Downton Tabby (13 page)

“I’ll be careful.” I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his temple. “I promise.”

“Please do.” He touched my cheek with his knuckle and then turned and opened the car door for me.

Chapter Eleven

I UNDERSTOOD SAM’S worry, and make no mistake, I truly was staying as far from the murder investigation as possible. In fact, I was at the point I wished I could scrub my mind of the whole thing. At least for a while.

Since I couldn’t, I decided an escape was just what the doctor ordered. However, with commitments scheduled for the rest of the week, there was no chance of hopping a plane for some exotic locale. So, I opted for a movie getaway.

The DVD Mary Jo had loaned me would be perfect. A simpler time, a female spy, and it was one of the few Diana Knight movies I hadn’t seen.

I threw on my pajamas, popped some popcorn, and settled into my favorite chair. I’d figured after the kind of day I’d had and the long walk, there was a good possibility I’d fall asleep halfway through, but that wasn’t the case.

The film’s storyline was intense and not only kept my interest, but had me on pins and needles to the point I found myself gripping the arms of my easy chair.

Diana was a superb and glamorous Annabella Caron aka
Little Sis
, who, after her husband was killed by the Gestapo, vowed to avenge his death by doing all she could for the war effort. She became a part of SIS, the Secret Intelligence Service, which worked in conjunction with other British WWII organizations specializing in espionage and sabotage.

Annabella attended the theater and hosted dinner parties, but on the side gathered information on troop movements and helped to smuggle downed Allied airmen out of occupied France via a network of other women.

After being betrayed by a woman she believed to be an ally, she was captured. But the never-say-die Annabella convinced her guards she was not the woman they were looking for by ditching her spangly silver dress for a cleaning woman’s clothes. Mary Jo had been right; the iconic silver dress had played a big part in the movie.

As the credits rolled, I thanked my lucky stars I was friends with such a talented and special lady. This role was probably more Diana than any of her romantic comedies. The big heart, the toughness of spirit, the belief in doing the right thing. All part of the reason I loved her so much.

A bit of forties jazz played in the background as the last of the credits finished.

This movie is dedicated to those who, at great risk to themselves, worked behind the scenes to bring about victory as a part of organizations like SIS, commonly referred to as MI6.

Wow, so I guess, like Mary Jo had said, the Secret Intelligence Service used in the film wasn’t fictional. There really had been a SIS and still was, however most of us now knew it as MI6. It made me wonder how much of the storyline was fiction and how much was truth.

“Do you suppose they still recruit beautiful women like Annabella to attend cocktail parties and listen for secrets?” I asked Toria. The snoozing cat on my lap didn’t answer.

“Probably not,” I told Dogbert who had at least raised his head. “I’ll bet it’s all done with electronic surveillance, wiretapping, and cyber-spying. They probably recruit geeks like Cash and Jake and their friends. In fact, I’ll bet the spies not only don’t go to dinner parties, they probably don’t even have to leave their homes.”

Wait a minute! I jumped up, dumping my popcorn on the floor.

Dogbert and Toria scattered, and Thelma and Louise, across the room on the cat perch, even lifted their heads and opened sleepy eyes to see what had created the excitement.

“SIS,” I told Dog. “S—I—S. That was the return address on the package that arrived the day Jake was killed and Cash disappeared. It could stand for the British Secret Intelligence Service.”

“Grrr . . . woof!” Dogbert barked at me.

“Well, no. I’m not positive, but I think that’s what it said.”

Dogbert tipped his head quizzically.

“I can check tomorrow if the envelope is still in their office.” I popped the DVD out of the player and put it back in the case. If Jake and Cash had received something from the British Intelligence Service, it could explain a lot. If they were spies, maybe foreign agents had killed Jake and kidnapped Cash.

I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t miss the stretch it was to think the British Intelligence Service would send a communication via regular package delivery. Still, it was worth checking out, right?

