Five O’Clock Shadow (7 page)

“My lawyer?”

“That Mathers guy. We were covered, had pretty good insurance, but he sweetened the pot for all of us. And I don't want to sound unappreciative.”

Sam, of course. He would have taken care of things. She vaguely wondered where he'd gotten the money, what account was it that hadn't required her signature for withdrawals. There was every indication that the sum was sizeable. She was tempted to ask how much, but it would seem a little gauche and too much like equating exchanging lives for payoffs. Maybe Randy had left some fund to be administered by his lawyer.… She really needed to take a more active part in managing her affairs.

“Well, I'm glad the money end worked out.” She cleared her throat. “And please offer my condolences to your sister-in-law,” she offered lamely. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. She backed a couple steps towards the door. The owner nodded, then abruptly turned on his heel and walked back to the work area. She felt dismissed…somehow she seemed to be part of the problem, at least to the dead man's brother-in-law, and certainly less than popular with him.

She stepped out into the sunshine but couldn't shake the depression that settled around her. The wind had died down and the air was crisp but not bone-chilling. Still, she felt cold. She sat for a moment before starting her car and tried to gather her confidence.

Chapter Four

Archer and Tom hadn't exactly welcomed her back with open arms, but after reviewing the prospectus, they'd backed off, decided that she meant to join them, become an active partner no matter what they threatened. So they'd conceded, at least for now. And it felt good to be doing something, giving her attention to something other than herself.

Her office had been nicely equipped. Someone had been thoughtful enough to remove Randy's furniture, desk, credenza, book cases, but it had his feel to it. She'd have to work at getting used to it. Maybe not get used to, but practice ignoring, that would be more like it. She had a private bathroom. And a cloak closet. Which struck her as archaic. Cloaks? But that's what her secretary insisted on calling it.

The fortyish woman seemed nervous as she pointed out the new desk, a little number in walnut with delicately carved legs. Apologetic for her choices, afraid that Pauly might not like her decisions in office trappings. But Noralee's taste was perfect in furnishings, just markedly floozy in dress. Her blouses always dipped a little too low and looked out of place with her usual choices of straight-cut navy or black suits with short skirts. And the jewelry always jangled.

Noralee was a fixture, and Pauly trusted she had stock in a company that specialized in pancake cover-up. The receiver of the white phone at her desk was permanently dyed orange from being nestled against a thickly layered cheek. By Noralee's own admission “she had had everything tucked that could be.” And looked pretty good, Pauly admitted, tucks and makeup included, faintly reminiscent of a starlet of some sort. But it wasn't an image that would wear well.

“The print is great.” Pauly indicated the three by four foot framed poster of the Bernalillo Wine Festival hanging behind the desk, a Betty Sabo with adobe church and gnarled grape vines in varying shades of fall brown.

“Mr. Dougal chose that. It's just right for this room, don't you think?”

Pauly agreed and thought of how helpful Tom had been. Apologized for his hastiness in thinking she might not be right for the Water Conservancy project. Said that it was hers if she still wanted it, that he'd help fill in the gaps, sort of tutor her if she thought she needed it. Then he'd suggested dinner.

On Friday. If she didn't think it was too soon. And that was his way of letting her know that he considered it a date,
wanted
it to be a date, had even sent a dozen yellow roses to confirm it.

“Will there be anything else? You can buzz me on the intercom.”

“That's fine, Noralee. Thank you.” Pauly waited for the door that connected her large office with the secretary's alcove to click shut. Then she sank into the high-backed leather executive chair and half-heartedly wished that sitting in such a chair could turn her into one—an executive, savvy and slick and self-reliant.

If the truth were known, her bluff was wearing thin. All those reserves of self-reliance didn't seem to remain so readily available. Did she really want to do this? Take over a project on which no one wanted her? How far would she go out of spite? Just to prove that she could? But then again, what else did she have to do? And wasn't she committed to finding a killer? That part of her resolve hadn't wavered. She would devote her life to finding that answer.

On impulse, she rose and walked to a file cabinet, pulling the top drawer open. Empty. The second, the third, the fourth drawer—all empty. Just more proof that they thought her incompetent. Empty head, empty files. She hit the intercom button with her fist. Noralee answered the buzzer immediately.

“I need the files on the Rio Grande River project, especially the University study, the one completed last summer.”

