15 Minutes

by Larissa Reinhart

  "Miss Albright'll be with David in a minute, Elaine." Ed smiled and shooed her out with a flick of his hand. "Let me know if anything happens with Sarah, won't you? I worry about her. To be honest, I think it's pretty crappy to hire an investigator to watch your wife. Believe me, I once had a wife worth investigating."

  "Mrs. Waverly brings her husband lunch every day. Do you know why?"

  "Because that's the kind of gal she is." Ed stood, walked to the door, and opened it. "I'm sure her record is clean as a whistle."

  “Quick question. Does Mr. Waverly often go fishing?"

  "Fish? David?" Ed laughed. "He has the patience for golf and poker, but not for fishing. Fishing is not on David's agenda."

  I almost asked Ed why David would have gone fishing on the Playbuoy that morning, but the pileup of coincidences put my stomach on edge.

  "Nice to meet you, Maizie. I hope all this interest in Nash Security isn't because you're dating Nash." Ed clasped his hands to his chest. "You'll break my heart."

  I shook my head and couldn't help but smile.

  "Thank God. All better." He thumped his chest. "I had to ask. You're his type, but then I guess you're every man's type. Be careful with Nash."

  My face heated, and I lost my Julia Pinkerton coolness. "Nash's type? Be careful? What do you mean?"

  Ed winked. "Nash isn't tame. If he were a cat, I'd call him feral. He bites."

  An extraordinary image flooded my mind, and I had to walk away from Ed Sweeney before embarrassing myself.

  Don't even think about it, I told myself.

  But there it was. Scenes of feral Nash and indecent biting filled my head when I needed to prepare myself for an epic apology to David Waverly. Bad enough my first impression of Nash had been seeing him half-naked.

  I needed a brain detox. I found a ladies’ room, locked myself in a stall, and did a deep breathing exercise. With my blood pumped, the images got better in a worse way. Exiting the stall, I pushed up into a Sun Salutation and dropped into Down Dog. Only the supreme ickiness of doing yoga on a bathroom floor helped to clear my mind off Nash’s nakedness. And focus on germs.

  My sympathy for Nash's situation had obviously warped my feelings for him. My therapist called it a version of the wounded bird syndrome. I wasn't always sure if I was the bird or the nurse, but in either case, I had a poor track record with dating. I was overdue for a therapy session. Just after I cleared up this problem for my little bird, Nash.

  Which brought me back to Ed Sweeney's little bird who had told him Nash had dropped the Waverly case. It must have been David Waverly. But David Waverly knew I would be checking on his wife this week.

  Weird.

  The bathroom door opened and Elaine the receptionist walked in. "Oh my stars.” She began to back out.

  I popped up from Down Dog. "I'm ready to see Mr. Waverly."

  Elaine knocked on Waverly's door and held it open. Whereas Ed Sweeney had been into sailing, David Waverly stuck to generic art prints. He rose from behind his gigantic desk. The kind with carving and lots of polished swirls in the wood. One more cluttered than Ed Sweeney's, but more orderly than Nash's.

  "I wasn't expecting you, Maizie." Waverly flashed me a guarded smile. "I hope Nash didn't send you."

  "He doesn't know I'm here." I shook his hand, remembering to slip mine out before he tightened his grip.

  His sweaty palms helped.

  "I know you're upset over today's news about Mrs. Waverly. Have you heard from her?"

  "No." Waverly's lips thinned. He waved a hand toward a chair before his desk. "I knew it was just a matter of time. Nash shouldn't have been so quick to make up his mind."

  I dropped my backpack on the floor and lowered myself into the chair. “Is Nash still watching the Cayenne, then?"

  "No. I fired him."

  I almost shot out a "How can you fire somebody who quit" but caught myself. "I don't understand. Nothing happened for a month and now that something's happened, you give up? I know you're angry at Nash—”

  "I have my evidence and no longer need his services." The broken capillaries in his nose darkened.

  "But evidence of what? You don't even know what happened."

  "Here's what I'd like to know. I'd like to know how many times she's slipped away in the last month without Nash knowing. You got lucky." He emphasized the "you" with a point.

