The Last Lie Page 4

  I imagined Candiss had been on the phone ever since the ambulance left the hotel late last night. This wasn’t a crowd afraid of giving their opinions. And the local news was absolutely giddy with the drama.

  “Is there anything I can do for Seth? I’ve put in a call, but I suspect he’s keeping to himself today.”

  “Hopefully he’s turned his phone off,” I laughed. “I’m sure he’ll get back to you in the next few days.”

  “This makes me feel better. Andrea, could we get together for coffee tomorrow morning? I’d love to speak to you further about the Drea Foundation. You’ve been very generous financially but I’m hoping we might find other ways to get you involved. I’d hoped to speak with you more last night but…”

  I agreed to the meeting, but I suspected Candiss would be looking for more of a time commitment than I was able to give right now. However, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know someone as well-connected as Candiss Nadell.

  Michael was at the bar when I arrived, a scotch in front of him. Soft lighting glowed from underneath the thick marble counter. R&B played gently in the background just loud enough to mute the conversations in the modern two-level space. I watched him for a moment, admiring how his dark hair curled at the back of his neck. Gotta love a guy who could play tough all day and still knew to put on a decent sport coat for dinner. I walked over, placed my hand on his shoulder and he turned. A large smile spread over his face.

  “You looked beautiful tonight.” He gave me a kiss, then ran his eyes appreciatively down my body, sending a wave of heat up the back of my neck. “Although I liked last night’s dress better, minus the blood of course.” He smiled. “Come on. Our table is ready.” He picked up his glass, and we followed the hostess to the window overlooking Oak Street. At this point in the season, only a handful of lonely pedestrians hustled by on the street below. The row of high end shops that lined the street were dark except for front lighting, but it took a lot to stop a window shopper this time of the year. Avoiding the brisk wind blowing off of Lake Michigan was a bigger priority.

  I ordered a Cabernet, and we settled in.

  “It’s good to see you,” Michael said, taking my hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you last night. Are you alright?” He reached over and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over my face.

  “I’m okay. A little shaken that’s all. What happened with Cavanaugh?”

  I wasn’t sure why I was switching the conversation so quickly off of the personal, particularly after seeing the longing in his gaze. I had so many conflicting emotions about this budding relationship—desire, fear, the need to protect myself by slowing things down—that I was certain Michael had to be as confused moment-to-moment as I was. I fell back into distancing him whenever it started to feel comfortable. One of these days, I knew he would need more or perhaps nothing more at all. For now, this was the best I could manage.

  “He’s in custody but refusing a lawyer,” Michael answered, but I could see his eyes tighten at the question. “And Bowman’s still insisting he’s not going to press charges. I don’t know what the hell’s up with these two.”

  “Assault with a deadly weapon?”

  Michael nodded and took a sip of his drink. “There were enough witnesses to make that stick.”

  “And defense will focus on his state of mind given the recent death of his daughter. Probation. One year, tops.” I couldn’t help but try the case in my mind. It was still force of habit.

  “Should we order? Work can wait.” He smiled and grabbed my hand.

  I nodded, and we discussed the appetizers, choosing zucchini carpaccio, mushroom crostini, and prosciutto to share.

  “Has he talked about why he shot Seth?” I said, the moment our server left the table.

  Michael’s jaw tensed before he answered. “Essentially he keeps repeating that he blames Bowman for his daughter’s death. Says there was something in her energy drink. Guy seems on the verge of a psychotic breakdown if you ask me.” He paused, taking a sip of his scotch. “But Bowman probably told you that already.”

  I ignored the innuendo. I didn’t owe Michael an explanation for our friendship. But my ears perked up. “Is he accusing Seth of putting drugs in her drink?”

  “It isn’t clear what his accusation is, I’m not sure he knows. The girl’s dead, she drank a lot of the stuff, therefore it must have caused her death.”

  “What about the pathology report?”

