by Terry Odell
“Mr. Gravely isn’t here now. Can I help with something?”
Graham stepped closer to the desk, pleased she wasn’t one of those who immediately went on the defensive. “When do you expect him?”
“Not today. He’s out on calls.”
“Is that normal?” he asked.
“Pretty much. I’m a temp. I come in three days a week.” She gave Graham a friendly smile.
“Mind if we ask you some questions then?” He returned her smile. “Miss—?”
“Erica Dorsett. Call me Erica. Sure. Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair opposite the desk. Graham noticed a small diamond solitaire on her left hand.
He took the indicated seat and Schaeffer settled on a padded bench by the door. “How long have you been working for Mr. Gravely, Erica?”
“About three months. He used to have a full-time secretary, but things got tight and he couldn’t afford one anymore, I think. We temps don’t get benefits, so we end up being cheaper.”
Graham smiled. Erica was a babbler. He relaxed and pulled out his notebook. “What is it you do for Mr. Gravely?”
“Mostly filing and phones. Keeping track of appointments.” She leaned across the desk. “But I can access most of his computer files. Sometimes it’s really slow, so I like to see what he’s done. He’s had some pretty interesting projects. I can tell from his books and the bills—some of them are getting nasty—that he’s not doing too well now.”
“Tell me, Erica. Have you ever noticed an appointment with a Jeffrey Walters?”
“Name sounds familiar.” She turned to the computer. “Let me check.” She paused and looked Graham in the eye. “People”— she cut her gaze toward Gravely’s door— “think because we’re temps, we’re stupid. I’ve got as many skills as any executive secretary on the market, but I don’t want to be tied down to that kind of a career right now. I’m a singer and this pays for lessons.”
She clicked a few keys, played with the mouse. “Jeffrey Walters. Yes, Mr. Gravely was working with him on some project near the east coast. They met regularly over the last”—she clicked the mouse a few more times— “eight months.”
“And have you ever seen Mr. Walters?” He reached into his pocket for the picture Kimberly had sent.
“A couple of times, yes, when he came here for meetings.”
He handed her the picture. “Do you recognize him?”
She studied it, then pointed to Walters. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s a little older looking now, but that’s the man who was here.”
Graham thanked her and took the picture back. “What was the project, do you know?”
“Some sort of residential community. I think there might be a set of drawings somewhere in his office, but Mr. Gravely locks it. He doesn’t trust me, but he has no clue I can get into his computer files. Like I said, people think temps are dumb.”
“I don’t think you’re dumb at all, Erica,” Graham said. “What can you find out about this project?”
“I think it went belly-up, because there’s nothing left about it in the computer except an old invitation list to some fund-raising reception about a year ago.”
“Do you think I could have a copy of those names?”
“I don’t see why not.” She clicked again and the printer hummed.
He glanced at Schaeffer, who was studying his fingernails. Graham took it as a good sign, because he had no doubt Schaeffer would jump in if he got off track. “When was the last time Mr. Walters was here? Do you remember?”
“Oh sure, because there was this argument. They were hollering at each other about the project being delayed or something. I answered the phone, he took the call and then they both rushed out. I remember because Mr. Gravely said I could go home and he’d pay me for the full day. That wasn’t like him. He usually watches my breaks and lunches to the minute.”
“Would you have a record of the call?”
“I log all incoming calls.” She leafed through a book of phone message copies. “Here. On October fifteenth. A call from Frank Townsend. The check-mark means I put the call through to Mr. Gravely.”
“Do you know who Mr. Townsend is?” He could hear Schaeffer moving behind him. Graham knew he was paying close attention now.
“No, but I can probably find out. Give me a minute.”
“Take your time.” Graham tried to control his impatience as Erica clicked and typed, made faces and chewed on her lip. He had a gut feeling there was a connection here and he wanted it.