Chapter Twelve

THE OFFICE WAS quiet when I entered, but Verdi was at the desk working. Despite her goth look and burgundy hair, the girl was traditional work ethic personified. Before she’d joined the office we’d gone through a series of temp fails that had us thinking we were never going to find a part-time receptionist that was both efficient and friendly. Verdi was the perfect fit.

“How’s your morning going?” I slid the basket of cranberry muffins onto the desk. “I had lunch yesterday with Diana who sent me home with these incredible muffins. I don’t dare leave them at my house or I’ll eat them all.”

“My morning is going better now.” She plucked one from the basket and bit in. “What’s up with the murthdmph?”

“Let me go put my stuff down, and I’ll come back when your mouth isn’t full.” I smiled at her.

Once I’d dropped my bag and files in my office, I stepped back out front to the reception desk.

“What’s the latest?” Verdi had polished off one muffin and was reaching for a second.

“Where to start?” I leaned on the counter. I’d opted for a Emilio Pucci nautical-print cotton dress hoping it would add some cheer to the day, but now I was regretting my choice as the snug fit left no room for more muffins.

I filled her in on going to get Toria’s things and my shock when the guy popped out of the wall. I described all the electronic equipment I’d seen in the secret room.

“Sounds like computer servers.” She’d polished off a full muffin.

“What does that mean?” Verdi was a lot more familiar with technology than I was.

“A server is just a super-powerful network computer that can share resources with other computers, but that wouldn’t be any big surprise given the business they were in.”

I wasn’t sure I completely understood, but it did make sense that the two would have the type of computers Verdi described.

“It’s possible that Cash was kidnapped by the person or persons who killed Jake. I wonder what the guys were working on.” She tapped her black-polished nails on the desk as she talked. “Maybe something that their competition wanted to get their hands on.”

“Or maybe something involving international intrigue.” I told her about watching the movie about British Secret Intelligence and my theory that Jake and Cash were cyber-spies.

“Hmmm. I can’t imagine any two more unlikely candidates for spies.” She brushed some crumbs into the wastebasket. “I do remember seeing envelopes routinely come for them from a UK address, but I don’t remember the sender. I didn’t think anything of it. Cash is British after all.”

If I wasn’t able to convince Verdi, I stood no chance with Detective Malone.

“I imagine police have been through Cash and Jake’s office?” I asked. Maybe if I could show her the envelope she’d at least consider the possibility of spies among us.

“I don’t know. There isn’t any crime-scene tape across the door.” She glanced in the direction of the 2Gyz office. “If they did, I wasn’t here but I can’t imagine they didn’t check it out.”

“We could just do a quick look and see,” I offered. Our eyes met.

“Detective Malone will be really upset.” Verdi had some past experience with Malone and his investigations

“I’m sure they’ve already finished their search.” I couldn’t think they hadn’t been through the office. “If it looks like it’s sealed off, we’ll leave it alone,” I assured her.

I was sure I’d recognize the envelope that I had signed for the day Jake was killed.

“Okay.” Verdi unlocked her desk and retrieved the master key to the offices.

She inserted the key in the lock, and we eased open the door of the 2Gyz work space. The desk was bare of its usual clutter, and the computer was missing. The monitor with its alien face on the back had disappeared. There was nothing at all in the room other than the desk and chair.

“I hope the cops did this.” Verdi looked around the room.

“Me too.” I peered into the office without actually going in.

“Maybe you should call Malone and make sure it was the cops.” Verdi leaned in beside me.

“Me?” I’d been talking with the homicide detective a little too frequently. I thought Verdi should make the call. Or maybe a call wasn’t necessary. After all, we hadn’t actually gone inside.

We turned back to the reception area and were startled by a man standing just inside the door.

Jumping Jehosaphat!

Verdi and I both fell back about a foot. We really did need to get one of those bells that dings when someone enters. The office group had looked at one months ago, but it’d seemed unnecessary. None of us who shared the space had that many walk-ins. Usually.

The man who stood in the entry was middle-aged, medium-height, and not scary-looking in any way, but it was still disconcerting to have people simply appear.

“Can I help you with something?” Verdi asked him.

“Yes, you can.” He approached the reception desk. “I need to find Jake Wylie and Graham Cash.”

