Page 114 of I’ll Be Watching You

One of Sal’s men—not Carter, she noted with interest—escorted her to the back‑room bar. The light here was lower, amber and forgiving around the edges while brighter lights burned over two of the four poker tables. The soft slap of cards and the dry rattle of chips reminded her how much she detested gambling of all kinds. Sometimes Roger indulged, and he always lost, but she never gave him more than ten thousand. It made him happy, and that made her happy. Compromise had kept their forty‑four years steady as a metronome.

Sal sat at a corner table with two other men who weren’t playing, men who were watching the games, the room, and the security cameras visible only from that corner. He nodded to each and they quickly left as she approached. Sal rose, took her hands, kissed her cheek. He was two inches shorter than she, but his posture and broad chest always made him seem larger than life.

“Wine?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the bartender. “Or something stronger?”

“I can’t stay. Roger is out front.” Behind her, the bar hummed, filling the orders of the poker players and the few men and women who sat at the bar watching the games or waiting for their turn to lose their savings.

“You look lovely.”

“Thank you. We were at a charity dinner, but left as soon as it was acceptable to do so. I really detest the small talk, and Roger and I have an early tee time.” The words were light, a pretense of normalcy. But her damp palms betrayed her nerves. Sal would understand, but she would prefer to keep her worries casual, lest he think less of her.

“I never understood the allure of golf,” Sal said with a smile.

“And I never understood the allure of poker,” she replied, matching him. Then she leaned in and lowered her voice. “Sal, Peter has become a liability.”

“He has kept me apprised of the situation this week.”

“I wish you had told me how you planned on taking care of the nosy nurse. I think an accident would have been a far better disposal method.”

Sal’s face tightened. “Perhaps, but Peter said sooner, not later. An accident takes time to set up. Peter was worried that the nurse would reach out to the Angelharts—and he was right about that, once we cracked her phone.”

Mildred frowned. “Jack and Margo Angelhart came to see me.”

“And you’re just now telling me?”

“I handled them.” She smiled darkly, blinked and smoothed her hair away from her face. Then in her best old woman voice said, “Oh, I’m happy to help, but I don’t see how I can, I’m retired.”

“You haven’t changed,” Sal said with a nostalgic grin.

“What happened with Cooper Angelhart?”

“Someone got wind of the planned hit and he was transferred out of state where we don’t have any connections.”

“Good,” she said.

“Good? I thought you wanted him dead.”

“In hindsight, if he remembered anything, he would have said something by now,” Mildred said. “Peter is the issue. He is reckless, volatile, and panics at the drop of a hat.”

“I can, of course, take care of him,” Sal said. “But would that be wise so close to the sale next week?”

“Do you think he has evidence that could damage us?”

She watched Sal consider the question. When you worked with unreliable people, worry was a constant.

She had hired Peter many years ago at Hollander & Wyck, one of the companies she and Roger had founded. Peter had been brilliant in how they could expand their businesses. He understood not only the grant process, but also had keen insight into how to make problematic trials work for them. Mildred had always been irritated that one negative reaction could tank an entire project. Peter had smart ways around those problems that she greatly admired.

Of course, she knew he had a few mishaps along the way, poor judgments like his gambling habit and the way he panicked at the first sign of trouble. Still, his shrewdness seemed to outshine his misjudgments. Now? She felt his mistakes like a bruise that never went away.

“Well,” Sal said finally, “I can look into that. It’s a risk, either way we go. I think he’s better off dead, but perhaps we need to clean him out first, ensure nothing can bite us if he has a safe-deposit box. I’ll put Carter on it as soon as possible. But we have one other problem to take care of.”

“Is that why Carter isn’t here?” Her question was casual, but her eyes searched the room automatically, in case she had missed him the first time. She hadn’t.

He nodded once.

“Those same two Angelharts who spoke to you confronted Tim Miller in the VA parking lot this afternoon. Peter sent me the security recording. Visual only, from a distance, but the conversation went on too long for it to be a casual passing.”

“He doesn’t know about either of us.”