by Jeanne Adams
“No, but Carlos’s mama is coming from Chile. For the next few weeks, I’m helping him get his house fixed up so she doesn’t catch him in all the lies he’s told about what he’s done around the place.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that Torie sniggered. “And?”
“No dogs allowed. Between the number of workmen I’m gonna have in and out of there, and the noise? Bear will go nuts.”
“I’ll take him.”
“What? Now who’s nuts?” Pam pulled to the curb behind Kuhman and turned to face her. “The dog’s enormous. He’s huge, untrained, and potentially dangerous just because of his sheer mass. Not to mention that he looks incredibly scary with those bicolored eyes. Hell, he’s got jaws like a hippo.”
“Yeah? And?”
“You’re nuts. You don’t have a place to—” Pam started. “Sorry, but you don’t.”
“I have to have a pet-friendly place for Pickle as it is. What does it matter if it’s one dog or two? I know what Bear is, and I know he’s salvageable.”
Pam rolled her eyes. “Please, Torie, be reasonable. Have you seen the size of that dog? Really? In daylight?”
“No, but I know what he is. About a hundred and thirty pounds of misunderstood mutt. He needs a home, I need him. End of story. I’ll order a really big crate for him.”
To end the discussion, she got out of the car. She reminded herself not to look for her bodyguard. Focused on that, and on Pam, she hadn’t looked at the house on the listing sheet other than to note that it was big.
“Oh,” was all she could say. The house was neglected, that was obvious, but it had potential. “It’s great.”
“The fence is sagging, the gutters are full of crap, the grass is more like hay, and you say oooh?” Pam shook her head. “Maybe we should get your head examined.”
“Come on,” Torie said, ignoring the jibe. “Let’s see inside.”
“This is in an estate,” Kuhman explained as he removed the key from a heavy lockbox on the front porch rail. “The family cannot decide what they are to do with it.”
“It’s—” Torie was about to gush and say it was great, but Pam’s elbow hit her ribs and Pam gave a warning shake of her head. “In bad shape.”
“Yes, yes, but it was a beauty at one point.” Kuhman pointed out the details of the wood paneling, the inset brass diamonds in the floor tile.
Pam on the other hand, pointed out the drooping wallpaper, the foyer ceiling that canted slightly to the left, and the multitude of cracked window panes.
Torie let the two of them duke it out, since it was obvious they were enjoying their sparring. She wandered through the dining room, through a butler’s pantry, and into a hideously outdated kitchen.
“Oh, Lord, look at this place. No, Torie, you couldn’t possibly live here.”
She looked at the gleam in Pam’s eye and nearly laughed. Keeping to her role, though, she played along. Pam knew her well enough to know that she liked the house.
“It is pretty dilapidated. Especially this kitchen.”
“It’s right out of the nineteen thirties is what it is.”
“No, no, the appliances are new.” Kuhman pointed to a stainless steel dishwasher. It was so obviously new and out of place it was like a rocket ship on a sheep farm.
“One appliance,” Pam insisted. “Only one. The refrigerator qualifies as an antique. Jeez, Kuhman. Torie’s house burned, she’s not gonna be bringing appliances with her, you know.”
“Yes, yes, well maybe there will be some concessions from the owners. Come and see the rest of the house. They allow pets, you know. The old lady, she was fond of dogs, you see, and had several. They told me…” He rattled on about the old lady’s chihuahuas as they walked on, but once again Torie lagged behind, checking out the living room with its built-in bookshelves. While Pam and Kuhman argued over the fence and the need for repairs, she mounted the worn and creaking stairs to the second floor.
Light flooded the upper hall, gilding the wooden banister, and highlighting more falling wallpaper. The dust was thick as could be, and the bedroom doors creaked like a movie prop house.
“Wow,” Torie exclaimed, pushing open the door to the master bedroom. “Amazing.”
The balcony, the light, the huge bathroom, and the massive cedar-lined walk-in closet closed the deal. She could live here.
