The Collector
Page 31
“Hey.”
“Relax. Ride this up here, show more leg, more color.”
“The slip’s too big in the waist. I clipped it.”
“Jess.”
“No problem, and she’s going to want a better bra. Ummm, 32-A?”
Mortifyingly accurate, Lila thought. “Yes.”
“Hold on.” She scooted out.
Struggling to find her balance again, Lila sipped sparkling water while Ash studied her.
“Go away.”
“In a minute. Gold hoop earrings, a lot of—” He ran his fingers up and down her wrist.
“Bangles?”
“Yeah.”
“Excuse us a minute.” Jess came back in with a flame-red bra, nudging Ash out. “He’d stay right there otherwise,” she said with a smile. “If you’d try this on, I can measure the slip.”
With a sigh, Lila set down the water and tried not to think she was stripping to the waist in front of a stranger.
Fifteen minutes later, they walked out with the dress, the bra—and the matching panties she’d agreed to in a moment of weakness.
“How did this happen? All I did was look out the window.”
“Physics?” he suggested.
“Action and reaction?” She blew out a breath. “I guess I can blame it on science, then.”
“What are the errands?”
“I’m not sure I remember.”
“Think about it. We’ll hit the post office while you do.”
“Post office.” She shook her head. “You bought me underwear.”
“It’s wardrobe.”
“It’s underwear. It’s red underwear. I didn’t even know you, what, just over a week ago, and now you’ve bought me red underwear. Did you even look at the price tags?”
“You said you weren’t marrying me for my money.”
That made her laugh, and she remembered. “A cat toy. I want a toy for Thomas.”
“I thought he had toys.”
A man in an ankle-length trench coat stomped by, muttering obscenities. He left an amazing stream of body odor in his wake.
“I love New York,” she said, watching pedestrians dodge and evade his angry path. “I really do.”
“He lives around here somewhere,” Ash told her. “I see him—or at least smell him—a couple times a week. He never takes off that coat.”
“Hence the smell. It’s forecast to hit ninety-three today, and I’d say we’re already there. And yes, Thomas has toys, but this is a present for when I leave. And I need to pick up a bottle of wine for the Kilderbrands. I’ll get flowers on Saturday.”
“You’re leaving them a bottle of wine and flowers?”
“Yes, it’s polite. One of your many mothers should have taught you that.” She breathed in the scent of sidewalk cart hot dogs—much more pleasant than Trench Coat Man. “Why am I going to the post office with you?”
“Because it’s right here.” Taking her hand, he drew her inside, then over to the wall of boxes. He dug out his key, opened one, said, “Shit.”
“It’s pretty full,” she observed.
“It’s been a few days. Maybe a week. Mostly junk. Why do people kill trees for junk mail?”
“At last, a point of absolute agreement.”
He riffled through, tossed a couple of things in the cloth bag Lila handed him, dug out a padded envelope.
And stopped everything.
“What is it?”
“It’s from Oliver.”
“Oh.” She stared at it, at the big looping scrawl, as Ash did. “It’s postmarked . . .”
“The day he was murdered.” Ash dumped the contents of the box in the mail bag, then ripped open the envelope.
He drew out a key and a handwritten note on a monogrammed card.
Hey, Ash.
I’ll be in touch in a day or two to pick this up. Just sending it to you for safekeeping while I put the rest of a deal together. The client’s a little touchy, so if I have to leave town for a couple days, I’ll let you know. You could pick up the merchandise, bring it to me at the compound. I went with the Wells Fargo near my place. And since I forged your signature on the card—just like the old days!—you won’t have a problem getting into the box. Appreciate it, bro.
Talk soon. Oliver.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What merchandise? What client?”
“I guess I’m going to find out.”
“We,” she corrected. “I’m in this far,” she added when he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
“All right.” He slid the note into the bag, slipped the key into his pocket. “Let’s go to the bank.”
“This could be the why.” She trotted to keep up with his long strides. “Shouldn’t you take the key to the police?”
“He sent it to me.”
She grabbed his hand to slow him down. “What did he mean, forging your signature like the old days?”
“Kid stuff mostly. School papers, that sort of thing. Mostly.”
“But you weren’t his legal guardian, were you?”
“No. Not exactly. It’s complicated.”
Not his guardian, Lila deduced. But the one he counted on.
“He knew he was in trouble,” Ash continued, “but then he was in trouble half the time. Touchy client, which means pissed-off client. Whatever he had he didn’t want it on him or in his apartment. So he put it in a vault, sent me the key.”
“Because he knew you’d keep it for him.”
“I’d’ve tossed the envelope in a drawer, and I’d’ve been annoyed enough to toss it at him when he came for it and tell him I didn’t want to hear about it. He’d know that, so that’s just why he did it. Because he not only wouldn’t have to explain to me, I wouldn’t let him explain.”
“That doesn’t make it your fault.”
“No, it doesn’t. Where the hell’s the bank?”
“We turn left at the next corner. They won’t let me go with you to open the box. You have to be authorized.”
“Right.” Thinking it through, he slowed for a moment. “I’ll get whatever it is, I guess we’ll take it over to your place. For now. I’m going into the bank, get this done. You go into one of the shops, buy something. Look at me.”
