Nine Lives (8 page)

“What did?” Bradley asked.

Mark grimaced slightly. “We were working late last week, and out of the blue she began coming on to me. At first I thought she was kidding, although that kind of humor was definitely out of place, but she persisted.”

“I told her I was flattered, but that my wife and my marriage meant everything to me, and that I wasn't interested.”

Bradley stifled a snort. He'd already researched enough of Presley's background to know he was anything but faithful to his wife. Still, that wasn't proof of any kind of crime.

“How did she take that?” Bradley asked.

Mark shook his head, as if in concern.

“She was upset…started crying and saying that she'd loved me for years and couldn't stay quiet about it any longer. At that point I suggested that perhaps she would be happier working at one of the other corporate offices.”

“And…?”

Mark acknowledged Frost's interruption.

“And she would have none of it. She began to disrobe, which shocked me. I told her to get her things and get out, that she was no longer needed in my company.”

“So she offered you a freebie and you fired her?”

Mark frowned. The detective was doing little to disguise his sarcasm. He stood up. “I don't like your tone.”

Bradley stood up as well. “Yeah, and it's been years since I believed in fairy tales. All fantasies aside, when was the last time you saw Miss Benton?”

“Three days ago, when I let her go,” Mark said.

“What do you have to say about the fact that there are claims she was pregnant with your child?”

It was to Mark's credit that the shaft of panic he felt didn't show. How in the hell had they come by that bit of information?

He stood his ground and tempered his urge to scream at them.

“I am not even going to give that gossip the dignity of an answer.”

Bradley pressed the issue by rephrasing it. “So your answer is…it's not true?”

Mark lifted his chin and glared at both men.

“I think we're finished here. If you have any other questions about this unfortunate matter, you will ask them through my lawyers, Walters, Walters and Hale.”

Frost arched an eyebrow as he made a note. It figured that Presley would have the biggest law firm in the state on retainer.

Bradley was a big man in every way. Tall, heavyset, and with a big mouth, to boot. He shut his notebook and dropped it back into his pocket, then moved until he was standing about a foot away from Presley, well aware that he towered over the man.

“If we have any other questions for you, you have the freedom to have your attorney present, but if need be, you will be the one answering.”

At that moment Bradley could tell he had made an enemy. If there was ever a way that Presley could bring him down, he would do it.

Mark tilted his head sideways, as if deflecting the warning.

“See yourselves out. I have no more time for this. My wife and I are spending Christmas in Tahoe, and I need to finish packing.”

“Leave a number with your lawyer as to where you can be reached…just in case,” Bradley ordered, then turned his back on Presley and nodded to his partner, and they both walked out without a backward look.

Mark was furious. This wasn't happening. Not to him.

He grabbed the telephone and called Ken Walters, his lawyer, who was, to Mark's dismay, in court and unavailable.

“You tell him to call me the moment he gets out,” he said, then hung up just as Penny entered the library.

“What's been happening? Why were the police here? What did they want to talk to you about?”

He figured the more truth he told, the less likely it would come back and bite him in the ass.

“Marsha Benton is missing. They wanted to know when I'd seen her last.”

Penny's mouth dropped. She liked Marsha.

“Oh no! How awful! Why didn't you tell me she was missing?”

“Because I didn't know it,” he said.

“But…wasn't she at work today?”

“No.”

“And you didn't think that was strange?” Penny said.

“No.”

“Why on earth not? I can't remember her ever missing a day.”

“I didn't think it was strange because, a couple of days ago, I fired her.”

Penny actually paled. “Why on earth? She was invaluable to the company and a—”

“She acted inappropriately toward me. I offered her a chance to work at one of the corporate offices in another state. She declined. I fired her. End of story.”

A dark flush swept up Penny's neck and onto her face. “I don't believe it!”

“Believe it or not, it's what happened,” Mark said, then folded his arms and glared at his wife. “I have to say, I am more than a little shocked that you have so little faith in my word. I would hardly make something like this up. It was embarrassing enough without you calling me a liar. What on earth would I gain by admitting that an employee was infatuated with me?”

Penny saw the anger in Mark's eyes and knew she'd stepped over a line. Still, there was a part of her that found it difficult to believe Marsha Benton would do something so outrageous. She'd always been the epitome of professional. And, while Mark didn't know it, she was well aware of his indiscretions.

“Yes, well…I'm sorry to hear she's missing. I sincerely hope she's all right and hasn't met with some kind of accident.”

Mark shrugged. “Accidents happen every day. Now, are we going to Tahoe or not?”

“Yes, we're going,” Penny said.

“Are you finished packing?”

“No.”

“Then I suggest you get to it. I have the corporate jet scheduled for early afternoon take-off. I want to get there before dark.”

“All right. I won't be long,” Penny said, and started for the stairs. Then she paused in the doorway and looked back. “Are you coming?”

Mark stuffed his hands in his pockets, jingled his change in frustration, then followed his wife up the stairs.

 

Unaware of Mark Presley's plans, Cat was making plans of her own, but first, she had to get well. It was another day before she could get out of bed or tolerate anything in her stomach that wasn't liquid. When she woke up the next morning and the bed wasn't spinning, she showered, then headed for the kitchen.

