Crimes by Moonlight

Linda smiled, and for a moment I could see she held a strong co

“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 di

“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 di

“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.

THREE fifty Park Avenue turned out to be one of those multitiered glass buildings. According to the directory on the lobby wall, Stoddard and Weiss occupied the twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, and twenty-eighth floors. I mentioned Linda Rheingold’s name and handed my business card to the receptionist on the Administration floor. She pushed a few buttons on her telephone console and spoke into her headset. In a flash the elevator door opened, and Jeremy was trotting toward me with an outstretched hand, saying how nice it was to meet a friend of Linda’s. He continued nonstop with consoling words about Casey’s tragic death. Once I pushed “hello” into the conversation, I never had the opportunity to say another word until we were in his mahogany and leather office on the twenty-seventh floor.

Jeremy was far more poised than when he’d gotten out of the cab with Linda the day before. Perhaps he could exude confidence as long as there wasn’t a Rheingold in sight. He ushered me into a comfortable guest chair.

“Now, what can I do for you?”

I went through my genealogy spiel, not varying far from what I had told Mrs. Rheingold.

Jeremy tilted back his swivel chair and steepled his fingers, a look of total concentration plastered on his face. When I finished talking, he dropped his chair forward and rested his elbows on the desktop.

“I never heard Casey mention his family, much less a genealogy chart. If you are looking for family records, I doubt they’re in his office files, but I’ll have someone look and let Linda know.”

“Actually, if you would let me know directly, I could relieve Linda of the burden and pick up the files. She’s still so stressed about the work issues that took up so much of Mr. Rheingold’s time recently.”

“Why on earth…? Oh, who’s to say what will strike a bereaved spouse as important? I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if it will comfort Linda… Casey was concerned about survivor rights, trying to make sure Linda would be well provided for in case, well, you know. As if she isn’t well provided for now.”

I raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“No partner’s surviving spouse will ever have to seek food stamps, that’s for sure. Linda will never have to worry about money. Casey saw to that, but he persistently tried to make her future more secure. Just last week, he had, shall we say, ‘words’ with the managing partner over the partner shares. Nothing serious. Just a small conversation.”

Linda had mentioned Mrs. Managing Partner, so I knew that Mr. Managing Partner’s name was Cranepool. If he and Casey crossed swords, he was another potential suspect. I filed that away and continued on the one authentic lead I had.

“It’s a relief to know that Linda won’t have to worry. However, she is under the impression that her husband was deeply concerned about some problem involving expensive jewelry, and she’s wondering if it was resolved.”

His eyes darted from side to side as if looking for the truth.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Besides, if it has to do with a client… confidentiality and all that.”

He stood and offered to give my card to someone named Naomi, who would check for family records in Mr. Rheingold’s files and be in touch. Then he escorted me to the elevator bank as if to make certain I got on an elevator heading straight down. Whether I landed in the lobby or hell was of no concern to Jeremy Lycroft. Of that I was sure.

I was crossing the lobby when I heard the security guard say, “Hey, Mr. Cranepool, how was the trip? Rope in any new clients?”

A dapper dresser in a well-cut charcoal gray suit set off by a bright red and yellow striped tie answered. ‘Just shoring up some old ones. Changing planes at O’Hare is usually a nightmare, but not this time, so it was a good trip.”

When I spoke his name, Cranepool turned automatically. As soon as he saw a young woman, albeit one with wild red curls, his eyes awarded me a completely inappropriate up-and-down body survey. Then he offered his hand.

“Yes, Miss…”

“Ba

I could practically see his mind speculating whether genealogist was the new code word for mistress.

“Mrs. Rheingold sent me here to check for family records.”

“Of course.” He took my arm and started steering me toward the elevator.

Last place I wanted to be. In an elevator. With him. I stood firm and surrounded myself with a confused air.

“Mr. Lycroft is helping me with all that, but there is one other thing…”

He squeezed my arm while pledging he would do anything, anything at all, to assist me. I had no doubt that, although Mr. Cranepool hardly ever missed di

I widened the physical space between us by a few more inches and pulled a hint of Irish lilt into my voice.

“It’s the relatives, you see. The Galway relatives. Within this very week, Mr. Rheingold was on the telephone with cousins who live in the old Claddagh, in Galway City. Mr. Rheingold was most upset about some business venture. The cousins are all hoping the issue was settled and that Casey Rheingold died with peace in his heart. They don’t want to disturb poor Mrs. Rheingold by asking. So can you tell me, have Mr. Rheingold’s recent business problems been settled?”