The Last Lie Page 3

  The condo served as a perfect backdrop for the type of entertaining Seth liked to do—cocktails with well-heeled, well-connected types, or one-on-one’s with young, female, flavors-of-the-week. Romantically, commitment wasn’t his thing, but at least he was honest about it.

  In many respects, we were an odd pairing as friends. He was all about flash, and the belief that you had to look successful to be successful. I was quiet determination. What linked us was fierce loyalty. Neither of us made friends easily, acquaintances, yes, but friendship was reserved for the handful of people we knew had our backs. And Seth had earned my friendship years ago when he stepped in to help my sister Lane after she’d had a run in with an abusive boyfriend. To this day, I still didn’t know what he’d done or said to the guy, but he’d never bothered Lane again. Our schedules kept us from seeing each other more than a few times a year, but we both knew we’d drop everything if we needed each other.

  He tossed the towel on the coffee table and folded himself slowly into the black Italian leather sofa.

  “This thing is driving me nuts already.” He patted the thick wading on his shoulder. “And I smell like hospital.”

  He looked like hospital too. Even more gaunt and sallow than last night. A prescription bottle sat on the glass-topped table along with pages of post-op instructions. Knowing Seth, he likely assumed the medical instructions were optional or that he knew more about his own physiology than the pros.

  “You know I would have picked you up.” He shrugged, already impatient with being an invalid. “I brought you some food. Can I get you anything now? You’re looking drained.”

  “Grab me a protein drink out of the fridge. But watch your step. Had to stick my head under the kitchen sink sprayer and the whole damn floor is wet.”

  I put the grocery bag in the fridge, mopped up the floor, retrieved the drink, and then grabbed a pillow out of his bedroom. Twisting open the cap, I handed the bottle to Seth. He looked up at me through bloodshot eyes as I tucked the pillow under his elbow.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Achy, tired, like I’m moving through sludge. Par for the course they tell me. But no way I’m keeping this harness on for six weeks. Would you please sit down? All this hovering is making uncomfortable.”

  “Well, having a near-death experience causes that. Get used to it. Now’s not the time for macho-ing your way to health.”

  “You’re overreacting. Keep it to facts, not headlines. I know my body. The one-size-fits-all recovery plan is for couch potatoes who don’t know the difference between a ketone and ketchup.”

  I sat next to him on the couch and leaned my elbows on my knees. “You forget, I’m the one that held you bleeding on the floor.”

  He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Whatever. Send me a bill for your dress.”

  “I know you’re in pain, so I’ll resist telling you what an asshole you’re being.”

  He opened his eyes and pulled his head back up. “Sorry. You’re right. Not surprisingly, I’m a terrible patient. Thanks for being there, I appreciate it.” He sneezed my hand. “Last night wasn’t the evening either of us planned. In addition to all of this,” he said, lifting his shoulder slightly, “The timing is shit. All I can think about is how I need to be at work right now.”

  “Forgiven. Now tell me about Cavanaugh before I take your pain meds away.” I’d been unable to think of little else since last night. “What do you know about him other than his daughters’ death?”

  Seth paused and stared out the window. “He worked for me for four years. Ran my production team. When his daughter died, his worked started slipping,” he said, his voice low. “He’d forget to place orders. Staffing wasn’t getting ramped up. Demand was accelerating, and we needed to up our game, but with all the fuck-ups Cavanaugh was making, distribution had been crippled.”

  “Did you suggest he get help? Therapy?”

  Seth nodded and let out a sigh. His face was wracked with sorrow.

  “We talked several times, I told him that he needed more time to process everything, suggested he take some off at full pay. But he wasn’t having any of it. Eventually I had to intervene.” He paused. “I’d run out of options. So I passed most of his responsibilities on to someone else. We’d have been dead in the water otherwise. When I told Cavanaugh about the changes, he lost it. Started tearing up the place, screaming that it was my fault his daughter was dead. I had to fire him. I hated to do it, but he didn’t leave me with any other choice. I have a lot of respect for the man but I couldn’t take the risk. I told him I’d happily give him his job back when he got his act together, but I don’t think he heard anything that day.”

