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

by Gina Cresse

  “What are you up to, Ralph?” I whispered to myself as I started my engine and pulled out into the street behind the Volvo.

  It looked to me like Ralph was on the run. He was on his way out of town. I stayed on his tail. He must have sensed he was being followed because his driving became fast and erratic. He wove in and out of traffic and I worked to keep up with him. I wanted to call Sam on my cell phone to let him know it looked like Ralph was trying to skip town, but I couldn’t take my attention off the road long enough to make the call. We were well out of the congestion of the city and Ralph was running like a scared rabbit. I was having a tough time keeping up with the car. His lights disappeared from view when he rounded a curve. I pushed the gas pedal to the floor and gripped the steering wheel tightly, but then slowed down before I reached the curve to keep from rolling my short-wheel-based SUV. When I straightened out the wheel, Ralph’s taillights came back into view. I pushed the accelerator to the floor.

  My heart sank when the red lights at the railroad crossing started flashing and the bells began their alarm. Ralph had made it through before the crossing gates came down, but no such luck for me. I eased my foot down on the brake pedal, hoping I could stop before I broke through the gates. I left a short set of skid marks as my anti-lock brakes helped me stop straight without losing control. I banged my fist on the steering wheel and cursed under my breath as I watched those annoying red lights flash, alternating from left to right.

  I could see the light from the train headed down the tracks. I thought for a moment that I might try going around the crossing gates, but it was difficult to judge the speed of the train. I watched the taillights of Ralph’s car disappear on the horizon. The annoying bright lights of a vehicle reflected in my rear-view mirror as it rolled up to my bumper. I adjusted my mirror to deflect the glare, then reached into my purse and rummaged for my cell phone. Now would be a good time to call Sam with the bad news. The Explorer jerked a little and felt as though it had been bumped from behind. I glanced in my mirror. I could no longer see the headlights of the car behind me. Not because it was gone, but because it was pushed right up against my bumper.

  “Hey!” I shouted as it continued to push my Explorer toward the red-and-white striped crossing gates. I shoved my foot down hard on the brake pedal. The crossing gates splintered and gave way to the grill of my Ford. My seat vibrated. I couldn’t tell if it was from the friction of my locked wheels being shoved across the pavement, or the rumbling freight train barreling down the iron rails toward me. My eyes fixed on the bright strobe light headed my direction. At that moment, I knew the fear of a deer, frozen in the headlights of a speeding truck as it stands in the center of the road, unable to move. A voice in my head said, “Think, Devonie! Think!” I snapped out of the trance, pushed the clutch to the floor, shoved the gearshift into first and jammed my foot into the gas pedal. Tires spun and smoke billowed from under the wheels as I crashed through the set of crossing gates on the other side of the tracks, just as the speeding train blasted through the intersection.

  I stopped to recapture my breath. I cranked around in my seat and watched the rail cars speed past. The lights of the murderous vehicle flashed off and on as the gaps between the cars allowed the beams to pass through. I tried to judge the length of the train in the dark. I wanted to be long gone before the last car rolled through the intersection and allowed my attacker to resume the assault.

  With a death grip on the wheel, I accelerated down the highway, the speedometer gauge pegged. I ran the events of the last twenty minutes over in my mind. Someone must have seen me at Ralph Campbell’s house—someone who didn’t want me following Ralph. Maybe Ralph had a partner in crime. Maybe Bradley Parker didn’t want me to talk to Ralph.

  I checked my rear-view mirror. Lights from several cars were behind me. I made a turn and waited to see if any of them followed. They all continued on the main highway. I pulled to the shoulder of the road and cut the engine. The copies I’d made of Diane Parker’s address book were sitting on the passenger seat next to me. I’d never taken them out of the Explorer. I powered on my cell phone and started calling every number. I asked to speak to the person from Diane’s book, and once it was confirmed that person was home, I feigned phone trouble and disconnected the call. Then I crossed the name off the list and went on to the next. I didn’t know who just tried to kill me, but I could start eliminating possibilities. When I finished, I’d only confirmed ten people were home and could not have been in the vicinity when I had my close-encounter-of-the-Southern-Pacific-kind. Bradley Parker wasn’t one of them—he never picked up his phone.

