Beads of Doubt (17 page)

“I didn’t,” Lauren said. “Shit.” We all looked at her in surprise. “I mean, damn. Uh, sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “There are other ways to get information. In fact . . . I already have some ideas . . .”

Lauren looked at Beth. “Is she always like this?”

“Always,” she said, and punctuated it with a yawn. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Me, too,” Lauren said. “But I would like to hear what you’re going to do.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to call Bruce, the contractor next door. I have a feeling he knows about Andrew’s investments.” I smiled at Nate. “And I’ll track down the Yancys, and someone will go to the office.”

“But what if Houston is there?” Lauren asked.

Nate reached over to slide an arm around me. “Then we should go when he’s not there. Like right now. I hope there’s a light on.” He turned to me. “Are you driving, or am I?”

“Oh, I can. But, Lauren, we’re going to need your keys, too.”

“My keys? But if you go in there, isn’t that illegal? They’ve sealed off Andrew’s office.”

“We won’t touch anything,” I assured her. “And if you’re not comfortable about this, just tell me where your purse is and I’ll borrow the keys and bring them right back.”

Lauren started into detailed descriptions of what I needed to do when I got to the office and how, if the police had just turned the machine off, I was going to have to get into certain programs and do certain things to be able to get information. I could see why Houston had hired her. She was as detail oriented as anyone I’ve ever met.

After about five minutes she went to get paper and pen to write instructions down, and after another five minutes I gave up.

“Won’t work,” I said. “Either you come with us, or I’ll have to steal Andrew’s computer and bring it here.”

Lauren was appalled by that, especially since there would be no sign of forced entry, which would, of course, point to her complicity. And we had to make sure that her computer was properly prepared to accept things, because she certainly didn’t want to send anything by e-mail, which would leave a trail.

Nate looked at me. “I’m just waiting for her to say that the moon has to be in the second house—”

“And Jupiter aligned with Mars?” I finished.

Beth pulled her bead bracelets off and began shaking them like a tambourine. “Then peace will gui-ide the planets—”

Together we sang, “And lo-ove will steer the stars . . .”

Before we could really get rolling, Lauren stood up and said in what I thought was a rather prim manner, “I will get my computer set up here, and then I’ll go with you. However, I want you to know that my father will not be happy if I end up in jail.” When none of us responded, she added, “I think one of you should go start the getaway car.”

We took Nate’s Lincoln Navigator because it had
an innate respectability that Beth’s PT Cruiser couldn’t match; it was also cleaner than my Land Rover Discovery. When Nate started up the car, the radio came on, playing eighties rock and roll. “Walk Like an Egyptian.”

“Might be good advice,” Beth commented.

The rest of the trip was spent reassuring Lauren that we were not doing anything foolish, and that we were not going to go to jail. It was her office and she had a key. Houston had never specified that she was not to come back to work after five o’clock.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Beth asked. “Lauren or yourself?”

“Slow down and drive past the building,” I said to Nate. “We can check on lights, first.”

Which we did, and there was a faint haze from the back, but no cars in the parking lot. Nate pulled in and parked as close to the stairs as possible.

“Why are we parking here?” I asked.

“If we’re not doing anything wrong, then we shouldn’t be hiding,” Beth reasoned.

“Makes sense, I guess,” Nate said.

I wasn’t sure if I agreed, but I didn’t want to do any additional backseat driving. One does not get another date that way.

After some discussion I suggested that Lauren and I go up while Nate and Beth waited in the car. Nate wasn’t particularly thrilled with letting us go alone, but I reminded him it was just an empty building. And if the police should drive up, he and Beth could make some excuse as to why they were sitting in the dark in a parking lot. They could also hit the horn a couple of times so Lauren and I could find a place to hide.

It was Beth who vetoed that plan. “You two go up. I’ll stand at the back corner of the building and play lookout. Nate can park on the street behind the building, and if the police come, I’ll whistle.” Beth can whistle louder than a steam engine. “If you hear the whistle you two hide, and Nate can—”

“Tell me again how there is nothing wrong with this,” Lauren said.

