Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by Andrea Kane

  ROD GARNER’S BLUE Ford Explorer rumbled down Sally’s driveway, pulled around, and stopped.

  Leaning against his Corolla, Monty straightened and walked toward them. By the time he reached the passenger side, Sally had climbed out. Without a word, she went into his arms.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, gripping her tightly. “Everything’s going to be fine.” He gazed past her as Rod ambled over with her bag. “Thanks,” Monty told his friend. “I owe you one.”

  “Nah.” The solid, ruddy-cheeked man grinned. “Sally’s a pleasure. Molly and I loved having her. Plus, she makes a mean chicken Savoy and was decent enough to share the recipe. So, if anything, I owe you. So, tell me, what else can I do?”

  “You can head home. I’ve got it covered from here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. If things change, I know where to find you.”

  Sally broke away from Monty’s embrace and turned to Rod. “What can I fix you for the road? A snack? Coffee?”

  “Not a thing.” He gave her arm a reassuring pat. “Just take it easy. Your ex is a pro. He’ll find your girl.”

  “Thank you.” Sally clasped his gloved hands. “Thank you for everything. Tell Molly I’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

  “Will do.” He strode back to his car and jumped in. “Hang tough, you two.” He drove off.

  Sally turned back to Monty, her lashes spiky with tears. “I’m ready. Go ahead and prep me. The sooner I’m up to speed, the sooner we can confront the Piersons.”

  EDWARD WAS ON the phone with Vista when there was a knock at his office door.

  “What is it?” he barked.

  Albert stepped into the room. “Pardon me, Mr. Pierson, but Detective Montgomery just called. He’s pulling through the farm gates. He says it’s urgent that he see you. He asked that James be included, as well.”

  A hard swallow as warning bells sounded. “All right, Albert. Find James. Then show Detective Montgomery in.” Edward waited until his butler had exited. “Now what?” he muttered into the phone. “What did you let slip this time?”

  “Nothing,” Vista snapped back. “I haven’t spoken to a soul. Not since yesterday when your grandson and Devon Montgomery invaded my privacy. I have no idea what her father’s there to see you about.”

  “That better be true. I’ll get back to you.” Edward hung up.

  A minute later, James knocked and strolled into the room. “You need to speak with me?” he asked his grandfather.

  “No.” From behind James, Monty grabbed the door, preventing it from being shut. “We do.” He gestured for Sally to enter.

  “We?” Edward had begun. The word died on his lips as he spotted Sally.

  “Hello, Edward.” She walked over and sat down in a chair, her back ramrod straight. “You can call off your posse. I saved you the trouble of hunting me down.”

  It took Edward a moment to recover his composure. “Clearly, you’re alive and well.”

  “I’m alive,” she agreed. “But far from well.”

  Edward started to rise. “I don’t understand—”

  “You don’t need to.” Monty cut him off. “We’re here for explanations, not to give them. Where’s our daughter?”

  “What?”

  Slowly, Monty advanced to the desk, slapped his palms down. “I’m not asking again. Where is she?”

  “What is he talking about?” James demanded, turning to his grandfather. “Did something happen to Devon?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Edward was clearly unnerved.

  “Then I’ll enlighten you.” Monty’s eyes were glittering with anger. “You hired me to flush out Sally. You bugged Devon’s house and had her followed, not to mention having your grandsons try to seduce Sally’s whereabouts out of her. Now she knows too much. So you arranged to get her out of the way. Ring a bell?”

  “No.” Edward gave an adamant shake of his head. “Your daughter was here with Blake last night. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “And the threatening note?”

  “What threatening note?”

  “The one shoved under Sally’s front door last night warning Devon to back off. Still not ringing any bells?”

  “No,” Edward repeated, waving his arms in a frustrated gesture. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “How about it, James?” Monty turned. “Am I making sense to you? Are you running the show here, or are you just paying off doping control officers for advanced notice of the drug-testing schedule so you can time things right? You know, drug the competition when they’re sure to be disqualified?”

  James went sheet white.

