Murder.Com

MURDER.COM

BY

BETTY SULLIVAN LA PIERRE

Chapter One

Bud Nevers stood at his bedroom window and stared into the inky darkness of yet another unseasonable storm pelting the San Francisco Bay area. Deep in thought, he didn't even flinch when the wet branches of a large oak tree slapped against the window.

Tonight he and Angie had invited a group of friends from work to help them celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Normally, he looked forward to entertaining guests, but tonight it had no appeal. Other worries troubled his mind. Like the young eager beaver intern Bill Crane, hired by the company for the summer, who'd uncovered a questionable entry in the accounting books and brought it to Bud's attention

The young man had pointed out how he thought it odd that the ABC Wafer Company had been receiving fifty thousand dollars on the same day every month for the past year. He'd asked Bud if he knew who they were and what service they provided.

Bud couldn't answer the question. Crane went on to explainthat he'd never seen this company listed on the stock market, nor had he ever heard of them. When Bud learned this, he immediately became suspicious.

He moved away from the window when Angie raced out of the bathroom, towels wrapped around her head and body. "We're running late," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "Our guests will be here in thirty minutes." She sat down at the dressing table, turned on the make-up lights and rubbed her fingers over her cheeks. "Oh, look at these bags under my eyes." She stuck out her tongue at the reflection in the mirror.

Bud grinned. Not only did he think she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but she also had a sense of humor, a rare combination in his eyes. Desire filled him as he watched her unwrap the turban and shake her head. Dark brown hair, laced with gray, tumbled down her back. At forty-seven she still looked like a goddess.

Strolling over to stand behind her, he put his hands on her bare, lightly freckled shoulders and winked at her image in the mirror. Then gently working his fingers under the towel, he fondled her full breasts. "Hmm, only thirty minutes. Then we'll have to hurry."

A smile twitched her lips as she turned toward him and let the towel fall to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her slender body and carried her to the bed.

Angie Nevers had been in love with Bud from the minute she'd seen him on the football field. She knew he'd planned to make the game his profession, however, a knee injury ended those dreams. But now he headed his own company, Nevers Computer Technology, and was doing exceptionally well.

She ran her hands over his back, feeling the ripples of his muscles. How she loved this man. Since she'd not been able to have children, all her devotion centered on him.

After their lovemaking, he hugged her close, nuzzling the crook of her neck. When she started to laugh, he raised up and looked at her with narrowed hazel eyes. A strand of his dusty-blond hair lay across his brow.

"Now what's so funny? Am I not doing this right after all these years?"

Kissing the tip of his nose, she shook her head. "You're wonderful, but we have company arriving and we're up here making mad passionate love. You're going to have to get dressed, go downstairs and make excuses for me." She wagged a finger at him. "And don't you dare tell our guests what we've been up to."

A lazy grin spread across his face as he padded toward the shower. "Hey, they wouldn't believe me. After twenty-five years of marriage, they probably don't think we do this anymore."

Angie laughed and tossed a pillow at him as he closed the bathroom door. Shortly, Bud dressed and hurried down the stairs, leaving his wife to finish getting ready.

Later that evening, champagne flowed and a buzz of happiness filled Angie. When the doorbell sounded, she spotted Bud across the room, deeply engrossed in conversation with some of the company's employees. She set her drink on the table and proceeded toward the entry. When she opened the door, her gaze met the most piercing green eyes she'd ever seen. "Yes, can I help you?"

The young woman facing her calmly removed a raincoat revealing a striking green silk dress that matched those penetrating eyes. She smiled tightly. "Sorry I'm late."

Angie frowned. She knew everyone they'd invited, but not this woman. "I'm sorry. I don't think we've met."

"I'm Melinda. Could you tell Mr. Nevers I've arrived?"

A wave of uneasiness swept over Angie, but she stepped back. "Come in out of the wind. Wait here and I'll go get him."

She weaved her way through the crowded living room, pulled Bud into the hallway and whispered. "There's a woman at the door asking for you, but I don't think she's one of your employees. I've never seen her before."

He took a swig of his drink and glanced around the room. "Looks like everyone's here. What's her name?"

She shrugged. "Melinda."

Bud coughed, handed her his glass and hurried toward the entry.

Angie watched him take the woman by the arm and lead her back out on the covered veranda, closing the door behind them. She paced the living room, chatting with friends, and tried to steal a glimpse out the front windows without being too obvious. But after fifteen minutes, she couldn't stand it any longer and peeked out the front door. "Bud?"

When he didn't answer, she stepped out on the porch and found him standing alone, staring into the darkness, his hands stuck deep into his pockets. She slipped an arm through his. "Is everything okay?"

He looked out over the parked cars in front of the house. "Yeah."

Her gaze followed his and she squinted into the darkness. "Where'd that woman go?"

He patted her hand. "She left."

"What'd she want?"

"I'll tell you about it later." He guided her toward the door. "We better get back to our guests."

The minute they stepped inside, Bud dropped her hand and headed toward a group of men standing on the far side of the room, without giving her his usual wink. She sensed he didn't want to talk about the woman, but why? Who was this Melinda and what had she said that had altered his mood so much?

Bud's drinking escalated as the evening progressed. After the last guest finally departed, he headed for the bedroom. She started to follow, but stopped at the foot of the stairwell and watched him stumble up the stairs. He didn't even glance her way or say good night. When the door slammed, she let out a long sigh and decided to stay downstairs to help Marty, her housekeeper and cook, clean up.

Angie finally made it upstairs, kicked off her shoes and dressed for bed. She crawled under the covers and slid close to Bud, slipping an arm around his chest. He'd fallen into a deep sleep, snoring rhythmically. She worried about the distance that he'd put between them after Melinda's visit tonight. The questions would have to wait. She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling while listening to the house creak and groan as it settled for the night. First thing tomorrow, she'd find out what that woman wanted. Whatever she'd said to Bud had definitely bothered him.

The next morning, Angie rolled over to hug her husband, but her hand fell onto an empty mattress and her eyes snapped open. She glanced at the clock. "Damn. It's nine o'clock. He's already left for the golf course."

She shrugged into her robe, then slowly went down the winding staircase, smiling as she slid her hand along the ornate banister. She always imagined what a beautiful picture it would be seeing a daughter walk down these stairs in her first formal. All her married life she'd dreamed of having a girl to dress up and a boy to play sports for Bud. She sighed and pushed the sad thought away.

Marty Casale, only two years older than Angie, stood at the counter rolling out biscuit dough with a flour-speckled apron tied around her thin but shapely body. She turned and smiled, her face almost as pretty as Angie's, except for the deep lines etched in her forehead and around her mouth. A face depicting a hard life. "Good morning, Mrs. Nevers. What would you like for breakfast? Biscuits are almost ready."

"A nice cup of black coffee to start." Angie rubbed her temples. "Champagne always gives me a headache."

"You gave a nice party."

"Thank you. But no one would miss a celebration that served Marty Casale's hors d'oeuvres."

Marty's cheeks turned a rosy pink. She ducked her head, grinning broadly.

Pouring a cup of coffee, Angie touched Marty's shoulder. "I'll eat with Bud when he gets back from golfing. You know him, a creature of habit. He'll hit this door famished as soon as his game is over."

*****

Ken Weber, Bud's right hand man at the company, accompanied him on the golf course. They'd known each other since college and together had formed Nevers Computer Technology; Bud, the CEO and Ken, the President.

Ken stood head and shoulders above the foursome of men as they said their good-byes at the edge of the course alongside the parking lot. Bud turned his clubs over to the caddy and started for the clubhouse. Ken's long strides soon caught up with his rapid pace. "Hey, Buddy, what's with you today? Your game showed maybe too much champagne last night?"

"Partly."

Bud had noticed Ken eyeing him through the set of eighteen holes and expected his questions.

"Something bothering you?"

"You could say that." Bud paused, "Melinda paid me a visit."

Ken stopped in his tracks, his sharp green eyes narrowed. "When?"

Bud continued walking. "Last night at the party."

"What the hell?" He hastened up alongside Bud. "I didn't see her."

"Fortunately, I stopped her before she got inside"

"Shit. What'd she want?"

"You realize she's graduated from college and is twenty-three years old? Hard to believe."

Ken nodded.

"She doesn't want the money to stop. If it does, she'll talk. Said her mother's furious, but she doesn't care. She's taking the matter into her own hands now." He halted and looked at Ken. "But that's not all that's bothering me. What in the hell is ABC Wafer Company?"

Startled, Ken stepped back. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not an accountant, Ken. But something fishy is going on with the books."

Ken rubbed the back of his neck and looked out over the golf course. "Damn. Then we better get an auditor."

A woman's voice from across the parking lot distracted them. "Ken! Bud! How'd you do?"

Sandy, Ken's wife, who'd been playing tennis on the club's courts, came toward them. "Oh dear, looks like I've interrupted a serious conversation."

