Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 03 - A Deadly Change of Heart (6 page)

Chapter Seven

G
arrett Henderson shook my hand and gave me a warm smile.  He was tall and slender, with the lean muscles of a swimmer or a cyclist.  His dark hair was cut short o
n the sides and a little spiky o
n top.  He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses which actually added to the appeal of his smooth, tanned face.  I placed him in my same general age category
—
thirty something
—
but I wouldn’t have been shocked to find out he was forty.  His shirtsleeves were rolled up, like a man who likes to get into his work.  “You say you were a friend of Diane’s?” he asked.

I smiled back at him.  “More of an acquaintance,” I fibbed.  “I’ve been working with a detective on the investigation into her death and I wondered if you could tell me anything?”

“You’re with the police?” he questioned.

If Sam Wright found out about this, I’d be picking up garbage along the Pacific Coast Highway as part of my community service punishment until my fortieth birthday.  He’d probably make me wear a sandwich board that read: My name is Devonie Lace and I’m a compulsive snooper.  “No.  This is purely personal,” I admitted.

Garrett frowned.  “Darn shame about Diane.  She was a real trooper.  We really miss her around here,” he said.

I nodded in agreement.  “The paper said you were the one who reported her missing?”

“That’s right.  She didn’t show up for work on Monday morning.  That wasn’t like her.  She’d been here over a year and never missed a day.  She’d call if she was even going to be five minutes late,” he explained.

I took this all in.  I had very little insight into Diane’s character except for the letter to Bradley
and
I hoped Garrett could paint a clearer picture for me
—
fill in some details.  “What was her job here?” I asked.

Garrett glanced around the bustling newspaper room and motioned toward a closed door.  “Let’s go in my office where it’s quieter.”

I followed him
inside.  He offered me a seat
.

“Diane started out as a file clerk, but she was far too talented for that.  I could see it right away,” he said, almost proud that he’d found a diamond in the rough.

“So she advanced?” I questioned.

“Yes.  Not long before she died, I’d bumped her up to a reporter position.  She’d done a couple of real slick pieces.  Maybe you read them?”

I shook my head.  “
I was down in the Caribbean last year.  I didn’t see too many papers.”

Garrett gave me a surprised glance.  “Caribbean?  Sounds like a nice vacation.”

“Should’ve been, if the circumstances were different.”  I didn’t explain any further.  I was on a mission and didn’t want to get sidetracked with stories from my past.  “But I’d like to know more about Diane.  Do you think she was working on a story and crossed the wrong people?” I asked.

“You mean did her job get her killed?”

“I guess that’s the basic gist of my question.  Any idea what she was working on when she died?”

Garrett snickered.  “I said she was talented, but you don’t start out on the big stories.  You have to cut your teeth on small stuff, like school-board meetings and plans for building new malls
—
nothing that would even suggest murder.  Believe me, Diane’s death was not related to anything she was working on here.”

I frowned.  This seemed like a promising direction at first
—
fresh new reporter, inexperienced, uncovers the illicit works of a corrupt politician and ends up fish food.  Garrett sensed my disappointment.

“You ask me, her husband ought
to
be the one under the microscope,” he confided.

Our eyes met as if we’d both discovered we had the identical thought at the same moment in time.  I nodded and pointed my finger his direction.  “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell the police.”

Garrett sat up in his chair.  “Oh, believe me, it’s not like they haven’t already heard it before.  Do you know the first reaction from people who knew both Diane and her husband was to assume he’d killed her?”

I raised my eyebrows and moved to the edge of my chair.  “Really?  And they told the police this?”

“You bet they did.  We all did.  The guy’s a waste of skin.”  Garrett stared out into space and shook his head as though he were recalling an unpleasant morbid scene.

“Do
you know her husband?” I asked.

“Never met him.  But she’d told me enough to know he’s a low-life, two-timing, arrogant son-of-a…, a real scoundrel, if you know what I mean,” Garrett explained, with the look of disgust still on his face.

I knew exactly what he mea
nt.  There’s no pain greater tha
n the realization that the person you’ve devoted your entire adult life to, the person you trusted with your most intimate thoughts and dreams
—
your entire being
—
has no more regard for you than a speck of dust.  To be betrayed by the one person in the world you thought you could count on is almost unbearable.  To realize that for so many years, you never really had what you thought you had, that the whole relationship was based on a misconception
—
a lie
—
is more than anyone should have to endure.  Yes, I knew exactly what he was talking about, and my kinship with Diane Parker grew ten-fold in that moment.  I made a conscious decision that I’d see this to the end
—
I’d keep looking.  I’d pester Sam Wright until he got so sick of me he’d actually take some official action against me.  But I wouldn’t rest until Diane’s murderer was brought to justice.

I was about to leave when a thought crossed my mind.  “What happened to Diane’s personal belongings?  The things she kept here in her desk?” I asked.

“They were all packed up and given to Bradley,” he explained.

“Was there much?”

“I don’t think so.  I never saw it, but the clerk who packed it up said she only needed one paper box, so it couldn’t have been too much.  Why?” he asked.

“Just wondered,” I replied.

Garrett walked me out to the parking lot.  I thanked him for his time and opened the door to my Explorer, then stopped.  “You know the saddest part of this whole thing?” I said.

He looked at me questioningly, waiting for me to continue.

“Even if Bradley Parker didn’t kill Diane, the fact that everyone assumed he did, that he could, or even would
—
makes you wonder how his kids can stand to be on the same planet with him,” I said.