  Michael put down his glass and gave me a long stare. “You know the drill, if there’s no sign of foul play the ME does an external exam and a basic tox screen. Nothing out of the ordinary was identified. Cavanaugh pushed, they opened her up, found she had an enlarged heart. Other than that, the report also showed high liver enzymes but that could be from partying too hard. She may have only been nineteen, but Cavanaugh says she was a party girl. Well, his actual words were ‘she hangs with people she shouldn’t’.”

  “Would you look into her history?”

  “I thought we were here to have a nice dinner, just us, a quiet personal evening. I’m sitting across the table from a reporter tonight. What are you asking me?” Michael pulled back, his arms now crossed over his chest.

  “Well, if there’s more information from the pathologist, or the medical examiner, would you tell me? After all, I was in the middle of this incident.”

  “Is this about Bowman? How about you tell me what’s going on between the two of you?” His voice had lowered a notch. “You said you wanted to take things slow. Things with us, I mean. But if it’s because you want to see other people, you need to say so right now. I don’t share.”

  Shit. One question too many. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. Seth’s a friend. There has never been anything else between us.” I reached over, laid my hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. “With everything that’s gone on over the last few months, there’s a lot we haven’t talked about, like our respective marriages. I need some time, but it’s not because I’m seeing anyone else.”

  Michael relaxed a little. He’d told me that he and his ex-wife had reached an impasse over his career, but that’s about all I knew. I hadn’t wanted to go down this path. Somehow sharing the painful details of my marriage would have moved our status from dating to relationship, so I’d avoided the subject. It seemed Michael wasn’t going to let me wallow in denial any longer.

  I paused and let out a breath. “Mine was ending because of infidelity. I’ve been deeply hurt by a man I truly loved, a man who kept secrets and told lies. I’m wounded, not only by his death, but by the hurt he caused while we were together. I guess I’m trying to trust again and I’ve pushed you away because I’m scared. But that’s about me, not you. I’m afraid I’ll be hurt again.”

  I could feel the tears slip over onto my cheek. Michael wiped them away, not taking his eyes off mine until he leaned in for a kiss.

  I was confused and angry with myself. And in the process, I’d treated Michael as if he were simply a source. But I’d also learned there may have been something in the energy drink, something that Seth hadn’t mentioned, and that opened up a whole host of new questions.

  7

  I walked into the restaurant at nine a.m. and checked in with the maître d’. The wood was dark, the leather rugged, the mirrors antiqued. I could smell the faint whiff of sandalwood and cloves. Money, the room smelled of money. How many millions of dollars in corporate deals had changed hands in this room?

  I was unaccustomed to the obvious maleness of it all as I was escorted through a sea of middle-aged men in dark suits to a booth in the back of the restaurant. Candiss had asked me to meet her at Margeaux Brasserie in the Waldorf Hotel and the power breakfast meetings were already in full swing. It seemed of another era, where men brokered their business meetings against the backdrop of a dark, expensive, steakhouse vibe. If it were later in the day, scotch and cigars would have felt at home here, women on the other hand, did not. I could only assume Candiss did not s
hare my discomfort.

  I had just ordered a pot of Earl Grey when Candiss arrived. Her red St Johns suit and the serious rope of pearls around her neck drew all eyes her way. She glided into the room, carrying her tiny frame as if she were royalty. Not a hair out of place. Every element of her appearance perfectly chosen. True wealth didn’t need to shout. The fineness of the tailoring, the cut of the cloth, all spoke volumes.

  She gave me a buss on the cheek when I stood to greet her.

  “I see you’ve ordered tea. Coffee for me, black,” she said to the waitress.

  Candiss settled into her seat. “Tell me, how is Seth? I’ve been worried sick. I called Northwestern Hospital to check on him but they were reticent. I understand of course, but it’s been maddening.”

  “He’s home now. They released him yesterday. He’s not one for staying away from work, but hopefully he’s following Doctor’s orders.”

  “I’m so glad. I’ll send over some goodies from Eataly, although I suspect he lives on protein shakes, vitamin packs, and red meat.”

