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“Who are you calling?” Morgan demanded.
“Karly Fontaine.” A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “Your Winshore holiday party is Tuesday night, right? At Elyse Shore’s gym?”
Morgan nodded.
“Good.” Monty punched in Karly’s number. “I want the entire Shore family there, including Lenny and Rhoda. If Karly agrees to help us out, this is going to be one memorable occasion.”
TUESDAY NIGHT TURNED out to be cold but clear.
Darkness had fallen and frost glistened on the trees when the Winshore holiday party began promptly at seven.
Elyse’s gym was a glittering wonderland, filled with the decorations Jill had insisted on hand-making and hanging herself. Morgan hadn’t argued. She understood that for her friend, creating this fantasy world was therapeutic. Hearing people’s exclamations, seeing their excitement, brought her as much joy as it did them.
Everyone looked stunning—lots of stylish Armani suits, fashionable “little black” Nicole Miller dresses an
d elegant Vera Wang cocktail dresses for the women, and sophisticated Joseph Abboud and Brioni suits for the men. Laughter rang out as small groups and the occasional twosome got better acquainted, and the tinkling of the bell over the front door signaled the arrival of more and more attendees. Servers weaved their way through the room—which had been cleared of all exercise equipment—carrying trays of sumptuous hors d’oeuvres and frothy goblets of rum-spiked creamy eggnog. A string quartet was stationed in one corner, completing the holiday atmosphere with their lovely strains of seasonal music.
It was all just as Morgan and Jill had planned.
Except that Morgan felt like throwing up.
Maneuvering her way through the room in the sexy black velvet Prada cocktail dress she’d bought specifically for this occasion, she felt surreal, as if she were standing outside herself and watching herself perform. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep up the pretense, milling through the room, welcoming clients and guests alike, making idle chitchat, and urging everyone to enjoy the festivities.
Jill looked a little strained, too, although her natural cheeriness overcame her tension. Wearing a sky-blue vintage embroidered flapper dress that swirled in concert with her as she moved around the room, she spoke to each and every guest, made sure they were having fun.
Then again, all Jill knew was what her father had told her the other day, plus the fact that Jonah had received his transfusion and was well on his way to recovery. Jill was waiting for the news of Jonah’s paternity to leak, after which she had high hopes of getting to know her half brother.
Elyse and Arthur were, as always, the consummate political couple. With enough undereye concealer, Elyse had managed to camouflage the puffiness caused by crying and lack of sleep. In a stunning ivory Valentino skirt suit, she strolled the room on Arthur’s arm, meeting and greeting and operating on autopilot. Lenny and Rhoda were there as well, bursting with pride about their family’s accomplishments. Their son was a rising congressional star, their granddaughter and adopted granddaughter’s company was hosting this chichi event, and everyone was commenting that Rhoda’s chopped liver was every bit as good as the imported pâté being served here tonight. So what could be better?
Monty hadn’t arrived yet. Neither had Karly, who knew her arrival would cause a world of tension for Arthur and, unfortunately, for Elyse. So she was timing it just so, on Monty’s instructions.
Pausing to pick up a glass of eggnog, Morgan perused the room, wishing Lane would arrive. He’d promised to get there as soon as possible, but he was focused on one of the crime-scene photos, and wanted to see it through first.
Privately, Morgan suspected he’d just figured it was best to study the most graphic photos when she wasn’t there. Maybe he was right. The last thing she needed was more horrifying images to exacerbate her nightmares. They’d already grown to epic proportions.
But whatever he was looking at, she wished he’d hurry.
WHAT LANE WAS looking at were the same images that had been bothering him all week—the first close-ups taken of the Winters’ bodies. Initially, he’d focused on the areas around each body, hoping to find minute details in the shadows. That hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d noticed some flash glare in the close-ups of the blood around Jack Winter’s body. At first, he’d figured the CSI tech was either inexperienced or careless. But the glare repeated in several shots. Same locations, same intensity. All the other pictures were properly exposed, despite the difficult lighting conditions. It didn’t make sense.
Bugged by the discrepancy, Lane applied his PhotoFlair filter to those specific areas. Originally developed by NASA, the Photoshop plug-in was nothing sort of amazing. Interesting, he noted. Not all the bloodstains in the same pictures appeared to have the same reflective quality. Some of the stains appeared fresh, as if still wet. And they were scattered in a random pattern, not pooled tightly around the body.
Something felt wrong.
On a hunch, Lane picked up the phone and made a quick call. He’d just finished leaving a message, when Monty walked into the photo lab.
“I’m leaving,” he announced, awkwardly looping his tie. “Karly should be there by now. With any luck, we’ll pull this off. Are you coming?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting for a return call.”
“It had better come soon. Or you’ll miss all the excitement.” Monty frowned as he made his third attempt to tie his tie. “Dammit. Have I mentioned how much I hate these?”
“Seven or eight times.” Grinning, Lane stood up and walked over. Smoothly, he knotted his father’s tie. “Too bad you weren’t paying attention when Mom taught me how to do this.”
“Yeah. Right.” A curious glance at the monitor. “What is it you’re working on so intently?”
“The first crime-scene photos. Some of the blood around Jack Winter’s body looks wetter than the rest.”
“I remember.” Monty shrugged. “There were a couple of wet spots. But both victims bled out. The drying process happens as the blood is exposed to air. It’s not unusual to see some differences.”
