Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 03 - A Deadly Change of Heart

by Gina Cresse

  Chapter Seven

  Garrett Henderson shook my hand and gave me a warm smile. He was tall and slender, with the lean muscles of a swimmer or a cyclist. His dark hair was cut short on the sides and a little spiky on top. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses which actually added to the appeal of his smooth, tanned face. I placed him in my same general age category—thirty something—but I wouldn’t have been shocked to find out he was forty. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, like a man who likes to get into his work. “You say you were a friend of Diane’s?” he asked.

  I smiled back at him. “More of an acquaintance,” I fibbed. “I’ve been working with a detective on the investigation into her death and I wondered if you could tell me anything?”

  “You’re with the police?” he questioned.

  If Sam Wright found out about this, I’d be picking up garbage along the Pacific Coast Highway as part of my community service punishment until my fortieth birthday. He’d probably make me wear a sandwich board that read: My name is Devonie Lace and I’m a compulsive snooper. “No. This is purely personal,” I admitted.

  Garrett frowned. “Darn shame about Diane. She was a real trooper. We really miss her around here,” he said.

  I nodded in agreement. “The paper said you were the one who reported her missing?”

  “That’s right. She didn’t show up for work on Monday morning. That wasn’t like her. She’d been here over a year and never missed a day. She’d call if she was even going to be five minutes late,” he explained.

  I took this all in. I had very little insight into Diane’s character except for the letter to Bradley and I hoped Garrett could paint a clearer picture for me—fill in some details. “What was her job here?” I asked.

  Garrett glanced around the bustling newspaper room and motioned toward a closed door. “Let’s go in my office where it’s quieter.”

  I followed him inside. He offered me a seat.

  “Diane started out as a file clerk, but she was far too talented for that. I could see it right away,” he said, almost proud that he’d found a diamond in the rough.

  “So she advanced?” I questioned.

  “Yes. Not long before she died, I’d bumped her up to a reporter position. She’d done a couple of real slick pieces. Maybe you read them?”

  I shook my head. “I was down in the Caribbean last year. I didn’t see too many papers.”

  Garrett gave me a surprised glance. “Caribbean? Sounds like a nice vacation.”

  “Should’ve been, if the circumstances were different.” I didn’t explain any further. I was on a mission and didn’t want to get sidetracked with stories from my past. “But I’d like to know more about Diane. Do you think she was working on a story and crossed the wrong people?” I asked.

  “You mean did her job get her killed?”

  “I guess that’s the basic gist of my question. Any idea what she was working on when she died?”

  Garrett snickered. “I said she was talented, but you don’t start out on the big stories. You have to cut your teeth on small stuff, like school-board meetings and plans for building new malls—nothing that would even suggest murder. Believe me, Diane’s death was not related to anything she was working on here.”

  I frowned. This seemed like a promising direction at first—fresh new reporter, inexperienced, uncovers the illicit works of a corrupt politician and ends up fish food. Garrett sensed my disappointment.

  “You ask me, her husband ought to be the one under the microscope,” he confided.

  Our eyes met as if we’d both discovered we had the identical thought at the same moment in time. I nodded and pointed my finger his direction. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell the police.”

  Garrett sat up in his chair. “Oh, believe me, it’s not like they haven’t already heard it before. Do you know the first reaction from people who knew both Diane and her husband was to assume he’d killed her?”

  I raised my eyebrows and moved to the edge of my chair. “Really? And they told the police this?”

  “You bet they did. We all did. The guy’s a waste of skin.” Garrett stared out into space and shook his head as though he were recalling an unpleasant morbid scene.

  “Do you know her husband?” I asked.

  “Never met him. But she’d told me enough to know he’s a low-life, two-timing, arrogant son-of-a…, a real scoundrel, if you know what I mean,” Garrett explained, with the look of disgust still on his face.

  I knew exactly what he meant. There’s no pain greater than the realization that the person you’ve devoted your entire adult life to, the person you trusted with your most intimate thoughts and dreams—your entire being—has no more regard for you than a speck of dust. To be betrayed by the one person in the world you thought you could count on is almost unbearable. To realize that for so many years, you never really had what you thought you had, that the whole relationship was based on a misconception—a lie—is more than anyone should have to endure. Yes, I knew exactly what he was talking about, and my kinship with Diane Parker grew ten-fold in that moment. I made a conscious decision that I’d see this to the end—I’d keep looking. I’d pester Sam Wright until he got so sick of me he’d actually take some official action against me. But I wouldn’t rest until Diane’s murderer was brought to justice.

  I was about to leave when a thought crossed my mind. “What happened to Diane’s personal belongings? The things she kept here in her desk?” I asked.

  “They were all packed up and given to Bradley,” he explained.

  “Was there much?”

  “I don’t think so. I never saw it, but the clerk who packed it up said she only needed one paper box, so it couldn’t have been too much. Why?” he asked.

  “Just wondered,” I replied.

  Garrett walked me out to the parking lot. I thanked him for his time and opened the door to my Explorer, then stopped. “You know the saddest part of this whole thing?” I said.

  He looked at me questioningly, waiting for me to continue.

