by Dianne Emley
“Didn’t talk about T. Duke. Wouldn’t talk about T. Duke.”
“Loyal.”
“To a fault. Bu-ut”—Toni playfully wrinkled her nose—“he told me who the USA Assets investors are.”
Iris was now all ears.
Toni rummaged through her purse, shuffling through handfuls of folded and bent papers. She handed a rolled-up length of toilet paper to Iris. “It’s kind of scribbled. After Baines told me, I made an excuse to go to the bathroom. All I had to write with was my lipstick.”
Iris unrolled the paper on her desk. She could barely make out the writing. “Darvis Brown, Clinton Cormier, Yale Huxley, and T. Duke Sawyer.” She read the list again.
“Darvis Brown is also the Grand Eagle of the Trust Makers.” Toni sat erect and shoved her hands underneath her thighs. “You remember, he sent a letter criticizing Pandora. There’s your connection between the Trust Makers and USA Assets.”
Iris focused on Yale Huxley’s name. He was the managing partner of Huxley Investments, the firm where Evan Finn supposedly worked before moving to California. Garland had already told her that Yale Huxley knew T. Duke. She hadn’t heard of Clinton Cormier and wondered if Garland had.
Iris leaned back in her chair. “I’m confused. Yesterday, T. Duke made a compelling argument that his only interest in Pandora was to make money. I decided it was foolish not to take his offer.”
Toni gaped at Iris. “Even after what Jim Platt said?”
“You heard from Jim Platt?”
“He didn’t call you? He said he lost the card you gave him and knew you were involved with Pandora and tried to reach you there. They put the call through to me. He found out that USA Assets did invest in his second movie.”
“They did,” Iris said quietly.
“It’s all falling into place, Iris. Bridget Cross is murdered. Kip Cross is framed for it. Alexa Platt is murdered. Harry Hagopian dies in a solo spinout. Each individual is involved in producing entertainment media with a high violent and sexual content. All of them had a financial connection to T. Duke Sawyer and USA Assets. USA Assets has a connection to the Trust Makers.” Toni flung herself back into the chair and folded her arms across her chest with finality.
Iris stood and looked out the window behind her desk at the rain sweeping across the sky. After a while, she faced Toni. “Consider the possibility that you and I have overactive imaginations. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
“Iris, hello! The clue phone is ringing and you’re not picking up.”
There was sharp knocking on Iris’s door, obviously administered by someone who didn’t care that Iris was otherwise engaged. Iris strode across the room and angrily opened the door to find Liz standing there, her fist still raised in the air.
Liz surged ahead without uttering a greeting. “The market finally closed up today, just five points, but it’s the first time it’s been up in three weeks. We’re all going for drinks. Iris, get your purse.” It was an order, not an invitation.
“Liz Martini, this is Toni Burton. Toni’s my lifeline at Pandora.”
Toni stood and shook Liz’s hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” Liz said. “So get your purse.”
Kyle Tucker appeared in the doorway behind Liz. “It’s cigar night at Julie’s. Drinks are half-price. And for ladies, cigars are half-price. Now that’s an offer I know a cigar lover like you won’t be able to refuse, Iris,” he teased.
“Half-price cigars for ladies?” Iris retorted. “How sexist. I demand to pay full price for my cigars.”
“Come on downstairs and we’ll talk to Julie personally. Then we’ll go over to the car wash and demand they discontinue half-price washes to ladies on Wednesday afternoons.” He glanced at Toni.
Toni had already spotted him.
“Bring your friend.”
“I’d love to,” Toni said.
Iris leaned forward to see Evan’s cubicle. “Kyle, invite everyone. It’ll be on me. We deserve a break.” She opened the top drawer of her filing cabinet, reached inside her wallet, and took out her newly issued corporate gold card. She flicked the stiff plastic. “About time I took this baby for a ride.” She slammed the file cabinet drawer closed.
“Even the mystery man?” Kyle jerked his head in the direction of Evan’s cubicle. “He’ll hardly give anyone here the time of day. Like his poop don’t stink or something.”
