Deadly Interest (27 page)

“
I thought you’d be
thrilled.”

“
Thrilled? Hardly. I don’t
get thrilled much anymore at my age.” He stared out over the city
of Chicago from my bright window, shook his head. “Nope. Never try
to bullshit a bullshitter.” He stood up then, made his way to the
doorway. “I knew you’d never let this one go, no matter what you
told me.” He gave an exaggerated wink. “And you knew it,
too.”

* * * * *

Owen sang a “poor me” song when I called him
to ask if he’d had those checks looked up yet. When he started to
rehash all the things gone wrong today for him I cut him off,
letting him know that I was busy and that, as soon as I hung up, I
still needed to return a phone call to David.

Instant change of tune.

Owen fell over himself at that, promising me
he’d have the information collected and ready to go by
mid-afternoon. “Good,” I’d said, in a false-encouraging voice. I
provided my fax number, and if that little stutter on the other end
of the phone meant that he was reluctant to send the records to my
office, then he wisely chose to keep his hesitation to himself.

Time to call David.

I identified myself to his secretary and her
efficient tone switched immediately to one of warmth. “Thanks for
calling him back, Ms. St. James. He’s out of the office right now
but he left a message for you.”

“
Oh?”

She didn’t fiddle with papers, not that I
could tell at least, so she must have had this one memorized. I
could hear a smile in her voice.

“
Mr. Dewars is out for the
day at a seminar in Mundelein where he’d prefer not to be
disturbed. He will be calling in periodically, however, and he
wanted me to ask you if you’d be free this evening. He has two
tickets to the opening of
The Merry Wives
of Windsor
at Navy Pier. And possibly
dinner beforehand?”

Taken aback, I hedged. “Tonight?”

“
Mm-hmm,” she answered.
“If you’re free, the play begins at eight.”

I had an impish urge to ask what time the
play began if I wasn’t free. I didn’t chime in, however, so she
continued. “He thought you’d like to choose the restaurant, since
he picked last time. Would you like me to e-mail you a list of
what’s available?”

“
No,” I said, too
quickly.

“
No, you can’t make it?”
she asked, slowly.

Damn, damn, damn. I needed to talk with
David.

I wanted to talk with him about Owen, and
about Barton’s problems. Not to mention this reward issue. Lots to
cover. And Bass’s Monday deadline loomed. That man made me scream,
sometimes.

But again, here it was. A silver platter.
I’d been salivating to see Chicago Shakespeare Theater at Navy Pier
since it opened there in 1999. No time, no one to go with . . .
name the reason—I hadn’t made it there, yet.

“
No, I don’t need a list,”
I said. I’d been to the pier itself a hundred times and I knew the
restaurant offerings. Everything from a paper cup full of sugared
almonds to McDonald’s to Riva, the white linen, skyline-view
restaurant that boasted celebrity clientele. “I have to check,” I
said. “Can I get back to you?”

“
Sure,” she said. The
smile-voice was back. “He said he’d call again at two-thirty. Why
don’t you let me know by then?”

After we hung up, I started talking to
myself, making “if this, then that” deals.

“
Okay,” I said, picking
the receiver up again. “If Aunt Lena can’t keep Lucy tonight, I’ll
tell David no.”

Five minutes later, I spoke with a giddy
aunt Lena. “A date, Alex?” she asked. “As long as it isn’t Dan,
I’ll keep Lucy for you all weekend.” She laughed at her own
bawdiness.

“
It’s not like that,” I
protested.

“
Don’t worry, honey,
she’ll be fine here. I’ll fix up Diana’s room and Lucy can stay the
night. By the way, the doctors think Diana might be ready to be
released Monday, isn’t that good news?”

“
Fabulous,” I said,
meaning it. “But you’ll only have to keep Lucy if I go. I still
might not.”

“
You should go, dear. You
deserve a night out. You just have fun, and don’t you worry about a
thing.”

I hung up, and headed over to talk to
Jordan.

