Foolproof (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 4)

by Dianne Emley

  Iris nodded with satisfaction and went inside her office. She was putting her things away when Louise came in.

  “Jim Patel of Tech Associates called and canceled his lunch date with you today.”

  “Another venture capitalist who won’t come near me. He’s not getting off the hook that easily.”

  “You have his number?”

  “Indeed I do.” Iris sat in her leather chair, picked up a manila file folder from the corner of her desk, opened it, and dialed the number scribbled on the inside front cover. After plowing past a receptionist and stepping on a secretary, she reached Patel.

  “Hi, Jim. Iris Thorne. Sorry to hear about our lunch date today. I’d like to reschedule. Let’s set something up for when you return.…Uh-huh. Jim, let’s be frank. Do you not want to meet with me because you have doubts about Pandora’s prospects?…Who told you that Kip Cross is holed up in his house acting like a lunatic?…Well, the grapevine is passing misinformation. Kip Cross is holed up in his house, all right, but it’s because he’s hard at work on Pandora’s next release. When the new game is out and it leaves everything else in the technological dust, you’ll regret not having jumped in early.” They ended the call with obligatory and false pleasantries.

  Iris was still steaming when Louise came in with a mug of black coffee.

  “Kip Cross is losing his mind and the word is already out.”

  “T. Duke Sawyer?” Louise ventured.

  “Maybe. Or it’s someone at Pandora. Each time T. Duke lowers the price, the employees lose money. I wouldn’t put it past them to try and sabotage me.”

  “Even Toni Burton?”

  “No, she’s for going public. She’s already made a play for me to name her president of Pandora. She wouldn’t have that kind of clout if Pandora was absorbed by the Sawyer Company.” Iris leaned to one side and looked out her door, catching a glimpse of Evan’s office. “Speaking of Sawyers, what’s Top Gun been up to?”

  “Quietly working in his new, private office. Iris, I have to let you know that you lost face around here by hiring Evan back and giving him special perks.”

  “Thanks for your candor, Louise, but I’d figured as much.” Iris took a sip of coffee, then stood and fumbled inside her jacket pocket. “I’d best wish him a cheery good morning.”

  Evan was on the phone, his chair swiveled to face his office window, his back to the door. When she knocked on the doorjamb, he turned and seemed pleasantly surprised to see her. He regally waved her inside.

  She closed the door behind her and gave a quick twist to the rod of the miniblinds over the window that faced the suite, closing them. She sat stiffly in a chair facing his desk.

  A cigarette burned in an ashtray near Evan. There was a no-smoking policy in the building. Iris figured no one had got up the courage to confront Evan about it.

  “Sounds good,” he said into the phone. He took a drag on the cigarette and rakishly winked at her.

  Can it, A-hole, she said to herself. It’s lost on me.

  When he tapped his cigarette over the ashtray, she noticed his knuckles were bruised.

  “Iris,” he enthused as he hung up the phone. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He clearly thought she was working for him.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about you, Evan,” she said.

  “Have you?” He took another drag on his cigarette and slowly let the smoke trail from between his sensuously parted lips.

  She surveyed the surroundings. “Looks like you’ve got it all now. Window office, title, paycheck…just like a real citizen.”

  Grinning, he pressed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “It all started here.”

  “Next you’ll be paying taxes, voting, curbing your dog…,” she said sarcastically.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “My ass. You never were and never will be anything more than a freak”—she paused—“with good taste in clothes.”

  His eyes grew cold the same way they had the day he’d assaulted her in her office. “Freak?” He raised his eyebrows. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been watching you. I know how you live. You’re the fucking freak.”

  Iris knew she was in deep, but she had no intention of stopping. She was taking a sadistic pleasure from prodding him, having been on the other end of that stick one too many times lately. She casually examined her fingernails. “Tell me, Evan. That prostitute in Vegas, Holly Free… Did you throw her over the balcony in one clean thrust or did she struggle?”

  He stared hard at her. “You got some mouth on you, you know that?”

  “How did it sound when she hit the ground?”

