Mindy Carstairs’ family knew Graham. Did he know her?
“I have a personal interest in the case,” I said warily.
No response. It was as if God waited for me to continue.
I leaned back and put my bare feet on the desk and tried to choose what I would reveal. I wasn’t used to telling others what I was doing or why, but a second opinion might be useful. “She was Reginald’s wife, and now she’s dead.”
“You know where Brashton is. You don’t need a dead ex-wife for that.”
He had me there. I contemplated stonewalling, but my curiosity is a dangerous thing. I wanted to see just how much Graham knew and how much I could rely on him. “A client of mine knew her,” I acknowledged cautiously. I didn’t see reason to reveal EG’s parentage.
“And?” he broke his silence long enough to ask.
I’d finally hooked his interest. I wiggled my bare toes and threw a verbal dart. “I don’t know my client’s name, but he used the screen name Oracle, and he disappeared mysteriously.”
Dead silence. I knew the intercom was still on. Was Graham staring into one of his monitors at the contents of my computer? Or watching me wiggle my toes?
“I am not the only one who chooses to use ironic screen names,” he responded coolly, catching my drift. “Your Oracle mentioned Mindy Carstairs? In what capacity?”
Ironic, was it? My moniker was Tweety Bird. Did he consider that ironic, too? “I’ll share if you share,” I answered wickedly. “Did you know my client?”
“How should I know?” He sounded a bit testy at being challenged. “Show me your client’s file, and I’ll tell you.”
“No, you won’t. Tell me why you want Pao, and I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered about Mindy. My client’s file is confidential.”
“You have no legal obligation to a client. You aren’t a lawyer.”
“I have a moral obligation. If I went around talking about my clients, how could you trust me to keep quiet about you?”
“Touché,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Who are you really after, Pao, or Tex?” I demanded, determined to get satisfaction out of this circular non-conversation.
“I am after the truth. How about you?”
The intercom went dead. I toyed with the thought of pounding all the buttons and yelling until I caught his attention. But despite all appearances to the contrary, I am not unintelligent and I am capable of deeper thought than raspberry jam. What truth should I be after?
That question nagged at the back of my mind the rest of the morning as I worked, but it was about as answerable as what was there before the universe? One of these days when I had the leisure time again—and it appeared that wouldn’t happen with family around—I might ponder the truth about my grandfather and the reason Magda had left him. But more immediate matters had to be addressed first.
I cursed as the library telephone rang. I punched the most insistently flashing button and replied, “Ana here.”
“Miss Devlin.” No question, just statement. I recognized the flat style of Blackwell Johnson—soon-to-be-bankrupt lawyer, if I had my way.
“Yes,” I agreed without smiling, trying to think of how many ways he could screw us with this phone call.
“I had not realized you intended to permanently move into your grandfather’s house.”
Well, duh. “It’s our house,” I replied, striving for sweet but managing curt at best. The hesitation on the other end of the line probably indicated surprise and curiosity, but I didn’t intend to help him out.
“Mr. Graham sold it to you?”
I tried not to laugh. “Not yet.”
“As your grandfather’s attorney, I must advise you that staying there could be prejudicial to your case. You really should return home and let the matter be settled in court.”
Ha. Showed how much he knew. As if we had homes to return to. But now he had me wondering why he wanted us out of the way.
“Mr. Oppenheimer has advised us that possession is nine-tenths of the law.” So, I lied. Oppenheimer just kept his hand out to have his palm greased. “We have reached a suitable agreement with Mr. Graham for the interim.”
“I see. That is unwise. Even should we locate the funds, we could not return them to you while you are occupying the disputed property.”
“You haven’t even sent us the stock you mentioned last time. Have you located more funds?” I asked with interest.
“We are prepared to make a settlement on you until our partner returns and clears up matters. Your continued possession of the property complicates matters.”