  We both chuckled and ordered fruit plates. The Seth I knew didn’t count calories, he measured, charted, and graphed every morsel that went into his mouth for its nutrient content using an app on his phone. He would pull up his numbers and adjust his diet if he wasn’t happy with his potassium intake that week. I had moments of admiring his discipline. Eating well was important to me too, but who the hell wanted to live never allowing yourself the occasional cookie?

  “I’m sure he’d love to hear from you,” I said. Although I wasn’t sure how she and Seth had gotten to know each other, or how well.

  Candiss was looking down the aisle behind me, her eyes narrowed and her mouth tight. I paused for a moment, watching her, curious about what had shut her down when suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, her face softened and her eyes regained their sparkle.

  “Marcus, so good to see you,” she said, holding out her hand to a man who’d approached our table. He was elegant in a navy suit and French cuffs, with sparse gray hair slicked back over his head. He smiled tentatively at Candiss.

  “I saw you sitting here, so of course, I had to come say hello. I don’t mean to interrupt, give my best to Aaron. Perhaps we can all have dinner one of these days,” he said.

  Candiss flashed an effusive smile. “Of course, that would be lovely. I’ll be sure to tell him you asked about him.”

  He nodded and turned back toward his table. Candiss’s face went flat again the moment his back was turned.

  “Is everything okay? You look upset,” I said.

  She turned to me, shaking off her dark mood as quickly as it had washed over her. “No, just some old history. Marcus made the mistake of lying to me once. I don’t tolerate liars. Ever.”

  Despite her smile and the soft tone in her voice, there was steel in her eyes. I sensed that she was a woman who never forgot a slight.

  “So, where were we?” She sipped her coffee and then patted the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Andrea, we at Drea are quite beside ourselves over this incident. Members have been calling in droves, immensely upset to have been so near harm. That Seth was injured is tragic, but I shudder to think what could have happened. The images going through my mind are truly appalling.”

  I imagined Drea’s wealthy patrons did indeed have a few choice words for Candiss, some of which were probably unkind. It was also likely that the incident had put a serious damper on her fundraising efforts.

  The waitress returned, setting fruit and croissants on the table. Candiss gently adjusted her plate, apparently unhappy with the angle of the presentation.

  “Of course, I had quite a stern meeting with the manager of the Peninsula,” she said. “Their security team completely fell down on the job.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “There is no excuse for that level of incompetence, and at the Peninsula of all places.”

  Candiss spoke as if counseling a wayward student. She was one of those women who could cut with a raised eyebrow or a slight turn of the head. Every move of her body seemed deliberate. I imagined her contact at the Peninsula was still quaking from her dress down.

  “Have the police spoken to you yet?” I asked.

  “Yes, not that we know anything other than what I’m sure they’ve been told by others. Such a loss of self-control. Have you heard anything about this man or why he wanted to harm Seth?”

  The question was logical given that her organization sponsored the event, but something told me to hold back. Beyond instinct, I wasn’t sure why. Was she fishing for news of a scandal? Perhaps she knew of Seth’s IPO? They were acquainted after all.

  “I understand that the gentleman recently suffered a loss in his family, a child,” I said, keeping to the obvious facts. “Apparently, he’s dealing with some psychological issues as a result, as we all would be."

  “Ah, I see. I guess we’re all capable of extreme measures when something important is taken from us.”

  She looked across the room, her gaze distant. I found myself wondering what this wealthy, pampered woman knew of extreme measures.

  “Well, on to more positive things,” she said. “Andrea, I’d love for you to consider taking a more active role in Drea. Money, of course, is important, and you’ve been quite generous over the past few years, but we need female role models. Particularly women such as yourself who are making inroads in male-dominated fields.”

  The sales persona was back. I could see immediately that Candiss was completely at home in the role of female charmer. Her face lit up, she spoke with enthusiasm. It had to be her philanthropic secret weapon. I paused, took a sip of my tea, letting the aroma of bergamot and croissants waft over me. I wasn’t hesitating over the organizational mission, but I was uncertain of my ability to commit the time.