“Torie?” Pam followed her in. “Oh, check that out.” She, too, was captivated by the view of the huge backyard with its oaks and flower beds.
“Look at the closet,” she whispered, not sure if Pam was still in her bargaining mode.
“You like it?” Pam whispered back.
“Tons.”
“Don’t tell him, okay? Let’s be dismissive and see some of the others.”
“I don’t want—”
“I know,” Pam said in a louder voice, presumably for Kuhman’s hearing. “It’s a lot of work, and you already have that to look forward to in your own house. Let’s go.”
They left Kuhman to lock up, moving on to the see five more of the listings he’d found. By one o’clock they’d exhausted themselves and Kuhman. Several of the houses would be great, but the first was what she wanted, warts and all.
“So, which pleases you? Any of them? Or should we start again?” Kuhman made his pitch.
“I liked the last one, and the first one on Bodia Drive. I like the first one a lot, but they’d have to cut the rent in half for the first six months. With half rent, I could get the place cleaned and painted for them,” Torie said, frowning for form’s sake.
“You don’t want to get into that, do you?” Pam interjected. “I mean, I know I could help you find vendors and all that, painters, someone to do the kitchen, but you’ve got your own house to worry about.”
“If you would consider it,” Kuhman broke in, “I could talk to the owners. See if they would trade, ah, work on the house as exchange for rent, or perhaps a small fee to see to bringing it back to its glory, eh? They will sell it eventually.” He shrugged, watching both of them for a reaction. “But the way it is?” He made a face. “Difficult in this market.”
“Well, maybe if you checked with them?” Torie began, and Kuhman brightened.
“I will, I will. So I can reach you at this number?” He rattled off her cell phone number.
“So, how about lunch?” Pam said as they got back in the car. “We can talk about what you’re gonna do with that house, and yours.”
“I can’t. I need to get back to Pratt and Legend. We’re meeting with the detective.”
“Oh. Well, dinner maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s good. Would you do me a favor?”
“Sure.
“Isn’t there a hotel over on Parson? A big one? Like a Marriott or something?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Go get me a room, bring me the keys. I want to be out of Paul’s house tonight.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Torie had never been more sure. She’d realized sometime in the night that she had always been attracted to Paul, ever since they met under such terrible circumstances at the frat house. She suppressed a shudder. Thinking about that so much lately brought back all the fear, the feeling of being so out of control, without choices. It had been terrible. Every time she thought about it, the “what ifs?” of the whole scenario overwhelmed her with fear.
Fear that she’d transferred to Paul.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, thinking about all I have to do,” Torie lied.
“Uh huh.”
“Really. It’s kinda frightening, you know? I’m crazy, too, to think about a house like that. Have you seen my house?”
Pam gave her a sympathetic look. “Yeah. I drove by right after it happened. It was a huge shock.”
“Yeah.” She might have said more, but her phone rang. “Excuse me.”
“Ms. Hagen?”
“Yes?”
“Barbara at Pawlings Insurance?”
“Yes
?”
“We’ve been notified by the police that your house has been released, and you can start work on it. If you’d like to pick up your preliminary check for expenses, I’ll have it ready for you by the end of the day.”
“Oh, thank you for letting me know. I’ll be by. I’m going to look at a car later today. Has there been any change on that situation?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I can get a check for you on your car by tomorrow.”
The memory of her car, a burned hulk, being towed away, made her shudder.
“Thank you for all your help.”
Pam pulled up in front of Pratt and waited as she finished the call. “Insurance?”
“Yeah. Let’s skip the rental. How do you feel about car shopping?”
“Love it.”
“Good. Then once I’m done at Pratt, let’s go visit the dogs, pick up some pizza, and go car shopping.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’ll talk about the house, too.”
Paul and Melvin Pratt Sr. had finished up their morning meeting with more coffee. Paul was wired by the strong brew. Now, back in Pratt’s office for the meeting with Torie and the detective, he poured more into his company mug.
