Nelson Radnor, president and CEO of the competition, Radnor Security Systems.
Ethan cranked back in his chair and stacked his feet on the corner of his desk. “What can I do for you, Radnor?”
Nelson came to the door of the inner office and looked around with an expression of sardonic amusement. “Thought your new wife was an interior designer.”
“She is. But I won’t let her touch my office.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“A man’s got to draw the line somewhere when it comes to decorating. Have a seat.”
Nelson walked into the room. He glanced at the nearest of the two client chairs but made no move to lower himself into it. He went to stand at the window instead.
“I hear you’ve stolen one of my major accounts.” Nelson watched the street as if he was expecting something interesting to happen down there.
Nope, that’s not it, Ethan thought. Nelson did not sound sufficiently pissed.
“For the record,” he said, “I didn’t steal the Valdez account. I’m not set up to take over a full-time security management job that big and he knows it. He came to me for a one-time independent audit.”
“Sure. So you’re going to complete your independent audit and write up an impressive report that says my people missed something on a background check, right?”
“Is that what happened?”
“Maybe. Or maybe someone we hired who was as pure as the driven snow discovered that he couldn’t resist temptation when it came his way in Valdez’s shipping room.” Nelson glanced back over his shoulder. His face was oddly drawn and grim. “Whatever, it’s going to make Radnor Security look bad.”
“Not for long. The corporate security market is all yours here in Whispering Springs. Everyone knows that. I’m what you call a niche player.”
“You weren’t a niche player in LA.” Nelson’s face was unreadable. “You were in the big leagues there. Maybe you’ve got aspirations here in Whispering Springs.”
“Got a few.” Ethan sank deeper into his chair and eyed the toes of his running shoes propped on the desk. “But they don’t involve going head to head with Radnor. I’m after the small stuff, the one-man jobs that need the personal touch. You know as well as I do that you don’t even want that end of the market. You’re not set up to handle it.”
Radnor turned back to the window. He did not speak for a while. Then he moved his shoulders as if trying to loosen tight muscles.
“Funny you should mention the small jobs that need the personal touch.” He sounded morose but determined. “As it happens, I’ve got one for you.”
Whatever this was all about, Ethan knew it was not good. He was dealing with enough oncoming trains. The last thing he needed was another one bearing down on him. Train wrecks were messy.
“Thanks for thinking of me,” he said, “but I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Not like I’ve got a lot of choice,” Nelson muttered. “I need a niche player. And you’re the only one in town.”
“There must be somebody on your staff who can handle it.”
“I don’t want anyone on my staff to even know about this job,” Nelson said roughly. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Like I said, I appreciate the opportunity, but—”
“I think my wife is having an affair,” Nelson said flatly.
Oh, shit. Out of all the PI offices in this burg, why did you have to walk into mine? But that was the problem, of course, Ethan thought. There were only two private investigation firms in Whispering Springs.
With great precision, moving as slowly as possible in order to give himself time. He took his feet down off his desk and straightened in his chair.
He hesitated, trying to come up with something appropriate to say. Unfortunately there weren’t any good platitudes for this particular situation. He knew that from personal experience.
“For what it’s worth, I know the feeling,” he said evenly.
Nelson swung around, looking genuinely shocked. “You do? Jesus, man, you’ve only been married, what? Six weeks?”
It dawned on him that Nelson assumed he had implied that Zoe was having an affair. For an instant, the world around him vanished. A terrible red haze took its place.
A stark vision of Zoe leaving him for another man seared his synapses. The floor dissolved beneath his chair and he felt himself falling down a bottomless pit.
With an effort of raw willpower, he pulled himself back to reality.
“I’m not talking about Zoe,” he said. “I was referring to a, uh, previous relationship.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Nelson nodded. “I read somewhere that you’ve been married three or four times.”
Something clicked in Ethan’s head. “You read it somewhere?”
“Did a little background research on you before I came here today.” Nelson started to wander aimlessly around the office, pausing here and there to study various artifacts. He stopped in front of the framed crayon drawing that Theo had made of a house. “Came across the references to three former wives but I didn’t see any mention of kids.”
“Probably because I don’t have any,” Ethan said without inflection. “My nephew did that drawing.”
Nelson moved on to the bookcase and plucked a volume at random. Ethan recognized the red-and-black cover. It was a scholarly history of early-nineteenth-century murder cases in San Francisco.
Nelson flipped through the pages, not paying any real attention. “So which wife cheated on you?”
In point of fact, it had been two out of three for sure and he still had his suspicions about Wife Number One. The leader of the religious cult she ran off to join hadn’t looked like the monkish type. But Ethan saw no reason to go into detail. He was not in a mood to do the male bonding thing with Nelson Radnor.
“I said I understood some of what you’re going through.” He picked up his mug and examined the cold coffee. “Didn’t say I was going to tell you my life story.” He decided the coffee wasn’t worth drinking and lowered the mug. “Why don’t you get to the point and save us both some time?”
