Drip Dead (18 page)

He used the computer to find the telephone number for Vendage and reached for the phone on Karen’s desk.

I listened to Wade’s end of the conversation with growing astonishment.

“Good afternoon, Marie. This is Wade Montgomery. I’m Gregory Whitlock’s accountant. I’m working on some reports this afternoon and I had a question.” He paused, then chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a horrible day to be cooped up inside, especially on a Sunday. But if I don’t finish up these Whitlock reports I’ll have worse problems than missing a day of sunshine.”

His voice dropped into a conspiratorial softness. “Thing is, Marie, I have a couple invoices here that I’m having a problem with and I was hoping maybe you could help me out.”

He waited. All I could hear from the other end was the hesitant squeak of the woman’s voice.

“Oh, no! I have all the credit card information. You wouldn’t have to tell me anything like that. I just need to know exactly what was purchased.”

There was more squeaking. “Of course,” Wade said soothingly. “I wouldn’t expect you to do that. Just verify the quantities so I can post this to the right place.”

He chuckled apologetically. “You know how we accountants can be. I can call back tomorrow if I have to, but I’d really like to be able to get this right the first time.”

Wade sat very still. After a long moment, he read off the date and amount of the charges. “Can you find that invoice?” he asked.

We waited silently for several minutes, and our patience was rewarded when Wade’s new friend returned with the details of the purchase: two cases of Bordeaux. She gave Wade the vineyard and the year and said Mr. Whitlock had received his standard discount.

Wade thanked Marie, and promised to stop and see her the next time he was in the area.

I stared at him in disbelief as he hung up.

“You lied to her!”

“I did not. I will stop and see her the next time I get to the Pearl District.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “I just didn’t tell her I never go to the Pearl. Not my style.”

With the information from the invoice, we were able to locate the line in the spreadsheet that represented the two cases of Bordeaux. It gave us a clue to begin decoding the other entries.

Wade’s office phone rang and he reached to pick it up. I kept working on the spreadsheet. When he hung up, he told me it had been David Young, the attorney. He was on his way over.

I would have to close the file and put away the computer before Young got there. He was Mom’s attorney, not mine, and I didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to know I had the laptop.

“Before I close this thing, I want you to take a look at something,” I said.

I pointed to a column and started scrolling down the page. “If this is the number of bottles—which we think it is, based on that one invoice—then Gregory had a couple hundred cases of wine.”

I tried to envision what two hundred cases of wine would look like. “Do you think he’s got that stashed in his house?” I asked Wade. “Is his wine cellar anywhere near that big?”

I did some quick mental math as I shut down the computer. “Even if they’re only a hundred bucks a pop, like the ones from Vendage, that’s close to a quarter million dollars. That’s a lot of money to have sitting in the wine cellar of an empty house.”

“There’s a security system,” Wade said. “He told me about it when they started construction. We were working on the insurance coverage for the house and it made a big difference in his premiums. He paid a small fortune for it, but now I begin to understand why. It wasn’t just his investment in Veritas that was at stake.”

A late-model BMW pulled up in front of the office. The driver climbed out and walked toward the door.

I shoved the computer case under the desk. The modesty panel hid it from prying eyes. I’d get back to the e-mail files later.

Wade greeted David Young warmly.

Young was nothing like I expected. Wade was six feet tall, give or take, but Young towered over him. He had to be at least six five or six, and broad. Not fat, just big. Wide shoulders and a barrel chest were barely contained by his custom-tailored charcoal suit. For a man his size you didn’t get a fit like that off the rack.

David Young stuck out a huge hand. “Hi, I’m David. Dave to my friends. You must be Georgiana.” He grinned. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck and spread across my face. My mother always insisted I looked like my father’s side of the family, probably because I didn’t bother with the clothes and makeup that were her trademarks. It felt funny to have someone say I looked like her in any way.

“I mean that as a compliment,” David said. “She’s an attractive woman.”

I resisted the impulse to tell him he only thought that because he didn’t know her very well. He’d find out for himself soon enough.

We settled around Wade’s desk, with Dave in the visitor’s chair and me in Karen’s borrowed secretarial chair.

Dave didn’t waste time. “I talked to your mother,” he said. “She agreed to have me represent her, with the understanding that I would have the backing of a senior member of the firm if this goes to trial.”

My face must have shown the dismay I felt. Wasn’t Mom’s lawyer supposed to avoid going to trial?

“It won’t,” Dave assured me. “They can’t make this stick. I don’t know Vernon personally, but I know his type. There were a lot of them in the prosecutor’s office when I was on the other side. Young and ambitious. They wait for a case that will get them noticed so they can either move up the ladder or get an offer in the private sector.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. “So this guy is ambitious and he sees Mom as a way to make a name for himself. That doesn’t exactly build my confidence, Dave.”

“I understand your concern, Ms. Neverall. Believe me, it isn’t going to happen.” He handed Wade a note. “Mrs. Neverall said you would be able to access funds for her retainer.”

