Amounting to Nothing

by Karis Walsh

  “Be careful not to sound too naive,” Billie warned. “No one would believe you’re anything other than smart and capable, and you don’t want them to think you’re there for any reason other than the business one.” She reached around and pulled Merissa’s portfolio off the backseat. “Are these the firm’s plans for my neighborhood? If they are, we need to turn around right now.”

  “I’m smart and capable, remember?” Merissa asked with a laugh. She was pleased with the compliment, but now had to rethink her approach. She had been planning to sound a bit dim so the contractors might let down their guard a little, but if she had been, then Dennis never would have put her in the position of his possible successor. “Those are some drawings I made last night, based on ones I did during grad school. They’re my vision.”

  “Good. What else are you planning to say?”

  Merissa gave the rest of her speech, and Billie tweaked the words until they came up with a short presentation both could agree on. Billie still didn’t seem completely happy with the day’s plan, but she was resigned to it. Merissa knew she’d have to ad-lib a little since their prepared speech wouldn’t cover all possible turns of conversation, but she kept that from Billie. Her main objective was to find out what had happened to Dennis, and she’d do whatever it took to do so.

  She parked next to the restored Victorian where Jeff Kensington had his office space and left the car running so Billie had heat. She tried to get her portfolio out of Billie’s hands, but she had a tight grip on it.

  “Should we go over what you’re planning to say again?”

  “No,” Merissa said. Her portfolio finally came free when she gave it a determined tug. “If we do, I’ll sound like I’m reading cue cards. This has to sound natural to be convincing.”

  “You’re not convincing anyone of anything. You’re honestly checking into these contacts before you agree to commit to buying the firm.”

  Merissa shut the car door without answering and gave Billie a wave as she walked up to the front door. She stepped into the foyer, filled with antique furniture and nautical maps of Puget Sound, and went around the corner. She was expecting a receptionist, but she emerged from the hall directly into Jeff’s office. He stood up from his desk as soon as she came in. He was in his early thirties, with already thinning blond hair. He wore a blue plaid shirt with a brown tie and blazer. His clothes looked as worn as the furnishings in his office, and Merissa figured he wanted to create the image of someone unpretentious and in touch with the past.

  “Merissa, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” he said, coming around the desk after she introduced herself and walking toward her so briskly that she thought he might be about to hug her. She almost took a step back, but stayed still with effort. He held out his hand instead, and she shook it with relief. He gestured toward a wood chair upholstered in a heavy maroon damask and went behind his desk again. “What can I do for you?”

  She went through her rehearsed spiel and opened her portfolio. She had come up with a new design for a downtown city block, this one including the affordable rentals as well as the fancy-view condos. She described the details to him, and then sat back in the stiff chair and tried to look comfortable while he scanned the drawings.

  “I like your style,” he said. “You blend contemporary and traditional elements in a very pleasing way. I’m excited about the idea of creating some housing options that are more cost effective and more accessible to the residents of the Hilltop. I have some investors who have strong philanthropic interests and I’m sure they’d be interested in working on a project like this.”

  “Wonderful,” Merissa said with a smile as she stood and gathered her papers. She was caught in the vision of her plans coming to life, and she almost forgot why she had come in the first place.

  “I’m glad you stopped by today,” he said. “I’ve been interested in working with the Morgan Group, but Dennis and I could never seem to get beyond the initial meeting phase. Even when we agreed on the design elements, he’d go back to Lemaine.”

  “You’ve met with him before?” Merissa had thought Dennis wanted to switch to Jeff because of her style. He’d never mentioned going to other contractors before signing with Lemaine.

  “Several times. He kept talking about being ready to make a change, but I guess he really wasn’t. It’s not easy breaking into the upper levels of this business, and when I heard I’d have the chance to deal with you I was excited. Two newcomers helping each other out, you know? Still, it’s a damned shame he’s gone. Last I heard, the police think he happened to drive through the line of fire during a gang shooting. Is there any more news on what happened?”

