Deadly Interest

by Julie Hyzy

  I made a face. That was a mistake. I winced again.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You get that thought out of your head. You just ought to be grateful that the only thing you’re missing is a trip to Frisco. You could be missing a whole lot more.”

  “You’re right,” I said, humoring her.

  Her voice shot up an octave and she wiggled her head at me. “I know I’m right. I’m always right.” She grinned, and as we walked back to my office she added, “So when Bass tells you about the phone call from David Dewars, and he asks you to investigate this lady’s murder, you’re going to tell him no.”

  She sat down at her desk, leaving me to lean against the side of her cubicle. “Hang on a minute,” I said. “What phone call?”

  Jordan’s face communicated her delight at having a delicious secret to impart. “Yesterday while you were out, your flower-buddy Mr. Dewars called Bass.”

  “About what?”

  Raising her hand, she twisted her index finger in a side-to-side motion indicating for me to hold all questions till she was done.

  “Frances took the call, of course,” she began, her eyes lighting up in the telling. “But Bass was in talking with Hank, so she asks if she could take a message. I told her about those flowers you got the other day, so when she heard the name Dewars she wondered what was up with that.”

  I could see it. Frances was a stately woman, almost two decades older than me, with spiky maroon hair. She carried herself with a sense of self-possession that I hoped some day to acquire. She was tough, she was nosy. And if she wanted to know what was up, she’d find out.

  “And?”

  “And,” she continued, “Dewars wants to meet with Bass to discuss the station’s involvement in the murder investigation. He said that he’d be willing to be real cooperative with us if we portray his bank in a, quote, ‘favorable light’ unquote.”

  Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. In a ridiculous way, this made sense. David’s information about Mrs. Vicks’ investments would become part of the investigation, and when it hit the news, Banner Bank would, no doubt, be mentioned. As owner of the bank, David had to be worried about the negative publicity associated with murder. I nodded. “The big bank that cares about you,” I said, quoting their slogan.

  “Yep.”

  I pushed myself away from the wall of her cubicle, and headed into my office. “Let me know if you hear anything else, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  * * * * *

  I opened up a new document on my computer and labeled it “Vicks Investigation.” In it I started to record everything from the moment Mrs. Vicks came to my garage asking for help. I hadn’t gotten very far when I noticed William walking by, on the way to his office. A glance at the clock on my computer told me it was just after nine. A bit late for him.

  I decided to give him a few minutes to get settled before I went over there to talk. I’d pushed myself to get into work today just to have a chance to connect before he took off for the trip to San Francisco, but now I had second thoughts. The bruised state of my face made me reconsider the wisdom of my decision. He’d seen me at my worst before, but still. I pulled out my compact mirror and lowered my head down to desktop height to examine my face more closely.

  Still trying to decide whether I was presentable or not, I heard a knock at my door. I sat up fast. William stood there, waiting to be invited in. I tried to mask my surprise.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey yourself.” He moved toward my desk, a big smile on his face. “Got a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  He sat across from me. “Good to see you up and about. I was hoping you’d make it in today.”

  “You were?” The words popped out, complete with their blatantly hopeful tone, before I could catch myself.

  He nodded, and what I could only describe as a fond look came over his face. “I wanted to see you before I left. Make sure you’re really okay.”

  “I got this.” I pointed to the bruising over my right temple.

  He made a so-so motion with his right hand. “Not too bad. You’re feeling all right?”

  “Little bit sore. But yeah, okay.” I nodded an end to that line of conversation. I found I was quickly becoming tired of discussing my well-being with everyone. “What about you? You all ready to take off tomorrow?”

  “Just about. As a matter of fact, I’m heading down to the studio now to go through some of our tapes that we’re taking with us.” He shook his head. “I wish we would’ve had more time to prepare. This is going to take all day.”

  “Will you have time for lunch?” I asked. “I thought we might get a chance to talk before you leave.”

  He shook his head, then glanced out the big picture window that looked north over the Chicago River. Big white flakes of snow drifted downward, angling right to left, to drop on the pavement below. “I doubt it. As soon as we get this project complete, I need to get home. I still haven’t packed.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed.

  Almost as though he hadn’t heard me, he added, “As long as our flight isn’t cancelled.”

  “They’re predicting six inches.”

  Disappointment clouded his face. “Yeah. We have to hope it holds off.”

  He’d said, ‘we.’ Jumping on that I prompted: “Caroline’s got to be happy about this.”

  I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination or if his face flushed momentarily. “Yeah, she lived out there for a while. She promised to show me some sights.”

  “Great,” I said, with forced enthusiasm.

  “Not that we’ll have a lot of time,” he said quickly. “I think they’re going to keep us busy all day at this seminar, and at the sister station event.”

  “I wish I was going.”

  “Eh,” he said, with affected disinterest as he boosted himself from the chair. “I’m sure it’ll be a bunch of boring speakers and dull dinners.”

  Maybe my brain was still affected from being bashed in the head, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “So I guess I won’t talk with you till Monday, huh?”

