The Impostor

by Cassie Miles

  “When you shoot a man in the chest, the flesh explodes. And the blood doesn’t trickle, it gushes. Slippery and wet, it’s the goriest red you’ve ever seen.”

  Her hand trembled.

  “In spite of what you’ve seen in the movies, somebody who’s been shot doesn’t fold to the floor all nice and neat. They might lurch. Might scream. Might even manage to shoot back.”

  In two strides, he crossed the hardwood floor and took the gun from her hand. “I’m almost a stranger. Blowing me away would be easy. Whoever murdered Agatha is somebody you know—somebody you know real well. You think you could shoot them?”

  “If I had to.” Her chin lifted defiantly.

  “Would you hesitate? Would you wait that one extra second to think about it before you pulled the trigger?”

  Quietly, she said, “I’m not sure.”

  “One second is the difference between life and death. One extra second, and you could be dead. Do you really want to take that chance?”

  “But what can I do? The murderer already knows I’m investigating.”

  “Here’s what you do. Don’t go to work tomorrow. Take sick time, take a vacation. Get out of town. Stay with friends. Don’t leave a forwarding address.”

  “You want me to run away and hide?”

  “I want you to be safe.” He had to convince her. “Please, Liz. Be reasonable.”

  “Of course, you’re right.” Turning away from him, she paced across the room, picked up one of the pillows on the sofa and plumped it. Then she fussed with another pillow, picked an invisible piece of lint off the coffee table. “I could stay with my sister in Atlanta. I haven’t visited in quite some time.”

  “It’s best,” he said.

  “Sane and sensible. That’s me.” With a sigh, she sank down on the beige-striped sofa. Sitting cross-legged, she gathered a pillow against her chest and slowly, slowly lowered her head. She seemed to be deflating. Her spunk and defiance faded. Her hair spilled over her hands.

  When she looked up, her blue eyes were moist, but she wasn’t crying. Her words were matter-of-fact, resigned. “All my life, I’ve been safe. I’ve always been such a good girl—so dull that I bore myself.”

  With total honesty, he said, “There’s nothing boring about you, precious.”

  “But do I have the courage to face a killer? Could I pull the trigger on a gun? I don’t know. Do I have the savvy to track down the person who murdered Agatha? I don’t know that, either. But I hate that somebody could get away with it. That murder shouldn’t have happened. Her life should not have been cut short. When I think about her suffering, it makes me want to scream. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, Dash, let me help you. Let me work with you. I want to avenge Agatha’s death.”

  “Leave it to me, sweetheart. This is what I do.”

  “But I’d be good at solving crimes. I’m organized. I’m smart. I want to do this for myself. Really want to. I want to feel passionate about something. Please, Dash. I’ve got to live, I’ve got to take some risks before I get old and shriveled and die in my sleep.”

  He was torn. Dash wanted to give Liz the chance she wanted, but he couldn’t allow her to march wide-eyed and innocent into extreme peril. It wasn’t her job. It was his. Danger was his profession, his calling. He was a warrior, seeking justice against overwhelming odds.

  He sat beside her on the sofa. Gently, he stroked her long, silky hair, offering solace and wishing he could take her into his arms and hold her until the disappointment went away. But he didn’t trust himself to touch her. It would be too easy to ignite her fierce passions.

  “I’m sorry, Liz. If you got hurt, I’d never forgive myself. Tell you what, sweetheart, if it’s risks you want, I’ll take you bungee jumping when this is over.”

  She slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “That’s exactly what you meant to do.” She was on her feet, glaring at him. “You open the door on an exciting world and let me look inside, then you tell me that I can be a cheerleader while you do all the fun stuff.”

  “The fun stuff? Like tracking down a killer?”

  “I could do it,” she asserted. “I’d be a good private eye.”

  “Why?” He gestured toward her bookshelf. “Because you’ve read all the stories?”

  She threw the pillow at him. The fire in her eyes told him that he was lucky she didn’t have the gun in her hand at that moment. “Get out!”