We went with Beth’s idea. Lauren and I gathered our things and headed to the unobtrusive door on the side of the building, with Beth right behind us. Once we had it open, Beth waved and left. Lauren and I slipped on our gloves. Mine were black leather; hers were bright yellow dishwashing gloves, because that’s all I had that would fit her hands. We also had a flashlight, which we weren’t going to use unless we had to.

The inside of the building wasn’t what I would call pitch-black, but it was dark. The streetlights outside gave us some very bright spots and lots of shadows.

We paused long enough in Lauren’s office to let our eyes adjust, and then I followed her around the corner to Andrew’s door. It was closed, and there were half a dozen crisscrossings of crime-scene tape. I tested the knob.

“Locked,” I whispered. “Do you have the key?”

“In my desk.”

It’s funny: when you’re in a dark office after hours, all your primal preservation instincts kick in, whether you need them or not. We were whispering and tiptoeing like it mattered, but I doubted anyone would have heard us if we’d screamed.

Back in the front office I watched Lauren fumble to open her desk drawer because of her bulky gloves.

“Just take them off,” I said. “The police would expect to find your fingerprints, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Finally we were opening Andrew’s locked door. His blinds were closed, so it was like looking into a cave; I couldn’t see anything. We spent a minute or two studying the tape. Removing it was going to be a dead giveaway, in case anyone looked.

“We could crawl under,” I said.

“I have another idea.” She flicked on the flashlight just long enough for us to see Andrew’s desk. There was no computer. “Well that stinks,” she said, clicking off the light.

“I’ll say.” Neither of us moved, still standing near the door staring into the black hole like there was something to see. “Who do you think took it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Houston?”

“Could be. Or the police.” I had an idea. “Let me borrow your flashlight.”

I put my hand over most of the lens and clicked it on, running the light along the doorframe. The paint had been lifted off in a couple of place, as if the tape had been moved. Or maybe removed and replaced, which I’d have to think about later.

“Where are Andrew’s files?” I asked. “Contracts, papers, and things like that?”

In shadow I saw her shrug. “The police took the files on our clients. I told them that Houston was going to be unhappy, because we use those all the time. Andrew didn’t have any separate files that I knew about. Well, maybe there were a few in his office on investments that he was still researching. Or his apartment.”

A sharp whistle pierced the air as a graze of light touched the blinds in Andrew’s office.

I grabbed the door and pulled it closed. Lauren dashed off, and by the time I rounded the corner she was already reaching for the knob of the side door. “Get down,” I snapped.

“What do you mean?”

Another loud whistle. “No one out front can see the door, but they will see you. Crawl out. Flat, on your belly.”

“These are my new jeans—”

“You can’t wear them in jail.”

She opened the door, which luckily swung inward, and then she crawled out. “This hurts.”

I was right behind her, inching over the doorjamb and onto the cement walkway on my stomach, partly pulling myself with my elbows. It did hurt. I could see the car in the parking lot, its lights shining toward the building, but we were far enough away from it that I didn’t think the occupants of the car could see us.

I couldn’t get the door closed. I didn’t dare stand up and grab the knob, and I couldn’t shut it with my foot. Not only that, I was lying on several large acorns.

“You go ahead,” I whispered.

She had already covered so much ground I didn’t think she heard me.

Which still left the open door. I was going to have to turn around, close the door with my hand, and then crawl like a centipede to get out of there. I didn’t cuss, but I did consider it. My body was beyond the age when crawling was acceptable, and it certainly wasn’t comfortable. Just as I was halfway through the maneuver, the car in the parking lot swung around. I watched, not moving, as the lights went from pointing toward me, to away from me. The car stayed in the driveway facing out for a few seconds then pulled into the dark street.

Slowly, stiffly, I stood up and brushed myself off.

“Are you all right?” Beth called from the darkness nearby.

“Of course.”

