35
As soon as Laurie and Jerry were settled into the back of the black SUV that had been waiting for them outside Senator Longfellow’s apartment, Jerry clapped his hands together in a tiny round of applause. “That was a first for me,” he said. “I’d never met a senator and his wife before. And they were every bit as charming as everyone says. They’re both stunningly gorgeous, and so . . . real. I totally get the hype now. We may have just met a future president and first lady, Laurie!”
“Before you’re ready to put them in the White House, maybe we can talk about their connection to Martin Bell?”
“Sorry.” Jerry nodded. “You know how crazy I get around celebrities, and they felt like movie stars—only smarter! But yes, you’re right. No more fawning. Look, we knew going in that the only reason to question the Longfellows at all was because Kendra insists that he had something going on with Leigh Ann, right?”
“Correct.”
“And it was at best a hunch of hers, right? No hotel receipts. No reports of hand-holding or stolen kisses outside the Hayden School Alumni Board meetings?”
“Nothing but time spent together and phone calls, combined with a wife’s instinct that he was seeing another woman.”
Jerry shrugged. “Well, we have a perfectly good explanation for the contact between them, and absolutely nothing to back up Kendra’s suspicions.”
Laurie continued the thought. “And Kendra isn’t exactly the most credible person. She claims that Martin was—quote, unquote—‘gaslighting’ her, but, by her own account, she wasn’t in the best condition at the time.”
“Besides,” Jerry added, “do you really think Leigh Ann would step out on her husband for Martin Bell?” The way he said Martin’s name made it clear that he believed Leigh Ann was too good for the deceased physician.
“They do seem like polar opposites,” Laurie said. “Martin may have been looking to get out of his marriage, but, by all accounts, he was determined to maintain custody of his children. No matter what, that was his first priority. Leigh Ann, on the other hand—”
“Go ahead and say it,” Jerry said. “The woman obviously hates kids.”
Laurie smiled. “Well, let’s just say she prefers the company of pets. I certainly can’t see her playing stepmom to little Bobby and Mindy.”
“And it’s not just a matter of the kids,” Jerry said. “Don’t forget that Martin and his parents pushed Kendra to stay home after the children were born. Martin wanted a stay-at-home wife and mother, not a power-broker law partner. You saw those two together: Leigh Ann’s clearly the senator’s right-hand woman. Do you think Martin Bell wanted that?”
“Oil and water,” Laurie said.
“Exactly. Any motive Daniel Longfellow would have to kill Martin depends on an affair between Martin and his wife, which seems unimaginable. Not to mention, he has an ironclad alibi. It’s not just Leigh Ann’s word regarding his whereabouts that night. He had receipts, photographs, witnesses—the works.”
Jerry was right. Laurie owed it to Kendra to pursue every possible lead, and had lived up to her responsibilities as far as the Longfellows were concerned. She was ready to check the senator off her list of possible suspects.
Jerry held up an index finger as if an idea had suddenly come to him. “Sorry, driver, we may have a change in plans,” he said. “Laurie, I was thinking of including some background shots from the church where Martin and Kendra were married. It’s pretty much on the way back to the office. Do you mind if we swing by so we can scout it out?”
She looked at her watch. It was approaching five o’clock. Knowing that Alex was out of town at a conference, Charlotte had invited her for a quick drink after work, but she figured this would be a brief stop. “Sounds good.”
Jerry gave the driver an address in the West Forties. Laurie tried to think of a church in the theater district that would be up to the Bells’ standards, but nothing came to mind.
“Pretty soon, we won’t need to use a car service for trips like this,” Jerry said. “The dealer thinks they’ll have my car in stock this week.”
Jerry had been talking for weeks about the plug-in hybrid BMW he had decided to purchase. Laurie thought it was crazy for a young person to own a car in the city, but she knew how much Jerry enjoyed going to Fire Island on weekends in the summer. Instead of cramming himself like a sardine onto the crowded Long Island Railroad, Jerry’s approved “clean” car would entitle him to a comfortable spot in the express lane. Laurie could already picture him cruising down the Long Island Expressway with a carefully curated playlist of his favorite tunes.
When the driver pulled to the curb on West 46th Street and they stepped out of the car, Jerry told the driver that he didn’t need to wait for them. “Jerry,” Laurie said, “I assumed this would be a few minutes. I’ve got to be back at Rock Center by six.” She was meeting Charlotte at Brasserie Ruhlmann near the studio offices.
“We’ll just get a cab,” Jerry said. Laurie opened her mouth to speak, but the driver had already pulled away.
“I don’t know why you did that—”
Jerry gently placed a hand on her back and began guiding them to their destination. She did not see a church anywhere on the block.
They had taken only a few steps when he suddenly halted. He looked at her and grinned, gesturing toward the sign at the establishment next to them.
“Fancy’s,” in hot pink neon letters. Broadway’s hottest male dancers.
No, she thought, this is not happening.
The tinted glass door opened, and Charlotte and Grace appeared, wearing matching purple boas. They both screamed out a high-pitched “whoooo!” sounding like the young bachelorettes competing for a single man on one of Fisher Blake’s most successful reality shows.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Laurie said drily.
“Come on,” Charlotte said. “You and Alex have been so low-key with your engagement. We’ve been plotting for weeks and decided you needed a lowbrow night of celebration.”
“By acting like an idiot swooning over scantily clad men? Not in a million years.” Laurie now understood why Grace and Jerry had been so skittish around her recently while they were huddled over their computer screens. They had been planning this absurd event with Charlotte.
“But I already paid a guy named Chip for your first dance with him,” Grace said, pouting her lower lip in disappointment.
Laurie glanced at their three eager faces and decided this was her punishment for always being the serious one. They were determined to force her to have brainless “fun.”
She had taken two steps toward the door, accepting her fate, when Charlotte and Grace jumped outside and gave her a big hug. “We had you going!” Charlotte said, adding “good job” as she handed out high fives to both Jerry and Grace.
Jerry was smiling sheepishly. “We were just messing with you, Boss. Please forgive us.” He pressed his palms together into prayer hands.
Laurie felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful she did not actually have to go inside. “Wait, does this mean we’re not going out?” she asked.
“Oh, we’re definitely having drinks,” Charlotte said. “Just not here.”
Jerry and Grace pointed to a spot across the street. Don’t Tell Mama, it was called. Laurie had been there once before with Grace and Jerry and had told them she enjoyed it. It was a dimly lit piano bar in the theater district, relatively quiet compared to Fancy’s with the male dancers. Broadway actors would sometimes pop in to sing a tune, and customers were free to do the same.
A table nestled close to the stage was marked with a reserved sign. A bouquet of heart-shaped balloons was tied to the back of one of the chairs, and a purple boa was awaiting Laurie on the tabletop, but otherwise it was a perfectly respectable scene. As soon as the waitress took their drink order, Jerry and Grace took to the stage and serenaded Laurie with a rendition of “Chapel of Love.”
“Goin’ to the chapel, and we’re . . . gonna get married.”
Laurie could not stop smiling. She didn’t notice the man who walked through the front door, took a seat at the bar, and began to watch her.