  “I’m not allowed to talk about what I witnessed that night,” Merissa said vaguely. It was true. She wasn’t supposed to even mention the murder to him or anyone else, but she watched his expression to see if he seemed nervous when she mentioned the word witness . He merely looked curious, and she didn’t bother to add that she hadn’t seen anything worth noticing, except for a generic brown car. She shook his hand again and walked out of the building. Had Jeff worried Dennis might change his mind again? Had he thought his chances were better with Merissa at the helm? How far would he go to break in to the business he so desperately wanted to be part of?

  She sighed. She had come looking for answers and now she had more questions than ever. She dropped her portfolio in the backseat and told Billie about their conversation, carefully glossing over the last part of it, as they drove the short distance to Lemaine’s office.

  *

  Merissa, feeling as if she was in the touring company of a play, went through her same speech in Edwin Lemaine’s gleaming modern office. Everything here was as black and white and geometric as Kensington’s place had been faded and old-elegant. She’d prefer a mix of the two. Jeff’s business had a rustic charm that seemed forced and overly casual. Edwin’s, on the other hand, was too overtly formal, from the pencil-skirted receptionist to the boss himself. He was slightly overweight and had reddish-blond hair cut in a style more suited to someone about a decade younger, as were his thin hipster tie and the colorful sneakers he wore with his carefully tailored and pressed suit. She knew he was in his early fifties, but the attempt to dress and appear younger had the opposite effect.

  He listened to her presentation and scanned her drawings quickly. “The low-income housing will be a tough sell, Merissa,” he said, tapping her sketches into a neat pile and handing them back to her. “Most of our investors—the ones who have money to burn—are expecting to make a strong profit with every square inch of building space. They’re not all as caring and generous as you are.”

  She nodded, impressed with the way he said a lot in few words. He’d just complimented her, told her he wouldn’t accept her proposal as it was drawn, and let her know he was aware of her financial situation.

  “We could possibly market plans for a less exclusive neighborhood, with lower rent and more basic amenities, in the future. For now, I’d suggest staying within the standards the Morgan Group has already set. Dennis and I worked long and hard to develop a good base of investors, and to create a set of plans suitable for a variety of uses.”

  Merissa nodded, her mind whirling. Dennis had given her the same advice. Stick to what’s been working. Had his lack of imagination and skill been less a sign of a weakening mind and more a result of his longtime work with Lemaine? She had assumed that he was losing his edge for some reason and was unable to come up with more innovative ideas, but now she wasn’t sure. Had Dennis been producing low-quality, derivative work on purpose?

  Lemaine stood and held out his hand. She rose as well, feeling as if she’d been dismissed from the presence of the king. “Let me know when you make a decision about the firm. I believe we’d make as great a team as Dennis and I did. He will be sorely missed, but his legacy can continue.”

  What legacy? One of static and uninspired designs? “I’d like nothing more than to keep his best qualities alive,” s
he said. “He had a great sense of style and innovation, especially earlier in his career. I plan to build on that if I buy the firm.”

  “Innovation is good,” Lemaine said as he escorted her to the door. “But the ability to please the people who matter is a more predictable sign of success. It’s a game, Merissa, and you need to learn how to play it. I believe we’d make a great team, you and I.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Billie left Merissa at the main house and went back to the barn to check on her horses. All six of them were contentedly munching hay. Juniper had, as Billie had expected, been cooled down and groomed to a shine after her trail ride with Jean-Yves. She went into Ranger’s stall and spent a few minutes leaning against his shoulder while he ate, feeling the rhythm of his breathing and chewing seep into her.

  The day hadn’t been a bad one. She had been upset by Merissa’s insistence on going out and meeting with people who might have played a part in Dennis’s murder, but at least Merissa had told her this time. Merissa needed to feel in control again, and planning these interviews had helped her achieve that. Besides, if Dennis had died of natural causes and Merissa had been looking into buying his firm or going out on her own, she would likely have met with these contractors like she’d done today. Even though she saw the logic behind the meetings, Billie had sat in the car and turned pages in a book without really seeing any of the words. In reality, she had been watching the doors, waiting for Merissa to scream for help.