That was so much bull— He must think I was some kind of simpleton who’d slept through the last century. “We don’t want or need a settlement, Mr. Johnson. We want Max’s entire estate, intact, as he left it to us. But thank you for your thoughtfulness.” I hung up. My supply of patience had reached its end.
I was being high-handed by throwing away the offer of money, but in the totality of the universe, money was irrelevant. I wanted this house and the money.
More angry than frustrated now, I returned to my research.
I had two bulging computer files on Tex and Paul Rose before the morning ended. Both belonged to the same political party. Both had Texas and presidential connections. Neither file turned up Magda, but I knew she was in Tex’s background. It would be interesting to know if she was in Rose’s.
Both of their wives served on several civic committees together. Both men served on the board for Edu-Pub, but there was no indication that they actually knew Pao, who was supposedly nothing more than a salesman on the company books—with Cambodian embassy connections.
Pao was on Rose’s guest list for Friday night because that’s where one put campaign contributors. None of this led to anything seditious, dangerous, or radical in any way beyond the usual money follows money.
I’m not prone to headaches, but this knotty problem could induce one.
I took it up to the gym.
I’m not much good at analyzing myself. I leave that to the shrinks. I just knew I needed a physical outlet to a lot of emotions and frustrations or I would explode. Graham had told me to use the gym. He’d offered it as apology for the cat, and the cat hadn’t been around lately, but that wasn’t any reason I shouldn’t take advantage of the offer.
I changed into shorts and sighed with relief the instant the gym door closed behind me. I could be myself here.
A brand new pair of red leather bag gloves hung beside the battered ones, welcoming me.
Despite the immediate surge of delight at the unexpected gift, I hesitated over reaching for them, searching for motivation. Deciding it was simply Graham’s way of stopping me from using his gloves, I slid my fingers in, wrapped the wrist supports, and went to work.
I pounded the shit out of the bag, limbered up my legs with half an hour of kickboxing, and cooled down with some basic crunches and push-ups. The gloves were ideal for my routine.
I heard no complaint from the spook. Feeling decidedly better, I traipsed down the stairs to my shower. I didn’t actually whistle with happiness, but I’m sure I would have if the burdens of the world weren’t already coming back to haunt me.
After my shower, I donned the clingy capris and halter top and hoped Graham was watching his damned cameras as I bounced down the stairs to the kitchen. I didn’t even bother putting my hair in braids but let it dry out naturally, in a heavy river over my shoulders and down my back. I might never be Magda, but I was still female, and my libido needed feeding as much as my stomach. If the only sexual satisfaction I could achieve was causing a mercenary cripple to have a coronary, I’d take it.
Feeling cocky in my spiffy new clothes, I contemplated taking a pub break to see if the mysterious Sean would show up, but the pub food wasn’t nearly as appealing as Mallard’s. Besides, I preferred the spy I knew to one who hadn’t thought to give me a great pair of gloves. I definitely had a lot of Magda in me.
Mallard raised his grayi
ng eyebrows when I entered the kitchen, but I ignored any implied criticism to rummage through his immense refrigerator. I’d given up keeping track of when we were in his good graces. If the kitchen door was unlocked, I figured I had a chance at food.
“There is crab salad in the blue container, and sun-dried tomato bread in the bread drawer,” he said crisply, while sauteeing something that smelled scrumptious.
Remembering my intention of befriending Mallard to pump him for information, I obediently found the crab salad. I’ve eaten fried ants upon occasion. It’s well proven I’ll eat anything. What I don’t do well is conversation, but I could give it a try.
“How long did you work with my grandfather?” I asked, innocently enough, as I spread the salad over a slice of bread.
“Long enough,” he said severely.
That wasn’t promising. I sniffed the air appreciatively. “That smells delicious. I don’t suppose it’s soup?”
“Certainly not. It’s ninety degrees outside.”
I rolled my eyes and tasted the sandwich. “This is yummy. Where did you learn to cook?” I reached for the bottled water in the refrigerator.
