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“Thank you.”
“But that was largely Frances’s call, as I understand it,” Bree said. “She had her two guards and felt comfortable with the level of security.”
Luster said, “That is correct, Nellie.”
“Then I need another stiff drink,” Ray said. “And why not? Frances is dead. Paula is dead. And a once great company is …” She broke down crying.
Luster said, “It’s going to be all right, Nellie.”
“No, it’s not, Phillip,” she cried. “I’m forty-six. Who will hire me?”
“Tess Jackson would in a heartbeat,” he said. “She’d be crazy not to.”
After a snuffle and a hiccup, she said in a meek voice, “You think so, Phillip?”
“I’ll talk to her in the morning,” Luster promised. “But before we let you go, Bree has a question for you.”
Ray sighed. “Thank you, Phillip. What’s your question, Bree?”
“To your knowledge did Duchaine, the company, ever use the services of a Massachusetts firm called Paladin?”
Duchaine’s director of marketing laughed. “Paladin. One of the dumber moves we made in the past few years.”
“How’s that?” Bree said.
Ray told her that Frances Duchaine and Paula Watkins had followed the advice of hedge-fund manager Ari Bernstein and hired Paladin to mine hard data to determine where to put new stores as the company expanded. “The demographics they came up with from their algorithms were solid on paper—proximity to wealthy towns, reasonable rent and overhead, things like that,” Ray said. “But they didn’t account for how devastating e-commerce was going to be for the fashion-to-wholesale-to-physical-retail business, which was our business model.”
Bree said, “Should Paladin have predicted it?”
“Ryan Malcomb’s supposed to be the big genius, spotter of trends, right?”
“You’ve met him?”
“Five or six times,” she replied as Bree’s own cell phone rang. “He, uh, em, uh … well, I think he uses the whole muscular dystrophy thing to his advantage.”
“Hold that thought,” Bree said, seeing who was calling her. She answered it as she walked from the kitchen. “Detective Thompson?”
“The docs say they’re going to bring Volkov out of his coma tomorrow evening,” Salazar’s partner said. “But they don’t think he’ll be coherent enough to answer questions until the following day. If you’re available, Rosella wants you there when we question him.”
“I’ll be there,” Bree replied. “FYI? Paladin did do business with Duchaine.”
“Good to know, I guess,” he said with little enthusiasm. “Gotta go.”
When Bree returned to the kitchen, Luster was pouring himself a second glass of wine. His phone was dark.
“Nellie had to go, unfortunately,” he said. “Her mother phoned. She said you can call her back tomorrow if you need to. Another round?”
He was holding the bottle up toward her. Bree felt odd about something Nellie had said but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.What is it? Does it matter?
“Why not?” Bree said finally, and held out her glass.
Luster gave her a generous dose. “How does organic Chinese sound?”
“Perfect,” she said. Her cell phone buzzed, alerting her to a text. She thumbed the screen, saw it was from Addie Wells, and opened it. It contained an attachment titled “Write Me a True Story, Family Man.”
CHAPTER 97
Washington, DC
