week so far demanded a martini, extra dry,” Sasha said as Kit slid onto a stool next to her. “How about yours?”
That was funny, Kit thought. If she were relying on that calculation, there wouldn’t be enough gin in the bar to make all the martinis she was due.
“I think I’ll just have a sparkling water,” she said and gave her order to the bartender.
“Suit yourself. Thank you, by the way, for coming downtown. I have to meet up with some people in Brooklyn Heights after this so I knew I wouldn’t have time to go back to the Upper East Side beforehand.”
“I imagine you’re in this area a fair amount during the week, because of your work.”
Sasha took a long, slow sip of her martini before answering. She was in black pants again, today with another gorgeous silk blouse, this one fir green. Her large emerald earrings matched it perfectly. Kit realized for the first time how deliberate and restrained the woman’s movements always were. There was nothing wasted, no nervous gestures or self-pacifiers—like brushing her hair back or touching a hand to her throat.
As Sasha set her martini down, her eyes briefly resting on the bar top, Kit glanced quickly behind her and scanned the room. She wanted to make certain no one new had come in since she’d arrived.
“One would think that, yes,” Sasha said, looking at her again, “but most of the big financial firms have moved uptown, and I’m actually down here very little. Tonight was unavoidable, though. Some of my colleagues and I had a big powwow with a fund of funds we’re hoping to do business with.”
“I hope it was worth the trip.”
“We’ll have to see. A few people stuck around for some post-meeting chitchat and I’ll have to catch up with them tomorrow and hear their take.”
On the drive downtown Kit had warned herself again not to pounce on Sasha, that the woman relished cat-and-mouse play in conversation and if she came on too strong, Sasha would shut down. But here was a small opening and she decided to grab it.
“I’m sorry things have been tough at work.”
“Tough?”
“You mentioned it on the phone earlier. That the mood there had been bad. Gloomy, you said.”
“Oh yes, that.”
Sasha let the word hang there. Okay, here we go with the kitty-cat tactics, Kit thought with irritation.
“It sounded from what you were saying on the phone that there might be a suspect in Matt Healy’s death.”
“I’m not sure. But there’s something going on. Lots of closed doors. I assume it involves the police investigation.”
“Do—”
“Oh, here’s your bubbly water,” Sasha interrupted as the bartender delivered Kit’s drink. “I shouldn’t have been indulging before you had it. That was rude of me.”
Sasha had deliberately dropped the topic and Kit was reluctant to press any more right then. She told herself to switch gears and circle back later. There was something Sasha knew, Kit was dead certain, and she had to find a way to extract it.
“That’s not a problem,” Kit said. “So tell me about your apartment. It’s a nice big space. Was there a decorating fantasy in the back of your mind when you bought it?”
“Nothing specific. I mean, that’s why I’m talking to you, isn’t it?”
“Of course. But it’s important to start with what works for you—colors you like, the type of furniture, the vibe. And you don’t have to have a grand scheme in mind, just a starting point. Maybe there’s a home in a movie you found captivating. Or a hotel you can’t get out of your mind. One client of mine started with just a piece of fabric she’d brought back from India.”
“Well, as you saw, the apartment’s modern. I definitely want to work with that, not fight it.”
“Good. It can be interesting sometimes to go against the grain, but it’s much simpler not to. Tell me about your last place. What did you like and not like? It can be helpful to consider what doesn’t work for you.”
“It was a duplex in a brownstone, my reward to myself after my career took off. But by the time I’d lived there five years, I’d been on one too many buying binges. There was just too much stuff, and it felt awfully, I don’t know, girlie all of a sudden.”
“Ah,” Kit said. “And you’d like to get away from that.”
“To be perfectly honest, it’s partly because of a guy.” Sasha had plucked the plastic toothpick from her drink, the one plunged through the chubby