Wrong Place, Wrong Time (17 page)

It wasn’t a request.

Ten minutes later, the woman in question walked in. “Diana, please hold my calls. I have some legal documents I have to — ” She spotted Monty and broke off, her brows arching in surprise. “I didn’t realize Mr. Montgomery and I had an appointment.” A quick glance at her secretary.

“Don’t blame Diana,” Monty interjected smoothly. “I didn’t give her much choice. You’re a busy woman, Ms. Chambers. Getting in to see you is a real challenge. So I decided to grab you first thing after lunch. You can spare ten or fifteen minutes, can’t you?”

“Of course.” She was definitely ticked off. But she kept it under wraps. “Come on in.”

He waited while she picked up her messages, then followed her into the elegant cream and chocolate brown office. Modern. Classy. Expensive.

“Have a seat.” She gestured at the swivel chair across from her desk.

He complied, waiting until she’d settled herself in the plush leather desk chair.

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard for us to connect.” Clearly, she was going for the penitent approach. “Yesterday, I wasn’t myself. Today, I’m inundated. This whole situation hit me like a ton of bricks.”

“Losing someone who’s important in your life will do that to you. Especially when it’s coupled with the shock of knowing he was murdered.” Monty flipped open his notebook. “I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible. Let’s start with the obvious. You’re one of the few VPs at Pierson & Company who’s not a family member.”

“That was a lucky break on my part. None of Edward’s grandchildren chose to become lawyers. So I was offered an opportunity I otherwise wouldn’t have received.”

“It looks to me like you deserved it. Your credentials are strong: academic scholarships, top of your class at law school, published in
Stanford Law Review
— the whole nine yards. And then, ten successful years at Pierson & Company. Pretty impressive.” A heartbeat of a pause. “You and Frederick Pierson were personally involved, right?”

Louise’s brows arched. “You certainly get right to the point, Mr. Montgomery.”

“It saves time.”

“Very well. Yes, Frederick and I were involved.”

“Interesting. You’re thirty-four. Frederick was fifty-eight.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“No, just a puzzlement. From all accounts, Frederick was a staid and serious workaholic. Not your typical dazzler of younger women.”

“There was nothing typical about Frederick. Then again, there’s nothing typical about me.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Another pause. “When did you two start dating?”

“About a year and a half ago.”

“Hmm. Frederick’s wife, Emily, died six months before that. Did you know her?”

“Of course. She was a lovely woman. Frederick was very devoted to her, especially after she developed a heart condition. And, to answer your next question, no, Frederick and I didn’t become involved until after Emily passed away.”

“Thanks for filling in that blank.”

Louise interlaced her fingers on the desk and leaned forward. “Before we get into the nature of Frederick’s and my relationship, may
I
ask
you
a question?”

Monty glanced up. “Shoot.”

“Can you be objective about this subject? After all, it’s your ex-wife who was at the cabin this weekend. Which means she’s not only right at the heart of Friday’s arson and murder, she’s also clearly involved with Frederick.”

Monty looked amused. “I think I can manage to hold on to my objectivity. The operative word here is
ex
-wife. Sally’s social life stopped being my business a long time ago. I want her to be safe. I don’t give a damn who she sleeps with. Does that answer your question?”

She gave a tight nod.

“Good. Then tell me about you and Frederick. Were you on good terms?”

“Always.” Louise gave a fond smile. “We weren’t always on the same page, but we were always on good terms. We ebbed and flowed. Sometimes we were exclusive, sometimes we weren’t.”

“And now was one of the ‘weren’t’ times?”

“Actually, yes. We’ve both been seeing other people. But that didn’t change our history, or my feelings for him. I still can’t believe someone killed him.”

“Any thoughts as to who that someone might be?”

“No.”

Monty scanned his notes again. “I see you were home alone on Thursday night and that you worked at home all day Friday. Saturday, too. I guess it wasn’t one of your ‘seeing other people’ weekends.”

