The First Cut (Terrence Reid Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mary Birk

  When they’d finished eating, Von Zandt stood up from the table, smiling at Anne. He’d seated her next to him and spent the meal regaling her with stories of how he built his company when he was just a young man from the money he’d earned from gambling on horses.

  “Allow me to make the library available for you and Jonas to work this afternoon. I assume that there are things you can do inside—planning and perhaps communications with suppliers and workmen? It will be more comfortable than forging your way through the rain to the granary.”

  Thus, Anne found herself in the library working on re-configuring some of the design diagrams and organizing plant orders while Jonas addressed other aspects of the project. She noticed Von Zandt going into his office which, she had learned, adjoined the library, followed by Frederick. That was, she guessed, where he would keep anything about his accounts or his activities. She was wearing the wire underneath her layers of clothes, and when she was alone she would relay the information about the office location to Darby. This one-way wire thing was strange. She could talk to Terrence’s people, but they couldn’t talk to her, and there was no way for her to tell if anyone heard her. She guessed that made sense because she couldn’t exactly walk around with an earpiece and expect people not to notice.

  What made everything more difficult was that Anne didn’t quite understand what she was looking for. Darby’s instructions had been so vague. If she could find a way to get into the nearby village later this week, she’d let Darby know via the wire where to meet her so that she could get more guidance.

  Meanwhile, she’d just have to muddle through as well as she could. She checked her work email account and sent her mother and sisters each a quick message. Then she sent another one to Andrew letting him know she was fine. She thought of sending one to Terrence, but she doubted that would do any good. She’d already told him she hadn’t invited Andrew, and if he chose not to believe her, that was his problem. So if he was interested in how she and the baby were doing, he could just ask Darby.

  The thought of Darby brought Anne back to what she was supposed to be doing. She chewed on her pencil while she thought about exactly how to get the information she needed. Moira might be the best source. Certainly she would be a better prospect than the taciturn Frederick.

  Almost as if she’d conjured Moira up, the girl appeared at the doorway of the library. Anne smiled, and motioned for her to come in, and turned her computer screen slightly in Moira’s direction. “Would you like to see what we’re doing with the garden?”

  “Why should I care? It’s not my house.”

  “No reason. But it is a lovely garden. If you’re interested, I can explain what the plan is—how we’re bringing back the original vision of the garden design. If you’re not doing anything else, that is. I don’t mean to interrupt if you have other plans.”

  “I don’t have anything I need to do right now. I’m taking classes part-time, but I’m caught up with my coursework.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “IT.”

  Anne looked at her. “IT?”

  “Information technology.”

  “Any particular area?”

  “Information security. You know, on computers.”

  “Really?”

  “What did you think I’d be studying? Cooking? Fashion?”

  “I really hadn’t thought. I would think information technology would be more useful than cooking or fashion—though there’s nothing wrong with either of those. But I think what you’ve chosen is certainly more marketable.”

  Moira nodded, appeased. “I think so, too. And it’s fun. You can do it anywhere. Walter likes me to go with him when he travels, so I need something I can work on wherever we are.” She gave a typically teenage expression of exasperation. “He thinks I’m just playing computer games—that I’m just killing time, but I’m not. I’m really good at it.”

  Anne sighed. “I’m not. In fact, I’m just about ready to throw my laptop through the window.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not really sure anything’s wrong. It’s probably me. Or maybe the software.”

  “What software?”

  “It’s for garden design. It’s supposed to be the best, but for me, at least, it’s clumsy to work with. I wish someone would design one that was friendlier to people like me whose talent doesn’t lie in the technology, but who need desperately what the software is supposed to do.”

  Moira’s face perked up with interest, and she flopped into a chair beside Anne where she could see the screen. “What do you mean, clumsy?”

  “I’ll show you.” Anne explained the issues she was having, demonstrating on the program as she talked. “Generally, it works fine, but for these more tricky elements, it’s a pain.”

  Moira nodded, then slid the laptop over to position it in front of her. She played with the program for a while, asking questions as she went. “Give me a moment.” Not ten minutes later, Moira, wearing a self-satisfied smile, turned the computer screen back to Anne. “User error.”

  Anne frowned. “No way.”

  “Way. See here.” Moira walked Anne through what she’d been doing wrong.

  “You’re right.” Suddenly, the design clumsiness was gone; Anne realized she just hadn’t been doing some of the steps correctly. Counterintuitive, some of this techno-geek stuff. “That’s amazing. Thank you so much. This will be such a help.”

  “No problem.” Moira tried to cover her pride with nonchalance. “Just let me know if you have any other problems with it.”

  “I will. I definitely will.”

  Moira lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “It’s kind of personal, but I don’t have anyone really I can talk to about things like this. My mum’s hopeless and my Aunt Glynnis, well, she’s in a worse position than me.”

  Anne tried to think where this was going, but she didn’t have a clue. “Things like what?”

  “Men.”

  Anne had to swallow a laugh. “I’m not sure I’m doing any better on that front right now. But I’m happy to help if I can.”

