Chapter 6
Betty
A few days passed without a creepy stalker in my wake. Things were tentatively safe.
Or they were.
Stepping out my front door this morning, a gust of wind whipping my dark hair, I scanned the sidewalk as I had every morning since the late-night incident.
That’s when I saw it.
There was a strange car parked a few spaces down, and it stood out like a sore thumb. Normally, I’d just shrug it off, but there was something about its classic, creepy demeanor that irked me, and I liked to trust my hunches.
Expensive SUVs—more usual of the area—flanked the rundown Crown Victoria front and back. I blinked a few times; the sight of its hideous blue color hurt my eyes. Worry licked up my spine.
Frederick was already idling at the curb, which I was grateful for. He’d taken me to and from work all week, giving me peace of mind, though I hadn’t divulged the reason why I needed him. Frozen in place, I glanced between the town car and the Crown Vic with bold scrutiny.
While I didn’t want to stare so openly, this was my home, and I’d do as I damned pleased, so I stared.
There was a dark figure behind the wheel, sitting motionless, the engine off.
I couldn’t make out many features given the tinting on the side windows, leaving the interior dark, but I could feel the eyes on me and his outline seemed reminiscent of the man from the other night.
I wasn’t one to jump to fast conclusions, but this was conclusion enough.
Someone was intentionally following me.
To top it off, I’d heard noises all over the house last night. It could have been the city pigeons, but there had been soft scratches echoing down from the roof, and muffled thudding now and then. I’d locked myself in my room, per the usual, but even that hadn’t felt like enough.
I was probably just projecting my fears and overreacting, but any noise was worth noting.
I wanted to call Nash and ask him if the sounds were normal, given it used to be his room, but he was away on a secluded Scottish honeymoon for the next few months, living off grid in some tiny village, and I didn’t want to bother them with my paranoia.
A sharp and healthy mew broke my spiraling thoughts, causing me to jump clear out of my skin and back to reality.
“Fuck!”
I almost stumbled down the stoop steps, clasping a hand to my chest. Grabbing the rail for support, I tried to find the source of the sound. Like finding a lost phone, I didn’t see it until it sounded again.
Mew.
Over the edge of the rail, a little black kitten sat tucked into the corner in a pile of old, dead leaves and garbage.
I crooned, setting my Birkin down on the step and rounding the stoop to reach the kitten.
When it saw me, it hissed with a ferocity unlike that of its size, causing me to slide to a halt.
The kitten seized its chance and darted down the street.
Dammit. And here I was, certain my number in the cat lottery was finally up.
“Are you okay, Betty?” I heard Frederick’s voice behind me.
He was leaning over the top of his car, face crunched in confusion. “Doing fine!” I assured. “I just saw a kitten, but I guess today wasn’t my day.” Defeated, I threw up my hands and retrieved my purse.
He produced a sorry pout. “I can’t imagine Mr. Beans would be too happy about a new friend. From what I’ve heard, he’s a bit of a lone wolf.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I had to agree, though I could be wrong. Mr. Beans loved his solitude, but he had an air of hierarchy about him. He might be the type willing to take on a minion.
The Crown Vic a few spaces down sputtered to life, and I squinted in that direction, hackles rising.
I watched to see if they’d leave, but it just sat there, idling.
Testing a hunch, I climbed into the back of Frederick’s town car as he entered on his side.
I never let him open the door for me, and he’d stopped offering long ago.
It seemed like a waste of time, making him walk all the way around the car.
I wasn’t that type of woman.
Frederick drove away from the curb, and I checked through the rear window.
Just as I expected, the Crown Vic followed, staying a few car lengths behind.
I monitored its location all the way to work, and it remained constant in our wake.
When we got to Beaumont Antiquities and Fredrick pulled over, the car passed us and kept going.
While that might be a relief, I was almost certain it wouldn’t be the end.
I exited the car and thanked Frederick, letting him know to come get me at 4:30pm.
I spent the day staring into the brilliant facets of the ruby necklace, hungering for a cherry lollipop. The elaborate piece was nearly finished, appearing as though it had been crafted and set in place only yesterday. Once completed, I could start on the matching bracelet and earrings.
The earrings were by far my favorite part: huge, pear-shaped rubies hung from gold settings, each topped with the most exquisite canary diamonds I’d ever seen. I loved the way the gold and red played with the subtle yellow of the canary diamonds. It was exquisite.
As the day wrapped up, I said goodbye to the remaining restorers and headed for the elevator. Exiting the building moments later, I looked both ways, but no Frederick yet. I rummaged in my pocket and applied a fresh layer of lipstick, tucking that away and looking up at the street again.
The light turned green, and the traffic flowed, with the delivery truck in front of me pulling forward. Not at all to my surprise, there it was. Across the street, the blue Crown Vic sat parked, its engine running, dark windows concealing a shadowy figure.
My jaw clenched.
My first thought was to call Clementine, the best hacker I knew.
Maybe she could help me solve this mystery.
I searched my Birkin bag for my phone, finding it just as Frederick pulled up to the loading zone.
I’d have to wait to call her until I got home.
Glad to see him, I quickly slipped into the back, shut the door, and exhaled slowly.
Frederick eyed me from the rearview. “You seem stressed lately. You sure everything is okay, Betty?”
I didn’t want to alarm him and tip off my father, so I offered him a saccharin sweet smile. “Yes, Fred. All is good. Just a little work stress is all. With Nash gone, there are a lot of questions to answer that aren’t my department. It’s leeching my energy.”
He nodded in understanding. “If anyone can do it, you can, my dear. You’re a tough cookie,” he said.