Bud watched Ken put on a big grin and slip his arm around her shoulders. "No problem, just trying to figure out why Bud's swing fell so short today."

Sandy raised a finely-arched brow and grinned. "What you're saying is the other guys whipped your butts."

Bud forced a smile. "Yeah, something like that."

Sandy glanced at Ken. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." He threw a skeptical look over his shoulder at Bud. "We'll talk later."

Bud watched the couple walk away. Then with a sigh, he headed toward his car in the parking lot.

Driving home, he thought about how he'd broach the subject of Melinda to Angie. It wouldn't be easy; he knew she'd be full of questions. Suddenly, a news bulletin came over the radio mentioning the local high school. Bud turned up the volume. He learned that Highway Seventeen had been closed due to a serious accident involving a semi-truck and a school bus full of high school seniors heading for the beach. He remembered Ken mentioning that his twin girls were going to the beach with their school today. Swerving to the side of the road, he made a U-turn.

The minute he approached the Weber's driveway, he saw Ken and Sandy backing out. He sensed the twins were on that bus. Ken rolled down the car window, his face pallid. "There's been a wreck."

Bud nodded. "I heard on the radio. That's why I'm here. Any news?"

In tears and looking on the verge of hysteria, Sandy wiped her eyes. "Not yet." Her voice trembled. "We're on our way to the hospital now."

Bud watched as they gunned past him. "Dear God," he said aloud. "I do believe things come in threes. First the accounting entry, then Melinda's visit and now this wreck."

When he got home, he rushed inside and tuned the television to the local news station.

Angie hurried into the TV room. "What is it?"

He pointed at the screen. "Bad wreck. The Weber twins were on that school bus."

Her hand went to her mouth as she stared at the overturned yellow bus hanging halfway over the edge of the road. "Are you sure the girls were on it?"

"Yeah, I just left Ken and Sandy. They're pretty shook up and were headed for the hospital."

Angie slid into the chair, her eyes glued to the TV coverage of the grisly wreck as paramedics lifted a stretcher with a covered body into an awaiting ambulance.

Bud shot a sideways glance at her, folded his arms across his chest and continued to watch the news. He felt guilty that this tragedy bought him time at the expense of the Webers' girls. At least for a while, he wouldn't have to answer questions about Melinda.

Chapter Two

The small community rallied together after the accident. Having no children of her own, Angie loved Cindy and Wendy Weber as if they were and felt great relief that the twins had survived the horrific crash with only minor cuts and bruises. However, she still worried about their mental state after Sandy told how they'd watched as a classmate bled to death.

Angie spent most of the next few days at the Weber home, offering comfort to the girls and helping Sandy. At Marty's insistence they prepared meals for the families of the victims and for those exhausted parents spending long vigils at the hospital with their critically injured children. Angie delivered those dinners and lunches. The week passed in a blur.

Bud sat in his office, glued to the computer, tapping a pencil on the desk. The more he studied the books, the more hidden entries he found. He now knew that someone had skimmed a lot of money out of the company, deleting profit over a long period of time. He tossed his pencil across the desk. To think he'd trusted his staff without reservation. But the evidence proved that someone had betrayed him. Hands clasped behind his back, he went to the window and stared out. He'd have to call in an auditor to find the full extent of the embezzlement.

Rubbing his neck, he sighed. As if he didn't have enough on his mind, Melinda had to enter the picture. There hadn't been an opportunity to sit down and discuss it with Angie. But he knew she would bring it up soon, especially now that the twins were better. He let out another deep sigh and rubbed his temples. "Why can't life be simple?" Grumbling, he locked the files on the computer and shut down. "Might as well go home and get it over with."

Angie's car wasn't in the garage when he pulled in, but Marty greeted him when he strolled into the kitchen. "Good evening, Mr. Nevers."

"Hello, Marty." He sat down at the table, set for one. "Where's Angie?"

"The Weber's. She took over a meal."

He picked up the fork and twirled it between his fingers. "Aren't things about back to normal over there?"

"Yes, sir."

Bud noticed she avoided his gaze. "Marty."\par "Yes, Mr. Nevers."

He dropped the fork on his plate, making a loud clatter, then hit the table with his fist. "Cut the formality, Marty. You know Melinda came to the party last Friday night."

Her shoulders and back stiffened as she moved to the sink. "Yes. I begged her not to come."

"Did Angie mention it to you?"

"No, not a word. But why should she?"

"Once I tell her about Melinda, she'll probably fire you."

Marty whirled around, her eyes narrowed. "Why tell her? She'll only be hurt. You're the one who'll be caught in the middle."

At that moment, Bud heard his home-office phone ring and left the room. Fifteen minutes later when he returned, Marty had gone. It didn't surprise him. He sat down at the table, ate his lukewarm dinner, then sauntered into the television room to the wet bar where he mixed a stiff scotch and water. Relaxing in his leather recliner, he felt the exhaustion of the week slide over him. He knew he couldn't delay the Melinda matter much longer, but he sure didn't want to discuss it with Angie tonight. With slow dragging steps, he took himself off to bed.

Marty Casales walked to her bungalow on the other side of the garage and stepped into the home she cherished. She'd grown up with Angie and had been employed by the Nevers for twenty-five years. The thought of it ending squeezed her heart. She loved Angie Nevers. The woman didn't have a selfish bone in her body. Glancing around the room, she let her mind drift back over the years. Angie had had this cottage specially built for her so she could remain on the property. At the time, Angie had dreamt of having children and wanted her as a nanny.

Angie carried her first baby for only four months, the second for five. She tried to be brave, but after the doctors told her she couldn't bear children, she went into deep depression, unable to take care of herself or her home. Marty stepped in and took over, becoming Angie's caretaker for over a year.

Troubled by her memories, Marty went to the cabinet and pulled out the vodka. Unchecked tears streamed down her cheeks. She collapsed into a chair and lifted the bottle to her lips. Glancing around her little bungalow, she closed her eyes in shame.

*****

Angie didn't leave the Weber's until nine thirty. She hadn't intended to stay so long, but Sandy wanted to talk and Ken had stayed late at work.

She pulled into the garage next to Bud's white Porsche and hit the button to close the big door. Entering the kitchen, it surprised her to find dirty dinner dishes on the table. Marty never left things untidy. She glanced out the window toward the bungalow and caught the glow of lights through the curtains. Maybe she should go talk to her. On second thought, she decided against it. Marty had a tendency to hit the sauce in the evening, and she didn't want to embarrass her.

Angie glanced down the hallway. All the rooms were dark. Bud must have already gone upstairs. He'd worked late all week and hadn't been in a good mood. She felt guilty for neglecting him so much these past few days. Most likely, he'd sent Marty home, not wanting to listen to her chatter.

Not ready to retire yet, she decided to clean the kitchen. While stacking the dishwasher, her mind strayed to Melinda. If she didn't work at the company, who was she? And where'd she come from? What did this young beautiful woman want with her husband? There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, but Bud's reaction and silence bothered her. Although she dreaded it, she'd confront him tomorrow after his golf game.

Saturday morning, Angie gave Marty the day off, planning her confrontation with Bud, in private.

Mid-morning, Angie went into the kitchen to prepare lunch for herself and Bud, but instead found a note on the bar from Marty. She'd prepared potato salad and two beef sandwiches on French rolls for them. Angie peeked into the refrigerator and seeing them through the clear plastic wrap made her mouth water. Marty must have prepared the food at home and brought it over to surprise them. Bud would be pleased. He loved Marty's potato salad. Humming, she set the table.

She always looked forward to Saturday afternoons. Bud reserved this time so they could be together. They might go shopping or take in a movie. But today, she wouldn't be able to enjoy it until she found out about Melinda. She shivered. Why did she get that odd feeling whenever she thought of that woman? Nothing in Bud's recent behavior indicated unfaithfulness.

She sat down at the kitchen bar and thought back over their life. Sure, they'd had their moments. After the miscarriages and her withdrawal, Bud might have been tempted to be unfaithful. But, she knew then, if she didn't climb out of that hole of depression, she'd lose him for sure. They'd survived that bleak period and had grown closer than ever.

Glancing at the clock, she crossed over to the kitchen window and stared down the long winding driveway. Where was he? He's usually home by now, she thought. They must have been detained on the course. She picked up a magazine and sank down into the overstuffed couch behind the kitchen bar.

Waking with a start, she glanced at her watch and gasped. "Two o'clock!" Jumping up, she called Bud's name. When she didn't get an answer, she looked out the window toward the garage. No car. How odd, she thought. She checked the phone messages in case he'd called while she slept. Nothing. Worry churned inside her. He'd never been this late.

Had he told her he had a Saturday appointment? With so much confusion this past week, she couldn't remember. Figuring Ken Weber would know, she called, but got no answer.

