Hero For Hire

by Laura Kenner

  To his shock, Sara lost her look of hostility and even nodded her begrudged agreement. “You get so wrapped up in a case that you don’t have time for anybody or anything else. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen too many times not to recognize the signs or anticipate the consequences. It can destroy a relationship if you’re not careful.” She gazed across the lobby with an unfocused stare.

  “You and Raymond had troubles before?”

  “Us?” She shook out of her uneasy reverie. “Uh…no…I watched it happen to some of Raymond’s friends,” she added quickly. Too quickly, in Will’s opinion. “So—” she managed a tight-lipped smile “—since we differ in opinion on whether he’s guilty or not, can we simply agree to disagree? After all, we do have one thing in common—we both want to find him.”

  He shrugged. “I guess it’s the safest thing to do in this case.”

  “Good…” Her smile lost some of its strained quality. “So exactly how far does my investment take me?”

  He stared at her. “Huh?”

  She led the way to the parking deck. “You’re on retainer, remember? At least you were. I suspect the dollar ran out while we were in the elevator, somewhere between the second and third floor. When we get in the car, I’ll write you a check to cover—”

  “Nope.” He shook his head as he held open the door for her. “No check. I’m doing this for Celia. I sent her out on that job, so finding her killer is my responsibility. Morally and financially. I figure having you along might simply speed up the process of finding Bergeron.”

  “Nonsense.” Sara waved her hand as if to dismiss his plan as she passed through the door. “We split expenses, fifty-fifty. I have a vested interest as well to prove Raymond innocent.” She continued without taking a breath, “So, like I said, where to, first?”

  Will opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Her loyalty to Bergeron was admirably misplaced. How could she retain any feelings for a fool like him? Even if she believed Bergeron hadn’t killed Celia, Sara knew he’d been sleeping with the woman….

  “What’s wrong?” She stood by his car.

  He took one long look at her. Somewhere down the line, “pretty” had become “beautiful.” Was it because he’d had a chance to see beyond the outer layer of her personality and get a glimpse of the real person inside? He shook himself mentally. Jeez, that’s what got me in trouble to begin with. Attraction. Basic animal attraction.

  “Will? What’s wrong?” she repeated.

  “You.” His heart misfired as he realized what he’d said aloud. He swallowed hard as protective instincts swelled up to cover the hole his libido had made in his self-control. “Uh…this sudden surge of loyalty.”

  “Loyalty?” Her brows knitted together in perplexity, then relaxed. “Oh…to Raymond? If I believe he didn’t kill her, then does that mean I still love and trust him?”

  He nodded as he unlocked the car. “Something like that.”

  “Love him? Probably. I can’t just turn it off. Trust him? Never again. He broke the bonds that: held us together. And he broke them—” she made a face as she slid into her seat “—in a very unforgivable way. Although I don’t believe he killed Celia Strauss, I’ve accepted the fact that he went to bed with her. I’ve decided it’s my mission to find him, make sure he’s free and clear of any murder charges and then basically kick him out of my life forever.”

  He accepted her explanation with a shrug. “Sounds reasonable enough.”

  She waited until he walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat before she continued their conversation. “So our first step in trying to find him is to…?” Her voice trailed off expectantly.

  “Go back to my office,” he supplied. “I want to check Bergeron’s datebook.”

  “The one from his computer?” A confused look crossed her face. “But how? I watched Mr. Trainor search you. How could you have smuggled out all that paper?”

  He smiled. “I didn’t. When I realized I only had a couple of minutes before Trainor figured out I was there, I stopped the printing.” Will started the engine with a roar and headed for the exit. “I knew there was no way he would let me walk out of the office without being searched. Then I realized good ol’ Raymond had a faxmodem in his computer so I simply had the computer fax the file to my office.”

  Her look of mild astonishment grew into a genuine smile. “So that’s why you were stalling—so that the computer could finish faxing everything to you?”

  Will nodded. “A high-tech version of ‘Desperate measures for desperate times.’”