“Relax. Ride this up here, show more leg, more color.”
“The slip’s too big in the waist. I clipped it.”
“Jess.”
“No problem, and she’s going to want a better bra. Ummm, 32-A?”
Mortifyingly accurate, Lila thought. “Yes.”
“Hold on.” She scooted out.
Struggling to find her balance again, Lila sipped sparkling water while Ash studied her.
“Go away.”
“In a minute. Gold hoop earrings, a lot of—” He ran his fingers up and down her wrist.
“Bangles?”
“Yeah.”
“Excuse us a minute.” Jess came back in with a flame-red bra, nudging Ash out. “He’d stay right there otherwise,” she said with a smile. “If you’d try this on, I can measure the slip.”
With a sigh, Lila set down the water and tried not to think she was stripping to the waist in front of a stranger.
Fifteen minutes later, they walked out with the dress, the bra—and the matching panties she’d agreed to in a moment of weakness.
“How did this happen? All I did was look out the window.”
“Physics?” he suggested.
“Action and reaction?” She blew out a breath. “I guess I can blame it on science, then.”
“What are the errands?”
“I’m not sure I remember.”
“Think about it. We’ll hit the post office while you do.”
“Post office.” She shook her head. “You bought me underwear.”
“It’s wardrobe.”
“It’s underwear. It’s red underwear. I didn’t even know you, what, just over a week ago, and now you’ve bought me red underwear. Did you even look at the price tags?”
“You said you weren’t marrying me for my money.”
That made her laugh, and she remembered. “A cat toy. I want a toy for Thomas.”
“I thought he had toys.”
A man in an ankle-length trench coat stomped by, muttering obscenities. He left an amazing stream of body odor in his wake.
“I love New York,” she said, watching pedestrians dodge and evade his angry path. “I really do.”
“He lives around here somewhere,” Ash told her. “I see him—or at least smell him—a couple times a week. He never takes off that coat.”
“Hence the smell. It’s forecast to hit ninety-three today, and I’d say we’re already there. And yes, Thomas has toys, but this is a present for when I leave. And I need to pick up a bottle of wine for the Kilderbrands. I’ll get flowers on Saturday.”
“You’re leaving them a bottle of wine and flowers?”
“Yes, it’s polite. One of your many mothers should have taught you that.” She breathed in the scent of sidewalk cart hot dogs—much more pleasant than Trench Coat Man. “Why am I going to the post office with you?”
“Because it’s right here.” Taking her hand, he drew her inside, then over to the wall of boxes. He dug out his key, opened one, said, “Shit.”
“It’s pretty full,” she observed.
“It’s been a few days. Maybe a week. Mostly junk. Why do people kill trees for junk mail?”
“At last, a point of absolute agreement.”
He riffled through, tossed a couple of things in the cloth bag Lila handed him, dug out a padded envelope.
And stopped everything.
“What is it?”
“It’s from Oliver.”
“Oh.” She stared at it, at the big looping scrawl, as Ash did. “It’s postmarked . . .”
“The day he was murdered.” Ash dumped the contents of the box in the mail bag, then ripped open the envelope.
He drew out a key and a handwritten note on a monogrammed card.
Hey, Ash.
I’ll be in touch in a day or two to pick this up. Just sending it to you for safekeeping while I put the rest of a deal together. The client’s a little touchy, so if I have to leave town for a couple days, I’ll let you know. You could pick up the merchandise, bring it to me at the compound. I went with the Wells Fargo near my place. And since I forged your signature on the card—just like the old days!—you won’t have a problem getting into the box. Appreciate it, bro.
Talk soon. Oliver.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What merchandise? What client?”
“I guess I’m going to find out.”
“We,” she corrected. “I’m in this far,” she added when he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
“All right.” He slid the note into the bag, slipped the key into his pocket. “Let’s go to the bank.”
“This could be the why.” She trotted to keep up with his long strides. “Shouldn’t you take the key to the police?”
“He sent it to me.”
She grabbed his hand to slow him down. “What did he mean, forging your signature like the old days?”
“Kid stuff mostly. School papers, that sort of thing. Mostly.”
“But you weren’t his legal guardian, were you?”
“No. Not exactly. It’s complicated.”
Not his guardian, Lila deduced. But the one he counted on.
“He knew he was in trouble,” Ash continued, “but then he was in trouble half the time. Touchy client, which means pissed-off client. Whatever he had he didn’t want it on him or in his apartment. So he put it in a vault, sent me the key.”
“Because he knew you’d keep it for him.”
“I’d’ve tossed the envelope in a drawer, and I’d’ve been annoyed enough to toss it at him when he came for it and tell him I didn’t want to hear about it. He’d know that, so that’s just why he did it. Because he not only wouldn’t have to explain to me, I wouldn’t let him explain.”
“That doesn’t make it your fault.”
“No, it doesn’t. Where the hell’s the bank?”
“We turn left at the next corner. They won’t let me go with you to open the box. You have to be authorized.”
“Right.” Thinking it through, he slowed for a moment. “I’ll get whatever it is, I guess we’ll take it over to your place. For now. I’m going into the bank, get this done. You go into one of the shops, buy something. Look at me.”