She went out the front door and headed for Marty's place. Maybe Bud had mentioned his plans to her. But when she reached the edge of the garage, she realized Marty's car wasn't in the carport, so returned to the house. She hesitated to call Bud's office, but he never seemed to mind, so she keyed in his private number. No answer there either. Now what? Almost three o'clock and still no word from him.

Trying to keep busy, she did odd jobs around the house. When five o'clock arrived and still no word, she threw the dust cloth into the corner and called Ken's house again. This time Sandy answered.

"Sandy, this is Angie. How are the twins?"

"They're doing great. I took them to the mall this afternoon."

"That's good. By the way, have you seen Bud today?"

"No, I haven't. Let me ask Ken."

She must have covered the mouthpiece with her hand, as all Angie could hear were muffled voices.

"Ken said they had a short meeting after their game. He just assumed Bud went straight home afterwards. You haven't heard from him?"

Angie's words caught in her throat. "Something's wrong." She paced the kitchen with the portable phone to her ear. "I'm worried, Sandy. This isn't like Bud. He always calls when he's going to be late. Ask Ken if he mentioned meeting with a client."

She waited patiently, biting her lower lip while Sandy relayed the question.

"No. Ken said he doesn't recall anything about an appointment, but that doesn't mean Bud didn't have one. Why don't you give him a little more time. It's just after five. You know how a business meeting can go on and on."

"That's true. Thanks, Sandy."

Angie dropped the phone on the cradle and drummed her nails on the plastic receiver. She'd quit smoking ten years ago, but right about now she'd trade her Cadillac for a cigarette.

Chapter Three

Angie kept glancing out the kitchen window, scanning the driveway, praying she'd see Bud's white Porsche come over the top of the slight incline. The clock ticked its way past six o'clock and her anxiety mounted. Several scenarios crossed her mind: a car wreck, a mugging, or maybe someone had stolen the car and left him tied up in some ungodly place.

Pacing from the kitchen to the television room and back down the hall, she kept coming back to the kitchen where the clock ticked loudly amid the silence. Or, had he left her? She'd certainly neglected him lately. And then came the visit from that woman.

She stared out the kitchen window, her gaze fixed on the driveway. Since the party, Bud had been curt and distracted. She'd been preoccupied helping Sandy with the twins and hadn't pressed Bud for answers about Melinda.

When the phone rang at a quarter of eight, she jumped, knocking over a vase of flowers on the counter. She uprighted the dripping vessel and snatched the phone, clutching the receiver to her ear. "Bud."

"No, it's just me. Obviously, he hasn't called?"

Angie slumped limply on a kitchen stool. "Oh, God, Sandy, I'm worried sick."

"Take it easy. Ken and I are taking the girls to a movie. I'll call when we get back if it isn't too late."

Angie calculated that would be after eleven. "I'll be up. If Bud gets home, I'll leave a message on your machine."

"Okay. Now Angie, stay calm. I'm sure there's an explanation."

Angie felt her shoulders tense. There better be, she thought. "Thanks, Sandy."

Trying to relieve her apprehension, she meandered from room to room, but kept ending up back in the kitchen, staring out the window into the empty darkness. She picked up the dishcloth and automatically wiped off the clean stove and kitchen counter.

Finally, at nine-thirty, she sat down in a chair at her small desk in the corner of the kitchen. Her gaze fell on the Rolodex. She pulled it toward her and thumbed through the H's, stopping at Tom Hoffman, a friend of theirs who worked as a police detective. The two men had known each other since high school. She remembered meeting Tom shortly after he'd lost his young wife to cancer. He had never remarried, but devoted his life to the police force, working his way up to Detective in the homicide division. Angie liked Tom and thought of him as a close friend.

She lifted the receiver, then let it fall back on the cradle, feeling foolish. The police couldn't take any action; Bud hadn't been gone long enough. She dropped her head on her arms and wept in frustration.

Her tears spent, she went to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face, then wandered into the study, where she flipped on the television for background noise in the silent house.

Sandy called a little after eleven. "Have you heard from him?"

Angie gazed out the kitchen window into the darkness and wiped her hand across her forehead. "Not a word."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"No. I wish it were that simple."

"Maybe you should call the police."

Angie fiddled with a tea towel, rolling the fringed edge between her fingers. "I thought about calling Tom, but what can he do? Bud's only been gone for hours, not days."

"Call him anyway, he'll understand. After all, this is out of character for Bud. That might mean something."

She felt relieved that Sandy had suggested the very thing that had crossed her mind. "You're right. I'll call him."

"I'll talk to you in the morning. Try not to worry."

Angie hung up and drummed her fingers on the table. She still hesitated to call Tom, but her fears had heightened. Bud could be lying in his Porsche at the bottom of a ravine, bleeding to death.

She dialed Tom's home first, but got no answer, so she flipped open the phonebook to the non-emergency police number and asked for Detective Tom Hoffman. While on hold, she closed her eyes and whispered. "Please Tom, be there." When the familiar voice came over the line, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Detective Hoffman here."

"Tom, Angie Nevers. I'm so glad I reached you."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm concerned about Bud." She explained her husband's uncharacteristic absence. "Tom, I'm really worried."

"It definitely doesn't sound like Bud. Are you home right now?"

She gripped the phone. "Yes."

"Call me if you hear from him. I'm off duty at twelve. I'll drop by if you haven't heard from him by then."

"Thanks Tom, I'd appreciate it."

Sweeping wisps of hair out of her face, Angie went into the television room. She sat rigidly on the couch, staring at the flickering screen.

*****

After hanging up from Angie, Tom Hoffman leaned back and stared at the phone. He'd known Bud for years. The behavior Angie had just described definitely seemed out of character for Bud Nevers. It concerned him. He hoped it was only a miscommunication that had occurred between a man and wife.

He made some notations on the file atop his desk, then rolled his chair backward, depositing the folder into the filing cabinet. Standing up, he stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders, hoping to relax the tight muscles across his back. He shrugged on his jacket and pulled a cigar from his inside pocket. Placing the unlit stogie between his lips, he left the station, waving at the officer in charge as the door swung shut behind him. On the way down the steps, he lit his cigar, savoring the long awaited flavor.

He pulled to a stop at the large iron gates that protected the Nevers' property, pushed the button on the call box and identified himself to Angie. Within a few seconds, the big iron gates swung open. He drove through, glanced in his rearview mirror and watched the tall shadowy forms close.

Driving over the small hill that separated the house from the front gates, he saw the warm welcoming glow from the porch light. He parked in front, snuffed out his cigar in the ashtray and brushed the stray ashes from his coat. He took the dozen or so stairs that led up to the large entry veranda two at a time and had just raised his fist to knock when Angie opened the door.

"Oh, Tom, I'm so glad you're here," she sobbed.

Startled by her tears, he pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment, then pushed her back at arm's length. Putting his finger under her chin, he tilted her head upward and looked into her eyes. "There's probably a simple explanation for Bud's absence, but I can see you are imagining the worst."

"I'm worried sick and don't know what to do." She dabbed at her eyes, then locked her arm into his and led him into the study.

Tom had been a visitor in the home so many times that he felt comfortable going to the wet bar and mixing himself a scotch and water. He then made Angie her favorite, gin and tonic, before sitting down on the leather couch opposite her.

She took a sip and closed her eyes. "I needed this."

Tom studied her oval face. Long wisps of hair had strayed out of the silver barrette at the nape of her neck and twined around the collar of her blue denim shirt. He looked into her crystal-blue eyes and noticed the tear-stained makeup on her cheeks. She sat stiffly and rubbed the rim of the glass with her finger.

"Okay, Angie," he said, scooting forward to the edge of the couch. "Tell me what's going on. You told me a little on the phone, but start at the beginning and tell me the whole thing."

Clutching her glass with both hands, she leaned back in the chair. "As you know, Bud plays golf every Saturday morning."

"Yes, I've even joined him on occasion."

"He left before I woke up, but I really didn't get concerned until about two this afternoon. I called Ken and he told me they'd had a short meeting after their golf game, but he assumed Bud had headed home as usual. That's the last any of us has seen or heard from him."

"Where'd they have this meeting?"

Angie shrugged. "They could have talked at the clubhouse or over at the office. I didn't ask."

"Maybe Bud had an unexpected call from a client and had to meet him someplace. Did you try calling him on his cell phone?"

"I already thought of that, but it's upstairs on the dresser. He never takes it golfing. That's the one place he doesn't want to be disturbed."

Tom nodded and stared into his glass. "Is there a favorite bar where he might have stopped off?"

"Not that I know of. He's never been one to do that."

Tom set his glass on the coffee table, rested his arms on his knees and clasped his hands together. "What about Marty? Did she see him before he left?"

"I don't know. I gave her Saturday off, so I haven't talked to her."