  “Hang on, precious.”

  “I’m not your precious!”

  “You’re not going to investigate on your own, are you?”

  “It’s none of your business.” Stiff-legged, she stalked to the door and threw it open. “Good night!”

  He stood. He couldn’t have bungled this any worse. Dredging up a confidence he didn’t feel, he said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Out!”

  How could her eyes, which had shone with such appealing light, be so cold? How could her soft, petal-like lips be set so hard? She looked like she could bite off his head.

  Dash stepped into the hall. The door to her apartment slammed behind him.

  With a sigh, he allowed a cloak of invisibility to shroud his presence. He might be able to crack this case right now if he flew to each suspect’s house and searched for the yellow legal tablet. But he shouldn’t leave Liz alone. Not now. The killer might be inspired to come here. Where was Cherie, the Guardian Angel, when he needed her?

  THE NEXT MORNING, at precisely nine o’clock, Liz whipped into her office at OrbenCorp headquarters and waited impatiently until the caffeine-perked blond receptionist got off the phone.

  “Good morning,” Liz said. “Is Jack in?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Or Hector?”

  “Nope.”

  Liz really hadn’t expected to find them there. The male executives seemed to feel no guilt about coming in late after a night out. To the receptionist, she said, “I’ll be in Gary Gregory’s office. Page me the minute either Jack or Hector come in.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? No, not at all.” Liz forced a smile. In order for her plan to succeed, she needed to return to her former position of nonentity. She needed to glide unnoticed through the offices until the moment she could unmask the killer. “Nothing wrong.” She fluttered her hand. “I’m just a little tense this morning.”

  “Too much coffee,” the receptionist said sagely. “You should switch to decaf.”

  In her office, Liz opened her briefcase and took out the computer printout that showed the figures for Hector’s purchases of raw beans, then she took her list comparing those prices with those of their competitors. Documentation in hand, Liz swung down the hall toward accounting. She nodded to Gary’s secretary, “Is he in?”

  “Honey, he’s always in.”

  With her usual office politeness, Liz smiled a greeting to the three bookkeepers, seated in a row at their desks. In their white shirts, dark neckties and conservative haircuts, they looked like mirror-image clones. They were modern-day Bob Cratchits, slaving away at their computers. As one, they raised their right hands and waved. “Hi, Liz.”

  “Good morning, guys.”

  She pushed open the door to Gary’s inner sanctum and strode inside. Though his floor space was nearly as large as Jack’s, the head accountant’s office seemed crowded. There was a wall of dog-eared accounting and investment books. Two computers hummed in simultaneous harmony. Stacks of computer printouts and manila folders covered every spare inch of horizontal surface. And, of course, there were roses.

  Five miniature rosebushes in varying states of bloom were scattered around the office. The place of honor on the windowsill was occupied by a specimen that was similar to the Gregory rose, but it was a very dark blue, almost black. Ominous, Liz thought.

  In the midst of this chaotic domain sat Gary Gregory. On the desk in front of
him was a yellow legal pad.

  Liz stared at it. Was that her notebook? Had Gary left it right there as a taunt?

  She remembered how Dash had compared the murderer to a chess player, making his dark and clever moves until…checkmate! But how could Gary Gregory be a cold-blooded killer? He looked like a big, goofy bird with his shock of straw-colored hair, black-rimmed glasses and pointy nose.

  He said, “If you’ve come to ask about my rose, the prognosis isn’t good. The bloom was severely traumatized.”

  His rose? How could he be talking about a plant when she was investigating a murder? Still, Liz pretended concern. “Sorry to hear that. But right now, I need to talk to you about Hector.”

  “The wild man of the expense account.” He reached to the corner of his desk and picked up a massive folder. “He reports everything in Spanish with pesos, then he expects reimbursement. I’ve told him a thousand times that we deal in American dollars and cents.”

  “Is he padding his expenses?” She moved closer, trying to get a look at the yellow tablet.