  She settled back in her seat. “I’m impressed.”

  Will scanned the traffic, hiding his smug smirk. You’re supposed to be.

  Saturday midday

  “THAT MUCH?” Will stared at the large stack of curled paper in his secretary’s hand.

  Mimi nodded. “We were lucky there was a new roll in the machine. Once it ran out, I tried to put in a new one as quickly as possible, but once the buffer filled up, the call was disconnected. I thought maybe whoever would call back but they didn’t.” She turned around and picked up a neat pile of papers from her desk. “I made copies so you didn’t have to fool with the originals.” She balanced the two stacks of paper, one in each hand. “You know—” she raised an eyebrow in mock disdain “—if we had a plain-paper fax, we wouldn’t have to worry about the paper running out so quickly or making copies since you hate handling thermal paper.”

  Will shot his secretary a smile and took the papers from her hand. “I get the message, Mimi. Put it on the wish list.” He turned to Sara. “Let’s go to my office to talk.”

  Sara hadn’t known what to expect in terms of his office space. The building housed a variety of businesses: importers, construction companies, real-estate offices, dentists’—That was what Will’s outer office reminded her of—a dentist’s office. The reception area was small but comfortable, painted in soothing colors as if to lull a patient into forgetting about losing a tooth.

  Or a fiance.

  But once they stepped into his personal space, the first thing she noticed was a large aquarium that dominated one wall. An exotic collection of fish glided through the water, passing over the obligatory sunken treasure-chest. Only this treasure included a miniature Maltese falcon nestled among the faux pearls and shiny golden coins.

  “‘The stuff dreams are made of,’” Will said in a fair imitation of Humphrey Bogart’s growl.

  Sara turned around, surprised to find him standing close by, peering over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

  He pointed past her to the statue of the small black bird in the water. “That’s what Bogey told Ward Bond’s character when he asked what the Maltese falcon was. ‘The stuff dreams are made of.’”

  “So you saw the movie as a kid and that’s what made you want to grow up to be a private eye?”

  He shrugged and moved away, creating a sudden gulf between them, physically and emotionally. He stopped near a large bookcase that filled the wall to the right of his desk. “I got a new dream each time I saw a different movie or read a different book.” He reached out to the nearest shelf of books and ran a finger across the spines of a dozen volumes or so. “I wanted to be a race-car driver, a ship’s captain, a fireman, an astronaut—”

  “A lawyer?”

  His hand stopped, one spine shy of a collection of law books. Evidently self-conscious, he turned his motion into a gesture for her to sit. Once she was seated, he dropped into his own chair behind the desk. “Honestly? I never dreamed about becoming a lawyer. I guess that’s what made me think it would be a real profession—because it wasn’t the sort of thing kids dreamed about.”

  “Unless you’re Raymond Bergeron.” Sara allowed herself a sigh, knowing that any other emotional release might cause a cascade effect. “According to his family, he came out of the womb knowing he was going to be a lawyer. That’s why I can’t believe he would violate something that he’s revered for so long.”
/>   Will picked up a pencil and began drumming it on his blotter. “Don’t be so sure. He two-timed you.”

  Sara tried to ignore the sudden rumble in her stomach, which mimicked the pencil’s drumbeat “There’s no law that says an unmarried man has to be faithful to his girlfriend. It only becomes a point of legal contention when they get married.”

  “There’s always ‘breach of promise.’” Will stopped drumming and tossed the pencil back toward its holder. “He’s a fool, you know.”

  Sara smiled in spite of herself. “I agree one hundred percent. However, I don’t believe he’s a murdering fool.” She glanced at the papers on Will’s desk. “And I hope something in his date-book file might help us establish his innocence.”

  “We got more than I expected.” A perplexed look crossed his face. “In fact, we got a lot more than I expected and I’m not sure why.”

  “Where do we start?”

