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“It sure as hell adds to the long list of them,” Marc commented.
His voice made Claire chime in on a different matter. “Marc, you picked up on something in the Hamptons. Something in your meeting with John Morano. What was it?”
“She’s not being Claire-voyant,” Ryan clarified in that “gotcha” tone he reserved only for Claire. “I told her what Marc said when he called in. She also got a glimpse of the research I was doing into Morano’s and Everett’s backgrounds. So her question is based on facts, not psychic inspiration.”
Claire gave an exasperated sigh. “I was asking a question, Ryan. Not issuing a proclamation.”
“Just making sure that was clear.”
“It was,” Marc reassured him with a wry grin. “As for Morano, the guy is way too scripted. And way too blasé about Paul Everett and any connection his murder might have had to the development of that five-star hotel. Something’s up. I’m just not sure what.”
“I’m still running those background checks on Morano and Everett, digging up every detail I can.” Ryan scanned the results of his work. “I’ve checked the trade groups each of them was affiliated with, any certifications they may have, and the companies they’ve worked with and for. I did a detailed analysis of their finances, right down to where they do their banking. Next, I’m moving on to their families, including any estranged relatives who might know each other. From there, I’ll dig into their full educational backgrounds. I’ll include all the activities that accompanied their academics, from summer camp to sports teams. I’ll go back to friggin’ kindergarten, if I have to. But, as of now, I don’t see Everett’s and Morano’s paths crossing, or even being mentioned in the same paragraph.”
“Not until the hotel project and the controversy around it,” Marc guessed.
“You got it. Once that came into play, the newspapers jumped on the story of the infiltration of the Citidiots and the divided opinions of the locals. But even in those articles, Morano and Everett are discussed as separate entities. Everett was killed. Morano picked up the reins. Period.”
“Do the newspapers get into Everett’s murder at all?” Casey broke in to ask. “Any speculation as to who killed him?”
“A paragraph on the unsolved homicide—but the tone was more dramatic than it was speculative. You know, like was Paul Everett an innocent victim or was he a high roller who got in with the wrong crowd and paid the ultimate price? Clearly that was old news, so it wasn’t the focus of the articles. The building of the hotel was.”
“Remember, no one paid much attention to Paul’s murder,” Marc reminded them. “That’s why Amanda brought
me next to nothing mediawise when she first met with me. Paul wasn’t a celebrity. He was just a shrewd real-estate developer who happened to buy into a good thing. There was no construction under way, so most of the public didn’t even know about his plans for the hotel. Only the locals. And they’d have no reason to connect his murder with a project that hadn’t even gotten off the ground.”
“Clearly,” Patrick concurred. “Or the police would have pursued that angle more thoroughly. They didn’t.” A pause. “Of course, there are people who can pull off that kind of murder without leaving any leading evidence behind.”
“Paul Everett is not dead,” Claire stated. “I can’t explain how I can be so sure, especially since my connections to his energy are so weird and binary, but I am. I just wish I could make a deeper connection. I spent hours on end today holding that suction-cup heart and trying to analyze its energy. It’s like I’m right on the verge of opening a window and peering inside, and then it’s gone. Not just the opening. The whole window. It’s driving me crazy.”
“That tells me what my gut already knows,” Casey replied. “That either Paul Everett or whoever dragged Paul Everett off wants it this way. Which makes Paul either a criminal or a victim. All the more reason to find him. Most importantly, for Justin. Secondarily, for justice—or rescue. Right now, the ‘whys’ don’t matter. All that matters is that we find what right now looks like Justin’s only chance of survival.”
“Then I think we all have our tasks cut out for us,” Ryan said.
“I want to visit Amanda in the hospital,” Claire stated. “I have the perfect opportunity tonight, since both Casey and Marc are away. After them, I’ve spent the most time with her. I want to check on her and the baby. I want to touch something of the baby’s—maybe a sheet or blanket he came in contact with that’s no longer in the ICU with him. And I want to see if I pick up on anything weird on the way to the hospital.”
“What do you mean by weird?” Ryan asked.
“She means that she’s been sensing we’re being followed,” Casey supplied. “Us and Amanda.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “But it’s getting pretty sinister.”
“You’re sure?” For once, Ryan didn’t taunt Claire for her gift.
“Positive.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” Patrick jumped in. “I’ll go with you. I’m a trained investigator. Maybe I’ll spot something you missed. Besides, I’m in a holding pattern, anyway. I can’t just sit on my hands and wait for the waitress to call me. I need to do something.”
“Good.” Casey liked that idea. Patrick had a sharp eye, Claire had a psychic gift and there was also safety in numbers. “So we’re all in sync for this evening’s activities. We’ll report in if there’s something to say. If not, Marc and I will be home by midnight. We can resume our discussion then.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lyle Fenton’s East Hampton estate was the size of a suburban cul-de-sac.
Marc was doing the driving tonight, giving Casey a break after her monster trip out. He turned in to the paving stone driveway and waited for his entranceway summons to be answered. After the video cameras surveyed their van and the intercom exchange confirmed who they were, the iron gates swung open and the van was allowed to pass through.
Using Ryan’s night-vision-enabled camera, Casey shot a few photos of the grounds and the mansion as the van wound its way up the serpentine driveway, past the guesthouse to the megamanor.