“I don’t believe that’s on your need-to-know list.”
Ah, military background. Interesting what one can learn even when the other party is uncooperative. “Did you know my father?”
“Of course.”
So maybe I needed to pave the road of friendship a little more if I wanted to pry useful information out of him. I chugged the water, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Mallard shot me a severe look. “Your mother should have taught you better manners.”
I belatedly searched the drawers for napkins. “She did. I even know which fork to use and when.” I defended her automatically. “But I’m not entertaining ambassadors at the moment.”
“Mallard was once chief military attache to an ambassador,” the KitchenAid mixer intoned in a familiar mechanical voice. “I’d advise you to treat him accordingly and practice your interrogative skills elsewhere.”
Leaning my bare back against the granite counter, I spotted the interior speaker behind the mixer. Even odds there was a camera in here as well.
I threw back my head to drink more water from the bottle, well aware that the motion lifted my breasts in the wired halter. The intercom shut up. I kept my grin to myself. Being introverted means I find prolonged social interaction exhausting. It doesn’t mean I’m shy.
Setting the bottle down, I politely dabbed my mouth with a linen napkin I’d retrieved from a drawer beneath the mixer. “I apologize for my rudeness, Mallard. Working for a mechanical tyrant is hardship enough. Shall I treat you to a pint at the pub to make amends?”
The insult was a mere cover for my implied threat to take this conversation where Graham couldn’t go. If he knew about Sean—and he certainly knew everything else—maybe my threat was also an awkward attempt to stir jealousy. Who knew? I’m a mass of contradictions.
I thought Mallard almost smiled, but he turned away to chop an onion. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Devlin. I thank you for the offer, though.”
“Besides, Miss Devlin has other duties. If you are quite done delaying my lunch, I believe you have a phone call to answer.”
“A phone call? Me?” Panicked, I reeled through all the possibilities—Magda, the lawyer, Nicholas—
“The school, Miss Devlin. It seems your sister has a genius for disturbing the inmates. Line one.” The intercom clicked off.
Mallard pointed at the sleek console phone on the built-in desk, and I dived for it. “Anastasia Devlin here,” I said crisply into the receiver even though my heart threatened to leap from my chest.
“There has been an unpleasant incident, Miss Devlin. We are asking parents of the students involved to stop by the office to discuss it immediately.”
“What happened?” I demanded. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No one went to the hospital,” Mr. Appleby stated as wryly as Graham at his best. “But we believe it best if the students in question return home for the day.”
Oh, shit. I glanced at the clock. It was going on one. Fine. She wouldn’t be missing a lot of classes. “I’ll be right over.” I didn’t waste time in niceties. I hung up.
Mallard looked concerned. “Is Miss Elizabeth all right?”
“Until I get my hands on her. Thanks for lunch.” I dashed out, grabbed my purse, and almost made it to the front door before a disapproving cough from the intercom caught me.
“You might consider a more suitable costume under the circumstances.”
If I ever found those damned cameras, they were history. Grudgingly, I dashed up the stairs, comforting myself with a litany of curses and a cloud of resentment.
I reached for my denim jumper in the top file drawer, but the Gateway silk dangled on a hanger on the back of the door. It was ninety degrees out, and an evil imp asked, Why not?
Nicholas had even forced me to buy the appropriate underwear. I couldn’t decide if I liked having a brother who knew more about women’s support garments than I did, but it was convenient. I actually looked like I had breasts in this scrap of material.
Accepting Appleby’s assurances that EG wasn’t in need of immediate medical treatment, I took the time to wrap my hair in a hasty twist, secured it with a few pins, and located the flimsy heels Nick had insisted I buy. I even slashed on lipstick. No one could convince me I had Magda’s impact, but I probably looked normal enough to fight the Establishment on their terms.
Amazingly, the intercom in the foyer said nothing as I dashed past it this time. Worse, I found myself hoping Graham had noticed my get-up. So much for feeling feminine and sexy. I began to feel like an idiot.
