Erica Orloff - The Golden Girl

“No. They’re both in a morphine haze. One is in intensive care—the one with the pierced lung. It’ll be a while before we get anything substantive out of him.” Troy took a swig of coffee. “Do you have the box from Claire.”

Madison nodded. Troy seemed unfazed by the events at Venetian Lake—even though he was sporting a major welt on his face. She pulled the box out from under the table and laid the contents out for them both to look at.

“First of all,” Madison said, “I think she did it this way to protect me. If she didn’t spell it out completely, then if someone broke in my apartment there’d be nothing for him to find. Her mother would be safe, too. So it’s like a puzzle. A travel brochure from the Caymans. Well, you said it was likely some of this had to do with shell companies if the mob was involved—laundering money. And the seashell—represents the Caymans and the shell companies.”

“Okay, I’m with you there.”

“A key. To what? Well, it’s not an apartment key—and to be honest, I have a key to her place—and she had one to mine. We were best friends. So she would know that I would instantly realize this wasn’t to anything obvious there. So, coupled with the other clues, I’m guessing a safe-deposit box at a bank in the Caymans.”

“Makes sense,” Troy said.

“A photo of the Manhattan skyline, well, that’s kind of obvious. She was murdered at the site of our new tower-construction project, so it must have something to do with that. And when she was killed, she wouldn’t have known that she would be found dead there, so this was her clue. Just in case.”

“And her passport.” Troy took the green passport book and opened it. “She went to the Caymans twice in the last three months of her life. Did you know that?’

Madison shook her head. “No.”

“Was that usual? I mean, that she wouldn’t tell you.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been usual—before our falling-out. But even so, my father didn’t go with her, and they were fairly inseparable. That is odd.”

“And finally, a map with Venetian Lake marked. Like you said last night, what could it all possibly have to do with the old murder of your uncle? An infant kidnapped more than fifty years ago. His kidnapper long dead in prison.”

“I’m no closer to an answer. And the safe-deposit key, there’s no account number, no way to know what it’s to for sure.”

“Let’s think.”

Maddie and Troy, almost as if the items were talismans, each picked them up one at a time. Maddie willed Claire to speak to her, to make it all clear, but she was as confused as ever.

And then, like the sun suddenly breaking through a storm cloud, Maddie grew excited.

“Oh, my God! I get it! At least part of it.”

“Want to clue me in?”

Maddie nodded. “Why would Claire include the seashell?”

“Like you said. Representing shell companies. And the Caymans.”

“Maybe, but—” Madison turned the conch shell over in her hands and pulled it very close to her face. “I was right…” She grinned. “Looks like I am cut out for this work.”

“Okay, 007, let me know what you figured out.”

“Claire knows I used to love doing the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle, and my favorite ones had puns or tricks to them. Well, this shell is nothing more than a trick. A five-letter word for whisperer of ocean secrets.”

“I don’t get it.”

Madison smiled, feeling her excitement grow.

“Claire knew she didn’t have to be obvious with me. Eventually, I would figure it out. I don’t need a clue as obvious as a seashell. I don’t need a clue for the Caymans, since the travel brochure is there. So what else can a big conch shell like this do?”

“Provide shelter for a conch.”

“Right. Shelter. Tax shelter. Okay. And if you hold a conch to your ear, what will it do?”

“It won’t do anything.”

“It will duplicate the ocean’s roar, though. You can hear the sea. It’s as if it can tell you something. A secret.” Maddie handed Troy the shell. “Look inside.”

“Holy shit!” Troy exclaimed.

For there, etched into the soft pink hue of the conch’s interior shell, was engraved the name of a bank in the Caymans, along with a safe-deposit-box number.

Chapter 14

“Oh, my God! Look at me,” Maddie exclaimed as she stared in the three-way mirror and twirled slowly around. Claire’s reflection stared back at her.

“Pretty amazing what we can do, huh?” Troy asked her.

“It’s uncanny.”

The papers that week had been filled with innuendo and gossip about her father refusing to take a lie detector test—through his attorneys, of course, a high-powered team that threatened to devour the police detectives and the media. The lawyers spoke in sound bites and the war of words was just beginning, Madison knew. The media were like sharks in waters filled with fresh chum.

The Pruitt & Pruitt board had agreed to convene the next week to determine a course of action until the investigation was completed. Her uncle Bing—a major shareholder—and her father were edgy and sending assistants scurrying and cowering into their offices. In the meantime, Maddie and Troy were flying to the Caymans on Thursday night, and had an appointment at the bank on Friday morning.

Maddie needed a cover story for her absence from the office. The case and all its intricacies was taking up a lot of her time—at a point when she really couldn’t afford to be out of the office. Maddie decided to say she was going to Miami to view a property she’d been eyeing before Claire’s murder. She would bring Troy to see if the site was viable for a hotel.

Now at the town house, Madison was literally transformed into Claire.

Kristi Burke was the stylist for the Gotham Roses. Her job was to give the women working undercover whatever look they needed to complete their assignments. She walked around Madison, obsessing over every detail.

“I have given girls complete makeovers. They’ve been transformed into everything from call girls to foreign dignitaries. Blondes to brunettes and back again. Redheads in every shade of the color spectrum. I’ve taught them to walk the catwalk for one assignment, and how to wrap a sari for another. But this…this is the pièce de résistance. It’s unbelievable.”

Madison smoothed the sleek line of her black bob—an expensive wig. Her hands trembled slightly. It felt almost sacrilegious to portray Claire, and a vague queasy feeling passed over Madison. On the other hand, by portraying her, she could access the safe-deposit box and perhaps solve this case once and for all, hopefully while saving the corporation in the same action.

Kristi, dressed in a funky Anna Sui tweed jacket and miniskirt in a soft green that showed off her auburn hair, shook her head. “I’m amazed. What do you think, Troy?”

“Kristi, you’re a genius. I even asked Renee to come down.”

Almost as if on cue, Renee swept into the dressing room. She stopped and shook her head in amazement.

“It’s uncanny.”

“Thanks,” Kristi said. “Colored contacts, perfect makeup job—I altered her lip line completely into the cupid’s bow, like the photo Madison brought of her. Cindy Crawford–mole drawn here,” she pointed. “A wig to die for. The right clothes. Changed her eyebrows a bit—more arched. Gives her the cat’s-eye kind of appearance. Exotic.”

Renee approached Madison. “How do you feel?” She clasped her hand, empathy registering on her face. “I’m sure this isn’t easy, darling.”

“Thanks for asking. It isn’t. It actually feels very, very strange…and sad.”

“You’re doing a superb job. I briefed the Governess’s representative on this one. The concern is an Enron-type blowup over at Pruitt & Pruitt. But the powers that be are impressed by your prowess so far. We chose well.”