  “Padding? Not as far as I can tell. But he surely does include every damned taco and plantain.”

  On the top sheet of yellow paper, she saw a list of figures and notes in Gary’s chicken-scratch handwriting. But several pages had been flipped over. She still couldn’t tell if it was her notebook.

  “Well?” Gary demanded. “What about Hector?”

  She leveled her gaze, watching his expression for a reaction. “Agatha told me something before she died.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He scowled. “Agatha? That’s morbid! Why would you mention Agatha?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, she’s dead. She’s a decomposing corpse. A human compost heap, you know.” He shuddered. His feathers were definitely ruffled. “I don’t like to think about death. Although some people say that bones make the best fertilizer. There was a little old lady who used to win every flower show, and people swore that she buried body parts in her flower beds to feed the blooms.”

  “Body parts?”

  “Cats and dogs…I presume.”

  “How organic,” Liz said.

  “And what did Agatha tell you?”

  “She suggested that I make a habit of comparing the figures for Hector’s purchases of raw coffee beans with the prices paid by our competitors. I’ve found that we’re often paying more.”

  She spread the sheet that came from Gary’s accounting computers on the desk. “Here’s what Hector paid.” Then she tossed down the comparison she’d done. “Here are the competitors’ figures. As you can see, OrbenCorp has been paying eight to ten percent more during the last quarter.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Gary said. He snatched up the two sheets of paper. His eyes darted between them. “And he did this after Agatha’s death. When he knew she couldn’t check up on him. That swine!”

  He leaped up from behind his desk. Pacing with his hands clasped behind his back, his head pecked forward with each step. He looked absolutely furious, and Liz was taken aback. Geez, you would have thought it was Gary’s own personal money instead of OrbenCorp funds.

  “There might be an innocent explanation,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with Hector.”

  “I scoff at his innocence. His best excuse is incompetence.” He returned to his desk and grabbed the two sheets. “Here’s proof. Looks to me like Hector’s taking a payoff.”

  Gary’s reaction was so extreme that Liz found herself in the position of cautioning rather than accusing. “Let’s arrange a conference today with Jack.”

  “Why bother?” He flapped his long, skinny arms. He shouted, “Jack would let Hector get away with murder.”

  The word hung between them. Murder. Liz felt a prickling up and down her spine. It was as if Gary was giving her a coded message. Murder. What was he telling her?

  “Sorry,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his beaklike nose. “I get frustrated at times. Jack knows nothing about the finances. As long as his salary is paid, he couldn’t care less about the juggling act I have to perform to turn a profit month after month.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought OrbenCorp was solidly in the black.”

  “We are. We are.” It sounded like the belated cry of a wounded bird. “Sorry, Liz, sorry. Of course we’ll conference.” He went behind his desk, perched on the edge of his chair and spread the crumpled sheets of figures in front of him. “Can I hold on to these?”

  “Sure, I have a copy.”

  “Good. Was that all?”

  Wasn’t that enough? “I guess so.” She went to the door. When her fingertips touched the knob, she turned. “What did you think of my date last night?”

  “The philosopher? He seems…okay.”

  Gary was staring so intently at the figures she’d given him that nothing else in the world existed for him.

  She left without another word.

  When Liz returned to her office, she shoved aside the morning’s work, flipped through her Rolodex to find Sarah’s number and picked up the telephone receiver. Though Sarah was the only suspect who couldn’t have stolen the legal tablet from her car, she couldn’t be scratched off the list. Especially since, as Dash had pointed out, Sarah had the best opportunity to administer poison to Agatha.

  Dash! An infuriating man! The thought of him caused her to forget what number she was dialing. She hung up the phone and took a breath. Last night, she hadn’t been able to get to sleep because she kept thinking of him. It was almost as if he was there, in her bedroom, watching over her and unnerving her.