He remained silent for a moment, then with a serious expression looked into her eyes. "I'm going to ask you some personal questions, Angie. But as a police officer, I need to know. Did you and Bud have a fight in the past week or so?"

She shook her head.

"Does Bud have a mistress?"

She stared at him silently, then lowered her eyes. "I have no reason to believe he has one. But, of course, the wife would be the last to know."

Tom cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

A slight twinkle showed in her eyes. "Bud's all I can handle."

He managed a strained grin. "I hope you realize these are routine questions. I just need to know where we stand at the moment. Has he mentioned anything about problems at work or with his health?"

Angie furrowed her brow. "Strange you'd ask. Last week, he mentioned there were problems at work." She glanced up at the ceiling. "But with Ken's girls hurt in that school bus wreck and all, we never had the chance to discuss it. But talk to Ken, he might know."

"I'll do that." He picked up his glass and stared at the melting ice cubes. Her answers puzzled him. He'd always thought she and Bud were so close, yet she seemed to know so little about the company. And he didn't know how to put her fears to rest. Taking a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket, he wrote a number on the back and stood, handing it to her. "You can't always reach me at home or the office, but that's my cell phone number. It's always with me. If you haven't heard from Bud by morning, call me and I'll start checking."

Reaching for the card, she looked up at him, her eyes pleading for some assurance.

He solemnly shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Angie. I don't know what to tell you." He rubbed the stubble on his chin and headed for the front door. Angie followed. Before he stepped out on the porch, he gently grasped her shoulder. "Hang in there. I'll keep in touch."

He winced at the sight of her pinched face and hastened down the steps, but before climbing into his car, he glanced back toward the house. Angie's silhouette, outlined by the foyer light shining through the door, appeared to be frozen to the spot.

Chapter Four

Tom's eyes flew open when the loud jingle jarred him awake. He kept the phone on the far side of the room so he'd have to get up to answer it. But last night, he'd placed his cell phone on the bedside table just in case Angie might call. Half awake, he fumbled with it until he realized the constant ringing came from the other one. He groaned, yanked off the covers and rolled out of bed. "Coming, coming."

"Yeah, Tom Hoffman here." After a few moments of listening, he frowned. "I'll be right there."

He threw on some clothes, grabbed his jacket off the chair and charged out of the house. The sun's rays were just beginning to peek over the surrounding hills. He drove fast and knew he didn't have far to go when the odor of metallic smoke and burnt flesh scorched his nostrils.

Parking behind one of the fire trucks, he leapt out of the car and dashed around the large yellow vehicle, but came to a sudden halt behind the yellow tape separating the street from the accident scene. Glaring spotlights lit the area like daylight. He blinked and stared at the rear end of a charred Porsche. It appeared that the car had missed the sharp turn and careened over the embankment, hitting a huge oak tree head-on. The exploding gas tank had ravaged anyone or anything inside the car. He stepped over the tape and walked slowly toward the wreckage. The two technicians glanced up momentarily from their meticulous work, removing what remained.

His eyes watered from the lingering smoke, but he managed to write down as much of the curled license plate as he could make out. After tucking his notebook back into his pocket, he walked back up to the road and studied the surrounding terrain. Odd there weren't any skid marks. He glanced back at the Porsche and made a mental note of its position. The fumes made breathing painful as he stumbled back over the rough ground toward his own car.

He gripped the steering wheel and muttered. "Get hold of yourself. Just because that car is a Porsche, doesn't mean it's Bud's."

Not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment, he drove down the road a half mile and parked. After getting away from the sickening smell, he took several deep breaths and gathered his composure before making a call to the station. He remained on the line while they ran a check on the license plate.

"Detective Hoffman, Bud L. Nevers does have a white Porsche registered and the license plate contains those last three numbers. But I'll need the rest of the figures to confirm that it's actually his."

His worst fears realized, Tom couldn't speak for a moment, then choked out. "That's fine, thank you."

Fighting the lump in his throat. He stared across the hood of the car where the early morning sun played across the dark blue metal. It all blurred together like an oily puddle of water. How will I tell Angie? He remembered the pain when he learned of Sara's cancer. Even though he'd tried to prepare himself, it wasn't easy to lose the one you love. Sara's slow death still haunted him. His large shoulders shook with deep sobs.

Several minutes passed before he forced himself to turn the car around and head back to the crash scene. Two officers remained at the site, supervising the tow truck which had the car on its platform.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bouncing pieces of curled metal sitting precariously on the truck bed. His nostrils wouldn't let go of the horrible stench of burning flesh. Even though he knew it would be several days before a positive identification could be made of the body, he needed to tell Angie. He couldn't imagine her hearing it over the news.

When the truck turned into the station warehouse, Tom witnessed the removal of the wrecked vehicle and its placement inside the station warehouse. He ordered a complete examination of the burned Porsche.

*****

Angie stared at the ceiling of the dark bedroom. She wondered why she'd even bothered to get ready for bed. No way could she sleep. The painful suspicion that Bud might have left her kept crossing her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it. They'd been so happy together. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes onto her pillow. "Oh, Bud, where are you?"

If he didn't show up for work, people would start calling the house. What would she tell them? She didn't know anything. The thought frightened her, making her heart feel heavy.

She'd talk to Tom first thing in the morning. Even though she knew he couldn't start a search for another couple of days, maybe he'd help her find a private detective. She couldn't stand waiting any longer. This decision had a calming effect and she slipped into a deep sleep.

At eight o'clock, a soft tap on the bedroom door awakened her. She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Nevers, are you awake?"

"Come in."

Marty partially opened the door and poked her head inside. "Detective Hoffman is here. Says it's important. He looks mighty serious. Is something wrong?"

Angie jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe and dashed past her startled housekeeper. "Bud's missing!"

Marty's hands went to her mouth and she followed Angie down the stairs.

Tom stood in the entry with his back to the stairwell. Angie had just finished tying her robe when he turned to face her. She knew something terrible had happened when she saw his somber eyes and the deep frown-lines etched in his face. Silently, he took her arm, looped it around his and led her into the living room.

Angie heard his voice, but his words sounded distant and jumbled. When she opened her eyes, they wouldn't focus. Her vision finally cleared and she recognized Tom, with a soft damp cloth in his hand patting her forehead and cheeks. He leaned forward from his seat on the ottoman and spoke softly in her ear. "Marty's called Dr. Parker. He should be here any minute."

She sat up on the couch and grabbed his arm. "Tell me it's not true!"

He gently urged her back down to a lying position. "Angie, all we know right now is the car that crashed could be Bud's. It will take several days before a positive identification can be made. We're only assuming it's Bud, because he's missing."

Her body rocked with sobs. "It must be. He never let anyone else drive that car."

Tom wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. "We can still hope."

At that moment, Marty escorted Dr. Hank Parker into the room. He'd been Angie's personal physician for years. Tom moved back and the doctor sat down next to her. "I just heard the news. How are you doing?"

Angie shook her head and sobbed.

After checking her vital signs, he patted her arm. "I can give you a shot to make you rest or if you'd rather, I'll leave some tranquilizers. It will help you get through the rough spots."

She waved her hand. "No shot. Leave the pills with Marty."

Marty stood to one side, her hands clasping tightly at her waist. Dr. Parker handed her a couple of packets and a prescription. "Make sure she takes them for a day or two. Call me if you see signs of abnormal depression."

She nodded.

*****

After Marty escorted the doctor to the door, she returned to the living room. "Mr. Hoffman, would you help me get Angie up to her bedroom? She should rest now."

"Of course."

With Tom on one side and Marty on the other, they walked Angie up the stairs to her room. Then Tom pointed toward the bedside table. "I think you should unplug that phone. She doesn't need to be disturbed right now."

Marty agreed, knowing people from work would be calling soon enough. She not only unplugged it, but took the phone with her when she left the room. Tom followed her downstairs and into the kitchen. After placing Angie's phone on the counter, she faced Tom. "Can I get you a cup of coffee, Detective Hoffman?"

"No, thanks, I've got to get to work. But before I leave, I'd like to ask you a question."

Marty raised a brow. "What about?"

"Did you see Bud leave Saturday morning for his golf game?"

She shook her head. "No, I didn't. I always sleep in on Saturday mornings, but later Mrs. Nevers gave me the day off, so I went into town to visit some friends and shop."

Tom drummed his fingers on the table top in deep thought, then turned to leave. "Thanks, Marty. I'll talk to you later."

She walked him to the door and watched his car pull away. Back in the kitchen, she glanced at the clock, then reached across the cabinet and took that phone off the hook.

Knowing Angie would need some nourishment when she woke up, Marty busied herself fixing her favorite biscuits. When she pulled the flour canister toward her, she hesitated for a moment, then reached inside and removed a small bottle. After taking a long drag of the clear liquid, she capped it and put it back inside.

