His rumpled jacket separated over his slight beer belly and hung so loosely on each side that he'd given up his shoulder holster and wore his gun either strapped to the calf of his leg or wedged into the belt line at the small of his back. And he might have slept in those wrinkled slacks. Despite his unkempt appearance; however, there was no better investigator on this side of the Mississippi. Besides that, he could shoot the head off a pin and sported a black belt in Karate. Tom always felt safe with this man at his side.
Maxhimer poked at the file he'd just placed on Tom's desk. “This looks like a nasty case."
“I figured you'd say that,” Tom said, rolling his chair forward. “Has the coroner come up with the cause of death?"
“Yep. Body chock-full of phenobarbital to the point where he probably passed out. The position of the body in the car, even after impact, indicated to the coroner the body had been placed in the Porsche. He feels that Mr. Nevers didn't get into that car of his own accord. The examination of the car showed that the brakes were never applied. By the time the car got to the curve it had probably hit fifty or sixty miles per hour, flew off the road and slammed into that tree with such force the gas tank literally exploded."
Tom slapped his forehead. “God!"
Cliff flopped down in the chair and leaned back. “Looks like a fairly solid case for a murder investigation.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, then glanced up at Tom. “You know the Nevers’ pretty well, don't you?
“Yes."
“Any ideas?"
“None."
“Well, he had an enemy somewhere.” Cliff stood and adjusted his hat, pushing stray hairs underneath the binding. “Guess we better get busy. We've got a lot to do."
Tom shrugged on his jacket and the two detectives left the station in an unmarked car. They headed for the Nevers Computer Technology building. Cliff had already sent a couple of officers to stand guard over Bud's office. The young receptionist stared wide-eyed when the two detectives entered the door. “Can I help you?” she asked in a trembling voice.
They both flashed their badges, sending her into a flurry of action. She yanked off her headset and hurried down the hall. Within a few minutes Ken Weber stood rigidly before them.
He gestured down the hallway toward Bud's office. “I don't appreciate those two officers coming into our complex and taking position in front of Bud's office without an explanation. My whole staff is in an uproar. I called the police station but no one would tell me anything. I'd be most obliged if you'd let me know what's going on."
Tom stepped forward. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Ken. But we're securing Bud's office. We'll be removing his files and anything else that we need for the murder investigation."
Ken stared at them in disbelief. “Did you say murder investigation?"
“Yes."
“Dear God.” Ken leaned against the wall and rubbed his hands across his eyes. “Why the hell would anyone want to kill Bud?"
Tom reached up and patted Ken's shoulder. “I know this whole ordeal has been quite a shock to you and your staff. But we have to get on with the investigation.” Tom introduced Detective Maxhimer. “Could we speak to you in your office?” After shaking Cliff's hand, Ken led them down the corridor.
Tom sat on the chair in front of the desk while Detective Maxhimer took a seat against the wall and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his thighs, his hands hanging loose between his knees. “Mr. Weber, please tell me what happened on Saturday."
Ken cleared his throat. “I've already gone over this with Tom."
“I know, but I want to hear it."
Weber related again how after the foursome had played golf, he and Bud had stayed to discuss a business deal for about thirty minutes before parting ways.
Cliff's eyes never left Ken's face. “Is it the same four men every Saturday?"
“Most of the time, but if someone can't make it, we'll pick up another fellow at the clubhouse."
“What about the group on that morning?"
“The usual four."
“Do the other two men work at Nevers?"
“No.” “I'd like their names, addresses and phone numbers."
“No problem.” He buzzed his secretary and had her bring the information.
Maxhimer took the list, pushed back his hat and studied Ken. “Tell me about Bud's demeanor that day. Was he upset, agitated? Did he seem to have something on his mind?"
Ken shrugged. “Well, he didn't golf well. If that tells you anything. But otherwise, he seemed fine."
Tom intervened. “You said that afterwards you and Bud discussed business. Did you talk at the golf course, or come back here to the office?"
“Oh no. We just discussed a contract and what terms we wanted to put into it after the game. Pretty routine. Bud seemed in a hurry. Said he was going to take a quick shower before leaving.” Ken lowered his head and stared at his clenched hands resting on the desk. “That's the last time I saw him."
Cliff observed Ken's expression as he questioned him. “Did Bud normally take a shower before he went home?"
Ken's mouth twitched as he thought for a moment. “Not always. I guess it all depended on whether he and Angie had something planned. And we were running about twenty minutes late."
“Did he mention any plans to you?"
“Nothing that I recall. But I know he always tried to save Saturday afternoons so he and Angie could do something together."
“Anybody see you and Bud talking?"
Ken waved a hand in the air. “Probably. That place is always packed on Saturday. People going in all directions."
“Did you notice anyone loitering nearby while you spoke with Mr. Nevers?"
He shook his head. “No. But I didn't pay that much attention either."
“Do you know if anyone talked with Mr. Nevers after you did?"
“I have no idea."
Detective Maxhimer stood. “Thank you for your time. I may have to ask you more questions later."
Ken nodded, stood and watched the detectives leave his office.
Tom stopped midway down the hallway and snapped his fingers, “I forgot to ask him something."
