You Don't Own Me Read online

Rhoda winced, and Laurie knew that more criticism was coming. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the buildings inquired about Alex’s previous work as a defense attorney. Some of his more notorious clients?”

  Here we go again, Laurie thought. Alex had been worried about some of his previous cases coming back to haunt him during the Senate confirmation process. “Alex just passed a rigorous FBI background check and got bipartisan support from the Senate. I would think that would be good enough for a co-op board.”

  “I’m sure I’m being overly cautious,” Rhoda agreed. “I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard. Not to worry. We’re going to find you the perfect spot. I just know it.”

  After they thanked Rhoda for her time, they climbed into the backseat of Alex’s car.

  “Did you buy a new apartment?” Ramon asked from the driver’s seat.

  “Not yet,” Alex said.

  Laurie closed her hand over Alex’s. “I’m sorry I came with so many requirements. Your life would be so uncomplicated without me.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Are you kidding? I’m the one with a security detail and ‘notorious’ clients. Rhoda obviously was referring to my defending Carl Newman. She’s not entirely wrong. A lot of New Yorkers lost money because of that man.”

  “It’s not as though you were the one helping him doctor the books,” Laurie said.

  Alex shrugged. He had learned long ago that, to some people, criminal defense attorneys were just as bad as their clients. “It’s probably for the best if we don’t end up neighbors with one of his victims,” he said.

  Laurie’s phone rang inside her purse. She checked the screen. It was Leo. “Hey, Dad.”

  “I’ve got bad news, kiddo. Seems your old man’s star is starting to fade at the NYPD.”

  “I don’t believe that for one second.”

  “Maybe not, but I struck out on getting you inside the Bell investigation. The head of the Homicide Squad told me it’s still an active case. My impression is it’s cold as ice, but they don’t dare close it down because of pressure from the family.”

  Having met Robert and Cynthia Bell, Laurie could imagine the couple exerting influence over the investigation. “Did you tell them that the family’s on board with our production?”

  “Yes. I even offered to have the parents make phone calls to the top brass if necessary. But it’s obvious to me that they’re afraid to do anything that might be second-guessed later—like giving you information that’s not yet public.”

  “He didn’t give you any leads at all?”

  “Not much. He did confirm the rumors I had heard. Kendra was groggy and out of it the night of the murder, and then became irate when they asked for a drug test. She absolutely refused, and they weren’t able to get a search warrant to force the issue. He didn’t want to give me anything more, but he eventually confirmed that Kendra was frequenting a dive bar.”

  “And meeting a man there? What was the bar?”

  “He wouldn’t give up anything else. As I said, they’re not going to hand over their investigation to you. I think he did give me one clue, though. When I was pressing him about the mystery man, he said, ‘I’m not saying such a man ever existed, but if he had—and if we had found him—it might have stung Kendra.’ ”

  “Stung her?”

  “Yeah. Weird word choice. I figured it was his version of a clue. Maybe they were thinking of doing a sting operation to prove she hired a hit man. Mull it over and I’ll do the same.”

  “Will do. Hey, Dad,” she said, her tone lightening. “Rhoda suggested you might want to move in with us after Alex and I get married.”

  Alex was smiling beside her, knowing that she had thrown the comment out as bait.

  “And have Ramon monitor my every intake of saturated fat? He’d replace my beer with club soda while I was sleeping. I’ll stay at home until they carry me out, thank you very much.”

  “That’s what I thought. I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too. Now be careful while you try to solve a murder, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  15

  Laurie sat in her favorite overstuffed office chair and looked out at the city. She was still awestruck by her airy office, with floor-to-ceiling windows that sat above the Rockefeller Center skating rink. It was the end of March, which meant that customers were scattered across the rink, looking to take advantage of the last two weeks of ice. From the sixteenth floor, the ice skaters looked miniature as they circled the rink, the city beneath her orderly from this height.