  “You tell me. Sounds like you know all about it.”

  She gave herself an impromptu manicure as she talked. “Did it excite you?”

  “You’re asking for it, Iris.”

  She feigned disappointment. “C’mon, Evan. I’ve never talked to a real murderer before. Well, no one who I knew for sure…”

  “I’ll give it to you, Iris. You know I will.”

  “Is this the way Holly Free talked to you before you killed her? How about Bridget? You probably didn’t give poor Bridget a chance to talk.”

  He bolted from the chair and circled the desk. She stumbled getting up, knocking her chair over as she backed against the wall. He had almost reached her when he stopped in his tracks and slowly stepped back.

  The .22 she held was aimed straight at his heart. “Put your things in your briefcase and get the hell out.”

  “You’d never shoot me.”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t. But I’ve been doing a lot of crazy things lately. Are you willing to take that chance?”

  They stared at each other for several long seconds. Finally, Evan returned to the desk, threw his belongings into his briefcase, snapped it closed, opened the door, and walked out.

  Iris tentatively stepped into the doorway where she could see Evan quickly moving through the suite and into the lobby. After he was gone, she slipped the gun back into her pocket, righted the chair she’d knocked over, collapsed into it, and pressed her hand against her pounding heart. She was still sitting that way when Liz came in.

  “There you are.” Liz looked around. “Where’s Top Gun?”

  “Off in the wild, blue yonder, I guess.” Iris nervously smoothed her hair, then pulled the gun from her pocket. “I want to give this back to you.”

  “But you just borrowed it yesterday. I thought you wanted to try it out at the gun range to see if you’d like one for yourself. Keep it awhile. I’ve got three bigger ones at home. Hell, the one I keep in my glove compartment is bigger than that bitsy thing.”

  Iris again held the gun toward Liz. “I’ve changed my mind. Don’t want a gun. Don’t like guns. I’d have to get a permit to carry one anyway.”

  “Permit schmermit,” Liz said disdainfully as she took the weapon from Iris. Liz checked to see if it was loaded. It was. “Know what my cop clients tell me: better to be judged by twelve than carried by eight.” She slipped it into her jacket pocket.

  “I’ve found you.” Louise breathlessly appeared in the doorway. “Sam Eastman’s wife just called. Sam’s in the hospital. He’s been beaten.”

  At the hospital, Janice Eastman got up from the chair next to Sam’s bed and met Iris outside the door, but not before Iris caught a glimpse of her boss. His face was bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition.

  “Janice, what happened?”

  “Sam figures the guy snuck into the garage when he was pulling the car in last night. When he got out, the guy slugged him in the head from behind, then beat him.” Her voice cracked. “He kicked him when he was on the ground. What kind of monster would do something like that?”

  “Did Sam see who it was?”

  She shook her head. “A tall man wearing a ski mask.” She gazed into Sam’s room. “The doctors say he’ll be fine. He wants to talk to you.”

  Iris walked into the room, trying not to look horrified by Sam’s appearance. She rested her fin
gers lightly on his arm.

  He looked at her through slits in his swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, Iris. I told myself I did it for the money. Lying here, I’ve had time to think about it. It wasn’t about money. I was jealous of you.”

  Iris didn’t say anything. She didn’t like or respect the man, but it pained her to see anyone in the shape he was in, and the bold honesty of his confession brought a tear to her eye. “Who did it, Sam? Evan?”

  “I don’t know. Last night, T. Duke called me, wanting the money back he’d paid me. Told me the deal was that Evan would stay in the firm until the SEC got wind of it and started investigating. I told him I’d fulfilled my part of the bargain. I wasn’t going to give the money back. Could have been Baines, for all I know.”

  “I think it was Evan, Sam. His knuckles on his right hand were bruised today. It was revenge for setting him up.”

  “Is he at the office?” Sam asked.

  “He’s gone. For now, at least.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  It had rained hard for many days and nights without reprieve. The long-overdue rain that had initially been welcome, cleansing and refreshing, now felt oppressive and claustrophobic. California didn’t do much weather. But when she did, she did it to death.

