Kill the Competition (32 page)

The woman's eyebrows climbed. "Did you hold a government job?"

Belinda shook her head. "I've handled the financial aspects of mergers and acquisitions for public companies. When a person is privy to insider information—"

"The company and the SEC perform a background check, including fingerprints," Salyers finished.

"Right."

"Lieutenant," the detective said. "May I have a word with you?"

He nodded and pushed away from the counter, then followed Salyers to the far corner of the room where the table and chairs sat. Belinda walked back toward the front of the townhouse to give them more privacy to talk about her.

She stared out the bay window. The body movers slammed the back doors to the van, then climbed inside and drove away with no fanfare, just as if they were hauling furniture to the dump. Was death really so heartbreakingly mundane?

The police parted the crowd to make room for something large. As she watched, a low truck came into view and expertly backed up to her car. She pressed her hand against the glass—
they were taking her car?

Of course they were taking her car. It was a rolling crime scene.

A burly fellow jumped down and proceeded to reduce her beloved Civic to an appendage of his wench. She watched the car—in perfect condition when it left Cincinnati, now battered and violated—be pulled by its ass from her driveway and down the street. She would probably never see it again.

The only saving grace in the entire predicament was that her parents were en route to the Grand Canyon and therefore less likely to hear how their daughter had made a name for herself in the big city of Atlanta.

And suddenly, the tears were there again.

"Ms. Hennessey," Detective Salyers said.

She turned, blinking furiously. "Yes?"

The woman sighed and put her hands on her hips. "I'm not going to lie to you—you're in serious trouble here. Ordinarily we would take you into custody until we sorted out your story, but Lieutenant Alexander has vouched for you and offered to stick around until we check out this Newberry fellow and run prints on the trunk. If that's agreeable to you, of course."

She looked past Salyers to Wade, who lifted his shoulders in a little shrug, as if to say it was her choice. Her heart cartwheeled with gratitude, but she didn't want Detective Salyers—or Lieutenant Alexander—to read anything into her response, so she affected a neutral expression and nodded. "That's agreeable, yes."

Salyers smirked. "Good. I need your car keys."

Belinda fetched them from her purse and handed them over.

The detective strode to the door, opened it, and cast a glance over her shoulder. "Remember, Lieutenant, you gave me your word."

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman walked out and closed the door behind her. Wade retraced her steps and turned the dead bolt, then walked around the first floor, checking window locks.

"Thank you for staying," Belinda said.

He nodded but seemed bent on putting as much space between them as possible as he moved around.

"On what did you give Detective Salyers your word?"

He stopped and looked at her. "That you and I aren't involved."

"Oh." She nodded. "Well... we aren't."

"I know." He wet his lips. "But I had to be honest and tell her it wasn't for lack of trying."

Her cheeks flamed, and she attempted nonchalance. "That was before you saw me with a black eye and pulling bodies out of my trunk."

His gaze swept her head to toe—she couldn't imagine how she must look after grubbing around all day, throwing up, washing off her makeup, and crying like a toddler.

"Speaking of which," he said, holding up his camera with an apologetic expression. "I was instructed to get pictures of your injuries."

She sighed. "Where do you want me to stand?"

"Against the wall in the living room will be fine."

She made the short walk and positioned herself against the wall painted with builder-grade off-white paint. "I think these photos just might surpass the one on my driver's license, which I'm still stuck with, by the way."

Beneath the camera lens, his mouth curved. "Can you pull your hair back from your face and turn your cheek toward me? Good." The shutter sounded twice. "Okay, now your wrist and arm."

She pulled up her sleeve and extended the bruised limb.

"Okay, now turn your arm over to show the scratch. Now your right hand."

Her knuckles were still red and tender.

"Did you sustain any other injuries when you fell?"

"A bruised rib, I think."

"Is there a visible bruise?"

She nodded.

"If you'd feel more comfortable with Salyers taking this photo—"

"No, this is fine," she said, then lifted the hem of her sweatshirt to the bottom of her bra. He set his jaw and took two quick shots.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Yes."

He seemed relieved. "You got any coffee?"

She nodded and started for the kitchen.

"Just tell me where it is and I'll make it. You should sit."

She walked to the bar and sat on a stool so she could watch him clang around in her kitchen. Quite domestic.

"I didn't know that Southern men knew their way around a kitchen."

He laughed, and she was struck by how handsome he was when he smiled. "Coffee, eggs, and chili are the extent of my skills. And I tend to make my coffee strong."

"Sounds good to me."

He had the coffeemaker bubbling in no time. When he set a steaming cup in front of her, he made a rueful noise. "This isn't the way I'd hoped to get to know you."

She swept a hank of hair behind her ear. "Which brings up a point, Lieutenant. It was kind of you to vouch for me to the detective, but you really don't know me very well. How can you be sure I didn't have anything to do with this?"

"I can't," he said smoothly. "I'm going on my gut and hoping I don't regret it."

