Liz arrived first, of course. Her internal time-is-money clock kept her on her toes and on top of all else. Ellen never had to worry about Liz. Her abilities went well beyond numbers. Liz had a sense for the order of things.

  Ellen gave Liz a hug and ushered her into the parlor, where two bottles of wine were breathing, ready for their indulgence.

  Moments later, Vivian, Daisy, and Joanna arrived. No smiles tonight. They were worried. They all were. Frankly, Vivian’s penchant for protection kept her worried in the best of times. It was the nature of her work. Daisy and Joanna were the best planners in the world of finance. Like builders of architectural wonders, the two could create a stock portfolio like no one else. Each had a kind of sixth sense when it came to investments.

  They all had distinct skills.

  Jessica, of course, arrived last.

  The husband, Ellen surmised. Jessica and her husband were both hard workers. Dedicated. Ambitious. But Jessica was the shark. The marriage would never last.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Jessica gave her a quick hug that left Ellen feeling cold.

  “No need to apologize. We’ve only just gathered in the parlor for wine.”

  There was still time for this to turn out right. For all involved to do the right thing. They had been together from the beginning. To lose one of these women would be like losing a limb. Ellen desperately hoped all would end well, but she had taken the proper steps in case it did not.

  She began by pouring the wine. Tonight she served. The way these women served her at the office, this was the least she could do. Tonight was important. Tonight was pivotal.

  “Why don’t we move on to the dining room?” Ellen suggested.

  Conversation lulled a bit as they settled around the table. Silverware clinked against china; stemware moved up and down from the table to lips.

  Her friends didn’t pick at their food—they ate with the same gusto with which they achieved greatness in the finance world. They were good. They had appetites. Strong appetites. Even stronger ambition.

  Ellen set her fork aside first. “We’ve reached the stage in this project that we discussed on Friday.”

  All eyes shifted to Ellen. These women . . . her heart squeezed. She loved each one. Trusted . . . each one. The abrupt hesitation she felt was understandable considering what she now suspected of one.

  Still, protecting them, protecting herself, was paramount.

  “From this point forward we give nothing unnecessarily to anyone, not even our legal representatives. We answer only as necessary, and we stay focused on moving forward. We will not meet with Jack or with Finley alone. We meet together. All or no one.”

  Glances were exchanged, as Ellen had anticipated. This was a first in their many projects, and it was the sort of thing that could drive a wedge into the closest of groups. Between the most trusted of friends.

  “Should we be worried?” Jessica asked, an edge in her voice.

  Of course she would be the first to show fear, to throw that particular question on the table.

  “No.” Ellen smiled. “There is no cause for concern.”

  Vivian placed a hand on Ellen’s as she scanned the faces at the table. “Ellen is right. There is no cause for alarm whatsoever,” she repeated. “We will carry out the final steps, and it will be finished.”

  A moment passed, and then, once more, forks scraped china. Stemware moved to thirsty lips.

  They were fine.

  It would be over soon.

  This was as it should be.

  Ellen forced herself to swallow a bite of perfectly sautéed chicken. Some part of her had changed during the past few days. She didn’t feel herself.

  Still, she had no regrets.

  This project had been the proper choice, no matter that certain missteps had occurred. No matter that she might yet lose more. Regrets changed nothing and wasted valuable time.

  She surveyed the table . . . watched the women who had been at her side all these years.

  No, there would be no regrets. But there would be pain. The idea that the missteps might have been purposely made was like a stake driven deep into her heart.

  Could she trust that it wouldn’t happen again?

  Ellen reached for her wine, her hand shaking despite her best efforts.

  She could not.

  25

  The Other Woman

  11:30 p.m.

  Lauder Residence

  Twelfth Avenue South, Nashville

  Jessica parked in her driveway, too mentally exhausted to bother with the garage. Her idiot husband always took up more than his half of the space, which made parking problematic.

  Tonight she had bigger frustrations than him. She was furious. So furious. Ellen thought she had everything under control.

  Jessica would see about that.

  She emerged from her Lexus and slammed the door. How dare Ellen use Jessica and then just pretend everything was fine. Ellen had no idea what was coming. All her reassurances and platitudes would prove hollow.

  The others would soon see who was the most brilliant of all. Jessica smiled. How divine this was going to be.

  “Jessica!”

  Startled, she whirled toward the voice.

  Lena.

  Horror rushed through Jessica. What the hell was she doing here? She glanced around to ensure her husband wasn’t on the upper-level patio watching. He was like that. Always in her business. Always asking questions.

  “What are you doing?” Jessica hissed in a stage whisper. “You know better than to come to my home. Especially now.” She glanced around again. At some point all those forensic reports were going to come back, and her new partner was going to be very surprised at what they found.

  If Jessica was lucky, that information wouldn’t be released until she was out of this damned town.

  The more immediate issue was, How had Lena gotten here? There was no car parked along the alley. She must have parked on another street and walked over. Good God! She could have been seen by a neighbor! Jessica took a breath. She had to stay cool. Play the part.

