Hazardous Duty (22 page)

The crowd went wild, though the debate
rules required silence. Cunningham was convincing. Very convincing. I could see
how he had people wrapped around his finger.

The debate continued. A crowd shot
panned to Veronica and Riley sitting in the front row. Of course Riley would be
here. Why was I surprised? Still, the sight of them together threw my emotions
into a tailspin.

“Isn’t that our neighbor?” Bill
whispered.

“Yep.”

“I wouldn’ve guessed him to be a part of
that crowd.”

“What do you mean?” I didn’t stay up on
the political scene the way I should. Obviously.

“Their noses are so high in the air they
have no idea what ‘middle America’ is about.
When Laskin talks about helping the middle class, everyone knows it’s a joke.”

“So, why do we keep re-electing him?”

“That’s why a lot of experts don’t think
he’ll be reelected this year. He’s got a terrible track record.” The reporters
behind us copied Bill’s earlier request and shushed us.

I turned my attention back to the big
screen, set up so even us peons in the nosebleed section could gaze upon our
fearless leaders. What if Laskin was a murderer? What would that mean for
Riley? If his future father-in-law was guilty, why would he be defending Harold?

Unless he purposely planned on blowing
it. That thought pulled me to a stop so fast it left skid marks on my brain.

I buried my head into my hands. That
would make Riley a coconspirator. I didn’t want to believe Riley could have a
hand in this mess. But there was no denying that he’d lied to me. Or, at least,
he’d kept things from me. Big things. Fundamental things. Three carat emerald
cut things.

When Bill wanted to slip out early to
avoid traffic, I let him lead me away. My head spun with too much information
to try and strike up a conversation as I plopped into his vintage mustang.

“Whadya think?” Bill asked. “Did you get
any answers?”

“More questions, actually.”

“You’ll have the chance to ask some of
those questions tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cunningham’s going to be on my show.
You can call in. I’m always in need of intelligent questions.”

“I have a better idea—can I go in and
watch?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Later that afternoon, I
realized I needed to find Cunningham’s girlfriend, the one from the pictures.
She appeared to be someone who worked for him. So, somehow, I needed to get
into Cunningham Law Offices.

I considered dressing as a custodian. I
contemplated faking a business deal. I even thought about being brazen and
walking in without an excuse. As I thought through all those brilliant plans,
they all ended up with me being hauled away by the cops. I needed something
better.

I hopped back onto the Internet and did
a search on his practice. Several criminal cases that they were handling came
up. I browsed through them, looking for something of interest.

Bingo.

His firm was representing a fast food
chain being sued for serving a boneless piece of chicken that had a bone in it.
The person eating it had choked and would have died if it hadn’t been for a
fellow customer who did the Heimlich.

I remembered hearing that the chain,
Wilbur’s Chicken, had been accused in the past of being cruel to the chickens
they raised. My next thought was so obvious that even Detective Parker would
have been able to detect it.

Sierra.

She would have a heyday with this.

I hurried downstairs and knocked at her
door, but no one answered. After standing there frustrated for a minute, it
came to me. Of course Sierra wasn’t home. The circus was in town.

***

Protestors gathered in front of The
Scope, a massive entertainment plaza where the circus would take place. I
pulled my van alongside the crowd, searching for Sierra. Finally I spotted her
locked inside a cage, wearing tiger ears and an animal-print leotard.

“Animals have rights, too! How would you
like to be caged?” Sierra shouted. Everyone around me cheered in agreement.

I honked and rolled down my window.
“Sierra!”

My friend turned to see who called her
name. “Gabby? Where have you been? We’re supposed to keep an eye on you, you
know?”

My best friend was sitting in a cage
with furry ears. Who needed looking after in this picture? On the other hand,
that might be my only hope of getting her sprung.

“I thought you’d never offer. Get in the
van.”

She threw her hands in the air. “But I’m
in the middle of a protest.”

“Hand over the ears to someone else,
She-ra. This is important.”