  Laurie felt at home in her office, and had picked everything out herself, from the chair she sat in to the long, white leather sofa to the glass coffee table and suspended lighting. Even if she and Alex moved to a place that felt completely new, she’d still have her office—a familiar space of her very own.

  She had finished drafting a bullet list of topics to cover during her meeting with Kendra Bell. As she had expected, Kendra did not want to meet at her house. She also did not want to make the trip up to Midtown given her schedule, making Laurie wonder if she was trying to find a way to stall.

  When she told Kendra to name any location, she chose Otto, an Italian restaurant Laurie already knew in Greenwich Village. That made it easy.

  The notation at the bottom of her list of topics was *bar/East Village/“stung”? Her father’s NYPD contact had confirmed that Kendra had been spending time at a bar, but he wouldn’t give Leo the actual name of the establishment.

  She underlined the word “stung,” which the detective had specifically used. Leo had suggested it might have been a reference to conducting some kind of a sting operation, but she wanted to believe it was a clue that would lead her to the bar itself.

  If she could only figure out the name of the bar, she could ask the people who worked there if they remembered Kendra and the “mystery man” Leo had heard rumors about. It was a long shot given the five years that had passed since the murder, but maybe she could catch a lucky break. Without the name of the bar, she had no chance at all.

  She rose from the chair and made her way to her desk. For years, the only picture on her desk had been of Greg, Timmy, and her on the beach in East Hampton. Now, next to it, she had a photo of Alex, Timmy, Leo, and her outside Lincoln Center after a jazz night. Let’s see, she thought. She woke up her computer and typed, “New York City Bar Stung” in the browser’s search window.

  The results turned up an article about undercover drug stings at city bars, a new upscale restaurant called Stung on the Upper East Side, and a rock band called Stung.

  Nothing helpful to her.

  She was starting to try again with different search terms when her phone rang. She heard Grace answer it outside her office door, and then say, “I think she’s in a meeting, but let me check.” Two seconds later, Grace appeared. “It’s Dana.”

  No last name was necessary in context. Dana Licameli was the secretary for Laurie’s boss, Brett Young, which made her the most patient person at Fisher Blake Studios. “She says Brett’s on a tear. He says he wants to see you ASAP,” Grace warned.

  Laurie looked at her watch. She needed to meet Kendra in forty-five minutes. The cab ride would take half an hour in traffic.

  “I’ve got a downtown meeting at three,” she explained.

  “You know me. I can weave a cover story from whole cloth, but I also know how to read Dana. This didn’t sound like the usual Brett temper tantrum.”

  Laurie looked at her computer, wanting to find the name of the dive bar, but also trusting Grace’s judgment.

  She was already past Grace’s desk when she heard her on the phone again. “Laurie’s on her way, Dana. Try to keep him from having a stroke before she gets there.”

  16

  Laurie could tell from one glance at Dana Licameli that Grace’s instincts had been correct. Dana always gave her a tip-off about Brett’s mood before she entered his office. This time, she simply shook her head apologetically as she wav
ed Laurie into Brett’s inner lair.

  Brett hadn’t become the head of Fisher Blake Studios by compromising. He was tough and stern, and wasted no time with chitchat. His mind worked on fast-forward, and he expected the world to meet him at his pace. More than once, he had snapped at Laurie for not speaking quickly enough, even though Laurie had been told more than once that her rapid-fire chatter was reminiscent of old movie comedies. But Brett’s enduring career had granted him the right to run the studio how he pleased, and Laurie suspected that his classic television looks—a full head of iron-gray hair and a strong jaw—didn’t hurt, either.

  Today, he didn’t even bother with a greeting. “Kendra Bell,” he said, with no further explanation.

  She should have known that Ryan would run to Brett after she scheduled the interview without him. She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with him undermining her to the boss.

