Scales of Justice Page 10

  In order to make that happen, construction had to resume on Angelo’s house. And that wasn’t going to start again unless there was some progress on the investigation.

  I turned back to Angelo. “I’ve been doing what I can to move forward in investigating the death of Attorney Winthrop. I’d love to hear your theories about potential suspects. Do you have any reason to think that one of the construction workers had a personal beef against Winthrop?”

  He shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve been spending a lot of time turning this around in my mind, trying to think of a motivation for killing that man—if indeed it was intentional, rather than simple negligence. But I don’t really know those guys at all. I hired a company to act as general contractor, and they chose the workers. As far as I can tell, everyone was doing his job in the usual way.”

  He turned toward me, and there was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite interpret. “Somebody told me that you are having a relationship with one of the builders?”

  His tone surprised me. Was he disapproving that I would date a contractor? Could he possibly suspect me? No, that was ridiculous. He had hired me to help him in this matter. He certainly couldn’t think I was a killer.

  Was he unhappy that I had dated another man? That was even more ridiculous. I might be fighting off an unprovoked crush on him, but I was quite sure that Angelo didn’t feel the same way about me.

  Nevertheless, I hesitated to explain. “That was Jared Grant. We had two dates. I wouldn’t really call it a relationship.”

  He nodded. “Oh. So that’s ‘had,’ as in past tense?”

  “Yes.” I was feeling very confused about this. It was flattering to imagine that Angelo could care who I was dating. But it was disconcerting if he thought he should have an opinion on that. I decided to put it out of my mind. Angelo was not a romantic prospect for me—he was my client. No need to worry about his opinion on my relationships at all.

  I turned away from his house and started to walk again, and that was the moment when Mr. W came prancing back from his brief run into the waves to shake water all over both of us. “Woogie! Cut that out!”

  Angelo laughed and started chasing Mr. W around the beach. The two of them made a good team, and I couldn’t help but admire the view as Angelo raced ahead of me. He had taken his shoes off and was clutching them as he ran. He looked like a slightly older version of those gorgeous young men they showed in ads for beachwear, despite the fact that he still had his shirt on. Which, from my perspective, was probably a good thing. I didn’t need any more attraction than I was already feeling.

  After a few minutes, Mr. Woogles flopped into the sand, breathing hard. Angelo came back to walk beside me, but he wasn’t breathing hard at all. The man was in good shape.

  “You have a great dog. If you ever need someone to walk him, let me know.”

  “Woogie is the best,” I agreed. “And I’ll keep your offer in mind. Although, since you live in Manhattan, it isn’t likely that you’ll have to much of a chance to take over dog-walking duties.”

  “Actually, my practice is thriving in the city, and I have other docs to back me up there, so I’m seriously considering opening an office in Connecticut. Probably not right here in Misty, but somewhere close by. That would also put me in a position to be close enough to come by the spa to keep an eye on it on a regular basis.”

  Once again, I felt that little burst of excitement at the idea of him being so close. And once again, I did my best to stifle it. This was silly. “Tell me how you chose the company that’s handling the construction on your house,” I said.

  “I just asked around for a local outfit with a good reputation. The Realtor who helped me find the property made some suggestions, and I reached out to some people that I knew in Connecticut. I heard that this group, Haggarty Brothers, did good work and brought it in on time. The timeliness was important to me, of course, because as I mentioned, we want to get the spa open by the fall.”

  He turned for a minute and looked wistfully back at his house. “I’m still hoping that we can make the projected opening day. This place has to start paying for itself pretty shortly.”

  He started walking again. “That was one of the risks that I took when I decided to do this on my own, rather than buying into the consortium that was supporting that spa chain. Several of the docs that I knew who invested in that are doing really well financially. I hope that I’ll eventually get that kind of a return. But the initial outlay is quite high, as you can imagine.”

  I heard his phone chime, and as he reached into his pocket he said, “Could you excuse me for a second?”

  “Of course,” I said, moving ahead to give him privacy. I called Mr. Woogles to come out of the water, and we started walking a little more briskly back toward the house.

  When I got just a few hundred yards back down the beach, I could see that there was something going on in the street near my house. There seemed to be a line of people... holding signs? I increased my pace.

  Angelo caught up with me as he was pocketing his phone. “I think I need to get back there. Do you mind if I run ahead?”

  “No. Go!”

  Angelo headed down the beach at a run. He took the first set of stairs up onto the bluff to get back to the road as quickly as possible. I followed him, and when I got up to the top of the stairs, I saw what was going on.

  There were some forty people with signs and sandwich boards pacing up and down the street in front of his property. I couldn’t see what the signs said as I reached the street with Mr. Woogles on the leash beside me, but I could make out a few words, and prominent among them was “SPA.”

  At that point, I heard someone shouting through a bullhorn. “Shut it down!”

  The crowd echoed, “Shut it down!”

  His next line was “We don’t need a whorehouse...” and the crowd finished the sentence for him: “... in our town!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mr. Woogles started barking at the excitement, and I put a firm hand on his leash as we crossed Waterview Boulevard in front of Angelo’s property. It was a rowdy scene.

  “No SOTS in Arden!” they shouted.