Her shoulders slumped and tears welled in her eyes as she sprinkled a handful of flour over a sheet of wax paper. "Oh, Angie," she whispered, and shoved the flour canister back against the wall with a clatter. She patted the dough onto the floured surface and viciously cut into it with a biscuit cutter. "So many lies. So many lies."

*****

Marty had closed the drapes in the bedroom, so when Angie opened her eyes in the dimly lit room, she felt confused. She hated the drab darkness, but got up too quickly and felt the reeling effects of the tranquilizer, forcing her to fall back on the edge of the bed. She held her head in her hands until the room quit spinning, then she slowly ventured to the window and pulled open the heavy curtains, letting the light flood the room. It must be close to noon, she thought, noticing the sun's position and the short shadows outside.

When she turned away, her gaze fell on the glittering-gold frame of their wedding picture. A wave of weakness surged through her and a lump formed in her throat. Fighting for self-control, she held onto the bedpost. If she let her emotions take over she might never gain control again. Soon the wretched shaking of her insides subsided. She took a long hot shower, dressed and went downstairs. The smell of baking bread met her nostrils as she entered the kitchen.

Marty glanced at her wide-eyed and hurried to her side. "Mrs. Nevers, are you all right?"

Angie hugged her. "Not really, but with your help, I'll make it."

Marty pulled away, her eyes cast downward. "You need to eat to keep up your strength. I'll fix you something."

Angie only picked at her food, but did get down a couple of her favorite biscuits. She scooted her plate out of the way and glanced at Marty. "Has anyone called?"

"No, ma'm. I've unplugged all the phones."

"Well, we have to face this, so you might as well put them all back on. I definitely don't want to miss any calls from Tom Hoffman. There's a possibility that the remains they pulled from that car aren't Bud's."

Marty shot a look at her, then walked over and put her arm around Angie's shoulders. "Mrs. Nevers, you haven't heard from him in two days. You know he never let anyone drive that car. So, please, don't set your hopes too high. It will do nothing but make you ill."

Angie reached up and held on to Marty's hand while fighting the welling tears. "I know, but someone might have stolen the Porsche and left him tied up somewhere. There are all sorts of possibilities. Until we know for sure, I won't give up hope that he's still alive."

Marty dropped her arm from around Angie and went to the sink where she busied herself rinsing dishes.

Angie crossed the room to the patio door and stared out the wide window. She imagined the blackened Porsche and hugged herself, her throat constricted as she whispered. "Dear God, please, don't let it be Bud."

Chapter Five

Later that afternoon, the receptionist ushered Tom into Ken Weber's empty office. She left, assuring him that she would locate Mr. Weber immediately. Clasping his hands behind his back, Tom glanced around the office. He didn't feel comfortable in this chrome and glass setting. Sure different from Bud's, which had a rustic oak and leather style that put you at ease the minute you walked in.

He paced, then stopped in front of the window and stared at the hills in the distance. Turning when Ken walked in with a somber expression, he extended his hand.

"Hello, Tom. Any news?" Ken motioned toward the chair in front of his desk.

"No. Too early," Tom said, taking the seat.

Ken sat down behind his desk and shook his head. "I still can't believe it. Bud knew those roads like the back of his hand. Why would he speed around that dangerous curve?"

Tom cleared his throat, shifted his posture and put his arm on the edge of the desk. "Angie tells me there were some problems here at work. Can you enlighten me?"

Ken shot him a look. "Problems? Did she give you a clue as to what they were about?"

"No. She didn't know. Told me to talk to you."

With a thoughtful look, Ken picked up a pencil and rested his elbow on the desk. He didn't speak for a few long moments. "The only thing I can think of is that he might have a problem with a client." He leaned back in his chair. "And he wouldn't confide in me about something like that unless it affected the business."

Tom nodded. "Do you know of any personal difficulties he might have been having? Like at home or with his health?"

Ken raised a brow. "I don't understand these questions. I thought Bud died in the car accident."

Tom drummed his fingers. "That crash didn't occur until hours after his golf game. He never called Angie to let her know he'd be late. I'm trying to close the gap between the time he left the course until the wreck. She told me you had a short meeting with him after the game. How long did it last? And where did you meet?"

"We talked at the clubhouse for about thirty minutes."

"What'd you talk about?"

"Business."

"Did Bud say where he'd be going after he left you?"

Ken shrugged. "No. I just assumed he went home like he usually did. So it surprised me when Angie called the house and asked if we'd seen him."

"Did that bother you then?"

"Not at first. But later that night, when Sandy called Angie back and found out he still hadn't shown up, then we began to worry."

"What did you think might have happened?"

Ken stared at him for a moment before speaking. "I didn't have the foggiest idea."

"Did you consider going out and looking for him?"

"Why? I wouldn't have known where to begin." Ken frowned. "I don't like the tone of these questions."

"Sorry, didn't mean to step over my bounds." Tom stood and extended his hand. "Thanks for your help."

Ken pushed his chair back and stood. "Wish I could have been more helpful."

"I may be back after the autopsy." Tom started to leave, then turned back. "Oh, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep Bud's office locked and not let anyone in there until we know more."

"Sure, that's no problem."

Tom left and drove back to the accident site. The first officers on the scene had already verified there were no skid marks. The written report also stated that an anonymous caller had reported hearing an explosion and seeing the glow of what they thought to be a fire in that area.

He again walked the stretch of road on both sides where the Porsche had gone over the incline and methodically searched the ground where the car had left the road. Then Tom slowly walked down toward the large oak. One would never have guessed a car had gone over the embankment. The only evidence left was scorched grass, roughed-up soil and the blackened side of the tree. Within a few months, nature would heal those scars. While he stood staring at the scene, his cell phone buzzed. He snatched it from his pocket. "Tom Hoffman here."

"Tom, this is Angie. Sorry to bother you, but we need to talk."

"I'm in the area. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He scurried back up the hill. When he reached the Nevers' property, the gates were already ajar, so he drove through. He parked in front of the house and hurried up the steps, but before he had a chance to knock, Angie opened the door. She would have looked great in her designer jeans and pale-blue silk shirt, but the dark circles under her eyes marred her soft features. He followed her into the study and before he could take a seat, she jolted him with her next statement.

"I don't believe Bud was driving the Porsche."

Tom raised a brow and leaned against the back of a chair, studying her for a moment. She's gone into denial, he thought. "What makes you think that?"

"Something inside me." She stopped abruptly and put a fist to her heart. "I can't explain it, but I want to start a search for him. I know legally you can't do it, for what, seventy two hours for a missing person?" She stared at him. "Tom, I can't wait that long. I'm going to hire a private detective. Can you give me the name of a good one?"

He stepped away from the chair and approached her. "Look, Angie. Why don't you wait until we get a positive identification of the person in the car. There's a possibility we'll know by tomorrow. Don't do anything rash right now. If it isn't Bud, we can start the investigation immediately."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I can't stand it. The frustration is driving me crazy"

He took her hand and led her to the couch. "I know it's hard. But I've already been doing a bit of digging."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "Did you find out anything?"

"Not yet. But I did talk to Ken Weber today and asked him about the problems at work that you'd mentioned. He said that things were fine and that Bud must have meant some problem with a client."

Angie furrowed her brow and slowly shook her head. "No, Bud distinctly said there were problems at work. He'd have said client if he'd meant that."

"Tell me. How well did Ken and Bud get along?"

Angie waved her hand. "Beautifully. They've been in business all these years without an argument."

Tom didn't want to upset her, so he decided not to say any more. He'd find the answers he needed from another source. "Promise you'll give me until tomorrow before hiring a P.I."

She squeezed his hand, her chin quivering. "Only if you promise to call me the minute you find out anything. I don't care what time it is."

"Done. Scout's honor." He put his fingers to his forehead and smiled. "Now try to get a good night's rest. I know this is a very trying ordeal."

"Ken and Sandy will be over tonight. I'll talk to him about what Bud said. Maybe he'll be able to enlighten me on what the problem might be."

"I'll call you tomorrow." He gave her a hug and left.

*****

Angie watched Tom's car disappear over the crest. She'd decided not to tell him about Melinda just yet. First, she wanted to see if Ken knew anything about her or had any idea of what she wanted of Bud. She felt that woman might have had something to do with his disappearance.

Marty scowled at Angie when she came into the kitchen. "Mrs. Nevers, you have no business having company for dinner tonight. You know you're not up to it."

Angie sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and dropped her head into her hands. "Don't scold me, Marty. It's only Ken and Sally. I need my friends right now."

Marty stepped over and put a hand on Angie's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scold. I'm just worried about you."

Angie patted her hand. "I know. I'll be all right." She glanced up at the clock. "It's almost five. They'll be here at six-thirty. I think I'll go upstairs and take a nice long bath before getting dressed."

"That's a good idea. Now get on with you so I can finish getting dinner ready."

Ken and Sandy arrived on time and Angie directed them into the study to have a cocktail before dinner. She saw the concern in her friends' faces and tried to put them at ease. "I'm doing fine and am so glad you're here with me right now."

