerked, sloshing her coffee over the side of her Betty Boop mug.
“Hello, Lucy Carlyle here.”
“Agent Carlyle, this is Dr. Amos Judd. I completed the autopsy on your grandfather’s remains. Agent Savich asked me to call you directly.”
She swallowed. “Yes, Dr. Judd, thank you. What can you tell me?” Remains—that’s what her grandfather was now.
“I found scoring on two of the back ribs, consistent with a large smooth blade, such as a butcher knife, that penetrated the chest. There was also sharp scoring of a thoracic vertebra, indicating the thrust was deep, the blade headed straight for the heart. He died quickly, Agent Carlyle.”
Lucy thanked Dr. Judd, punched off her cell, and poured more coffee into her mug. She didn’t drink, just cupped the mug in her hands to warm them.
Her cell rang again.
It was their longtime family lawyer, Mr. Bernard Claymore.
His old voice sounded surprisingly strong and firm. He asked how she was doing, then immediately said, “I called, Lucy, to tell you I need to see you immediately. Your grandfather left me an envelope twenty-two years ago, told me to give it to you only after your own father died. This, unfortunately, happened much too soon. Come by and I will give it to you.”
She stared at her cell phone. An envelope from her grandfather? Her heart began to pound. Answers, she thought, perhaps at last she would have answers.
An hour later, she walked out of Mr. Claymore’s elegant suite of offices in the Claymore Building on M Street, an envelope clutched in her hand. Mr. Claymore told her he had no idea what was in the envelope; he’d simply kept it in his safe for the past twenty-two years. He assured her he had, indeed, followed her grandfather’s instructions to the letter.
Another thirty-five minutes, and she was maneuvering her Range Rover into a space that was really too small for her baby, but she was used to that, and she was good. She settled in with a few precious inches to spare. Her cell rang again, and she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, sighed, and picked up. “Carlyle.”
“Hi, Carlyle. It’s McKnight.” A brief pause, then, “Is something wrong?”
Why did everyone assume something was wrong? Surely she sounded fine and normal, thank you very much. Well, being hypnotized, remembering things that curled her toes whenever she thought too closely about it, that had been bizarre. She could picture Coop in her mind, an intense look on his lean face, focusing all his intelligence on the tone of her voice. This guy wasn’t a dog, no doubt in her mind now. She knew to her bones that once Coop found someone, made a commitment, he’d stick. She smiled at that thought. Focus away, boyo, there’s nothing for you to hear. “Not a thing, Coop, not a single thing’s wrong. I’ve—well, I’ve got some stuff I have to do this morning. You know, concerning my grandfather. I’ll be in about noon, okay?”