by Dianne Emley
She smiled tightly with her lips closed and didn’t respond. “I want to reiterate that the scheme is brilliant. You gathered ammunition to get me out of the branch manager position and a way to make money on the side. Just how much did T. Duke pay you?”
Sam winced. “I shouldn’t say.”
“C’mon, Sam. I’m dying to know. Brag a little.”
Sam sucked his bottom lip, as if fighting to hold the words in. “Well, I don’t want to get into specifics. Let’s just say it was in the six figures.”
Iris appreciatively raised her eyebrows.
“In the middle six,” he volunteered.
“Indeed.” Iris nodded. “It must make you feel great to play with a heavy hitter like T. Duke. You told me early on how much you admired him. I imagine he approached you?”
Sam beamed. “Actually, I approached him. I knew he was trying to buy Pandora and didn’t want you to take it public because the odds were he’d end up having to pay more for it in that case. I told him I had a personal interest in effecting some changes in this branch office and would help him out any way I could. A few days later, he put me in touch with Evan Finn.”
Iris shook her head. “Brilliant. Terrific. Did you know Evan is his son?”
“I didn’t at the time, but Evan later told me.”
“Does T. Duke know about this recent turn of events?”
Sam’s face darkened. “Oh no. Uh-uh. That’s why I was so glad you rehired Evan. Now everything can continue as planned, without T. Duke being any the wiser.”
Iris pursed her lips and looked troubled. “That’s a bit of a pickle for you, Sam. T. Duke knows I know all about Evan, Canterbury Investments, and your involvement in the whole thing.”
Sam uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on the couch. “How?”
“I guess I told him,” she said guilelessly.
“Oh no.” Sam stared at the carpet as if a series of unpleasant possibilities were being played out in his mind.
“Boy, if T. Duke was willing to set up his own son,” Iris breathed, “it’s scary to think what he might do to a total stranger.”
“But I fulfilled T. Duke’s bargain. I never told Evan or you about the scheme.” Sam’s voice was tinged with panic. “It wasn’t my fault you found out on your own. T. Duke has no reason to be mad at me.”
“One wouldn’t think so.” Iris became thoughtful. “But the guy does seem to have a code of ethics from the Wild West.”
Sam grew more agitated.
Iris did her best to feed it. “Since it’s all out in the open, he doesn’t have any further use for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re extraneous.”
“But…but I’m not. I still have to call New York and tell them about all the dirty stuff going on in your branch office.”
“That’s right. When are you going to do that?”
“I have to wait for instructions from T. Duke.”
“I see. In the meantime, I guess I’ll go about my business like normal.” Iris walked to the door and put her hand on the doorknob.
Sam got the cue that the meeting was over. He stood. “You’re being surprisingly calm about this whole thing. I never expected that.”
Iris shrugged. “Well, I am a professional, Sam.”
“T. Duke knows, huh?” Sam asked, hoping he’d heard wrong.
Iris nodded and opened the door.
Without another word, Sam left.
Iris closed the door behind him. She pulled a tiny tape recorder from her jacket pocket, rewound a few seconds, and played it to make sure she had got their conversation. She had.
“Amber Ambrose and her spy shops,” she said aloud to herself. “I’m going to have to buy some of that stock myself.”
Evan Finn walked through the high-ceilinged room of the exclusive club, his footsteps silent on the thick oriental carpet. Bulky leather club chairs were arranged in small groupings, each with a coffee table, end table, and lamp. A fire snapped in a bricked fireplace on one wall. Along another wall were several A-shaped newspaper stands with papers from around the world hanging from round dowels. It was late afternoon, not quite cocktail hour, and the room was almost empty. An elderly man wearing a cardigan sweater with the elbows completely worn through dozed in one of the chairs. Drool seeped from a corner of his mouth.