  Iris felt a moment of panic when she walked into her house and found it empty and eerily quiet except for the relentless rain. Then she remembered that Marge was going to have her great-nieces come over to play with Brianna.

  Iris knocked on Marge’s door and was greeted with squeals of laughter, high-pitched screaming, the aroma of food cooking, and two frazzled older women.

  “They’ve been having a ball,” Marge said, resting her fingertips on Iris’s arm. “And so have we.”

  “We bought Brianna the cutest clothes and toys,” Rose said. “Just a few things. How long are you going to keep her?”

  “Her grandparents will be back tomorrow. I think it’s best to take her over there.” Iris dialed a number on Marge’s telephone. “I should call Kip. Could you get Brianna, please? She probably wants to talk to her daddy.”

  Iris listened to Kip’s phone ring and ring. “Pick up, Kip.” After many rings, the answering machine clicked on. She was chilled to hear Bridget’s voice still on it.

  “This is the Cross residence. Please leave a message for Bridget, Kip, or Brianna at the tone. Have a great day!”

  Iris was so stunned, she forgot to speak. “Kip? Kip, pick up. I know you’re there.”

  He finally came on the line. “Bring my daughter home.”

  “Kip, she’s fine here. She’s playing with some little friends, having fun and laughing. You have to agree that this is better for her than being cooped up in that house.”

  “She needs to come home.”

  “Here she is, Kip. You’ll see she’s fine.”

  Brianna bounded into the room, her hair which Rose and Marge had arranged with ribbons and barrettes, flying behind her. It was the first time since Bridget’s death that Iris had seen the child so carefree. “Daddy! I went shopping with Marge and Rose, and they bought me the Barbie doll I wanted, and now I’m playing with Alissa and Kayla.” Brianna held the receiver with both hands, intently listening. “But I like staying with Aunt Iris and Rose and Marge.”

  Marge handed Iris some crayon drawings that Brianna had drawn.

  Brianna jammed the phone in Iris’s direction. “He wants to talk to you.” She was out of the room in half a second.

  “Kip, can’t you see that she’s better off here for now?”

  “Bring her home, Iris.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you why.”

  “She’s safe here. I’m taking her to the Tylers’ tomorrow. You have my phone number.” Iris hung up, shaking her head.

  “He wants her to come home?” Rose asked. “And what—sit in that house like a prisoner or worse? What’s wrong with that man?”

  Iris looked at Brianna’s drawings.

  “I’ve got a roast in the oven,” Marge said. “You’re staying for dinner, of course.”

  “Thanks, Marge. I’d love to.” Iris frowned at the drawings. They were variations on the same theme of Brianna’s other efforts. Two showed Slade Slayer standing over Bridget, holding a gun. A tiny figure lurked in the background. One was of the turquoise and white Cross house. Someone with a fuzz of hair, probably Kip, was peeking out a window with bars over it, like a jail. Behind another barred window was the tiny figure with dark hair that Brianna drew to symbolize herself. A gigantic Slade Slayer loomed next to the house. The drawings were crude, appropriate for a five-year-old’s skill level, but the inherent messages were clear.

  “Doesn’t take much to interpret this one,” Iris commented.

  “They’re kind of creepy, aren’t they?” Rose said, looking over Iris’s shoulder.

  Iris looked more closely at one of the drawings of the crime scene. “It’s interesting. These recent works are more detailed than the ones Brianna drew when she was at her grandmother’s. Look here. Slade Slayer’s hands have five little lines for fingers. On the early ones, she drew blobs for hands. The fingers are black, but the feet aren’t black.” Iris pointed there. The feet were nothing more than L-shapes with five little lines at the end of each L to indicate toes. A black line was drawn under each foot with a loop drawn over the first toe, in a crude rendering of a flip-flop sandal. “She used the flesh-colored crayon for the feet.”

  “The murderer was wearing black gloves,” Rose exclaimed.

  “Let’s ask Brianna if that’s what she meant,” Marge suggested.