  Traversing the roadways, I managed to make my way back to the city limits. As far as I could tell, no one followed me, but I still didn’t want to go home. I drove to the police station and called Sam’s house from my cell phone. He didn’t answer, but I left a frantic message on his machine. I eyed the lights in the windows of the building I was parked in front of and wondered if he could be working late tonight. I called his desk and was greeted by another recording. I blurted the highlights of my thrilling evening into his voice mailbox and begged him to return my call as soon as he got the message.

  Chapter Twelve

  That night I slept like a mouse in a boa constrictor’s cage. I woke up every hour, thinking I heard something or someone outside on the dock. I’d sit up and peer through the porthole, but not see anything. Then I’d worry and wonder why Sam hadn’t returned my call. Was he punishing me for disobeying his orders? Maybe he’d finally had enough of me and shoved my Explorer in front of that train to get rid of me. Now you’re really being paranoid, Devonie, I thought to myself.

  When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, I decided it was useless to try for any more sleep. It wasn’t going to happen. I dragged myself out of bed and into the galley. A note stuck to my refrigerator reminded me I was supposed to meet Pamela for lunch today. She wanted to update me on all she’d accomplished with her wedding plans.

  I plucked a banana from my fruit bowl and peeled it as I booted up my computer. I logged into the eBay web site to check the status of a bid I had on a rare, out-of-print video. I’d been trying to buy the video over the course of several weeks on three consecutive auctions, but someone managed to outbid me at the last minute every time. So far, I hadn’t been outbid on this fourth auction, but that didn’t mean anything. I didn’t have my hopes up. While I was logged in, I decided to do a little snooping around. You never know what kind of bargain you might find on the Internet.

  Pamela had actually made a lot of progress during the week. She’d hired a photographer, made arrangements with a florist, and mailed all the invitations. It looked like she was actually going to pull this wedding off, much to my dismay. I felt horrible, like an animal control officer must feel when they deliver an innocent puppy to the pound. How could I continue to help her down the path to a condemned life with Bradley Parker, a confirmed anti-husband and possible murderer?

  I took the last bite of my sandwich and pushed my plate away. “So, did you go out with Bradley last night?” I asked.

  She frowned. “We were supposed to go to the movies, but he called and cancelled at the last minute. He had to go out of town for a couple days on business.”

  Out of town. I wondered if he took the train.

  “Are you still thinking of buying a wedding gift for him?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I’d like to, but I just don’t know what to get him.”

  “I saw a credenza listed on eBay this morning. It matches the furniture in his office. You think he’d like something like that?”

  Pamela’s eyes lit up. “That’s perfect. He’d love it.”

  I scratched my head and gave her a troubled look. “Only problem, it’s pretty big. There might not be room. We’d have to take some measurements of his office,” I said.

  She smiled widely. “This is perfect. He’s out of town. We can do it right now and he’ll never know.”

  We stood in t
he center of Bradley Parker’s office. I rummaged through my purse, feigning frustration. “I always carry a tape measure with me. I can’t understand why it’s not here.”

  Pamela peered into my purse, hoping she could spot it. She wouldn’t, of course. The only tape measure I own is in my toolbox on the Plan C. Pamela inquired with the office staff. Luckily, no one had any sort of measuring device.

  I dropped my shoulders in disappointment. “I’ll just run home and get one. It should only take about twenty minutes,” I offered.

  “Nonsense. I’ll run down to the hardware store. I’ll be back in ten minutes, tops,” Pamela insisted.

