Nowhere to Hide (13 page)

All righty. Things moved to the floor before going to their final resting place. Made sense if he hated filing as much as she did. The gravitational system of office management. When the desk gets too full, move things down. The desk might be a better place to dig. She checked the time. Nearly twenty minutes had gone by. Doris should be finished with her bath. She’d better check. All she’d need would be for the woman to fall asleep in the tub and drown.

She tiptoed down the hall to Doris’ room. The door was still closed and nothing but silence came from the other side. Tapping the door with her fingertips, she whispered Doris’ name. When she got no response, she eased the door open and peeked inside. Doris lay on the bed, on top of the covers, but with the bedspread folded down. Wearing a floral housedress, and curled in a ball, she resembled a springtime nosegay topped with a fluffy white ribbon. Her breathing sounded deep and even. Colleen pulled the door closed and went to Jeffrey’s office.

All right, Jeffrey. Let’s see what you’re made of
.

She closed the door and sat down in the oversized executive chair behind Jeffrey’s desk. Not exactly ethical, snooping in someone’s desk, but she wasn’t here as a cop, so she wasn’t bound by their rules.

Where to start? His computer? No, she didn’t have a flash drive with her, and even if she did, copying files was definitely pushing the envelope. Going through the papers on his desk was enough of a stretch.

She had a fleeting thought she was cheating on Harrigan, who would have to abide by warrants and procedures. Nah. He had his database access and all his police contacts. She was leveling the playing field. Let the best one win. Besides, he had no idea he was in a competition.

She smiled and leafed through the first pile. Incoming mail, the envelopes slit, but contents still inside. Something seemed off. No true junk mail—no flyers, no ads, no “you’ve been approved” credit card applications. A cursory check of postmarks indicated the piles had been accumulating for about a month. But aside from the missing junk mail, there didn’t seem to be any real attempts at sorting. Magazines were interspersed with bills and general correspondence, yet they weren’t in strict chronological order, either.

She wondered if Harrigan and Schaeffer had gone through these already, legally or otherwise. That unsettled feeling washed through her as Harrigan invaded her thoughts. She was supposed to be mad at him, but the feeling wasn’t anger, not by a long shot. Too warm and soft, not hot and sharp.

Stop mooning and think. Harrigan’s a jerk, and you’re supposed to be solving his mystery.

A flickering from the computer monitor caught her eye. She watched in amazement as a spreadsheet opened, numbers moved around, and then the spreadsheet closed. A letter appeared on the screen, changes were made and it, too disappeared. Someone, somewhere had access to this computer. Jeffrey? Just as abruptly, the screensaver reappeared. She waited. Nothing. Still, no way would she touch the computer, not if someone could be watching.

She went through the envelopes more carefully, stopping when she saw a return address from the bank. Carefully sliding the envelope out, she marked its place with a piece of memo paper from a tablet on the desk. She stepped to the copy machine and turned it on. While it warmed up, she glanced over the two sheets of paper. A lot of automatic payments, not many checks. That wasn’t unusual. She paid her own bills on line. Saved checks and postage.

Her palms filmed with sweat as her gaze was drawn to the envelopes on the desk like ants to a picnic. What the hell. She was here, and it wasn’t like any of this had to stand up in court. And there sure wasn’t time to read everything first. She picked up the top envelope.

One by one, she copied the contents of any envelope she thought might hold a clue, returned the pages to the envelope, and the envelope to its former position in the stack, silently urging the machine to copy faster.

A thumping noise from above had her bolting for her spray bottle and towels. Heart pounding, she padded to the door and worked it open. Peering in both directions, she saw only the empty corridor that led to the kitchen. She swiped paper towels across shelves, trying to appear nonchalant as she strained to listen. A yowl and more thuds near the window had her freeze mid-swipe. Holding her breath, she lifted a slat on the blinds upward. Oak branches swayed in the breeze outside the window. Some more thuds, and then a flash of motion into the tree. Squirrels. A larger flash and a cat leaped down in pursuit.

Once her heart stopped racing, she went to the copy machine. Would Doris have slept through the noise? She kept her back to the door, blocking any possible view of her actions and spent the next few minutes copying and swiveling her head, making sure the door stayed closed.