  I didn't feel lucky. "I missed her by minutes. You didn't happen to see her at the club, did you?"

  "No."

  "When was the last time you saw her?"

  His nose burned brighter. "Just what are you insinuating?"

  "I'm only trying to understand what happened."

  "Miss Albright, you don't need to understand. My wife left with another man. It's not your business anymore. You can't play detective because I fired your associate. It's done." He stood and walked to the door.

  “Wait. What about Nash? You can't hold him responsible. He did his job, whether you want to use him or not."

  "He did a poor job." Waverly's eyes narrowed. "You tell Nash if he mentions a word about my wife around town, I will bury him. I don't care if Ed Sweeney is brokering a deal or not."

  I stalked to the door. "Nash isn't like that. He's not going to air your dirty laundry just because you fired him."

  Waverly kept his hand on the lever, preventing my escape. "Why do you think you know Nash so well? You've figured him out in what, a day? You think people are honest with you because you're a famous celebrity? I tell you what, Miss Albright. We enjoyed seeing you play detective on TV, but entertainment news reveals your actual exploits. We know all about you. But you don't know anything about us."

  I had a lot of questions and an uncomfortable feeling David Waverly was right. I didn't know anybody in Black Pine except family. Because a continent separated us for most of my life, I didn't even know them well.

  At the receptionist desk, Elaine gave me a placid smile that kept her true feelings behind her teeth. Probably wondering why I visited Ed Sweeney and David Waverly. And if I truly were a side of fries. Or maybe still wondering why I did yoga in public bathrooms.

  "I thought Sarah Waverly was going to the club this morning,” I said. “I couldn't find her. Did she mention where she went after she dropped off Mr. Waverly's lunch?"

  "You should ask David, not me.” Her tone made it clear she had not been impressed with my yoga moves.

  “I don't think he knows.”

  She gave me a condescending “you look dumb which makes me feel smart” smile. "When Sarah walked through the lobby this morning, she was talking on the phone. Not that I was listening, but she was loud. I heard her say, 'we'll talk about it at the club.' So before you start asking other people, ask her husband."

  “She met her husband before he went fishing this morning?”

  "Fishing?" She laughed. "I don't think so. He often breakfasts at the club with business associates. He probably met his wife for breakfast and you missed her."

  "Probably," I said aloud, but thought, not likely. And by the way, not only was he fishing, he had sweaty palms and a bad case of irrational anger. Like he's guilty of something.

  I didn't know Waverly well, but I knew plenty of moody folks. David Waverly did moodiness better than actors. Perhaps thinking his wife had snuck off for a canoodle gave him sweaty palms and irrational anger toward Nash.

  Maybe Waverly thought Sarah had been canoodling with Nash all along. That would give Waverly cause to "ruin" him.

  Just like the “Criss Cross Double Cross” episode in Kung Fu Kate, Season Two. Except for the “canoodling.” No one canoodled on Kung Fu Kate.

  Maybe Sarah disappeared on the very day I began watching her because she had run off with Nash. And they both knew I'd suck at surveillance. A great opportunity to sneak away. Nash would give the appearance of searching for her until the coast was clear for him to join Sarah.

  I didn't like that idea.

  "Insecure much, Maizie?" said my inner Julia. No way w
as he canoodling with Mrs. Waverly. She wasn't even his type.

  I was. According to Ed Sweeney.

  Renata the therapist would have a field day with those shallow thoughts. Not to mention the split-personality slippage.

  I scooted out the BPG glass doors and found Lucky resting on her kickstand. Just hours ago, Lucky had been a blue convertible. I consoled myself that I had enough Spayberry in me to learn to like Lucky. Besides dirt bikes burned more calories than convertibles.

  Tossing on my backpack and helmet, I aimed Lucky toward the old business highway and teetered toward the Nash Security Office, hoping to get more questions answered.

  Or if nothing else, grab a donut from Lamar's shop.

  At the old Dixie Kreme building, I inhaled the alluring aroma of glazed goodness, but my mission sent me zipping up the stairs past the siren call of donuts. I knocked on Nash's door and slipped inside at the holler to "come on in."