  I smiled at her as if she’d just offered to donate a kidney. “Are you sure? It’s really no problem.“

  “I insist,” she said, halfway out the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  She wasn’t gone ten seconds before I was rummaging through Bradley’s files. I wanted to find anything that showed he had a connection to SONGS. I rifled through his drawers, checked his Rolodex, and scanned his calendar. Nothing. I bumped his computer mouse and his monitor lit up. I rolled the chair up to the PC and searched his directories. His files were poorly named—giving no clue to what they contained. His directory structure was a mess, too. How could a computer professional be so disorganized and illogical? I tried an advanced search for any files containing the words “San Onofre” or “SONGS.” I wasn’t getting any hits.

  I nervously checked my watch. Pamela would be back soon, and I didn’t want her to catch me with my hand in the cookie jar. That’s when I noticed the small, ball-shaped device sitting on Bradley’s desk, next to his phone. I recognized it as a video camera, used for video conferencing. I’d also seen them used in conjunction with motion detectors for security purposes. I swallowed hard. If the device was recording, I could be in big trouble.

  I heard Pamela’s voice in the outer office. I hit the power button on the monitor and it went black.

  She walked in just in time to catch me admiring a photo of her and Bradley getting ready to board a cruise ship. “Great picture,” I commented, nodding toward the frame on Bradley’s desk. “Where was it taken?”

  “We took a three-day cruise to Mexico a couple months ago. That’s when he proposed,” she replied, almost giddy.

  Mexico. Memories of trips south of the border flashed through my mind. Over the years, I’ve compiled a list of things not to do in Mexico. Don’t drink the water. Don’t eat the food washed with the water. Don’t drive your own car there. Don’t ride in a taxi—which is very unhandy considering the previous entry in the list. I’d have to add another “don’t” to my list. Do not accept proposals of marriage, especially from a man whose first wife died from a fall off a cliff.

  We took measurements of the office and noted them down on a scratch pad. I nodded toward Bradley’s computer. “He probably has Internet access. Let’s log into eBay and I’ll show you the credenza. If you like it, we’ll submit a bid and cross our fingers.”

  “Neat. You just find something you want and bid on it?”

  “That’s right. But don’t assume it’s a sure thing. I get outbid all the time,” I explained. I powered the monitor on and clicked on the Internet Explorer icon. Pamela pulled a chair up next to me and watched the pages paint on the screen like a gambler watching the wheels spin on a slot machine. I found the credenza and submitted Pamela’s bid. I used my account, so all notifications would come to my E-mail address. That also meant that if the bid was successful, I was responsible for making sure the payment was made. If Pamela miraculously recovered from her severe case of love-blindness and called off the wedding, I could be stuck with the credenza. I decided it would be worth it and, in fact, almost hoped for it.

  I arrived back at the Plan C and checked my answering machine. No messages. Why hadn’t Sam called? Didn’t he care that someone tried to kill me last night?

  I’d struck out in Bradley’s office. I couldn’t find anything that connected him with SONGS. What’s worse, I may have given myself away snooping in his files if that camera was on. I couldn’t wait for Sam to call. I had to keep searching.

  I dressed myself up in corporate attire once again and pranced up the dock in my navy-blue pumps, trying not to let the heels get caught between the planks. The new tires on my Explorer squealed a little as I rushed out of the marina parking lot.

  San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station is situated ten miles south of San Clemente. It sits right on the coast and is cooled by Pacific Ocean water. I pulled into the visitor center parking area and followed the directions the man in the guard shack gave me. I walked into the learning center building as if I belonged there and strolled up to the receptionist desk.

  “Hi. I wonder if you can tell me the name of your IT manager?” I requested.

  She smiled at me. “Certainly. His name is Wilbur Moore.”

  I made a note in the day planner I’d carried in with me. “I don’t have an appointment, but I wonder if it would be possible to see him?” I requested.

  She frowned at me. “He’s not expecting you? He’s very busy.”

  I flipped through pages in the planner and sighed. “Oh, I’m sure he must be, what with all the commotion about Ralph Campbell.” I noticed the name on her employee badge. “Your name is Yvonne?” I asked, writing it down.