“Here. Found him in billing. Frank Townsend. Environmental Consulting in Gainesville.” She clicked a few more times, eyes never leaving the monitor. “He’s in the computer a few times. Nothing specific, seems he only billed for hours. Last invoice was eighteen months ago.”
“You have an address and phone number for him?”
“Sure.” She hit a key and the printer hummed again. “Anything else?” She handed him the printouts.
“Not now, but we might be back. You’ve been very helpful.” He stood. “Thank you for your time.”
“No problem. Beats hanging around here answering phones that don’t ring. I have a feeling my days in this office are numbered, anyway.” She smiled conspiratorially. “You’re not going to mention this to Mr. Gravely, are you?”
“He won’t hear it from us,” Schaeffer said. He held the door open.
Erica seemed startled, as if she only now remembered there were two men in the room. Her face grew pink, but she smiled. “Always glad to help the police.”
“Sheriffs,” Graham corrected under his breath. Not that it mattered.
“At least she didn’t ask for a warrant. I love it when they babble,” Graham said as they walked to the elevator.
“I expected you to get her number.”
Graham’s gut twisted. “Damn it. Sir. Enough. I got saddled with Proctor as my training supervisor. That wasn’t my fault and I think I’ve learned my lessons.”
Schaeffer scowled. “Don’t get a stick up your ass. It’s a good idea to get a contact number for everyone you interview. Trust me, you and I wouldn’t be standing here if I thought you were anything like Proctor.”
“So you think this is worth pursuing?”
“More than I did this morning, but take it slow. After all, you don’t have anything but a woman who hasn’t heard from her father. We’ve got a business associate’s secretary who says she hasn’t seen him for a while, but if their project died, that’s not unusual. The aunt says she hears from him all the time. Think of it as a missing persons case. See if you can find this guy. But discreetly and legally. I don’t want him screaming we’ve invaded his privacy if he’s off playing hide the sausage with some politician’s wife.”
“By the book.” Graham’s mind whirled as he planned his strategy. “Gather all the information, sort it out later.”
“I think you should get to the station and start working through some of the information you picked up here. How are your ears?”
“Fine, why?”
“Because you’re about to join the wonderful world of detective work. If you’re not on the computer, you’re on the phone. How many names were on the invitation list?”
Graham pulled the list out and looked at it, then at the amused look on Schaeffer’s face. “Over two hundred.” He checked again. No phone numbers, only names. “You’re kidding, right? We need to call all of them?”
“We? Nope. You. But only the ones who can tell us something about Jeffery Walters.” He grinned and got in the elevator.
Chapter Seven
Colleen kept her pace steady, slowing to a walk for the last block. No black Beemers stood along the curb on her street. Forget it. She wasn’t a cop, and she might as well start minding her own business. Still, maybe she should tell Harrigan about the man. The detective hadn’t left a card. Besides, he seemed—smarmy. Harrigan seemed … she dug for a word. Untarnished. Still eager to make the pieces fit.
What was with her? A week ago she’d n
ever wanted to see another man in uniform. Now she saw images of one whenever she let her guard down. And when she realized she wasn’t seeing the uniform, only those blue eyes and the warm smile that said he cared, she swore out loud. Where was this all coming from?
She unlocked her front door and shook her hair from the confines of its ponytail. After switching on the coffeemaker, she headed for the shower. What she needed, Colleen decided as she lathered her hair, was a total change of pace. She was in a new city to start a new life. Well, it was about time she did something positive. Forget fireworks and roller coasters, smoke alarms and missing landlords. She was ready to do something fun. Get away from Doris, Jeffrey, and all things related, which at the moment included a deputy sheriff she didn’t want to think about.
She finished dressing and picked up the phone.
“Tracy? It’s Colleen McDonald.”
“Hi.” There was a sharpness to her tone, even in the single syllable.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I? I can call another time if you’re busy.”
Tracy laughed. “Relax. You picked the perfect time to call. I’ve been dumped, and was wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself. What can I do for you?”
“I want to start exploring Orlando. I thought you might have some suggestions.”