  He glanced again at the stack of papers and shrugged. “Where else? At the beginning. I think—” The intercom interrupted him. He stretched past Sara, his arm brushing her shoulder as he reached for the instrument and punched a button. “Yes, Mimi?”

  “I was wondering if it’s a convenient time for me to go to lunch?”

  Will consulted his watch. “Sure. We’ll be okay.”

  Sara’s stomach turned a complete somersault as she grabbed his outstretched arm. “What time is it?” she asked, straining to see his watch.

  Raymond always wore a Rolex; Martin relied on the split-second accuracy of an expensive chronometer Lucy had bought him during their vacation in Switzerland. Sara assumed that Will utilized something with similar precision due to the nature of his business. A leather band peeped from beneath the white cuff of his shirt.

  As soon as her fingers curled around his wrist, she felt uncomfortable. Not necessarily a lightning-bolt sensation, but more a static charge that fluttered across the back of her hand and down her arm.

  Will interrupted the flow by shifting his obscuring sleeve out of the way, revealing a watch face with a cartoon Martian that pointed to the twelve with his gloved hand as well as his disintegrator ray.

  “Noon?” she managed in a strangled voice. “Martin must be going crazy! I didn’t even think about calling him.”

  Will nudged the telephone toward her. “Here. Call him now.”

  Sara dialed the private kitchen number. It rang several times before someone picked up.

  “Blackwater Café.”

  “Lucy? It’s me.”

  “Good God, Sara, where have you been? Martin’s been going crazy!”

  “Tell him I’m sorry. I’ll get back to work as soon as I can—” She heard the sound of the phone being fumbled from one person to the next.

  “Sara? Did that bastard cousin of mine do it? Did he kill that woman?” Martin’s voice boomed over the kitchen noises in the background.

  Was she hearing him correctly? “Surely you don’t think Raymond’s capable of something like this.”

  “Ray is capable of doing practically anything if he thinks it’s going to save his ass. Where is he?”

  “That’s the problem.” Sara tightened her grip on the receiver. “We don’t know where he is. He’s not at home or at work.” A shiver shimmied up her spine. “The police are looking for him. They have a warrant.”

  “So he’s on the run, eh? You know what that means—he’s guilty as sin.”

  “Martin—”

  “I know…I know. Innocent until proven guilty. I’ll try to remember that. But you need to face facts, Sara. He might not be the man you thought he was…that we thought he was.” There was an uncomfortable pause, then he spoke again. “I suppose you’re going to need me to cover for you until this is all over.”

  “Well…”

  “I can do it, no problem…but you need to drop by first and countersign some checks, okay?”

  “Thanks, Martin.”

  “Don’t thank me. It’s going to cost you. I’ll make sure you remember this when it comes to scheduling our Christmas hours.” The gruffness left his voice. “You be careful, hon. Don’t do anything stupid, because I don’t want to have to break in a new partner, okay?”

  “I’ll be careful, Martin.”

  “And if you do find Ray, tell him I’ll do my family duty and bring him a goody basket in jail, but for him not to expect to find a hacksaw blade baked in the croissants.”

  Sara felt a good deal of tension flee from her body; having Martin’s support meant a great deal to her. It was comforting to know that whether she married his cousin or not, he would always be “family” to her. “Thanks, partner. We really appreciate this.”

  “We?” He muttered an expletive. “Don’t tell me there’s still a chance for you and Raymond to be a ‘we’?”

  “No. I was talking about—” Admit it You were talking about you and Will “—Mr. Riggs, the private investigator you met this morning. He’s agreed to help me find Raymond.”

  “Good. I don’t want you out looking for him by yourself. It might not be safe. But before you go too far, swing by here and sign these checks, okay?”

  “As soon as I can. I promise. Bye.”

  Sara hung up the phone quickly, the echo of the word we still bouncing through her mind. She’d heard of acting, reacting on the rebound, but this was ridiculous.

  “Everything okay?”

  Sara glanced at Will, hoping her face didn’t betray her momentary aberration. “Uh…Martin was just offering to cater to the jail. Raymond has some eclectic tastes and prefers gourmet food.”