“Everyone,” Iris affirmed. “Consider it a team-building exercise.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kyle sprinted off to do his assigned job.
“Is the mystery man you were talking about that hunk sitting out there?” Toni asked.
Liz was nosily scanning the items on Iris’s desk. “Top Gun, as we affectionately call him.”
“His name’s Evan Finn,” Iris said. “He’s only been on the job about a week and he’s very private.”
“He’s dreamy,” Toni swooned. “He looks like someone famous but I can’t think of who it is.”
“Tom Cruise.” Liz picked up Brianna’s drawings and stared aghast at the first one. She rolled it back to look at the second, clucking with dismay.
“What?” Toni looked over Liz’s shoulder. “Uh!” she gasped. “Brianna drew those?”
Iris raised an eyebrow in confirmation.
“She remembers,” Toni said as she watched Liz flip through the stack. “She remembers everything. That poor child.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
By the time Iris, Liz, and Toni were ready to leave for Julie’s, everyone else in the office had already left. Everyone except Evan Finn.
Iris put on her suit jacket as she walked down the corridor, slipping her credit card into a pocket. Toni was close on her heels.
Liz leaned against Evan’s cubicle with one hand on the wall and the other petulantly dug into her hip. “Says he’s got too many things to do,” she said as Iris approached.
“Unacceptable,” Iris said sternly. She noticed Evan’s briefcase sitting open on his desk and tried not to seem too interested in it. Her eyes were drawn to it in spite of herself. “You’re going to turn down an invitation for drinks with three attractive women, one of whom is paying?” She pulled out the gold card and waved it in front of him.
Evan smiled. His mouth pulled slightly higher to one side, deepening his dimple there and giving him a rakish air. Iris thought she heard a tiny swoon emitted by Toni, who was standing close beside her.
“I suppose I should spend some time getting to know my boss a little better,” he said. “And my coworkers.”
Liz clamped her manicured fingers on Evan’s shoulder and playfully shook it. “That’s right. There’s a time for work and a time for play. We frown on workaholics around here, don’t we, Iris?”
Iris faked choking.
“Don’t we, Iris?” Liz persisted.
“Absolutely.”
“Sold,” Evan said as he stood and took his jacket from a hanger on a hook attached to the back of his cubicle. “But I didn’t have a chance, did I?”
“Evan, this is Toni Burton.”
Evan shook the hand that Toni only too happily offered.
With Evan momentarily distracted, Iris stared more pointedly into his briefcase. After snooping as much as she dared, she noticed that Liz was looking at her. Liz winked and Iris wondered if she’d figured out what was on her mind. Iris’s cheeks colored with the thought. Then she realized it was her guilty conscience getting the better of her. Liz couldn’t possibly know what she was thinking. She was just winking to be friendly. She was always winking at people. She approached life as if it were one big party and she were the life of it.
“So what do you guys think of this cigar craze?” Toni asked.
“It’s just awful,” Liz proclaimed in her typically dramatic way. “We certainly don’t need to encourage people in such a filthy habit.”
Evan slipped on his jacket and Iris saw the Armani label.
“Personally, I’m glad to see it,” Evan said. “I’ve always enjoyed a good ci
gar. Until now, people looked at you like you were a leper if you lit up.”
“I think it’s fun,” Toni piped in, not wanting to be left out.
Iris saw Evan put his hand on the top of his open briefcase and start to press it closed and, presumably, locked.
“Oh, leave it,” she said to him. “I’m just going down for a few minutes myself. I have a ton of work to do.”
Evan hesitated, but before he could put up a struggle, Liz had crooked her arm through his and was sweeping him down the corridor. “Come on, mystery man. Leave your work behind.”
Toni rushed to snag Evan’s other arm. Iris walked behind them.
“Mystery man?” Evan said. “Is that what you think of me?”
“That’s what we think of you,” Liz confirmed. “Is that the image you wanted to create?”
“Of course not,” Evan protested. “My life’s an open book and pretty uninteresting.”
“Hmmm,” Liz said skeptically.