I had skinned my elbows, scared myself, and thrown away a perfectly good evening that I could have spent with Nate. And why? To save Houston’s hide—and maybe to placate my relatives. It was a waste of my time and talents. Not my intelligence, because I obviously hadn’t used a lot of that.

Why did I care who killed Andrew? That was a job for trained professionals like Sergeant Granger and his partner Hagen. What I cared about was my mother and my house. The Manse. And here I was just outside the office of the man who was trying to take it away from me.

I had done it again.

Ready, fire, aim.

“Are you coming?” Beth called.

“Not yet.” I left the door open and went up to where she was standing with Lauren. Nate was in the Navigator with the window down.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not quite. I have one more thing I need to do.”

“What’s that?” Lauren asked.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t want to get into trouble, you sure want to know a lot. Maybe it’s better if you don’t ask questions,” I said. “This time, Lauren, I want you to stay here and be lookout. Can you whistle?”

“Not like Ms. Fairfield did. Maybe a little tune—”

“Nate? How about you?”

“Sorry, no. But, I can do an owl call and howl like a coyote. That one’s pretty convincing.”

I flashed him a look. “You sure it doesn’t sound more like a wolf?”

“Might,” he admitted with a smile. “But it’s loud enough for you to hear, and that’s all you really care about, right?”

“Absolutely. Lauren, you’d better give Beth your gloves.”

Nate climbed out of the SUV. “I’ll stand at the corner of the building, and Lauren, you can drive the getaway car.” He gave her the keys, which she took quickly enough.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Beth followed me to the door, and I closed it quietly once we were inside. “I hope we’re not going to do anything too illegal,” Beth said.

I thought about that while I waited for my eyes to get used to the darkness again. “I don’t think this is a mortal sin, if that’s what you’re asking. Just a venial one.”

“Should I say a prayer to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes?”

“As long as you do it quietly and you don’t take too long,” I said. “Lauren is getting antsy, and I don’t want her to call the police on us.” I started around the mahogany screen. “Come on. We’re going to look through Houston’s files to see if we can find out anything about the Manse.” I tripped over something and almost fell. It wasn’t big, but it was hard. “What in the world?” I got down on my hands and knees and felt around. “There’s something down here,” I said. “Help me find it.”

“If it’s a body you are in so much trouble . . .”

“It was small. Wait, I’ve got it!” I could feel the cool metal cylinder. “The flashlight.” I aimed it at the floor and turned it on. “I guess we dropped it when you whistled. This is a good omen.”

I could see Beth put her hands on her hips. “Next we’ll find a lock pick and a gun,” she said. “Wouldn’t those be good omens?”

“Come on.”

We went straight to Houston’s office and closed the door and the blinds before I turned the flashlight on. It was like a showcase room with no clutter and no personality. Even the little silver computer was gone—probably at home with him.

I moved the light beam around the room. Amazing how clean his bookshelves looked. “Maybe in those drawers,” I said, pointing at the two drawers beneath the shelves.

She took one side and I took the other, with the flashlight on the ground between us, pointing directly at the drawers. Someone had done a very meticulous job labeling each folder. I pulled out one—it was green and marked
New Century
. It contained background information on a real estate investment trust that was developing land in Chappell Hill, a community about a hundred miles southeast of Austin. There were plans, deeds, and projections, as well as deed restrictions and lots of other things that didn’t interest me.

I skimmed through half a dozen more before I concluded that green folders were about investments. I fingered through them one by one and found a blue folder.

It was marked
Linder
. It contained several sheets of information on John and Marion Linder who lived in Pflugerville. A time sheet listed every meeting Houston had with them, and a final paper showed where he had placed their funds. Very precise.

What I found noteworthy was the precision of the filing. I never imagined Houston to be so diligent in his business procedures. Just two years ago Houston’s company was not doing well, which is why he’d borrowed money from me. I guess I figure if you’re that careful, you’re bound to make money. Especially when you’re as good-looking and personable as Houston. My impression was that people liked doing business with him.