  So maybe this wasn’t just about a dead child. Sounded like Cavanaugh’s whole world had crashed around him. I knew what that was like. My own mother had died suddenly when I was a teenager and the trauma had changed all of us, my father in particular. It had forced me out of childhood long before I should have been.

  “Is that why you don’t want to press charges? You feel sorry for him?”

  Seth hesitated. “I also don’t want the publicity. I’ve got an IPO planned for early next year.”

  “And negative publicity would bring unwanted attention and scare away investors.”

  He nodded. “You know how I am, I’m protective of information. As far as I’m concerned, company details are a need-to-know issue. The fewer ears involved, the less opportunity for rumors and backstabbing. So, this isn’t for public consumption, but right now orders are coming in faster than I can finance them. A high-class problem I know, but I’m struggling with cash flow. We can’t have one more thing go wrong. If Cavanaugh continues on this misdirected rant about his daughter, I’m screwed. Millions of dollars are on the line. He wants someone to blame for his daughter’s death. He’s angry that I fired him and conflating the two.”

  “Surely he’s seen autopsy results? Science doesn’t lie,” I said.

  “Then maybe it’s just flat-out revenge? I’m not sure he can separate the two. I’m in the cross hairs. He knows about the IPO. What better revenge than scaring off my financial partners? Andrea, I can’t let his grief destroy my company.”

  Seth’s voice had taken on an urgency that I hadn’t seen in him before. He sat forward. Perspiration now beaded his upper lip. I didn’t know if it was the pain or fear of losing his company that had him terrified.

  He looked at me expectantly. “I need to know what Cavanaugh has said to the police. And whether they’re taking his accusations seriously. Can you help me?”

  I hesitated imagining Michael’s reaction but also my reporter antenna was up. Something felt incomplete as if Seth was holding back. I didn’t doubt the financial vulnerability but my gut told me this explanation was too neat and tidy.

  “Something I don’t understand is what connection Cavanaugh’s daughter had to VTF?” I asked, needing a few more questions answered. “Why does he think her death is related to the drink?”

  He shrugged. “She was around the plant all the time. Kind of grew up there. Every time I saw her she had a bottle in her hand. I assume that continued at home. We basically sell it to employees for next to nothing. Beyond that, you’d have to ask him.”

  I still wasn’t feeling at ease, but Seth was clearly unsettled by the uncertainty. “I’ll make some inquiries, but I can’t promise anything. My questions could bring attention you don’t want.”

  “I understand. Whatever you can do would help. Thank you.”

  I said goodbye, feeling uncomfortable for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on.

  5

  I walked into Intelligentsia Coffee fifteen minutes late and craned my neck looking for my sister Lane. No sign of her, not that I should have been worried. Timeliness was not one of her virtues although I might have trouble defining one. I ordered a pot of Pearl Jasmine and grabbed a table, wondering what the hell she wanted now.

  Our relationship could only be described as complicated. She
was three years older but had none of the classic firstborn traits. After our mother died, we watched helplessly as our father slipped into depression. Lane moved into denial, pushing every teenage boundary she could find, while I was forced into the role of parent to them both. I still hadn’t forgiven her.

  It didn’t help that our old pattern had continued into adulthood. Lane was a realtor whose choice of projects, men, and general life-style seemed to swing her from crisis to crisis. Unfortunately, I was her back-up plan when those life choices fell flat. She’d borrowed my car, my couch, my money, and yet was always one deal away from paying off her debt. And dummy me had let it happen.

  Pedestrians rushed past the coffee-bar window as cold easterly winds tugged at their jackets. It was mid-afternoon and traffic was still brisk on Randolph Street. Millennium Park was steps away, as was Michigan Avenue, which meant shopping, restaurants, and a dozen different bus lines all converging.