My friend scowled. “It better be. I’ve
been planning this demonstration for a month.”

Good thing, too. Rental on the tiger
outfit was always booked way ahead this time of year.

She climbed out of the cage and grabbed
a bag from beside it. As Sierra shoved her ears at a friend, I held my breath,
afraid she’d hand over the leotard right in public. It didn’t look like there
was room under it for much.

She settled for the ears, thank heavens,
and a moment later, she slammed the van door and looked at me skeptically.
“What’s going on?”

“I found out something about Cunningham
Law Offices.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“They’re defending Wilbur’s Country
Chicken in a law suit.” I played my trump card. “In essence, they’re supporting
a restaurant chain that’s cruel to animals. Cunningham could lose votes if your
organization decided to boycott him.”

“They’re taking up for that butcher
shop? Have I ever told you about what they do to their chickens?”

Only about six hundred times. All from
Sierra. “It’s awful. Don’t you think you should talk to someone at the firm?
Tell them what it will mean if word of this gets out?”

Sierra’s little orange and black striped
body trembled with outrage. “Onward, ho!”

We pulled away and five minutes later
stopped outside of Cunningham’s building. After I parked by the garage exit,
Sierra turned to me. “So, why are we really here?”

Rats! I kept forgetting that inside that
obsessed animal loving body lived a phi beta kappa who graduated near the top
of her class from Yale.

“I’m trying to figure out Cunningham’s
motive for killing his wife.”

She blinked. “You mean Michael
Cunningham?”

I nodded.

Sierra pressed her head into the seatback.
“On second thought, I don’t want to know the details. I’ll trust you.”

My friend opened the bag by the floor
and pulled out jeans and a cotton shirt. She squirmed around in her seat,
tugging on jeans.

“So, who was the woman with Riley this
morning? She was wearing a leather skirt.” Sierra rolled her eyes. “Some
people.”

Another reason to hate her. I was glad
I’d brought Sierra along. “She’s his fiancée.”

Sierra paused with her arms raised over
her head, shirt half on. Through the pink cotton, I heard the muffled word,
“What?”

I shrugged, then realizing Sierra
couldn’t see me, I said, “She introduced herself to me last night.”

She pulled on the shirt the rest of the
way, her gaze fixed on me. “That’s impossible.”

“Obviously not. I saw the ring. I saw the
articles announcing their engagement. I saw him hug her hello. It’s real.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Sierra
shook her head. “I mean, I saw the way he looked at you, the way he talked
about you. He can’t have a fiancée.”

I wanted to ask how he’d looked at me.
“Not the first man who’s been looking when his eyes should stay home where they
belong. In fact, maybe he should go into politics. Seems to have the traits for
it.”

“But that woman is totally not Riley’s
type.”

“I saw her, you didn’t. Trust me, she’s
every man’s type.”

“She’s too high maintenance. Riley’s
just a simple guy.”

“No, he’s actually a ‘hot shot’ lawyer
from California—the
newspaper’s words, not mine.”

“You been doing research on him?”

I shrugged. “A little.”

“You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“I just want some answers.”

“Did the answers make you feel better?”

I sucked in my cheeks as I contemplated
the question. “Not really.”

Sierra opened her door. I would worry
about Riley later. Right now, I needed to find some answers for Harold.

***

After a very persuasive argument with
the receptionist, Sierra and I ended up in the public relations office. We sat
in massive
leather
chairs across from a mahogany desk.

“I have nothing prepared,” Sierra
mumbled, frowning at the black animal skin making up her seat. “Are you sure
you have your facts straight?”

“Yes, I read several things about it
online. Michael Cunningham’s law firm is defending cruelty to animals by
representing the company in this case. They need to be shut down.”

A young man with trendy clothes walked
into the room. “Hello, ladies. How can I help you today?”

Sierra glanced at me before launching
into her shock and disillusionment upon finding out the company supported
restaurants that practiced animal cruelty. I would have never guessed she wasn’t
prepared, the way she charged ahead, talking on fast forward.

