“It’s actually my grandmother Molly’s home, where she raised me. I moved back in when she needed some help, but now she’s in assisted living. Anyway, it still feels like home.”
Laurie thanked Tiffany for her help again. Her next call was to Charlotte.
“Hey there. I was just thinking of calling you,” Charlotte said. “Time for a drink after work? I’m dying to hear about your date with Alex last night.”
“It was perfect. In fact, we’re going out tonight, too, so I’ll have to take a rain check on drinks.”
Her rain checks were adding up.
“My loss, but I’m so happy for you. You’ve been putting on a strong face, but I could tell you missed him.”
“I don’t have time to meet for a drink, but I would like to borrow you for a couple of hours if you have time. It’s another favor for the show.”
“The last time you recruited me worked out on my end, too. I’m hiring Marco Nelson to handle security for our spring fashion show.”
“I’m so glad,” Laurie said. “I felt guilty that I was wasting his time when we asked him to come to your office.”
“Feel better. You did him a favor.”
“Honestly, Charlotte, this job will require more than a few white lies. I essentially need you to pretend you’re someone else. The witness isn’t dangerous, more an airhead than a threat. I need her to answer some questions. But I totally understand if you’re not comfortable getting involved.”
“Don’t be silly. It sounds exciting. I love helping you play Nancy Drew. Where should we meet?”
“I’ll grab a cab and meet you in front of your office in ten minutes.”
“Whoa, that’s soon, but I can make it work.”
“Sorry for the rush, but the person we need to see is definitely home right now, so we have to hurry.” Laurie disconnected, wondering and hoping she’d have the truth about Tiffany in time for her dinner with Alex.
62
Alex stared at the draft document he had been carrying around for nearly two weeks now. An aide from the Senate Judiciary Committee had phoned this morning, warning that his nomination could be stalled if they did not start the necessary background check immediately. He had promised to send the document by tomorrow morning.
Every section was complete except for one question: “Please provide biographical information for any individuals who serve a role similar or comparable to those listed in parts (a) and (b), above, regardless of legal affiliation or formal definitions of family (such as intimate partners, part-time roommates, financial dependents [whether or not adopted], etc.).”
Alex rotated his chair, wiggled the mouse of his computer to wake it up, and pulled up the document on his computer.
He typed in three people: Laurie Moran, Timothy Moran, and Leo Farley. He knew the dates of birth for Laurie and Timmy from memory and looked up Leo’s online. He had only shared one dinner with Laurie after weeks of silence, but if he had to answer the question right now, he was betting on a future with the woman he loved.
63
Johnny Hon sat behind the wheel of his department-issued Impala. He was across the street from Wakeling Development’s corporate offices. He had already run the plates of the cars in the reserved spots closest to the entrance. The black Range Rover with the personalized plate “WAKE2” belonged to Carter Wakeling.
He looked at his watch. It was three minutes after five. Virginia Wakeling’s son hadn’t struck Hon as the hardest working man when he’d gotten to know the family during the investigation. If he had to guess, Carter wouldn’t stay in the office much longer.
Sure enough, he walked to his car two minutes later and started the engine. He had gained a few pounds in the almost three years since Hon had seen him last, but still looked youthful for his age. He also looked anxious.
When Carter rolled out of the parking lot, Hon followed, keeping a half block’s distance.
64
Laurie gave the cabdriver the address for Charlotte’s office. Not wasting any time, she immediately tapped the screen of her phone to call Sean Duncan.
She was relieved when he picked up. “I was afraid you would have left at five.”
“That never seems to happen, I’m afraid.”
“I have a question for you. Two of the guests at the Met Gala said they had sneaked into the American Portraits gallery on the second floor at the time Virginia Wakeling was killed.”
“It’s certainly possible. The guests have a hard time following the rules during that party. You wouldn’t believe how many of the celebrities think it’s perfectly acceptable to start smoking cigarettes—and sometimes other things—right in the middle of the party.”
Laurie recalled Tiffany’s description of sneaking upstairs with Tom: We slipped up to the second floor. No one was around. It was magical. We roamed all over.
“You said that most of the cameras were turned off because you use that night to test and update the equipment in the closed-off sections of the museum.”
“That’s correct.”
“One of the people who slipped upstairs said she and someone else roamed all around the entire second floor and did not encounter a single person. Is that possible?”
“Not likely. We would have had people up there working on the cameras while the equipment was turned off. Not a ton of workers, mind you. I suppose it’s possible someone could have gone up there undetected, but it would have taken quite a bit of sneaking around—hiding around corners, that sort of thing.”
“That’s not how this woman described it. She was very clear that they were meandering around the galleries, entirely alone.”
“No, if they were exploring the whole floor, they definitely would have come across multiple workers.”
“Got it.”
“It sounds as if you’re making progress.”
“I hope so.” She thanked him once again before ending the call.
All along, she had been convinced that the alarm triggered the night of the murder had to be connected to it in some way. The police believed that the killer or an accomplice had set off the alarm to create a distraction while the killer followed Virginia upstairs. But Laurie had never understood why someone seeking to create a distraction would have selected a spot in the middle of the fashion exhibit, where it would be difficult to slip away.
Now it was becoming clear to her what might have happened that night.
Impulsive, eccentric Tiffany must have gone to the fashion exhibit and taken the charm bracelet from the Jackie Kennedy display, triggering the alarm. When the police arrived—not because of the theft, but because of Virginia’s murder—they began asking guests to account for their whereabouts. Tiffany must have told Tom that she had stolen the bracelet and asked him to cover for her by saying they were together the entire time in the portraits gallery. That itself was a transgression of guest rules, but a “confession” to such a minor violation would protect her from suspicion if anyone noticed the theft of the bracelet.