Ten minutes later, Doris apparently still asleep, Colleen had a pile of copies to study at her leisure. She grabbed an empty file folder, shoved her copies inside, and added it to the pile on the floor. She’d give herself ten minutes more to poke around, then try to finish cleaning before Doris woke up. When she pulled on the drawers of the file cabinet, they refused to budge.

Okay, Jeffrey. You’re going on a trip, you’ve obviously got someone going through your mail. Doris? But you don’t want her going through your files. Where do you put the key?

A quick check of desk drawers revealed nothing. She pulled them out and groped underneath, where the TV cops found things. Apparently Jeffrey watched the same shows, because there was nothing taped to the bottom of a drawer. As she cleaned fingerprint power residue, she poked through paper clip containers, delved under paperweights and rummaged through likely hiding places on the shelves. Maybe he kept it in his bedroom. Maybe he took the damn thing with him to Alabama. Maybe her brothers should have taught her how to pick locks instead of fight dirty.

She made a quick trip to the front door and tucked the folder of photocopies under the doormat on the entry in case Doris surprised her. Then she resumed her cleaning, giving cursory swipes to any remaining black smudges. She worked her way through the house to the master bedroom. Nothing promising in the bathroom, but Jeffrey’s nightstand drawer held a large box of condoms.

Well, well, well. Frisky old man, aren’t you, Jeffrey? What would Aunt Doris say?

Nothing, because Aunt Doris didn’t strike her as the type to go poking in nightstand drawers. Colleen gave the box a quick shake. A rattle. She dumped the contents onto the bed. Along with the foil packets was a metal ring with two small silver keys. She gave a mental fist-pump and pocketed them, replacing the condoms.

Now, Jeffrey. Time to find out what you’re hiding.

When she opened the bedroom door, she heard the sounds of television. Her time was up. Slipping the keys into her pocket, she went to give the nightstand one more swipe with the cleanser. She put the spray bottle in the kitchen, tossed the dirty paper towels and went to say good bye to Doris.

Colleen located her in the den, still in her housedress, but with her hair neatly combed and her makeup refreshed. She sat on the couch, staring at the plasma TV.

“
Oh, hello, Colleen. It’s almost time for “The Young and the Restless.” You’re welcome to stay if you’d like. I set my alarm so I wouldn’t miss it. Haven’t missed an episode in three years. I learned how to program the recorder for this.”

In under two seconds, Colleen weighed the options. An elephant could probably search Jeffrey’s office while Doris watched her soap, but she didn’t want to press her luck. She had a large folder of papers to study. “Thanks anyway, but I have to be going. Do you want me to check with you later? Call one of your friends?”

“
No, dear. I’m fine.” She clicked the remote and zoned in to what Colleen considered the incomprehensible land of soap opera. That elephant could search this room and Doris would never notice, as long as it didn’t get between her and the screen.

Graham listened to the answering machine message as he tried Frank Townsend’s number once more. “Hi. Nobody’s home. Frank and Joe are in the field. If you need Tony or Ramon, leave a message.” He’d try again tonight. He had a feeling a message to call an Orlando deputy sheriff might not get a response.

He bolted down a vending machine egg salad sandwich, poured some of the station sludge that passed as coffee into his travel mug, and headed for his cruiser. Five miles from the station, he realized he’d forgotten to send Schaeffer his notes. Damn. He’d do it as soon as he got back. What a first impression he was making.

He left I-4 and its never-ending construction delays for the Turnpike to I-75, and felt an automatic sense of relaxation as the countryside turned more rural, with pastures and horses replacing concrete and car dealerships alongside the road. A group of bikers made him wonder if he should put in for Motors if Clarke beat him out for the CID slot. His thoughts roamed to the half-assembled Harley in his garage. Someday. Someday, he’d be on his own bike, wind in his face, a woman pressed up behind him, her hands around his middle. He’d bet Colleen would like riding.

A knot tangled his insides and the pastoral beauty couldn’t untie it. He’d had a boost to his career and for some reason, the only person he wanted to share it with was a woman he hardly knew, who appeared to hate his guts. He’d have to make her understand he cared about her. Right after he figured it out himself.