A dark-suited, middle-aged Latino, balancing on one hand a tray that held a brandy snifter of amber liquid, walked to a chair on the far side of the room. The chair faced a window. A man’s head was barely visible above the back. The waiter picked up an empty snifter from an end table and left the fresh one.
“Anything else, sir?”
T. Duke Sawyer shook his head, picked up the snifter, cradling it between his fingers, and rolled the cognac around the glass.
“I’ll take one of those.”
Both the waiter and T. Duke were surprised by the intrusion.
“Certainly, sir,” the waiter politely responded.
Evan sat in a chair across from his father. “There’s some old guy over there who looks like a homeless man asleep with drool running down his chin. Thought this was supposed to be a high-class, members-only joint.”
“That old guy, as you refer to him, was once the CEO of two of the largest airlines in the world. He’s earned the right to wear his old sweater and drool, if that’s what he chooses.” T. Duke held the snifter to his nose and inhaled the cognac’s aroma before taking a sip. “You have little grounds to criticize. Rate you’re going, you won’t make it to age thirty-five.”
“If you had your choice, I’d spend the years left to me in jail.”
“Laws are to be enforced, not broken, in spite of what you might think.”
“T. Duke the Liquidator should know all about that.”
The waiter returned with another snifter of cognac. While he was setting a coaster on the end table, Evan swept the glass from his tray. The waiter’s expression didn’t change as he quietly turned and left.
Evan didn’t savor the cognac’s aroma or color before taking a long drink, consuming half of it. “I was discharged from my responsibilities at McKinney Alitzer yesterday.”
T. Duke crookedly smiled. “She fired you, did she?”
“Yes, but what a difference a day makes. She hired me back this morning.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say I was persuasive.” Evan took a package of imported cigarettes and his monogrammed Dunhill lighter from his inside jacket pocket. He put a cigarette between his lips, lit it, and inhaled deeply. “I even got a window office. You should have seen the expressions on my coworkers’ faces when I moved into that office.” He smiled at the recollection.
“You boxed her in. That strategy will come back to bite you.”
“You ought to know, Dad.” Evan slid a cut crystal ash tray on the coffee table closer to him and tapped his cigarette into it. “I admire the way you found out about Canterbury Investments and then devised a scheme to use my little business for your own ends. Have to hand it to you. You’ve always got an angle. The great T. Duke Sawyer.”
“What’s your point, Evan? I know you didn’t come here for some father-son bonding.”
“I think I’ve found a way to turn this all back around to my advantage. I’ve got my own angle to work.” Evan downed the rest of the brandy and waved at the waiter, who was patiently standing in a corner of the room. The waiter nodded and disappeared through a rear door.
Evan continued. “You were stupid to make it so obvious that you’re out to destroy someone who you’re having a business dispute with. That someone turns up dead, could put you in a real sticky situation.”
T. Duke responded, “I’m engaged in many business disputes. Which are you referring to?”
“Two people come immediately to mind. Kip Cross and Iris Thorne. Unlike you to wear your heart on your sleeve like that, my father.”
“You’re threatening to murder Iris or Kip—or both—and frame me for it
?”
“It’s poetic justice, isn’t it? It’s what Kip Cross says you did to him.”
“You don’t have the balls to do something like that.”
The waiter returned with a fresh cognac. This time, Evan let him set it on the end table before picking it up. “I don’t, huh?”
“You’ve got a wild card. Iris Thorne.” T. Duke rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. His black, ostrich-skin boots had built-up heels. “She’s big on doing the right thing. She might get to you before you get to her, even if it means bringing heat on herself.”
“I’ve got her right where I want her. She can’t do a damn thing to me. All I have to do is pick the time and place.” Evan swirled the cognac in the glass. “And the method.”
“That Sam Eastman blew it, didn’t he?”
“It doesn’t matter who blew what,” Evan replied coolly. “The deed is done.”
“Why didn’t you just go away and stay away?”