Garrett nodded.  “I don’t think his kids see him as the demon everyone else sees.  Oh, they know he’s no saint, but think about it.  Could you get out of bed every morning if you thought for an instant that your father threw your mother off a cliff?  You’d convince yourself it wasn’t so, for your own sanity.”

With that, I slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed.  The drive back to the marina seemed longer than it should have.  I hit every red light in San Diego, or at least it felt that way.

I left a message on Spencer’s voice mail to call me as soon as he could.  Within ten minutes, my phone rang.

“Devonie?  It’s Spencer.  What’s up?”

“Hey, Spence.  I need you to run another name for me,” I requested, wasting no time.

“Sorry.  No can do.”

“What?”

Spencer cleared his throat and spoke quietly into the phone.  “I’ve got a new boss and he watches me like a hawk.”

I frowned.  “What about from your house?” I asked.

“He’s got electronic eyes.  The guy raises paranoid to a whole new level.  I don’t think he has an ulcer, but he’s definitely a carrier,” Spencer joked.

“Why is he on your case?”

Spencer chuckled.  “He knows about my track record.  Figures once a hacker, always a hacker.”

“He’s right, you know,” I admitted.

“Yeah.  I wouldn’t give his kind a second thought, but if he catches me, it’s not a warning and a little slap on the wrist
—
it’s a trip to the big house.  I don’t think I’d do well in jail,” Spencer said.

“No.  Jail wouldn’t suit you.  Guess I’ll have to think of some other way to find out about Bradley Parker.”

“What’s the name, again?” Spencer asked.

“
Bradley Parker,” I repeated.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” he said.  I could hear Spencer fumbling with something on the other end of the phone.

“He owns a software consulting firm here in San Diego.  Maybe you’ve heard of him through his company.  It’s called Business Solutions,” I offered.

“Yeah.  Here it is.  I have his card.  Bradley Parker.  Met him last month at that big computer show over at Cal Expo.  Tried to hire me.  Said he was desperate for an experienced network technician.”

“You met him?” I asked.

“Yeah.  He found out I knew something about networks and he latched onto me like a tick.  Thought I was gonna have to douse him with kerosene.”

“What was he like?  Did he seem like someone who could be a killer?” I asked.

“He’s a Killer?” Spencer marveled. 

“I don’t know for sure.  I do know he’s a womanizing skirt chaser.  What makes a man chase after women he has no intention of marrying?”

“I suppose it’s the same urge that makes dogs chase cars they have no intention of driving,” Spencer answered.

I laughed out loud, then remembered why I’d called.  “How am I going to find out more about this guy?”

“Why don’t you go to work for him?  What better way to get the dirt on someone than to spend thirty percent of your time with him?”

I laughed.  “You forgot about my work ethic.  It’s more like fifty percent.”

“Only if he has the same work ethic,” Spencer reminded me.

After looking
up the address for
Business Solutions, Inc.
in the phone book
,
I hurried around the cabin of the
Plan C
, searching for my navy-blue pumps and a pair of pantyhose that didn’t have a run or a hole in the toe.  The printer sitting on a small table in the cabin I’d designated as an office spit out a copy of my resume.  I buttoned my blazer and straitened the hem of my skirt.  As I inspected my image in the mirror, I had a flashback to my days as a database administrator at San Tel.  It must have been something similar to the experien
ces war veterans call post traumatic stress
.  The vision of me in a navy-blue business suit, matching high heels, my hair pulled back, and makeup just right, sent me into a near-panic attack. 
Sitting on the edge of the bed, forcing my breathing to slow down,
I reminded myself that this was not for real
—
just a tactic to get information.  I was not going to r
ejoin the rat race—
I was just going to spectate for a while.

I had to make one stop on the way to Bradley Parker’s office.  Ann Marie’s Bridal Shop left a message that my dress was ready and I could pick it up any time after noon.  I backed through the door carrying the gown, protected in a clear plastic bag.  I draped the lacey white dress across the back of the passenger seat in an effort to keep it as wrinkle-free as possible.  The simple lines and understated elegance of the dress caught my attention the second I laid eyes on it in Ann Marie’s big picture-glass window.  The style looked reminiscent of the 1920s.  The short cap sleeves fell just off the shoulder.  It had a sheath silhouette but was slightly fitted to follow the curve of the waist and hips.  The hem fell well above the ankle in front but dipped lower in the back.  The layers of vanilla colored lace made it seem as delicate as a fragile glass ornament.  I remember staring at it through the window for a long time before I walked into the shop.  When I saw the tiny pearl buttons stitched down the back, so many I couldn’t count them, and so close they almost touched, I knew there was no other dress in the world I could possibly get married in.

I sat in the lobby of
Business Solutions, Inc.,
resume in hand, and waited for Bradley Parker to emerge from his office.  The receptionist, a big-haired, big-busted redhead named Mandy, busied herself with the task of opening the daily mail.  When Parker finally strolled out, I stood up to greet him.  He wasn’t exactly the repulsive monster I’d prepared myself for.  His manner was mild and pleasant.  His blond hair was recently trimmed and neatly styled.  He was tall and muscular and dressed in an expensive-looking suit with a colorful tie.  The only jewelry he wore was a Rolex watch, which he’d managed to check twice before he acknowledged my presence.  His face was tanned, I assumed from hours on the golf course, courting potential clients.  He didn’t look like a killer.  Neither did Ted Bundy.

“Hello Mr. Parker,” I said, holding my hand out to shake his.  “Spencer Davis told me you were looking for an experienced systems person for installations and user training.”