Deadly Interest (6 page)

I cleared the top step, gazing ahead through
the doors of our office. I could see everyone moving around, silent
through the heavy glass. Like a bunch of office-mimes. Busy
already.

A long night of rehashing poor Mrs. Vicks’
demise left me sleepless, and now I’d have to run the gauntlet of
well-meaning colleagues.

“
Alex!”

It started immediately as I pushed through
the doors. The center of our spacious office was taken up by the
“hub” where the entire support staff answered phones, prepared
reports, and pretty much kept our craziness on an even keel.

I pasted on a smile, trying to answer all
their exclamations with appropriate responses.

“
I’m so sorry, Alex. You
should have won that award.”

“
It’s a shame, isn’t it?
You okay? How did Bass handle it?”

“
Oh, Alex, I heard about
what that low-life Dan said in his speech. What an idiot. Just wait
till it’s your turn.”

I tried nodding, agreeing, thanking, but all
I wanted to do was bolt into my office. My assistant, Jordan, would
help me sort through my morning jumble. A beautiful black girl just
a few years younger than I, Jordan was one of my best friends. She
waved to get my attention and I could tell from the look in her
eyes that it had to be important.

“
What’s up?”

She wheeled back a foot or two and swiveled
in her chair to hand me one of those pink “while you were out”
notes, her feminine handwriting spelling out a detailed message.
“Your sister’s home called. A Lester Raymond,” she said,
summarizing. “He tried to get ahold of your folks, but couldn’t
reach them.”

Lucy’s institution, The Riverside School,
was more of a halfway house than an actual educational
establishment. The place had an incredible reputation. Despite our
initial misgivings about leaving her in the care of others—with the
benefit of hindsight, we knew placing her there had been exactly
the right decision. She’d flowered and matured in the past
year—more than we could have expected.

Downstate, the residence sat about halfway
between Chicago and my parents’ home in Arkansas. They made it a
point to visit her monthly, as did I, but the school only called
when Lucy needed something unexpectedly. “He say what he
wanted?”

“
No. And I asked,” she
said with a little frown. “This new patient confidentiality
thing.”

I glanced down at the name. “I’ll call
him.”

“
How come he couldn’t get
ahold of your parents? Are they okay?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw William
making his way toward his office. “Yeah. Very okay. They left this
week for a month-long trip to Europe with their pinochle club
friends. Can you believe it? I hope I’m as energetic as they are
when I get to be that age.”

With a twist in my stomach, I thought about
Mrs. Vicks—my parents’ age, now dead—killed in her home in cold
blood.

“
Um,” Jordan said,
interrupting my musings, “you read today’s paper yet?”

I had a copy I’d shoved into my briefcase
before I left the house. I’d brought it with me to read the
coverage of Mrs. Vicks murder—although I had my doubts that it
would’ve made the morning edition. “About to,” I said.

“
Um,” she said
again.

Immediately, my guard was up. “What is
it?”

Her left hand reached over to a stack of
files, and she turned to pull a cut-from-the-paper article out from
beneath them. Swiveling back to face me, her expression was
apologetic. “Probably better you hear it here, first.” As I grabbed
the paper from her, she whispered, “Nobody’s going to take this
seriously, okay?”

Sandra Stanek, gossip columnist
extraordinaire, stared up at me from her photograph at the top of
her daily column. In today’s writings, devoted entirely to the
Davis Award ceremony the night before, she described all the glitz
and glamour of the event, with names of attendees in bold print. My
eyes, however, were drawn to the single picture, dead center in the
column. A publicity shot Bass insisted upon. Dan and I posed
together, he holding the coveted award, me looking like it didn’t
matter that he’d won it. At the time the photographer flashed the
shot, I remember shooting a glance Dan’s direction, thinking that
I’d like to take the award and shove it up his pompous ass.

My eyes caught the
caption:
Alex St. James gazes warmly at
Davis Award recipient Dan Starck after his charming acceptance
speech. The eyes say it all, don’t you think, folks? Might there be
romance blooming here, again?