  As I sipped my tea, my conversation with Seth flooded back. The stress of his business had been showing on his face even before the shooting. A fitness buff like him should know he’d jeopardize his recovery if he didn’t take it easy, but I suspected dollar signs were going to cloud his judgement. For the first time in our relationship, I was worried about his health and the situation with Cavanaugh wouldn’t help.

  Cavanaugh’s face still haunted me. The pain, the anguish, the blame. What had caused him to accuse Seth after he’d been given a valid medical explanation for his daughter’s death? He’d tried to kill the man. I understood grief, but attempting to take someone’s life was personal. Threads of doubt gnawed at my stomach. It was as if I was looking at a puzzle with no picture and therefore could only see the obvious corner pieces.

  Lane breezed in as I finished my first cup, looking like she’d run the last five blocks. Loose locks of hair sprung from her topknot and her blouse had managed to come loose from the waistband of her skirt. She waved as she saw me. Few who knew us saw much of a family resemblance. She was tall, blond, and sturdy. I was short, brunette, and petitely built. The one thing that connected us was our turquoise eyes.

  “Did you order me a coffee?” she asked, then gave me a peck on the cheek.

  “It would have been cold by the time you got here.”

  She rolled her eyes, tossed her overflowing tote bag on the chair, then went to the counter to order. A woman juggling a stroller and her coffee walked by, bumping Lane’s seat in the process and sending the bag crashing to the floor. She mumbled her apologies and kept going as her toddler started to wail. I shrugged it off and bent to picked up the satchel. Lipstick, pencils, a smattering of business cards, and a half-drunk bottle of VTF energy drink went rolling. Hmm, even Lane drank the stuff. I returned her items unceremoniously to the tote.

  Order placed, Lane joined me at the table. A large mug of cappuccino was her drink of choice today, although if it contained ample caffeine, she drank it. She stirred cinnamon into the decorative foam, warming her free hand on the cup.

  “Hey, the reason I wanted to see you is we have to talk about what we’re going to do with the three-flat in Englewood.”

  “What do you mean? Why would we do anything?”

  After Erik’s death, one of my surprises was learning that he and my real estate agent sister had purchased an investment property together without telling me. More accurately, Erik had served as the banker, with ulterior motives of his own after I shot the idea down. Like it or not, I’d been thrown into being a landlord. Intertwining myself any deeper into Lane’s financial dealings had not been an appealing thought, but I hadn’t had the energy to do anything about it yet.

  Unfortunately, I also had a long history with Lane’s convoluted business sense and lack of fiscal restraint. I’d bailed her out of more jams than I cared to admit and the ledger was still not in the black. As any therapist would say, I needed to firm up my boundaries where Lane was concerned, but it wasn’t a battle I was ready for.

  “It’s profitable,” I said, taking a drink of my tea. “We’re fully rented. Is there a problem I don’t know about?” I asked, dreading her answer.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about selling. Now that everything has calmed down for you, it might be a good idea. Buying the place was Erik’s idea. You made it clear you never wanted to own it.”

  “No, I didn’t want to own it. You and Erik made that investment in secret and over my objection, if you recall. However, the problem with selling now is that we’ve owned it less than a year. We’d lose money if we sold now. There’s been no time for appreciation.”

  Despite her bad judgement, Lane was always into these deals for the profit. There was an ulterior motive. I put my elbows on the table and gave her a hard look, distrust filling my mind.

  “But you keep saying you want to simplify your life. Right? Isn’t this one way to start?” she asked, lifting her coffee to her lips.

  “What’s this all about Lane?” I said, hearing the impatience in my voice. I knew my sister well enough to know that my well-being was rarely her top priority. She wanted something, and it probably had nothing to do with me.

  She started to speak, saw the look on my face and closed her mouth. Good choice.

  “Ok, I’ve gotten into a little trouble with one of the tenants. He’s a few months behind on rent. I started eviction procedures, but he’s gone hostile. Now he’s turning the other tenants against me and they’re threatening a rent strike.”

