Deadly Interest (38 page)

Maya’s eyes teared up. “He’s the one who
hired me. Straight out of grad school. Said he saw that I had
promise. What’s he going to think if he sees all this?” She
gestured over the paperwork strewn before us, and a raw, hiccupy
sound jumped out of her throat. “What do I do?”

I didn’t know how to answer that.

In this quiet dining room, near midnight, I
tried to shake off a sudden vulnerable terror—as though Owen would
have some omniscient knowledge of what we were doing and would
burst through the door any moment, prepared to kill us both.

The next morning, I called my aunt early,
thanking her profusely for keeping Lucy overnight yet again.

“
Anything to help,” Aunt
Lena said in her chipper voice. Bacon sizzled in the background and
my stomach grumbled so forcefully that I was afraid she’d hear it
over the phone line. “Were you able to find out anything at that
girl’s house?”

“
A little.” A bit of a
fib. Although I’d told my aunt last night that I needed to follow
up a lead by visiting someone from the bank, I didn’t want to go
into detail with too many people before I talked with Lulinski.
“What time do you think Lucy will be ready to go?” I
asked.

She laughed. “That girl likes to sleep late.
I’ll wake her up when breakfast is ready. She’s really looking
forward to spending time with you, Alex.”

“
I’m looking forward to
it, too,” I said. “How about I come by at ten? I still have to get
ready myself, and call a couple of people.”

“
Better make it a little
later,” she said. “Moose wants to show her the dove’s nest he found
outside the garage last night. You know how Lucy is with
animals.”

I did. “Okay, I’ll be by closer to eleven,
then.”

After showering, I sat at the kitchen table,
my hands wrapped around my hot mug of coffee, watching the steam
curl upward in mesmerizing grace. I’d left a message on Detective
Lulinski’s voicemail to call me as soon as he could.

Every sip of the searing coffee that
traveled hot down the back of my throat felt like a catharsis of
sorts. God, I felt good.

I shut my eyes for a restful moment,
picturing Lulinski’s face when I gave him the story. The fact that
he hadn’t answered meant he might still be asleep and I was glad
for that. There hadn’t been a moment over the past ten days that he
hadn’t been busy with some aspect of the case. He deserved a
break.

So did I. And today, Lucy and I were going
to get it.

They’d predicted a high of fifty-three
degrees and the sun poured through my back porch windows. With a
burst of feel-good anticipation, I cracked one open in order to
smell spring in the air. Life was fun again, for the first time in
a while. Things were definitely looking up.

Staring out the windows, feeling the light
breeze twist past me into the house to chase away the winter
mustiness, I took a deep breath to clear my head.

Everything Maya and I had gone over the
night before added up. It added up with a precision that told me
there’d be no surprises when we checked those accounts this
afternoon. I knew they’d be delinquent and I knew we had Owen in
our grasp. All that remained was bringing Lulinski up to date, and
having him move in for the kill.

A couple of small details nagged at me. Why
would Mrs. Vicks have asked Owen to draw up a new will? It made no
sense, particularly if she suspected him of such enormous fraud.
Maybe there was no other will. That left two possibilities. Either
David was mistaken—when he told me about it he said he’d gotten the
scoop from Owen, after all—or he and Owen were in collusion,
somehow. I shook my head.

David had given me carte blanche at the
bank; it’d been Owen and his faithful little helper Nina, who’d
shortened my leash where investigating records was concerned. David
had been nothing but generous with his time, and he’d even offered
a reward for information leading to an arrest in Mrs. Vicks’
murder. And, most importantly, I knew to follow the money. As a
shareholder of Banner Bank, as well as its president, David
involved in embezzling made little sense.

I hadn’t kept a copy of the will Barton and
I had found the day before, and now I wished I had. I’d love to
know who Mrs. Vicks’ lawyer was back then, and I felt like an idiot
for not grabbing that information when I had the chance.

My watch told me it was just about
nine-thirty. Plenty of time to swing by Barton and grab a quick
look at that original will.

