Deadly Fall Read online

  As she mulled over what she would ask Jana Westenberg and how she would go about doing it, Augusta pushed back the covers, got up and hit the shower. Twenty minutes later, she was in the process of picking up the discarded terry cloth robe in the library when the answering machine on her desk switched on and her voice asked the caller to leave a message.

  “Hi, Dr. Langan. This is Joe Doyle. Nick asked me last night to come over and put in a security system for you. I’m running a little late this morning, so I won’t be able to make it over until eleven. Ten-thirty at the earliest. My apologies. Bye.”

  Augusta glanced at her wristwatch and decided it was fate. With the robe in hand, she hurried upstairs, threw it on the unmade bed in her room and grabbed her shoulder bag and car keys.

  * * * * *

  The section of Broadway the Westenberg Gallery faced had a trickle of cars. The sidewalk, in comparison, was crowded with pedestrians strolling along, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. The glass-fronted gallery itself was flanked by two brick buildings, contrasting nicely to draw the eye. The perfectly centered glass double doors were edged in brass that matched the gleaming vertical handles and the bold yet elegant sign above it, which bore the gallery’s name. That was Jana Westenberg. Classy, discreet, old New England money. Augusta knew the oils sitting side by side with the watercolors of New York City in the display areas either side of the entrance were carefully chosen by the proprietress herself. That was also essential Jana Westenberg. Sharp contrasts, yet it all balanced. It was not always conventionally beautiful, but it snagged one’s attention and stubbornly held on to it.

  Pausing outside the doors, Augusta took a few breaths and mentally girded herself to face the woman her deceased husband’s family had hand-picked to be Mrs. Drew Langan long before Augusta Sutherland was even on the horizon.

  She gripped one of the door handles and pulled the door open. There was a low and oddly comforting hum in the gallery that went with the atmosphere. Augusta stepped further inside the gallery, her heels sinking into the plush carpet, and spotted Jana Westenberg. It was hard to miss the flaming red hair that many refused to believe didn’t come from a bottle. Like everything else about her appearance, Jana had tried to subdue it. The thick mass was twisted into a knot at the nape of her slender neck.

  Augusta saw those startlingly green eyes widen when they alighted on her. With a small flick of her wrist, Jana had one of her trendy assistants hurrying over to take care of the patrician couple with her. Augusta met the woman halfway, taking in the fact that Jana was just as striking now as she had been almost ten years ago. She didn’t have the freckles that normally go with red hair and green eyes, and the generous curves Augusta had hoped would turn to fat when she had first laid eyes on the redhead were still in all the right places. Augusta supposed it was a sign of maturity that she no longer cared that when standing next to Jana Westenberg her own figure went from delicate and slender to ridiculously boyish.

  “Hello, Augusta.”

  Augusta tipped her chin up a bit. Even in low-heeled shoes, the other woman was a head taller. “Hi, Jana. May we talk in private?” She was never good at small talk.

  “My office?”

  Augusta nodded. Jana’s office was in the far corner on the second floor. It was brightly lit, adding to the feel of airy spaciousness, despite the number of objects, large and small, in the room. Delicate Queen Anne-style furniture polished to a lustrous shine sat upon Oriental rugs. Exotic plants stood in the corners and trailed down from the ceiling. Augusta felt a twinge of envy over the thriving plants. Nothing green lasted more than a week with her.

  Jana took a seat on the vintage sofa and Augusta hesitated. She would’ve preferred talking across the cherry desk on the other side of the room. She didn’t think she could handle cozy and intimate with Drew’s lover.

  “You’re the second visit today about Drew,” Jana said after Augusta seated herself on the matching armchair.

  “Second?”

  “Two detectives—”

  “Nick Markov and Ethan Murtagh?”

  Jana didn’t look the least bit surprised that Augusta would know their names. “Yes.”

  “I didn’t want to mention the…affair between you and Drew.”

  The green eyes darkened, but Jana only said, “It was bound to come out sooner or later. I was expecting it to be sooner.”

  Augusta’s expression was faintly—unreasonably—apologetic. “Detective Markov was…relentless.”

  “I take it you want to know what I told them.”

  “Yes. I thought I could just sit at home and wait while the professionals go about doing their thing, but…” Her voice trailed, ending with a rise and fall of her shoulders.

  A faint smile curved Jana’s perfectly delineated lips. “No, you’re definitely not the type to sit back and twiddle her thumbs.”

  An answering smile touched Augusta’s lips, and the look that passed between them held none of the distrust or anger or betrayal that kept them apart for so long. Then they blinked and it was gone.