  They were carrying signs in bright yellow. “WE DON’T NEED ANY PRO’S IN OUR TOWN!” said one.

  “KEEP OUR COMMUNITY CLEAN,” said another sign.

  There were several trucks and cameras from the local TV stations. It was obvious that someone had called the media to get attention on the demonstration. I stood on the sidewalk well clear of the demonstrators, making sure that my pup didn’t get too agitated. I knelt down beside Woogie and could feel that he was trembling slightly, so I put my hand on his back and whispered calming words into his ear.

  Just ahead of us was a beautiful brunette, whom I recognized from TV. She held a microphone in her hand and faced one of the television cameras. I saw her nod as the cameraman indicated that she was going live.

  “I’m here today in front of one of the beautiful mansions in Misty-on-the-Sound, right across from August Beach. This grand home is being transformed into a beauty spa and treatment center owned by Dr. Angelo D’Amore, a dermatologist from New York City.” She paused and smiled.

  “Dr. D’Amore claims that his new enterprise will be a respectable business that will bring an elite clientele to Misty, the little beachside town that is becoming very popular. However, local residents are concerned that it will attract an unsavory element and that what is described as massage therapy will in fact involve illegal practices.” She turned to her right, and someone else stepped closer, evidently to get into the camera frame.

  As soon as the reporter turned her head, I could see past her to Pet Katz, the dog walker who had been very curious about the accusations of murder against me.

  “One of the local residents here, Ms. Petunia Katz, says that there has been a lot of concern from neighbors in Misty,” the reporter said. “What are you hearing from the residents here?” she asked Pet.

  “Well, if you ask
me, it just doesn’t sound right, you know? What do they mean by massages?” I could hear the nervousness in Pet’s voice from where I stood, and her pitch was getting higher the faster she talked. “I mean, this is a nice neighborhood, and this is a private home. Why would he be turning it into a business? I mean, I don’t know how much massages cost, but how many of them would you have to be doing to make this business profitable? I mean, wouldn’t you have to be doing a sort of a special massage, if you know what I mean? Me, I take care of pets. I walk dogs and cats and groom them. I have to hustle pretty hard to make a living. Misty is not a cheap place to live. Not anymore, anyway. I mean—”

  “Thank you very much, Ms. Katz.” The reporter turned and moved slightly away from Pet, getting her cameraman to turn away as well. “So that’s what the local folks are saying about this so-called spa. There is obviously a lot of concern about whether it’s going to be a legitimate business or something that will bring the wrong element to this chic little town on the water.”

  She gave a big smile into the camera. “This is Stephanie Langdon, reporting from Misty-on-the-Sound. Back to you in the studio, Brad.”

  I found myself shaking my head after this performance, and I wondered why Pet had decided to share her gossip on TV. I stood up and gazed across the street to my neighbor’s property. There were about fifty people wandering around now, with half of them carrying signs and marching in a long circle along Angelo’s sidewalk. Quite a lot of gawkers had come to watch the goings-on, some by car, but most on foot. There wasn’t really any place to park along Waterview Boulevard in the best of circumstances, and the big trucks with the cameras were blocking whatever extra space normally existed there. A number of folks seemed to have come by bicycle. It was quite the circus.

  I spotted Angelo up ahead, talking to one of the protesters. Even from as far away as I was, I could see from the set of his shoulders that he was agitated.

  And then I realized that the reporter, Stephanie Langdon, was heading toward him. Uh-oh. I knew that he was a savvy guy, but I hoped that he would be able to avoid looking angry or making unwise statements on live TV. It was a situation fraught with danger when he wanted to be the face of a new business in town.

  I headed through the crowd in his direction, knowing that it would be inadvisable for me to show up on camera. Not just because I was dressed for the beach and had Mr. W on a leash beside me, but because I didn’t want the story to become about me. It was enough that I was a local lawyer who was talked about as a suspect in the murder of a competing attorney, but I was also representing the owner of the spa.

  Just as I got close to the reporter, she signaled to her cameraman that she was ready to go live again. Angelo was standing nearby, but she did not seem to have indicated that she wanted to ask him questions. I walked quickly around the back of the reporter and saw the red light go on to indicate that the camera was rolling. I made sure that I was out of range of the shot and spoke at what I hoped was a loud enough volume to be heard. “Dr. D’Amore. May I speak to you for a moment, please? Over here.”

  To my relief, Angelo heard me, even over the ruckus of the protesters. He seemed startled that I had addressed him so formally, but it helped to get his attention and to alert him to the fact that we needed to be wary of the public impression that he made. He came toward me as I walked farther away from the newswoman. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her realize the fact that her prey was moving out of range for easy questioning. She turned back to face the cameraman and gave a slight shake of her head. Seems we had dodged that bullet. For now.

  When Angelo reached me, he seemed a bit calmer. He ran his hand over his perfect hair, leaving it a little less artfully arranged than it had been. He shook his head.

  “My God, Pepper. What’s happening here? First Winthrop dies on my property, and now I have protesters on my front lawn. I’m beginning to think this town doesn’t like me.” He gave a sardonic laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “But I have too much invested in this to quit now.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “You’re definitely not quitting. We’re going to make this happen.”

