than bad.”
All my life growing up I had looked up to him, respected him. Right now I wanted to shake him.
“Are you really surprised?” I said. “Didn’t you know what was going on inside Asher Investments? Or at least guess? Didn’t you ask questions?”
“What the hell do you think?”
I thought the answer was no, because if he had he never would have invested the money of friends and neighbors in a Ponzi scheme, that’s what I thought.
“Tommy told me it was highly sophisticated, too complicated to explain,” he said. “Jesus, Lucie. It was like a gift from God. Who was I to say no when everyone was making so goddamn much money?”
“When did you find out it was all gone?”
“It’s not
“Oh, for God’s sake, Harlan! You still believe anything he says?”
His eyes were bleak. “I have no choice.”
I’d heard that before.
“What about Rebecca? Did she know what was going on? Surely she told you something since you two were—” I broke off, embarrassed.
“Screwing?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that the word you were looking for?”
I blushed. “Didn’t she say anything to you?”
“Our affair didn’t last long. Rebecca was looking to hook a bigger fish.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “She came to see you the day she disappeared. To tell you she was —”
The look in his eyes stopped me. He didn’t know.
“She was what?” he said. “Don’t tell me she was pregnant. Was she?”
“I thought—”
“What? That it was mine?”
“Yes.”
His smile mocked me. “You flatter me, my dear. I fire blanks these days. No little surprises anymore. A vasectomy.”
I could feel the color draining from my face. “Then who?”
He shrugged. “Rebecca didn’t confide in me about her latest lover—or lovers. She kept that information to herself.”
“Do you have any idea where she is now? Did she say anything about leaving or going away that day when she came to see you?”
He held out his hands as if trying to ward me off. “I’ve been all over this with the police. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
So much for being accompanied by noble thoughts. Harlan was definitely alone here.
“How do you think I got invited tonight?” I gestured at the book-filled room. “Rebecca put my name on the guest list, that’s how. She wanted me to come. Look, Harlan, if you know what happened to her, please tell me. Her mother is completely distraught, devastated, not to know—”
“No!” He moved closer to me, no longer friendly and suddenly a menacing stranger. I retreated, my back pressed against the glass. “Let it go, Lucie, will you? I have no idea what happened to her. And now if you’ll excuse me I’d better go find Ali.”
I listened until I could no longer hear his staccato footfalls. My face was hot with embarrassment and anger. In the middle of the bookshelf in front of me, a tiny book in Latin lay open. We had been standing in the section called Reason. I leaned over to read the card. A copy of Sir Thomas More’s
Utopia, a perfect world where everything was bliss.
This wasn’t it.
Somehow we all managed to get through the rest of the evening, though Dominique’s nerves showed when she spilled a glass of red wine during dinner, barely missing the Oriental rug in the exquisite private room normally reserved for functions involving members of Congress. I hoped Simon would chalk it up to jitters and the beautiful setting. Fortunately, Harlan and Ali sat at another table. Her talk seemed flat and dispirited, probably a combination of the migraine and the heartbreak of realizing that the collection she had spent so much time putting together was about to be scattered to the winds. As for Harlan, he never looked my way as I watched him down glass after glass of wine. At the end of the evening he was leaning on his wife’s arm and not walking too steadily as everyone moved toward the exit.
Mick, too, had gone quiet, lost in his thoughts on the drive home. I didn’t need to do much to hold up my end of the conversation. He turned the radio on as a buffer, I thought, though this time he chose a classic rock station that had a one-hour tribute to Jackson Browne. Tonight, it seemed, I found irony in everything, including the playlist, “Running on Empty” and “Here Come Those Tears Again,” as though we’d requested them.
Mick noticed, too, and killed the music. At my front door, his voice was hoarse in my ear. “Why don’t I stay tonight? I think we both need it.”
Sex to forget all his problems?
“It’s not what I need, Mick. I can’t do this.”
His lips brushed mine and he left. No doubt he’d find what he was looking for in someone else’s arms. I went upstairs and threw myself on the bed. As evenings went, this had been one I would rather forget.
The overcast skies Sunday morning only added to my gloom and a sense of foreboding that the other shoe was about to drop. Exactly one week ago Rebecca’s clothing had been found in that rowboat on the Potomac.
I made coffee and toasted a piece of baguette with some Brie for breakfast. Then I drove over to the winery. David Wildman’s article on Asher Investments had made the front page of the
“How is it?” I asked.
She slid the paper across the bar. “Bad, if your name is Tommy Asher, or maybe Harlan Jennings. Here, read for yourself while I make us a pot of coffee.”
It was bad, all right, but factual and well written, putting together Rebecca’s disappearance, Ian’s death, and the canceled Senate hearing so the puzzle started to look like a picture of cover-ups and subterfuge at Thomas Asher Investments. David had alluded to Rebecca’s frequent visits to Harlan’s office and tied Harlan to Tommy as an old childhood friend from their London days, making it seem implausible that Harlan didn’t know what was going on or at least have suspicions. He left out the romance and stopped short of using the term “Ponzi scheme,” though he did have a couple of investment fund managers from two of the big New York firms on record saying they wondered how Tommy Asher never had a down year, even when the market was in the toilet.
I set the newspaper on the bar. It was the beginning of the end. Or maybe the middle of it.
Frankie came back with our coffee.
“How did last night go?” She set a mug in front of me.
“Like a train wreck where you know you ought to look away but you can’t.” I sipped my coffee. “Which reminds me, Ali told me that we never delivered the Viognier she ordered for Harlan’s birthday party. I said I’d see to it myself first thing this morning.”
“I can’t believe she wants to hold a party for him after all this,” Frankie said. “Anyone else I’d say it was a little tone-deaf, but that’s Ali for you. Standing by her man.”
“She told me none of this is Harlan’s fault. He’s a victim, too.”
Frankie shrugged. “You’re not going to change her mind. As for the delivery, let one of the guys do it. It’s their job.”
“Not this time.”
“At least let someone load the boxes in your car.”
“All right.” I picked up a corkscrew and studied it. “Seen Quinn?”
“Not today. He told me yesterday he was going out last night with a bunch of guys. Then he thought he’d get