  His dimples deepened to match the smile in his eyes. “I’ll call you while I’m out there,” he said. “In a way, it’ll be like you’re part of it, too.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Before his movement had a chance to register, he came around the side of my desk. “You going to miss me?” he asked.

  “I will,” I said.

  “Good.” Cupping my chin, he leaned down and touched his lips to mine in a quiet little kiss. Breaking away, he winked. “See you soon.”

  I watched him head out my office door and for the first time since I knew he was going away with Caroline I felt my mood lighten.

  * * * * *

  Taking a break from my first pass at the chronology of events, I leaned back in my chair, watching a blustery Chicago from my second floor perch. A little snow had begun to accumulate in the corners, giving my view a Christmassy feel. Too late, I thought. I needed spring, and I needed it in a hurry. The unending chill served to make my soreness increase, and for the first time I understood what older folks meant when they said that the cold had settled in their bones.

  Frances showed up in my doorway. With a look that spoke of amusement, she pursed her lips and wiggled her eyebrows. Most fifty-something women wouldn’t be able to carry off her trend-setter style, but Frances did.

  “Bass needs you in his office right now.”

  I shot her a skeptical look. “What’s so funny?”

  Bright red grin. “He’s not alone. Your faithful admirer is in there with him.”

  “David Dewars?”

  Bigger grin. “They’re waiting for you.”

  On the short trek to Bass’ office I caught sight of William, shrugging into his charcoal gray wool coat, headed for the exit. He paused long enough to fix the coat’s collar that had flipped inward on itself. I bit my lip, hoping he’d glance
back.

  “C’mon,” I said to myself. “Turn around.” Like a silly teenager, I made one of those “if he likes me” deals. “Turn around,” I whispered.

  Just before pushing through the glass doors, he stopped.

  I waited.

  His hands patted the outside of his coat up near the chest and down around his hips, searching. In what felt like slow-motion, he reached into his left breast pocket, and pulled out a thick envelope that looked to be his plane tickets and itinerary. Thus reassured, he shoved the glass doors open with his shoulder, and walked away.

  Bass poked his head out of his office—looked at me—then at William’s departing figure. He shook his head and grinned. “Back to business, kid.”

  I shot him a lips-only smile.

  David stood as I entered, his face breaking into a long, slow smile of appreciation. “Alex,” he said, his voice booming.

  “Mr. Dewars.”

  His eyes widened behind the round lenses of his glasses. “Oh please, call me David. But I’m surprised to see you back to work so soon. How are you? Really?”

  I waved my hand in dismissal and lowered myself into one of the seats in front of Bass’ desk since it appeared that David wasn’t going to sit until I did. “I’m fine.”

  He squinted as he watched my ginger movements. “You received my note?”

  Classy move, I thought. He didn’t mention the flowers. “Yes, they were lovely,” I said, enjoying the confused look on Bass’ face. “I mailed you a return message, thanking you, this morning.”

  As he sat to my left, he pulled his chair close enough to mine that our knees nearly touched. “No need for thanks,” he said. “As long as you suffered no long-term effects.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “As a matter of fact your little escapade is part of the reason I’m here today.”

  I shot a quizzical look at Bass, but got nothing. He sat in rapt attention, waiting for the other man to continue.

  Adopting a serious, businesslike demeanor, David launched into a smooth monologue.

  “Evelyn Vicks, God rest her soul,” he began, “was one of our own. She’d been an institution at Banner Bank, having started working there back in the late seventies. When I took over about five years ago, I pledged to protect the employees. When I promised that, I’d intended it to mean that their jobs were safe. Today, I mean it in an entirely different way.”

  Sturdy words, I thought.

  “But.” He stared upward, at the ceiling, and his eyes squinted for half-a-second. “I need to protect the bank now, too. Our reputation is on the line. I don’t want our good name sullied because some prodigal son decided to make an early withdrawal on his inheritance.”

  Just because Mrs. Vicks worked for Banner Bank didn’t mean that anyone was about to blame them. I thought he was reaching, overestimating the bad publicity. Not only that, but at this point, all we had on Barton was conjecture. I said as much.

  “I know, Alex,” he said, his gaze returning to encompass both me and Bass. “You’re right. But I didn’t get to be owner and chairman of Banner by letting things go. I follow my hunches. Some are stronger than others. This time I know. I know deep in my bones that Barton did this. And I mean to collect all the evidence I can to bring the bastard to justice.” He glanced at me, worried. “Sorry for my language.”

  I waved away his apology. I’d used those words myself.

  “I also want to be sure that Banner Bank is, shall we say, protected in all feature stories about the murder.” He gave me a meaningful look. “I know you’ll be fair—I can sense that about you.”

  He waited for my cursory thanks. I simply nodded.

  With a nod himself, he went on. “I’m willing to put my bank’s resources in your capable hands. I have it on good authority—” He glanced at Bass. “. . . that you will be investigating the murder.”

  No sense it beating about the bush. “I plan to look into it,” I began. I held up a hand when he looked about to interrupt. “I don’t pretend to be a criminal investigator. And anything I find will have to be shared with the police.”

