Wrong Place, Wrong Time (13 page)

“Sure. Tomorrow night’s fine.”

“Great. Then I’ll arrange for Chomper to spend the evening here. I’ll pick him up after I take you home.” Blake’s fingers tightened on the leash as Chomper finished off his cookie and scrambled to his feet, ready to start bounding around. “That’s my cue. What’s your address, what time is good, and what kind of food do you like?”

“Fifteen Green Court, seven o’clock, and anything but sushi.” Devon scribbled down a few quick directions. “It’s a contemporary town-house development in northern White Plains. It’s just a mile off the highway, right near the main drag. It’s easy to find.”

“Then I’ll find it.”

BLAKE PULLED OUT of the clinic’s parking lot fifteen minutes later, then glanced at his watch. He had to take a detour through Yonkers, check out the progress at Chomping at the Bit, and make it to the funeral service early. Time was tight.

He snapped his cell phone into the hands-free cradle and punched in his grandfather’s private line.

“It’s done,” he announced.

“Good. Any snags?”

“Just one. James.”

Philip Rhodes shut his office door and straightened his tie for the third time in as many minutes.

New head of security, his ass. Pete Montgomery was here for a lot more than safeguarding the Piersons. He was digging around for a lead in Frederick’s murder.

He was still closeted with James in his office. What the hell were they talking about?

Damn, he was in trouble.

Rhodes wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. He was next on the PI’s list of “chats.” He couldn’t give any indication that he was coming unglued. Montgomery was a retired detective. A pro. And with the funeral still an hour away, there was plenty of time for him to interrogate Philip and tear him to shreds.

He
had
to get through to Bolten.

Leaning over his desk, Rhodes punched on his speakerphone and pressed the redial button — again.

The same receptionist answered. “Paper and Plastics Limited. How may I direct your call?”

“Gary Bolten.”

“One moment, and I’ll connect you.”

One ring. Two. Three. Voice mail.

Dammit.

Rhodes jabbed at the phone, disconnecting the call. He’d left the guy three messages already — two in his office and one on his cell phone. Where the hell was he?

Jumping up, Philip crossed over and poured himself a glass of ice water, lifting it to his lips with a shaking hand. He had to get it together, now, before Montgomery walked in.

Talk about setting a new low in bad luck. The situation would be comical if it weren’t so harrowing. Sally Montgomery. Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be Montgomery’s ex-wife whom Frederick had taken up to that cabin? Why hadn’t he taken Louise?
Anyone
but a cop’s ex.

The intercom buzzed.

“Yes?” Rhodes answered.

“Mr. Montgomery’s ready to see you,” Alice, his secretary, informed him. “And Mr. Bolten’s on line three. Should I tell him you’ll call back?”

“No.” Rhodes snapped out the answer a lot more harshly than he’d intended. “No, Alice,” he repeated, this time more calmly. “It’s a quick call. And, with all that’s going on today, I won’t have a chance to get back to him. Tell Mr. Montgomery I’ll be with him in a minute.”

He didn’t wait for the reply. He pressed the flashing light on line three.

“Gary?”

“Yeah, Phil. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I was at my daughter’s college for parents’ weekend. The police tracked me down there and filled me in on what happened at the cabin. I still can’t believe it. Poor Frederick. Did the cops find out who did it? Is that why you’re calling?”

“What? No.” Philip’s mind was racing. “When you spoke to the cops, what did you say?”

“I confirmed that the cabin was mine and that I loaned it to Frederick for the weekend. What else could I say?”

“That loaning it to him was my idea.”

“What difference does that make?”

“To me? A big difference. Did you tell them?”

“No.”

Philip felt a pang of relief. “Good. Don’t. I mean it, Gary. Don’t say a word.”

A prolonged silence.

“This is nuts, even for you,” Bolten finally said. “You think that because you wanted your boss to enjoy a weekend getaway, the cops are gonna think it was a murder setup?”

“I don’t know
what
they’ll think. But I don’t need to plant any seeds.”

“What seeds? Does someone at Pierson actually think — ”

“Let it go, Gary.” Rhodes cut him off. “I can’t get into it. It’s politics. Let’s leave it at that. Just don’t bring up my name when you talk to the cops.”

“Okay. Fine. But I think you’re the one who needs a vacation.”