Cliff waved. “Okay, meet you in Bud's office."
Tom knocked on the door, stuck his head inside and found Ken staring out the window, obviously deep in thought. Tom cleared his throat. “Excuse me."
Ken jerked around. “Yes? What do you want now?"
His gruff tone of voice took Tom aback. “I need the name of your accountant and your audit company."
Ken's hands clenched into fists at his side. “Ryan Conners is our head company accountant. Our auditors are Hames & Goode Audit Co."
Tom wrote the names in his notebook. “Thank you."
Ken rubbed his chin, then looked sheepishly at the detective. “I'm sorry, Tom. My nerves are raw. And this has caused quite a ripple throughout the company. I have a lot on my mind. The secretary can give you the phone numbers and any other information you need."
Tom nodded. “Thanks, Ken.” He backed away and closed the door. On his way to Bud's office, he also asked the receptionist for the name of the cleaning crew.
Angie lay in bed, unchecked tears streaming down her cheeks. Marty watched over her like a mother hen. She finally coaxed Angie out of bed and into a warm bath. She stood outside the closed bathroom door, clenching her hands in front of her. “Mrs. Nevers, I don't know what to do to help you. You should talk to Dr. Parker or even Mrs. Weber. She's called several times and wants to see you."
Angie lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. “Later, Marty, later. Just let me be for awhile. I need some time alone."
Marty started to leave the bedroom just as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver on the bedside table. “Nevers residence.” Her back stiffened. “What the hell are you calling here for?” she hissed. “Don't you ever ring this number again.” She dropped the phone back on the cradle and glanced toward the bathroom door.
* * *
Chapter Eight
It had been three weeks since Bud's funeral, but Angie still struggled with daily activities. This morning, she'd made up her mind to get up and start the day right. After her bath, she stood in the middle of the bedroom with a towel encircling her body and a turban securing her hair. Her mind seemed to be in a fog. No more tranquilizers, she vowed. Time to get a grip on her volatile emotions. She felt it wouldn't take much for her to slip over the edge.
She glanced in the mirror and grimaced. Her eyes seemed dull and makeup couldn't hide the dark circles. Crossing over to the closet, she stared at the clothes inside. Everything hanging there reminded her of Bud. He'd never failed to make some sensual or teasing comment on so many of her clothes. She searched through the outfits and settled on a recent purchase of a soft pink lightweight sweat suit.
Her lawyer had been bugging her about the legalities of Bud's death and they needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. She just hadn't had the heart nor the energy to move into that avenue, but this morning she made herself go to the wall safe. As she pulled out the insurance policy and will, a CD dropped to the floor. She picked it up and studied it for a moment. It had no label. Strange, she thought, but shrugged it off at being some song Bud had recorded and wanted to keep, so she tossed it back into the safe, definitely not wanting to deal with that at this time. She tucked the papers into a small briefcase, planning to drop them off at the lawyers sometime today.
After securing the safe, she took a deep breath, shoved back her shoulders, and silently ambled down the steps, running a hand along the smooth banister. She stopped at the kitchen door. Marty stood facing the window with the phone pressed against her ear. From the arch in her back, she appeared upset.
“No,” Marty hissed. “You can't do that. I won't permit it.” Suddenly, she turned and spotted Angie at the doorway. Her face paled. “I'll talk to you later.” Visibly shaken, she faced Angie. “Mrs. Nevers, I didn't hear you come in."
“You look upset. Is something wrong?"
“I'm having a run in with a bill collector. They're trying to overcharge me on my credit card for a sale item.” She waved her hand in front of her. “Now don't you go worrying your head over me. I've got it under control."
“That's good."
Marty pulled out one of the chairs at the breakfast nook. “Come in here and have a seat. It's a clear day and the view of the valley is beautiful. I'll fix you a bite to eat. I know you're hungry."
Angie didn't move. “Just a sandwich. Don't think I could handle anything heavy. While you're fixing it, I'll go get the mail."
The mailbox stood on the road, outside the gate. Normally, Angie walked it, but today she didn't feel like it, so she climbed into her car and headed over the crest.
She dumped several days’ worth of mail onto the passenger seat and decided to sit in the car for a few minutes with the windows down while she sifted through it. A hand-addressed envelope caught her eye, reminding her of the one Bud had received some time ago. She stared out the window, thoughtfully gnawing on her lip, trying to recall what it had said. In fact, she couldn't remember ever reading or seeing it again. It must have gotten tossed into the trash.
Bringing her thoughts back to the letter she held in her hand, she ripped off the edge and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper. She clutched her chest as she stared at the short message.
Dear Mrs. Nevers,
I need to talk to you. Call this number, (605) 968-3486, between the hours of eight and ten on Thursday evenings only. Don't tell anyone.
Melinda
After recovering from the shock of seeing Melinda's name at the end of the page, she turned the sheet over. No last name, no return address, only a telephone number. She shoved the paper back into the envelope and slipped it into her purse. Driving back to the house, she pondered whether to tell Tom about this now or wait until after she had called to find out what the woman wanted. She'd decide after lunch.