  “Thanks,” he said, giving me that wonderful smile. “It’s really good to have you on the team.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong, Angelo. Attorney Winthrop’s death was not your fault, and I’m doing my best to find out who, if anyone, set him up to fall off that balcony. As for this nonsense about your spa being a front for prostitution—that’s ridiculous. If they’re worried about massage therapists, there are a dozen of them in Misty already. But I don’t see anybody picketing in front of those businesses.”

  Over Angelo’s shoulder, I could see the reporter heading toward us again. I nodded my head in her direction. “Here comes Langdon from the local TV station. I’m sure she wants a statement. I’d be happy to speak on your behalf, but I’m not really dressed for the part. Besides which, it would make a good impression if you stand up here in front of your home and say that you’re unafraid of these false accusations.”

  I lowered my voice as she came closer. “I’m going to step away so she can talk to you. No matter what she asks, just be brief and positive and tell her that you’re very excited and proud to be bringing this wonderful new business to Misty-on-the-Sound.”

  He nodded. “Got it. Brief and positive.” With that, he swept one hand over his hair, deftly patting it back into its usual perfect shape. I pulled Mr. W away gently to make sure that we didn’t end up on TV. By the time Langdon put her microphone in Angelo’s face, he was looking relaxed, businesslike, and of course, gorgeous. I was proud of him.

  As the red light went on and the shot went live, she asked him, “Dr. D’Amore, what do you say to the people here today protesting who believe that your business will bring illegal activities to Misty?”

  He gave her a disarming smile. “I am certain that my D’Amore Spa on the Sound, opening this October, will attract nothing but good things to Misty, a town I’ve come to know and love. It will bring new jobs, more visitors from out of town to patronize local shops and restaurants, and will showcase this beautiful mansion right across the street from the water. The location on Long Island Sound can’t be beat, and with attractions such as the lighthouse, Crystal Hall, and our beaches, having a destination spa like D’Amore can mean only good things for the future of Misty and its residents.”

  The reporter gave a smile that was a mixture of wan disappointment over his polished answer to her gotcha question and dizziness because of his irresistible sex appeal. I grinned despite myself, and leaning down to pet Mr. W, I whispered in his ear, “Isn’t he something, Woogie?”

  Mr. W gave a loud bark of approval, and all eyes turned to him, including those of Angelo and Stephanie Langdon. I heard still cameras clicking and realized that print reporters were there to cover the protest as well. That was an awful lot of media for little Misty. Someone had definitely spread the word that there would be some interesting action today in Dr. D’s front yard.

  I wondered again just who was behind this protest.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I was sitting in my office with Mr. W by my feet when the phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Pepper! I saw you in the paper!”

  Once again, I had made the mistake of answering the phone without checking to see who it was.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “That doctor. Your next-door neighbor? The man who owns the spa? I saw you with him in that photo. Oh my, honey. He is gorgeous. Are you going out with him?”

  “No, Mom. He’s my client. I’m his attorney. I’m representing him.”

  “Well. That’s a start. If you could work that into something romantic, wouldn’t that be wonderful? A doctor for a son-in-law! I would love that.”

  “Mom. I’m not dating—”

  “I mean, after all, remember that you’re not just a Sullivan. You’re a Markowitz, too. I don’t suppose he’s Jewish? His name sounds kind of—”

  “Mom! He’s Ital
ian. He’s not Jewish. He’s not dating me. He’s not a prospect—”

  “Honey! Don’t sell yourself short. You’re very cute. You’re a little plump, perhaps, but nothing that skipping a few desserts wouldn’t take care of. And you know, you always want to be at your trimmest for your wedding pictures—”

  “Oh my God, Mom! I don’t have time for this. Stop fantasizing about this guy. I barely know him. We are not getting married. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. I understand if you want to keep your love life private. That’s your prerogative. But I’m here whenever you want to share.”

  I opened my mouth but found I couldn’t even respond.

  “All right, honey. I’ll let you go. I wouldn’t want to stand between you and your... client.” She giggled, and I tried, somewhat successfully, to resist gnashing my teeth.

  “Mom!”

  I heard a sigh from her side of the phone, and then one last comment. “Just remember, a mother sees everything. I know you still have your eye on that sheriff that you dated in high school, but you realize that he’s married. And it’s never a good thing to break up a marriage. I mean, of course, I only have to say one word about that, right? Your father. There, I said it. Well, that’s two words. Anyway, this Dr. D’Amore and you would make beautiful babies. That’s all I’m saying. Okay. I have to run. I’m a busy woman. Talk to you soon, sweetheart. Bye now!”

  There was a click, and then she was gone. All I could do was shake my head. I loved my mother, but sometimes she made me crazy.

  I tried to settle down again. This was going to be a challenging day. I had work to do. And a meeting I wasn’t looking forward to.

  I had dressed in one of my most lawyerly outfits and had something more elegant than flip-flops on my feet. The nice sandals I was now wearing would be kicked off later for a lunch-break walk with Mr. Woogles. Sand and good leather don’t mix, I’d learned, after ruining a pair on my walks along the Sound.