Rumor Has It

All of these words whispered in my ear
Tell a story that I cannot bear to hear
Just 'cause I said it, it don't mean that I mean it
People say crazy things

 

Honey stowed her day planner and mobile phone into the elegant designer bag. The last calls for her mother were complete. She gathered the remainder of her possessions and made her way down the hall. Her mother’s plans were to leave immediately after the final visiting hour. Grace’s schedule that evening included attending a cocktail party with the chairpersons of her committees. Honey had already made the necessary arrangements for Tom to pick them up and return them both to the Penthouse.

It was clear when she walked into the waiting room that something was up.

“Honey!” Grace Wheeler gasped. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where were you?”

“Just down the hall, mother. In one of the doctor-family consultation rooms. Remember, I told you where you could find me. All the calls are made. Everything is ready for tonight’s function. The thank-you flowers will be delivered tomorrow as you requested. Miss Trask has made sure your red dress is ready and hanging in your room. She said to tell you not to worry about a thing; you’ll only need time to get yourself dressed. She’s taken care of everything else.” She touched her mother’s arm in a gesture of reassurance. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, Honey!” Grace gave a weak smile. “I’d forgotten all about that party after they came out and got Tammy. There’s been a change in Harold’s condition.”

“Is he … did he …” Honey found it hard to ask the question.

“He’s awake,” she answered quickly. “He was asking for Tammy. Then a moment ago, they let two police detectives go back there. Do you think …?” Her voice trailed off.

“What, Mother?”

“Do you think he needs a lawyer?”

 

 

Ellie Byrd perused the list quietly, her lips a thin line as she studied each name. She finally nodded and looked up at two eager faces.

“It’s a sure bet that each of these women know Allison Beckhart, but you want more than that?”

Sean nodded. “Yes, we want to know how long they knew her, and how they came to know her. Can you help?”

“Some,” Ellie admitted. “Mrs. Steward is easy. It’s well known that the Stewards and Rockefellers were friends as well as business associates. Perhaps not so much since Dee Steward passed away, but the families attended social events together and the men joined resources for some business deals. They've known Allison since she was a small child.”

Amy made notes directly to her PDA as Ellie spoke, while Sean encouraged her to proceed.

“Kitty Buchanan, Allison Rockefeller, and Elizabeth Patterson they've known each other a while. Allison is the oldest, but my impression is they became close after high school, through society events, charities, things like that. Allison had a bit of a reputation as being a, uh, free spirit.

“How do you know this?” Sean had been burned already by the gossip of high school girls and their envy.

“Everyone knew.” She shrugged. “Even after Allison's daughter was born, she was always in the society pages. She was well known for, well snubbing her mother's contemporaries. Allison would occasionally make reference to it in various speeches she gave for charitable events. Since everyone can laugh about it now, no real harm was done to anyone. After all, not many people are going to hold a grudge against a Rockefeller, especially one married to one of the richest men in the world.”

“What about the Gaitley women?”

Ellie sighed and blew out a breath. "I don't know much about Tinsley Gaitley at all. In fact, I never heard of her until Charlie handled Maggie King's divorce from Richard Hoffman."

"How did you hear about her then?"

The grimace was their warning that they might have already reached the quota of information Ellie was willing to share without consulting with her boss. "You're going to have to ask Charlie about that." Her answer was blunt. "She's around the same age as Allison, they're all within ten years of each other, probably less, and I’m really not sure. She was friends with Elizabeth Patterson, or at least they hung out for a while. They've all been photographed together."

“Margaret Gaitley as well?” Amy looked up with a frown. She knew that didn’t jive with her notes.

“Oh, heavens no! Margaret married Tinsley’s father shortly after her husband passed away. That was a minor scandal of its own. Margaret knew Allison through Reid. Mickey King, her first husband, used to give Reid Beckhart technical advice. They said back in the day, that he was one of the few people Reid actually listened to. That’s why Reid tries to help Mike.” Ellie frowned. “It seems like I remember a dinner with the Beckharts and Gaitleys not long ago. Something to do with the future of Kingston.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter; they aren’t our client any longer.”

“Who isn’t your client now?” Sean was confused and bewildered. Here sat Charlie Prescott’s assistant, a font of information about the players in this case … and she had been right in their own offices for weeks.

“Margaret and Tim Gaitley,” she answered. “They were clients at Connors, Ford and Newman.”

"Were they Charlie's clients?" Sean asked.