  “Even if Bradley Parker didn’t kill Diane, the fact that everyone assumed he did, that he could, or even would—makes you wonder how his kids can stand to be on the same planet with him,” I said.

  Garrett nodded. “I don’t think his kids see him as the demon everyone else sees. Oh, they know he’s no saint, but think about it. Could you get out of bed every morning if you thought for an instant that your father threw your mother off a cliff? You’d convince yourself it wasn’t so, for your own sanity.”

  With that, I slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed. The drive back to the marina seemed longer than it should have. I hit every red light in San Diego, or at least it felt that way.

  I left a message on Spencer’s voice mail to call me as soon as he could. Within ten minutes, my phone rang.

  “Devonie? It’s Spencer. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Spence. I need you to run another name for me,” I requested, wasting no time.

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  “What?”

  Spencer cleared his throat and spoke quietly into the phone. “I’ve got a new boss and he watches me like a hawk.”

  I frowned. “What about from your house?” I asked.

  “He’s got electronic eyes. The guy raises paranoid to a whole new level. I don’t think he has an ulcer, but he’s definitely a carrier,” Spencer joked.

  “Why is he on your case?”

  Spencer chuckled. “He knows about my track record. Figures once a hacker, always a hacker.”

  “He’s right, you know,” I admitted.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t give his kind a second thought, but if he catches me, it’s not a warning and a little slap on the wrist—it’s a trip to the big house. I don’t think I’d do well in jail,” Spencer said.

  “No. Jail wouldn’t suit you. Guess I’ll have to think of some other way to find out about Bradley Parker.”

  “What’s the name, again?” Spencer as
ked.

  “Bradley Parker,” I repeated.

  “Why does that name sound familiar?” he said. I could hear Spencer fumbling with something on the other end of the phone.

  “He owns a software consulting firm here in San Diego. Maybe you’ve heard of him through his company. It’s called Business Solutions,” I offered.

  “Yeah. Here it is. I have his card. Bradley Parker. Met him last month at that big computer show over at Cal Expo. Tried to hire me. Said he was desperate for an experienced network technician.”

  “You met him?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He found out I knew something about networks and he latched onto me like a tick. Thought I was gonna have to douse him with kerosene.”

  “What was he like? Did he seem like someone who could be a killer?” I asked.

  “He’s a Killer?” Spencer marveled.

  “I don’t know for sure. I do know he’s a womanizing skirt chaser. What makes a man chase after women he has no intention of marrying?”

  “I suppose it’s the same urge that makes dogs chase cars they have no intention of driving,” Spencer answered.

  I laughed out loud, then remembered why I’d called. “How am I going to find out more about this guy?”

  “Why don’t you go to work for him? What better way to get the dirt on someone than to spend thirty percent of your time with him?”

  I laughed. “You forgot about my work ethic. It’s more like fifty percent.”

  “Only if he has the same work ethic,” Spencer reminded me.

  After looking up the address for Business Solutions, Inc. in the phone book, I hurried around the cabin of the Plan C, searching for my navy-blue pumps and a pair of pantyhose that didn’t have a run or a hole in the toe. The printer sitting on a small table in the cabin I’d designated as an office spit out a copy of my resume. I buttoned my blazer and straitened the hem of my skirt. As I inspected my image in the mirror, I had a flashback to my days as a database administrator at San Tel. It must have been something similar to the experiences war veterans call post traumatic stress. The vision of me in a navy-blue business suit, matching high heels, my hair pulled back, and makeup just right, sent me into a near-panic attack. Sitting on the edge of the bed, forcing my breathing to slow down, I reminded myself that this was not for real—just a tactic to get information. I was not going to rejoin the rat race—I was just going to spectate for a while.

  I had to make one stop on the way to Bradley Parker’s office. Ann Marie’s Bridal Shop left a message that my dress was ready and I could pick it up any time after noon. I backed through the door carrying the gown, protected in a clear plastic bag. I draped the lacey white dress across the back of the passenger seat in an effort to keep it as wrinkle-free as possible. The simple lines and understated elegance of the dress caught my attention the second I laid eyes on it in Ann Marie’s big picture-glass window. The style looked reminiscent of the 1920s. The short cap sleeves fell just off the shoulder. It had a sheath silhouette but was slightly fitted to follow the curve of the waist and hips. The hem fell well above the ankle in front but dipped lower in the back. The layers of vanilla colored lace made it seem as delicate as a fragile glass ornament. I remember staring at it through the window for a long time before I walked into the shop. When I saw the tiny pearl buttons stitched down the back, so many I couldn’t count them, and so close they almost touched, I knew there was no other dress in the world I could possibly get married in.

  I sat in the lobby of Business Solutions, Inc., resume in hand, and waited for Bradley Parker to emerge from his office. The receptionist, a big-haired, big-busted redhead named Mandy, busied herself with the task of opening the daily mail. When Parker finally strolled out, I stood up to greet him. He wasn’t exactly the repulsive monster I’d prepared myself for. His manner was mild and pleasant. His blond hair was recently trimmed and neatly styled. He was tall and muscular and dressed in an expensive-looking suit with a colorful tie. The only jewelry he wore was a Rolex watch, which he’d managed to check twice before he acknowledged my presence. His face was tanned, I assumed from hours on the golf course, courting potential clients. He didn’t look like a killer. Neither did Ted Bundy.