  “I think Walter is getting tired of me.” Moira said, not making eye contact. “He treats me like I’m a servant or something. He tells me what we’re doing, where we’re going, but never asks if that’s what I want. I mean, I want to go, but it would be nice to be asked, like he cared what I want, like I matter.”

  “I’m sure you matter.”

  “Lord Reid told me you choose the places you two go for vacation. That he goes wherever you want to go. I thought that was so romantic.”

  Anne almost swallowed her tongue. It was romantic, albeit completely untrue, and she wondered why he’d said such a thing to Moira. Besides their honeymoon, Terrence and she had never been on vacation together. But he must have had some reason for saying it, so she responded with just a smile.

  Moira pressed her. “So how do you do it? Make him care about you like that?”

  Anne couldn’t think of an answer, the image flashing in her mind of how he’d looked at her at the hotel when he’d found her with Andrew, how he’d asked if she’d already had Andrew up in her bed, how he’d told her he was done with her.

  She decided to just be honest. “I’m not sure he still does.”

  “He does. He wouldn’t get so jealous if he didn’t care. Walter would just be relieved if some handsome artist took me off his hands.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t want me anymore.”

  “Moira, a woman’s life is important with or without a particular man.”

  “Maybe your life. Not mine.” Moira gave a little-girl-lost smile and went over to knock on Walter’s office door.

  Anne heard a voice call out, then Moira opened the door and went in, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter 67

>   STANDING NEAR the main lily pond, Anne directed the workmen where to plant the various bushes and trees that had been delivered earlier that week. One part of her mind was on what she was doing, but the other part was pondering how to get into Walter’s office and what she could do there if she did. If he kept everything electronically, she assumed it was password protected. Maybe he had hard copies of some of his records in the office, though. She could certainly look for those if she could just find an opportunity to get into his office when no one was around.

  The lock was a problem. Walter seemed to be careful to keep the door to the office locked when he wasn’t there. She decided to get herself invited inside the office so she could at least look around. That way she could plan how best to spend her time if and when she finally got the chance to get in there alone. Did he use a simple password like most of the rest of the world? She doubted it. Not if he was really involved with the things Terrence and Darby said. If he were that kind of a man, he wouldn’t use a password that was the name of his wife or girlfriend, or his dog—if he’d had one. If the password was something tricky, and if she couldn’t find it written down somewhere, she’d be out of luck.

  If she couldn’t find what she was looking for in Walter’s office, she’d have to search the rest of the house. Where else would Walter keep incriminating evidence? It would have to be somewhere he considered safe. His bedroom? She tried to think whether he would be likely to keep a private stash of papers in his bedroom. Maybe. But Walter’s bedroom was one room she definitely did not intend to go into unless she knew for sure that Walter was out of the house.

  This spying was much harder than Darby made it out to be. So far no one at Lynstrade Manor was talking about secret accounts or terrorists, and she certainly never saw any confidential looking papers laying around. Anne couldn’t think of anything to do to get the information they wanted other than getting access to Walter’s computer or looking in his desk. She pressed her finger to her lips as she thought, wondering what Terrence would do if he were here. The realization came to her that she didn’t actually know very much about what her husband did, or how he did it. How much did her husband know about what she did? Probably not much more than she did about his work.

  Suddenly, Anne’s attention was caught by something on the other side of the pond. She uttered a distressed cry and ran toward one of the workmen, stopping him just before he started trimming the roots of a rare variety of Japanese maple so he could stuff it into a too-small hole.

  * * * * *

  Anne got her chance to see Walter’s office sooner than she’d thought. After dinner that night, he offered to take her on a tour of the house. Moira moved as if to join them, but he held up a staying hand.

  “Moira, why don’t you go call your mother and see how she’s doing.” It was an order, not a question.

  The defiant look on Moira’s face surprised Anne. She hadn’t thought Moira capable of holding her own against Walter. “I called her this morning. Aunt Glynnis is staying there with her since Henry is here this weekend.”

  Anne wondered what Henry Von Zandt had to do with Moira’s aunt.

  The look Walter sent the girl was cold enough to freeze blood. “You’re behaving like a spoiled child. Do as I told you. I’m going to show Lady Anne the house and the artwork. You’ve seen it all before and it bores you, as you’ve told me numerous times.”

  Anne tried to intervene. “I wouldn’t mind if Moira came with us. She’ll give another perspective.”

  Walter placed both hands on the table as if trying to contain his temper, but his eyes didn’t leave the girl. “Moira has other things to do.”

  The unspoken threat in the man’s voice sent a ripple of fear through Anne. Evil, she thought, and she wondered if Walter Von Zandt was really just a money man.

  Moira’s bottom lip went out in a pout, but she drew herself up and left the room, attempting a show of dignity.

  Walter metamorphosed back into his role of charming gentleman of the manor, but his display of anger had scared Anne. This was unmistakably a man who could be dangerous. Until now, she realized, she hadn’t really believed it.