“I’m like you in that respect, I suppose. I hate people telling me what I can and cannot do. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I found out that you did get my charge reduced to manslaughter, but that you asked the judge to lay on the years. So typical of you. Every favor has strings attached. Now it’s payback time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Kip was sitting in Bridget’s office without the lights on. It was early evening but very dark due to the heavy sky and pounding rain. The colorful images on the computer screen in front of Kip cast a faint light. He sat quietly, his hands folded in his lap.
The front door opened and closed. Kip didn’t move.
“Kip, I’m home, sweetheart!” Summer cheerily announced. “Where are you?” Carrying several bags from her favorite exclusive boutiques, she walked down the corridor, passing the office door.
Kip called out to her. “Summer.”
There was the crisp rustling of paper as Summer turned and walked back. “Why are you always sitting in the dark lately?” She flipped on the switch for the overhead light. “You’re going to ruin your eyes…” She saw the handgun in the middle of Kip’s desk.
“I cleaned it up. Went outside and fired it. Just once. Didn’t want to alarm the neighbors. Still works, even after all this rain.” Kip smiled. “There’s something so marvelous and simple about mechanical appliances.”
“Is that the gun you told the police was stolen?”
Kip slowly nodded.
“The one they think was used to kill Bridget?”
“The one that was used to kill Bridget. It had washed down the storm drain all the way to the street.”
“Storm drain?”
“The boss monster won the first level. He killed Bridget. He intended for the police to find the gun, but I hid it before they had the chance. That was one for me. A case of dumb luck, but I was smart enough to capitalize on it. I won the second level. Now Banzai is dead. That’s one for him. But again, an imperfect strategy. The police haven’t been able to pin that on me. The boss monster’s getting closer. He’s tightening the noose. I can feel it. It’s my move now. I finally have my strategy in place. Took me a while, but then it fell open right in front of me.”
“Kip, why don’t you come to bed and get some sleep? I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, honey, but—”
“Why did you lie to the police about what time I left to take Brianna to the party? Because of your lie, I have an hour of my day that’s not accounted for. An hour in which Banzai could have followed me home, we could have argued, and I could have pushed him down the stairs. Why?”
Summer’s silicone-enhanced bottom lip quivered. “I didn’t lie. I swear I thought it was three o’clock. I didn’t pay that much attention to the time. I told the police I made a mistake.”
“After the damage was done. Good tactic.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not plotting against you.”
“Soon the monster will make his ultimate move.” Kip knowingly lowered his eyelids. “But I have a strategy. I have a strategy.”
“I’m not out to get you, Kip!” Tears spilled from Summer’s eyes. “I love you.”
Kip opened a desk drawer and pulled out several pads of yellow paper bound together with rubber bands. He tossed them on the desk. Summer gaped at them.
“Love me? Not according to this. Says here, you admire my genius and at times felt fond of me but you never loved me. Sometimes you even felt sorry for me.” He rested both hands on top of the bundle.
She limply shrugged.
“I told you. No fooling around on me and no writing tell-all books.”
Summer dropped the shopping bags and covered her face with her hands. “I did it for you,” she sobbed. “I wanted to set the record straight about you. I know you didn’t murder Bridget. I said that in there. When I told the publisher that you didn’t want me to write the book, they wanted their advance money back. But I’d spent it. I have to give them the book now.”
“Burn it.”
“What?”
He opened a drawer, took out a box of matches, and tossed it across the desk at her. “Nothing’s ever enough for you, is it? You always have to have more. Your breasts were fine but you wanted them bigger. Your lips were fine but you had to make them fuller. It’s not enough that you live in my house, you want to be in my bed. Then when my wife is gone, it’s not enough that you get to be the mistress of the house, you want to earn money off it. Is that why you pushed Banzai down the steps? Your TV work was drying up and you needed another controversy to boost your public image?”
Summer hiccupped and made small squeaking noises as she sobbed.
“Go on,” he said, gesturing toward the fireplace.
