In certain historical instances women had been shocked to learn there was no prince beneath the froggy exterior. Guinevere didn’t like surprises.
Chapter Three
The small tavern just off First Avenue had been designed to appeal to the crowd that worked in the neighboring government offices and financial institutions. It styled itself a pub, offered an interesting selection of locally brewed ales as well as the imported kind, and featured a great deal of furniture that appeared to have been rescued from a 1930s yard sale. It was the younger, lower-level, but still upwardly mobile types who came in here after work. The older, more established executives who drank martinis instead of imported beer and wine and who would always view women in business as secretaries regardless of their incomes or clout didn’t hang out here. They headed for the stylish ambience of one of the hotel bars a few blocks away. The pub was for people like Guinevere and Larry Hixon.
Guinevere hadn’t started out to spend the after-work tavern hour commiserating with Larry. She had intended to spend the time trying to talk sense into her sister, whom she had arranged to meet in the pub at five. Unfortunately, as Guinevere walked in the front door and stood for a few seconds searching out a free seat, Larry Hixon’s morose face was the first thing she saw. He was sitting by himself, sprawled in an overstuffed couch that should rightfully have been used to seat three people instead of one in such a crowd. Apparently Larry’s brooding expression had been sufficient to keep would-be couch sharers’ circling instead of landing. His eyes met Guinevere’s, and he motioned for her to join him.
Stifling an inward sigh, Guinevere summoned up a reasonably cheerful smile and headed across the room. Perhaps she should be grateful, she told herself. After all, there wasn’t another free seat in the place.
“Hi, Larry. I didn’t know you were planning on dropping in here. We could have walked down from StarrTech together.” Guinevere caught the harried waitress’s eye and smiled. The waitress smiled back and mouthed “The usual?” Guinevere nodded.
“I felt like having a few beers,” Larry informed her in a morbid-sounding tone.
“I see. No word from Cal, hmmm?” Guinevere knew very well there had been no word from Cal Bender. Larry had been moping about the fact since she had arrived at StarrTech days ago. Tonight was Tuesday. For the three workdays she had been at the company no one had heard from Cal.
“Maybe he just got pissed off and split,” Larry muttered. He drained half the beer in his glass. “Couldn’t blame him. The Elf has really been on his ass lately.”
“You’re probably right. Stop worrying about it, Larry. Cal will be back when he’s ready. In the meantime, you’re only going to make Elfstrom more irritated than ever if you don’t at least try to look efficient at work.”
“I don’t give a damn what the Elf thinks. Let him bring someone else in to do my job if he doesn’t like the way I’m handling it. I’d like to see him figure out the payroll program by the end of the week.”
“Now, Larry, you’ve told me yourself that you need the job until you hit it big with your software game.”
“Maybe I’ll just take my chances and quit.” Larry gazed forlornly into his beer mug. “I could finish the game on my own, Gwen. God knows it was supposed to be a team project. Cal and I were going to make it together, but if he’s flipped out on me, I’ll just have to think about going ahead alone.” He raised frustrated, uncomprehending eyes to meet Guinevere’s sympathetic gaze. “Why would he do it, Gwen? Why would he just leave without even telling me he was going? God knows he was never the confiding type, but to walk out in the middle of a business arrangement doesn’t fit. Cal wanted to finish that game and get it into the market as much as I do.”
Guinevere leaned forward to touch his hand just as the waitress set down her glass of California bulk burgundy. “Larry, you’ve got to stop fretting like this.” She glanced up. “Thanks, Jan. Can I start a tab?”
“Sure. How’s it going, Gwen?” The young woman who had just delivered the wine was attractive in an artsy sort of way. She wore her dark hair cut in a trendy style that was carefully designed to stay on the safe side of outrageous. Her clothes fell into the same category. In real life Jan was attempting to make it as an interior designer. She was trying to accomplish that goal in a city that was already teeming with designers. Hence the part-time job as a pub waitress. Jan had once spent a quiet evening in the pub explaining to Guinevere just how tough it was going to be to become successful. After that a limited friendship had sprung up between the two women.
“I’m surviving,” Guinevere told her easily. “Things have been hectic lately. Have you seen my sister? She’s supposed to be here by now.”
“Nope. But I’ll keep an eye out for her.” From her vantage point Jan swept the room with a practiced gaze. “Looks like someone else is headed this way, though.”
Guinevere glanced toward the door. “Oh, hell.”
“Know him?” Jan asked interestedly.
“Unfortunately.” From across the room Zac Justis saw her and started forward with unerring accuracy. “You’d think I’d planned a party and everybody decided to come.”
She watched Zac’s approach with a feeling of impending doom. She didn’t know anyone else on the face of the earth who inspired such a sensation, not even her accountant. But there was something about Zac that gave her the feeling of sinking into quicksand.
She hadn’t seen him since lunch the previous day, when she’d blithely informed him yet again that she had absolutely nothing to report. She’d tried to impress upon him the futility of the undercover project while making her way through the most expensive items she could find on the menu. It had been hard running up a big tab at the pizza place Zac had chosen, but she had managed it through determination and attention to detail. It wasn’t that she’d actually wanted to eat the extra-large “kitchen sink” pizza, a salad, and garlic bread. Rather, it had been an attempt to convince Zac that taking her to lunch every day was going to prove more than his fledgling business could afford.