“Mr. Brandon and Mr. Dougal thought that it would be better if—”

“Noralee, please step in here.” Pauly wasn't going to discuss Brandon/Dougal issues over the intercom. The door opened and Noralee fairly slunk into the room as she avoided eye contact.

“Get comfortable. We have some things we need to discuss.” Pauly waited for Noralee to pull up a chair upholstered in wine-red leather, its rounded arms defined by brass studs. More furniture of Noralee's choosing; she must find the place quite comfy. Pauly gave it another minute, a little squirm-time, before she began.

“The files are empty. I have no supplies, no computer. There is furniture in this room but little more. I am not a figurehead. I'm here to work. And that means tools and materials. I believe that you can make arrangements to supply those?”

“It's just that Mr. Brandon and—”

“Noralee, I will say this just once. I don't give a large rat's behind what either of the two
other
principals think, do, et cetera—you work for me. If that's going to be a problem, let's give your replacement some thought right now.”

“No.” Noralee looked startled. “I mean I really want to work for you. I worked for Mr. McIntyre.” A nervous laugh while she checked the heel of her shoe. “But, of course, you know that. It's just that it will take some getting used to, that's all.” The woman was obviously uncomfortable.

“How 'bout I allow you the next two seconds to do just that?” Pauly could feel the anger. How dare they set her up to be ineffective. To fail or just not work at all. Give her the office, the title, and nothing more. Take for granted that she couldn't handle the workload without giving her a chance to prove herself.

“Anything I can help with?” Tom had pushed open the office door.

“Mr. Dougal, I was—” Noralee had jumped up.

“Noralee, sit down. I don't think we've finished here.” Pauly's voice was firm and she waited until the flustered woman sank back into the chair, nervously and hopelessly pulling her skirt towards her knees.

“Actually, Tom, maybe you can help. I seem to be missing the files on the Rio Grande project. I'd like to keep at least a copy in my office. Recent decisions by legislators, reports by special action groups, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service concerns, that sort of thing. All the data that Randy had collected.”

“Sure. That can be arranged. We've set up an archive down the hall but if you'd rather work here, that's fine. The decision to move everything out was mine. Thought I'd let you tell us what you wanted to keep close by. Have Noralee help you get set up.” He smiled broadly at the nervous secretary. “Is it any secret that Randy wasn't exactly the neatest person? I've left everything from the files in boxes, pretty much in the order they came out of the drawers or off the tables. I can have the stuff brought back. But you should have seen this place. Had to get rid of the clutter just to decorate.”

Pauly had to laugh. Randy was a slob when it came to surrounding himself with a project. Literally. Stacks of papers, manuals, everything within reach in case it might be needed. She had helped to refile after more than one project. “I won't promise to be any neater. Noralee, get a couple guys from the mail room to help cart the stuff up here. Just leave the boxes beside the cabinets. I'd like to pick through and decide what I need, at my leisure.” Noralee nodded and left the room. A little too hurriedly, Pauly decided. She was going to have trouble with that woman. Loyalty problems. It was going to be “Mr. McIntyre this, Mr. McIntyre that.” Would she be able to handle it?

“I'm looking forward to Friday.”

She'd almost forgotten Tom. “Me, too.” And that wasn't exactly a lie. It would be good to go out.

He moved to stand beside her and take her hand. “I hope any misunderstandings are forgiven. I want you to be comfortable here. I want you to be successful. Can you believe that?”

“I want to believe it.” Almost desperately, Pauly thought. She needed to trust both Tom and Archer. Needed to be able to go to them with problems. But what had Tony said? The firm had hired a private detective? This might be as good a time as any to let him know that she knew.

“Tom, why are you having me investigated?”

“I'm not sure I'm following you.” He looked perplexed but let her hand drop.

“I believe the firm has hired a PI, and I seem to be his target.” Her voice was low, matter-of-fact.

“That's simply not true.” Tom's hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him, and his eye contact was steady. “We wouldn't do such a thing. But more importantly, there would be no reason to do something like that. Do you know the supposed reasoning behind it?”

“I hoped you could tell me.” Pauly wanted to squirm away but she didn't. She was as direct as he was and as deliberate; her eyes never wavered.

“I can't help. It just isn't something we'd do.” She thought he looked a little apprehensive. “Who told you this?”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he didn't wait for her answer before going on. “Is someone trying to scare you?”

