Murder.Com (11 page)

     
She led him into the study.
 
"Can I fix you something to drink?"

     
"Nothing alcoholic.
 
I'm on duty."

     
Angie opened the small refrigerator under the wet bar, pulled out two sodas, filled some glasses with ice, then joined him on the couch.
 
She looked into his eyes.
 
"I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to have to answer questions.
 
Bud's murderer has to be found."

     
"I'm glad you feel that way.
 
I can't stand to see you go through much more."

     
She patted him on the knee.
 
"You're very kind, Tom.
 
But, go ahead.
 
What do you need to know?"

     
"I want you to think back over the past several months and try to remember anything unusual that Bud might have said or done."

     
She frowned and lowered her gaze.

     
Tom studied her, feeling she had something on her mind but didn't want to talk about it.
 
"I don't expect you to come up with anything at this moment.
 
But I want you to think about it.
 
And if something pops into your mind, regardless of how small it might be, please give me a call."

     
"I'd forgotten about the young intern Bud had working for him this summer.
 
I think he's already gone back east to school.
 
But he drove Bud nuts."

     
"How?"

     
"He had too much energy and wanted to learn everything about the company.
 
He had his nose in every corner until some of the employees complained."

     
"Do you know his name?
     
She shook her head.
 
"No.
 
I'm sure it's in the records, he got paid.
 
But Bud never made any derogatory or negative statements about the young man.
 
In fact, he complimented him shortly before he left.
 
Told me that the kid had gone through the books with a fine-tooth comb and pointed out some areas where they could update their bookkeeping."

     
Her statement piqued Tom's interest and he made a note in his notebook.
 
"Anything else off the top of your head?"

     
Angie tapped her chin with a finger.
 
"No.
 
Not at the moment.
 
But if I think of anything I'll let you know."
 
Then she gazed at Tom in silence until it made him uneasy.

     
"What's bothering you?"

     
"Do you actually think someone at work killed Bud?"

     
Not wanting to comment on that subject, Tom stood and glanced at his watch.
 
"We don't know, Angie, but I'm meeting Detective Maxhimer at Bud's office.
 
Take care of yourself.
 
I'll call tomorrow."

     
Stunned by Tom's implications, she slumped down on the couch, forgetting to accompany him to the door.
 
Until now, she'd thought the murderer would have been a stranger, like Melinda.
 
But, no.
 
It had to be a man.
 
A woman the size of Melinda would have had a hard time struggling with Bud's limp body.
 
That is, unless she had an accomplice.

     
Angie rose and hurried upstairs.
 
She snatched the letter out of the drawer and sat down on the edge of the bed near the phone.
 
Spreading the paper out on the bedside table, she dialed the number Melinda had written.
 
The phone rang and rang.
 
Just as she started to hang up, a man answered.

     
"Hello."

     
The voice didn't sound familiar.
 
She could hear faint tinkling music and the bustling sounds of many people.
 
"May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

     
"Were you calling someone here at the mall?
 
I don't see anyone standing around waiting."

     
"Which mall?"

     
After he told her, she slowly hung up, a plan forming in her mind.
 
She'd be at that mall tomorrow night.
 
She'd go early enough to research which phone had this number, and then she'd wait nearby.

*****

     
Tom pulled up to the Nevers building.
 
It never ceased to amaze him how fast Cliff could get a search warrant.
 
The building had already been cordoned off with yellow tape and the parking lot held few cars.
 
He walked into the front reception area, slowing his pace when he saw
 
Ken Weber grinding his fists into his hips and glaring into Cliff's face.
 
A standoff seemed to be taking place between the two men.
 
He didn't know if he wanted to get involved, so he hung back just within earshot and listened.

     
Detective Maxhimer pointed his finger at Ken.
 
"Mr. Weber, I'm now in charge here.
 
I'll do what I think is necessary.
 
A man's been murdered and it's my job to find his murderer."

     
Ken's green eyes shot fire.
 
"Well, how the hell do you think I can conduct business if the building is closed and the police are running all over?"

     
"I think you'll find a way to manage things.
 
It shouldn't take more than two days to thoroughly search the premises.
 
If it takes longer, we'll go into the weekend and be through by Monday morning."

     
Weber turned on his heel and charged back toward his office.

     
Tom stepped up to Cliff.
 
"Got a problem?"

     
Cliff poked his finger in the air toward Ken's office.
 
"That's one hell of a stubborn man.
 
He doesn't like us around at all."
 
He shook his head and frowned.

     
"What's eating you?"

     
"He puzzles me.
 
He doesn't seem to miss his partner.
 
