Murder.Com

Marty hurried to her car. She left the Nevers' property and sped toward Highway 237, making good time in the light traffic. It took her less than an hour to reach the small apartment complex located at the south end of San Francisco Bay. She climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor and knocked on apartment number 24, the home of Melinda Smith.

The long-haired blond beauty opened the door. She frowned at the sight of Marty. "What are you doing here?"

Marty shoved her way into the room, only to encounter a tanned, bare-chested young man with long brown hair, braided into a ponytail, sitting on the couch. She turned and confronted Melinda. "Tell him to leave. We need to talk."

The man slipped his bare feet into a pair of sandals and stood. "No problem. I'll come back later." He walked past Marty, gave Melinda a peck on the cheek and went out the door.

Melinda whirled around and put her hands on her hips. "What the hell are you doing barging in on me like this?"

Marty sat with her back rigid on the edge of the overstuffed chair. "We need to talk. You're going to ruin both our lives if you continue this charade."

Melinda took a cigarette from a pack on the coffee table and lit it with a match.

Wrinkling her nose, Marty glanced up at her. "If you must smoke, why don't you use a lighter instead of those horrid sulfur-smelling matches?"

Flopping down on the couch, Melinda blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "Is there anything else you can find to bitch about? And I'm not going to ruin our lives. It can only get better."

Marty gripped the arms of the chair. "You're going to get caught in all these lies and we'll both pay the price. I'll lose my job and you'll be thrown in jail."

"Ha! By the time I'm through, you won't have to be a slave to Mrs. Nevers. You can quit that damn job and move into your own place."

"Melinda, please keep Mrs. Nevers out of this."

"She's already involved. I sent her a letter. She probably received it today."

Marty felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her. "What did you say to her?"

Melinda rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mom, get off it. She doesn't know I'm your daughter and I don't plan on telling her. But™" Melinda pointed a finger at Marty, "on Thursday night, she's going to know I'm Bud's daughter." With a gleam in her eye, she flicked ashes into an already brimming-full plastic ashtray on the coffee table "Of course, she may already know that from the letter I sent to Bud before he died."

Marty glared at her. "She never read it."

Her daughter jumped up. "How the hell would you know?"

"Because I have it."

She threw back her head, her blond hair glistening as it fell over her shoulders. "How'd you get it?"

Marty sighed. "I stole it out of a stack of mail when I recognized your handwriting."

"Ha!" Melinda then pointed a finger at her own chest. "Talking about me getting into trouble. You're messing with someone else's mail. That's a federal offense."

Ignoring her comment, Marty continued in a tight voice. "What do you mean that she'll know you're Bud's daughter on Thursday night?"

"I told her to call me, that I had something to tell her about Bud."

"She'll have the number traced."

"So what? She'll only find a pay phone." Melinda let out a disgusted sigh and headed for the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

"No." Marty leaned back in the chair, her heart aching over the coldness of her daughter's behavior. The girl had no conscience. Didn't care who she hurt. But Marty knew that most of that blame belonged on her shoulders. She'd let Melinda live a lie for years, only telling her the truth a few months ago. Her so-called innocent daughter had changed overnight. Marty dropped her head into her hands. "I've created a she-devil," she whispered.

Chapter Nine

Tom sat at Bud's desk and made a call to Rubler's Janitorial Service. When he hung up, he turned to Cliff who waited patiently with an elbow resting on top of the filing cabinet, a file hanging from his fingers. "You were on there long enough, what'd they have to say?"

"They claim no one touched a thing on Bud's desk. In fact, it's their policy to leave that area of any office alone. They don't want anyone charging them with lost documents."

Cliff wiggled the folder between his fingers. "Odd. According to you, someone cleaned it off."

"Yep, in all the years I've known Bud, I'd never seen the top of this desk." He raised his hands and looked at it. "It's beautiful oak, too."

"How often do they clean this complex?"

"They hit the offices every night except Saturday."