“
William didn’t call,” she
said, when I sat at her desk.

“
I wasn’t going to ask,” I
said.

“
Sure you were.” Her brown
eyes fixed me with a stare that told me Bass wasn’t the only
bullshitter I shouldn’t try to bullshit.

“
So,” I said, opening my
hands in a gesture of defeat, “Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know why you let it bug
you the way it does. Not like he’s the only fish in the water, you
know.”

“
I know. I just thought .
. .”

She affected her black
girl persona, wiggling her head as she spoke. “I
know
what you
thought.”

I wrinkled my nose, looked away. “David
asked me out for tonight. Dinner and a play.”

“
He ain’t bad-looking for
an old guy,” she said with a grin.

“
He isn’t old,” I said,
far too quickly, wondering why the sudden need to defend him. I
took a deep breath, looked away again. “But that doesn’t answer the
other question. Why no word? It’s Friday, and if he hasn’t called
by now, I doubt he’ll call over the weekend.”

I’d said the words, half-hoping Jordan would
pooh-pooh that thought, and reassure me that the weekend would
afford William plenty of time to call. But she didn’t.”

“
You never know,” she said
in a humoring-me voice, “maybe he can’t get service on his cell
phone. And there’s that whole time difference
thang
too.”

“
Thought of that,” I said,
frowning at nothing. “So then why doesn’t he call me from his hotel
room late at night? He could leave a message on my cell and I’d get
it first thing in the morning, you know.” I stared at her. “I mean,
really, what’s a couple of minutes before he goes to
bed?”

Jordan lifted an eyebrow at me.

“
What?” I
asked.

“
Maybe when he goes to
bed, he’s not alone.”

“
Shit,” I said. That
thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

“
Sorry,” she said. “I’m
just thinking that it’s best you don’t keep hoping there’s
something where there’s not.”

I nodded, stood, tried to smile. “Thanks,” I
said to Jordan, who stared up at me with concern. “You’re right. I
guess I just needed to hear it.”

“
Hey,” she said to my
back.

I turned.

“
Tonight . . .” she said
with a mischievous smile, “Don’t be all worked up about stuff you
can’t control. This Mr. Dewars is a good-looking guy—and he’s a
rich guy. Not to mention the man is crazy about you, woman. Don’t
be thinking you gotta love the dude. Just go out and have some
fun.”

* * * * *

I called David’s office around one, fully
intending to decline. More in the mood to wallow, I decided that a
night in front of the television in warm flannel pajamas and an
endless supply of snacks might be the best option after all.

“
Ms. St. James,” his
secretary said. If it were possible, she sounded even more cheered
to hear from me this time around. “I have good news for
you.”

Her version of good news and mine might be
at odds, but I let her continue.

“
Mr. Riordan found all the
information you were looking for. I don’t quite know what it is.”
Papers shuffled; she was looking for something. “I assume you know
what he’s talking about.”

“
Yeah.”

“
Well, as it turns out,
Mr. Riordan says it’s far too much to send by fax and so he just
made a set of copies for you. He’s heading over to that meeting
with Mr. Dewars right now and taking everything with him. So this
way, Mr. Dewars can give you the whole file when you see him
tonight.” She ended her little spiel on a triumphant note. “Isn’t
that perfect?”

“
Yeah,” I said.
“Great.”

Cornered again.
Damn
, I
thought.

Truth was, I wasn’t nearly as disappointed
at this turn of events as I should have been. As a matter of fact,
I liked the idea that the decision had been practically taken out
of my hands. I could use distraction—a night out. And it wasn’t as
though David was poor company. I found him intelligent, witty,
attentive. Handsome. What more could I want?

I bit my lip. Maybe that was a question
better left unasked.

When I told Dr. Hooker about my encounter
with Laurence Grady, his blue eyes made the switch from small talk
to down-to-business in a heartbeat. He’d been sprawled back in the
same upholstered chair he’d occupied last time, and as I progressed
through the tale of my terror-meeting in the dark, he shifted body,
eyes, demeanor, all at once. Sitting forward, elbows on knees, his
right hand came up to stroke his gray-streaked beard in a gesture
that I assumed indicated concern.