Tears welled in Sandy's eyes "I can't believe what's happened."

Angie fiddled with the stack of napkins on the bar. "I'm hoping the body in the car proves not to be Bud's."

Ken shot a look at her as he stood behind the bar mixing the drinks. "What do you mean by that? Have the tests come back?"

She shook her head. "No. I just feel it."

"Who else could it be?"

"I don't know. It's just this crazy feeling I have."

Ken remained silent.

Angie sat down in the big leather chair. "Ken, did you know the strange woman who came to the party?"

Sandy looked puzzled and glanced from one to the other. "What woman?"

"She said her name was Melinda."

At that moment, a crash sounded in the kitchen. Angie jumped up and stuck her head out the open door of the study. "Marty. You okay?"

"Uh, sorry, Mrs. Nevers. I just dropped an empty pan. "Everything's fine."

She went back to her chair.

Sandy cocked her head. "Melinda who? I don't remember seeing any strange woman at the party."

"She didn't actually get more than inside the door before Bud took her back out on the porch. I never learned her last name. In fact, I never got to talk to Bud about her at all because the bus accident happened the next day and™" Her gaze dropped to her clenched hands and she let out a soft sigh. "That's why I wondered if you knew her."

Ken quickly responded. "No. I didn't see her and I don't recall anyone by... what was her name?"

Angie fought back the tears. "Melinda. I did so hope you knew her. Bud seemed so upset afterwards and didn't act himself all week."

Ken put his glass on the bar. "I don't mean to be rude and change the subject. But do you think dinner might be ready? I have an early appointment in the morning and can't be out too late."

*****

That night, as Ken and Sandy lay in bed, Sandy put her arm across her husband's chest. "Why do I have this feeling you know Melinda?"

Ken turned over, his back toward his wife. "Because, I do know who she is."

Sandy raised up on her elbow. "Then why did you lie to Angie?"

"Do you think it would have been a good time to tell her that Melinda is Bud's illegitimate child?"

Sandy's mouth dropped open. "Oh my God!"

Ken rolled to his back. "Keep your mouth shut for now and let's hope she keeps away from Angie."

Chapter Six

After testifying in a drug-related trial, Tom walked out of the courthouse with the district attorney. "If that son-of-a-bitch gets off again with no more than a slap on the wrist, it's going to make me wonder about our court system."

The district attorney nodded and waved a hand in the air. "We've done all we can. Let's hope the jury has the balls to nail him."

The two men parted ways in the parking lot and Tom drove back to the station. A report from the Coroner's Office lay on his desk. He loosened his tie and sat down. A red stamp proclaiming, "Incomplete Report" sullied the top of the page. He fingered the corner of the paper as his eyes scanned past the technical information and settled on the neatly typed lines.

With the use of dental and medical records, it has been determined that the burn victim in Case #40567 is Bud L. Nevers, the owner of said vehicle. Verification of the cause of death may take several days.

Tom tapped the paper with his finger. Many times, in his line of work he'd had to relay bad news. But this time his stomach tightened and his breathing came in ragged spurts. Several things nagged at his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on any one of them just yet. Something just smelled fishy. He'd wait for the full report on Bud's death before he really dug in.

He folded the report and slipped it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, next to his cigar. His first mission would be to visit Angie. She had it in her head that Bud wasn't the victim. How would she take this news? He might as well find out now.

Angie managed to drag herself out of bed at ten o'clock. If it weren't for the tranquilizer, she wouldn't have slept at all. She hated taking pills with a passion, but knew she needed the rest. Even with a good night's sleep, she didn't want to wake up and face the day alone. She knew she couldn't allow herself to succumb to these feelings, so she showered and dressed.

She felt better after eating and hauled the stack of mail that had been neglected for several days into the breakfast nook. The window overlooked the Santa Clara Valley, where a beautiful autumn day met her gaze. Dragging a small wastebasket over to the table, she started sorting through the mail, tossing advertising fliers and junk into the trash. She finally got it weeded down to bills and personal mail. A small white envelope, hand-addressed to Bud, caught her attention. No return address appeared on the outside, but the postmark indicated it had come from San Francisco. By habit she started to set it aside, since she and Bud never opened each other's private mail. Then she stopped, took a deep breath and picked it up. That didn't apply anymore. Reluctantly, she slit the edge with the letter opener. But just as she started to pull out the sheet of paper, the phone rang and Marty brought the cordless to her.

"Detective Hoffman would like to speak to you."

She dropped the envelope onto the table and took the phone. When Marty didn't move away, Angie glanced up and noticed her staring at the table. "Is something wrong?"

Marty shook her head and stepped back. "Uh, no. Sorry, I've just got a lot of things on my mind." She turned on her heel and hurried from the room.

After speaking with Tom, Angie crossed into the kitchen where she punched the button on the controls that opened the gate. She dashed up the stairs to freshen her face and hair. She called to Marty. "Mr. Hoffman is on his way. I've already opened the gate."

A dustcloth in her hand, Marty poked her head out of the study. "I'll put on some fresh coffee." Out of the corner of her eye, Angie saw a blur as Marty hurried into the kitchen.

Marty quickly put on the fresh pot, glanced up the stairwell, then went into the breakfast nook where the mail still lay strewn across the table. She glanced nervously over her shoulder while slipping the small white envelope into her apron pocket, then shuffled the rest of the mail around on the table.

Within minutes, Tom Hoffman's dark-blue Buick crested the hill. Angie led him into the study, followed by Marty carrying a tray with a carafe of coffee and two mugs, which she placed on the large oak coffee table. After Marty left the room, Angie sensed Tom's uneasiness and her stomach churned as she sat down in the big leather chair and watched him pull a folded white sheet of paper from his pocket. She sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands clenched tightly together.

He stood looking down at her, his expression solemn. "Maybe you should have Marty stay."

Fear filled her. "No, Tom. Whatever it is you have to tell me, I'll be able to handle it."

He sat down on the couch opposite her and cleared his throat. "I received this preliminary report from the coroner's today. Do you want me to read it to you or do you want to read it in private?"

She felt the blood leaving her face. "No, you go ahead."

After he finished, he placed the paper on the coffee table. "This is the hardest thing in the world for me to say, Angie. Bud's dead."

She stood, placing both hands over her ears. The room spun as Tom's voice echoed through the air. "No! No! It can't be. It wasn't him." Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Tom grabbed her before she fell, and called out. "Marty, get in here. I need you at once."

Marty dashed into the room and helped Tom get Angie situated on the couch. "I'll call Dr. Parker." She turned to leave the room, but Angie grabbed her hand.

"No. I'm going to be all right," she sobbed. "Just give me a few minutes."

Tom stood next to Marty as Angie collected herself, dabbing her eyes and smoothing back her hair. She glanced up at them. "I think I knew all along." Her voice caught. "I just didn't want to admit it."

Marty knelt beside her, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, Mrs. Nevers, I'm so sorry."

Leaving them in privacy, Tom went to the kitchen as the two women embraced. He rummaged the cabinet until he found another coffee mug and poured himself some coffee from the urn. He pulled his cigar from his breast pocket and started to step outside just as Marty came into the kitchen wiping her cheeks.

"Mrs. Nevers wants to see you."

He pushed the cigar back into his pocket and hurried into the study where he sat down beside Angie.

She held the report in trembling hands. "Tom, the coroner said it would take a while to find the cause of death."

"Yes, that's true."

She ducked her head and whispered. "What do they mean? Didn't he just burn up?"

"It appears that way. But they will check to make sure."

Angie stared at him wide-eyed. "You think there could have been foul play?"

Not meeting her stare, he stood and turned away. "Anything's possible."

"Tom, there's something wrong about this. Bud knew that road like the back of his hand. That's why I felt it couldn't have been him inside that car."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sat in the chair opposite her. "Angie, I don't know what to think. If he'd been drinking, his judgment could have been impaired."

She shook her head. "I've never known Bud to drink and drive."

He raised his hands palms up. "I don't know. We'll have to wait for the coroner's final report."

Marty brought in another hot carafe of coffee.

Angie's knuckles turned white as she clasped her fingers around the cup. She waited until Marty left the room, then glanced at Tom. "I want you to be honest with me."

He took a sip of the hot brew, then blew across the cup. "Okay."

"What are the chances that Bud was murdered?"

Shifting in his seat, he adjusted his jacket. "Why would anyone want to murder him?"

Her gaze met his. "There's one thing I didn't tell you, because I wanted to speak to Ken first."

His interest piqued, he leaned forward. "What's that?"

"At our anniversary party, a young woman came to our door, apologized for being late and asked for Bud. I'd never seen her before in my life and knew she hadn't been invited."

"So, what did you do?

"I asked her name, then had her stand inside the door while I got Bud."

"Did he know her?"