Larry spotted the newcomer. “That’s the boyfriend, isn’t it?”
Guinevere blinked. “Somehow I never think of him as boyish.”
Larry flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry. Have they got a good word for boyfriends who look like they’re pushing forty?”
Before Guinevere could answer, Zac was upon them. “That’s an interesting question. Have you got a good word for me, Gwen?” He smiled at Guinevere as he sank down onto the couch beside her. The cushions gave considerably beneath his weight, and she found herself tilting precariously against Zac’s side.
“Nothing printable.” She kept her balance with an effort. Zac didn’t look as though he had anything resembling fat anywhere on his body, but he must have weighed a ton to create such havoc with the springs at the end of the old couch. “What are you doing here, Zac, besides destroying the ecological balance?”
“Some helpful soul on her way out the door at StarrTech obligingly mentioned that you might be headed for this place. I was very grateful for the advice. Otherwise I might have stood around in front of StarrTech until midnight waiting for you to get off work.” The cool chastisement in his gray eyes totally belied the Frog’s smile. Justis was not pleased at having been stood up.
Guinevere took heart from the small victory. “Loitering in front of a building until midnight is a good way to get yourself picked up on suspicion of prostitution.”
As Zac extended an arm along the back of the couch, “Would you have posted bail for me?”
“Not unless I could have deducted it from my income taxes.” Guinevere tried to edge away from the arm that seemed to be imprisoning her even though it wasn’t touching her. “Zac, have you met Larry?”
Zac nodded gravely at the younger man, who inclined his head and mumbled something relatively polite before taking another swig of beer.
/> “Larry’s had a hard day,” Guinevere said dryly.
“We all have.” Zac studied her face. “Speaking for my own hard day, I can tell you it wasn’t made any easier by having my plans for the evening disrupted.”
“I didn’t know you had plans for the evening.” Guinevere caught sight of a familiar blond head and lifted a hand to get her sister’s attention. “It’s about time Carla got here. Larry, I don’t believe you’ve met my sister, have you? Neither have you, Zac.”
Smiling with a mockingly gracious air, Guinevere used Carla’s appearance to dissipate the thickening atmosphere that had arrived along with Zac. Carla’s quietly tragic green eyes, delicately sculpted features, and well-proportioned body made her a very useful diversion. Carla was saved from the kind of perfection that terrifies many men by the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and an aura of fragility. She looked in need of protection and had looked that way since she was five years old. Even Guinevere, who had known her since she was born, still wasn’t certain just how much protection her sister really did need. Some of the fragility in Carla was all too real.
Zac acknowledged the introduction coolly, his gaze speculative. Larry, still lost in his own pit of depression, managed another polite nod. Then he hesitated as Carla seated herself gracefully on the small padded hassock at his feet. “Uh, would you rather sit on the couch?”
“Oh, no, this is fine, thank you.” Carla treated him to a grateful smile. She looked very delicate and gentle curled on the hassock. She was wearing a green silk blouse and a pair of pleated wool trousers. Her blond hair was parted in the middle and cut bluntly along the line of her jaw, serving as a subtle curtain when she bent her head. “You’re a friend of Gwen’s?”
“Yeah, I, uh, work at StarrTech.” Larry fumbled a bit at first but seemed to pick up the ball quickly. “Would you like a beer?”
“That sounds marvelous. It’s been such a long, dreary day.”
“You can say that again,” Larry said feelingly. He waved a hand for the waitress.
Guinevere watched the scene with a sense of resignation. Larry hadn’t bothered to think of ordering anything for her when she’d arrived. He’d been too deeply mired in his own thoughts. She eyed her sister. “Just what did you do today that made it seem so long and dreary, Carla?”
“I took a walk along the waterfront after seeing Dr. Estabrook,” Carla began wearily. She stopped and looked pointedly at her sister. “I’m afraid Dr. Estabrook didn’t have good news, Gwen.”
There was a moment of embarrassed silence as Larry and Zac dealt with the unexpected introduction of such a personal topic. Larry frowned worriedly. Zac said quietly, “Your sister didn’t mention that you were ill. I’m sorry to hear it, Carla.”
Carla swung her wide, tragic gaze to his face. “I’m afraid my sister doesn’t think of me as being ill, Zac. Dr. Estabrook is my psychiatrist. I’ve been going to her for counseling for the past few months.”
“I see.” Zac glanced at Guinevere’s composed features.
Larry Hixon looked very relieved. “I’m glad it’s that kind of problem and not a, uh, medical one.”
Carla smiled sadly. “Don’t you think depression is a serious problem, Larry?”
He nodded vigorously. “Oh, definitely, definitely. Been suffering from it myself lately.”
“Have you really?” Carla looked immediately intrigued. “You must tell me about it. It’s very helpful to talk to someone who understands.”
Guinevere knew the subtle emphasis on the last word was a small dig at her. She sighed, unaware that she had done so until Zac’s arm slid off the back of the sofa and settled around her shoulders. Startled, she glanced at him. He smiled back blandly.