Cliff put down the file and lifted his hat to run a hand through his hair, shoving the shock of wild hair underneath the brim of the fedora. "Did they happen to notice the cleaned desk?"

Tom shook his head. "No, they weren't allowed back into this office after Bud's death."

Cliff put the folder back into the file cabinet. "Well, if your theory is right, someone got in here. They snooped around, then wiped everything down."

Tom leaned back in the chair and dropped his hands to his lap. "Wonder what they were looking for?"

"Ever get those locked files open on the computer?"

"No. Got a man coming to do that in the morning."

"Well, I think you better go pick Mrs. Nevers' brain some more. Now that we've got a murder on our hands, we've got to find out what happened before his death. Someone had a bone to pick with him. While you're doing that, I'm going to get some search warrants."

Tom raised a brow. "Oh? What are you planning to search?"

"Not sure just yet. But I want them ready."

"Okay." Tom chuckled. "By the way, I talked with several people at the country club and many saw Bud and Ken there Saturday before and directly after their golf game. But I didn't find anyone who saw either of them after twelve-thirty that afternoon."

"Well, so far Ken's story is holding up." Cliff checked his watch. "Let's say we meet here at six this evening."

Tom stood. "Sounds good."

After Cliff left, Tom shrugged into his jacket, locked the office and went to the parking lot. He climbed into his car, whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and placed a call to Angie.

*****

Angie stood looking thoughtfully out the bedroom window after Tom's call. The letter from Melinda lay on the bed. She'd reread it several times, trying to figure out what this woman had to tell her. But her mind remained a blank. When she saw the Buick crest the hill, she slipped the envelope into her dresser drawer and went downstairs.

Tom gave her a quick reassuring hug. "You look good, Angie. Glad to see you up and around."

"Thanks. I decided to get my life back on track."

He furrowed his brow. "I hope the questions I have to ask won't be too painful."

She led him into the study. "Can I fix you something to drink?"

"Nothing alcoholic. I'm on duty."

Angie opened the small refrigerator under the wet bar, pulled out two sodas, filled some glasses with ice, then joined him on the couch. She looked into his eyes. "I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to have to answer questions. Bud's murderer has to be found."

"I'm glad you feel that way. I can't stand to see you go through much more."

She patted him on the knee. "You're very kind, Tom. But, go ahead. What do you need to know?"

"I want you to think back over the past several months and try to remember anything unusual that Bud might have said or done."

She frowned and lowered her gaze.

Tom studied her, feeling she had something on her mind but didn't want to talk about it. "I don't expect you to come up with anything at this moment. But I want you to think about it. And if something pops into your mind, regardless of how small it might be, please give me a call."

"I'd forgotten about the young intern Bud had working for him this summer. I think he's already gone back east to school. But he drove Bud nuts."

"How?"

"He had too much energy and wanted to learn everything about the company. He had his nose in every corner until some of the employees complained."

"Do you know his name?

She shook her head. "No. I'm sure it's in the records, he got paid. But Bud never made any derogatory or negative statements about the young man. In fact, he complimented him shortly before he left. Told me that the kid had gone through the books with a fine-tooth comb and pointed out some areas where they could update their bookkeeping."

Her statement piqued Tom's interest and he made a note in his notebook. "Anything else off the top of your head?"

Angie tapped her chin with a finger. "No. Not at the moment. But if I think of anything I'll let you know." Then she gazed at Tom in silence until it made him uneasy.

"What's bothering you?"

"Do you actually think someone at work killed Bud?"

Not wanting to comment on that subject, Tom stood and glanced at his watch. "We don't know, Angie, but I'm meeting Detective Maxhimer at Bud's office. Take care of yourself. I'll call tomorrow."

Stunned by Tom's implications, she slumped down on the couch, forgetting to accompany him to the door. Until now, she'd thought the murderer would have been a stranger, like Melinda. But, no. It had to be a man. A woman the size of Melinda would have had a hard time struggling with Bud's limp body. That is, unless she had an accomplice.