  She eyed me suspiciously. “Yes. Ralph Campbell? Has something happened to Ralph?”

  I stopped writing and gawked at her. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

  “All I know is he didn’t show up for work today. No one has been able to get in touch with him or his wife. Is he okay?” she asked, concerned.

  I closed the planner and slipped it under my arm. “I better not say any more until I’ve spoken with Mr. Moore. Can you tell him that Lillian Schockley is here to see him?”

  Yvonne punched some keys on her switchboard and greeted Wilbur Moore. “Wilbur? There’s a Lillian Schockley here to see you. She has information about Ralph Campbell.”

  I smiled as I listened to her end of the conversation.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered into the headset. “She didn’t tell me. She’ll only talk to you,” she explained. “Okay. I’ll have Donna bring her to your office.”

  Wilbur Moore stood when I entered his office and reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Wilbur Moore. And you’re Lillian…?” he checked a note he’d written on his desk.

  “Schockley. Lillian Schockley,” I said, gripping his hand and nearly shaking his arm out of its socket. “Thank you so much for seeing me.”

  Wilbur was a short, stocky man. His wiry hair formed clumps of curly gray over each ear. The top of his head was smooth and shiny and reminded me of one of the two containment domes I’d seen outside, used to house the reactor vessels and steam generators. At least that’s what Donna told me they were as she gave me a very brief plant tour on our way to Wilbur’s office. He’d developed the typical potbelly so common among men his age who sit behind a desk all day.

  “You have information about Ralph Campbell?” he asked, anxious to hear what I had to say.

  “You haven’t heard?” I replied, sounding astonished that word hadn’t gotten around yet.

  “No. What?”

  I leaned forward in my chair and spoke quietly, as if the walls might have ears. “Bradley Parker hasn’t contacted you?”

  He gave me a confused look. “Bradley Parker?”

  “About the lawsuit?” I added.

  “Lawsuit?” He was in the dark.

  I opened my day planner and flipped through pages. “You do run a software package called Voltage, don’t you?” I asked, skimming pages of unrelated notes about sailboat maintenance schedules and caterer’s menus.

  “Yes. But what does that have to do with Ralph?” he asked, nervously pulling at the bushy eyebrow hairs over his left eye.

  I clicked for more lead from my mechanical pencil and started scribbling. “You did purchase the Voltage package from Business Solutions, did
n’t you?” I said, more of a statement than a question.

  “Business Solutions? Is that a local company?” he asked.

  I stopped writing. “How long have you worked here?” I asked.

  “Five years. But what does that have to do with—“

  “So you didn’t buy Voltage from Bradley Parker’s company?” I interrupted.

  “We purchased it directly from the vendor.” Wilbur’s voice raised an octave and his frustration showed. “Who are you? What’s happened to Ralph?” he demanded.

  I slipped my pencil back in its slot and closed the planner. “I’m investigating the death of a friend. My search led me to Ralph Campbell. Did he tell you about a problem with the Voltage software? Something about a rounding error with the inventory balances?”

  Wheels began turning inside Wilbur’s head. I could see him trying to piece together events from the past. “Rounding? Gosh. That’s been a couple years ago,” he recalled.

  “And you resolved it?” I asked.

  “I told Ralph to take care of it. I’d assumed he did.”

  “So you’re not involved in a lawsuit with the Voltage vendor?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” he insisted.

  I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs. “You are aware that the Voltage inventory module loses as much as a quarter pound per transaction due to a rounding bug?”

  Wilbur gaped at me. He didn’t speak.

  “Ralph Campbell tried to explain this to you. Remember?” I added.

  Wilbur nodded, dumbly. “Where’s Ralph?” he managed to ask.

  I stood up. “I think I’d better let the police handle that discussion. I’m surprised they haven’t already contacted you.”

  “Police?” he mumbled.

  “You might want to contact your legal department.” I reached for the door, stopped and turned. “Do you have a lawyer, Mr. Moore?”