  “Which may explain why he was going to marry someone who owns a restaurant.”

  She nodded, distracted by a new flood of thoughts. Food. Jail. Gourmet to go. A light was growing, the shadows dimming in the back of her brain.

  “What?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed and he leaned forward in his chair. “I can tell something’s going on. What is it?”

  As the thoughts began to link into some semblance of coherence, Sara felt her heart quicken, the sharp intake of breath becoming painful in her lungs. “Raymond is very particular about what he eats. And when he gets stressed, he eats a lot”

  Will’s scowl deepened. “So? You expect him to gain a lot of weight?”

  “No…he’s on the run, right? So he can’t walk into his favorite restaurant and sit down to order a gourmet meal. Everybody knows him on sight and the news is going to leak out soon. If he wants to eat well, he has only one option.”

  “What? Cook it himself?”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, no! He’ll order out. He’ll phone a restaurant and have someone deliver it to wherever he’s hiding. Chefs, maitre d’s…those are the people who know him on sight. But the delivery people won’t recognize him at all.”

  Will grimaced as he leaned back in his chair. It was an obvious signal that he found her logic strained at best. “So you want us to stake out every steak house in the metro area? To hire two or three hundred operatives to follow the delivery people and—”

  “No, you don’t understand! We don’t need a bunch of people staking out restaurants. I know Raymond. I know what he’s going to order and which of a half-dozen or so restaurants in the area he’d be likely to call for a delivery. I can contact all the probable places and explain what’s going on.”

  “And they’ll help?”

  “If I ask them to. Think of it as a type of…professional courtesy.”

  His interest piqued, Will leaned over in his chair, rooted around in his credenza and pulled out the L—Z phone book. “So…what are you waiting for?” She took it and began to flip through the pages. She dialed the first number and Will listened in.

  He marveled at Sara’s perseverance as she waited with strained patience to be connected with the kitchen of the swankiest restaurant in the District. It was a place with a three-month waiting list and a maitre d’ who was the reincarnation of Mussolini himself. Will wondered how she would coerce them into cooperating. What lies
would she tell them rather than expose her own foibles as well as those of her ex-fiancé?

  That is, if she even got through.

  He couldn’t imagine any self-respecting chef even taking a call in the midst of a busy lunch hour. He’d run into one too many cooks who ruled his kitchen domain with an iron-fisted spatula.

  But to his surprise, she got through and when she did, she pulled no punches. She told each chef her fiancé was in trouble and she needed to find him before he got into a worse predicament with the law. If they received a food order for delivery that reflected Raymond’s patrician tastes in foods, to please call. She gave them Will’s office number as well as his pager number.

  It was simple, concise and evidently effective. After the sixth such recitation—one conducted in French—she hung up the phone and pushed back in her chair with a sigh. “They’ll contact you night or day, if they get a suspicious delivery order. Then we can meet the delivery-man at the address and see if it’s Raymond.”

  Will glanced down at the restaurants she’d circled in the phone book. They included two in the Virginia suburbs, two in D.C., one in the Maryland suburbs near Bethesda and one practically in Baltimore. He created a mental map, wincing at the distances between potential starting locations. “Won’t he get suspicious if his food takes an extra-long time to reach him? These places aren’t necessarily close by. And if we have to deal with rush-hour traffic…” His voice trailed off.

  She smiled. “We’re not talking about pizza, which has to arrive in thirty minutes or less. He knows to call at least two hours in advance.” She glanced at Will’s watch again. “I’d say he’s probably getting hungry, now. Since it’s too late for anything but a makeshift lunch at this point, I bet he’ll be even more anxious about arranging for what he considers a decent dinner.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged. “I’d better be. And I’d better head back to the restaurant and check in. There’re a few things I have to do before I can leave all the responsibility to my partners.”

  Will stood and fished in his pocket for his keys. “I’ll drive you back,”