Shizzles. Was Ed here or not?
I leaned over the reception desk, tapped the space bar on her keypad, and swiveled the monitor toward me. The BPG screensaver slid away, revealing Candy Crush. I minimized the game, checked Elaine's other open windows, and found the scheduler. Under Ed Sweeney's name, the entire day had been blocked off for "vacation." I clicked on his vacation tab and learned Ed had taken two weeks.
Zoinkies, what a coinkydink.
Clicking on a tab showed Ed had scheduled the trip six months ago. "Savannah-Nassau Regatta. Limited contact."
The thrill of discovery petered out. Ed sailed often. No surprise there. I glanced at the closed conference room door, knowing Elaine and her upside down smile would be back soon. But why had Ed gone to David's two days before his vacation?
I escaped out of the "vacation" note box. Clicked on Monday's schedule. Ed's Mercedes had gone to the shop. Elaine had written, "Dealer pick up. Request rental." Again, nothing headline worthy. Ed must have skipped the rental to hang out at his friend's house, then taxied home. Designated driver stuff. Sarah was gone. Ed probably offered David consolation before he left on vacation, knowing they would toss back a few. They were poker and office buddies, after all.
Returning the screen to Candy Crush, I swiveled the monitor back. I still hadn't talked to William Dixon. The trip might not be wasted. As I reached for the monitor to check William Dixon's schedule, the BPG’s front door opened. Ushering in a hellstorm.
Jolene. In her post-interrogation garb. I didn't know Lilly Pulitzer sold yoga outfits. Adorbs. However, the visible anger didn't match. Lilly has a much happier vibe. Jolene should have gone with Helmut Lang.
"What are you doing here?" Jolene strode forward, each step marked by a finger jab. "I told you to drop this nonsense. Do you know what you did?"
I thought over the various things I had done. Reporting a painting had gotten her in the most trouble, but I didn't want to take a chance on saying the wrong thing. "I heard you had to speak to the police. I hope it went well."
"You hope it went well?"
I nodded, focusing on summoning Julia, and edged around Elaine's desk.
"I warned you." Jolene paced toward me, forcing me around the desk. "I told Wyatt I'm going to sue him. He knows I mean it because I've done it before."
"Jolene, please. I understand you want to sell your half of the business, but sue him? We're trying to figure out what happened to Sarah Waverly. It's not personal."
"Getting questioned by the police is personal, Maizie. Very personal. Kind of like how you'll feel when you end up in a California prison."
"Totally get that." We had rounded the desk and I backed toward the hallway of offices. Where was Julia when I needed her? "I guess you must be really worried about David Waverly."
"What are you implying?"
I stopped before the office door interring Elaine and the rest of BPG. "No one knows where David Waverly's gone. And you two seemed...friendly. You saw him Friday on the boat, Saturday at the cove, and Sunday for poker, right?"
Jolene's blue eyes glittered. The same way a shark's fin glitters as it pushes out of the water and hits the sunlight.
The door behind me opened, revealing a packed house. Standing room only in the BPG conference room. Everyone but David Waverly and Ed Sweeney.
William Dixon strode through the door and closed it behind him. "What's going on out here? Is there a problem?"
Jolene's mouth pursed. "Bill, I want to talk about David."
Ignoring Jolene, William glanced at me. "Can I help you?"
"I was looking for Ed."
He turned back to Jolene. "About David. Can you wait in my office?"
"Sure, Bill." Jolene leaned toward me and muttered, "We're not finished. Good luck with your next probation meeting.” The implied threat in her eyes promised bad luck in my next probation meeting.
That woman might be scarier than Vicki.
Dixon watched Jolene sashay down the hall, then turned to me. "Ed's on vacation. You were in his office yesterday, waiting to talk to me?"
"That's right. About David Waverly, actually."
"You were working for David. You and Wyatt Nash." Dixon's voice dropped and he stepped closer. "In fact, Waverly had employed Nash for the last month."
I nodded and scooted back a step.
He pushed forward. I slid back. We tangoed toward the lobby.
"Are you still working for Waverly?"