“I guess not.” Louise tapped a manicured fingernail on the desk. “If you’re concerned about my alibi, check with my doorman and the parking attendant at my garage. I arrived home around eight o’clock Thursday night. I was exhausted. I slept in. I brought work home. I didn’t leave my building Friday until after Blake called me with the news.” She peeled off a Post-it and reached for a pen. “Shall I write down my address and the appropriate names for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. I already have them.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Nope. I’m a good detective. And you’re a good lawyer.”

Louise put down the pen. “I cared deeply for Frederick. I also respected him as a CEO. He was the most dedicated man I ever met.”

“And you miss him.”

“Yes, I miss him.”

“What about Blake Pierson?”

“What about him?”

“Are you two friends? Outside the workplace, I mean.”

Clearly, the question struck a chord. “I’m not sure I understand your implication.”

“No implication. A straight-up question. You’re about the same age. You’re both smart, good-looking, and ambitious. You’re close colleagues. I noticed that you left for and returned from Frederick’s funeral together. So, are you friends?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘friends.’ Blake’s been very supportive of me, and I of him. We’re both reeling from Frederick’s murder. And, yes, we get along well — personally and professionally. So, if that’s your description of friends, I guess we fill the bill.”

“I guess you do.” Monty went with his gut. “Tell me, Ms. Chambers, did you happen to call Blake Pierson on his cell phone last night — say, at around seven thirty?”

She looked a little taken aback. “As a matter of fact, yes. Why? Did Blake mention it?”

“Actually, no. But I was with him when he got the call. From his end of the conversation, I got the feeling it was you.”

“I don’t recall his saying my name.”

“He didn’t. Like I said, it was a gut feeling.”

“I see.” She swallowed, then spoke slowly and distinctly. “Yesterday was a horrible day, Mr. Montgomery. I was emotionally raw. The funeral threw me a lot more than I anticipated. The pain. The finality. Blake was equally unnerved. I needed to lean on someone. So did he. That’s why I called.”

“Did he drive over to your place after our meeting?”

“As it turned out, no. He spent some time with his grandparents. After that, we were both exhausted. We stayed in our respective apartments and spoke on the phone before turning in. Separately,” she added with a pointed stare. “Is this line of questioning going somewhere special?”

“Nope.” Monty shut his notebook and rose. “I appreciate your time. If you think of anyone —
anyone
— who might want Frederick Pierson out of the way, let me know.” He stared directly at her. “You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Not even a flinch. “Of course. No one wants Frederick’s killer caught and punished more than I do.”

“Good. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to him — or her. You have my word, Ms. Chambers.”

DEVON HAD BEEN edgy all day.

And that edginess had a name: Blake Pierson.

Their date was tonight. And she had no idea what she was walking into.

Despite his warm and outgoing demeanor, Devon’s gut told her there was a lot more to Blake Pierson than he’d allowed her to see. He was a complex guy, one with an agenda that was still murky. He was clearly running interference for his grandfather. Devon knew she was part of that interference. But that was the case with James as well. The difference was that Blake was harder to read.

And she was attracted to him. Tonight was going to be a challenge.

Monty’s late-afternoon phone call hadn’t helped.

Devon had been wrapping up her last appointment of the day when the clinic’s receptionist had poked her head into the examination room to announce that Devon’s father was on the phone.

Monty was terse. He’d called to give her a heads-up about Louise Chambers. After his chat with her, he had the distinct feeling she and Blake were involved. Whether that involvement was romantic, platonic, or conspiratorial, he didn’t know. But it bugged him.

Another dark corner to explore.

By the time Devon arrived home, she was tight as a drum. Blake was due at six thirty; it was already six. She jumped in the shower, then hurried into her bedroom to pick out an outfit.

Merry nearly collided with her in the doorway. “Sorry.” A rueful grin. “Bad timing, good timing.”

“What does that mean?” Devon began vigorously towel-drying her hair.

“It means I didn’t mean to plow you down, but I’m glad I reached your room before you got dressed. Blake called while you were in the shower. He said to wear jeans.”

“Jeans?” Devon lowered the towel, her brows drawn in puzzlement. “I don’t get it. I thought we were going to some elegant seafood place.”

“Not anymore. A change in plans, he said. Jeans, a sweater — over lots of layers — and boots.”

“Where are we eating, in the Arctic Circle?”