Angie rose and hurried upstairs. She snatched the letter out of the drawer and sat down on the edge of the bed near the phone. Spreading the paper out on the bedside table, she dialed the number Melinda had written. The phone rang and rang. Just as she started to hang up, a man answered.

"Hello."

The voice didn't sound familiar. She could hear faint tinkling music and the bustling sounds of many people. "May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

"Were you calling someone here at the mall? I don't see anyone standing around waiting."

"Which mall?"

After he told her, she slowly hung up, a plan forming in her mind. She'd be at that mall tomorrow night. She'd go early enough to research which phone had this number, and then she'd wait nearby.

*****

Tom pulled up to the Nevers building. It never ceased to amaze him how fast Cliff could get a search warrant. The building had already been cordoned off with yellow tape and the parking lot held few cars. He walked into the front reception area, slowing his pace when he saw Ken Weber grinding his fists into his hips and glaring into Cliff's face. A standoff seemed to be taking place between the two men. He didn't know if he wanted to get involved, so he hung back just within earshot and listened.

Detective Maxhimer pointed his finger at Ken. "Mr. Weber, I'm now in charge here. I'll do what I think is necessary. A man's been murdered and it's my job to find his murderer."

Ken's green eyes shot fire. "Well, how the hell do you think I can conduct business if the building is closed and the police are running all over?"

"I think you'll find a way to manage things. It shouldn't take more than two days to thoroughly search the premises. If it takes longer, we'll go into the weekend and be through by Monday morning."

Weber turned on his heel and charged back toward his office.

Tom stepped up to Cliff. "Got a problem?"

Cliff poked his finger in the air toward Ken's office. "That's one hell of a stubborn man. He doesn't like us around at all." He shook his head and frowned.

"What's eating you?"

"He puzzles me. He doesn't seem to miss his partner. I haven't heard one word of remorse come out of his mouth."

Tom glanced down the hall where Ken had departed. "Some people show grief in different ways."

"Did you speak with Mrs. Nevers?"

"Yeah. She told me Bud hired a college business major for the summer and the kid drove him crazy."

"How's that?"

"He asked a million question about the company, but Bud was impressed with his performance. Angie said he never had anything bad to say about the young man. Just very enthusiastic about learning about the company. But he left before Bud's death, to head back east to school. Makes me wonder if he spotted something and brought it to Nevers' attention."

On the way to the office, Tom spoke with Bud's secretary and asked her about the young intern. She gave him Bill Crane's name, but she only had a local address and phone number. Tom took the name of the school and his parents' home phone number in case he needed to contact him. She'd also compiled a list of Bud's current clients, explaining that Ken had now taken them over. Her only association with the clients was limited to a greeting when they entered the office or witnessing their signatures on contracts.

The two detectives settled in Bud's office where they went through the rest of the files and checked off the dissatisfied customers, deciding who would be contacted first. Cliff suddenly hit the top of the filing cabinet with his fist.

"I feel like all I've accomplished is getting search warrants for the future. I've never felt so up in the air over a case. So far, we haven't even come close to finding a motive for the murder, much less a suspect."

Tom nodded. "Just be patient and keep looking. Something's bound to turn up. Murderers make mistakes."

It was after ten o'clock before the two men finally departed the building and went their separate ways. Tom turned into the driveway of the modest home that he and Sarah had bought before she became terminally ill. He'd thought of selling it several times, but the last few years he'd decided he liked the space and privacy. The thought of living in an apartment or a condo just didn't suit him.

Making his way through the house, he pulled his already-loosened tie over his head and hung it on one of the door knobs. He slung his sport coat over the back of the dining room chair. By the time he reached the bedroom, he had his shirt off and his belt unbuckled. He sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, socks and pants, then laid back on the rumpled covers.

He stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Who in the hell killed Bud? And why? He felt like he'd hit a brick wall. Praying silently something would happen to shed some light on this case, he grabbed the pillow, rolled over and barely remembered to set his alarm before his eyes closed. Then the dreams began.

Chapter Ten

Thursday morning, Angie started the day with mixed feelings. She'd told no one about Melinda's letter. Sandy Weber had called last night wanting to meet for lunch today, but she didn't trust herself to keep quiet around her friend so declined the invitation. They made plans to meet the following week. Until she knew why Melinda wanted to see her, she'd keep to herself.

Angie stood at the kitchen counter having a cup of coffee when Marty sauntered through the back door. Her shoulders drooped and she wore no smile on a sullen face. She didn't even look up and say hello.

Stepping in front of her, Angie put a finger under Marty's chin and lifted the woeful face. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Nevers."

"That's not what I asked." Angie raised a brow. "I asked what's wrong? You look ill. In fact, you haven't appeared well for the last couple of days."

Marty cast her eyes downward. "I think Mr. Nevers' death has caught up with me. I've cried myself to sleep every night. I know how horrible this must be for you."

Angie wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Yes, it's been devastating, but we can't bring him back. Life is for the living, so we have to stay strong and keep going. And we have to cooperate with the police and help bring his murderer to justice." Angie felt she said this for herself as well as for the benefit of her housekeeper.

Marty stepped out of her grasp and headed toward the coffee pot. When she raised the urn to pour a cup, her hand trembled so badly that Angie had to take it from her. "Sit down. I'll get it for you. It's my turn to wait on you."

Hesitantly, Marty went back to the kitchen bar. She sat down and muttered, "This doesn't feel right."

Angie smiled. "Everybody deserves a bit of pampering now and then." She set the mug in front of Marty, then took a seat on the opposite side and studied the woman's face over the rim of her cup. Her puffy skin and bloated look indicated to Angie that she'd been hitting the sauce pretty heavily. She reached over and patted Marty's hand. "I'm worried about you. I think you're drinking too much."

Marty frowned and diverted her gaze away from Angie. "You're right, Mrs. Nevers. I can't help myself sometimes."

"It's going to make you ill and you know I need you now more than ever. I couldn't stand the thought of you not being here with me."

Tears welled in Marty's eyes and she whispered, "I can't stand that thought either."

Angie hopped down off the bar stool, put an arm around Marty and led her to the door. "Look. I want you to go home and go straight to bed. No food preparing, no nothing, just rest. And promise me you won't take a drink today.

Marty nodded. "I promise, Mrs. Nevers, I promise."

Angie watched with concern as her housekeeper trudged slowly across the lawn and disappeared around the corner of the garage.

*****

Tom leaped out of bed, sang loudly in the shower, then dressed. He'd slept like a log except for those dreams about Angie that haunted him night after night. He felt guilty about his growing feelings about her, which surfaced not long after Sara's death. But, he'd accepted the fact that he'd never be able to have Angie. Then Bud's death opened a gateway he'd never expected. It would take time for her to get over her loss but he had plenty of that. On the other hand, she might never accept him. That's the chance he'd take.

He'd given up on trying to beat Cliff to work. It didn't matter how early he arrived, Cliff always got there first. Tom chuckled when he drove into the station parking lot and spotted the detective walking toward the building. Today, he wore a baseball cap. His hair protruded from the back hole like the soft down of a baby bird's first feathers. Tom beeped the horn. Maxhimer glanced up and gave a wave for him to get a move on it. The cool morning air put an invigorating pace to the men's steps as they charged inside.

Cliff took off his jacket and hung it over his arm. "You're gonna get right on that phone, aren't you?"

Tom grinned. "You know me pretty well."

"Yeah. When you work with someone for close to fifteen years, you get a feel."

Tom made himself comfortable at his desk and started making calls to Bud's unhappy clients. Cliff disappeared down the hall to his office. But it wasn't fifteen minutes before his right hand man came charging back through the door, fuming with anger.