  “I took care of everything just like you said,” Lena whispered, not nearly quietly enough, as she moved closer.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Jessica warned with another look toward her town house. Thankfully it was an end unit, so they didn’t have an audience on both sides.

  “I wanted to see you before I leave.”

  How pathetic. “You should stick with the plans we made. We’ll meet in Atlanta just like we arranged. We’ll fly together from there.”

  Lena stared at her for a long moment. Other than the lights on either side of the garage door, they were in darkness. What did this idiot hope to do or to learn by coming here at this crucial juncture?

  “I need to know,” Lena finally said, “that you’re going to show up.”

  Jessica scoffed. “Of course I’m going to show up. I only have half the PIN. Why wouldn’t I show up?” She was not stupid. This was about the money. What else would she possibly want or need with this person? Hello?

  “It’s just that . . .” Lena crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to be sorry I trusted you, but I’ve been worried since I talked to that investigator. She is figuring things out way too fast. After all our hard work to make this happen, I just need to be sure you’re not going to let me down.”

  Jessica forced a sympathetic face and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “You have my word, Lena. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. We’re good. Everything is going exactly as planned. We’ll have the world at our feet! All we’ve ever dreamed of and more, because I know how to turn that money into even more.”

  Lena nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jessica smiled, gave her arm a squeeze. “Just keep picturing drinks on the beach, baby. We are on our way.”

  Lena disappeared into the darkness, and Jessica relaxed. Fool. Too late for cold feet now. She turned and headed into her house. Thank God she only had to play this role one more night.

  Whatever possessed her to want a husband?

  26

  Thursday, September 22

  10:00 a.m.

  Ritz-Carlton Hotel

  Peachtree Street, Atlanta

  Finley walked into the lobby and considered where to begin.

  Her first stop after leaving the airport this morning had been a visit to Dyson-Mekler. The receptionist at the front desk had confirmed the photo of Lena Marsh on Finley’s phone as the previous receptionist at the clinic. This was the extent of the information the receptionist would provide. When Finley had pushed, the woman called the practice manager, who had promptly but courteously shown Finley the door.

  The confirmation was enough for now. It was enough to validate any further investigation would not be a waste of time and resources.

  From now until her flight time, Finley intended to concentrate on whatever she could learn about Grady’s visit here last weekend. Odds were, Winthrop didn’t know why her new husband had made the trip to the Peach State any more than Finley understood the lies her own husband had told.

  This is no time for comparing dead husbands.

  Experience warned that starting with the check-in desk would be a waste of time. What she needed was an employee who worked elsewhere in the hotel.

  Finley made her way to the restaurant. Breakfast was still being served for another half hour. Not that she was hungry, but she could use more coffee. The hostess showed her to a table. Before the woman could slip away, Finley flashed a pic of Grady and asked if she recalled seeing him there the week before. Ginger, according to her name tag, smiled and said she’d only started on Monday.

  As soon as the hostess had floated away, another, younger woman, Dawn, materialized at Finley’s table. Same coordinated charcoal-and-white attire.

  Finley waited through her practiced spiel about the breakfast options. Only one other waitress appeared to still be on duty at this hour. There were just two customers besides Finley. Most people had left the hotel already, headed into their day of business or pleasure.

  “I would love a bagel,” Finley said. “And coffee, please.”

  Dawn smiled. “Anything else? We offer a lovely fruit plate. Perhaps a nice spread for your bagel.”

  Finley paused. “There is one other thing I’m hoping you might be able to help me with.” She reached into her pocket for the two fifty-dollar bills she’d tucked there for just this moment. She placed the bills on the table and reached for her cell next. She showed Dawn a pic of Grady. “Do you remember seeing this man here last week? Maybe on Friday or Saturday?”

  Dawn made a sad face. “I was off last Friday and Saturday.” She moistened her lips, glanced at the bills, then across the room at the other waitress. “I’m sure Maya was here. She works the breakfast shift all the time. She’s worked here a long time.” She shot another look at the bills on the table. “I’ll check with her.”

  Finley separated the two bills. “I appreciate the help.”

  Dawn hurried over to speak with her colleague. Maya glanced in Finley’s direction. She said something, and Dawn moved on to one of the tables on that side of the room. Maya wandered in Finley’s direction.

  Maya was older than Dawn. Same uniform. Attractive like her colleague.

  “Good morning,” Maya said with a smile. “How can I help you?”

  Finley showed her the photo, and Maya’s smile widened. “Alex Wilensky. Yes. He was here. I think he comes to Atlanta from Chicago about five or six times a year. He always has breakfast in the hotel. Sometimes lunch. Makes it a point to say hello.”

  Alex Wilensky. Interesting. “Sounds like he liked staying here when he visited,” Finley commented.

  “Always. He said this was his favorite hotel.”

  It was the Ritz. Of course it was.

  Finley needed more on Jarrod Grady, a.k.a. Alex Wilensky. She had a feeling this guy was more well traveled than they knew. “Was his business partner with him?”

  At the waitress’s look of confusion, Finley explained, “They often travel together.”

