When they reached the door, Fitzpatrick’s voice stopped them. “I trust you understand that by accepting my payment you have agreed to keep this matter confidential. Any violation of that would be viewed as a breach of contract and dealt with as such.”
Liz put her hand on the tense muscles in Nick’s upper arm and leveled her gaze across the room. Emerson’s chin lifted another fraction of an inch. Fitzpatrick almost smiled.
“Throw your weight at someone who gives a damn, Hanley.” Liz’s voice was ice water.
Margaret Fitzpatrick had brushed the maid aside to admit them herself. Now she sat curled up in the corner of a floral chintz loveseat in a long narrow room flooded by morning sunlight. A wheat-colored silk blouse and slacks complemented her short blonde hair and trim figure. With her delicate features she could easily pass for someone ten years younger, but she looked for all the world like a spring wound too tight and ready to snap.
“I’m not sure what it is you want us to do, Margaret.” Liz was dressed in turquoise cotton cashmere, a shortsleeved tunic over a slim skirt that hit her at mid-calf.
“Frankly, Lisbon, neither do I.” Margaret’s electric blue eyes were undeniably worried. “But I know my son’s in the sort of trouble that neither Hanley nor I is capable of dealing with.”
“I don’t think your husband would agree with that.” Nick, dressed in jeans and a blue polo shirt, sat next to Liz on the twin to the love seat Margaret Fitzpatrick occupied. His nearly black hair was still damp from the shower.
Margaret’s smile held a trace of bitterness. “Hanley is one of those people who need to be in control of any situation.”
“Does he know about this?” Liz’s vague hand gesture included the three of them.
“He and Emerson will be tied up with business all morning. I’m sure, however, that once they return they’ll learn of your visit.” The sigh was small, but no less heartfelt. “There are times when I feel more like a prisoner in this house than the mistress of it. But it doesn’t matter.” Her voice gained an edge. “My son is in serious trouble, and I’m afraid it will only get worse unless something is done quickly.”
“Mother told me that Blair still lives here in the house,” Liz said.
“He passes through on occasion, and the answer to your next question is yes. I have tried to talk to him. He puts me off by saying he has no idea what I’m talking about. A mother knows when her children are trying to hide something from her.”
“Mine always did,” Nick said.
Margaret’s laugh was small, but she uncurled from the protective nest she’d made for herself and put her feet on the floor. “This all started when Hanley gave our future son-in-law a position in one of his companies.” She took a deep breath. “A position he’d promised to Blair.”
“Nothing like a vote of confidence from your father,” Nick said.
“Blair still has a year of college left. By the time he graduates, the position will be open again.”
“And his brother-in-law will always be one step ahead of him,” Liz pointed out.
Margaret looked at her hands in her lap. “Hanley doesn’t understand Blair.”
“What you mean is Blair was not created in Hanley’s image.”
“I know that what Blair is doing is just his way of hurting Hanley. But I’m afraid the only one who’ll end up hurt is Blair.” Margaret’s eyes pleaded. “Lisbon, you know what it’s like to watch helplessly while someone you love destroys himself. Please. I have nowhere else to turn.”
“If I do this,” Liz said, “I have to handle it without interference. And I have to know I won’t suddenly have the rug pulled out from under me.”
Margaret leaned forward. “You have my word.”
“What’s all this ‘me’ and ‘I’ business?” Nick wanted to know. “What happened to ‘we’ and ‘us’?”
“I meant what I said, Nick.” Liz fastened the shoulder restraint with a decisive snap as the Blazer rolled down the tree-lined driveway. “You don’t have to do this.”
Nick paused at the gate of the Fitzpatrick estate and then wheeled the Blazer onto the street. “That overeducated, overindulged brat pulled a gun on us for the hell of it, McGillis. Call me petty, but that ticks me off.”
“So you don’t agree with Margaret’s theory.”
“That her son fell in with bad company he met at some dive? I don’t know too many guys who frequent places like that who speak French like a native.” Nick glanced across at her. “Did you recognize him?”
“No. He’s too young to have been among my circle of friends, and I quit going to the parties and the country club a long time ago. I don’t think he had any idea who I was.”
“He does now.” Nick braked for a stoplight.
“Only if Blair told him.”
Nick shook his head. “They went right on with Blair’s sister’s engagement party like nothing was wrong.”
“That’s the way it’s done. Appearance is everything.”
The light changed, and Nick accelerated through the intersection. “I heard that same tone in your voice when you were talking about Blair’s not being made in his father’s image. What was that all about?”
“Let’s just say I know what it’s like to live with a father who thinks offspring were created as monuments to himself.”
Nick’s head snapped around, but Liz’s face was averted. He returned his attention to driving. “What about the list of Blair’s friends his mother gave us?”
Liz cleared her throat. “I recognize some of the surnames. Mother can help out there. I think this bar is probably our best bet.” She fingered a plain white matchbook with “Randy’s Beer and Billiards” printed on it.
“Could be a dead end.”
“Maybe. Turn right at the next corner. We might as well see Mother now.”
Nick made the right-hand turn. “How’s it going with your brother’s therapy?”
“Two steps forward, one step back.” Her voice was quiet.
“Gambling is a tough addiction to kick.”
She nodded wordlessly, her jawline tight, and didn’t speak again until Nick had parked the Blazer in the circle drive in front of an imposing fieldstone house with mullioned windows. “Nick, there’s one other thing you need to consider before you get into this.”
“I might have to dress up and go to another party?”
“I’m serious. Hanley Fitzpatrick is not going to like our involvement. He can’t do much to me. He wouldn’t dare. But he could make a lot of trouble for you.”
“Trouble is my middle name.”
“This isn’t funny, Nick. Fitzpatrick isn’t a nice man.”
Nick met her eyes squarely. “I’m not nice either when I’m pushed,” he said, “and that man has pushed too far already. He’s pushed his son into some serious jail time, and if we don’t do something quick, he may push him into an early grave.”
A smile curved the corners of her mouth. “Don’t ever get on my case about rescuing strays again, Nicholas Ransom.” She shook her head. “You’re such a fraud.”
Physically, Daphne McGillis and her daughter were nearly carbon copies. Same blue eyes, same delicate mouth, same firm jawline. Daphne was a couple of inches shorter than her daughter and, because she didn’t exercise as much, had rounder curves. Whereas Liz’s shoulder-length hair was dark brown, Daphne’s was wheat-colored. Her usually mischievous eyes were sober.
“There’s a club tennis tournament starting today,” she said, her voice husky due to a damaged larynx. “That’s where you’ll probably find most of these people this afternoon.” She handed the list across a glass coffee table to her daughter. “Blair and Carey Lewis always play doubles.”