  “And you haven’t felt you needed to tell me about it?” I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. “What were you thinking? This is exactly the kind of situation I was afraid of.”

  My former career as a prosecutor had trained me to control outward displays of emotion. It was a helpful skill as an attorney and as a journalist, but Lane had a way of pushing my buttons that made that discipline fade into the ether.

  “I thought I had it handled.” Lane shrugged, sipped her coffee, and avoided looking at me.

  “What are their demands?”

  “They want a new furnace. He said they have to heat their apartments with the oven in the winter. But my furnace guy said the equipment has a couple more years in it so I think this is retaliation for the rent increase. You used to be a lawyer. Can’t you just write a scary-sounding letter and make it go away?”

  “Being a landlord is just a pain in the ass,” I said, ignoring her poorly reasoned legal argument. “A new furnace is going to cost us twenty grand. Its either take the hit, or we find ourselves on Channel 5 when someone freezes to death. What a choice.” I let out a sigh and turned away. Damn.

  “I know it sounds bad, but that’s why I was thinking it’s a good time to sell. Eliminate the problem. Pull out our cash.”

  “A new owner is not going to want to take on a tenant problem or a major expense right off the bat. I know your realtor optimism is endless but have a little common sense. Even if we did find a buyer willing to walk into a legal mess, the price cut we’d need to take would put us underwater on the loan. Look, get a couple estimates on a new furnace, run the comps, talk to a real estate attorney, then we can figure out what to do. In the meantime, I’ll start praying that this cold snap is short-lived.”

  I poured the balance of my tea in a to-go cup at the counter and said goodbye to Lane, leaving her to come up with a better solution. She’d promised repeatedly that this building would require nothing of my time. Instead, it looked like it would require my checkbook. Yet again I was being left with another crappy situation to clean up and an untrustworthy sister.

  6

  I was still fuming when I returned to my co-op. Lane had gotten us into yet another mess. As if I needed one more complication in my life right now. When the hell was any normalcy going to return? Walter, my blue-eyed Ragdoll cat, greeted me at the door. I picked him up and he went limp in my arms as I stroked his fur. His purr comforted both of us. I filled his bowl with kibble, refreshed his water, then went to my bedroom to change.

  Boxes of Car
rara marble tile were stacked in the corner awaiting my go ahead on bathroom remodeling. I’d bought the apartment as my marriage was failing and fought tooth and nail to keep her. It was on the 11th floor of a grand old 1920s building with tall ceilings, herringbone floors, and a stunning wrap-around terrace. I was in love with the place. It also hadn’t been remodeled in fifty years and needed a top-to-bottom refresh.

  The kitchen had been nearly complete when Erik was killed and I simply hadn’t been in the mood for the chaos of more remodeling. Luckily my contractor had been patient with me but if I didn’t get started soon, I’d be back at the bottom of his schedule. In the meantime, I’d chosen to live with the boxes.

  Michael and I had made plans to meet for dinner at Fig & Olive, so I laid out a silk blouse, pencil skirt, and a new set of lace lingerie that hadn’t made it out of the drawer since I’d purchased them. As I showered, I thought about how I was going to broach Seth’s request with Michael. I’d seen Michael’s look last night. Knew he was wondering about my relationship with Seth. Peppering him with questions wasn’t going to calm the water.

  My phone was ringing as I turned off the water. I tossed on my robe and picked up.

  “Hi Andrea, this is Candiss Nadell. I’m calling to check on our friend Seth. How’s he doing?”

  “His injuries are relatively minor, compared to what could have happened.” A shiver escaped as I was brought back to the terror I’d felt when Luke Cavanaugh pulled the trigger. “Luckily, it appears there’ll be no permanent damage.”

  “I can’t tell you how upset I am over this. It’s been so traumatic for all of us at Drea. Of course, we’re cooperating fully with the police, and the Peninsula Hotel is as well. It’s been quite the onslaught of calls and emails. Our members are beside themselves with worry.”