“Perfect. Why don’t you start by coming over here? We can make it a foursome.”
Colleen hesitated. “I’m not sure I’d want to impose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I mean you, me, and Ben and Jerry. I’ve got a pint of Making Whoopie Pie and one of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. I could use your help.”
She glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. Why not? She hadn’t had breakfast. “Give me your address, directions and I’m on my way.”
“Okay, sister. I’ll hold myself together until you get here.”
Colleen navigated her way through the winding streets of Metro West and knocked on Tracy’s door. Tracy greeted her, dressed in gray leggings and a tweed tunic-length sweater that showed off her figure. Aside from a little redness around the eyes, Colleen would never have guessed Tracy was distraught. She projected an image of sophistication, even wearing bunny slippers.
“The boys are waiting. Bowls or cartons?”
Colleen dropped her purse on the floor by the door. “Seems a shame to dirty dishes.” She took in the space. Like hers, a small section of tile flooring delineated an entry. A living area opened into a kitchen area with a round wooden table and two chairs.
Tracy grabbed the ice cream from the freezer and two spoons from a drawer. “Take a seat. The couch is fine.”
Colleen toed off her sneakers and tucked a leg under herself on the plush blue couch. Tracy handed her a carton and took a seat at the other end. “Wait. Don’t start. I forgot the chocolate sauce.” She jumped up and went to the kitchen, returning with a jar of gooey fudge. “Careful. It’s hot. I nuked it right before you got here.”
Colleen grinned. “Looks great.” She had no idea what to say. “Are you sure I’m the right person here? I mean, wouldn’t your friends be more supportive? You just met me.”
Tracy tipped the sauce over her ice cream. “You, Colleen, are the perfect person. All I’ll get from my friends is, ‘I warned you.’ Since you know nothing of Rich, you’re going to tell me it was all his fault and I’m the wronged party here.”
Colleen took the jar of sauce and watched it flow like molten lava into her carton. “Rich was wrong, you were right.” She shifted her gaze to Tracy, who was pointedly studying her ice cream. “What did he do?”
Tracy half closed her eyes and finished another bite before continuing. “I guess I was blind. I should have seen it coming weeks ago. Months ago. I probably did, but didn’t want to admit it. Anyway, I was early getting to his place after I left you yesterday and I kind of … interrupted him.” She snorted. “Interrupted him. How polite. The fucker was fucking my fucking best friend. Ex fucking best friend. But it’ll be Carmen who gets burned now. I’m out of this relationship. The man was definitely scum.” She gave a wry laugh, which sounded perilously close to tears. “And he wasn’t even that great in bed!”
“Typical man. They don’t even think of us as individuals,” Colleen said. “When they cheat, they call it having a piece on the side. A piece! Not even a woman.” She drove her spoon up and down in her carton. “All they talk about is scoring. Like we’re goals in a football game.”
Tracy raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like you have issues.”
“The last place I worked was predominantly male and if you listened to them talk—well, they didn’t paint a pretty picture of their gender. But you’re right, there are probably a few decent ones left. I never had the energy to try to find one.”
Tracy set down her spoon. “Okay, So tell me. You running away from a man? That why you left Oregon?”
“No. Nothing like that.” Harrigan’s face hovered in front of her again.
“Oh, sister. Your eyes glazed over, and it wasn’t the ice cream. I know that look. You’ve met someone here. Already?”
“Not exactly.” At least she didn’t want to think of Harrigan like that. “A deputy sheriff came by looking for someone, that’s all.”
“Good looking, right?”
“Yeah.” Colleen grinned. “Killer blue eyes. But the uniform—it doesn’t work for me.”
Tracy lifted her eyebrows. “Okay, so you don’t go for men in uniform. But you do want him to come back.”