She made coffee without conscious thought, going through the motions and hoping she could hold it down. She got cream from the fridge, sniffing it cautiously to make sure it hadn't gone bad, then set it on the table and reached for a spoon.

She stirred her coffee, then began picking up some of the clutter that had accumulated during the time she'd been sick. She added to the pile of the newspapers on the counter, along with several days' worth of mail, which scattered, completely covered her answering machine. It wasn't until she began sorting through the mail that she saw the red blinking light indicating waiting messages.

Frowning, she punched the button. There was one from her dentist, reminding her of an appointment that she'd missed while she was sick. There was someone who'd hung up without leaving a message, and one from Art, then silence. She was about to delete them all when she realized there was one more, someone taking his own sweet time before talking.

She reached for her coffee and took a slow sip, waiting for it to hit her stomach. When it didn't come up, she tried another sip, then another, and finally she began to feel human, alert enough to realize the message
was
playing, and she was hearing noise, but no voice.

She set the coffee cup aside and moved closer to the machine. Frowning, she stopped it and then hit replay.

The noise was loud and repetitive—and familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. She hit Caller ID to check the number. Her heart stopped.

“God…oh God.”

She listened again, trying to hear something within the noise.

For three minutes there was nothing but the wash of an engine. No voice. No precious sound of Marsha's presence in any way, and yet the call had come from her cell phone.

When the call clicked off, she staggered backward to the table and fell into the chair with a solid thump. The air in the room around her felt wrong—like it was thick, too solid to breathe. All these days. The call from Marsha that she'd been waiting for…it had been there all these days, and she hadn't known.

She didn't know what it was that she'd heard, but she knew without being told that it was, most likely, the last thing Marsha heard, as well.

She pushed herself up, then staggered to the bedroom and began to get dressed. Twice she had to stop and sit down to keep from falling. She couldn't find her car keys and then remembered Wilson McKay had driven her home in her car. She began looking for the second set and couldn't find them, either.

Angry and trembling, she tore through the phone book until she found his number. The phone rang four times before an answering machine came on, giving the caller the option of leaving a message or calling his cell. She scribbled down that number, then called it.

Wilson answered on the second ring.

“McKay's Bail Bonds.”

“Where are my car keys?”

Wilson frowned. “Good morning to you, too, Miss Dupree.”

“I can't find my keys,” she repeated.

She sounded strange—at least, stranger than usual.

“What's wrong with you? Are you still sick? If you are, the last damn thing you need are your keys.”

“I can't find my car keys! I need my keys!” She didn't know she was screaming. “For God's sake, what did you do with my keys?”

Wilson frowned. “They're in the—”

“Damn you, McKay! I don't need this crap! If you took them just to have a reason to come back, it sucks. I need my keys! I need my keys!”

She was so out of her head, he couldn't help but think something bad was wrong. Maybe she was feverish again. If he told her where the keys were and then she got in her car and caused an accident, he would feel guilty as hell. The only way to alleviate his conscience was to make sure she was physically okay.

“Look, chill out. I'll be right over.”

Cat hung up the phone, then staggered to the kitchen and replayed the message over and over again. As she was listening to it for the fourth time, the phone rang.

She grabbed for it.

“Hello? Marsha…is that you?”

Art Ball frowned. “It's me, Art. Where you been, girl?”

Cat closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself not to scream.

“Art…it's you. Uh, I've been sick.”

“Yeah, you don't sound so good. You want me to come over and take you to the doctor? All you have to do is ask. You know that.”

“Yes, I know. No, I don't need the doctor.”

“Okay…so, how's things with Marsha? She showed up, right?”

Cat sighed. She didn't want to talk about it, but Art had been her friend for a long time and had known Marsha almost as long as he'd known her.

“No. She's still missing.”

“The hell you say? For how long?”

“Three…no, four days now.”

“What do the cops say?”

She rolled her eyes. “The cops? Get real.”

Art frowned. “You better call them or I will,” he said.

She sighed. “I already did.”

“All right then. You know that's the way to go.” Then he changed the subject. “What are you thinking?”

“I think she's dead.”

“No way. You been to her place? Maybe she just went on a trip. Did you check her clothes, her luggage, stuff like that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, dang it, honey…I don't know what to say. Maybe she just took off.”

Cat glanced up at the clock, wondering what the hell was keeping Wilson McKay, then made herself focus on Art's question.

“Look, Art…Mimi would
never
drop off the face of the earth without telling me what was up. You should know us better than that.”

Art sighed as he scratched at a dried drop of gravy on the edge of his tie.

“Yeah, I know, I know. But she's got to be somewhere. People don't just up and disappear.”

“I can't believe that came out of your mouth. You, of all people, should know that people
do
up and disappear, as you put it. That's where my job comes in.”

“Well, I didn't mean it like—”

“It's all right,” Cat said. “I know this all sounds dramatic, but I know Mimi. Something happened to her. If the situation was reversed, she would be looking for me.”