  Jana cleared her throat. “I couldn’t tell the detectives anything they didn’t already know.”

  Augusta’s brows drew together. “Drew didn’t mention anything to you? Nothing at all?”

  “He and I didn’t talk much after…well, after what happened. We saw each other even less. If he was in trouble, I didn’t have a clue.”

  “Did you see him at all in the last two weeks?”

  The other woman shook her head. “No.”

  Augusta swore softly.

  “If Drew didn’t mention anything to you, do you think he would’ve mentioned something to me?”

  Augusta sighed. “I don’t know. I was hoping for something. Anything.” Her lips twisted wryly. “As it is, I’m the best suspect the police department has.”

  Jana absently nodded, understanding. “For what it’s worth, I told the detectives I don’t think there’s any way you could’ve killed Drew. Not for love or money.”

  Augusta couldn’t hide her reaction.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I know you, Augusta. You didn’t love Drew enough to get that pissed off.”

  For once, Augusta didn’t remark on Jana’s choice of words, which was incongruous with her elegant appearance. Frankly, it was like the Queen of England cursing.

  “You were using him,” Jana continued, her tone almost pitying this time. Augusta felt the flush of anger, her throat tighten, constricting the passage of air. “You weren’t using him for his money, but you were using him just the same.”

  Augusta was silent as she waited for the weight on her chest to dissipate. Jana was right. She had been using Drew. Drew had been safe.

  It was a couple of moments before she could breathe normally again.

  “Let’s not talk about this.”

  “No, let’s,” Jana said, the steely determination she rarely revealed glinting in her eyes. “I answered your questions, now you can do me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say.”

  Augusta rose. “I’m not comfortable with the role of father confessor, so drop it.”

  Pain flashed in the green eyes, but the voice didn’t soften. “Augusta, sit down. You’re going to hear what I have to say. I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for Drew. I owe it to him.”

  Augusta sat back down. “I’ve already been through this with Drew. When he came to me about the affair—”

  “A one-night stand does not equate to an affair,” Jana said, “especially when both parties couldn’t have hated themselves more in the light of day.”

  Augusta was back on her feet. “But the point is that the one night did occur.”

  Jana all but loomed over Augusta, her frame vibrating with emotion. “And that was the excuse you needed to ask for a divorce. Until then, you were content to be…content, and you were content to keep Drew by you with the faint hope that one day you might feel for him what he felt for you. You didn’t have the courage to m
ake a clean break, to give him the chance to find a woman who would love him the way he deserved to be loved.”

  “The way you did, is that what you’re saying?” Augusta’s chest rose and fell with her breaths as she tried to rein in her temper. “If you loved him as much as you say you did, then you should have fought for him. I don’t recall you putting up any sort of fight to keep him. I might’ve been selfish for holding onto him, but you’re a coward, Jana Westenberg.” Her eyes narrowed, lips curved into a humorless smile. “But I forget that one-night stand. Maybe you’re not such a coward, after all.”

  Augusta inhaled sharply. As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. There was a look of horrified guilt on Jana’s face. If she could’ve, Augusta would’ve kicked herself.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “If you didn’t, you’re a better person than I am.”

  That humorless smile once more. “We both know that’s not true.” She took a step toward the door. “And I have to leave. Thank you for talking to me.”

  Escaping that room felt like escaping a prison. But she wasn’t through the gates, yet. Augusta quickened her steps as she descended the stairs.

  A voice stopped her descent. “Augusta.”

  She turned and looked up. Jana was leaning over the railing, hands resting lightly on it. A puzzled look marred her brow.

  “A phone call for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes. It sounds like Detective Markov. You can take it in my office.”

  Who else could’ve tracked her down?

  “Thank you.” She retraced her steps.

  It was indeed Nick Markov. And he was not in the mood for small courtesies.

  “Why aren’t you at home?”

  The tongue-in-cheek tone came naturally. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Damn it, Augusta. I don’t have time for this. You should be at home. Joe’s supposed to be installing your security system this morning.”

  “He called and said he was going to be late.”

  “You still shouldn’t be wandering around the city, interfering in police business.”

  “I’m not interfering in police business. I’m visiting an acquaintance.” She switched the phone to the other ear as she shifted her weight from her left leg to her right. “And since when was I under house arrest?” A light turned on. Her tone sharpened. “How did you know I wasn’t at home? Do you have someone following me?”

  If not for the hectic background sounds of the police station, there would have been silence.

  “Nick?”

  “After last night, I thought it’d be smart to have someone keep an eye on you. Or have you forgotten the attack? How about the break-in?”