  And nothing bad had happened. After they left Lemaine’s office, she and Merissa had gotten lunch in tiny downtown Gig Harbor, eating fish and chips next to a huge picture window. The afternoon had been sunny, but cold, and the restaurant had logs sizzling and crackling in the fireplace. They had gone grocery shopping at the small and overpriced general store before coming back to the farm.

  Somehow, the casual afternoon had set Billie’s nerves on fire like the logs in the restaurant. They had talked mainly about horses, avoiding any talk of Dennis’s shooting or Merissa’s impromptu investigations. They had shopped for everyday items like bread and milk. Nothing extraordinary, but all made more invigorating because they were together. Billie didn’t understand her reaction, and she wasn’t sure she liked it at all. Merissa upset her balance.

  She was relieved to be here, alone with Ranger, for some time to decompress. She walked out of his stall more centered and relaxed, but the soft feeling disappeared when she saw Merissa standing in the middle of the barn aisle, her face unnaturally drained of color and her blue eyes wide with shock.

  “Merissa? Merissa, what’s wrong?” Billie shut the stall door and ran over to her.

  “My house,” Merissa said in a hoarse voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Someone was in my house.”

  “Are you sure? Did they take anything?” Billie had an image of the elegant kitchen and living room in disarray, curtains and cushions slashed and littering the clean marble floor. Had someone been looking for the files Merissa had taken?

  Merissa merely shook her head and turned toward the house, beckoning for Billie to follow her. She didn’t speak as they walked across the gravel drive and into the house. Billie looked around. Everything was as pristine as it had been the last time she was here. “Are you sure?” she asked again. “It looks fine to me.”

  “Not here. In my rooms.” Merissa led her down a long hallway, with several closed doors on either side, and through a breezeway into a suite of rooms. The sudden shock of change from harsh whiteness to the rooms full of color made Billie’s breath catch in her throat. This was where Merissa lived. She belonged here. Drawings and paintings covered the walls, most of them prints and posters thumbtacked in place. A bright orange and pink patterned blanket was tossed over the arm of a beige suede sofa, and the bookshelves were full of mismatched volumes. The kitchen counter was cluttered with a waffle maker, an electric coffeepot, and some of the groceries they had bought today. The rooms looked a little messy and lived-in, but not tossed like Billie had been expecting.

  “Through here,” Merissa said, still eerily terse.

  Merissa’s bedroom. Billie had pictured her in a grand room, with a four-poster bed and lots of fluffy pillows. This was a normal bed, covered in a pastel quilt that coordinated nicely with the soft sage walls. Horse pictures hung on the walls, and figurines were everywhere. Nothing looked harmed. Several framed photographs sat on top of a pale blue dresser. Billie walked toward them, unable to resist this glimpse into Merissa’s world.

  “Everything looks okay, Merissa. What makes you think…” Billie stopped when her sentence did. “Did you touch any of these?”

  “No. I ran out to the barn as soon as I saw them.”

  Billie groped for her cell, unable to tear her gaze away from the pictures. The frames were mostly made out of wood, with decorative horseshoes and championship trophies painted on them. Most of the photos were of Merissa at various ages on horses, except for two of them. In one, Merissa was leaning out a second-story window, holding a box while Billie watched from the ground. In the other, they were sprawled in the rhododendron, next to the box full of files.

  “Nothing else was touched? Was there any sign of forced entry?” Merissa shook her head, and Billie quickly gave the desk sergeant directions to the house. She called Hargrove next, and then turned back to Merissa.

  “Let’s wait outside,” she said. “Someone will be here soon to dust for prints.” She doubted they’d find anything. This wasn’t the bumbling job of an amateur. This was a cold expert, sending a message. Billie was tired of getting them.