My jaw dropped.

Jordan’s voice was soft. “I thought I better
show it to you before anybody else does.”

Speechless, I looked up. While fury bubbled
up from my chest, Jordan looked at me with sympathy.

“
Goddamn it,” I said,
finally, slamming the article onto her credenza. “Can’t I catch a
goddamn break? Ever?”

“
Sorry, Alex.”

I shook my head, taking a deep breath to
calm myself. “Not your fault.”

* * * * *

Ten minutes later William appeared at my
door. “Hi,” he said. “Got a minute?”

“
Of course.” I jammed a
file into the open drawer I’d been working in, then hit it shut
with my hip.

William closed the door behind him. At the
sound of the click, I turned, puzzled.

With a shrug, he smiled. “Nothing bad. Just
too many prying ears out there.”

I tossed the files onto my desk, but rather
than head behind it, I took the seat next to him. I sighed. “I’ve
got so much to tell you.”

His face brightened. “Good.”

“
No,” I said, waving my
hands in front of me. “Not good.”

“
What is it?”

I opened my mouth, about to start with the
events of late last night, but I stopped myself. He had such a
pleasant expression on his face that I didn’t want to wipe it away
with terrible news.

“
You know what? I’d really
rather you go first,” I said.

He didn’t need me to prompt twice. “Okay.”
He took a breath, and I noticed again the color of his eyes. Like
the lake in the afternoon. “I know that watching Dan Starck win
that award at the Davis dinner was tough for you last night. It had
to be. But,” he touched the back of my hand for the briefest
moment, surprising me with the gesture, “you handled the ordeal so
well. Better than anyone else would have.”

I shook my head to brush away that notion,
but he continued, “No, really. You came across with real
class.”

That made me smile. “Well, it’s just like
you said in the parking lot. We’ll get ’em next time, right?”

A flash of something I couldn’t describe
crossed his face, and he said, “Yeah,” with what seemed like
regret. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk with you about. Last
night . . .”

I opened my mouth, about to say that all
things considered, the night had been a whole lot less painful than
I’d expected it to be. That once I’d gotten over Dan’s acceptance
speech, I’d been okay. I wanted to focus on that part of the
evening so that William wouldn’t have any clue that I’d been
disappointed when the night ended and we were still just as
platonic as ever.

I stopped myself. Better to hear what he had
to say first.

Taking his time, he set his mouth in a line
and stared at me. I know it couldn’t have been longer than fifteen
seconds, but it felt long and drawn out. Like I was about to hear
some really bad news. It dawned on me, however, that he didn’t have
any idea how to phrase whatever it was he wanted me to know.

“
I wasn’t exactly there
for you,” he said finally.

Confused, I shook my head. “Don’t worry
about it. I was fine.”

William touched the back of my right hand
again. It sent a tingle up my arm. “Be that as it may, I’d like to
get a chance to talk about last night with you.”

“
Sure.” I shrugged my
shoulders, in a “go ahead” move.

“
No,” he said. “Outside
the office.”

I kept my face neutral.

“
What I’m trying to say
is,” he said, with raised eyebrows, “would you like to go out . . .
maybe tomorrow?”

Before I had a chance to answer, he added,
“It being a Saturday, I thought we might find something we’d like
to do . . .”

He let the sentence trail off, leaving the
rest to my imagination, perhaps.

He and I had gone out a few times before,
but it had always been for lunch during work, or for coffee after
hours. We’d usually taken an hour or two, purportedly to discuss
the day’s business, but often we’d find ourselves sharing tidbits
of personal information. The time flew, for me at least, and if I
had to take a stand on it, I’d have to say William enjoyed our
times together, too.

This, however, was a first.

“
That’d be nice,” I
said.

He smiled. Not a big one, but a gentle one.
“Great. It’ll give us a chance to talk. How about if I pick you up
around one?”

