Luring A Lady
Page 47
"Give me ten minutes," Sydney said and sprang out of bed.
It hurt. It was only brick and wood and glass, but it hurt her to see it marred. Filthy obscenities were scrawled in bright red paint across the lovely old brownstone. Three of the lower windows were shattered. Inside, someone had used a knife to gouge the railings and hack at the plaster.
In Mrs. Wolburg's apartment water was three inches deep over the old hardwood floor, ruining her rugs, soaking the skirts of her sofa. Her lacy doilies floated like soggy lily pads.
"They clogged up the sinks," Alex explained. "By the time they broke the windows downstairs and woke anyone up, the damage here was pretty much done."
Yes, the damage was done, Sydney thought. But it wasn't over. "The other unit?"
"Up on two. Empty. They did a lot of painting up there, too." He gave Sydney's arm a squeeze. "I'm sorry. We're getting statements from the tenants, but—"
"It was dark," Sydney finished. "Everyone was asleep, and no one's going to have seen anything."
"Nothing's impossible." Alex turned toward the babble of voices coming from the lobby, where most of the tenants had gathered. "Why don't you go on up to Mikhail's place? It's going to take a while to calm everyone down and clear them out."
"No, it's my building. I'd like to go talk to them."
With a nod, he started to lead her down the hall. "Funny they didn't bother to steal anything—and that they only broke into the two empty apartments."
She slanted him a look. He might not have been wearing his uniform, but he was definitely a cop. "Is this an interrogation, Alex?"
"Just an observation, I guess you'd know who had access to the tenants' list."
"I guess I would," she replied. "I have a pretty fair idea who's responsible, Alex." She touched a hand to the ruined banister. "Oh, not who tossed paint or flooded the rooms, but who arranged it. But I don't know if I'll be able to prove it."
"You leave the proving up to us."
She glanced at the streak of paint along the wall. "Would you?" She shook her head before he could reply. "Once I'm sure, I'll turn everything over to you. That's a promise—if you promise to say nothing to Mikhail."
"That's a tough bargain, Sydney."
"I'm a tough lady," she said steadily, and walked down to talk to her tenants.
By eight o'clock she was in her office poring over every word in Lloyd Bingham's personnel file. By ten, she'd made several phone calls, consumed too many cups of coffee and had a structured plan.
She'd authorized Mikhail to hire more men, had spoken with the insurance investigator personally and was now prepared for a little psychological warfare.
She put the call through to Lloyd Bingham herself and waited three rings.
"Hello."
"Lloyd, Sydney Hayward."
She heard the rasp of a lighter. "Got a problem?"
"Not that can't be fixed. It was really a very pitiful gesture, Lloyd."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." The sarcasm was brisk, almost careless. "Next time, I'd suggest you do more thorough research."
"You want to come to the point?"
"The point is my building, my tenants and your mistake."
"It's a little early in the day for puzzles." The smug satisfaction in his voice had her fingers curling.
"It's not a puzzle when the solution is so clear. I don't imagine you were aware of just how many service people live in the building. And how early some of those service people get up in the morning, have their coffee, glance out the window. Or how cooperative those people would be in giving descriptions to the police."
"If something happened to your building, that's your problem." He drew hard on his cigarette. "I haven't been near it."
"I never thought you had been," she said easily. "You've always been good at delegating. But once certain parties are picked up by the police, I think you'll discover how unsettling it is not to have loyal employees."
She could have sworn she heard him sweat. "I don't have to listen to this."
"No, of course you don't. And I won't keep you. Oh,
Lloyd, don't let them talk you into a bonus. They didn't do a very thorough job. Ciao."
She hung up, immensely satisfied. If she knew her quarry, he wouldn't wait long to meet with his hirelings and pay them off. And since the investigator had been very interested in Sydney's theory, she doubted that meeting would go unobserved.
She flicked her intercom. "Janine, I need food before we start interviewing the new secretaries. Order anything the deli says looks good today and double it."
"You got it. I was about to buzz you, Sydney. Your mother's here."
The little bubble of success burst in her throat. "Tell her I'm…" Coward. "No, tell her to come in." But she took a deep breath before she rose and walked to the door. "Mother."
"Sydney, dear." Lovely in ivory linen and smelling of Paris, she strolled in and bussed Sydney's cheek. "I'm so sorry."
"I—what?"
"I've had to wait all weekend to contact you and apologize." Margerite took a steadying breath herself, twisting her envelope bag in her hands. "May I sit?"
"Of course. I'm sorry. Would you like anything?"
"To completely erase Friday evening from my life." Seated, Margerite gave her daughter an embarrassed glance. "This isn't easy for me, Sydney. The simple fact is, I was jealous."
"Oh, Mother."
"No, please." Margerite waved her daughter to the chair beside her. "I don't enjoy the taste of crow and hope you'll let me get it done in one large swallow."
As embarrassed as her mother, Sydney sat and reached for her hand. "It isn't necessary that you swallow at all. We'll just forget it."
Margerite shook her head. "I hope I'm big enough to admit my failings. I like thinking I'm still an attractive and desirable woman."
"You are."
Margerite smiled fleetingly. "But certainly not an admirable one when I find myself eaten up with envy to see that a man I'd hoped to, well, enchant, was instead enchanted by my daughter. I regret, very much, my behavior and my words. There," she said on a puff of breath. "Will you forgive me?"