"Have you got Weber's home phone number?"

Tom pulled his little black notebook from his breast pocket. "Yeah. What's the problem?"

"Just got a call from one of the officers at the Nevers building. Ken Weber has his goddamn filing cabinet padlocked."

Tom shook his head and recited the number as Cliff yanked the phone toward him.

"Ken Weber," he said sharply. While waiting, he tapped his fingers against the desk top. "Weber, Detective Maxhimer here. I need you to get your ass down here and unlock your goddamn filing cabinet or I'm having a crew take it apart." He slammed the receiver down with a disgusted growl. "For someone who wanted this procedure to hurry along, he's the one costing us time." Snatching off his ball cap, he shoved loose strands of hair behind his ears, then plunked the hat back on. "Come on, let's get over there and see what's happening."

A few minutes after the detectives arrived at the Nevers building, Ken Weber stormed into his office, eyes aflame. "There's no reason for you to rummage through my files," he stormed. "They only contain personal information about my clients."

Cliff narrowed his steel-gray eyes. "Mr. Weber, not only are we going to go through your files, but we're going to go into your computer. In fact, we're going into every computer in this building. The president of this company has been murdered. Do you understand this is a murder investigation? We're not leaving one piece of paper unturned. And if I have to search your home, I'll do that too. And furthermore, if you keep interfering, I'll close this damn building tighter than a jug. Now get that file cabinet open so my people can get at it."

Tom turned his back on the two men to hide his grin. Cliff never ceased to amaze him. And the astonished looks from people who didn't think the guy was tough always amused Tom.

After Ken unlocked the padlock, he turned on his heel and left the office. His angry steps echoed down the hallway and across the tiled reception area as he slammed out the front door. Tom wondered why Ken was so uncooperative. Of course, the man had more to gain from Bud's death than anyone else in the company.

Tom had carried the list of clients with him, so he decided to finish contacting them from Bud's office. Once satisfied that none of them appeared suspect, he turned on the computer and opened Bud's calendar. He found the most interesting entry to be an appointment with the audit company for the following Tuesday.

He gave them a call and discovered Ken Weber had canceled due to Bud's death. Tom jotted himself a note to talk to Ken about why Bud might have scheduled an audit at this time of year.

Tom leaned back in the chair and thoughtfully stared out the window. The police had confiscated what financial records they could find from the accountant, Ryan Conners. Mr. Conners informed them that a computer blitz had wiped out all the records and they were working to get everything restored. When asked about the backup disk, Mr. Conners couldn't find it. That puzzled Tom. Mr. Conners also explained why Mr. Nevers' and Mr. Weber's computers had not been affected. Each had their own circuits and the company had a separate line. They thought it would be a better protection policy. Tom agreed.

Cliff charged into the room, his hair stuck out in fluffs over his ears, and he had a dirt smudge on the end of his nose. He reminded Tom of a mischievous pup. Cliff banged a fist on the desk.

"This is the damnedest thing I've ever seen. There's something screwy going on here. This place is too perfect. Makes my hair stand on edge."

Tom stifled a laugh. That's exactly how Cliff appeared.

Cliff pulled himself up straight and took a deep breath. "Find anything on Nevers' computer?"

Tom shook his head. "Not yet. My computer buff canceled out today. He'll be here first thing in the morning."

"Who's their audit company?"

Tom fumbled in his pocket for his notebook. "Hames & Goode."

"Let's get down there and have a talk with them. I have a gut feeling we're going to have to move fast. Someone's a step ahead of us and I don't like it."

Tom grabbed his jacket and the two men left.

*****

Angie decided to leave the house at six thirty, which would allow plenty of time in case of heavy traffic and for her to find the right pay phone. Not wanting Melinda to spot her right off, she decided on a pair of designer jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. Thinking her hair might give her away, she tied a scarf around her head, then slipped on a pair of sunglasses. She examined her appearance in the mirror and decided that would do it.