I was just about ready to go, giving myself
a last-minute check in the bathroom mirror when my cell phone
buzzed in my back pocket. Expecting Lulinski, I wiped my
just-washed hands on my jeans and pulled the phone out to answer.
The number on the display took me aback.

“
Hello?” I
said.

“
Hi Alex, it’s William,”
he said in an upbeat, lively tone. “Told you I’d call.”

An enthusiastic flush worked its way upward
from my chest, till I could feel it warm my cheeks. “Yeah,” I said.
“You did.”

“
How’s everything going?”
he asked.

“
Actually, pretty great, “
I began. Suddenly energized by the thought of being able to share
the news with him, I was about to launch into a quick explanation
of everything I’d found out over the past week, when he
interrupted.

“
Good.” He gave a dramatic
sigh. “It’s been really busy out here. They have us running
constantly. I would have called sooner, but there just wasn’t any
time.”

“
I understand,” I said,
even though I really didn’t. “Learning a lot?”

“
It’s too much. I can’t
wait to get back.”

“
Really?”

“
Oh yeah,” he said. “It’ll
be nice to be home.”

Despite my best efforts to keep my eagerness
down, I felt immensely cheered by that sentiment. “That will be
nice,” I said, meaning it.

“
Well, hey,” he said. “I
need to get moving here to make the plane on time.”

“
What time’s your
flight?”

“
Uh . . .
three-ten.”

I glanced at my watch. “Isn’t it only about
seven-thirty out by you?”

“
Yeah,” he said with a
half-laugh I didn’t understand. “But I have a bunch of stuff to get
done, you know. Return the rental car and all. And get to the
airport.”

“
Sure,” I said, still
thinking he was giving himself way more time than he needed. From
what I knew of the station out there and the airport, it was about
a twenty minute trip—tops.

“
See you tomorrow,” he
said.

“
Looking forward to it,” I
said.

We both hung up and I stared at the phone
for a long moment. I’d waited all those days for that? Not much of
a chat. As I felt my high color drift down to normal, I wondered
again at what it was that made me light up when he was around.

Just as I tucked the phone
back into my pocket, it buzzed again. This time it
had
to be
Lulinski.

Nope. William again.

Suppressing a smile, I hit the button to
answer, my mind making the hopeful leap that perhaps he’d realized
he’d forgotten to ask about the investigation and he wanted me to
bring him up to date. Or maybe ask me out to dinner next Saturday.
It was amazing how fast my mind could cover all possibilities.

Hey, I thought, a girl could dream.

“
Hello?” I
said.

This time William’s voice was low, warm with
pleasure.

“
Tricia,” he
said.

I felt my heart stutter; the happy flush
that had graced my cheeks a moment ago, dropped straight through to
the floor, leaving my feet prickling as though they’d both
instantly fallen asleep. I opened my mouth, trying to jump-start my
brain. “No,” I finally managed, stringing the word into two
syllables, “This is Alex again.” Then I added, “Sorry to disappoint
you.”

“
Oh,” he said. He coughed
out a nervous laugh.

“
Guess you dialed wrong,”
I said, without inflection.

“
No, I just . . .” I could
practically hear his brain working as he stammered. He gave another
embarrassed laugh. “Alex. Yeah.”

After several very long, very silent,
seconds, I said. “Well, I bet you have to get going.”

“
A bunch of us are getting
together,” he said. “For a meeting this morning.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t really give a
hoot. All I cared about right now was getting off the phone as fast
as I could. But some perverted masochistic curiosity made me ask,
“So, who’s Tricia?”

“
Oh, uh, just our driver,”
he said, talking faster now. “I’m supposed to call her to let her
know what time to pick me up here. She’s just the driver. The
station hired her.”

The moment he said that, we were cut off. My
phone buzzed yet again, almost immediately. This time when I saw
William’s number, I hit the ignore button and waited a couple of
minutes for the icon to pop up indicating that he’d left a message.
He did.