“You’re right. I do. And I’ll take it. When all this is over.”

MONTY RUBBED THE back of his neck, glancing casually at Rhodes’s secretary. Middle-aged. Sensible clothes. Quick and efficient. But on the serene side. Certainly less domineering than Frederick Pierson’s secretary, Marjorie Evans. That woman was a bulldozer — and smart, too. Monty hadn’t gotten squat out of her.

But this Alice Jeffers was worth a try.

“Is Mr. Rhodes still tied up?” Monty asked.

The secretary glanced at the telephone, then looked up from her computer and nodded. “I apologize for the delay.”

“No problem. The call must be important. Mr. Rhodes sounded upset.”

“Everyone’s upset.” A quick rise to her boss’s defense. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Of course I can — Ms. Jeffers, isn’t it?”

Another nod.

“Your CEO was just killed. That’s a huge blow to your company
and
to staff morale, considering how family-oriented Pierson & Company is. It would be strange if everyone
wasn’t
on edge.”

Mr. Jeffers’s defensiveness eased. “I’m glad you recognize that.”

“It would be hard not to. There are major reorganizational meetings taking place, and a ton of press hovering outside, ready to pounce on the Piersons. I feel sorry for them — for all of you, in fact. I’m sure Frederick Pierson was held in high regard.”

“He was well respected. No one was more diligent or more dedicated.”

Well respected. Nothing about being well liked.

Monty pretended to glance through his notes. “From what I’ve been told, he worked Guinness book hours.”

“He did.” The secretary relaxed a bit. Clearly, she was on more comfortable ground now. “He was always at his desk when I arrived, and when I went home. No matter how early or how late. He gave his all to the company.”

“I’m sure that was especially true these past few years since his wife died.”

“Losing her hit him hard. He devoted even more of his energies to the company after that.”

“I can relate. Work is a great outlet when there’s no one to go home to.” Monty blew out a reflective breath. “With me, it was divorce. But becoming a widower? After decades of marriage? That must have really shaken him up.”

“It did.”

“I don’t blame him for practically living at the office. I’m assuming that’s how he and Ms. Chambers got together. She seems to put in long hours as well. It’s a typical scenario for two lonely workaholics to start dating.”

Ms. Jeffers’s guard was back up. “I suppose so. I don’t know much about their relationship. They worked well together. And, yes, they socialized. Any more than that, you’ll have to ask Ms. Chambers.”

“I plan to — after the funeral. The poor woman was too upset to talk this morning. I respected her request for some space. She and I are meeting later today.” Monty cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I don’t enjoy sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m not expecting you to gossip about your colleagues. But my job is to keep everyone at Pierson & Company safe. I’m just trying to figure out where I should focus my energies.”

“I’m not following.”

“Let’s just say that if someone needs extra security, I mean to provide it.”

Ms. Jeffers’s gaze widened as Monty’s meaning sank in. “And that ‘someone’ might be a person Mr. Pierson was close to or confided in.”

“Now you’re getting the idea. You’re a smart woman, Ms. Jeffers. And a discreet one, too. Don’t alarm the staff by mentioning this. I doubt Ms. Chambers is in danger. I’m just covering all my bases.”

“I understand.” There was new respect in her eyes. Good. That’s what Monty had been hoping for.

Time to zero in on the real subject he wanted to pursue with her.

“Let’s get to Mr. Rhodes,” Monty suggested, his concern over the staff’s well-being still fresh in the secretary’s mind. “He’s practically a lifer here. How many years have you worked for him?”

“Sixteen.”

“Wow. So you’re his right hand. As he was Frederick Piersons’s.” A quizzical lift of his brows. “Right?”

“I suppose so.” Ms. Jeffers propped her elbows on the desk, folding her hands beneath her chin. “Although I’m not sure I’d describe it that way. Mr. Rhodes reported directly to Frederick Pierson, yes. But the sales department works as a team, not a two-man show.”

“And who heads the team?”

“Now
that’s
a tough call.” Ms. Jeffers smiled faintly. “Because no matter how you slice it, Edward Pierson runs the show. You’ll hear that from anyone you ask. God bless that man, at almost eighty he has more moxie than most thirty-year-olds.”

“So I’ve noticed. He’s a formidable guy. He also thinks a great deal of Mr. Rhodes.”