  “That’s right, I know all about Paterson. And soon, so will the cops. I’m sure he’ll be happy to strike a deal to avoid jail time—one that includes sharing the details of your arrangement. Smart move, picking someone with a gambling problem. Someone between a rock and a hard place. He lets you know the who and where so you can make sure to add diuretics to the right drinks before the right events.”

  “Shit.” James dragged a hand over his face.

  “What about the phony blackmail scheme?” Monty continued. “Was that your idea, too? Very clever. You made it look like someone had a vendetta against your whole family, not just Frederick. It helped when you framed Rhodes. The poor guy figured out you were siphoning off money into all sorts of things. Paying off Paterson. Vista’s illegal research. Rhodes must have flipped out when he realized what you were doing. And you couldn’t have that. So you got rid of him and framed him for Frederick’s murder all at once.”

  “Stop it, Montgomery,” Edward ordered over James’s sputtering protest. “He had nothing to do with any of that. You’re way off base.”

  “Then straighten me out. You purposely misled me into thinking Frederick was suspicious of Rhodes. The truth was, it was James he was suspicious of. He found out what Golden Boy was up to and he wanted to toss him out on his ass. You couldn’t have that. It would screw up everything you’d been planning for—what you and James have been planning for.”

  Edward opened his mouth to refute the accusation.

  Sally cut him off.

  “A few days before Frederick died, I heard you two arguing at the stables,” she said, gripping the arms of the chair. “I remember it, and so do you. Frederick was worried about a loose cannon at Pierson & Company. Someone committing criminal acts that could destroy everything your family had worked so hard to achieve. That someone was James. He was the person Frederick wanted out. Not Philip Rhodes.”

  “Sounds right to me,” Monty agreed. “So, Edward, how far would you go to make sure Golden Boy stayed golden? Would you kill for it?”

  “My own son?” Edward lost it. “You think I killed Frederick to keep him from firing James?”

  “Did you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But you did steer me in Rhodes’s direction, purposely leading me on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Fine. Yes.” Edward rose again, this time pacing around behind his desk. “I diverted you away from James. I made up the blackmail scheme. And I told you it was Rhodes who Frederick mistrusted. Rhodes wasn’t family. James is. I was protecting my grandson.”

  “Wait a minute.” James looked like a cornered rat. “I didn’t know about any of this. And I sure as hell didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Yeah. You’re innocent as a lamb.” Monty glared at him. “Next you’ll be telling me you don’t know about Vista and his genetic testing.”

  James’s apprehensive gaze darted to his grandfather.

  “Ah, so that’s your grandfather’s project, too.” Monty pounced on the opportunity to find out what Vista’s research was about. “Experimenting on horses is bad enough. But human beings? Illegal aliens who are too poor and too desperate to refuse? That’s criminal and immoral. But you already know that, don’t you, Edward? That’s why you’re paying Vista through an offshore account—the same account Rhod
es found an electronic record of the night he died.”

  A muscle began twitching at Edward’s jaw. “I hired Vista as a genetic consultant. Anything else he might be involved in has nothing to do with me.”

  “I doubt he’d see it that way. In fact, I’m sure he’d be very put off by your lack of loyalty—enough to spill his guts to save his own ass.” Monty reached for the phone. “Should I call and invite him over?”

  “Put down the phone, Detective.” The voice came from the doorway, and Monty turned to see Merry being shoved in at gunpoint. “And while you’re at it, put down your weapon, too. You won’t be needing it.”

  DEVON LEANED BACK against the sofa, slapping the cordless phone onto the cushion beside her and rolling her eyes.

  “That’s the third time I’ve been disconnected,” she muttered. “Well, I’m not giving up.” She punched up the number again, waiting while the tinny connection went through.

  At last, she was rewarded with a mumbled, “Dígame.”

  She sat up straight, signaling to let Blake know she’d gotten through.

  “Esta es Señora Pierson.” She spoke in the older, throatier voice of Anne Pierson, launching into the simple, direct speech that Blake had prepared and she’d translated into Spanish. “Tenemos un problema con nuestro banco. El próximo pago quizás será tarde.”