The air was suddenly thick with possibilities. She attributed the wholly inappropriate thoughts she was having about Wade Alexander to a diversion from the current state of affairs.

"It's strange," she said. "How I met you only a week ago and our paths have crossed so many times since."

"Fate, maybe," he said with a smile.

Fate really needed to brush up on its timing.

He reached for a notebook. "Unfortunately, Salyers didn't agree to let me stay just so I could flirt with you. I need to know everything
you
know about your coworkers, especially the ones who might have known about your trunk latch."

The phone rang, and he shrugged. "Probably a reporter. Want me to scare them off?"

She nodded.

He picked up the receiver. "Hello... yes, this is the Hennessey residence—who's calling, please?" He covered the mouthpiece. "She says it's your mother." Belinda closed her eyes.

Chapter 23

Her mother? Perfect timing. Belinda picked up the phone and used her most cheerful tone. "Hello, Mother."

"Belinda, was that a man who answered your phone?"

She looked at Wade, who dwarfed the stool he sat on. "Um, yes it was."

Her mother put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Franklin, she has a man there!" Then she uncovered the mouthpiece. "So your couch must have been delivered."

She squinted at her mother's jump in logic. "Hm?"

"I assume if you're entertaining, you must have your couch."

"Oh. No, not until tomorrow."

"So who is this man who sits on the floor?"

She glanced at Wade and shook her head. "Um, he's a friend, Mother. Where are you and Dad?"

"Iowa."

"What's in Iowa?"

"Lots of corn, dear. We've stopped at a Holiday Inn for the night in Dubuque."

"That sounds... lovely."

"So how are you?"

"Oh... fine."

"Did you get your big promotion?"

"Um, not yet. But soon. I hope."

"Dad wants to know how your car is."

"Tell Dad the car is... fine."

"I worry about you—what if something happens and you need to get in touch with us? Your dad says we should get one of those cellular phones."

She pressed her lips together. "Nothing's going to happen, Mom."

"I'd better go. I'm at a pay phone and I'm holding up the line."

"Okay, Mom." Belinda paused, suddenly loath to hang up. "I love you both."

"We love you, too. Good-bye, dear."

She slowly returned the phone to its cradle and, feeling Wade's gaze on her, tried to dissuade any comments by taking her time turning off the ringer.

It didn't work.

"I take it she hasn't heard about the murder?"

"No. She and Dad are on a cross-country trip they've been planning for years. I'm not about to ruin it for them when this thing could be over tomorrow."

"They sound nice, your folks."

She smiled fondly. "They're completely neurotic, but yes, they're great. I'd hate to cause them any more embarrassment." She sipped from her coffee, hoping he hadn't noticed the slip of her tongue.

Oh, but he had. "Any
more
embarrassment?"

"My mother had planned that by now I'd be happily settled into a grand home and working on grandchildren."

"A breakup can be hard on the entire family," he agreed.

"Do your parents live around here?"

"Tuscaloosa, Alabama. That's about three hours away and where I grew up."

"Do you see them often?"

"Not as much as I should."

"Were they close to your ex-wife?"

"Not really. Tania wasn't the warm and fuzzy type."

So, in manspeak, Tania was exciting—the kind of woman who broke rules and got away with it. "But your parents were upset about the divorce?"

"Just disappointed. I hid all the problems from them, so to them our breakup seemed sudden. In reality, we'd been separated for two years." He cleared his throat. "But enough about me. I'm going to need a list of anyone who might have legitimately been around the trunk of your car."

The man was going to have to work on his interrogation segues. "Well, me of course. And any of the girls might have touched it getting in and out of the car. You. Then there was the guy at the auto shop who gave me an estimate for repairs—his name was Dave, I believe. And my neighbor, Perry."

"Was this the guy you were hiding from in the food court?"

She nodded. "He lives two doors down and can be a little pesky."

"I'll try to remember that you don't like pesky men."

A tingle passed over her shoulders, although she suspected Wade's teasing was a ploy to keep her mind off the matter at hand.

"When did your neighbor have an opportunity to be near the trunk?"

"A few nights ago he walked over to inspect the damage on my car."

"What's his last name?"

She guessed at the spelling, and he wrote it down.

He pursed his mouth. "This guy was at the Stratford Building yesterday."

"He told me he was going to repair the elevator—I assumed he meant the shaft that Jeanie Lawford fell down."

He made a few more notes, then asked for more information about her coworkers at Archer. She told him about Juneau Archer, Clancy Edmunds, Monica Tanner, and Tal Archer, plus the little she knew about each person.

"Clancy was the one who told me about Margo firing Jim Newberry. He said that Jim had filed a lawsuit against the company. Clancy is also the person Libby said everyone suspected of stealing the money that was reported missing today."

"Juneau and Tal Archer—father and son?"

"Right. I've only met the son once. Juneau is rarely in the office."

"Any of these people have a beef with Margo?"