“
Hi, Alex,” he said. “This
is William again.” Same cheery voice as the first time he’d
called—when he’d actually meant to reach me—but I heard that
chagrined, almost-laugh one more time. “Sorry I missed you, but I
guess you’re busy. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

Deleting the message, I debated calling him
back. Given the circumstances, I didn’t want to, but if his plane
went down in a fiery crash, I’d probably regret this being our last
conversation. I rubbed my eye sockets with my free hand, and leaned
my butt against the wall.

Just about a quarter to ten, Chicago time.
Quarter to eight in San Francisco. I thought about the long hours
before William’s three-ten flight and the fact that he mentioned
returning a rental car. And yet he’d told me that “Tricia” was a
hired driver.

I made a face; it didn’t take a rocket
scientist to figure this one out.

There had been other notable moments in my
life where what I believed soundly clashed with what was actually
true. The fact that he’d lied to me told me all that I needed to
know. As I stared at the floor, I wondered why these moments of
realization never got easier to handle.

I pushed away from the wall and assured
myself that airplane travel was very safe nowadays. Pocketing the
phone for the last time, I decided the hell with it. I’d take my
chances.

* * * * *

The Tuck Inn motel could have been worse, I
supposed. Though I’d passed our infamous neighborhood dive hundreds
of times over the years, I’d never gotten up close before. Hidden
behind a six-foot wall, no doubt designed to keep passers-by from
recognizing cars in the lot, the two-story brown brick structure
was bookended by black metal staircases. The surrounding wall
sported two wide openings, one entrance, one exit. I pulled in, and
had my choice of plum parking spots.

Barton’s rusty white Buick sat in front of
his room, number one-thirteen, the vehicle’s frame leaning low and
to the left. Pulling up next to it, I got out of my own little
white car, hoping no one at the front desk could see me right now.
All of a sudden that big brick wall was my friend. The last thing I
needed was to be spotted at the Tuck Inn by sharp-eyed neighbors
heading out for a nice breakfast after church.

When Barton didn’t answer the door after I’d
knocked twice, I moved to the left and tried to see inside the
adjacent window, ignoring the grunge of its dirt-encrusted corners.
There were wide oval streaks—whoever washed the windows here must
have swiped a wet rag around in the middle. From my angle, with the
morning sun hitting it from the east, it looked like a giant had
left three enormous thumbprints on the glass.

Cupping my eyes, I peered in.

Nothing but the back end of vinyl-lined
drapes and my own eyeballs’ reflection. I rapped on the window,
hard, then leaned back, looking side-to-side, to see if anyone
might have heard me. I listened for movement, but heard
nothing,

Despite the brightness of the clear-sky
morning, the air was crisp and chilled. I pulled my jacket close
and listened harder, trying at the same time to decide what to do
next. Nearby, a cardinal chirped his distinctive call, and traffic
zoomed by on the busy street outside the walled fortress. Otherwise
all remained quiet.

Back at the white wooden door with its fake
brass one-thirteen screwed on, I leaned forward and tried to see
through the peephole, knowing it would be a futile attempt.

Disappointed, my hand reached for the
scuffed knob and tried it, fully expecting resistance.

It turned.

My hand retracted, as if burnt. But now the
door stood hairline-crack-open, though not enough for me to see
anything in the dark room.

I took a step back, and another glance
around, feeling for all intents and purposes like a thief ready to
move in when the time was right. A gurgle startled me. It seemed to
come from inside the room and I canted my head, waiting for it to
repeat, but it didn’t. Barton snoring, I decided. If I were any
judge of character, and I liked to think I was, I had no doubt that
he was sprawled out on his back, slack-mouthed, sleeping off a
drunk.

I should turn around and come back later,
when he was awake, I reasoned. But when? I had the day planned with
Lucy, then another trip back to the Loop with Maya this evening.
And although I knew that the information I needed could probably
wait, I was here—now—and impatient.

Two fir trees served to obscure my view of
the front desk and I hoped that meant it obscured their view of
me.