his biceps and the snake appeared to move. “So why you asking all these questions now? Kit’s yesterday’s news.”
“She was a beautiful woman and she died young, like Marilyn Monroe or Anna Nicole Smith. People never get tired of hearing about those women. Even after years, their deaths are still shrouded in conspiracy theories.”
“You’re wrong. Kit’s old news. Nobody cares about a spoiled, dead socialite.”
She tried to keep her voice casual. “You said dead socialite. So you’re sure she’s dead.”
He paused a beat to gather his thoughts. “She has to be dead. All that blood. No one could have survived.”
“No body was found,” she prompted.
Borelli grinned and, leaning forward, whispered, “Disposing of bodies is easy, lady. Just takes a few garbage bags and a saw.”
A shudder ran through her body. She’d interviewed enough career criminals to recognize one. “You speaking from firsthand experience?”
He winked at her. “My advice to you is butt out. Or you might end up like Kit.”
Her stomach knotted with tension, but she held her ground. “That a threat?”
Borelli smiled. A gold incisor glittered. “Friendly warning. Now go find yourself another story and stay out of my life.” He retreated into the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Tara stared at the closed door and dug her hand through her hair. “Not exactly a home run, but it’s a start.”
She checked her watch. She had time for one more interview before her shift at the bar where she worked nights. She had taken a sizable pay cut to move north. Reporting now barely kept a roof over her head, and she needed the second job to pay off the mountain of student loans from college.
Reston and Borelli had been difficult but she suspected her next interview was going to be worse. She had to find a way to get into the exclusive Founders’ Yacht Club and speak to some of Kit’s old friends.
She’d not been to the club in a long time, and didn’t relish returning.
Alex spent the better part of the morning trying to forget Tara. But her visit had awakened so many unanswered questions that lingered from the Kit Westgate case.
He paced his office floor, ignoring the ache in his leg. Tara had said she was going to talk to Pierce. But he knew she would never get past Landover’s assistant. Mrs. Reston had made hardened cops cringe. And if Tara thought she’d get quotes from any of the old man’s friends, she was also mistaken. Boston society was an elite, closed group that didn’t like airing dirty laundry.
But Alex could step into Landover’s exclusive world. He’d been born into one of the wealthiest families in the state. He’d done his undergrad at Princeton and earned his law degree from Harvard. He’d been groomed to take over the Kirkland empire. And then his cousin had been slain by a mugger. The incident had rocked the family and changed the direction of his life. He’d quit the family business and joined the police force. The decision had cost him personally. His wife, Regina, hadn’t understood the decision and had left him. His parents and brother were also furious with him. Even now his relationship with his family was strained.
But he’d never regretted his decision for a moment. He belonged in the police department.
Alex dialed Detective Brady’s extension. Seconds later, the cop appeared at his door. “What do you need, Sergeant?”
Rising, Alex put the brunt of his weight on his good leg. “I’m going out for an hour or two. I want to follow up on a lead associated with the Kit Westgate case.”
“You have a lead after a year?” Brady sounded surprised. “What is it?”
“Let me chase it down first. It most likely won’t play out.”
“No problem.” Brady offered a crooked smile. “This got anything to do with Tara Mackey showing up here this morning?”
Alex wondered when he’d become so transparent. “Unfortunately, yes. She’s going to do a piece on the anniversary of Kit’s disappearance.”
“Jeez. That’s all we need.”
“To her credit, she raised a few good questions.”
Brady shook his head as if he were talking to one of his own five sons. “She’s trouble.”
Alex opened his desk drawer, pulled out his .38 and slid it into the gun holster on his belt. “Tell me what I don’t know. But I’ve got to do a little nosing around just to settle my own doubts.”
Brady’s barrel chest filled with a deep breath. “You don’t want me to ride along? I could drive.”
The two men had only spoken about the shooting once. Brady had tried to show his gratitude over Kirkland saving him by way of an awkward thank-you. But Kirkland’s own guilt over not being quicker on the draw had made it impossible for him to really discuss the incident. If he’d been a second slower, those five Brady boys wouldn’t have a father. “Thanks. But I got it covered. I’ll be back by lunch.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
It took Alex thirty minutes to cut through the city traffic and reach the exclusive Founders’ Yacht Club located on Dorchester Bay. The club was one of the oldest in the state and had been a familiar spot for Kit and Pierce during their courtship.
Alex always felt as if he were stepping back in time when he drove through the club’s brick-and-iron gates. Manicured lawns and discreet hedges lined the driveway that took him to the circle in front of the club’s entrance. The two-story building was made of white marble and had large white columns. Large sections of the exterior were covered with neatly trimmed ivy.
A parking attendant glanced at Alex’s police-issue Impala as if he weren’t sure what to make of it or Alex. But then he got a look at Alex’s face and relaxed. “Mr. Kirkland. Are you going sailing today?”
“No. This is a quick trip.” Alex left the keys in the ignition and the engine running. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, so you might not want to park it in the annex lot.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Alex made his way up the stairs until he came face-to-face with a tall bear of a man. Dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie, the man stood by the front door behind the reservation table, guarding the front gate of the club like a centurion.
“Danny,” Alex said.
The man’s stern face softened the instant his gaze met Alex’s. “Mr. K. How are you doing?”
Alex liked Danny. “Good, Danny. How’s that brother of yours?”
“Staying out of trouble,” he said, lowering his voice. “Thanks for the talking-to you gave him. I can assure you that he won’t be a problem again.”
When Danny’s brother Frankie had been arrested, the doorman had called Alex in a panic. Alex had pulled the kid out of holding and then taken him for a personal tour of the jail.