I glanced out the glass petition to the
faces walking by as she continued. I searched for that hair in the picture, the
earring. I wouldn’t find out anything by sitting in here.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where your
restroom is?” I asked.

The man gave me directions, and I left
Sierra to do what she did best—nag. My gaze wandered the block of petitioned
offices. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, I realized.

I walked past the bathroom. Just who was
this mystery woman? Cunningham’s secretary? A vice president of the company? An
intern?

The mermaid from the picture had been
located on the north side of the building. That would narrow my search. I
headed toward the opposite hallway. I’d walk by those offices and see what I
could find.

An older woman approached.
Keep your
head high, Gabby. Don’t give any hints that you don’t belong here.

I smiled and the woman continued past. I
let out my breath when no questions were asked. Maybe this wasn’t as tricky as
I’d made it out to be.

As I walked past the offices, I saw
blonds, redheads, brunettes with short hair, brunettes with curly hair, bald
men, women with white hair pulled into buns, a woman with long auburn hair, but
a heavyset build. The mystery woman remained just that—a mystery.

A noise at the end of the hallway
grabbed my attention. I looked up and saw Cunningham approaching, surrounded by
a gaggle of people. I spun around before he spotted me. The maze of chest level
office petitions wouldn’t offer many places to hide.

The space narrowed between us. I ducked
behind a divider and bent to tie my shoe. The voices became louder. I continued
playing with the strings, looping and unlooping them until I heard hear the
click of their heels across the tile behind me.

“I can’t stay,” I heard Cunningham say.
“I’ve got a meeting with my lawyer in thirty minutes.”

“If there’s anything we can do to
help . . .” a male said.

The crowd passed, not giving me a second
glance. Relaxing, I stood and wiped off my jeans.

“Can I help you?” My gaze snapped to a
bright-faced blond. Where had she come from? Her wide-eyes soaked in my
appearance.

“I . . . uh, I was
looking for the bathroom.”

She pointed in the opposite direction.
“It’s right over there.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I hurried back to
Sierra. We didn’t have any time to waste—I had to follow Cunningham.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“You were right. I can’t
believe that law firm is defending that slaughterhouse of a restaurant,” Sierra
said.

I rubbed my neck, waiting for Cunningham
to leave the building. I tried to care about the chickens, I really did. But
I’d seen what was left of Gloria Cunningham and somehow the senator defending
chicken abusers didn’t surprise me.

I would follow him. I would eavesdrop on
his conversation. I would get answers.

I glanced at Sierra, with her feathers
all ruffled. I’d give her a few seconds alone with Cunningham when I was done
plucking him.

Finally, a white Mercedes pulled from
the garage. Mentally thanking the State of Virginia for outlawing tinted windows, I
recognized Cunningham through the glass and pulled out after him. The Mercedes
wove through traffic until reaching the downtown tunnel. I stayed a safe
distance behind him, never letting the car out of sight. Ten minutes later we
pulled off the interstate into downtown Portsmouth.

“He’s going to the Bier Garden,”
I said, referring to a popular German restaurant. “You hungry?”

“Only for some good gossip.”

I found a parking space and we walked
down the sidewalk to the restaurant. As we approached the door, I hung back.
“Has he been seated yet?”

Sierra peered through the window. “I
don’t see him.”

“Okay, let’s go inside. But walk in
front of me, just in case.”

“You’re not going to get me killed, are
you?”

“I make no promises. But there’s safety
in numbers.”

The cool chill of the air conditioning
blasted us as we opened the door. I lingered behind Sierra, searching the
diners for Cunningham. I’d seen him come in. I knew he was here somewhere.

Finally, I spotted him sitting at a
corner table, away from other patrons. “Can we have that booth over there?” I
asked

The backs were high and with the right
angling, Cunningham wouldn’t spot me.

“Sure,” the hostess said.