  “Hello Mr. Parker,” I said, holding my hand out to shake his. “Spencer Davis told me you were looking for an experienced systems person for installations and user training.”

  Bradley Parker studied me briefly, then smiled and shook my hand. “Spencer Davis?” he replied, looking a bit confused.

  “Yes. He met you at the computer show up in Sacramento. Cal Expo. You offered him a job,” I explained.

  The floodgates of remembrance opened. “Right. Right. I remember him. Bright kid. Wish I could’ve talked him out of that State job. He could be a real asset.”

  I smiled and handed him my resume. “He taught me everything I know—about computers, that is.”

  Parker took the resume and glanced over it quickly. “Unfortunately, I’ve already filled the position. Last week. Very competent fellow.”

  The wind in my sails suddenly died. I hadn’t considered the possibility that I’d strike out. I didn’t have a backup plan. How could I have been so confident that I’d just walk into the job? I’d become very naïve since leaving the world of high-tech. There’s more competition out there now. Kids right out of school are writing their own tickets. Nevermind that they have no business experience and will likely make mistakes that cost clients thousands, or maybe even millions of dollars. They’re the computer-game generation; able to navigate an electronic maze filled with fire-breathing monsters and flying creatures so deadly they kill on contact. They can collect all the gold coins, outmaneuver the mutant attackers and win the game, but they don’t understand the ramifications of providing inaccurate information to decision makers of multi-million dollar companies.

  I frowned and nodded. “I see,” I said, turning to leave.

  Mandy caught his attention before he returned to his office. “Bradley, don’t forget you’re supposed to meet Pamela for lunch.”

  I slowly gathered my purse and briefcase, stalling my exit to listen to the exchange between Parker and Mandy.

  Parker checked his watch. “Today? I’ve got a lunch appointment with…what’s his name…you know, the guy with the white BMW.”

  “Mr. Axtell. You want me to call Pamela and cancel?” Mandy asked.

  Parker waved his hand in the air as if he were parting the Red Sea. “Yeah. We can go over the guest list some other time. I don’t know why she needs me to be involved in every little detail of this wedding,” he complained.

  My ears perked up at the mention of a wedding.

  “Has Pamela gotten a dress yet?” Mandy asked.

  Parker shook his head and blew out a sigh of disgust. “You kidding? She hasn’t even thought about it. I told her Vegas was the way to go, but she wouldn’t hear of it. When the day comes and she’s not ready, she won’t have a choice.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. You can bet the girl has thought about a dress. From the day she was twelve-years old, she’s thought about the dress she’d wear on her wedding day. I dropped my purse and spilled all the contents on the floor, slowly gathering the items and neatly placing them back, one by one.

  Parker returned to his office as Mandy dialed the phone. She tapped a pencil on her desk as she waited for an answer. She pushed the tip of her long, red, false fingernail against the hook and pressed some more buttons. “I can’t reach Pamela at home,” she said into the receiver. “Want me to call the restaurant and leave a message for her? Okay. It was Tucker’s Grille, right?”

  I made a mental note. Tucker’s Grille was about fifteen minutes away. I finally got my stuff together and pushed my way out of the building.

  I parked in the restaurant lot with a view to the front entrance and watched as patrons entered and exited. I waited until I saw a woman walk in alone. I didn’t give her too much notice because she was very young—too young to be marrying Bradley Park
er. When she walked out less than two minutes later with a very frustrated look on her face, I changed my tune. As she marched toward her car she looked as though she’d like to punch out a window or break a few antennas.

  I grabbed my cell phone, purse and the dress and piled out of the Ford. I hoisted my purse on my shoulder, held the dress hanger over my head to keep it from touching the ground, and pressed the cell phone to my ear, trying to summon the most aggravated voice I could. “What? I’m already here at the restaurant,” I blurted into the phone, loud enough for the approaching woman to hear. She glanced at me and immediately noticed the dress I held over my head. “But I wanted to show you the dress. Why can’t you make it?” I continued to whine into the phone. The woman paused and gave me a concerned glance. I acknowledged her sympathy and continued with my one-sided argument. “It just would have been nice if you could have let me know a little sooner, that’s all. You’re not going to do this to me on the wedding day, are you?” I said, laying it on thick. “Fine. Bye.” I said, flipping the phone off. I struggled to open my purse when the woman offered to help.

  “Here. Can I help? I’ll hold the dress for you,” she offered, taking the hanger from me.

  “Thanks,” I said, handing the dress over so I could drop the phone in my purse. “I’m so angry. Sorry you had to hear all the gory details,” I said.

  She smiled. “That’s okay. We have more in common than you know. My fiancé stood me up today, too.” She admired the dress through the clear plastic. “This is gorgeous. Where’d you get it?” she asked.

  That was all it took. We’d both been stood up at the last minute by our inconsiderate fiancés, we were both planning weddings, and we were suddenly and unexpectedly free for lunch.