It hurt. It was only brick and wood and glass, but it hurt her to see it marred. Filthy obscenities were scrawled in bright red paint across the lovely old brownstone. Three of the lower windows were shattered. Inside, someone had used a knife to gouge the railings and hack at the plaster.
In Mrs. Wolburg's apartment water was three inches deep over the old hardwood floor, ruining her rugs, soaking the skirts of her sofa. Her lacy doilies floated like soggy lily pads.
"They clogged up the sinks," Alex explained. "By the time they broke the windows downstairs and woke anyone up, the damage here was pretty much done."
Yes, the damage was done, Sydney thought. But it wasn't over. "The other unit?"
"Up on two. Empty. They did a lot of painting up there, too." He gave Sydney's arm a squeeze. "I'm sorry. We're getting statements from the tenants, but—"
"It was dark," Sydney finished. "Everyone was asleep, and no one's going to have seen anything."
"Nothing's impossible." Alex turned toward the babble of voices coming from the lobby, where most of the tenants had gathered. "Why don't you go on up to Mikhail's place? It's going to take a while to calm everyone down and clear them out."
"No, it's my building. I'd like to go talk to them."
With a nod, he started to lead her down the hall. "Funny they didn't bother to steal anything—and that they only broke into the two empty apartments."
She slanted him a look. He might not have been wearing his uniform, but he was definitely a cop. "Is this an interrogation, Alex?"
"Just an observation, I guess you'd know who had access to the tenants' list."
"I guess I would," she replied. "I have a pretty fair idea who's responsible, Alex." She touched a hand to the ruined banister. "Oh, not who tossed paint or flooded the rooms, but who arranged it. But I don't know if I'll be able to prove it."
"You leave the proving up to us."
She glanced at the streak of paint along the wall. "Would you?" She shook her head before he could reply. "Once I'm sure, I'll turn everything over to you. That's a promise—if you promise to say nothing to Mikhail."
"That's a tough bargain, Sydney."
"I'm a tough lady," she said steadily, and walked down to talk to her tenants.
By eight o'clock she was in her office poring over every word in Lloyd Bingham's personnel file. By ten, she'd made several phone calls, consumed too many cups of coffee and had a structured plan.
She'd authorized Mikhail to hire more men, had spoken with the insurance investigator personally and was now prepared for a little psychological warfare.
She put the call through to Lloyd Bingham herself and waited three rings.
"Hello."
"Lloyd, Sydney Hayward."
She heard the rasp of a lighter. "Got a problem?"
"Not that can't be fixed. It was really a very pitiful gesture, Lloyd."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." The sarcasm was brisk, almost careless. "Next time, I'd suggest you do more thorough research."
"You want to come to the point?"
"The point is my building, my tenants and your mistake."
"It's a little early in the day for puzzles." The smug satisfaction in his voice had her fingers curling.
"It's not a puzzle when the solution is so clear. I don't imagine you were aware of just how many service people live in the building. And how early some of those service people get up in the morning, have their coffee, glance out the window. Or how cooperative those people would be in giving descriptions to the police."
"If something happened to your building, that's your problem." He drew hard on his cigarette. "I haven't been near it."
"I never thought you had been," she said easily. "You've always been good at delegating. But once certain parties are picked up by the police, I think you'll discover how unsettling it is not to have loyal employees."
She could have sworn she heard him sweat. "I don't have to listen to this."
"No, of course you don't. And I won't keep you. Oh,
Lloyd, don't let them talk you into a bonus. They didn't do a very thorough job. Ciao."
She hung up, immensely satisfied. If she knew her quarry, he wouldn't wait long to meet with his hirelings and pay them off. And since the investigator had been very interested in Sydney's theory, she doubted that meeting would go unobserved.
She flicked her intercom. "Janine, I need food before we start interviewing the new secretaries. Order anything the deli says looks good today and double it."
"You got it. I was about to buzz you, Sydney. Your mother's here."
The little bubble of success burst in her throat. "Tell her I'm…" Coward. "No, tell her to come in." But she took a deep breath before she rose and walked to the door. "Mother."
"Sydney, dear." Lovely in ivory linen and smelling of Paris, she strolled in and bussed Sydney's cheek. "I'm so sorry."
"I—what?"
"I've had to wait all weekend to contact you and apologize." Margerite took a steadying breath herself, twisting her envelope bag in her hands. "May I sit?"
"Of course. I'm sorry. Would you like anything?"
"To completely erase Friday evening from my life." Seated, Margerite gave her daughter an embarrassed glance. "This isn't easy for me, Sydney. The simple fact is, I was jealous."
"Oh, Mother."
"No, please." Margerite waved her daughter to the chair beside her. "I don't enjoy the taste of crow and hope you'll let me get it done in one large swallow."
As embarrassed as her mother, Sydney sat and reached for her hand. "It isn't necessary that you swallow at all. We'll just forget it."
Margerite shook her head. "I hope I'm big enough to admit my failings. I like thinking I'm still an attractive and desirable woman."
"You are."
Margerite smiled fleetingly. "But certainly not an admirable one when I find myself eaten up with envy to see that a man I'd hoped to, well, enchant, was instead enchanted by my daughter. I regret, very much, my behavior and my words. There," she said on a puff of breath. "Will you forgive me?"