  “I’m actually on my way to meet with her now,” Laurie said, feigning a glance at her watch. “Ryan had a scheduling conflict—a personal training appointment, in fact—and it was the only time Kendra was free.” Laurie hated having to defend every small decision about her own show, simply because Ryan was always pushing for more authority.

  Brett’s face contorted in irritated confusion. He cut off her explanation by holding his hands up in the shape of a capital T, putting her on an effective time-out.

  “Why are you meeting with her if you turned down the Martin Bell case?”

  Laurie realized immediately that her assumption had been wrong. Ryan wasn’t the source behind Brett’s inquiry about Kendra Bell; Robert and Cynthia, her in-laws, were.

  She shook her head. “I never rejected the case, Brett. It’s a long story, but the short version is that Kendra has agreed to participate. When I meet with her, I’ll find out her side of the story and make sure we have the other parties we need to start working on the case.”

  “You’ve got the victim’s wife and parents. What else do you need? The guy was practically a celebrity, even before his murder was on the front page.” As usual, Brett was quick to remind her that ratings—not journalistic quality—were the currency of their trade.

  “I take it you’ve spoken to Martin Bell’s parents,” she said.

  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. At least he no longer looked ready to pounce. “Not directly. But Robert’s accountant is tennis partners with a fraternity brother of mine from Northwestern.” The chain of connections was dizzying, but Laurie got the gist. “I said I’d look into the problem.”

  “Message received,” she said, giving him a quick salute. “I would have hoped you’d trust me by now not to say no to a case without a good reason.”

  “Trust, but verify, as they say.” She held his gaze until he added, “But, point taken.”

  She had turned to leave when he added one more line, “Next time, try to have Ryan informed from the get-go. The kid’s got killer instincts.”

  Laurie carried her frustration with Brett back to her office, determined not to let him get under her skin.

  As she passed Grace, Laurie had an idea. “Hey, what’s the name of that website you were looking at last week when you and Jerry were searching for a new place for happy hour?”

  Grace’s eyes brightened, eager to be of assistance. “Tipsy-dot-com,” she announced. “We found a great spot for mojitos. Are we planning a get-together?”

  “Not quite,” Laurie said, “but thanks.” Laurie remembered the way Jerry and Grace had used the website to search for bars with certain characteristics near the studio offices.

  At her desk, she pulled up the site and searched for bars within a mile of Kendra Bell’s apartment. There were pages and pages of results—a sign that downtown was still the favored hot spot.

  Laurie clicked on the “filter” menu and selected the choice of “dive bar.” Down to only thirty-six results. On the second page of hits, she knew she’d found what she was looking for. She now knew the significance of the word “stung.”

  She pulled up her father’s number on her cell as soon as she was in a taxi. “Dad, can you call your contact at NYPD and ask him if Kendra’s hangout was called ‘the Beehive’?” It was a hole-in-the-wall about twelve blocks from Kendra’s apartment.

  Leo called her back a few minutes later. “Remember my lecture last night?”

  Of course she did. “About the NYPD remaining silent if they see no need to correct the record?”

  “I asked him if the bar was the Beehive. All he said was ‘no comment.’ Then he told me my daughter probably took after her father. Good job, Laurie.”

  She pulled out her notes for her meeting with Kendra and made a change to the final item for discussion: Mystery Man at the Beehive.

  17

  The smells of tomato sauce and fresh cheese immediately made Laurie hungry when she walked through the revolving door at Otto. After running out to view that apartment on her midday break, she had never found time to eat lunch.

  She was surprised to see Kendra already sitting at the restaurant’s bar, next to a man her own age. Kendra was still in her medical scrubs. Her companion wore a white shirt that appeared one size too small, a striped tie, and khakis. It was only three o’clock and the only other customers seated at the bar were a couple on the opposite end. Laurie wondered if perhaps Kendra’s habits hadn’t changed so much in the past five years after all.

