teacher, so she just pretended she wasn’t feeling well and left.”
My fists clenched. “Where is she?”
“On her way to the Blend. She left twenty minutes ago.”
“Where’s Brooks Newman now?”
Ray frowned. “Back there, in the Skylight Room, sucking up to the high-end celebrity donors and sucking down vodka and tonics — a lot. I’ve been helping at the bar, and I’ve served him five so far.”
“How can I get out of here fast?”
“Not the guest elevators,” said Ray. “Too many people using them. Folks have been complaining all night. Go through the kitchen and use the service elevator — ” He pointed. “We just finished unloading some cases, and it’s free right now. Should come right up for you.”
Ray went back to the main room and I ducked into the kitchen. I pressed the button and waited for the service elevator to arrive. I heard a door open behind me and turned.
Brooks Newman was standing not ten feet away, and a little unsteadily.
“Hey, babe,” he called, waving to me. “Need some help with a group. Come with me.”
I turned my back on him, pretending I didn’t hear.
Heavy footsteps fell behind me, then a strong hand gripped my arm.
“Hey, didn’t you hear me? I said I need a waitress,” Brooks said, pulling me around. His eyes took a second to focus. “Clare?”
“Let me go,” I said.
But Newman was awake now. “You helping out your daughter again?”
“I said let me go.”
Thank goodness, he did. But he didn’t go away. “Nice outfit. You look hot, Clare. Really hot.”
I heard the elevator rumbling in the shaft behind me. When was it going to arrive?
“Why don’t you join me fer a drink?” he said, slurring his words a little.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, backing away. “My date’s downstairs, waiting.”
“Let him wait,” Brooks said, cornering me.
Whoever said vodka is undetectable is full of crap, because I could smell the alcohol on Brooks Newman’s breath. Maybe I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. Unlike Joy, I knew what Brooks Newman was, so I wouldn’t be such an easy victim.
The elevator gears squeaked as the car rolled even with the door.
“Don’t go yet, Clare. Let’s hook up for the night. I’ll be done here in a little while.”
“No, sorry,” I said in a neutral voice.
That’s when he lunged at me. His move was so sudden it had to have been uncalculated. Like a clumsy bear he pawed at me. I fought him off and lurched out of his grip just as the elevator doors slid open.
I got away on cue. Part of my gown didn’t. With a tear, a considerable section of the flimsy material ripped away.
I screamed, trying to cover myself as a massive form shot out of the elevator, nearly bowling me over.
Then came a howl of pain, and a metallic clink.
Holding my gown in place, I turned to find Mike Quinn, legs braced. He held Brooks Newman in his grip. Newman’s arms had been handcuffed behind his back and Quinn was bending them in such a way as to force Brooks to his knees.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked over Brooks’s outraged cries.
“Arrest him,” I said levelly. “Brooks Newman killed those women. He met them through SinglesNYC. He slept with them, or tried to sleep with them, and then he murdered them.”
“What?” Brooks Newman squealed. “I never killed anybody.”
“Shut your mouth,” Quinn warned.
Brooks Newman whimpered.
Suddenly Matteo burst into the kitchen.
“Clare!” he cried, racing to my side. “Are you all right? Where’s Joy?”
“She’s safe. She’s on her way back to the Blend.”
“Then she may not be safe,” said Quinn.
“But you have the killer right there.”
“Sorry, Clare. Brooks Newman is innocent. I came here because of your call, but I know Newman isn’t guilty — not of murder anyway. I investigated him early on. He had a rock-solid alibi for the time of all three murders. But more importantly, I know who the killer is.”
“Please, not Bruce Bowman,” I said. “Not your theory about Bruce again.”
“Not Bruce. His ex-wife, Maxine Bowman. When you called, I was on my way back from Westchester. I’d been interviewing a police detective up there as part of my background on Bruce Bowman. The detective was absolutely convinced Maxine Bowman had killed a young intern in Bruce’s office about a year ago. He just couldn’t prove it to the District Attorney’s satisfaction.
“Seems one night this female intern went up to the roof of Bowman’s building, where she worked, and subsequently plunged to her death. It was publicly ruled a suicide, but the detective discovered that the intern recently had begun dating Bruce Bowman, who had just separated from his wife. The victim’s roommate claimed Maxine had started harassing and stalking the intern.
“Unfortunately, Maxine Bowman hired the best lawyers in Westchester County. They provided an alibi for Maxine, challenged the veracity of the roommate, who had a record of drug use, and privately pressured the DA into agreeing there wasn’t enough evidence for a solid case. This detective still disagrees with that conclusion, but his hands were tied. As of now, the Westchester authorities have lost track of Maxine. We know she moved to New York City and is using another name. But she can’t just vanish. We’ll find her.”
“Bruce’s ex-wife.” I closed my eyes. It did make sense, and the truth was, seeing all those raging e-mails from Vintage86 in Bruce’s computer had disturbed me. But something in me just couldn’t equate a woman spurned with serial murder. After all, I’d been spurned myself, I’d felt that consuming rage, that devastating pain, but I’d never acted on it, never tried to physically hurt anyone. I’d assumed Bruce’s ex-wife wouldn’t, either. Maxine must have gone off the deep end.
“I knew Bruce was the key in some way, Clare,” said Quinn. “Even if it wasn’t Bruce Bowman himself, then it had to be someone close to him.”
I shook my head. “I thought you were trying to get Bruce.”
“I don’t try to get anyone. I try to get evidence. And I thought he was a strong suspect.”
“I’m not a suspect,” Brooks said. “I didn’t do anything!”
“We’re not talking about you,” barked Quinn.
“Then let me go,” Brooks cried.
“I’m booking you for sexual assault,” said Quinn.
“Against who?” Matteo demanded.
“Against me,” I said, still holding together my torn nightgown.
Matteo seemed to notice this for the first time. Not too surprising, since there wasn’t a whole lot to this nightgown in the first place. He turned to Brooks. “You son of a bitch. If you weren’t in cuffs I’d punch you in the face.”
“Matt, you don’t know the half of it. He made a pass at Joy, too.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“Calm down, Pool Boy,” Quinn said, blocking Matt’s reach. “We have other issues. I talked to Esther Best back at your store and she told me about Joy’s little shove off the curb and into the path of an M20 bus. I doubt very much that what happened was an accident — Maxine Bowman is a pusher. I’m betting she tried to kill Joy.”
“Try your cell!” I told Matteo.
He spread out his arms. “Like I have a place to carry a cell phone.”
“Here,” said Quinn. “Use mine.”
I dialed the Blend. Esther answered. “Esther! Is Joy there?”