Merry laughed. “No idea. I’m just the messenger.”

“Okay. I’ll bite. Jeans and layers.” Devon yanked the appropriate apparel out of her closet.

The doorbell rang at six thirty on the dot. By that time, Devon’s hair was dried, and she was dressed in a light blue cable-knit sweater and jeans. She trotted downstairs and opened the door herself.

Blake was leaning against the doorjamb. He’d adhered to the same dress code as she — jeans, sweater, and boots — all topped off by a down parka and gloves.

He assessed her with an approving grin. “Good. You got my message.”

“Confusing as it might be, yes.” Devon folded her arms across her breasts. “So we’re not eating seafood?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

“Care to tell me what we
are
doing?”

“Driving down to Central Park. It’s a beautiful night — cold, but beautiful. First, we’ll go sledding down Pilgrim Hill. Next comes ice skating at the Wollman rink. And don’t worry. We won’t starve. After that, we’re going to Serendipity. We’ll get dinner and frozen hot chocolates.”

Devon blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not kidding. The past few days have been nightmarish for us both. We need stress relief. You’ve already done the wine-and-dine thing with James. So this is kick-back-and-have-fun night.” He paused. “Unless you’re not up for it?”

Devon heard his note of challenge loud and clear. “Now that’s a dare if ever I heard one.”

“So, are you taking it or wimping out?”

“I’ve never wimped out on a dare in my life.” Devon was already in motion, walking over to the coat closet. She grabbed her down jacket, then squatted down to fumble around on the floor. “Give me a sec to find my skates.”

“No problem. Oh, and I brought two sleds. Just in case you don’t have one.”

“How thoughtful.” Devon was smiling when she rose, skates in hand. “As a matter of fact, I do have one. But it’s in the basement, so I’ll use yours. I don’t want to waste a minute during which I could be wiping that smirk off your face. Let’s go.”

WHATEVER DEVON HAD expected her evening with Blake to be, it wasn’t the lighthearted banter and childlike romping that composed the next few hours. They had races down the hill, ice-skating contests, and snowball fights in between. They were drenched, winded, and weak with laughter by the time they tumbled into Serendipity.

The experience hadn’t been just stress relieving. It had been downright liberating.

Devon warmed up on a bowl of corn chowder, then gobbled down her salad, cheddarburger, and fries and made an enthusiastic dent in her frozen hot chocolate — all in record time.

“You have whipped cream on your nose,” Blake commented, digging into the healthy slice of blackout cake he’d just ordered.

“I know.” Devon kept a straight face. “I’m saving it for later, when I’m hungry again.”

Blake’s lips twitched. “That’s physically impossible. You just devoured half the menu in fifteen minutes.”

“You did it in ten. Besides, I was starving. No lunch. A puny Nutri-Grain bar for breakfast. And a heavy-duty exercise workout I didn’t plan on.”

“Would you have preferred the more conventional dinner and a movie?”

“Not on your life. Especially since I won six out of ten sled races, outclassed you on the ice, and creamed you with my professional snowballs.”

“I let you win.”

Devon rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

A chuckle. “Okay, fine. You kicked my butt. Is that what you want to hear?”

“The truth hurts.”

“Not as much as the snowballs. You pack quite a wallop, Doctor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Devon used the edge of her napkin to wipe the cream off her nose. “Better?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Blake’s grin vanished, and he studied her intently, with an expression that left no room for misinterpretation. “You’d look gorgeous no matter what.”

Devon’s insides tightened. He could be playing her like a fiddle. The past few hours could have been a careful scheme to lower her guard and loosen her tongue.

She had no intention of letting him do either. But that didn’t change her gut reaction.

Blake Pierson got to her.

The question was, how was she going to use that to her advantage?

“That was a compliment,” Blake broke into her thoughts to clarify. “Not a brainteaser.”

She swallowed, snapped back to the here and now. “Sorry. I’ve always been awkward when it comes to looks-related compliments. You want to commend me on my rapport with animals? Great. You want to flatter me on my ice-skating talent? Flatter away. I’ll eat it up. But my appearance? That’s something I can’t take credit for. It’s either the luck of the draw or genetics.”