  She bit her tongue before she could tell him that her foremost memory from last night was not of the attack or the break-in. But that didn’t stop the heat from flaring in her middle.

  “Augusta?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Go home. I’ll be by after I finish up here.”

  “Did any of my neighbors see anything last night?”

  “I haven’t finished reading the reports from the officers who canvassed your block.”

  “I see.”

  “Aug—”

  “I’m going home, now. Bye.”

  She hung up on him before he could protest.

  * * * * *

  “Anything?”

  Nick glanced up.

  “I was on the phone with Augusta. She took a trip down to the Westenberg Gallery.”

  Ethan leaned against the edge of Nick’s desk, a half-eaten whole-grain muffin in one hand. He’d once remarked donuts were clichéd. “Does the lieutenant know you have a uniform on her?”

  “Not yet. I thought I’d run it by him after I gave him the good news.”

  The muffin stopped halfway to Ethan’s mouth. “What good news?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping you have.”

  “I have nothing. Nothing on the murder or last night’s break-in. With the security tapes gone and no prints to compare, we have nothing. The forensics reports on the break-in haven’t come in yet. And Augusta has no security system to speak of—”

  “That’s being taken care of today.”

  Ethan lifted a brow but didn’t remark on that. “Anyway, no one saw or heard anything in either case. And I called the hotel in Chicago. They confirmed Jana Westenberg’s stay.”

  Nick’s brows drew together. “We need to find Charlie Medina.”

  Ethan shook his head. “I called the supe and our suspicious neighbor lady. They haven’t seen him.”

  “I don’t think they’re the most reliable people,” Nick said dryly.

  “You got a point.”

  “I think it’s time to get our hands on Langan’s agenda for at least the past week.”

  “Do we get a warrant or do we ask his brother nicely?”

  “We’ll ask nicely first. The Langans said they would cooperate fully with the investigation.”

  “Augusta could’ve staged the attack and the break-in,” Ethan suggested quietly, eyeing Nick closely.

  Nick rose and grabbed the leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair. “My gut says otherwise.”

  Ethan muttered something unintelligible into his muffin. He swallowed. “Where are you going?”

  “To find a punching bag.”

  Ethan inhaled the rest of his snack. “Literal or figurative?”

  Nick gave him a look.

  “Okay. I’ll hold it for you.”

  * * * * *

  Augusta’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw a man she didn’t recognize on her front steps. Below average height, middle-aged and rough. Before she could backtrack, he noticed her and rose.

  “Dr. Langan?”

  She didn’t speak and glanced behind her, searching for the patrol car. It was parked a few houses down. The stranger moved down the steps slowly, as if not to spook her.

  “Joe Doyle,” he said. “Nick sent me.”

  Relief flooded her as she recalled the appointment. The man in front of her matched Nick’s description: five-six, going soft in the middle, salt-and-pepper hair. She smiled shakily. “I’m sorry. I’m a little jumpy today,” she said and extended a hand. “Please call me Augusta.”

  He shook it, grip dry and firm. “Joe. And after what Nick told me, your reaction is understandable.”

  She went up the steps and unlocked the door. “Please come in.”

  He stepped inside and glanced around. “Nice place you have here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You live alone?”

  “I like my space. I keep thinking I should sell this place and move into a condo, but…” She shrugged as her voice trailed off, a hint of a sheepish smile on her lips, embarrassed by her spatial extravagance.

  Joe nodded. “It’s a nice neighborhood.”

  She shrugged off her jacket and hung it in the hallway closet. “Nick told me you’re retired from the NYPD.”

  “Stray bullet forced me into early retirement, but once a badge, always a badge.”

  “Hmm. Do you need me to show you around?”

  “If you’ll walk me around the house, I can explain what I’ll be doing.”

  “Where would you like to start?”

  “Anywhere is fine.”

  “Let’s start in the kitchen so I can grab something to drink. Would you like anything?”

  Joe shook his head. “Lay on, Macduff!”

  The faint smile returned. How often do you hear a cop, retired or not, quote Shakespeare?

  For the next hour, she trailed after Joe as he systematically went through each room, nook and cranny in her house, making copious illegible notes in his spiral-bound notebook.

  “I’m going to install glass-break sensors on all the windows in the house and the French doors in the kitchen,” Joe said, as he stood in the middle of the living room and deciphered his script. “Motion sensors in this room, t
he kitchen and the dining room. Hidden surveillance cameras outside in the front and back of the house. The feed will be available on the television in the living room. I recommend you get a television for your bedroom so you can get the feed there as well.

  “Nick said that he wanted the system installed before the end of today, so I can’t do everything I want.”