“A year now, Jesse.”
“Bascom around?”
“No, sir — no, sorry, Jesse. I believe he went over to the Wickham property. Is there something I can help you with?”
“No, I think I’ll head over there. You want to give him a heads-up, go ahead. Nice meeting you.” Jesse started to turn, then turned back around. “Dylan, who did you deal with at the PPD when you registered?”
A careless smile washed over Taylor’s handsome, clean-shaven face. Jesse recognized the look.
“Alisha.”
“How’d you know?”
Jesse shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
Once outside, he just stood in the sun for a minute, eyes shut, letting it warm him.
30
The Wickham estate was on the ocean side of the island and it was nothing so much as large. The main house was one of those faux old New England houses with Cape Cod — gray shingles surrounded by a six-foot-high, new-to-look-old stone wall. The house was meant to give someone coming upon it a warm, rustic feel, but was, in fact, the size of an aircraft hangar and about as cozy as a solid-state drive. Jesse had been inside a few times and knew its interior was all granite, tile, marble, and exotic woods. Grant Wickham, who owned a specialized software company in Boston, had built the house about eight years earlier and had since moved on to bigger, better houses spread across the country. He let friends or business associates use the place for a few weeks at a time or rented it out while he was in Aspen or East Hampton or Jackson Hole.
Whether it was the warmth of the sun or because he just felt like it, Jesse decided to have a little fun. He liked the notion of sticking it to Roger Bascom. Bascom was quick to tell anyone who would listen that island security was beyond reproach and that Jesse’s cops were no more than glorified ticket-givers. Jesse knew better. If there was one thing he’d learned over the course of his career, it was that nothing and no one was ever completely secure. As Jesse approached the Wickham place, he pulled in between some trees, got out of the Explorer, and lifted its hood as if something was wrong with the engine, and then walked around to the front of the Ford. The trees and the raised hood blocked him from view of the security cameras. He was over the stone wall without much effort, though his wrecked right shoulder barked at him.
Jesse had come over the wall behind the pool house and cabanas. Some pool house. The thing was the size of a three-bedroom ranch. Jesse figured he’d come along the pool, scout out Bascom’s location, and walk right up behind him. But when he came around the side of the pool house, it wasn’t Bascom he saw.
Bella Lawton was faceup, sunning herself on a chaise longue at the side of the infinity pool. Other than her sunglasses, the PR flack was wearing only what she had been born into the world with. This might’ve been a thirteen-year-old boy’s dream, but it was more than a little awkward for Jesse. Awkward because he’d just climbed over the wall and because it was difficult not to stare. He wasn’t going to run or to climb back over the wall. He wasn’t a man to run or hide.
Instead, he cleared his throat loudly enough so that Bella would know he was standing there. But if Jesse expected her to grab a towel and cover up in embarrassment, he’d been wrong. She smiled, raising up the back of the chaise.
“Chief Stone — Jesse.”
“Bella.”
She reached over to the Adirondack chair next to her and patted the seat. “Sit.”
He sat.
“It’s okay to stare, Jesse. Men have been staring at me since I can remember. Women, too. I like it. I like the attention. Do you think that’s weird?”
“Sometimes I played ball in front of thousands of people. Sometimes in front of hundreds. I liked the thousands better. But I’m a cop, Bella, not a shrink. If you’re happy, I guess that’s what’s important.”
The smile that had been on her face disappeared. “I didn’t say I was happy.” She took off her glasses, turned, and stared Jesse in the eye. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”
“Uh-huh.”
She beamed at that. “Good.”
He let that go. “Look, Bella, it’s lovely to see you—”
She smiled again.
“What I mean to say is that you’re not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To see Bascom.”
She made a sour face, made a show of looking for him under her chaise. As she did, she made sure Jesse got a good look at her.
“Sorry,” she said. “As you can tell, he’s not out here. No offense, but don’t you think you might have had better luck coming in through the front door? It’s more traditional.”
“But then I wouldn’t have seen you.”
She liked that a lot. “I think he’s in the house. He and Stan have been bitching at each other all morning like an old married couple.”
“About what?”
She shrugged, her round, firm breasts rising and falling as she did. “Who knows?”
“How’s the promo going for the event?”
Her smile did its vanishing act again. “Not great. Something better happen soon or I’ll be begging C-listers to come.”
“Good luck with that,” he said, standing up. “I better go find Roger.”
“Jesse, if you ever want to go to dinner...” She didn’t finish her sentence.
He stared down at her. She was beautiful and under most circumstances would have been almost impossible to resist, but these weren’t most circumstances. Bella’s beauty only served to remind him of Diana’s and how much he missed her.
31
Jesse could hear their voices as he walked through the restaurant-sized kitchen and toward the cavernous great room. Bella’s assessment was spot on. Though Jesse couldn’t hear what was being said, Bascom and White were definitely not pleased with each other. He hadn’t thought much of White when they’d met, but given how he was getting under the usually unflappable Roger Bascom’s skin, Jesse thought he might have to reconsider. Anybody who could get Bascom to react this way deserved a second chance. Bascom’s back was to Jesse, White looking over the security man’s shoulder. Unlike with the sunbathing Bella, Jesse didn’t need to clear his throat to be noticed. White’s eyes got big with something that looked like a cross between panic and anger.
“Chief Stone!” White said too loudly, as if to cue Bascom to shut up. “Come in. Come in.”
Jesse wondered what it was White didn’t want him to hear. Maybe it was what Bella Lawton had already confessed to him, that this gala for Terry Jester wasn’t coming together as expected and that the big party was going to be a big bust instead. Maybe it was something else. When Bascom turned to face Jesse, there was no confusing the meaning of his expression. He was pissed.
“Stone! How the hell did you get in here?”
“Through the kitchen.”
Stan White grinned at Bascom’s annoyance, but Bascom was unamused.
“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”
“Maybe you better check with the guys manning the video monitors. I guess they think I’m still looking under the hood of my Explorer.”
The grin was gone from Stan White’s face, as he realized he wasn’t sure how much of the argument Jesse had heard.
“Never mind how you got in here, Chief,” White said.
“Jesse. Call me Jesse, Stan.”
He liked to discombobulate people with that line. There were times, in their confusion, that they’d say things they hadn’t meant to. This wasn’t one of those times. White composed himself before he spoke again.
“Yes, Jesse, I’ll remember that. Like I was saying, never mind how you got in here. No one likes having their private conversations overheard, even when that someone is the chief of police.”