“It seems as if the incidents are tied together. The fact that we all knew one another in college and grad school may tie in as well.”
“Perhaps we should bring Melvin Jr. in to these discussions. He might be able to add something. He has quite a good memory for those kinds of details.”
Paul managed to keep his voice level as he answered. “He might be very helpful. Why don’t we meet with the detective and Ms. Hagen, then invite Melvin to join us.”
Pratt watched him for an uncomfortable moment, but nodded. “Good. Let’s see if either the detective or Ms. Hagen is here.”
He buzzed his assistant, and was informed that the detective was waiting and Ms. Hagen was on her way up.
“Send in the detective, won’t you?”
Tibbet came in, glancing around at the plush office. His face betrayed nothing of what he thought about all of the awards and photos of Mr. Pratt with various dignitaries.
“Detective, I’m Melvin Pratt Sr. I’m pleased to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to come to our offices rather than meeting at the station.”
“Better coffee, sir,” the detective quipped. “And better atmosphere.”
Pratt laughed. “Indeed. So, please sit. We’ve been covering the details of the incidents Ms. Hagen wrote down and Mister Jameson remembers, and recorded from their friend, Mister Peterson.”
“Your client.”
“Yes. I’ve also discussed bringing my son, Melvin Jr., into this discussion as well, once we’ve had a few minutes to reconnoiter.”
“Ah, you want him to come in…” Tibbet trailed off.
“Mister Pratt Jr. was at college and grad school with all three of us,” Paul said. “He was also a fraternity brother to Todd and me. His memory of events might be helpful.” Paul was striving for neutrality. Tibbet glanced his way, but it didn’t seem as if he’d given anything away.
“Ms. Hagen, sir,” Pratt’s assistant spoke from the door.
“Come in, please,” Pratt said as the three men stood. Pratt directed her to a seat at his right, between himself and the detective.
Paul could see she hadn’t slept. The circles under her eyes were carefully concealed, but since she wasn’t big on makeup, the fact that she now wore more than usual clued him in. She avoided looking at him as she spoke to the others at the table.
“So, there is some good news,” Tibbet began, setting the pace by starting right in. “We have a lead on what might have happened to your computer systems.”
“Ah, do tell.” Pratt looked satisfied.
“One of your former employees, a Taylor Caldwell, is being questioned in connection with the damage. He may have had an accomplice from the records department. According to your human resources folks, they were both, uh, terminated, on the same day.”
“Do you think they’re connected to Todd’s death?” Torie asked.
“We’re investigating both, but they’re denying any knowledge of Mister Peterson. Our cybercrimes folks served warrants late this morning.”
“I don’t know either of them,” Paul commented. “I heard that a couple of people had been terminated in December. I’d never worked with either of them.”
“I know. I don’t have much call to be in the computer center myself, so I was unaware that these individuals had such animosity toward the firm over their dismissals.” Pratt seemed disturbed that he hadn’t been aware. “When the firm reached a certain size,” he said, “you lose touch.”
As he watched, Torie laid a hand on Pratt’s arm. “It’s difficult.”
He smiled at her. “Yes, it is sometimes.”
How could she be so empathetic to the old man, care so much for someone she didn’t know? How had he managed to screw up so badly?”
“Paul?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I was thinking about the situation. What was your question?”
“I asked Ms. Hagen here if she’d be my date for the partner’s dinner. She said you hadn’t asked her yet, so I’m preempting you.”
“Ah, I see.” Paul was flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe the old man had slipped that in.
Tibbet was struggling not to laugh. Paul wanted Torie there. Needed her there. He hadn’t expected it to be this way.
“She still might dance with you, though,” Pratt teased. He and Tibbet, along with Torie, laughed at that.
“Now,” Pratt said more soberly, “we should get down to business. Detective, can you give us a written statement saying that Ms. Hagen has been cleared of any charges in connection with Mister Peterson’s terrible death?”
