That sounded lame, even to me, but Mrs. Stresky seemed to accept it.
“I knew you were a kind person.” She nodded, satisfied her assessment was correct. “Who were you meeting? Did you call and cancel?”
I plunged more deeply into the tangled web.
“Once I spoke to you, I knew someone had canceled the meeting for me. My appointment was with Mr. Rheingold.”
“No.” Mrs. Stresky gasped. “I can’t believe it. Whatever for?”
I edged closer to the truth.
“I’m a genealogist. We were supposed to discuss his O’Conor line.”
“What kind of line?”
“His O‘Conor family lineage. Just after the American Civil War, Rory Dev O’Conor, his brother John, and sister Kate bundled their families aboard the steamship Colorado and came to America, leaving all they knew behind in the tiny village of Crosskil, County Galway. Mr. Rheingold is descended from one of Rory Dev’s children.”
“Fascinating. Do you create genealogy charts for many families?”
No reason to mention that my mother’s royal banshee line had been tied to the O’Conors for a thousand years or more, or that she’d sent me along so that Rory Dev’s family would never endure a death without a proper send away.
“I can do any number of families, but my specialty is the Galway O’Conors.”
I weaved the question on my mind into the conversation.
“Is that man, Jeremy, who arrived with Mrs. Rheingold, a member of the family?”
“No. He works with Mr. Rheingold. He’s here so much, the Rheingolds pay for an extra parking spot in the garage for his use. Always trundling in stuffed briefcases and file boxes so full, they have to be tied with thick elastic bands.”
A short time later I took my leave, having no idea how any of what I learned would help me decipher the puzzle of Casey Rheingold’s murder.
Once home, I spent hours creating a fancy genealogy chart of the links from Rory Dev’s grandfather to Casey Rheingold. The tranquillity of copying the names and dates in a round cursive hand left my mind free to plan. And plan I did.
THE next morning, my energy renewed, I was ready to track a murderer. Where better to start than with the widow Rheingold?
When a banshee decides to reveal herself to humans, she uses one of three guises: the young woman, the middle-aged matron, or the old crone. As one of what the pure banshees like to call “the half-breed lot,” I’d decided centuries ago to function in the mortal world. I rotate through the three guises over any number of years and then begin again. I briefly considered a transformation, thinking Linda Rheingold might respond better to someone her own age or older. But provisional guise changes are chancy without time to invent a history for myself.
After making the decision to stay as I am, I called Mrs. Rheingold, and she surprised me with an invitation to stop by at noon.
Linda Rheingold was standing in her open doorway when I got off the elevator. I thought she’d be surrounded by family and friends, rushing to take mundane tasks off her hands. But here she was, quite alone.
Her widow’s weeds, a black silk tunic and slacks, were relieved only by the tawny stripes in her tiger print ballet slippers. She led me to a finely decorated living room, with high, wide windows covered in cream shantung. As we took our seats, I noticed she wore an Irish Claddagh ring. The hands, heart, and crown of the ring’s design stand for friendship, love, and loyalty. Mrs. Rheingold’s ring was made distinctive by the large diamond centered in the heart.
I tried to express my condolences, but she was all business.
“Ms. Bannon, you mentioned a genealogy chart you were working on with my husband. I suppose you want to be paid. Please send any outstanding bills to our accountant.” She handed me a business card and was clearly set to send me on my way.
In hopes I could rescue the moment, I pulled the O’Conor genealogy chart from my tote. “Please, Mrs. Rheingold.”
I opened the chart, handwritten with dark gray ink on pale gray paper, for her inspection.
“Please,” I said again, although the role of supplicant rarely suits me. “You misunderstand. No payment is wanted. I’d only completed the chart yesterday. Then, when I heard the terrible news, I thought this would be a grand display for the wake. Poor Mr. Rheingold never got a chance to see the final version, but I’m sure his friends and family would take pleasure in it.” I put my finger squarely on Rory Dev’s name.
“Here is where the family crossed to America.”
Mrs. Rheingold examined the chart for a long while, asking about this or that ancestor.
“This is extraordinary. It must have taken months to put together. My husband was proud of his Irish roots. His German roots as well. Did he commission you to do a chart on the Rheingold family?”
“We didn’t have a chance to get that far. Lately, he wasn’t returning my calls, and if he did, he was gruff and hustled me right off the phone.”
“Gruff and in a hurry. That was Casey all right.”
Linda smiled, and for a moment I could see she held a strong connection to her husband, be there a younger lover or no. Then she tightened her eyes.
“That damned law firm. If he’d kept a mistress like any normal man, he’d have had to hide it and fawn over me at home. Out of guilt, if nothing else. But I couldn’t compete with his job, his clients, his business entanglements.”
“Entanglements?”
“Entanglements like this jewelry problem, whatever that was about. Constant phone calls. Constant research. You’d think Casey was a first-year associate rather than a senior partner. Jeremy should have been handling that. Casey and I should’ve been having dinner uninterrupted.”
“Jeremy?”
“Jeremy Lycroft, Casey’s toady. Well, I’m sure the firm gave him some important title, but that’s how I see him. Casey and Jeremy were so attached that when the police notified the firm about my husband, the partners told Jeremy to find me and escort me home. You’d think a senior partner would have been more seemly.”
She harrumphed.
“You should talk to Jeremy. He’ll know why Casey wanted the genealogy chart and whether or not he wanted one for his German ancestors. If so, I would commission you to do it. I could hang both charts in the den. Don’t you think that would be fitting?”
Afraid to break her train of thought, I simply nodded.
“Call and tell him I said to talk to you. Being married to Casey gives me ‘toady by proxy’ rights with Jeremy.”
“I will definitely speak with Mr. Lycroft.” I could sense Linda was done with me, so I switched to the touchiest subject. “It must have been difficult being married to a man who was so intense about his work.” I sat quietly, leaving a gaping void.
Her face softened for a second or two and then rehardened.
“When we were younger, it was easier to accept Casey’s unending hours. We were building a life together. Casey was determined that it be a well-cushioned life. He made partner, and then senior partner, but the work obsession never stopped. I once asked Millie Cranepool, the managing partner’s wife, if it would always be like this. She seemed genuinely surprised. Her husband has been home for dinner nearly every night since he made partner twenty-two years ago. I decided there was something lacking in me. And I accepted my lot.”
“You must have been very lonely. No one would blame you for seeking companionship.”
“Whatever you’re implying is none of your business.” Linda stood and began a diatribe about nosy people as she rushed me out the door.
I’d overplayed my hand. I’d have to abandon the search for any extracurricular partner of Linda’s for now, but she’d given me a legitimate reason to visit Stoddard and Weiss. And who knows what I might find once I got there?
On the subway ride downtown, I rehearsed a number of ways I could introduce questions about the mysterious jewelry that had Casey so upset.