Wade looked at the paper and back to Dave. “Can I write you a check?”

Dave nodded.

Wade wrote the check and returned the checkbook to his safe.

Dave stuck it in his pocket without looking. “My client,” he said formally, “has instructed me to share with you whatever I feel is appropriate. That doesn’t mean I am going to tell you everything she says, or everything we talk about. Because I represent Sandra, and I do not represent either of you, the things we talk about do not fall under attorney-client privilege. You could be forced to testify in court about our conversations.”

Dave looked from Wade to me, and back again. “You both understand that?”

We nodded.

“Just keep that in mind if I tell you I can’t tell you something.”

Was I good with that? I wasn’t sure. There probably
were
things I didn’t want to know.

I got the answer to that quicker than I could have imagined.

There were definitely things I didn’t want to know. Like exactly how Gregory died.

“He was stabbed,” Dave told us. “With a knife the police believe came from Sandra’s kitchen. I don’t have all the details as yet, but apparently he was stabbed in the house and shoved through the access hatch into the crawl space.” He nodded to me. “Where you found him.”

“Access hatch?” My voice sounded far away. It echoed in my head like a bad cell phone connection.

“In the hallway,” Dave replied. “That’s as much as I was able to get immediately. I’ll know more after the preliminary hearing.”

“Is that the one tomorrow?” I asked. “Do we know what time?”

I realized I was going to have to call Barry and arrange for time off. He’d give me whatever I needed, but I hated to lose the hours if I didn’t have to.

Dave told me I didn’t need to be at the hearing. I battled with some serious guilt for a few minutes, but he convinced me there wasn’t anything I could do and I wouldn’t get to talk to Mom.

I tried to pay attention as Dave explained how the legal process would play out over the next few days and weeks. He told us the police had finished their search of Gregory’s house and office, but Mom’s house was still restricted. Even if she could get bail, she couldn’t go home yet.

That last fact caught my attention. “Do you think she’ll be allowed to post bail?”

Dave shook his head. “I expect Vernon to oppose bail, and without knowing who the judge is . . .”

It was one of those good news/bad news situations.

The good news was I didn’t have Mom taking over my house. The bad news was she had to stay in jail.

And the worse news was I had to somehow fix that.

Clamps and a rubber blanket should stop most leaks for several months. Keep some clamps sized to fit your pipes and a sheet of rubber on hand for emergencies. If you don’t have a clamp, you can still fix a small leak
temporarily
in an emergency by plugging it with a pencil point. Sharpen a pencil, push it into the leak, and break the point off in place. But it’s important to get the problem fixed the correct way as soon as it is practical.

 

—A Plumber’s Tip from Georgiana Neverall

Although “contortionist” is not included in the job description for a plumber, it’s a useful skill. Crawl spaces are often tight and filled with ducts, pipes, joists, and footings. The cabinets under most sinks are cramped, with doors that don’t open fully or frames that restrict access.

Answering a cell phone while under a sink calls for the flexibility of a gymnast. It also helps if you’re the size of an underweight twelve-year-old. Neither one describes me.

By the time I got out from under the island sink in Astrid McComb’s new kitchen the call had gone to voice mail. I waited, staring out the window at the sunlit woods surrounding the castle, for the caller to leave a message. It had to be Dave with the results of Mom’s preliminary hearing.

It wasn’t.

“Ms. Neverall, this is William Robinson calling. You wanted to know about the Veritas group. I heard from a wine merchant I know about some interesting vintages being auctioned tonight. Wolfe-Bowers Auction House in Portland is mounting the sale. Perhaps they will be able to offer you some information.”

The message ended, and I wondered why he had taken the time to call. He’d certainly left me with the impression he wanted nothing to do with our investigation.

On the other hand, maybe he hoped I would cause trouble for Veritas, since he had clearly disliked them.

Either way, I needed to find out about the auction. Quickly.

I called Wade’s office and asked him if he had plans for the evening.

“There’s a City Council meeting starting at six,” he said. “I’m afraid it might run late.”

He was apologetic, but he had run for Councilman and he took the responsibility very seriously. He couldn’t skip the meeting, even for me.

I respected his dedication and sense of responsibility. Really, I did.

I just wished it didn’t have to interfere with my investigation of Veritas.

Sue volunteered to find out about the sale at Wolfe-Bowers, much to my relief. She could surf the Web and make phone calls between customers at Doggy Day Spa—I had to get back under the sink.

But Sue had plans with Fred for the evening, and even though she offered to cancel them and go with me I told her no.

Our friendship got in the way of our romantic relationships a little too often as it was and I’d already given Sue enough grief over Fred.

My next call was to Paula. I caught her at the library and explained the situation. She couldn’t care less about the wine itself, but the outing appealed to her—as did the investigation.

“Sounds like fun, Georgie! Megan’s working on a school project with her dad tonight. They can just call Garibaldi’s for pizza like they always do when I’m not home for dinner.” She laughed. “They don’t think I know, but I do.”

I promised to pick her up, and crawled back under the sink. I still had a job to do.