“I think we’d better be on our way, honey. I’ve got reservations for dinner, and we don’t want to be late. You know how you like your food.”
Guinevere, who had been so full on the two occasions when she’d had lunch with Zac that she’d been unable to eat anything else that day, glared at him. “I wanted to talk to my sister.”
Carla looked up quickly. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Gwen. We can talk later. Don’t keep Zac waiting. Heaven knows you don’t get out enough as it is.”
“That’s right,” Zac drawled, getting to his feet and drawing Guinevere up beside him. “You should be grateful to me for providing you with an evening out. Just think, if it weren’t for me, you might have spent this evening at home washing your hair or something.”
“My gratitude knows no bounds.”
But the muttered words were lost as Zac guided her away from the couch. Guinevere had a couple of second thoughts, then gave up and went along peacefully. There really wasn’t much she could do. Carla hadn’t wanted to meet her tonight in the first place, and now that she’d found a way to avoid the discussion, her sister wasn’t likely to relinquish it. Her blond head was already bent solicitously toward Larry, who appeared to be equally involved in the developing conversation on depression.
“What’s your sister’s problem anyway?” Zac helped Guinevere forcefully into her red wool coat and then buttoned his own rather worn-looking suede jacket. He pulled up his collar as he guided Guinevere out into the chilly evening.
“A man,” Guinevere informed him with heavy drama.
“She’s seeing a psychiatrist because of a man?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but Carla’s a very sensitive person. She was really quite devastated a few months ago because of—never mind. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my family’s personal problems.”
He considered that for a long moment. “Have you ever had therapy to help you get over a relationship?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a businesswoman. I haven’t got time to wallow in melodramatic relationships. The city of Seattle is hardly going to sit around waiting for its business tax while I visit with a therapist. You of all people should understand that. You’re the owner of a small business yourself.”
“True. And I’d be the first to admit certain luxuries have to be kept to the bare minimum. The cash flow can get tight. Very tight. Sometimes just a couple of thousand will make the difference between staying in business or going under.” Zac paused.
Guinevere ignored the obvious opening. She would be a fool to confide in Zac Justis about the ten thousand. If he thought she was going to provide him with an explanation for her activities in the StarrTech computer a few months ago, he was sadly deluding himself. “Have you really got reservations for dinner, or was that just a ruse to separate me from Larry and Carla?”
“Why do you sound so suspicious?” Zac looked genuinely offended.
“Around you it comes naturally.”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and bent his head a little against the faint mist. “How about a bowl of chowder down at one of the places on the waterfront?”
“No, thanks, I’d rather go home and wash my hair. I knew it all along.”
“Knew what?”
“That you weren’t really going to take me out to a nice dinner.”
“What’s wrong with clam chowder?” Zac demanded. He was already walking her toward the waterfront. “Add a few crackers, and it’s a meal in itself. Besides, we haven’t got time for a long, drawn-out dinner.”
“Why not?” Guinevere glanced at him in surprise.
“I’ve got plans for the evening.”
“Include me out.”
He took her arm as they crossed the railroad tracks and then Alaskan Way. “Don’t you want to come with me to take a look at Cal Bender’s house?”
“What?” In startled amazement Guinevere came to a halt on the sidewalk in front of one of the many shops that lined the waterfront piers. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“Partly because the only thing you’ve been able to find out while
doing your Mata Hari routine is that no one knows why Bender hasn’t been in to work and partly because I’m just naturally curious. Also, I admit I’m getting a little restless, and checking out Bender’s house is at least a start. Gives me something to do.”
“Sounds to me like a perfect example of the devil finding work for idle hands. Listen, whatever is going on at StarrTech, you can take my word for it that Cal wouldn’t be involved. His whole goal in life is to strike it big with that software game he and Larry are designing.”
“Come on, the best chowder place is on the next pier.”
“Are you serious?”
“About the chowder or about having a look at Bender’s place?” He sounded dryly patient.
“About the, uh, search. What if he’s there? Zac, you can’t just go into a person’s home and—and start looking through his closets.”
“No? People do it all the time.”
“Not legally.”
“No, not legally. You want large or small?”
“If we’re talking prison sentences, I choose none of the above!”
“Calm down,” Zac said. “I’m talking about chowder. Do you want the large or small size?”
“Small. I’ve lost my appetite.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all week.” Zac released her arm and went over to the sidewalk counter to place the order.
Guinevere watched him collect and pay for the Styrofoam cups of chowder. She wondered what on earth she was going to do now. It had never occurred to her that she would get this involved in Zac’s investigation. Now that the possibility had been thrust upon her she was uneasily aware that she wasn’t as averse to the idea as she ought to be. A strange curiosity was beginning to nibble at her.
Perhaps it was the natural result of being caught up in the situation. The questions Zac was trying to answer, after all, constituted the reasons he had blackmailed her in the first place. She was bound to be curious about them, and it was definitely in her best interests that the answers be found. When Zac had solved his riddles, she would be free.
The Desperate Game: (InterMix) Page 5