  “I’m honored that you would think of me,” I said. “I’m very supportive and committed to the work the Drea Foundation is doing, but I need to be sensitive to over-extending myself. Currently the board is about 50% women. What do you feel you need from me?”

  “I knew you would have done your homework prior to our meeting.” She smiled, picked up her fork, and skewered a raspberry from the fruit plate between us. “Yes, we have strong support from women. But to be blunt, there is simply too much of the ladies-who-lunch crowd. Don’t get me wrong, I’m immensely happy for the time and money our members put in, but we need more women who can contribute from a business perspective. We need women such as yourself who can be role models for the young women we support. These young people need to see there are women who make their way in the world, beyond marrying well.”

  “Candiss, I appreciate your candor. Let me give this some thought and we can speak again. As you can imagine, my energies are focused on Link-Media at the moment. We’ve still got so much work to do to stabilize the organization and build for the future.”

  “I understand. I’d be thrilled to have you involved in whatever capacity you feel is appropriate.” She paused and took a sip of her coffee. “Did you know that Wade Ramelli is a dear friend of mine?”

  I shook my head, caught off guard once again by the connections this woman had.

  “Yes, Aaron and I play bridge with Wade and his wife Barbara once a week.” She leaned over and placed her hand on mine. “I’ll urge him to give you his full support. That way you’ll have fewer demands on your time.”

  I felt myself draw inward. Had Ramelli spoken to her of our situation at Link-Media? I suddenly had the sense I was part of a hidden chess game.

  8

  Walking out of the Waldorf after my meeting with Candiss, I was annoyed, and had the vague sense that I was being manipulated without knowing how or why. I’d gotten the distinct impression that Candiss knew something about the tension between Ramelli and me. I imagined Ramelli with a condescending smile as he dealt a hand of bridge to her and her husband and then gossiped about our struggles over sherry. Surely he knew better than to disclose material nonpublic information, but the idea of
him flapping his mouth with friends, even innocently, made me uncomfortable.

  As did Candiss’s readiness to stack the deck to get what she wanted. It suggested an agenda broader than the one she’d outlined to me. Was there another reason she wanted me involved with Drea? I made a mental note to see if I could explore the board dynamics a little deeper before making a decision about joining.

  I buttoned my coat against the wind as the doorman hailed a cab. It was a cold gray day, and the temperature seemed to have dropped while I’d been in the restaurant. Once inside the cab, I instructed the driver to take me to the Merchandise Mart. Janelle Platt and I had arranged for an interview this morning. Wanting to promote her support of Chicago’s growing tech entrepreneurs, she’d asked me to meet her at the heart of the movement, the city’s technology center.

  As her mayoral bid started to pick up steam, she was more than happy to give me a front-row seat to the campaign. And I was just as happy to take it. There had to be some benefit from our corrupt husbands’ intersecting history. I’m sure she thought I’d go easy on her. Borkowski would slap me upside the head if I went too soft, but for now I thought of it as simply having a better understanding of her past.

  Exiting the cab on Wells, I walked through the side entrance. Given the state of my bathroom remodeling project, Ann Sacks and the Graff showroom pulled at me. But shopping for tile and faucets would have to wait. The first two floors of the building were design showrooms open to the public. They were great places to browse and gather inspiration, but deep pockets were generally needed if you wanted to buy. This building was the mecca of Chicago’s interior design world, especially if you were into modern Italian anything, and I was.

  My heels clicked on the marble floor as I made my way toward the main entrance lobby but the sound was muffled by the high ceilings in the corridor.

  Also known as theMart, the building was so large it had its own zip code. Built in 1930 by Marshall Field & Co., it stood at 4 million square feet of space and housed Chicago’s wholesale showrooms. As Chicago’s apparel and gift industries had died, the buildings tenants had consolidated around the interior design industry. In 2012, a portion of the building was redeveloped to support the digital technology community. Named 1871, after the year of the great Chicago fire, it was home to 400 early-stage start-ups and housed satellite offices for a number of local colleges. Janelle had some specific businesses here she wanted shown off which I assumed were to hold up as examples of more to come should she be elected.