"Nooo ...." the answer was slow and thoughtful. "The only person who was Charlie's client was Maggie King. He handled her divorce and then we set up a trust for her daughter. Apparently most of the divorce lawyers in town didn't want to take on Richard Hoffman. He has quite a reputation, but Charlie welcomed the challenge."

Ellie frowned as if something more were bothering her. She picked up the list and looked at it again. All of the original suspect names were there. She looked uneasily at Sean and Amy. "This is going to sound strange in a city the size of New York, but I'm pretty sure that every person on this list was a client at Connors, Ford and Newman."

 

 

“Five minutes,” the doctor cautioned the police detectives. “You can ask him questions for five minutes, and not a moment longer. Understood?”

The two NYPD detectives nodded.

Honey had forced her way back to Harold’s room as soon as her mother told her about the police detectives. Whatever was going to be asked of Harold Langham would be asked with his attorney present, she’d grimly informed them. They had little choice but to comply.

The two detectives began with a tactic that Honey did not expect.

“Mr. Langham, do you remember where you were on Saturday night, the fourteenth of April, between the hours of eight and ten?”

“Wait a minute,” Honey interrupted, as she placed a hand of restraint on Harold’s arm, avoiding the various IV lines and probes that still connected him to the medical machines monitoring his vital signs. “What does that have to do with finding the person who shot my client?”

“Does he remember or not?” demanded the first detective, a tall muscular dark-haired man.

“He’s not going to answer,” she fired back.

“Very well,” interjected the second detective, a medium-height brassy blonde. “Mr. Langham, do you own a 38-caliber handgun?”

Honey knew from Trixie and Brian that Harold had been shot with a 38-caliber gun, so she nodded to him that he could answer.

He managed a weak yes.

“Where do you keep this weapon?”

“Since Christmas …” He started to cough before he could finish. The detectives waited impatiently for the bout of coughing to finish. “Since Christmas it’s been on my yacht.”

“Did you see the gun that was used to shoot you?”

Harold shook his head.

“Would you be surprised to find out that it was your gun?”

“You found the gun?” Honey asked in surprise. This was new information, and her eyes narrowed as the two detectives ignored her question.

“What exactly is going on here?” Honey asked. “We only have a couple more minutes. Aren’t you going to ask him who shot him?”

“No,” the tall one shot back. “We don’t need to ask if he shot himself.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “Please.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “You’re wasting our time. You don’t have a weapon and you’re fishing because you think my client has committed a crime. Now get out! This interview is over.”

Both detectives attempted to talk their way into staying longer, but neither warmed up to arguments worthy of consideration before Harold’s doctor insisted they leave. Once the pair had left the intensive care area, Honey requested permission for five minutes alone with Harold.

“Mrs. Langham, you may stay,” she added almost as an afterthought remembering that the woman could not testify against her husband. “This won’t take more than five minutes, I promise.”

The doctor grudgingly agreed after securing Honey’s promise to limit any discussion to five minutes.

“Mr. Langham …” she started and was interrupted by Harold trying to speak. She stopped and leaned closer.

“Harold,” he reminded her. “You’ve always called me Uncle Harold.”

Honey gave a faint smile. Knowing his proclivity for inappropriate sexual dalliances, she fleetingly wondered if he thought of her as a niece for a good reason; after all he’d never tried anything inappropriate with her. “Uncle Harold,” she tried again, knowing it was important he be relaxed. “Who shot you?”

Instead of answering he turned and looked at his wife. His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Tammy." The coughing resumed and his wife patted his hand and patiently waited for it to subside. "I... what I did ... it wasn't right. You were right. I should’ve listened to you." More coughing hindered the completion of what he deemed most important to convey. "We should've adopted like you wanted. We could’ve had a daughter like Honey, or a son like her brother.”

Tammy was almost as emotional as her husband. Her voice was reassuring and she squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk about it later; just tell Honey what she needs to know, okay? They, the police, they can’t make her tell them. It’ll be okay.”

“Who shot you, Uncle Harold?” Her tone was more emphatic this time, but friendly, exactly as a beloved niece would talk to a favorite uncle when something was important.

“It was a mistake .... it was a .... bet,” he managed. “We had .... she was ….” He was unable to continue as he began another coughing fit.

Honey was puzzled. She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

She was going to follow-up when one of the many monitors attached to Harold began to blare an alarm. Before anything could be done, both she and Tammy has been pushed out of the room while the doctor and his team began to work on Harold’s latest medical complication.

Once they were back in the waiting room, Honey looked at Tammy and asked the obvious question. “Aunt Tammy, what kind of bet would Harold have made that would get him shot?”