  Merissa sat on the steps while Billie jogged to the barn to find Jean-Yves. He hadn’t seen anything since he’d been trail riding on Juniper for over an hour, and then in the upper barns. The only other groom on duty during the day had been cleaning stalls and hadn’t noticed any strange people or cars on the property. Both seemed genuinely shocked when Billie told them what had happened, but she wasn’t sure she could read either well enough to tell if they were lying or not.

  Billie slowly walked back to where she’d left Merissa. Who knew they’d be away for the morning? Jean-Yves. Karen, because Merissa had returned the files while they were in town. Lemaine and Kensington.

  Like she’d told Merissa, she didn’t trust anyone. Everyone was a suspect.

  Merissa seemed deflated, and Billie sat next to her on the steps until a detective arrived and she took him to the room. When she came back outside, Abby was with Merissa. She said something and touched Merissa briefly on the arm before walking up the steps to meet Billie.

  She held up her phone. A snapshot of one of the photos was displayed on it. “Carl sent me this. Looks like a picture of you helping someone B and E, but there’s no way one of my officers would do such a stupid thing. Would she?”

  “I wasn’t helping. I just caught her when she fell.”

  “Are you making a joke?”

  Billie bit her lip. Apparently not a good one. All the softness she’d been seeing lately in Abby was gone, replaced by the full force of Hard-Ass Hargrove. Billie wasn’t the type to get in trouble. She followed the rules and did her job. Merissa came into her life, and suddenly she was breaking rules on a daily basis.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Hargrove sighed. “Don’t call me that. Just tell me exactly what’s been going on here, from the beginning. Well, not the beginning. What’s been going on since you and Don pulled that stunt on Ruston.”

  Billie did her best to make light of Merissa’s trip to the Morgan offices, but there was no way to easily explain the picture of them rolling through the bushes. “We returned all the files today,” she said, remembering too late that she had those blank forms tucked inside her sofa. “Well, most of them.”

  She got the forms from her apartment while Abby talked to Merissa about the inferences she’d made from Dennis’s files. When Billie got back to the house, she joined them on the stairs and handed Abby the manila folders.

  She glanced at the
contents, and then slid them inside the folders again. “So, we have a dead guy who borrowed a car for an unknown second person, who may or may not exist. The car may or may not have been involved in the shooting. And we have some conjecture about the mental state of the original shooting victim based on stolen files. All in all, some excellent detective work, you two.”

  Merissa and Billie looked at each other. Merissa had a little more color in her face and actually seemed ready to laugh at Abby’s statement. Either she was near hysteria because someone had been in her home, or she was slowly coming out of shock and returning to her normal self. Billie gave her a quick wink, impressed by her resiliency. Billie didn’t feel she had nearly as much.

  “I messed up, Lieutenant. I’ll turn in my badge and gun tomorrow,” she said, only partly joking.

  “Oh for God’s sake. Just try to keep our only witness from committing any more crimes. Karen Morgan hasn’t filed charges, and you returned the files, so I’m going to try to ignore this event. You and Don had every right as officers to confront a known drug dealer while he was dealing, even if you were off duty. I’m running out of technicalities, though. One more questionable action, and I’ll happily accept your resignation, Mitchell.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Now I’m going inside to find out whether Carl found any evidence. Please wipe those grins off your faces, and if I hear any laughter before I shut the front door behind me, I’m having you both arrested. I’ll come up with a reason later.” She paused. “Not that I’d need to look far.”

  “You are such a bad influence on me,” Billie said once Hargrove was out of earshot. Merissa gave a sad sort of laugh and leaned her head against Billie’s shoulder. Billie put her arm around her. Aside from occasional touches, this was the closest Billie had been to Merissa. She felt strong and solid in Billie’s arms, but pliable at the same time. Her body molded along the length of Billie’s. She fit. Billie let the tingling warmth she felt everywhere Merissa was in contact with her ease into her mind and dislodge the helplessly spinning question of who had been taking photographs of them.