A taxi waited outside. I blessed Mallard and jumped in rather than examine my descent into Magda country. The school wasn’t far, but I paid the driver well for his patience in waiting for my transformation.
I flashed my ID at the guard in the front of the school. Self-conscious, I had a feeling he was looking at my half-exposed chest, but he checked his guest list and ushered me in.
The frou-frou outfit made me more nervous than secure. My heels clicked against the tile, keeping pace with my pounding heart. I was terrified I’d blow this parenting thing.
I pushed open the door to Appleby’s reception room. Ignoring the startled look of the secretary, I crossed right past to the interior office from which issued tearful and angry voices. None of them were EG’s.
Until I entered.
“Holey moley,” she murmured, staring at me as if she hadn’t seen me buying this dress just yesterday.
The other occupants of the room seemed equally incapable of expressing an intelligent word, giving me time to assess the situation. The principal rose to his feet and stared at my entrance. Or my well-haltered chest. Two students unknown to me hovered together on the opposite side of the room. I turned to study the parent sitting in the corner.
I nearly dropped my teeth when I recognized the tall, stern-jawed man in an expensively tailored suit.
Senator Tex.
Chapter Sixteen
Confrontation with Tex and Elsie, Nick gets tickets to party, Ana gets threatened.
Tex stared back at me in equal disbelief. Unlike Appleby, he did not stand up. Two demerits for lack of manners. Maybe jail time had made him rusty. I am not impressed by powerful political figures, and having everyone gawking at me didn’t improve my humor.
Once Tex recovered from his astonishment, the suspected murderer of Mindy Carstairs looked angry, tired, and more human than in his campaign ads. He still didn’t win my sympathy.
Dismissing the flustered and stuttering principal as irrelevant, I turned my attention to the two unfamiliar occupants of the room. The bloody nose of the tall blond boy spoke volumes. The demure miss with Tommy Hilfiger emblazoned in pink silk across her scrawny chest bore a striking resemblance to the square-jawed man belatedly rising from his chair in the corner, shoving his pepper
-and-salt hair off his forehead.
Tex still looked stunned. I’m arrogant in many ways, but I certainly didn’t think it was my great beauty and shocking figure that had thrown him off balance. We’d bumped into each other briefly in Barcelona, but that was ten years ago, and I’d hid behind bangs and teenage attitude back then. Besides, he hadn’t spent a lot of time looking at me with Magda around. Still, good old Tex might be putting two and two together. As Nicholas had said, I do bear some resemblance to my mother, particularly in revealing silk.
It didn’t take a genius to read the whole scenario in EG’s smug expression. I held out my hand. “Give me the quarters.”
Silently, she fished them from the pocket of the blazer she had to have worn deliberately to carry the roll.
“Miss Devlin, I don’t think—” Appleby began.
“Fine. Don’t think. Tell me exactly what happened.” I knew how to be officious on the phone or computer. I’d never tried it in person, but if I’m listening to Nick these days—I’m an heiress. Why not act like it? I certainly had an excellent example to ape.
The principal blinked as if he’d just seen a mouse roar. On his feet now, Tex stepped into the breach. “Yoah daughter called mah Elsie a crass, hypocritical waste of humanity. While Ah admire her vocabulary, a child ought to learn respect and obedience first.”
My daughter, my ass! I’d get my revenge for that later. I stayed focused. “That’s your opinion, not mine,” I replied with the ferocity of a lioness protecting her cub, ruining the image by turning the same ferocity on EG. “You insulted one classmate and hit another. I assume you have a good explanation?”
She shrugged and looked defiant, but I knew my sister. For the first time in her life, she was in the presence of her father, a man she admired above all others. A man whose attention she craved more than air. She would act on her version of a code of honor in front of him, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t instigated the incident to get his attention in the first place. My heart might go out to her, but she’s too bright for these games.
Evil Genius Page 18