"Not really." I hedged, unsure of where this conversation headed. "Aren't you friends with David? I heard he didn't show up for work yesterday. Any idea where we went?"
Dixon's stern features darkened. "Tell me what you know about the money."
My butt collided with the reception desk. "What money?"
"The Black Pine Group funds. How can you be investigating Waverly's wife and not notice what's going on in his bank accounts?"
"Um." Note to self: ask Nash about bank accounts.
Dixon edged closer, looming over me. "If you and Wyatt Nash are any kind of detectives, you'll find those funds."
"Um?" I had run out of words and room. I slid along the desk until my butt touched air.
His finger shot out and stopped three millimeters from my throat. "You think we don't know people? You find our money or I'm making some calls."
"People?"
"People." He peppered the final word with a look that would make an evil villain flinch.
I flinched, too. Then got the hells out.
I spent about thirty seconds looking for Lucky when it occurred to me to look for Nash's Silverado instead.
"Really?" I said. "It's still daylight. Not that I don't appreciate a lift. I swear the helmet is a million degrees. Luckily, my trainer Jerry says sweat is good for—”
"Is Ed Sweeney inside?"
I shook my head. "He's on vacation."
"Get in." Nash jerked his head at the passenger door. "There's been a development."
I hurried around the truck and clambered inside. Before I could get my seatbelt on, Nash peeled out of the parking lot. The quick swing threw me against his shoulder. I pushed away, rubbing my nose.
"I have some developments, too," I said. "You won't believe what William Dixon told me."
"David Waverly is dead."
"Oh." My head fell against the seat back.
“Lamar's buddy on the force said Fulton cops got around the vehicle warrant by bringing in a K9 unit. The K9 smelled the body in the trunk."
"Wow."
Nash cut me a sharp glance. "Are you okay?"
"Sure." I turned to look out my window and pinched my thumb skin. "Where are we going?"
"You said Ed Sweeney was in that taxi Monday night. He didn't mention it when you talked to him Tuesday. He's the last person who saw Waverly alive, that we know of. We're headed to his house before the police figure it out."
"He's not home. He put in for a vacation six months ago for a sailing trip."
"Dammit." Nash swerved the truck into a parking lot, spinning the wheel. The Silverado fishtailed and slammed to a stop facing the road.
I slowly eased forward in my seat, pulling the seatbelt from its tight cinch.
The black Sprinter van drove past the parking lot and whipped into a Mrs. Winter's Chicken across the street.
I hoped Al didn’t have a boom mike especially made for picking up conversations in trucks. Knowing Vicki, she’d probably find it a worthy investment.
Grabbing his phone out of the console, Nash looked at me. "Are you sure about this? You just talked to him yesterday. He doesn't mention going to Waverly's the night before and doesn't mention he's leaving on vacation the next day. That's pretty damn hinky."
"We didn't have much time to talk. I went in to speak to Dixon and he had an emergency that interrupted our meeting. And now I know what that was all about. And it's important."
"First things first. Let me see if I can talk to Ed."
"Did you tell the police about the taxi?
”
"And get accused of obstruction again? They have a tip to check the Community Management security footage. They'll figure it out. We need to get to Ed first before he's sitting in an interview room and waiting on charges."
"You don't think he could have murdered David Waverly? Should we be talking to a possible killer who stashes people in Corvettes?" I realized my voice had gone all high and reedy, but I couldn't help it.
"Are you going to hyperventilate?" Nash placed a hand on the back of my neck and squeezed. "Maybe you should lean over."
That hand worked better than Prozac. I took a deep breath. "I'm fine."
"Listen, I saw the pictures you left at the office. That wasn't Ed in the Corvette Wednesday morning. We know Ed went home in a taxi on Tuesday. Someone else, trying to look like David Waverly, was driving the Corvette the next morning." He slipped his hand off my neck and clamped it on the steering wheel. "That was solid investigative work."
"Thanks."
"I'm still not sure if Ed Sweeney is involved. That's why I want to talk to him." He thumbed through his phone's contacts. "You can wait in the truck."