  Maya shook her head. “I never saw him with anyone else.” She made a face. “Wait. Someone did join him for breakfast last . . .” She considered the memory for a moment. “Last Friday. It was the first time I’d seen him here with anyone.”

  “Must have been his partner.” Finley pulled a name out of the air. “Paul Douglas. About the same age as Alex.”

  Maya shook her head. “No, this was no Paul. It was that attorney you see on all the buses and on the billboards around town.” She rolled her eyes. “And that annoying commercial with its jingle that gets stuck in your head.”

  “I’m not from Atlanta, so I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.”

  “Lisa Lawrence,” she said. “‘Lisa Lawrence has got you covered,’” she singsonged.

  Dawn arrived with a tray sporting a bone china plate embellished with a bagel and various condiments, along with a matching cup filled with steaming coffee. She placed each item in front of Finley.

  Finley pushed the bills to the edge of the table. “Thanks, ladies. You’ve been a great help. I’ll take my check now.”

  As Finley tucked the payment for her meal into the leather pouch, she downed a couple of bites of bagel and savored the coffee.

  She googled Alex Wilensky and got basically nothing, at least not in the Atlanta area. So she moved on to the attorney mentioned, Lisa Lawrence. The screen filled instantly with entries. Finley scrolled through the long list on the way out of the hotel. By the time she reached the curb and flagged down a taxi, she had an address for the attorney’s office, and her nerves were jangling in time with the tune Maya had singsonged.

  She was onto something big here.

  Lawrence Law Associates

  Peachtree Street, Atlanta, 11:45 a.m.

  Traffic ensured the short trip took a full twenty minutes. Now, after fifteen minutes in the lobby, Finley was escorted down the corridor to Lawrence’s office. Lawrence couldn’t be more than forty or forty-five years old, but she had a whole floor in a high-rise that screamed she had made it to the top of her game.

  Lawrence waited in her massive office when Finley was ushered inside. The place was more like an apartment than an office. There was, of course, a grand office space overlooking the city below. Left of that was a mini conference zone, and on the right was a plush seating area of sofas, with a bar lining the wall.

  “Join me,” Lawrence said, indicating one of the two white sofas.

  Finley offered her hand before taking a seat. Lawrence touched her palm briefly and settled onto the opposite sofa.

  “First, Ms. O’Sullivan,” Lawrence said, “I’ll be quite frank with you. The only reason you’re in my office is because I’m curious. That said, before we go any further, please give me a very powerful reason I should speak with you about Alex Wilensky. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

  “If he’s your client,” Finley countered, keeping it in the present tense, “you wouldn’t be talking to me at all.”

  Lawrence gave a nod. “He is not.”

  “But you know him. Met with him for breakfast at the Ritz last Friday.”

  “I know him, yes.”

  “Before we continue,” Finley said, removing her cell phone and showing her the photo of Grady, “would you confirm that this is the man you know as Alex Wilensky.”

  Lawrence glanced at the photo, her face giving away her level of disgust at the image. “Yes, that is him.”

  Whatever he’d done, the woman definitely didn’t like the guy.

  “What you may not know,” Finley went on, putting her phone away, “is that he’s dead. Murdered.”

  Lawrence’s expression remained neutral. “Should this news mean something to me?”

  Definitely some bad blood between these two? Was Lawrence another of his victims? Damn, the guy sure had a way with very intelligent women.

  Finley blocked the thought of Derrick.

  “Maybe. Before his murder,” Finley said, “he stole seven point eight million dollars from his new wife. We’ve yet to find the money.”

  Lawrence laughed out loud.

  Finley waited for her to finish.

  When Lawrence had caught her breath, she shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive my inappropriate response. But thank you for sharing the news.” She stood. “I’m afraid I have another appointment now.”

  Finley didn’t move. No. No. This meeting wasn’t over yet. “We have reason to believe that our client is not the first woman he’s done this to.”

  “You would be correct.” Lawrence remained standing, but she made no move to walk away.

  Finley pressed on. “We also discovered a person we believe to be his partner. The man who represented himself as Jarrod Grady in Nashville and Alex Wilensky here in Atlanta is dead, but his partner is still out there. I don’t want this to happen again.”

  Lawrence lowered back to the sofa. “A partner?”

  Finley nodded. “This is why it’s important that I find out anything else that connects these women. If you represent a client he swindled, I need to speak with her.”

  “He stole hundreds of thousands from her,” Lawrence said. “She wasn’t going to take it sitting down. She intended to file charges, but he used a family secret he discovered while they were together to keep her silent.” Lawrence shook her head. “I urged her to go to the police anyway, but she wouldn’t. This secret—whatever it was—was so humiliating she insisted and wouldn’t take the risk, though I warned her he might divulge her secret anyway.”

  “Which means,” Finley said, “that your client still isn’t in the clear. His partner is out there, and she likely knows whatever he knew.”

  “She?”

  Finley nodded. “If I can find the connection between the victims, I might be able to prove her link to Grady-Wilensky. Right now, what I know could go either way. The rub is in the proving it.”

  “I’ll speak to her. If she’s willing, I’ll take you to her, and she can tell her story in whatever way and to whatever degree she feels comfortable.”