Marty made the simple sandwich look so appetizing. It sat on the plate, regally speared with a long toothpick, topped with an olive. A sprig of parsley adorned the side. The clear soft drink sparkled, with a lime drooped over the lip and a colorful straw swimming in the middle.
“That looks delicious.” Angie said, dropping the bundle of mail on the opposite side of the table.
Marty studied the flyers and bulk-rate envelopes, then shook her head. “If this junk mail keeps up you might have to get a bigger mailbox."
Angie smiled. “It's definitely something to consider."
“Uh, Mrs. Nevers. Do you need me this afternoon?"
Angie glanced up as she spread the napkin across her lap. “As a matter of fact, no. I'm going to spend the rest of the day getting the bills paid and returning calls. Would you like to take off?"
“If you don't mind. I have an errand to run. But I'll be back before dinner."
Angie waved her hand. “Don't worry about that. I'll fix myself something. Go run your errand and whatever else you need to do and I'll see you in the morning."
“Thank you."
* * * *
Marty hurried to her car. She left the Nevers’ property and sped toward Highway 237, making good time in the light traffic. It took her less than an hour to reach the small apartment complex located at the south end of San Francisco Bay. She climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor and knocked on apartment number 24, the home of Melinda Smith.
The long-haired blond beauty opened the door. She frowned at the sight of Marty. “What are you doing here?"
Marty shoved her way into the room, only to encounter a tanned, bare-chested young man with long brown hair, braided into a ponytail, sitting on the couch. She turned and confronted Melinda. “Tell him to leave. We need to talk."
The man slipped his bare feet into a pair of sandals and stood. “No problem. I'll come back later.” He walked past Marty, gave Melinda a peck on the cheek and went out the door.
Melinda whirled around and put her hands on her hips. “What the hell are you doing barging in on me like this?"
Marty sat with her back rigid on the edge of the overstuffed chair. “We need to talk. You're going to ruin both our lives if you continue this charade."
Melinda took a cigarette from a pack on the coffee table and lit it with a match.
Wrinkling her nose, Marty glanced up at her. “If you must smoke, why don't you use a lighter instead of those horrid sulfur-smelling matches?"
Flopping down on the couch, Melinda blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Is there anything else you can find to bitch about? And I'm not going to ruin our lives. It can only get better."
Marty gripped the arms of the chair. “You're going to get caught in all these lies and we'll both pay the price. I'll lose my job and you'll be thrown in jail."
“Ha! By the time I'm through, you won't have to be a slave to Mrs. Nevers. You can quit that damn job and move into your own place."
“Melinda, please keep Mrs. Nevers out of this."
“She's already involved. I sent her a letter. She probably received it today."
Marty felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her. “What did you say to her?"
Melinda rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mom, get off it. She doesn't know I'm your daughter and I don't plan on telling her. But™” Melinda pointed a finger at Marty, “on Thursday night, she's going to know I'm Bud's daughter.” With a gleam in her eye, she flicked ashes into an already brimming-full plastic ashtray on the coffee table. “Of course, she may already know that from the letter I sent to Bud before he died."
Marty glared at her. “She never read it."
Her daughter jumped up. “How the hell would you know?"
“Because I have it."
She threw back her head, her blond hair glistening as it fell over her shoulders. “How'd you get it?"
Marty sighed. “I stole it out of a stack of mail when I recognized your handwriting."
“Ha!” Melinda then pointed a finge
r at her own chest. “Talking about me getting into trouble. You're messing with someone else's mail. That's a federal offense."
Ignoring her comment, Marty continued in a tight voice. “What do you mean that she'll know you're Bud's daughter on Thursday night?"
“I told her to call me, that I had something to tell her about Bud."
“She'll have the number traced."
“So what? She'll only find a pay phone.” Melinda let out a disgusted sigh and headed for the kitchen. “You want something to drink?"
“No.” Marty leaned back in the chair, her heart aching over the coldness of her daughter's behavior. The girl had no conscience. Didn't care who she hurt. But Marty knew that most of that blame belonged on her shoulders. She'd let Melinda live a lie for years, only telling her the truth a few months ago. Her so-called innocent daughter had changed overnight. Marty dropped her head into her hands. “I've created a she-devil,” she whispered.
* * *
Chapter Nine
Tom sat at Bud's desk and made a call to Rubler's Janitorial Service. When he hung up, he turned to Cliff who waited patiently with an elbow resting on top of the filing cabinet, a file hanging from his fingers. “You were on there long enough, what'd they have to say?"
“They claim no one touched a thing on Bud's desk. In fact, it's their policy to leave that area of any office alone. They don't want anyone charging them with lost documents."
Cliff wiggled the folder between his fingers. “Odd. According to you, someone cleaned it off."
“Yep, in all the years I've known Bud, I'd never seen the top of this desk.” He raised his hands and looked at it. “It's beautiful oak, too."
“How often do they clean this complex?"
“They hit the offices every night except Saturday."
Cliff put down the file and lifted his hat to run a hand through his hair, shoving the shock of wild hair underneath the brim of the fedora. “Did they happen to notice the cleaned desk?"
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