"No, I can handle it," I said quickly. "If Ed's on a murderous rampage, he's only been charming to me."
"Ted Bundy was also charming."
"I thought you were trying to help me feel better." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Before you talk to Ed, you should hear what William Dixon told me. We might have a motive." I repeated my encounter with Dixon.
"Holy shit." Nash started the Silverado.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the office. I can't think here and we need a plan. I didn't notice anything in the Waverly bank accounts, but I want to look again."
He had used "we." If I wasn't dealing with the realities of embezzlement and murder, I would have broken rule number two and hugged him.
twenty-three
#thetroublewithtears #ConfessionsofaJuliaPinkertonWannabe
“What people?" Nash was going to wear a rut in his office floor. Lucky for him they knew how to make strong floors back in the day. "What did Dixon mean by people?"
"I don't know." I squirmed on the couch, pulled a balled pair of socks from behind a cushion, and discreetly shoved them back.
"We don't have 'people' in Black Pine. If that's the 'people' he's talking about."
"I don't know what 'people' you're talking about either."
"You're telling me Julia Pinkerton never did a gangster episode?"
"Like the mob? I did a 'gangsta' episode where Julia infiltrated a gang to convince a teen who was a talented spoken word poet to resist the pressure to become a thug and—” I stopped at his look. "I know. Rule one."
"Did Dixon really say, 'our money?'" continued Nash. "Does he mean 'our money' or BPG's money? If it's 'our money,' who is our?"
"Some or all of the poker buddies? Ed Sweeney, Dixon, and Jolene?"
Rubbing his mouth and shaking his head, Nash turned to make another pass in his rut.
"Three out of the four work at Black Pine Group and Jolene has certainly been busy there, trying to get your business sold." She also seemed crafty enough but Nash seemed touchy on the subject of Jolene, so I kept that thought to myself. "William Dixon was hostile. Actually, the only one who's been forthcoming in that group is Ed Sweeney."
Nash snorted.
"Ed made the plans six months ago. And why would he go on a scheduled vacation when all this blew up? They'd know his plans. If I had schemed to double-cross my friends, I wouldn't take off. I'd wait it out to not look suspicious."
Nash stopped, shoved his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. "We don't know why Ed Sweeney visited David Waverly Monday night. Except his vehicle was in the shop."
"But now we know Waverly and maybe others had embezzled from the Black Pine Group. The loss was flagged on Tuesday, judging by the way Dixon acted when I spoke to Ed at their office. Do you think Ed could have figured it out before Dixon and went home with David to talk to him?"
"This is a mare's nest." Nash stopped at the tall window and peered out into the street. "I need to get us clear of this mess and the sooner the better. I can't see waiting on police procedures if there's a possible mob angle, even with the threat of obstruction charges. And then there's Jolene. She knows we turned in those photos of her and Waverly on the Bournes' dock. With Waverly dead, she's sure to get hauled in for questioning again. Probably made Black Pine PD's suspect list."
I drew out the words slowly, "Jolene said she might sue."
"She threatened to castrate me. She promised to sue. If she's not involved, I better find proof."
"Wow." I took her prison promises more seriously. "Did you find out why she met Waverly?"
"Jolene said they visited privately to talk about my buyout." He glared at the window. "In a bikini."
"It was a nice day."
"Don't worry. Waverly isn't her type. But she's the type who would use the bikini to distract him. Sarah was taken while Waverly and Jolene were on the lake. Jolene likely met with Waverly to persuade him to relax until the buyout went through."
I wasn't worried about Jolene and Waverly, but now I felt a teeny worried about Jolene and Nash. He had major post-relationship codependent complications. I focused on keeping my voice neutral. "Okay."
Nash scowled and pivoted to face me. "Let's regroup. At least one other person was partnered with Waverly in the embezzlement. Maybe something went sour and the partner needed to threaten Waverly and therefore kidnapped Sarah. That could be why he was cagey about reporting her disappearance. He obviously didn't deliver whatever they wanted and they killed him."
"It certainly sheds a different light on things."