  The response she got was a sharp intake of breath, followed by some mumbled words of surprise and then a clarifying: “Señora Pierson?”

  “Sí.”

  “Un momento.”

  Devon covered the mouthpiece while she waited. “I told him there’s a problem with his next payment,” she hissed. “He’s getting someone.”

  Blake nodded, standing rigidly and waiting.

  More background shuffling. Then a different male voice addressed her. “¿Quíen es?” he demanded.

  Devon’s stomach lurched. He wanted to know who she was. The previous guy had asked for her name twice. Had they figured out she wasn’t Anne Pierson?

  “¿Quíen es?” the new voice repeated.

  “Señora Pierson,” Devon replied carefully. “Hay un problema. Su próximo pago será tarde.”

  A sharp hiss greeted her ears. “Usted miente! Yo no soy estúpido. Si usted no manda mi dinero ahora, yo se lo diré a todos que me pagaron empezar ese fuego.”

  You’re lying. I’m not stupid. If you don’t send my money now, I’ll tell everyone who paid me to set that fire.

  Devon couldn’t control the shocked cry that escaped her lips.

  At the other end of the phone, there was a muttered oath in Spanish, then a click, and, finally, a dial tone.

  “What is it?” Blake grilled her.

  “Our answer.” Devon stared at the phone, trying to process what she’d just learned. “The second guy I talked to set the fire,” she said in a dazed monotone. “Apparently, he was paid off with the promise of more to come.”

  “He admitted all that to you right off the bat?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes no sense. Why would he do that?”

  “Because he thought he was talking to the person who paid him.” Devon raised her head, met Blake’s gaze. “Your grandmother.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Anne Pierson stared Monty down with those frosty blue eyes. “Did you hear me, Detective? I said to drop your weapon. Now do it.”

  “For God’s sake, Anne,” Edward burst out. “Enough.”

  “Not quite,” she corrected, still staring at Monty. “But almost.” She pressed the gun barrel against Merry’s head.

  “You don’t know how to use that,” Edward tried.

  “To the contrary, I became acquainted with the process the night Philip died. You, of all people, know that. Being an old lady has its advantages. No one ever suspects you. It’s ironic. I always assumed that power accompanied youth. Not so. I’m far more formidable now. Why, I’m practically invisible. Everyone assumes I do nothing but fret and peruse old photos. That shows how foolish the world is.”

  Her forefinger settled on the trigger. “So tell me, Detective, which strikes the floor first—your dead daughter or your gun?”

  Merry let out a small whimper, and tears trickled down her cheeks. “Dad…’’ Futilely, she struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Monty replied in a soothing tone. “Stay still.” He looked at Anne. “You win.” He raised his arm, pointing at his jacket. “I’m reaching for my gun.”

  “Slowly, Detective,” Anne advised. “No matter how good your reflexes are, they won’t beat point-blank range.” She watched while Monty extracted his pistol and held it out for inspection. “Good. Now slide it toward me.”

  Monty bent down, placed the gun on the floor, and kicked it over.

  “Excellent.” She gestured at an empty chair. “Have a seat. Right next to your ex-wife.”

  “Grandmother, what are you doing?” James croaked out as Monty complied.

  “Cleaning up after you.” Anne picked up the gun and gave James a brittle smile. “On my own, this time. There have been enough mistakes. Mistakes that cost me my son.” Her smile faded, her lips thinning into a grim line. “Stupid illegals. They killed the wrong person. And now they brought me the wrong Montgomery.” She glanced at Merry, then turned to stare at Sally, genuine hate in her eyes. “It’s all because of you. Bad enough that you turned Frederick’s head when you’re totally unsuitable. But then you inserted yourself where you didn’t belong, and Frederick died because of it.”

  She was about to say more, when Merry’s kidnapper appeared in the doorway.

  “Luis—bueno.” Anne turned, beckoning him into the room. “Está aquí.” A brittle smile curved her lips. “I think we’re ready.”