  Calling up every last scrap of acting ability she could muster, Anne acted her role of appreciative guest while he led her through the rooms of the first floor, expounding on the paintings and sculptures and the artists who’d created them. She murmured her admiration at the quality of the artwork, surprising not just Walter, but herself, with the knowledge she’d gained about art from having been a part of Andrew Grainger’s life. He professed to be impressed by her familiarity with many of the artists, especially the American ones, some of whom she’d met with Andrew.

  When they came to his office, Walter unlocked it and ushered her inside. This was what she’d been hoping for earlier, but now she just wanted to get away from him. She knew she couldn’t do this much longer, no matter how much Terrence needed her help. She just didn’t know what she was doing, and she was scared in a way she had never been before.

  Walter didn’t seem to notice her unease. “Please sit down.”

  Anne sat on a dark leather sofa and looked around, trying to memorize where everything was situated. For the time being, she was here, and as long as she was here, she might as well go on as she’d planned.

  He went over to an intriguing drinks table that was a stunning, and no doubt expensive, variation on the trite world globe version. Walter Von Zandt’s globe was composed of interlocking steel rings on which continents and islands floated. Through the network of the world, a mirrored surface shimmered like molten silver, and suspended in the silver sat an array of crystal decanters whose contents shimmered like the sunset.

  “Would you like a cognac or would you prefer something else?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “Nothing, thank you, but you go ahead.”

  “You do drink, don’t you?” His voice was teasing, and he winked at her. “Beautiful women and wine go together like music and dancing.”

  She wanted to gag at the unoriginal remark, but she gave a little smile, trying to think of some reason, besides being pregnant, of course, for not drinking. “Actually, I’m not much of a drinker. It goes right to my head.”

  He laughed. “Then by all means, have a drink.”

  She kept her smile steady. “No, thank you.”

  Walter lifted a hand, indicating surrender. He opened the globe with a slight flourish, and poured himself a cognac. He sat on the sofa, far enough away from her so that she would not feel crowded, but close enough so that they could easily converse. Swirling the golden liquid around the high sides of the delicate glass, he fixed his gaze on her.

  “I assume your husband has spoken of me to you.” His eyes studied her intensely.

  Ripples of panic skittered through Anne’s chest. She willed her heart to slow down, then managed to answer in a surprisingly normal voice.

  “Yes, he did. Briefly, that first night we had dinner.”

  “I suppose he told you he suspects some of my business dealings are . . . well, in word, illegal?”

  She tried to look innocent but not stupid. “Terrence doesn’t talk to me about his work. But he did say he’d rather I wasn’t working for you.”

  “But still you agreed to do so.” His words seemed to be asking something of her, something she couldn’t quite understand.

  “Yes. Jonas needed me, and I liked the challenge of your garden as well.” Then she took a gamble, asking a question she wouldn’t have asked if she were doing what she was doing. “So, are you involved in illegal activities?”

  Von Zandt met her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

  She breathed out, nodded. “I didn’t think so.”

  He moved a little closer to her on the sofa, not enough so that she could object, but enough to make her uneasy. “So, is it your habit not to honor your husband’s wishes?” His oddly formal question wasn’t accusatory, rather, it was as if he was trying to puzzle her out.

  “This is my wo
rk. His work is his. I don’t tell him how to run his career, and I don’t let him tell me how to run mine. Do you think that’s odd?”

  He lifted his shoulders, smiled with a charm she no longer trusted. “Perhaps I’m old-fashioned. My wife does as I tell her.”

  Anne laughed, not so much because she thought he was funny, but in relief. He didn’t know that Terrence had sent her here. “That is a bit old-fashioned, Walter. Or maybe it’s just very male.” Actually, Terrence and Walter had this in common, though she wasn’t going to confide that to Walter. It was precisely her not doing what Terrence wanted that had caused the long estrangement between them. Old-fashioned as the attitude might be, it was certainly alive and well in the contemporary male population as far as she could tell.

  “Your husband is just not the right man for you. With the right man, you’d want to do as he suggested.” He laid one hand on the sofa between them and inched it slightly in her direction.

  Anne felt her skin prickle all over, and her stomach contracted in an odd cramp. She concentrated on looking unruffled to keep her hand from going to her belly to reassure herself that the baby was okay. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about my husband with you, Walter. Obviously, you two have some differences. That’s between you and Terrence. But he is my husband, so let’s talk about something else.” She stood up and walked over to his desk. “Do you actually work here? Don’t you have an office in Glasgow?”

  Von Zandt leaned back against the sofa, obviously displeased both that she’d moved away from him, and that she’d changed the subject. But he recovered his equanimity quickly and a ghost of a smile teased his lips. “Yes, and in Frankfurt.” He took a sip of his cognac, studying her as if he were a snake and she were a mouse he wanted very badly. “I work here sometimes when it is more convenient to me. Or at the flat in town.”

  “Where Moira lives.”

  He inclined his head in that way she’d thought elegant when she’d first met him. Now it made her feel like he was conserving energy for a deadly strike. “Temporarily.”