"He seemed taken aback when I mentioned her name was Melinda. He hurried to the door and took her out onto the porch. When he didn't come back inside for several minutes, I went outside and found him standing alone, staring into the darkness. I asked where she'd gone and he told me she'd left."

"He didn't give you some hint of what she wanted?"

Angie shook her head. "He hustled me back in the house to take care of the guests. Then the next day, the school bus accident happened and the whole week turned chaotic." She sucked in her breath. "When I noticed his changed attitude, I decided to talk to him about her the following Saturday."

Tom glanced up at her. "Melinda who?"

"She didn't give me her last name."

"You talked to Ken?"

"Yes, but he didn't know her either."

He took a small notebook from his pocket. "Give me a description."

"Beautiful, early twenties. Long blond hair, body like a goddess and the most unusual green eyes I've ever seen. And I think they were real. Not contacts. They were so piercing, they sent shivers down my spine."

Tom's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Interesting. And you haven't seen or heard from her since?"

"No, but Bud's mood changed drastically and he seemed agitated all week."

"Do you think the interval between the time he left the golf course and the accident had something to do with this woman, or do you think it might have involved the work problems you mentioned?"

Angie picked up her cup, but trembled so badly she had to hold it with both hands. "I wish I knew the answer to that one. It's hard to know what might have been the cause of his frustration."

"Do you think Bud was suicidal?"

She shot a look at him. "Dear God, no. He loved living too much to take his own life."

Tom finished his coffee, folded the report and stuck it back into his pocket. "I'd like to think this was an accident, but some of the things you've said raise doubts in my mind. I'd like permission to go through Bud's files at work."

Angie felt her heart skip a beat and placed a hand on her throat. "You have to get my permission for that?"

"It would certainly make things easier if I didn't have to get a warrant. And since you're his next of kin, you can grant me permission."

"What do I need to do?"

"Call the office, let them know I'm coming and that it's okay with you."

When Tom left, Angie picked up the phone and called Ken Weber's office.

"Hello, Ken. This is Angie. I called to tell you that Tom will be there in a few minutes. He has my permission to go through Bud's files." Her insides trembled. She felt awkward and strange giving this type of consent. Bud had always taken care of the business.

"What's going on?"

"Tom got a preliminary Coroner's report." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It was Bud in the car." Then she managed to choke out. "But they still haven't determined the cause of death."

"That should be easy enough to guess."

Ken's cold response befuddled her. He sounded so insensitive. "They have to run more tests," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Angie. I apologize for that cruel statement. It's just all so hard to believe. I feel like I'm in some horrible nightmare."

"Yes, I know."

*****

Tom knew this ordeal must be eating away at Angie. On the outside, she appeared to be holding together fairly well. But those normally sparkling blue eyes were dull and glazed.

He drove toward the Nevers Computer Technology building thinking about the information Angie had just dropped. In their close-knit circle of friends, it seemed strange that no one knew this Melinda. Was her visit coincidental or did this woman have something to do with Bud's death?

He parked and scanned the area as he walked toward the Nevers building. When he stepped inside, the receptionist glanced up. "May I help you sir?"

"Tom Hoffman. To see Ken Weber. I'm expected."

She checked her appointment book. "Oh yes. Just a moment." After punching a button and speaking softly into the small headset clipped around her hair, she turned to him. "Mr. Weber will be right out."

Tom shifted from one foot to the other until Ken approached with a ring of credit card-like keys in his hand and motioned for him to follow. He unlocked the door to Bud's office and threw it open, waving Tom inside. "It's all yours. Let me know when you're through and I'll lock it up."

"Thanks."

After Ken disappeared down the hall, Tom shut the door and locked it from the inside, not wanting to be disturbed. He shed his jacket, hung it over the chair, then sat down at Bud's desk. Tom's tingling sense usually alerted him, and it was going off. Something definitely didn't feel right.

He glanced at the top of the oak desk. It looked different. You could tell a lot about a person from his office. Then it hit him. He'd never seen the top of Bud's desk. But today it had been wiped clean of clutter and glistened with new wax.

He stood and ran his finger across the top of the file cabinet. "Damn, it's been dusted," he muttered. Maybe the cleaning crew never got the word. Although no cleaning crew would touch the top of an executive's desk.

Tom sat down and turned on the computer. As it booted up, he opened the long front drawer that contained the usual: paper clips, pens, name tags, stapler and the like. No surprises here. He proceeded through all the desk drawers and cubby-holes, finding nothing out of the ordinary, except for the orderliness.

He then concentrated on the computer and worked until after five o'clock, searching through Bud's files for anything that might give him a clue. He couldn't open many of the folders in the computer, but that didn't surprise him. Every executive had locked files. However, they'd have to be opened if the Coroner proved foul play. He had his suspicions, but hoped in this case they'd be proven wrong.

He thought back over his conversation with Angie and had to agree that Bud knew the roads around here like he'd made the map. And he knew for a fact that Bud never drove when he drank. He'd take a cab first or hail a ride with a sober friend. So drunken driving had to be ruled out.

He stood, rubbed his hands across his face, then stretched his arms above his head. "Dammit," he mumbled. "I need the rest of the Coroner's report."

Chapter Seven

After speaking with Ken, Angie wandered into the kitchen nook where a breeze from the partially opened patio door had scattered the mail across the floor. She halfheartedly gathered up the envelopes and put them in a stack.

Aware that she couldn't concentrate, especially on bills, she put on a sweater and went outside. The air felt chilly, but invigorating. She walked up to the crest. The view from here took her breath away. Bud had worked so hard for all of this. Then her gaze traveled to the gate. Surely this is just some horrible nightmare and Bud will come driving up that driveway right now. How her heart would leap. Then all this pain and anguish would go away.

But the gates didn't open. The wind whipped her hair around and caught in the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart felt like a piece of lead in her chest. She raised her face and whispered to the wind. "How will I live without you?"

Her vision blurred as she wrapped her sweater tightly around herself. Wiping tears from her cheeks, she hurried back toward the house.

*****

A few days later, Tom sat in his office, deeply remorseful about his friend's death. It just didn't make sense. He leaned back in his chair, locked his hands behind his head and stared out the window. His mind drifted back to the years he'd shared with the Nevers'. Good friends, always there when you needed them.

His thoughts were interrupted when his partner, Cliff Maxhimer, walked in and dropped a file on the desk. At first glance, Cliff could pass for a homeless man. One of those guys that couldn't look neat if you bought him the most expensive suit in the store. He always kept his long baby-fine hair covered with some sort of hat. Tom couldn't even hide his grin, as today it happened to be a fedora. Wisps of brown and gray hair popped out in half-curls all around the outer edge, refusing to stay inside the brim.

His rumpled jacket separated over his slight beer belly and hung so loosely on each side that he'd given up his shoulder holster and wore his gun either strapped to the calf of his leg or wedged into the belt line at the small of his back. And he might have slept in those wrinkled slacks. Despite his unkempt appearance, however, there was no better investigator on this side of the Mississippi. Besides that, he could shoot the head off a pin and sported a black belt in Karate. Tom always felt safe with this man at his side.

Maxhimer poked at the file he'd just placed on Tom's desk. "This looks like a nasty case."

"I figured you'd say that," Tom said, rolling his chair forward. "Has the coroner come up with the cause of death?"

"Yep. Body chock-full of phenobarbital to the point where he probably passed out. The position of the body in the car, even after impact, indicated to the coroner the body had been placed in the Porsche. He feels that Mr. Nevers didn't get into that car of his own accord. The examination of the car showed that the brakes were never applied. By the time the car got to the curve it had probably hit fifty or sixty miles per hour, flew off the road and slammed into that tree with such force the gas tank literally exploded."

Tom slapped his forehead. "God!"

Cliff flopped down in the chair and leaned back. "Looks like a fairly solid case for a murder investigation." He drummed his fingers on the desk, then glanced up at Tom. "You know the Nevers' pretty well, don't you?

"Yes."

"Any ideas?"

"None."

"Well, he had an enemy somewhere." Cliff stood and adjusted his hat, pushing stray hairs underneath the binding. "Guess we better get busy. We've got a lot to do."

Tom shrugged on his jacket and the two detectives left the station in an unmarked car. They headed for the Nevers Computer Technology building. Cliff had already sent a couple of officers to stand guard over Bud's office. The young receptionist stared wide-eyed when the two detectives entered the door. "Can I help you?" she asked in a trembling voice.

They both flashed their badges, sending her into a flurry of action. She yanked off her headset and hurried down the hall. Within a few minutes Ken Weber stood rigidly before them.

He gestured down the hallway toward Bud's office. "I don't appreciate those two officers coming into our complex and taking position in front of Bud's office without an explanation. My whole staff is in an uproar. I called the police station but no one would tell me anything. I'd be most obliged if you'd let me know what's going on."