“All right.” Nelson closed the book and shoved it back on the shelf. “I came here to hire you to find out who she’s seeing.”
“No.”
Nelson turned around to face him again, irritated. “Hell, I’m not asking for any professional favors. I’ll pay you your usual hourly rate.”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll pay you my usual hourly rate. What is that? Two? Three times higher? Name your price. Whatever it is, you got it.”
“Forget it.”
“There’s a pattern,” Nelson said through his teeth. “I tumbled into it a few days ago. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. I checked our bank account. There have been regular withdrawals of cash every week for the past month.”
“I said no. I meant it.”
Nelson took three strides across the room and planted his hands on the desk, face working now. “I can’t use one of my own people on this. The gossip would spread through the company in about thirty seconds. I don’t need that kind of aggravation.”
“I am not going to take the job. I hate divorce work. It’s always bad and it’s a thousand times worse when the client is a friend or professional associate.”
“This isn’t personal. It’s business.”
“Divorce work is never just business,” Ethan said. “You know as well as I do that regardless of how much he claims to want the truth, the client is never real happy to hear it.”
“I’m not exactly your average Joe Client. I’m a pro. If you come back with the name of the jerk my wife is seeing, I won’t blame you.”
“Sure you will. What’s more, you won’t ever forget the fact that I took pictures of your wife going into a motel room with another man.”
Nelson looked stricken. His mouth opened and closed convulsively.
He recovered his composure with visible effort and straightened. “You don’t have to go al
l dramatic on me,” he muttered.
Ethan could tell the guy was cracking up inside. Radnor loved his wife.
“Did you try asking her where she goes on Tuesdays and Thursdays?” Ethan said cautiously.
“No.” Nelson shook his head emphatically. “She’ll make up some story about going to the gym or the hairstyling salon. I don’t want to hear it. I need to know the truth.”
He was afraid to ask her, Ethan realized.
“Look,” he said as gently as possible, “I plan to work here in Whispering Springs for a long, long time. That means that you and I will be running into each other on a frequent basis. There will be more business conflicts like the one we’ve got now with the Valdez job. We’ll see each other at various restaurants around town. Find ourselves at the same gas station some days.”
“So?”
“So none of that will be a real problem for either of us if we go on as we are now. Like you said, we’re both pros. We can handle the competition. But it will turn real nasty and real personal if I confirm your worst fears about your wife for you.”
Nelson looked at him for a long moment.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said at last. “You’re going to turn down the job.”
“Yeah.”
Nelson gave the office another dismissive survey. “From the looks of this place, you could use the business.”
“Maybe.” Ethan shrugged. “But I won’t starve without it.”
“No, you won’t, will you? Got a hunch you can take care of yourself just fine,” he said tightly. “Is Zoe okay with the idea of you being a small-time operator?”
The question caught Ethan by surprise.
“Thought I explained that I prefer the term ‘niche player,’ ” he said.
“Right,” Nelson agreed. “Niche player. She doesn’t mind that you are no longer the high roller that you were in LA?”
“Zoe tells me that I’m pursuing a calling.”
“Got a romantic view of the profession, does she?”
“Guess so.”
“I used to have a romantic view of it myself.” Nelson went to the door and paused, taking another look around. “Back when I was just starting out, I thought it would be great to have an office like this. Maybe have a cute, smart-mouthed receptionist out front. Get mysterious lady clients walking through the door. Maybe sleep with some of them.”
“Sleeping with the client is usually a mistake.”
“Tell me about it. How do you think I met my wife? But then, I guess you know all about what happens when you get involved with a client, don’t you? Rumor has it that’s how you met Zoe.”
Ethan said nothing.
Nelson did not seem to expect an answer. He went through the doorway, crossed the outer office and let himself out into the hall.
Ethan sat listening to Radnor’s heavy tread on the stairs and thought about how they had both violated the most basic rule of the profession.
If he had it to do all over again, would he still sleep with Zoe while she was technically a client? Would he still come up with an excuse to rush her into marriage? Knowing the risks involved, would he have worked so hard to convince her to give what was supposed to have been a sham marriage a real chance?
In a heartbeat.
26
At five-thirty that afternoon he got to his feet, stretched, picked up his notebook and went downstairs to consult again with his consultant.
He walked into the gloom of Single-Minded Books and found Singleton in his tiny office, hunched over his computer.
“Are you dozing or are you actually working?” Ethan propped one shoulder against the door frame. “I’m not paying you for sleeping on the job.”
“Long-standing tradition for a consultant to sleep on the job.” Singleton removed his glasses and massaged his temples. “Thought you knew that. Hell, half the time I walk into your office, you’ve got your feet on your desk.”
“That’s a sign that I’m doing some deep thinking.”
“Deep thinking, huh? I’ll have to remember that.” Singleton pried himself away from the computer and swiveled his chair around so that he could squint at Ethan. “Your deep thinking produce anything useful?”