He pulled us away from the curb, merging into traffic, heading toward the West Village. The Crown Vic also pulled away from the curb opposite, heading in the other direction. It didn’t fool me. I knew he’d circle the block and follow us home.
Someone was orchestrating this, but who was responsible?
My mind hurried through the list of my recent heist victims, of which there were many. The ones that stood out included a French financier and a miserly old man. However, on deeper consideration, they were rather whiny and weak—not the type to hire someone to follow or threaten me.
Tapping my finger on my knee, I almost hated to think it: This felt an awful lot like a mafia movie.
It was infuriating how much that made sense. The oily, goon-like vibe the guy was putting off—not to mention the threatening flagrancy of the whole thing? All it needed was some old-fashioned Italian opera music, and it would slide right into place.
Attention back on my phone, I pulled up my Ghost web app and sent a message to Clem. If I couldn’t talk to her, at least I could send her a message.
WhatsUpButtercup: Hey! I think someone’s following me. Could you do me a huge favor and check around for anything suspicious? Texts, chats, whatever you can find? I’m thinking it’s organized crime, honestly. It’s the only thing that makes sense, you know, the whole Rembrandt thing.
She didn’t immediately reply, and I wasn’t expecting her to. If she were in the middle of taking down an epic video game boss, it could be hours. She had a tendency to check out with her gaming, especially with the big World Cup Gaming tournament coming up.
Clem was apparently this big-wig in the gaming world, a top player with an unbelievable score record in some game I knew nothing about. I’d set a reminder on my phone to check out the tournament live. I couldn’t wait to see just how much of a badass she was.
My hand slid the phone back into my purse, shaking a little. I cursed myself for it. I was a strong girl, but I knew that if it was organized crime, this was some major shit.
Nash and I were prepared for such a day when a bad guy would retaliate—given our illicit dealings—and we had plans and securities in place. There was even a ransom fund if it came to it, but to have to think of using it? I doubted it’d be enough.
The scariest part was that the mob almost never negotiated, not if it risked revealing their operations.
They preferred to eliminate loose ends rather than profit from them.
A flash of the research I’d done on mob killings and witness protection came to mind, eliciting a shudder. There was so much violence.
At home, I got out of the car with a quick, falsely reassuring goodbye to Fred before rushing up my steps. Fred waited until I got my door unlocked and I was safe inside before he pulled away.
I set my purse on the bench. Phone in one hand, I started a video, wanting a record in case someone jumped out of a closet at me. My other hand rummaged in my purse for my taser. I was going to sweep the house.
I chose to start in the basement, dreading that dark and creepy level the most. I checked every window and door, peering into every nook and cranny. The lower-level windows had bars, as was pretty normal for New York, so everything seemed secure.
Moving upstairs, I scanned the main floor, including the back suite where Sybil used to stay.
I shook and checked the patio doors, though I didn’t dare go outside.
The second floor, my old apartment, was fine, and so was the third.
Finally, the top floors. I was tired and out of breath, reminded why having a smaller house was so enticing.
Mr. Beans joined the search, relishing the adventure. It was ridiculous, but I felt a little safer with him along. He’d yowl occasionally and rub his face on every doorway, his fluffy tail swishing behind him. If anything nefarious were truly afoot, he’d go ballistic and alert me.
Reaching my room, I closed and locked my bedroom door.
Mr. Beans walked back and forth through the cat door a few times as though it were a carwash.
My room was simple to clear as the bed was the only piece of furniture, and it sat in the middle of the room.
There wasn’t space under the bed for anyone to hide; the frame was solid and barely high enough for Mr. Beans to shimmy under as it was.
The bathroom was empty, including the super creepy, deep tub.
I’d approached slowly, praying I wouldn’t find some sacrificed animal or dead horse’s head left as a warning.
I’m not sure why I thought it, but it seemed like a mob thing to do.
Up the back spiral stairs to the top-floor office, everything was fine—not a single thing amiss.
At the top of the office stairs, I slumped and looked up through the beautiful Victorian round skylight at the darkening night. Drawing in a long, reedy breath, I exhaled, letting the taser fall to my side.
Hand on the rail, I descended and turned the corner into my bathroom, took a shower, and put on my comfy robe. My tired reflection in the mirror stared back at me. What was I going to do? What could I do?
Not to my surprise, my mind thought of Gray.
I slid the phone off the bathroom counter and pulled up the Ghost web app. My thumb scrolled to the bottom where I found our last encrypted conversation from months ago. I re-read his words, his sly, teasing way of saying everything drawing a smile to my lips. I typed out a new message.
WhatsUpButtercup: Where are you? I could use some advice right about now. I need you.
Like the eight messages I’d sent last fall after seeing him in the warehouse, I didn’t expect a reply, but that didn’t mean I’d give up trying. I slid the phone into my robe pocket and left the bathroom, flicking off the light as though it had offended me.
Crawling into bed, spread-eagle across the comforter, I eventually rummaged through the blankets for the book I’d fallen asleep reading last night.
When I found it, I mustered just enough energy to right myself and plop back against the pillows.
Mr. Beans circled his way into a ball on my stomach and purred.
While I read about love in the age of Queen Charlotte, I tried to ignore the small noises on the roof, returning as they had last night. Just pigeons, I told myself.
When I finally started to doze off, I ensured my taser made its way under my pillow, beside a dagger-like letter opener I’d snagged off the desk upstairs. Tomorrow I’d try to think up a plan.
Going to the police felt risky. They wouldn’t be much help if it were the mafia, anyway—half of them were probably involved. Maybe Clementine could find someone to help. She knew more seedy characters than I did, and I was confident she had a contact involved in that world somehow.