Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

know. Shelley was a maniac behind the wheel of a car. And Keats, well he—” Amberson stopped speaking suddenly. His eyes were cast downward and Desmond found it impossible to read his expression.

“What happened to Keats?”

“Please let this drop, Mr. Edgars. Trinity is a mess. You must realize that.” His voice was pleading, but his eyes were hard. “I promised her father I’d take care of her.”

“She’s your problem, Mr. Amberson. Not mine.” Desmond went to the door. “You’re going to want to find her a good defense attorney.”

Chapter 47

He took a taxi uptown, and it moved as if on wings. Seven minutes after he left Amberson’s place, he was in front of Trinity’s. The doorman was the same one who’d been there Tuesday morning. “Edgars, right? To see Miss Lytton-Jones.”

“That’s right.” Desmond was impressed with the man’s recall. He waited while the man called upstairs.

“Costa says you can go on up.”

Desmond took the private elevator to the top floor. The houseboy was waiting for him.

“You came back!” he said, excited. “After the other day… well, let’s just say I’m glad you’re here. Trin— um, Miss Lytton-Jones owes you an apology.”

Desmond had been planning to crash inside and accost Trinity, but seeing Costa gave him another idea. “I don’t care about her saying sorry. But I was wondering what happened on Friday. You said Dominique saved both your lives. What happened?”

“Miss Lytton-Jones got a call around seven-thirty. It was a police officer—at least, that’s what he claimed to be. Detective Lee, that was his name. He told her Gary had been in a horrible accident. He’d driven his Jag into a tree up by the Hudson Valley house, and he died.”

“How did Trinity react to the news?”

“She was psyched. She said it was the best thing that ever happened to her.” Costa looked guilty. “I feel bad saying this, but she had me open a magnum of Krug Brut 1988.”

“That’s champagne?” Desmond asked. Costa nodded. “I get the feeling she’s always drinking champagne.”

“But I drank some with her,” Costa said. “I still feel guilty about it. But she was so overjoyed.”

“What happened after that?”

“It took her a while to pack. The detective—or whoever it was who called—said she had to identify the body. We were just starting to drive up when your sister called.” Costa swallowed hard. “That changed everything. It wasn’t just what your sister said. Miss Lytton-Jones suddenly realized how strange it was that Detective Lee had called her on her cell phone. Hardly anybody has the number. Wait, that’s not true. Plenty of fashion people like Anna Wintour and André Leon Talley have it, but they never call her. Her personal shoppers have it, Mr. Amberson and I have it, Gary had it… I don’t know who else. But her phone doesn’t ring very often.”

“So, you never spoke to Detective Lee?”

“No. Trinity had me turn the car around, and we drove to the Plaza Athénée. She got us a suite, and then she had me call the police and hospitals in the Hudson Valley. I couldn’t find anything about Gary. The number Detective Lee had called from just rang and rang.” Costa closed his eyes, as if his life were flashing in front of them. “It was some kind of trap. I believe that with all my heart. Someone wanted to kill her.”

“Do you have any idea who?”

Costa shrugged. “If you asked me that a week ago, I would have said Gary. Those two hated each other. But otherwise… I don’t know. She doesn’t have any friends.”

“What about a boyfriend?”

Costa looked incredulous. “Never.”

“Okay, a girlfriend, then?”

“No. You don’t get it. She doesn’t have relationships with people, just things.”

There was a sound of clattering heels coming down the hallway. “Is that my delivery?” Trinity called out.

“No, Miss Lytton-Jones. Mr. Edgars is here.”

Trin’s pinched, angry face suddenly peered out the door. “Get him out of here. I am not speaking with him again.”

Before Desmond could say a word, Costa was answering her. “You don’t get to do that. His sister saved our lives. You should be grateful.”

Trin’s hollow eyes shriveled to the size of raisins. A muscle next to her eye twitched and she bit her lip. Then she threw her lit cigarette at Desmond.

It didn’t burn him, but it scorched a little patch on his white dress shirt, not far below his throat. “What are you, three years old?” he asked.

“Get out!” she shrieked at him. “Out, out, out!”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Costa breathed.

“Take him downstairs before I ship you back to Argentina,” Trin seethed.

“That’s your big threat, cara rota? I might have to go back to Buenos Aires?” Costa flung his hands up. “I quit!”

“You can’t do that, you stupid nothing.”

“Yes, I can!” Costa said. “You know what’s funny? You’re the stupid nothing. You can’t do a thing for yourself. You’re as helpless as a baby.” He turned to Desmond, throwing his arms around him in a hug. “I apologize for all of this rudeness.” He brushed by Trinity and she pulled back, as if he carried contagion. “I am packing my things now.”

Trinity stared after him as if she’d been struck. “You can’t do that!” she screamed.

“Looks like it’s hard to find good help these days,” Desmond said. “I wonder if Max will turn on you as quickly as your houseboy.”

“Get out!”

“Happy to go. But you’ll be answering to the cops before the night is through.”

He pressed the elevator button and the doors opened. The advantage to having a private one was that it was there whenever you wanted it, he guessed. But, like every other advantage Trinity Lytton-Jones had, it was wasted.

He went down to the street, calling Detective Iorio as soon as he left the building. “Trinity Lytton-Jones just assaulted me, and I want to press charges. Her lawyer tried to buy me off for two million dollars. I’m in front of her building right now. I have the feeling this bird is trying to fly the coop.” He left