Ethan flipped open his notebook. “Lindsey Voyle appears to be exactly who she claims to be. Thirty-nine years old. Married to a big-time studio exec who divorced her last year to marry an aspiring actress half his age.”
“Gee, what a surprise.”
Ethan ignored that. “Lindsey and her husband lived the glitzy life. Parties, film premieres, political fund-raisers.”
“Whispering Springs must be something of a comedown for her. She do any actual decorating?”
“Uh-huh.” Ethan flipped another page in his notebook. “Must have been the designer of the moment for a while back in LA. She decorated several homes and offices for some major stars. Looks like the divorce was nasty, even by Hollywood standards. But she came out of it with enough cash to buy a house in Desert View and start up a new business. No history of financial or legal problems. No mysterious gaps in the record.”
“Well, you got the easy one, didn’t you?” Singleton drummed his fingers on the edge of his keyboard. “Mine was a little trickier.”
“You got the tricky one because you are an expensive consultant who gets the big bucks for handling tricky stuff. Any luck?”
“Made contact with our old buddy the Merchant.”
A tingle of anticipation shot through Ethan. The Merchant was the mysterious on-line broker who had sold Arcadia and Zoe their new identities when they escaped from the asylum.
“And?” he prompted.
“And he swears that no one has hacked into his system. Says that if someone has found Arcadia, he didn’t get the info from his files.” Singleton paused.
“I hear a but.”
Singleton exhaled slowly. “The Merchant is good but there is always someone else who is better, and there is no such thing as a perfect false ID. Just ask some of the folks who didn’t survive the government’s witness protection program.”
“True.” Anticipation stopped tingling. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. What had he been thinking? “And there are other ways to find people besides hacking the files of the guy who sold the target a fake ID.”
“You ought to know. You do it all the time.”
“Grant Loring made a living running various sophisticated financial scams,” Ethan said slowly. “Guys like that always do a lot of research. I think we can assume that, if he’s alive, he knows more about Arcadia’s personal financial secrets than she thinks he does.”
“Well, we’ve got one thing going for us,” Singleton said. “The Merchant feels he owes me a favor because of what happened when Zoe’s files were stolen a few weeks ago. He says he’ll make some inquiries on his end. Chances are good, given his line of work, that he has access to some sources that I don’t even know about.”
Ethan tapped the notebook absently against the door frame. “It’s not like we haven’t got a clue here. Thanks to Arcadia, we know a hell of a lot about Loring. If he is on the move in our neck of the woods, he’ll leave some tracks.”
“She said he was the careful, cautious type.”
“He’s definitely not staying in a hotel or motel here in town. I spent the morning checking out that possibility.”
“That just leaves all of metropolitan Phoenix.” Singleton grimaced and stretched his arms over his head. “The good news, like you said, is that we’ve got a lot to work with, thanks to Arcadia. When I talked to her this morning, she gave me a complete list of Loring’s personal eccentricities as well as his business habits. I know what he likes to eat, his favorite wines, his taste in clothes, cars, sports, the works.”
“A woman who has lived with a man knows a hell of a lot more about him than he realizes.”
“Probably because women pay attention to those pesky little things in life that us guys prefer to ignore. It’s your wife who worries abo
ut your cholesterol levels and reminds you to get your prostate checked.”
“Huh.” Ethan thought about that. “None of my ex-wives ever worried about my cholesterol or my prostate. You think maybe that was an indication that they weren’t committed to a long-term relationship?”
“Could be. Has Zoe mentioned your prostate yet?”
“No. But I noticed this week that she moved me up to an SPF forty-eight-plus-strength sunscreen.”
Singleton whistled. “That explains that new, youthful glow.”
“Any more sarcastic remarks and I won’t let you play with my new emergency flares.” Ethan straightened away from the door frame, turned to leave and then hesitated. “By the way, Jeff told me that he had a long talk with you. He’s obviously feeling a heck of a lot better. Thanks.”
“That conversation went both ways.” Singleton looked at his computer screen as if he saw something of great interest there. “I got as much out of it as he did.”
“Glad to hear it. So when are you going to ask Bonnie for a date?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere doing some detecting?”
“As a matter of fact, I got to go home.” He glanced at his watch and headed toward the door. “Zoe will be waiting.”
“Lucky you,” Singleton said.
He said it so softly that Ethan could barely hear him.
Zoe was in the small Casa de Oro parking lot when he arrived. She was struggling with her large black tote and two hefty grocery bags that she was trying to pry from the trunk of her car. Her position, bent at the waist and leaning forward, gave him a nice view of her excellently shaped rear. He admired the sight as he got out of the SUV.
Zoe had managed to get one sack stabilized in the crook of her arm and was groping for the other when he reached her.
“I’ll get those,” he said.
“Ethan.” Startled, she nearly banged her head on the trunk lid. “Didn’t hear you.”
“Probably because I have trained myself to move in a very stealthy way.”
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