"Ed's still our best lead since he's the last known person to see Waverly alive."
"He must be involved."
"I don't think he's smart enough to pull this off. He's a great salesman, but he's kind of soft."
"Soft?"
"The kind of guy who takes a couple weeks off every few months to go sailing." Nash's lip curled.
No wonder he had such disgust for my previous lifestyle. In Nash's book, taking a vacation made you soft. But then, my parents held a similar attitude toward work.
"Someone who plans a kidnapping is going to be more hard-edged than Ed Sweeney,” he continued. “Devious. Organized. Patient enough to wait for the opportunity to grab her. Ed's an instant gratification sort of guy."
"They waited until you weren't watching Sarah. But why would David have you watch her in the first place?"
"Exactly. Why have me watch a woman who is plainly not having an affair? David didn't have any evidence except a 'feeling.' And he was so desperate, he'd take an inexperienced actress watching her over no one." Nash slammed his fist into his palm. "That sumbitch must have known Sarah could be taken. He got himself and his wife killed."
I drew my breath in. "Sarah's dead?”
"Kidnapping's a felony case. They wouldn't risk keeping her alive. What would be the point now that Waverly is dead?"
"Oh."
"You look funny again." He moved to the couch and stood over me. "Are you going to cry?"
"No." I sniffled and pinched my thumb skin. "Of course not. I knew she could be dead."
A fat tear rolled off my cheek and splashed onto my lap. I pinched harder and two more tears ran down my nose.
"Hey." Nash dropped to a crouch and rested his hands on either side of my legs. "Don't cry. Maybe Sarah's not dead."
"I'm not crying." I rubbed my eyes. "Private investigators don't cry. Julia Pinkerton never cried. Except for the time that lab monkey died in 'Dirty Monkey Business.' But do you have a tissue?" A hiccuping sob broke and I clamped a hand over my mouth.
"Come on, now." Nash leaned forward and patted my shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm not giving up. I've got to see this through."
"Me, too," I whimpered. "I lost Sarah Waverly. If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't be dead."
"Maizie, don't
say that."
"It's true. I may as well have killed her myself." I tried a calming breath and it turned into a jerking wail that opened the tear-pressured floodgates.
Sighing, Nash scooted onto the couch and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
I cried harder.
He pulled me closer, fitted my head under his chin, and hugged me against him.
I clutched his Scorpions t-shirt in my fist and bawled. Heaving, jerky sobs that soaked his shirt and bloated my face into what would look like a blotchy, pink orb.
"I think we were duped. It's not your fault. Please don't cry." Slow, soft circles caressed my back.
"It's just so horrible." I pulled in a lurching breath. "Sarah and David Waverly are dead. If I didn't suck at everything, I might have seen who had taken her."
"You don't suck at everything." He relaxed the grip on my shoulder to smooth the damp hair away from my face. "I let you follow her when I knew you had no clue how to do a proper surveillance. Besides, you have a lot of ideas. You're pretty good at this."
I peeled my face from his shirt and blinked up at him through spiky lashes.
"You are.”
Nash had read my mind. And the Paul Newmans had lost their cool edge. They looked soft and unfocused, the blue dazzling in my tear-stained sight.
He stroked a finger across my cheek, caught a tear, and wiped it on his t-shirt. "You're more than a pretty face. Must be hard for some folks to see that."
"Thank you," I said, feeling ashamed and awkward and not pretty. A fresh bout of tears approached. I ducked my head against his chest. "It's not really me, though. Julia's smart. I just try to think like her."
"Darlin', look at me." Nash ran his thumb along the curve of my jaw and cradled my chin in his palm. The thumb traced the edges of my swollen bottom lip. "Don't talk like that. Julia Pinkerton is a character. Writers gave her thoughts."
"I'm sorry." I sniffled. "It does sound a little schizo. I don't hear voices or anything. I just try to channel what I think she'd do. When I say channel, I mean—”
His thumb pressed against my lips. "Maizie."
"Muh?"
"I meant the ideas are yours. Not Julia Pinkerton's."
15 Minutes Page 22
