Death Loves a Messy Desk (35 page)

“That’s nonsense. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Here’s what I do know. I know that the guy’s dead in the trunk. I know that Barb is gone, dead, hiding, kidnapped, or otherwise connected with the killers. I don’t know which. But I do know she has to be at the center of this. I know that Dyan is dead because of something she found out. I’m lucky I looked like a good person to frame for her death, or I would be dead, too. I also know that two truckers who seem to have a connection to you tried to kill me last night. And I know that they’re in the morgue now. Everything comes back to Quovadicon.”

The dark, intelligent eyes lit up with amusement. “You think I created all this death and destruction from the vantage point of this wheelchair?”

Is that what Robbie believed? “You’re involved somehow. And you must be aware that your son is devastated. He cares deeply for Barb Douglas or whoever she really is. Fredelle is having some kind of breakdown. One of your employees is dead, killed in your offices. Three other men are dead. It’s time to come clean.”

He met my eyes, and I felt a chill down my bones. “Perhaps you’re right, Miss Adams. Some people may need to know. But you’re not one of them.”

“I think I have a right to know. Dyan died because she wanted to meet with me to tell me something.”

“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time meddling in things you have no knowledge of. That does not convey rights. You are lucky you weren’t killed. As you said, the men who chased you in the truck are now dead. You don’t need to worry about them anymore, but I suggest you stick to what you do best. What is it? Yes, closets. So turn your talents to helping the ladies keep their shoes in good order and keep away from my business.”

“I think
you
made the call to clear out the office the day Dyan was killed.”

“That I did not do. Why would I? Do you think I got where I am by wasting time and money?”

“Maybe it was worth it to frame me.”

“I don’t need to frame you, Miss Adams. You seem to be on a self-destruct course all on your own. People can get caught in your wreckage. Please stay away from my family. Robbie doesn’t need anyone to push him further over the edge.”

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

He smiled. “Thank you for bringing the fudge, Miss Adams. If you have concerns about what has been happening, I suggest you take your intrusive questions and bizarre accusations to the police.”

My phone vibrated. I answered.

“Chill. I’ll be right out. Don’t dial 911 yet,” I said and snapped it shut before making the best of a bad situation and leaving with my head high. “Keep in mind that several people know I was here to talk to you, and we’ll make sure others learn about it, too, including the police, as you suggested. And I don’t want to be followed, threatened, or otherwise bothered again.”

“Now you have your own black-and-white fudge,” I said, as my team of bodyguards settled back in my living room. “It’s your bribe for being there.”

Sally said, “Excellent choice of bribe. There’s nothing a box of black-and-white fudge can’t fix.” Sally has her goals in life, and they are unwavering. She added, “The fudge is fantastic, but I do feel let down in the drama department. After all, no desperate rescues were required.”

“That was fine by me,” I said. “I had been thinking more along the lines of a 911 call rather than having you storm the castle.”

“The biggest problem,” Margaret said, “was that we all looked like gold-plated wingnuts.”

I was glad she hadn’t mentioned the lost billable hours from her law practice.

“I know you both dropped everything to come out there and it turned out to be for nothing, but it might have been serious and it means a lot to have my friends with me when I need them.”

Sally and Margaret exchanged glances.

Sally said, “That reminds me, where exactly was Jack?”

More glances. Did they think I’d lost my sight?

I said, “Jack’s busy with the race fund-raiser for WAG’D. You know that.”

Sally said, “Right. All meetings, all the time. What’s that about? No wonder you’re upset.”

“I am not upset. I know there are lots and lots of organizational activities to make sure it runs smoothly. So it can be hard to reach him.” I lifted my chin. Who wants to be cast in the role of the dumped friend?

Sally’s right eyebrow was raised, and Margaret was looking even more inscrutable than usual. However, they did take the time to exchange glances once more.

“Will you two stop doing that? He has a life, that’s all. He doesn’t owe any of us attendance twenty-four-seven, last I looked.”