  “For what?” Edward exclaimed. He bolted to his feet and stalked over to her, his step faltering as his blood pressure spiked. “What are you doing?”

  Her smile faded. “Calm down, Edward. You’re flushed and agitated. It’s not good for you. Think of your heart.”

  “I can’t fix this, Anne. Not this time. Not if you hurt these people.”

  “You won’t have to.” She lay a soothing palm on his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on hurting anyone.” She glanced over at James, who was standing, stiff with shock, beside Edward. “James, take your grandfather to his bedroom. He needs to lie down and rest. And call Dr. Richards. Tell him to drive up immediately. I want him to give your grandfather a thorough examination. Just to be on the safe side.”

  James turned to study his grandfather. It was true he didn’t look well. His color was blotchy and his breathing unsteady. On the other hand, James wasn’t eager to see his reaction if he were dragged out of the room. He’d probably go ballistic.

  “It’s your call,” James informed him. “You obviously understand what’s going on here a lot better than I do. Do you want to stay or go?”

  For a moment, Edward didn’t reply. He mopped at his brow, still scrutinizing his wife. “Anne, right now, it’s all hearsay, except what’s happening in this room. It can be fixed. Detective Montgomery’s a reasonable man. He and I can come to an equitable arrangement. But only if you walk away.”

  “I intend to,” Anne assured him. “In just a few minutes. The Montgomerys and I need to have a talk. After that, I’ll be in to join you.”

  Edward’s breath was coming in uneven pants. “Have Luis take them home.”

  “Go rest, dear. You need to lie down. And stop worrying. I have everything under control.”

  He grimaced, clearly torn between common sense and physical weakness. His chest was tight, and a sharp pain seared through it, reminding him that he was playing Russian roulette with his body. Fighting the pain, he leaned heavily against his desk.

  “Enough, Grandfather.” James appeared at his side, supporting him and guiding him toward the door. “Stop being stubborn. You can’t risk another heart attack; it could kill you. Let’s go.”

  Edward resisted long enough to
turn to his wife. “I’m sure you know what’s at stake.”

  “I do.” Anne stepped aside so he and James could leave the room. “Pour your grandfather a glass of water,” she instructed James. “And stay with him until Dr. Richards arrives.”

  “I will.” James led Edward into the hall.

  Anne shut the door behind them. Gesturing to Luis, she pointed at Monty and Sally. “Ate las manos.”

  In response, he yanked some rope out of his pocket and walked over, pausing behind Sally’s chair.

  “El hombre primero,” Anne ordered.

  Obediently, he moved a few steps to the left, preparing to tie Monty’s hands first.

  “Much as I loathe your ex-wife, you’re more dangerous.” Anne kept the pistol aimed at Merry as she addressed Monty. “Put your hands behind your back, Detective.”

  Monty studied her for a fleeting instant. Then his gaze slid to Merry. Assessing her terrified expression, he stuck his hands behind his back.

  “Wise decision.” Anne waited until Monty’s wrists were tied. “Ahora la mujer,” she instructed.

  The man pulled Sally’s arms behind her and tied them.

  Sally winced as the ropes bit into her wrists. She averted her head, looking over to see why Monty was being so unusually compliant. He was staring calmly ahead. But Sally knew that expression. He was devising some kind of strategy. Her gaze dropped lower, and she saw what that strategy was.

  Monty’s bound hands had slid down until his fingers were brushing the pocket of his pants—the pocket where he’d stuffed his cell phone. He’d worked a forefinger inside and was grazing the outline of the buttons.

  The motion stopped.

  He slanted a sideways look at Sally, and winked.

  He’d found the number he wanted. Speed dial would take care of the rest.

  IT HAD STARTED to snow.

  A light dusting already blanketed the highway as Blake’s Jag raced up Route 287 en route to the farm.

  Gripping her cell phone, Devon stared out the front windshield. “I’ve tried Monty’s cell three times. It’s ringing, so I know it’s on. He must have it set on vibrate. I wish he’d pick up. I want to update him on our call to Uruguay.”