“Hmmm?” Evan repeated. “What does hmmm mean?”
“It means I think you protest too much.”
At the elevator, Iris pressed the call button.
“How about you, Iris?” Evan asked, changing the subject. “You smoke cigars?”
“Oh yeah. The day’s not right unless I get my stogie in.”
Evan narrowed his eyes and peered at Iris, as if trying to visualize something. “A cigarillo. Yes, definitely. Be a nice counterpoint to your girl-next-door looks.” His dimple deepened when he smiled at her.
You devil you, Iris thought. Flirting with your boss? You’re a bold SOB. She let his comment and his gaze drop as she turned to walk into the elevator. It was empty. She pressed the button for the lobby.
“What about me, Evan? What sort of cigar would go with my all-American, girl-next-door looks?” Liz asked with a twinkle in her eye as she moved to the back of the elevator. She was anything but girl-next-door looking and she knew it. Her self-deprecating wit was one of the things that Iris especially loved about her.
“For you, I think an eight-inch, thickly wrapped Havana.”
“Don’t they come any longer than that?” Toni asked, sounding disappointed. “Can’t a girl at least get twelve inches?”
The three of them laughed. Iris would have too, but suddenly remembered that she was the boss. “This conversation’s getting a little suggestive for the workplace.”
Almost to herself she said, “It can be boring to be the boss.”
The elevator stopped several times to pick up passengers, who observed elevator etiquette and quietly stood facing the front with their arms straight down at their sides. Iris’s group talked raucously behind them.
“Oh, Iris,” Liz scolded. “Your mind immediately goes straight to the gutter.”
Toni added, “You were just telling me that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
Iris leaned against a corner of the elevator. “Hmmm.”
“Now she’s saying it, too,” Evan said. “What does hmmm mean?”
“She likes to stand off to the side and quietly observe people.” Liz cupped her hand against her mouth and in a loud stage whisper said, “You may not know this, but around the office, Miss Thorne is known as the Ice Princess.”
Evan looked at Iris as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Is that so?”
Toni came to Iris’s defense. “You guys…Iris isn’t icy and she certainly doesn’t act like a princess.”
“I would consider that nickname a compliment,” Evan said. “She coolly sits back and appraises a situation. It means she’s thoughtful and not a woman of brash action. I can definitely see it.”
Iris arched an eyebrow at him.
“Iris, brash?” Liz said. “Ha! Why, you’d never think to use those two words in the same sentence.” She gave Iris a playful shove. It was an inside joke. Over the years, Liz had seen Iris brashly throw herself headfirst into a variety of situations, only pausing to consider the consequences after it was too late.
Evan again sized up Iris with his sable-colored eyes. No doubt about it, she decided, he was flirting with her. He definitely had that je ne sais quoi. Sex appeal. Animal magnetism. Whatever one wanted to call it, Evan Finn had it in spades and he knew it. He knew he could push the envelope with women and they’d let him. Lord, yes, would they. There was something about this man that was sending her radar on overload. He was trouble. And he worked for her. She defiantly met his bold stare.
Finally, Iris said, “How long are you guys going to stand there and talk about me in the third person like I’m not even here?”
“As long as you let us.” Liz laughed.
The elevator reached the lobby and everyone spilled out. The lobby was darker than usual, the rain preventing the sunlight from filtering through the skylights installed three stories up. They rounded a corner and were met with laughter and animated talking. It was on the early side of happy hour, which was almost always two hours long, but the crowd and the cigar smoke had already poured into the lobby.
Evan gallantly pushed his way through, cutting a path for the ladies. Toni was close behind, resting her hand on his back, presumably not to lose him in the crowd. The McKinney Alitzer group, who had taken over one end of the large, oval bar, let out a hurrah at the sight of their missing compatriots. They were especially glad to see Iris. They had taken full advantage of her largesse and had ordered ample hors d’oeuvres, premium booze, and good cigars. They’d promised the establishment that a credit card was due to arrive.
Iris presented her credit card to the bartender. “Could you please run a tab for the McKinney Alitzer group? And I’ll have a glass of the house chard.”