“Kip, please.” She crept to the desk and picked up the matches with trembling hands. “It took me so long to write.” She fumbled as she tried to pick up the stack of yellow pads.
He impassively watched her.
Clutching the pads to her chest, she walked to the fireplace, grabbed one of the brass handles on the fire screen, and pulled it away from the opening. She threw the pads on top of the partially burnt logs and ashes in the grate, took out a match, and struck it. Her hands were trembling so badly, she didn’t make good contact. She tried again. A flame hissed from the match. She held it against a corner of the stack until it lit, then tossed the match on top.
Both she and Kip silently watched as the flames took hold.
When she finally turned to face him, her tears had dried and her face was hard. “I’m not sorry about how I made money off Bridget and you, telling people how it was to live here. Bridget treated me like dirt, then threw me out on the street. Her getting murdered was the best thing that happened to me. I’m not going to deny it.”
“You have ten minutes to pack your things and get out.”
There was a high-pitched scream that startled both of them. Kip bolted from the desk chair, shoved Summer out of the way, and ran into the hall. “Brianna!”
The screams continued.
Summer was close behind Kip as he ran into the family room and saw Brianna with her face pressed against one of the glass-paned doors. Kip flew out the door and into the darkness. On the patio was someone in a long black raincoat and a black hat. Something silver flashed in his hand.
From the open doorway, Brianna continued to scream hysterically at the intruder, her eyes transfixed by the shiny object.
“I’m with your security company,” the man explained to Kip, putting the flashlight into a pocket of his raincoat. “I was patrolling the area and I saw the back gate open. I’m sorry I scared her.”
“It’s okay,” Summer said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Kip returned to Brianna, dropped to his knees, and began shaking her. She was still hysterical. “Who do you see, baby? Who do you see?”
Summer tried to pull Kip away from the girl. “Leave her alone!”
Kip shrugged Summer off. “Tell me, who is it?”
“Can’t you see sh
e’s upset? You want to terrorize me, fine. But leave her alone.”
“I’m on my cellular phone. The air must be dirty around here,” Toni said. “Look, Iris. I found out there’s a Trust Makers meeting this weekend. I think we should go. We could disguise ourselves as men to get in.”
“Toni, I don’t think there’s anything to our theory,” Iris said. “I got a call from Garland today. He had lunch with Clinton Cormier, who’s one of the USA Assets investors. Cormier laughed when Garland told him about T. Duke’s secrecy regarding USA Assets. He says T. Duke is just screwing with the Crosses. T. Duke thought Kip and Bridget were snotty know-it-alls who got rich quick and was jerking their chains by withholding information. When I entered the Pandora picture, T. Duke didn’t see any reason to stop his fun. Garland says he’s confident Cormier is being candid with him.”
“I don’t believe it, Iris.” Toni was agitated. “We have evidence linking all these deaths to USA Assets. Let’s go!”
“Based upon what I’ve learned about T. Duke in the past few days, I don’t for a moment believe he’s found religion and turned over a new leaf. But if you think there’s something to be gained by going to a Trust Makers meeting, why don’t you go ahead and infiltrate it by yourself? Although I can’t see you disguised as a man!” Iris chuckled.
“Just you wait, Iris. I’ll get in there, and I’ll come back with all the proof necessary to have T. Duke arrested for the murders of Bridget Cross and Alexa Platt.” While she talked to Iris, Toni did not remove her eyes from the front door or garage of a tall condominium complex half a block down from where she was parked on Wilshire Boulevard. It was dark outside but the facade of the building was well-lit.
“Okay,” Iris said, surprised by Toni’s agitation over the issue. “Good luck—and let me know what you find out.”
Toni ended the call and set the phone on the passenger seat of her Toyota Camry. She continued watching but didn’t have to wait much longer. The gate over the building’s underground garage rolled open and Evan Finn exited, driving his green Range Rover, and turned right onto Wilshire Boulevard. Toni started the Camry and followed him.