“That’s not a surprise. He hired him — it must be twenty-five or twenty-six years ago.”

“Just a few years after Frederick came on board.”

“That’s right.”

“Philip and Frederick were about the same age. Were they friends?”

“Not socially, no. But as colleagues, they worked extremely well together. In many ways, they built this company. Along with the senior Mr. Pierson, of course. Back then, the company was solely a food services business. Many of its key contacts were made during that time — by Frederick and Edward Pierson, and Mr. Rhodes. They established the foundation of the company, then built on it. Now we’ve got three divisions, all of which are still expanding.”

“Would you say the food services division is the mainstay of your organization?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“So its sales team is front and center. Where does James fit into that team?”

Ms. Jeffers’s smile was indulgent. “James fits into
every
team. Certainly sales. He’s sharp as a tack. He’s a first-class charmer. What better assets for someone in this department to have?”

“Good point. And you’re right. I just spoke at length with James. He’s quick. Not to mention versatile. After hearing everything he does — and apparently excels in — I feel like a slug.”

“We all do,” Ms. Jeffers said with a chuckle. “No one can keep up with James. He never wears out, not in business or on the show circuit.”

“He’s got endurance, all right. I envy him. Smart, talented, and unfazable.”

“Not so unfazable,” Ms. Jeffers amended in a placating tone. “Oh, I know he comes off that way. Like I said, he’s quite the salesman. But beneath that cool veneer, he’s very intense. He pushes himself hard. That’s how he manages to excel at so many things.”

“It’s nice to know he has at least one fault.”

Monty was ready to abandon the subject of James. After spending an hour with the guy, he’d already formed an opinion. The rest he’d learn tonight, after James’s dinner with Devon.

Right now, he had other fish to fry.

Putting on a concerned expression, Monty lowered his voice. “Did Mr. Rhodes have any unusually long or intense meetings with Frederick Pierson last week? Anything that you noticed?”

Ms. Jeffers got his message loud and clear, and worry creased her forehead. “Oh, dear. You don’t think Mr. Rhodes is in danger, do you?”

“I can’t be sure. But it stands to reason that if Frederick Pierson’s murder was triggered by something business-related, his closest in-house colleagues might be at risk. In which case, I plan to protect them.”

“Of course.” Ms. Jeffers gave a firm nod, then turned to the computer, punching up her electronic calendar. “Mr. Rhodes and Frederick Pierson had three meetings last week: Monday afternoon at three, Tuesday morning at ten, and Wednesday late afternoon. I don’t have an exact time on the final one. Mr. Pierson set it up last minute. If I remember right, it started around four. I have no idea when it ended. They were still in Mr. Pierson’s office when I left for the day.”

“What time was that?”

“Six, maybe six fifteen.”

“Who else attended that meeting?”

“It was just the two of them. James was in Wellington. Edward Pierson was up at the farm.”

Monty was on the verge of asking Ms. Jeffers if she remembered any particular tension prior to that meeting, when he was interrupted by the buzz of the intercom.

Ms. Jeffers lifted the receiver. “Yes, Mr. Rhodes? Of course. Right away.” She hung up and gestured toward the door. “You can go in now.”

“Thanks.” Monty rose, gathering up his notes.

“Mr. Montgomery?” The secretary’s expression was still troubled, and she leaned forward to touch Monty’s arm as he passed by her desk. “If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”

“I will. In the meantime, keep this conversation between us, all right? The last thing we need is for people to panic.”

“You can count on me.”

“Good. I will.” With a warm, grateful smile, Monty walked over and knocked on Rhodes’s door.

“Come in.”

In the blink of an eye, Monty’s smile vanished.

Different people. Different tactics.

He stepped inside and shut the door.

Philip Rhodes was sitting at his desk, a manilla folder lying open in front of him. His tie was as straight as his posture. Every one of his neatly styled gray hairs was in place. His concentration was fixed on the file he was perusing.

Ostensibly, the essence of composure. Clearly, anything but.

“Mr. Rhodes. Thanks for your time.” Monty started the dance, subtly calling for Rhodes’s attention.

The other man’s head snapped up. “Oh. Yes, of course. Have a seat.” He indicated a leather chair. “Edward mentioned he’d hired you, and that you’d be stopping by to get some information from me. What can I help you with?”