He moved across the lanes of traffic as he approached his exit, forcing his mind to deal with the task at hand, which was finding out as much as he could about Jeffrey Walters and getting a handle on Kimberly Simon at the same time. Surprised but pleased Schaeffer had sent him alone, he was determined to cover every angle. Schaeffer’s words replayed themselves in his head. Look for motives. Yet if Kimberly wanted Jeffrey gone, why had she called the sheriffs?

The boutique where Kimberly worked was in a small strip mall on his right. He angled into a parking place, took a deep breath, and got out of his car. Adjusting his belt, he was glad he was still in uniform today. He’d always used it to his advantage, and it felt comfortable. For him, not the people he dealt with. After the way Kimberly had spoken to him on her first call, he wanted that advantage.

He approached the store and stopped dead in his tracks at the window display. “For My Lady” was a boutique, all right. A lingerie boutique. He squared his shoulders and pushed the door open. A soft tinkling of bells announced his presence. Thick purple carpet covered the floor, and mannequins clad in snips and scraps of lace posed in alcoves and on shelves high above the floor. The whole place smelled of flowers. Even a uniform and a gun didn’t make him feel in control in this environment. Guys weren’t supposed to see this stuff all hanging around in one place. Not on plastic dummies either.

A statuesque blonde approached and he glanced around the shop, automatically wondering which of the garments she had chosen to enhance the blue dress that clung to every curve. A slender hand with long red fingernails tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing three gold hoops. “May I help you, officer?” Her gaze traveled slowly from his face downward, then up again.

“
I’m looking for Kimberly Simon,” he said. “We had an appointment.”

“
Yes, she did mention it. She’s in the back. If you’ll wait here, I’ll get her.”

Before he could respond, the antithesis to the blonde appeared from a curtained doorway at the rear of the shop. Short and round, with curly brown hair that flared around her face like a poodle, she strode toward him. “Deputy Harrigan? I’m Kimberly Simon. Thank you for coming.”

“
Thank you for seeing me. Is there someplace we can talk?”

“
I’ve arranged my schedule so this is my lunch break.” Kimberly had a purse slung over her shoulder and was walking toward the door. “There’s a coffee shop two doors down. It should be quiet at this hour.”

“
Great. I mean, that will be fine.” The way her mouth lifted told him she’d seen the relief on his face.

“
I’ll be back within my hour, Ginger.”

He held the door for her, but couldn’t help giving Ginger another look before he followed Kimberly down the sidewalk.

At the coffee shop, Kimberly led him to a booth in the back. Two men sat at the counter, reading newspapers and drinking coffee. A young mother with two small children was dividing a grilled cheese sandwich between them while trying to keep glasses of chocolate milk from toppling at their eager hands. Otherwise, the place was empty.

Kimberly sat down and pulled her silverware from the rolled-up paper napkin, which she placed on her lap. She met Graham’s eyes for the first time. “You look more comfortable now. But come on. You can’t tell me a man like you hasn’t seen everything we sell in there.”

He fumbled with his own napkin and silverware. “Yes. Well, not all of it. Not on display like that. I mean—” Hell’s bells. How had he lost control? He could deal with sleaze and slime, but a room full of underwear had him sweating. Thinking about underwear was one thing. Heck, that was normal. Being surrounded by it—that was too much. He breathed a sigh of relief when the waitress stood over the table, tablet in hand.

After Kimberly placed her order, the waitress gave him a broad smile. “What can I get you?”

“
Coffee,” he said.

“
We’ve got some great homemade apple cobbler. Hot, with ice cream.”

“
You twisted my arm,” he said.

The waitress gave him another smile and walked away, her hips swaying perhaps a little more than was necessary.

He turned his attention to Kimberly. “Have you heard anything from your father yet?”

“
One more e-mail late last night. But no phone call. If he can get to a computer, why not a phone? I mean, it’s not like his cell is the only phone on the planet, is it?”

“
No, that sounds strange to me too. Maybe he only has computer access at late hours and doesn’t want to wake you. Do you know what project he’s working on? Exactly where he might be?”