She opened the combination lock and lifted it out reverently. It was a sexy little gun, matte black and neat in her hand. It looked great with her outfit and fit perfectly in her beaded evening bag. She snapped out the clip and cocked the hammer, making sure there was a round in the chamber so it was ready to fire. Otherwise why bother to bring it? Nothing more useless than an unloaded gun.
BY THE TIME Melanie reached Holbrooke, it was 7:10 and snowing heavily. The school’s many windows were lit with graceful holiday tapers, its red double doors thrown open and decked with evergreen boughs. New York’s elite poured from chauffeured Mercedeses and BMW sedans. The men looked distinguished and aloof in their tuxedos. The women wore expensive furs and couture dresses, diamonds twinkling at their ears as they held their tiny evening bags over their heads to keep the snow off their freshly styled hair. Down the block a row of horse-drawn carriages waited. They were all draped with banners in the Holbrooke colors of scarlet and gold.
Melanie blended into the line of guests waiting to present their engraved invitations at the door. Around her, people greeted one another effusively, air-kissing, chatting of this Caribbean island or that ski resort. She was alone, unknown, and, even in her best things, under-dressed for the power crowd. Nobody questioned her. Nobody paid her the slightest bit of attention, in fact. She might have been invisible, which suited her purposes exactly.
The exquisite young man who checked her invitation was an actor or a model by the look of him. He gave her a blinding smile and directed her to the main auditorium.
“Ladies’ room?” she asked.
“Down the stairs to your right. The live auction is under way, and champagne and hors d’oeuvres are now being served in the auditorium.”
“Thank you.”
When she reached the lower level, Melanie glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then proceeded quickly to the deserted back staircase and up to the second floor. She walked the empty, shadowy corridors, stepping lightly so her borrowed Manolos wouldn’t clatter on the linoleum and give her away. She was looking for the development office, which she remembered passing when she’d interviewed Patricia Andover. Hogan had no choice but to bring Carmen there in order to move the ten million. The Holbrooke account required biometric identification, which could happen only via a specialized fingerprint scanner connected to the development office’s computer. Her best shot was to hide in the room, let Hogan access the account, and call in the raid before he could transfer the money. She glanced at her watch-7:20, and she still hadn’t heard from Detective Leary. She took her cell phone from her bag and checked to make sure she hadn’t missed any calls. Nothing. She dialed Leary’s cell but got voice mail.
“Detective,” she whispered into her phone, “it’s Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office again. Please call and let me know what arrangements you’ve made to get me backup. Nothing’s happened yet, but I’m expecting Hogan to show up any minute. In fact, I have to turn my phone to silent, so if I don’t pick up, please leave a message. It’s very urgent. I really need your help. Thanks.”
She hung up nervously. Surely Leary would come through for her. She’d made the situation sufficiently clear, hadn’t she? He had to understand that she was in danger, although she would’ve thought he’d have called back by now. There was nothing more she could do at the moment, however. She wouldn’t call 911 to get a car dispatched unless the situation became truly desperate. If Hogan saw uniforms, he’d just cut and run.
Rounding the corner to the administrative wing, Melanie pulled back sharply, her heart skipping a beat. Goddamn it, he’d beaten her here! The entire hallway was dark, except for a single rectangle of light illuminating the floor in front of the development office. The door was closed, two distinct shadows visible in relief against its frosted-glass window. The muffled voices coming from within sounded low and urgent, as if they were arguing. That was bad. She’d better move, before Hogan did something to Carmen, before he harmed her.
Hugging the wall, Melanie advanced toward the brightly lit door, struggling to control her anxious breathing, to still even the rustling of her clothes. But when she got within a few feet, she realized that Hogan hadn’t trumped her after all. The voices coming from the development office belonged to James Seward and Patricia Andover.
“I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me,” Seward whined.
“How many times do I have to explain? I can’t. Changing the fingerprint access requires Carmen!” Patricia sounded on edge, almost hysterical. “Besides, I’m not doing anything until you answer my question. Where were you Monday night when Whitney died? Answer me, damn it!”
“You think I was with someone?”
“I just need to hear that you didn’t kill your stepdaughter!”
“Are you serious? Wow, Patricia, that’s crazy. Completely insane. Although I have to admit, I’m somewhat flattered.”
“You didn’t?” The audible relief in Patricia’s voice confirmed for Melanie that the two were having an affair. The headmistress obviously cared for this man.
“Of course not. Whitney’s death was extremely ill timed for me.”
“Just tell me where you were, so I believe you.”
“Take my word for it, it’s better if you don’t know the details.”
“You were with another woman, weren’t you?”
“No! Jesus, Patricia, you’re like a broken record. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I was doing some fund-raising.”
“So why the big mystery?”
“Because. It was with a gentleman who represents a consortium of interests that prefer to avoid government scrutiny. Do I make myself clear? Now, don’t ask me anything else.”
“If you have other sources of money, James, why the hell are you putting me at risk like this?”
He chuckled. “What’s that line about too rich and too thin?”
“You have enough, James,” she said flatly.
“Oh, come on, you know I need money, Patricia. You promised you’d help. I thought you had the guts to see this through,” he said.
“I can’t believe this! You don’t give a rat’s ass if I get caught, do you? I’m going downstairs right this instant, before the Van Allens end up at the podium without me. You can come or not. I don’t give a shit anymore. And I’m not going through with it. I’m just not.”
The door flew open with a bang. Melanie shrank back into the darkness, heart pounding, as Patricia Andover flounced down the hallway in her ball gown. Seward immediately followed, flipping off the light and pulling the door of the development office closed behind him. He didn’t lock it, so unless the door locked automatically, she should be able to get in.
Melanie waited, holding her breath, until their footsteps had faded away and everything around her was deathly silent. Then she crept swiftly back toward the door, grasped the handle, and turned it. It was locked. What an idiot-why hadn’t she thought of this? The office held not only confidential financial information but evidence of Patricia’s crimes. The headmistress was a careful woman; she would never leave it open. Melanie should’ve thought about getting her hands on a master key somehow.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered, jiggling the handle, then sucked in a startled breath. Around the corner, behind her, she’d heard something. Like a footstep. A footstep that stopped when she made noise. Man, she was screwing this up big time. Get smarter, Melanie Vargas! She hurried on tiptoe to the next office: HEAD, LOWER SCHOOL. She turned the handle as silently as she could. It gave. Yes! Diving in and pulling the door closed behind her, she silently thanked the head of the Lower School for being so careless.