Liz pressed in front of Iris, who was cramming a piece of garlicky focaccia into her mouth. “The house cab, please.”
“What would you like?” Evan asked Toni.
“Diet Coke.”
“That it shall be.” He leaned over the crowd and shouted to the bartender. “A Diet Coke and what kind of Scotch do you have?”
“Glenfiddich and Glenlivet.”
“I’ll have Glenfiddich, straight up.”
Amber Ambrose was posed on a barstool with her legs crossed, holding court. “There’s plenty of money to be made in a bear market. The stocks of security firms haven’t stopped skyrocketing since the crash of TWA Flight 800 and the bombing at the Atlanta Olympics.” She took a sip of her mineral water with lime.
Evan passed Toni her Diet Coke.
Toni tapped her glass against his. “Here’s looking at you.”
“And at you,” he smiled back.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“I was raised in California.”
Toni smiled flirtatiously at him, but he seemed more interested in Amber’s conversation.
“Amber’s made a fortune capitalizing on life’s dark side,” Kyle explained to Toni and Evan. His long lips twitched with amusement. “She was one of the first to leap on companies specializing in hospice care.”
Amber defended herself. “With the aging of the population and no cure for AIDS in sight, hospices are only going to become more important. You should have got in on Compcare’s IPO when I told you about it. From an opening price of eleven dollars, it’s been holding steady around forty-five.”
Kyle continued, enjoying rattling Amber’s cage. “Now Amber’s hawking the stock of a firm that opened a chain of shops that sell spy equipment—listening devices, stun guns, invisible ink, bulletproof clothing—I don’t know what all.”
“I’m just leaping on a trend,” Amber responded. “The point I was trying to make was that there’s plenty of money to be made in a bear market.”
“I agree with that,” Evan interjected.
Everyone seemed surprised that he had joined in.
“Lately, the bear market doomsayers are enjoying talking about how overvalued blue chips are now and how a similar situation existed in ‘73 when the market peaked at a thousand fifty-one. By December of ‘74, the D
ow had plunged to five hundred seventy-seven, a forty-five percent drop. It took almost ten years for the index to get back to its 1973 peak.”
A pall fell over the group. The brokers silently stared into their drinks. Few were old enough to remember the last great bear. Most had entered the profession during the nineties bull market in which all boats floated. The seasoned veterans who had survived shared war stories.
“The blue chips turned into blue gyps,” one man said.
Another shook his head. “Between ‘73 and ‘84, stocks were cold. People were putting their money into oil partnerships and real estate.”
“Everything you bought just sat there and looked at ya.”
Evan sipped his Scotch and set the glass back on the bar. “But Amber’s right—there’s money to be made in a bear market. During every year since ‘75, the NASDAQ composite rose. The smaller companies were able to react much faster to changing economic conditions. Even blue chips did well if they sold for a low price-to-earnings ratio.” He picked up his glass again.
Iris was impressed. Evan knew his stuff.
Toni seemed awestruck.
“We have to work smarter,” Amber said. “The key is to diversify: big and small, growth and value, and don’t forget the foreign issues.”
Iris picked up her almost full wineglass from the bar. “Foreign markets frequently move in the opposite—” She quickly turned and bumped into Evan, spilling both his drink and her own on him. “I’m so sorry!”
Toni immediately procured a napkin and started dabbing Evan’s suit.
Iris set her wineglass on the bar, plucked Evan’s glass from his hand and told the bartender, “Another Scotch, please,” as she grabbed the napkins he offered. She joined Toni in patting napkins against the spilled booze on Evan’s suit, at the same time managing to conceal Evan’s empty glass in a napkin and handing it to Liz, who was standing next to her. “Hold this,” she whispered.
“Ladies, c’mon,” Evan protested. “I like all the attention, but please...”
Iris gave Toni a quick shove. “Why don’t you go over by the rest rooms where there’s more light?”
Toni didn’t need any encouragement. She grabbed Evan’s hand and led him away from the crowd.