“No. But I believe my source, who shall remain nameless for now.” She gently pushed Tom's hands away. “I want this partnership to be successful. I'll do everything I can to make it so.”

“No one thinks otherwise.” Tom had stepped back but was watching her. Like he was seeing her for the first time? Trying to size up her independence? “Do you feel comfortable having Noralee as your secretary?” The question seemed sincere. Was there some reason she shouldn't? God, Pauly chided herself, she was beginning to suspect everything.

“You think there might be problems because she was close to Randy?” she asked. Everyone knew how loyal Noralee had been.

“Their affair was history. I hope you know that. I just may not be aware of any hard feelings on her part. Some residual anger at not remaining the favorite. I'm not saying this very well. I just want you to know that you can hire someone else, someone outside the company, if you want.”

Mistress? Pauly hoped she hadn't noticeably winced. But did this revelation really matter? Personally, that is? She could have guessed. And wasn't it big of the firm to offer to let her hire a new, unblemished replacement? Damn, it was not something she'd seek permission to do if she chose to go that way. She was getting very tired, very quickly at being “allowed” things. The newly dead, lying husband's old mistress was now her secretary. She wasn't even jolted. It was just one more unknown to face…not really another fib, just something that had gone unmentioned.

“I'd like to give Noralee a chance, be fair, try to appreciate how she must feel.” Not to mention me, Pauly thought.

“You're a trooper. Could I interest you in lunch later?”

“I have some errands. How 'bout a rain check?” She smiled sweetly, didn't want to disappoint her only ally, but she also wanted to be alone. She was a little bothered that she hadn't known about the affair. The only thing she'd known about Randy's relationship with his secretary was that he had had to reprimand her for wearing patterned stockings with rhinestones and had struggled with whether or not he should put it in her personnel file. She felt like laughing, but thought that maybe once she'd started, she wouldn't be able to stop.

“Fair enough. I can wait until Friday.” Tom turned at the door. “You know, you're going to do all right. Just give it some time.” A mock salute and he was gone. She swallowed hard and felt the urge to laugh melt away.

By lunch some thirty boxes had been deposited around the office—some stacked next to the filing cabinets, others on the conference table, still more on the floor along the wall. And she felt overwhelmed. For the first time in almost a month, she would be going through his things. She thought of the storage bin. Grams had thoughtfully boxed and stored Randy's belongings from the apartment. Pauly could take her time looking through the odds and ends of clothing, toiletries, whatever else had been collected over his lifetime…but this, this couldn't wait.

She pulled open the box nearest the desk. Folders were crammed to its limit. She lifted a handful out and saw his handwriting—notes, telephone numbers, doodling—and it was too painful. She closed the box and pushed it aside. Maybe she wasn't ready. She glanced at her watch. What she was ready for was lunch. Fortify herself with something from Cristy's, then come back and tackle this mess. She complimented herself on a good plan, grabbed her purse and coat, and locked the door behind her.

The man looked familiar leaning against her car in the parking lot. But it wasn't until she got closer that she realized the mouton collar of the leather bomber jacket had been pulled up to hide the inked tendrils running up his neck and what the collar didn't cover, the black wool turtleneck did. And the result was an absence of carny flavor, leaving a starkly handsome man who left her a little breathless, and irked with herself at the attraction.

“I'd just about given up hope. Thought the first day on the job was going to mean working through lunch.”

“Almost did. What are you doing here? You didn't just drop by some twenty miles out of your way.”

“I cannot tell a lie. Your grandmother was worried about you and I volunteered to check out the situation and give her a full report.” His grin only made him more irresistible, and she felt herself relaxing.

“So? What do you think? Am I okay?” She pirouetted and was instantly sorry she had when she heard his appreciative whistle and felt the red creep up her neck.

“More than okay, Grams will be happy to know. So, your wheels or mine?”

“For?”

“Lunch.”

Had she thought there was a chance that the Harley wasn't his? Probably not. The gleaming black machine parked beside her car went with the bomber jacket. Finished the “look” as it were. And why not go to lunch on the back of a Harley? Maybe this was the diversion she needed. She was feeling a real need to do something she wanted and not something that was expected of her. He certainly came with Grams' endorsement. And she could use a friend she could trust.

“Yours.” She pointed at the bike and thought he looked surprised, then pleased.