I thought that sounded credible for a complete and utter lie. Maybe I fooled some of the people this one time.

Sally said, “Oh, well. A bigger problem is Reg Van Zandt.”

“That’s the thing. I saw his face. He wasn’t surprised by my information. I’m convinced he already knew Barb wasn’t who she said she was. But I don’t believe he knows where she is now and I think he’s worried.”

Sally got to her feet. “But where does that leave us? Or I should say leave you, because I have to get home.”

Margaret stood up, too. “I’d better hit the road, too.”

As she opened the door, Sally called out. “Watch the news. Todd Tyrell might be on to something.”

I said, “Oh, don’t be ridic—”

But Margaret had already clicked the remote. “Todd gives me the creeps, but he always seems to be ahead of the cops. Can’t argue with that.”

I blinked to avoid the flash of teeth. Todd was on location, on a grassy stretch near a ravine. Although the trees behind him were swaying in the wind, his gelled hair remained unmoved. Naturally, he was in full verbal flight.

Margaret said, “Whoa.”

I crossed my arms and glowered at the screen. “Two more murders? Look at him. He can scarcely contain his glee.”

Sally delayed her departure and stepped back into the room and said, “Shhh.”

A shot of the blue Impala flashed across the screen before the camera returned to Todd.

The Quovadicon office appeared behind Todd’s head this time. Like magic. While the very photogenic Autumn stared teary-eyed and Mr. Halliday scowled at the cameras, poor Fredelle could be seen gesturing for the camera crew to leave. Her neat silvery hair stood on end, and she had the look of a small, trapped pet. The image behind Todd switched. Of course it did. WINY no longer had to rely on last year’s stock footage of me being hauled into the cop shop wearing my pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers. Now they had new material: I was being hauled out on a stretcher, but it certainly looked like I was being grilled by Nick. He looked like an action adventure hero. I managed to convey the impression that I was drug-addled and possibly inebriated. My head was bleeding, but I figured most people watching this clip would assume it was splatter from one of my many victims.

“What?”
I squeaked.

“An
altercation
?” I shouted at the television. “I was
pursued
, you pointy-headed orange mutant. I thought they were going to kill me.”

I stared at the television, ignoring the blatant character trashing that Todd usually generated. The shot of Fredelle brought to mind another apparent fact that had been bothering me. Fredelle knew Reg Van Zandt’s voice. They talked all the time. Yet she hadn’t recognized that the call was a prank. So which was it? Had Reg really made that call, or had Fredelle lied about that to implicate me?

Sally and Margaret left me stewing over that problem and the broadcast as a whole. When the phone rang, I was pacing irritably, trying to figure out a way to interrogate Fredelle. I considered letting it go to message. Todd’s broadcasts often lead to a flurry of bizarre calls. But there was no point in procrastinating. Just get it over with. I snatched up the phone and said, “Charlotte Adams.”

“Hello. This is Hugo Speigl returning your call. You wanted to talk about Barbara?” He had a nice voice, slightly formal and elegant, European perhaps.

I inhaled. “I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“This will sound very strange, but someone seems to have assumed her identity, and that person is involved in some dangerous business.”

“Heavens,” he said. “Really? Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. But there’s a chance it was someone who knew her. If I e-mailed you a photo, could you tell me if you know this person?”

He paused. “I suppose that would be all right.”

“It’s just a name. Probably it’s no one you know. But this woman is in grave danger, so if you do have information, you may help save her life.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Yes, I will do that.”

I thanked him, jotted down his e-mail address and told him I’d get it to him as soon as possible.

“I am just going out for a few hours,” he said. “I will look for it when I return.”

Robbie answered his phone on the first ring. Maybe he didn’t get that many calls. Maybe he was hoping it was Barb.

“I have a lead,” I said.

“What kind of lead?”

“Can you meet me at Jumping Java in twenty minutes? Bring me that memory stick with a selection of photos. I’ll fill you in when you get there.”