We decided to start with lunch and progress
from there. He wanted to know what sort of things I’d like to do.
At the moment, I couldn’t think of a one. I’d hoped to have some
time alone with William, almost from the first day he started. Now
presented with the opportunity, I couldn’t come up with any
options. But I wasn’t worried; I’m sure we’d make do.

“
Now, your turn,” he
said.

Momentarily perplexed, I furrowed my brows.
“My turn?”

“
You had something to tell
me about yesterday. Something ‘not good.’”

In a rush, the night’s events and Evelyn
Vicks’ murder tumbled to the forefront of my brain. I felt my
shoulders drop ever so slightly, as though weighted down with the
knowledge that I’d been able to forget when the chance of going out
with William popped in front of me.

“
Oh,” I said,
“that.”

I told him as much as I knew and about my
discussion with the detective last night. “I have to head over to
the police station to provide a set of fingerprints, since I was
there yesterday.” I suppressed a shiver of apprehension. “I just
can’t get over it. I mean, I’ve had people die before. I’ve had
people closer to me than Evelyn Vicks die. This death seems to be
hitting me harder.”

He leaned forward, reached for my hand. This
time, not with his fingertips, careful-fashion, but by taking it in
his own, gently. “Would you prefer we go out a different time?
Maybe wait till things settle down?”

“
No,” I said, touched by
his concern. “I’ll be fine. I can handle it. I’m tough.”

“
That’s right, you are.”
He shot me a smile, and stood up. “Okay, I’ll stop by later. But,
let me know if anything changes.”

“
Sure,” I said, thinking
that there was no way I would let anything change tomorrow’s plans.
“Oh,” I said, stopping him before he left. “There’s an article in
the paper—” I began.

“
Sandra
Stanek’s?”

“
You saw it?”

“
Don’t give it a thought.
No one’s going to pay any attention.”

I let myself smile too. “Thanks.”

As he left, I moved to sit behind my desk.
Jordan came around the open doorway. “You have a phone call,” she
said.

The tone of her voice coupled with the
puzzled look on her face made me ask, “What’s wrong?”

She bit the insides of her cheeks, cocked
her head and asked, “Exactly who is David Dewars?”

“
He’s on the line?” I
asked, reaching for the phone.

Just as my hand lifted the receiver, Jordan
headed back out the door. “Must have been some party last night,”
she said.

I didn’t understand her comment, but
answered the phone in my business-like voice. “Alex St. James.”

“
Good morning!”

My first reaction was that he sounded far
too happy. Or maybe it was just me, transferring my grief over Mrs.
Vicks to everyone else. I managed to answer, “Good morning,” more
out of habit than feeling, before he jumped in to take charge of
the conversation.

“
I’m sitting here, in my
corner office, overlooking beautiful Lake Michigan. The sunlight is
dancing on the water, catching the tips of the waves like glints of
morning joy. The variegations of the water produce the most
spectacular collection of blues in one place.”

I didn’t say anything. I had no idea what an
appropriate response would be to such poetic observations.

“
In other words, it’s a
beautiful morning. One of the best ever.” He paused for a beat.
“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“
To tell you the truth,
I’ve had better.”

His tone changed immediately. “I’m sorry to
hear that. Is there something I can do to help?”

“
I doubt that,” I said,
deciding whether or not to burden him with my lousy
news.

“
Have you given thought to
my offer?”

“
What offer was
that?”

His tone dropped even lower, slowed.
“Dinner, Alex,” he said, his voice softening as he said my name. He
had a smooth way of saying it, and it made me immediately annoyed
with myself for wanting him to say it again. “I was thinking maybe
tomorrow night. I know of a wonderful place not far from here that
has the perfect ambiance for quiet discussion.”

“
To tell you the truth . .
.” I began.

“
Or a place of your
choosing. Whatever would make you most comfortable.”

I’d been hoping for a handsome man to ask me
out one of these days, and here, in the course of five minutes I
had two. Feast or famine, I thought. “Actually,” I said, hearing
the smile in my voice as I spoke, “I have plans for tomorrow.”