I haven't heard one word of remorse come out of his mouth."

     
Tom glanced down the hall where Ken had departed.
 
"Some people show grief in different ways."

     
"Did you speak with Mrs. Nevers?"

     
"Yeah.
 
She told me Bud hired a college business major for the summer and the kid drove him crazy."

     
"How's that?"

     
"He asked a million question about the company, but Bud was impressed with his performance.
 
Angie said he never had anything bad to say about the young man.
 
Just very enthusiastic about learning about the company.
 
But he left before Bud's death, to head back east to school.
 
Makes me wonder if he spotted something and brought it to Nevers' attention."
 

     
On the way to the office, Tom spoke with Bud's secretary and asked her about the young intern.
 
She gave him Bill Crane's name, but she only had a local address and phone number.
 
Tom took the name of the school and his parents' home phone number in case he needed to contact him.
 
She'd also compiled a list of Bud's current clients, explaining that Ken had now taken them over.
 
Her only association with the clients was limited to a greeting when they entered the office or witnessing their signatures on contracts.

     
The two detectives settled in Bud's office where they went through the rest of the files and checked off the dissatisfied customers, deciding who would be contacted first.
 
Cliff suddenly hit the top of the filing cabinet with his fist.

     
"I feel like all I've accomplished is getting search warrants for the future.
 
I've never felt so up in the air over a case.
 
So far, we haven't even come close to finding a motive for the murder, much less a suspect."

     
Tom nodded.
 
"Just be patient and keep looking.
 
Something's bound to turn up.
 
Murderers make mistakes."

     
It was after ten o'clock before the two men finally departed the building and went their separate ways.
 
Tom turned into the driveway of the modest home that he and Sarah had bought before she became terminally ill.
 
He'd thought of selling it several times, but the last few years he'd decided he liked the space and privacy.
 
The thought of living in an apartment or a condo just didn't suit him.

     
Making his way through the house, he pulled his already-loosened tie over his head and hung it on one of the door knobs.
 
He slung his sport coat over the back of the dining room chair.
 
By the time he reached the bedroom, he had his shirt off and his belt unbuckled.
 
He sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, socks and pants, then laid back on the rumpled covers.
 

     
He stared at the ceiling for a few moments.
 
Who in the hell killed Bud?
 
And why?
 
He felt like he'd hit a brick wall.
 
Praying silently something would happen to shed some light on this case, he grabbed the pillow, rolled over and barely remembered to set his alarm before his eyes closed.
 
Then the dreams began.

Chapter Ten

     
Thursday morning, Angie started the day with mixed feelings.
 
She'd told no one about Melinda's letter.
 
Sandy Weber had called last night wanting to meet for lunch today, but she didn't trust herself to keep quiet around her friend so declined the invitation.
 
They made plans to meet the following week.
 
Until she knew why Melinda wanted to see her, she'd keep to herself.

     
Angie stood at the kitchen counter having a cup of coffee when Marty sauntered through the back door.
 
Her shoulders drooped and she wore no smile on a sullen face.
 
She didn't even look up and say hello.

     
Stepping in front of her, Angie put a finger under Marty's chin and lifted the woeful face.
 
"What's wrong?"

     
"Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Nevers."

     
"That's not what I asked." Angie raised a brow. "I asked what's wrong?
 
You look ill.
 
In fact, you haven't appeared well for the last couple of days."

     
Marty cast her eyes downward.
 
"I think Mr. Nevers' death has caught up with me.
 
I've cried myself to sleep every night.
 
I know how horrible this must be for you."

     
Angie wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
 
"Yes, it's been devastating, but we can't bring him back.
 
Life is for the living, so we have to stay strong and keep going.
 
And we have to cooperate with the police and help bring his murderer to justice."
 
Angie felt she said this for herself as well as for the benefit of her housekeeper.

     
Marty stepped out of her grasp and headed toward the coffee pot.
 
When she raised the urn to pour a cup, her hand trembled so badly that Angie had to take it from her.
 
"Sit down.
 
I'll get it for you.
 
It's my turn to wait on you."

     
Hesitantly, Marty went back to the kitchen bar.
 
She sat down and muttered, "This doesn't feel right."

     
Angie smiled.
 
"Everybody deserves a bit of pampering now and then."
 
She set the mug in front of Marty, then took a seat on the opposite side and studied the woman's face over the rim of her cup.
 
Her puffy skin and bloated look indicated to Angie that she'd been hitting the sauce pretty heavily.
 
She reached over and patted Marty's hand.
 
"I'm worried about you.
 
I think you're drinking too much."