  She wanted to hate him for treating her like a helpless bimbo he could placate with a promise of bungee jumping, but she couldn’t. He had changed her life. Because of Dash, she was investigating a murder. Due to his interference, her ordered life had careened in a brand-new direction.

  She was different.

  Though she might be in danger, she liked the feeling of urgency that inspired her to investigate. Her actions had a renewed sense of purpose. She wasn’t just a secretary anymore.

  The files in her office, the sales charts, the computer printouts and the correspondence on which she had focused her attention eight hours a day seemed utterly void of meaning when compared with the horrifying injustice of Agatha Orben’s murder. Could Liz ferret out the murderer? There were very few facts to draw upon. Dash had been closemouthed about the actual details, other than to say she was poisoned and had left behind a clue. A tangible clue, he’d said. And what was that? What was the object? Would she know it if she saw it?

  First things first. Liz dragged a fresh legal pad across her desktop and began to make notes. Across the top of the page, she wrote, Gary Gregory.

  What about Gary Gregory? He had reacted strangely when she mentioned Agatha. And he had a legal tablet, just like this one, on his desk. What else had he said? Jack would let Hector get away with murder.

  Liz tapped her pen on the desktop. Did Gary know something? Maybe he was blackmailing Jack or Hector.

  She wrote, “Blackmail” and “Tablet.” Then she carefully tore off the sheet, folded it twice and filed it in her purse next to her handgun.

  And now for Sarah Liz had two reasons for contacting her. First, to get her reactions and hope she might inadvertently drop a clue. Second, Liz wanted to get back in the house and search for the mysterious clue Dash had mentioned.

  She wrote Sarah Pachen across the top of another sheet of yellow legal paper and dialed the phone number. “Hi, Sarah. I wanted to thank you for dinner last night.”

  “Thank you, Liz.” Her throaty voice was decidedly cool. “Now you’ve fulfilled your polite obligation. Goodbye.”

  “Wait! I’m sorry about what happened last night. Jack was way out of line.” Though she didn’t say it, Liz also thought that Gary’s response was cruel and inappropriate.

  “You don’t think I should marry Gary, either, do you?”

  “It’s really none of my business
.”

  “God, when I think of how I’ve treated you people as friends, I feel like such a fool. Nobody at OrbenCorp has ever liked me. They just put up with me because of Agatha.”

  “Gary likes you.”

  “Not as much as his damned roses. I told him that this morning when he called. He has some major apologizing to do.”

  “I agree,” Liz said. “I was just wondering. You and Gary have been dating for quite some time. What did Agatha think of him?”

  “She wanted me to be happy.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Oh, Liz, I never appreciated her when she was alive. Now I miss her so much. She knew everything about me. She was the only one I could truly confide in.”

  “Agatha was an amazing woman,” Liz said sincerely. “Which reminds me, Sarah, I have a favor to ask.”

  “What else is new? Everybody wants something.”

  “I really would like something to remember Agatha by. Some kind of memento.”

  “Something valuable, no doubt.”

  “Certainly not. I was thinking of a photograph, a picture of Agatha that was taken before she got sick.”

  “For goodness sake, Liz, all the photo albums have been packed up and stored in the attic. It’s a tremendous bother for me.”

  “I’ll go through everything. This afternoon?”

  “Today’s not convenient.”

  “Please, Sarah. I promise not to get in the way. This afternoon? Say at about one o’clock.”

  “Well, I have another meeting with the people from the battered women’s shelter, but it’s here at the house. I suppose I could open up the attic for you.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. I’ll see you then.”

  Liz hung up the phone and smiled. Compared to yesterday’s clumsy conversation with Dr. Clark, her interrogation of Sarah had gone extremely well. In spite of what Dash thought, she was getting better at this detective stuff.

  She made a couple of notes under the heading Sarah. “Angry at Gary. Insecure. Loved Agatha. Regrets her death? Battered Women’s Shelter.”

  Again, she tore off the page and stashed it in her purse.

  She glanced up and saw Dash standing in her doorway. In his hand, he held a bouquet of daisies.