“I believe I can do that. Yes.”
“Excellent. If you’ll get that to Mister Jameson here, it will help us move things along on our end.” He motioned toward Paul. “He’s got several things to wrap up.”
“Detective,” Torie broke into the conversation. “They’ve cleared my house as a crime scene, and I am going to begin work on getting things put back together. I’m hoping that my firm will get past the negative publicity the police caused by leaking the information about the men…”
Paul could see she was struggling to figure out how to phrase it that didn’t sound terrible.
“Do you have any idea where the leak came from, Detective?” Paul asked. “I’m not saying that I think Ms. Hagen should act on that knowledge, but has the department locked that down?”
“Actually we believe it’s connected to the cyber issues. The information wasn’t leaked,” Tibbet growled. “It was stolen.”
“Stolen? How do you steal information from a police department?”
“The same way you do from anyone, Ms. Hagen,” Tibbet answered. “You hack into their computers. Public resources don’t really extend to hacker-proof software and fancy gadgets, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, then our culprits may be guilty of more than destroying data here as well then.”
Tibbet nodded. “Could be. We’ll see. I wanted to talk with you further about the connections between you and Mister Peterson,” he said, indicating Torie and Paul.
“Would you like me to bring my son in on these discussions?”
“Were you close in any way with Mister Pratt’s son?” Tibbet asked Paul.
“No. We were in several classes together, pledged the same fraternity, but otherwise we didn’t socialize.”
“At the time, my son was going through a bit of a rebellious stage,” Pratt Sr. broke in. “I believe you got to know one another somewhat in graduate school, didn’t you?”
Paul tread very carefully. Technically, they hadn’t known Melvin much at all. The invitation to interview with Pratt at Melvin’s behest had come as a shock to both he and Todd.
“We did have several more classes together there,” he temporized, stretching the truth only slightly.
Pratt took up the s
tory, much to Paul’s relief. “When Melvin graduated and passed the bar, he suggested we interview several of his classmates. His judgment there was superb.” Pratt smiled at Paul. “The firm hired both Paul here, and Todd Peterson, from the group of six we interviewed.”
“Ah, interesting. And did you see any reason to doubt them or their skills, given the rebellious stage you mentioned?”
“No, indeed. Their scores were impressive, their references good. They both worked hard and proved themselves up to the job. Then young Todd made his fortune and left us, of course.”
Torie winced, but the old man didn’t see it. He was in full storyteller mode. Paul shot her a sympathetic look. She turned away.
Ouch. He’d been given the brush-off a lot, by plenty of women, but it had never hurt more.
“So, that brings us to the present,” Pratt wrapped up. Paul was lost in thought again, and had missed most of the speech. Damn.
“Ms. Hagen, from your perspective, how did this play?”
“Pretty much that way. I was more familiar with Todd’s friends than anything else,” she said. “I believe I met your son at some of the fraternity functions,” she said to Pratt. “But he wasn’t one to hang out at the fraternity house much at all. Ironically, I might have known him best in those days. He was in at least two of my engineering classes.”
“Really? Electrical? Civil?” Tibbet asked.
“Structural and electrical.”
“Ah. Interesting. So, Mister Pratt, do you have any reason to believe these two employees that were fired might want to hurt any of these people? So far we’ve found no connection to Mister Peterson. He was gone before the woman was hired.”
“Not that I’m aware, Detective.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t think I’ll need to speak to your son, but if I do, I’ll call over, set something up. Ms. Hagen, I think the department will probably send you some kind of official apologies for the lapse in the computers, but I’ll say it for them. It was inexcusable and, since it may jeopardize our case, it sucks. So, I’m damn sorry.”
“Thanks, Detective. I appreciate it. I hope my bosses will, too.”
“Yeah, that’s not right. Jameson, you ought to fix that for her, for sure.” He prodded the sore spot Paul was feeling. “Harassment and all.”