Colleen ducked her head and realized Tracy might be right. Having spent almost her entire life in male-dominated circles, Colleen never had a close girlfriend. The kind you could confide in. Someone like Tracy. Maybe it was the ice cream induced sugar rush, or maybe things were really starting to change. Or maybe it was like Tracy had said. They knew nothing about each other, so there was no reason to judge. She raised her gaze, surprised to find how easily the words came. “I think so. But this is exactly why I left Oregon. To get away from cops.”
“Sheesh, sister. You’re on the run from the cops? What did you do?”
Colleen laughed. “No. I was a cop. And there was a lousy domestic case and I know they all think I screwed up because I was a woman. I couldn’t stand it, so I left. End of story. And that’s private information, please.”
She drifted to the Bradfords’ again. Cooper had said if he’d been there instead of a woman everything would have been fine. Guilt because he’d had the flu and she was covering for him? She was no rookie, but Cooper was old school, and he’d kept the undercurrent of doubt flowing through the station no matter what the investigation said.
Tracy’s voice broke through. “Earth to Colleen. Where are you?”
Colleen pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose. “Sorry. You were saying?”
Tracy collected the cartons. “All right. The ice cream phase is over. Next order of business. Retail therapy. You and me, we’re going to the mall. Nordstrom, I think. Let’s get rid of that Oregon ex-cop grunge look and find the new Colleen. Impress Deputy Killer Blue Eyes. We’ll take my car. No escape until I say we’re done!”
Colleen let Tracy lead her around the department store. She’d been to the Salem Nordstrom a couple of times, but she much preferred the L.L.Bean catalog. Before she knew it, Tracy had whisked her into a fitting room with an assortment of skirts, slacks, blouses and dresses.
“Here you go,” Tracy said and held up a green jersey dress with a draping neckline. “This is perfect with your eyes and hair. And it’s simple, no frills. It’ll look great on you.” She handed Colleen the garment and stepped away. “I’ll go sit in the ‘men waiting with purses’ section and you can model.”
“You can stay.” She unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off. Tracy’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. But a sports bra isn’t going to work with this dress. Do you have something a little more, um, Victoria’s Secret at home?”
Colleen shook her head. “Miracle Bras don’t exact
ly work with Kevlar vests.”
“You’ve got some great girls under there. What size are you? I’ll go get our salesperson to bring something more appropriate. “
While Tracy went off on her quest, Colleen examined the clothes hanging in the fitting room. Simple, tailored, and comfortable looking. She smiled. A new Colleen for sure.
By three o’clock, Colleen was created anew, but exhausted. “Who knew shopping was this tiring?”
“But it’s a good kind of tired,” Tracy said. “You want to hang at my place? We could rent a movie.”
“You like James Bond? I’ve got three at my place.”
Tracy parked her car on the street at Colleen’s apartment and the two of them lugged the armloads of bags down the driveway. “Your landlady sure blasts the TV.”
“She’s in her seventies. A little hearing loss is probably normal.”
Colleen set her packages down on the entry tiles and fished for her keys. As she went to slide the key into the lock, the door swung open. No way had she left it unlocked, much less ajar. Her pulse rate tripled. “Shit. Tracy. Get to the car. Now. No questions.”
Chapter Eight
Graham spotted Colleen stepping away from a silver Lexus and parked his cruiser behind it. He got out and approached her. “Backup’s a couple of minutes behind me. What happened?”
“My door was unlocked, and I know I didn’t leave it that way. It’s probably nothing, but given this missing Jeffrey business, I thought it would be better to have someone official check it out, and yours was the only number I had.”
“I’m here and I’m official. As a matter of fact, I’m in CID on a cross-training program, so if that other deputy shows up, I’d like a call. This should be my case now.” He pulled off his sunglasses and studied her more closely. Her color was off and droplets of sweat beaded her upper lip. “Why don’t you sit down while we wait?”
“I’m fine. I guess it caught me by surprise. I mean, that someone could be inside my home.”
Graham resisted the urge to put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s normal to be upset.” The car door opened and a svelte blonde stepped out.