Tom stepped forward. "Sorry for the inconvenience, Ken. But we're securing Bud's office. We'll be removing his files and anything else that we need for the murder investigation."

Ken stared at them in disbelief. "Did you say murder investigation?"

"Yes."

"Dear God." Ken leaned against the wall and rubbed his hands across his eyes. "Why the hell would anyone want to kill Bud?"

Tom reached up and patted Ken's shoulder. "I know this whole ordeal has been quite a shock to you and your staff. But we have to get on with the investigation." Tom introduced Detective Maxhimer. "Could we speak to you in your office?" After shaking Cliff's hand, Ken led them down the corridor.

Tom sat on the chair in front of the desk while Detective Maxhimer took a seat against the wall and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his thighs, his hands hanging loose between his knees. "Mr. Weber, please tell me what happened on Saturday."

Ken cleared his throat. "I've already gone over this with Tom."

"I know, but I want to hear it."

Weber related again how after the foursome had played golf, he and Bud had stayed to discuss a business deal for about thirty minutes before parting ways.

Cliff's eyes never left Ken's face. "Is it the same four men every Saturday?"

"Most of the time, but if someone can't make it, we'll pick up another fellow at the clubhouse."

"What about the group on that morning?"

"The usual four."

"Do the other two men work at Nevers?"

"No."

"I'd like their names, addresses and phone numbers."

"No problem." He buzzed his secretary and had her bring the information.

Maxhimer took the list, pushed back his hat and studied Ken. "Tell me about Bud's demeanor that day. Was he upset, agitated? Did he seem to have something on his mind?"

Ken shrugged. "Well, he didn't golf well. If that tells you anything. But otherwise, he seemed fine."

Tom intervened. "You said that afterwards you and Bud discussed business. Did you talk at the golf course, or come back here to the office?"

"Oh no. We just discussed a contract and what terms we wanted to put into it after the game. Pretty routine. Bud seemed in a hurry. Said he was going to take a quick shower before leaving." Ken lowered his head and stared at his clenched hands resting on the desk. "That's the last time I saw him."

Cliff observed Ken's expression as he questioned him. "Did Bud normally take a shower before he went home?"

Ken's mouth twitched as he thought for a moment. "Not always. I guess it all depended on whether he and Angie had something planned. And we were running about twenty minutes late."

"Did he mention any plans to you?"

"Nothing that I recall. But I know he always tried to save Saturday afternoons so he and Angie could do something together."

"Anybody see you and Bud talking?"

Ken waved a hand in the air. "Probably. That place is always packed on Saturday. People going in all directions."

"Did you notice anyone loitering nearby while you spoke with Mr. Nevers?"

He shook his head. "No. But I didn't pay that much attention either."

"Do you know if anyone talked with Mr. Nevers after you did?"

"I have no idea."

Detective Maxhimer stood. "Thank you for your time. I may have to ask you more questions later."

Ken nodded, stood and watched the detectives leave his office.

Tom stopped midway down the hallway and snapped his fingers, "I forgot to ask him something."

Cliff waved. "Okay, meet you in Bud's office."

Tom knocked on the door, stuck his head inside and found Ken staring out the window, obviously deep in thought. Tom cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

Ken jerked around. "Yes? What do you want now?"

His gruff tone of voice took Tom aback. "I need the name of your accountant and your audit company."

Ken's hands clenched into fists at his side. "Ryan Conners is our head company accountant. Our auditors are Hames & Goode Audit Co."

Tom wrote the names in his notebook. "Thank you."

Ken rubbed his chin, then looked sheepishly at the detective. "I'm sorry, Tom. My nerves are raw. And this has caused quite a ripple throughout the company. I have a lot on my mind. The secretary can give you the phone numbers and any other information you need."

Tom nodded. "Thanks, Ken." He backed away and closed the door. On his way to Bud's office, he also asked the receptionist for the name of the cleaning crew.

Angie lay in bed, unchecked tears streaming down her cheeks. Marty watched over her like a mother hen. She finally coaxed Angie out of bed and into a warm bath. She stood outside the closed bathroom door, clenching her hands in front of her. "Mrs. Nevers, I don't know what to do to help you. You should talk to Dr. Parker or even Mrs. Weber. She's called several times and wants to see you."

Angie lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. "Later, Marty, later. Just let me be for awhile. I need some time alone."

Marty started to leave the bedroom just as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver on the bedside table. "Nevers residence." Her back stiffened. "What the hell are you calling here for?" she hissed. "Don't you ever ring this number again." She dropped the phone back on the cradle and glanced toward the bathroom door.

Chapter Eight

It had been three weeks since Bud's funeral, but Angie still struggled with daily activities. This morning, she'd made up her mind to get up and start the day right. After her bath, she stood in the middle of the bedroom with a towel encircling her body and a turban securing her hair. Her mind seemed to be in a fog. No more tranquilizers, she vowed. Time to get a grip on her volatile emotions. She felt it wouldn't take much for her to slip over the edge.

She glanced in the mirror and grimaced. Her eyes seemed dull and makeup couldn't hide the dark circles. Crossing over to the closet, she stared at the clothes inside. Everything hanging there reminded her of Bud. He'd never failed to make some sensual or teasing comment on so many of her clothes. She searched through the outfits and settled on a recent purchase of a soft pink lightweight

sweat suit.

Her lawyer had been bugging her about the legalities of Bud's death and they needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. She just hadn't had the heart nor the energy to move into that avenue, but this morning she made herself go to the wall safe. As she pulled out the insurance policy and will, a CD dropped to the floor. She picked it up and studied it for a moment. It had no label. Strange, she thought, but shrugged it off at being some song Bud had recorded and wanted to keep, so she tossed it back into the safe, definitely not wanting to deal with that at this time. She tucked the papers into a small briefcase, planning to drop them off at the lawyers sometime today.

After securing the safe, she took a deep breath, shoved back her shoulders, and silently ambled down the steps, running a hand along the smooth banister. She stopped at the kitchen door. Marty stood facing the window with the phone pressed against her ear. From the arch in her back, she appeared upset.

"No," Marty hissed. "You can't do that. I won't permit it." Suddenly, she turned and spotted Angie at the doorway. Her face paled. "I'll talk to you later." Visibly shaken, she faced Angie. "Mrs. Nevers, I didn't hear you come in."

"You look upset. Is something wrong?"

"I'm having a run in with a bill collector. They're trying to overcharge me on my credit card for a sale item." She waved her hand in front of her. "Now don't you go worrying your head over me. I've got it under control."

"That's good."

Marty pulled out one of the chairs at the breakfast nook. "Come in here and have a seat. It's a clear day and the view of the valley is beautiful. I'll fix you a bite to eat. I know you're hungry."

Angie didn't move. "Just a sandwich. Don't think I could handle anything heavy. While you're fixing it, I'll go get the mail."

The mailbox stood on the road, outside the gate. Normally, Angie walked it, but today she didn't feel like it, so she climbed into her car and headed over the crest.

She dumped several days' worth of mail onto the passenger seat and decided to sit in the car for a few minutes with the windows down while she sifted through it. A hand-addressed envelope caught her eye, reminding her of the one Bud had received some time ago. She stared out the window, thoughtfully gnawing on her lip, trying to recall what it had said. In fact, she couldn't remember ever reading or seeing it again. It must have gotten tossed into the trash.

Bringing her thoughts back to the letter she held in her hand, she ripped off the edge and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper. She clutched her chest as she stared at the short message.

Dear Mrs. Nevers,

I need to talk to you. Call this number, (605) 968-3486, between the hours of eight and ten on Thursday evenings only. Don't tell anyone.

Melinda

After recovering from the shock of seeing Melinda's name at the end of the page, she turned the sheet over. No last name, no return address, only a telephone number. She shoved the paper back into the envelope and slipped it into her purse. Driving back to the house, she pondered whether to tell Tom about this now or wait until after she had called to find out what the woman wanted. She'd decide after lunch.

Marty made the simple sandwich look so appetizing. It sat on the plate, regally speared with a long toothpick, topped with an olive. A sprig of parsley adorned the side. The clear soft drink sparkled, with a lime drooped over the lip and a colorful straw swimming in the middle.

"That looks delicious." Angie said, dropping the bundle of mail on the opposite side of the table.

Marty studied the flyers and bulk-rate envelopes, then shook her head. "If this junk mail keeps up you might have to get a bigger mailbox."

Angie smiled. "It's definitely something to consider."

"Uh, Mrs. Nevers. Do you need me this afternoon?"

Angie glanced up as she spread the napkin across her lap. "As a matter of fact, no. I'm going to spend the rest of the day getting the bills paid and returning calls. Would you like to take off?"

"If you don't mind. I have an errand to run. But I'll be back before dinner."

Angie waved her hand. "Don't worry about that. I'll fix myself something. Go run your errand and whatever else you need to do and I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you."

*****