The expression fit the man today. Wearing a
muted blue sweater with collared shirt and snug tie underneath, he
looked a lot more like a psychiatrist-professor type than when we’d
first met.

“
Are you all right?” He
did that back-and-forth-stare thing that people do, when they’re
trying hard to decide if someone’s telling the truth.

“
I’m fine,” I said,
straight on.

“
You’re sure it was
Laurence Grady?”

“
No question.”

Disappointment clouded those expressive
eyes. Or maybe it was defeat. In either case the twinkle I’d seen
there moments before fell away as though a protective curtain had
dropped, and the show was over. As though he now chose to turn his
view inward, to weigh and study and consider, alone.

“
So,” he said, after a
moment’s break. “You went to see Diana, after all.”

“
As a matter of fact, I
did.”

“
I had a feeling you
might.” Shoving himself upward he moved into the adjacent
kitchen-room, still talking. “What did she tell you?”

His bulky frame disappeared from my view and
I followed him, rather than shout from my chair.

“
Not too much.” He turned
to look at me and I shrugged. “She swears it wasn’t Grady who
attacked us at the house, and she says he wouldn’t have hurt Mrs.
Vicks either.”

“
Tea?” Dr. Hooker asked,
holding up two mugs.

I nodded, leaned against the doorjamb. “But
what else was she going to say?” I asked, rhetorically. “I mean,
it’s obvious she’s still in love with the guy.”

He looked at me again, his eyes giving a
peculiar glint. “Is it?”

I moved into the room when he turned his
back to make the tea. Leaning against the counter top, facing
outward, next to him, I asked, “What do you know?”

Our two mugs turned slowly in the microwave.
He waited for the ding to pull them out and drop teabags in. “I
know that you want Grady to be guilty.”

“
No, I don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“
I want to know Grady’s
involvement, sure,” I said, “but I don’t
want
him to be guilty. What I care
about is that whoever did it is found. And brought to
justice.”

I’d pushed off the wall, and now reached for
the mug he handed me.

“
No,” he said. “You want
Grady to have been the murderer because he fits. He’s an ex-con,
out on parole. He’s got a history of drug use, a long rap sheet.”
Hooker took a sip of his tea before returning to the chair,
dropping his hindquarters onto the cushion, while concentrating on
his outstretched arms to keep the tea from spilling. He raised his
head, and shot those baby blues straight on. “He fits.”

I resumed my position in the chair opposite.
“Okay, you got me. He fits. Why shouldn’t that make him a likely
suspect?”

Hooker shook his head, and the
silver-streaked black waves that surrounded his shiny head loosened
enough that he ran a hand to push them back into place. “I didn’t
say he isn’t a likely suspect, I just said that you’re dwelling on
him because you want him to be guilty.”

“
What’s wrong with
that?”

“
The truth?”

“
Please.”

“
I believe your efforts
are better directed elsewhere.”

I pressed my lips together
to keep from an outburst I’d be sorry for, later. Resisting the
urge to address him as Mr. Know-it-all, I demurely inquired, “Why
don’t you tell me who
is
guilty, then?”

His face split into a wide
pleased-with-himself grin. “Are you angry with me, Alex?”

“
Of course not,” I lied.
“But it comes down to this: Diana is giving me carte blanche where
your records are concerned. Rather than help me . . . in a murder
investigation, I might add . . . you’re dancing around the subject
and parrying with me like we were fencing, for crying out loud.” I
pulled my lips in tight after that, realizing how agitated my voice
had become.

“
You are
angry.”

“
Damn right, I
am.”

The grin widened further. “What do you want
to know?” He spread his hands out before him. “I’m an open
book.”

“
Fine,” I said, setting my
mug down on the table between us with a clunk. “How are you so sure
it wasn’t Grady who killed Mrs. Vicks and who attacked
us?”