  “I don’t know if we should,” Iris said. “She seems to be engaged in some free-flowing subconscious thing. I don’t want to hamper it by drawing attention to it.”

  Marge folded her bony fingers around Iris’s arm and led her toward the kitchen. “Why don’t the adults have an aperitif?”

  “Great idea,” Rose said.

  As they walked past the living room windows, Iris noticed a green Range Rover pull up in front of her house next door. “Oh, no.”

  “Who’s that?” Rose looked out the window. “A friend of yours?”

  “Hardly.” Iris expected to see Evan, but Summer got out of the Range Rover’s driver’s door and started walking to Iris’s front door.

  Iris walked onto Marge’s porch and called, “Summer, I’m over here.”

  Summer was wearing trousers with suspenders over a skin-tight, black turtleneck sweater. The high collar accentuated her breasts. She waved at Iris and walked down the sidewalk and up Marge’s front path.

  “Hi,” she breathed. “Aren’t you sick of this rain?”

  Iris was in no mood for small talk. “Isn’t that Evan’s car?”

  “He’s letting me borrow it.”

  Iris searched her mind for a way that Evan might have come into contact with Summer. Then she remembered the day Summer had come to McKinney Alitzer and Evan had followed her out of the suite and into the elevator. Iris felt sorry for Toni. She not only fell for a louse but was thrown over for a bimbo. A double whammy. “So you and Evan are…” she started, even though she thought she already knew the score.

  “He’s been helping me since Kip threw me out.”

  It was wet and cold outside. Any civilized person would have invited Summer inside, but Iris felt like being a bitch.

  “Look, Iris. I know you don’t like me, but I just had to make sure Brianna’s all right.”

  Iris noticed her mother and Marge peeking at them through the dining room drapes.

  “She’s fine. I picked her up from Kip’s last night. Thanks for letting me know about the situation there.” Iris recalled that Summer had considered the child’s well-being and she warmed to her slightly. “Do you want to come in?”

  “Is Brianna here? Can I see her for just a minute?” Summer wiped her feet on the mat and stepped inside.

  Marge, ever the gracious hostess, came to welcome her and offer something hot to drink.

  “
No, thank you,” Summer answered. “I just want to see Brianna and I’ll go. I miss her. I raised her since she was a baby, you know. I was with her more than Bridget was.”

  Iris defended her friend. “You know that’s not true. Bridget was a wonderful mother.”

  “Everyone talks about poor Bridget. What a tragedy. But I’ve suffered too. You don’t know what it was like to work for that woman.”

  “Summer, I’m surprised Bridget put up with you as long as she did. When she fired you, you quickly found a way to get back in the house, didn’t you?”

  Summer drew her eyebrows together in an overwrought look of confusion. “What are you saying?”

  Iris was about to show Summer the door when Brianna ran out and flung herself onto her. “Summer!”

  Summer dropped to her knees and enveloped the child between her arms. “I missed you so much, baby.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Are you having fun?”

  Iris scowled as she watched their interchange.

  Brianna abruptly ran from the room, yelling, “I made you something! I’ll go get it.”

  Summer, still kneeling on the ground, looked up at Iris. “My life’s been turned upside down too.” She rapidly blinked, squeezing large tears from her eyes.

  Iris was unmoved.

  Brianna ran back into the room, clutching a sheet of paper. “I drew a picture of you, Summer.”

  The drawing appeared to be the patio of the Cross home. A large, light blue rectangle, drawn with no sense of perspective, represented the pool. Inverted Ls around it looked like the patio furniture. On one, a figure with long blonde hair, wearing a hot-pink, two-piece bathing suit reclined. One spindly, starfish-like hand was raised in a wave. A crude table was beside the lounge chair. On it was a glass of something brown with a straw in it and a little pink square next to it.

  “That’s your Diet Coke,” Brianna explained. “And that’s your nail polish. See?” She pointed to the figure’s fingertips, which were each topped with a pink blob.

  Summer grabbed the child hard and sobbed, “Thank you, baby.” She let her go and took the drawing. “I’ll keep it always.” She stood and stroked Brianna’s hair.