  Kendra made eye contact and appeared to sit up a bit straighter on her bar stool as Laurie approached. Once Laurie took the unoccupied seat next to Kendra, her fellow barfly reached across to offer a quick handshake. He had a lean, soft face dominated by piercing hazel eyes, thinning brown hair, and wide dark-rimmed glasses. “Sorry to crash your meeting, but I insisted after Kendra told me where she was going. I’m Steven Carter. I work with Kendra.”

  “He means he’s my boss,” Kendra clarified. “And a very protective one at that.”

  Laurie remembered the name from her last discussion with Kendra. Carter was the medical school friend who had hired Kendra as a physician’s assistant. Laurie wondered why Kendra would have mentioned this meeting to him. She had been adamant the previous night about not wanting her current employer identified in the production. Laurie offered only her name by way of introduction, with no mention of her show.

  The bartender interrupted to ask if she would like some Prosecco. He was bald with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.

  “Is that what you two are having?” Laurie asked.

  Kendra shook her head. “I’m not much of a drinker, and it’s too early anyway. Sorry, that sounded so judgmental. We just ordered coffee and some gelato. They have the very best, on both counts. But Dennis here would be happy to get you whatever you’d like.”

  “You bet,” the bartender named Dennis said heartily. His eyes squinted when he smiled. “And Kendra’s not kidding about Steven being protective. I’m under strict orders to shuffle away anyone who tries to bother her. Kendra’s good people. We like her.”

  Laurie had a feeling she knew now why Kendra had chosen this place and had brought along her boss. She wanted Laurie to know that there were people who saw her in a different light than her former in-laws.

  Laurie ordered a cappuccino and, at Steven’s urging, a mix of blood-orange and mocha gelatos.

  “You can probably tell I’m a frequent customer,” Steven said emphatically.

  “So, Kendra, maybe you and I can discuss that private matter once we’re done eating,” Laurie suggested.

  “Kendra already told me who you are,” Steven said. “We’re very close. If things had worked out differently, we might even have gotten married. At least I’d like to think so.”

  Kendra gave Laurie an awkward look. “Steven and I were on and off in medical school.” She hadn’t mentioned that fact when his name came up the previous night. “And then he remained such a good friend to me after everything that happened. So of course I told him that I had agreed to do th
e show.”

  “And I need you to know that Kendra’s not crazy. It was Martin who was trying to make her seem that way. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “You knew Martin well?” Laurie asked.

  Steven scoffed. “As if that arrogant, self-involved man would ever deign to fraternize with a riffraff dermatologist who didn’t come with a purebred pedigree.”

  “Martin wasn’t always a kind man,” Kendra said, “but he did marry me. I’m not exactly a blue blood.”

  “No, but you’re Kendra, which is better by any measure.”

  Even after the gelato arrived—as delicious as promised—Laurie noticed that Steven could not take his worshiping eyes away from Kendra.

  “I take it you weren’t a real fan of the departed Miracle Doctor,” Laurie said.

  “Miracle Doctor, my . . . backside,” he said scornfully. “Kendra of all people is always trying to remind me of the good things about Martin Bell, but it burns me up how he walked on water from the afterlife while Kendra got dragged through the mud. Honestly, if he were still alive, he would have been exposed by now.”

  “Exposed for what?”

  “For being a cheat. And a fraud. And an all-around jerk of a human being.”

  Kendra sighed. “Oh, Steven, please don’t make me regret bringing you here.”

  To Laurie’s eye, Kendra seemed authentically distressed, but she knew by now that people were capable of feigning all kinds of emotion. She wondered if this performance by Steven was precisely what Kendra had planned on. Kendra was letting Steven be the one to speak ill of the dead so she didn’t have to.

  “Kendra used to call me on the phone, absolutely distraught. People thought she was under the influence? No, she was just completely depressed and stressed out in that marriage. Martin swept her off of her feet like a fairy tale, but once she was locked away in his castle as a wife and mother, he treated her terribly. He was unfaithful. He was belittling. And he wasn’t even a good doctor. He was being sued left and right.”