  I found Lamar sacked out in the recliner and Nash pacing from inner to outer office. His earlier polo and slacks had disappeared. Now a faded Scorpions concert t-shirt clung to his biceps and frayed jeans hugged his thighs.

  Did I say hugged? I meant covered. Modestly.

  "I just came from the Black Pine Group. David Waverly said he fired you.” I shoved thoughts of Nash's possible affair with Sarah Waverly to the back of my mind. But studied his reactions. Just in case.

  "Don't get him started," said Lamar. "I told him firing is better than the other possibilities David Waverly could deliver."

  "What were you doing at the Black Pine Group?" Nash stopped pacing.

  "I thought I'd apologize to David Waverly for losing my tail on his wife."

  "That's nice," said Lamar. "You hear that, Nash?"

  "My hearing is excellent, Lamar. Why in the sam hell would you do something like that?" He folded his arms over the winged skull logo.

  "I was worried about you. You said David Waverly was going to ruin you."

  "Isn't that nice?" said Lamar. "She's worried about you."

  "That's none of your business." Nash pointed a finger in my direction. "Your job does not include worrying about me."

  "He threatened you, if you don't keep quiet about his wife leaving." So pleased with the "your job" phrase, I refrained from pointing out that if David Waverly ruined Nash I would be out of a job. "The truth is I didn't actually apologize. I had planned on it, but then forgot after hearing he fired you. He was rather rude."

  Nash waved a hand, dismissing Waverly's rudeness.

  "Did you find out anything more about Sarah and where she went?" I sat on the couch.

  "Nope." Nash turned his back on me to pace. "Waverly had the Cayenne towed to a local garage. Seems like he's done with his wife. If Sarah returns, she'll be forced to call a cab or hitch a ride home."

  "I'm worried."

  "I told you not to worry about me. I'm moving on."

  "Not about you." I set aside his "moving on" for later analysis. "Waverly doesn't fish. Like at all."

  Nash stopped pacing and turned. "Say that again."

  "Two different people couldn't believe Waverly would spend the morning fishing. And Waverly and his wife were supposed to meet at the club this morning."

  Nash looked at Lamar. "Damn hinky business."

  Lamar opened one eye to fix on Nash. "Be careful."

  Nash walked to a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small duffel bag. Slinging it over his back, he looked at me. "You coming?"

  "Where are we going?"

  "The Waverly home."

  "What if Sarah Waverly is there?"

  "Then we say, 'so glad you made it home safely without your car. Your husband is a supreme asshole. Have a nice day.'"

  "What if she's not home?"

  "I want proof that she really left her husband. I'm rigging a camera so I can see if Sarah Waverly does get home safely."

  "You're very concerned about Sarah Waverly."

  "You're the one who told me she left her papaya purse in the car and a woman always carries her purse."

  Lamar smiled. "Well, then."

  "Enough with the 'well thens.’ I don't need any thinly veiled told-you-so's, Lamar.” Nash jerked his chin to the door. "Let's get going. Keep your ears open, Lamar."

  eleven

  #NoFishing #VetteMan

  We rode in Nash's Silverado, which I appreciated as my thighs couldn't take another crosstown trip on Lucky. At the entrance to Platinum Ridge, Nash signed us in for a "security evaluation" at the Waverly residence. He pointed at the dashboard clock, waiting for the gate to lift.

  "We don't have much time." He drove past the guardhouse. "Waverly might swing by here after work. I never saw him come home before seven, but today's been odd all the way around."

  "I thought we were checking to see if Sarah came home and installing a camera?"

  "Yep."

  His “yep” didn't instill much confidence. Particularly when we parked in the cul-de-sac, two houses away from the Waverly home. I hopped out and trudged after Nash.

  At the Waverly mailbox, Nash opened his duffel bag and pulled out a small lawn service sign. He planted the sign in the mailbox garden and dusted his hands.

  I pointed to the sign. ”Does the camera have a DVR? Must be pretty small."

  He shot me a look of surprise, then nodded. "Only a quarter-inch thick. And motion sensitive. I'll check on it in the morning. If she's home, I'll grab it on our way out."