  “Of course,” he said. The huge smile on his face stretched wide. “But if we collaborate, then I can rest easy, knowing Banner Bank will come out smelling like a rose when the story breaks.”

  I shrugged.

  He wagged a finger at me in playful fashion. “The story will break. Barton will be found to be guilty.”

  Bass had taken to jittering in his chair, looking eager to jump into the conversation, but unwilling to stop David before the entire offer was on the table. At the short lull in the conversation, he piped in. “So, you’ll allow some of our staff to take a look at your files?”

  David held up his hands. Large hands.

  “I’d prefer only one set of eyes on our files. Discreet eyes.” He glanced at me with meaning. “I can get into trouble if I allow broad access to our records. Allowing one investigator, sanctioned by yours truly, to help launch the bank’s own research into the matter, will be understandable.”

  “Alex here can do it,” Bass said without so much as a glance my direction to consult me.

  “That’s precisely who I had in mind,” David said.

  I wanted to say something sarcastic, like “Surprise, surprise,” but then he smiled again. I expected a leer or some snarky look, but his expression was devoid of guile.

  I had no idea what either of them expected me to uncover, but I knew that I often found information in the least likely places, so I nodded. “You’ll arrange to have the files sent over?”

  David blinked. The small lenses of his glasses served to make his eyes appear bigger. “Oh, no, we can’t let our records out of the bank. At this very moment, I have my staff setting up a work area for you.”

  The question popped out of my mouth, sharp and indignant. “You were that sure of me?”

  “Well . . .” His voice took on a soothing tone, I got the feeling David viewed me as he would a rambunctious kitten. Avoid the claws and the tiny teeth. Maybe they can’t do any real damage, but they sure can smart. “Alex,” he said, in gentle chastisement. He seemed to like saying my name. “When I heard how you and that other woman had been brutalized, I knew we had to do something. I’m afraid for you. If Barton stays on the loose, there’s no telling what kind of danger you’re in. This solution is best for all of us.”

  “I’m not convinced it’s Barton,” I said, my own voice straining for patience.

  “Of course,” Bass said, jumping in. “That’s why you’re investigating. So you can find out for yourself.”

  David stood, and in a gentle motion, took my right hand in his. “I have several pressing engagements this afternoon. But perhaps tomorrow we could get started?”

  “That’s perfect,” Bass said.

  I shot him an annoyed glance, which he missed.

  David, apparently picking up on my displeasure, squeezed my hand, ever so slightly. Surprisingly it didn’t hurt. “Alex? Is that all right with you?”

  I nodded. “Sure. What time?”

  “Let’s do breakfast tomorrow. I’m an early riser, but you let me know whatever time is best.”

  I looked into the sparkling brown eyes smiling at me. The man had been nothing but the picture of consideration since I’d met him. I found him a bit overbearing, but no different than any hundred other successful businessmen out there. Breakfast might be nice.

  “I’m up early too. Where would you like to meet?”

  As though I’d given him a precious gift, he smiled. Letting go of my hand he thought for a moment. “I’ll pick you up here, say seven o’clock?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know a great little place,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of privacy to discuss the investigation.”

  Momentary panic made me blurt, “It is a restaurant, right?”

  I must have caught him unawares, because he laughed out loud. “Yes, Alex, it’s a restaurant. I don’t have any ulterior motives here.” He winked, then spoke just
loud enough for me to hear. “Not yet, at least.”

  * * * * *

  Deep into creating my Vicks file, I jumped when my desk phone rang a half-hour later.

  Without preamble, Detective Lulinski asked, “You up for a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I’ll meet you at the Emperor’s Roost in fifteen minutes, okay?”

  The Emperor’s Roost, a small restaurant that had seen better days, sat at ground level between my building and the one next door. Everything about the place was dark. Umber-paneled walls were broken up with the occasional yellowed painting. Every one depicted Emperor Napoleon in a battle pose. Booths lined the crescent-shaped seating area along the perimeter. Downstairs from my office, the restaurant was convenient for me. Not so much for the good detective. Something was up. “Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll grab a table, so look for me.”

  The phone clicked in my ear without him saying anything more.

  Fifteen minutes later, almost on the dot, I watched him walk in from the restaurant’s north entrance. He brought in a gust of cold air, or so it seemed from the reaction of the woman manning the to-go counter adjacent to the door.

  His eyes scanned and found me in seconds, and five strides later he was at my table, a semi-circular booth in the bar area of the place. Smoking section. As he took off his coat and then sat, he eyed the clear glass ashtray between us, then up at me with a quizzical look.

  “It was the only open table,” I said.

  A quick smile, gone as fast as it came. He pulled a box of cigarettes out of his suit coat and laid it on the table. But he didn’t light up. Instead he looked at me for a couple of beats, and I watched him take in the bruises, and the shadow that promised a black eye despite Bass’s predictions that I’d skate on that one.

  A gum-cracking waitress showed up with a pot of coffee. We both turned our cups over for filling. “You hungry?” he asked.

  “I am, actually,” I answered, surprised. I hadn’t taken any menus since he’d said “just coffee,” but when Lulinski ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich with fries, I decided on a bowl of broccoli soup.