“Not here,” I answered. Could it be the man didn’t know one was missing and the other was dead?

“Do you know where could I find them?” He pulled a paper from his jacket pocket.

“We don’t really know,” I answered quickly.

“It appears you know them well enough to be snooping in their office.” He indicated the open office door.

Guilty. I could feel my cheeks warm. “Why are you looking for them?”

“Got some papers for them.” He tapped the envelope against his hand.

“You’re serving them with legal papers?” Verdi asked.

“I am.”

“You’ll have to stop by the police department for the details, but Jake Wylie is dead and Graham Cash is missing,” I blurted out.

He stood silent for a minute as if taking in the information. “Can you direct me to the police station?”

Verdi gave him directions though it wasn’t far.

He turned to go.

“What are they being sued for?” I asked.

“Guess it’s no skin off my nose.” He shrugged. “Seems they copied one of their computer things from somebody else. Or at least somebody thinks they did.”

The man turned toward the door again. “Thank you for your help,” he said over his shoulder as he exited.

“Whoa.” I turned to look at Verdi. “That adds a new twist to things.”

“It certainly does.” Verdi locked up the 2Gyz office.

Psychic Suzanne walked in through the front door just as Verdi walked around to replace the key in her desk drawer.

“Things are not as they seem,” she intoned before crossing to her own office, going in and shutting the door.

Verdi and I looked at each other.

Well, no kidding.

I returned to my desk and tried to concentrate on what I needed to do. I had paperwork to finish and files to update, but my mind kept wandering to what the process server had said. If Cash and Jake were being sued because of a disagreement over an app they’d developed, that would involve a lot of money. Millions maybe. Could it perhaps be enough money to be a motive for murder?

I debated about whether to even follow up with Malone on my cyber-spy theory. At midnight it had seemed reasonable, but it had sounded pretty far-fetched when I tried to explain it to Verdi. She was right; the California surfer boy and the absent-minded British cat-lover did seem like unlikely spy potential.

I’d wrapped up my paperwork and started on my to-do list for the next day when I heard voices out front.

“You can’t—wait a minute. You can’t just barge in there.” Verdi’s tone was firm.

“Yes, I can,” a voice I recognized argued. “I’m a client, and besides we’re working together on the murder case.”

Betty Foxx appeared at my office door. Verdi hesitated just outside.

“What are you doing here, Betty?” I nodded to Verdi that it was okay.

“I’m here because it’s not working.” Today Betty was attired in a dark-plum velour pantsuit, a step up from the usual pajamas, but the pants were hiked up to her armpits. Bright-white tennis shoes completed the outfit.

She crossed her arms across her chest and tapped one bright-white toe in impatience.

“What’s not working?”

“The stuff you told me to do with Raider.”

I sighed. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

“What you told me to do.” She rolled her eyes.

“You’ve been walking Raider?” I asked.

“Yes, I did, but now look at me.” She pulled up her pant legs to reveal two skinned knees. “And not only that, I ruined my favorite outfit. The limited-edition, hot-pink, Jackie-O-one I got on sale last month on the shopping channel. It was only for a limited time. It’s irreplaceable.” Her thin fingers dropped the pant leg with emphasis.

If the O was supposed to stand for Jackie Onassis, I was pretty sure the icon of fashion and good taste had never worn hot-pink PJs, at least not out in public, but that was neither here nor there. The biggest issue was that Betty had been injured, and luckily this time it had been minor. Good grief. She could have fallen and broken a hip or something.

Okay, so Betty was right; my advice had not been the right advice for a petite older woman. Even one as feisty as Betty Foxx.

“You’re right, Betty. It’s not working.”

“Whadda you mean?” Betty huffed. “You still on the ‘I’m too small and too old for that kind of dog.’ I don’t want another kind of dog. I want Raider.” Betty paced while she talked.

“Hold on. That’s not what I meant. I meant Raider is too big and too young for what I recommended.” I watched Betty, considering solutions.

“So what now?” She stopped in front of me. “You givin’ up?”