  "Cool. We only had props for Julia Pinkerton, but Detective Earl King showed me his covert surveillance gadgets. He had a button camera—”

  "Less is more, Miss Albright." Nash slipped the duffel over his shoulder and began walking up the drive. "Let's see if anyone is home."

  I hurried to catch him. "We're just ringing the bell and leaving if no one is home, right?"

  Nash glanced at me over his shoulder. "Do you think I'd condone breaking and entering?"

  "Of course not." I blushed. "You belong to a professional association with a code of ethics to uphold the law."

  "Damn right," he said. "But I also have David Waverly's security codes and permission to enter his house."

  "He fired you."

  "We haven't met yet to formally break the contract. And he's making this personal. The way I see it, if the codes are changed, I won't override them and enter. But if he hasn't changed the codes, then I can still enter. I want to know what’s going on.”

  He hopped up the brick steps to ring the bell.

  I stopped on the second step and watched from behind a potted topiary. No one appeared behind the front door’s frosted glass window.

  Nash spun around and sped down the steps, following the slate slabs back to the drive. At the garage, he entered a series of numbers. The left garage door rose. "You coming in? Because I'm putting the door back down."

  I glanced at the neighbors' homes, checking windows for Nosy Nellies. "You see, there's this thing."

  "Come on. We don't have all day."

  "I really can't violate any laws. Look, I'm on probation and—”

  "Suit yourself." Nash disappeared inside the garage.

  Down the street, I heard the rumble of another garage door opening. I scurried down the steps and across the lawn to the garage, slipping inside before the door reached the midway point. The door jerked to a stop, half-closed. I flattened myself against the far wall.

  On the landing before the back entrance, Nash smacked the button to start the motor again. "I thought you were afraid of violating the law.”

  "I was worried someone would see me standing on the porch. I'll wait in the garage."

  "Your logic doesn't compute, but fine." Nash turned the handle on the door.

  I looked around the garage and realized there was no place to hide if Mr. Waverly returned.

  "Wait," I called, running across the garage. I charged up the stairs and through the open entrance door into a mud room. Jackets hung on hooks below nameplates. Labeled shelves held ac
cessories and shoes. Considering only two people lived in the house, Mrs. Waverly seemed overly addicted to her label maker.

  Nash stood before another security pad. He tapped in the code and shut the back door. "Are you going to hide in here or are you going to help me?"

  "Help," I whispered. "Although maybe I should be the lookout. From here."

  "I figured you had experience from your TV show. TV detectives B-and-E all the time."

  "I thought we weren't breaking and entering. You have the security codes."

  "Relax, Miss Albright. Take a deep breath or something. You look like you're going to pass out."

  I dropped to the floor into Down Dog and tried to center my chi.

  "Lord help me." From between my legs, I watched Nash (upside down) stride from the mud room and into a small hallway.

  Nash was right. Julia Pinkerton snuck into houses, offices, and schools all the time with no real consequence. Which was not true life, I know, but I needed a good dose of Julia before I had an anxiety attack and blacked out in the mudroom. Where someone would definitely find me.

  "Wait." I scrambled to my feet and ran after him.

  I found Nash in a large, sunny kitchen full of mahogany cabinets and dark granite. He stood over a desk built into the cabinetry, flipping through an agenda.

  "You've been here before." For surveillance or hanky panky?

  "Yep." He opened the top drawer and slid it shut. "Didn't find anything then, neither. Sarah Waverly's the most organized subject I've ever investigated. Look at this drawer."

  I looked. Caddies held each item, including one for used twist ties.

  Disturbing.

  "Can I see Mrs. Waverly's closet?" I asked.

  "Why?"

  "If she's this organized, I'll figure out the clothes she took with her. If she really did leave, it would tell me something about where she went and the type of person she left with."

  "Miss Albright, once again you surprise me." Nash shut the drawer and crossed the kitchen.

  I followed him down another hall, past an open great room and three closed doors. Persian rugs, potted plants, and mahogany tables abounded. Lifestyles of the rich and suburban. Nash stopped before each door to glance inside. At the foyer, an elegant staircase led to the second floor.