She arrived at the mall at seven fifteen with butterflies of dread filling her stomach. Lifting her shoulders, she strolled the wide walkway. She glanced from shop to shop trying to recall the tinkling noises she'd heard in the background when the man answered the mall phone. Suddenly, her ear caught the sound of chimes. Yes, that's it, she thought. Music boxes. Her step quickened.

She stood in front of the store and noticed three pay phones on the wall directly across the hall. The number etched in her brain, she hurried toward them. After examining the first two, she breathed a sigh of relief to find that the last phone's number matched.

Now, she had twenty minutes to kill. Wanting to be out of sight when Melinda appeared, she entered the coffee shop next to the music store and picked a small table in the middle of the room. It afforded a good view of the walkway and the phones. She ordered a cup of black coffee and sat down to wait.

A teenager in short shorts and a long-tailed shirt tied around her waist, revealing her belly button ring, caught Angie's attention as she hurried toward the stack of phones. She went straight to the end phone, picked up the receiver and deposited her coins.

Angie wondered what Melinda's reaction would be when she discovered someone using that specific phone. She didn't have to wait long. Melinda materialized out of nowhere. Her long blond hair flowed down her back to her waist, her green eyes scrutinizing the area. Angie felt herself shrink into the chair, but Melinda's gaze moved past her. Instead, Melinda turned to the girl on the phone and motioned for her to go to one of the others. A defiant hand flew to the girl's hip as she turned her back on Melinda. She made no motion to move. Melinda paced in front of the phone for a few seconds before she reached into her purse and flashed a ten dollar bill. The girl immediately snatched the money, hung up and stormed toward the opposite end of the mall.

With her back to the coffee shop, Melinda sat down on the bench in front of the phones. Angie finished her coffee, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She untied the scarf from under her chin, folded it into a square and tucked it into her purse. Removing the sunglasses, she put them into the case and shoved them into her pocket. Then, she rose from her chair and started across the walkway.

Chapter Eleven

Angie stared at the glistening blond hair cascading over Melinda's shoulders and over the back of the bench. Her legs felt heavy as she forced herself forward. Each step took effort. What did Melinda want? First she seemed only interested in Bud. But now her, why? A chill crept up her spine.

Suddenly, she noticed her reflection in the large window directly in front of her and froze. Melinda jerked her head around and stood. Her face paled. Their eyes locked.

"What are you doing here?" Melinda asked in a harsh whisper.

Angie held her head high. "Talking on the phone about important matters is something I choose not to do. It should be done face to face."

Melinda's eyes narrowed. "How did you know where to come?"

Angie pointed at the pay phones. "If you let those ring long enough, someone finally answers." She turned her gaze back to Melinda and thought she saw a glint of relief in those piercing eyes. Angie strolled down to the end of the bench and sat down. "So what is it that you have to tell me about Bud?"

The young woman hesitantly lowered herself onto the seat a few feet away. Angie knew she'd caught her off guard. Oddly enough, it put her inner feelings at ease. She studied Melinda as she fought for composure. A natural beauty, skin as smooth as silk and hair that shone even under artificial lights. But her eyes distracted Angie. Beautiful as they were, they left her feeling cold and scared.

Melinda's gaze traveled to Angie's face. "You obviously don't know who I am."

"No, I don't have the foggiest notion who you are or where you're from. All I know is that you came to see Bud at our party."

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

Shifting her position, Melinda remained silent for a few moments, staring at the window in front of her. Then, she slowly turned her head and looked into Angie's eyes. "I'm his illegitimate daughter."

Angie's stomach lurched. She didn't expect such an announcement. A lover, a one night stand, anything but this. Her hand went to her throat and she gasped. "You're Bud's daughter?"

"Yes."

Now, fighting for her own composure, she stiffened. "You have proof?"

"No. But he's paid my way since the day I was born. Surely you can find what you need in his financial records."

Angie stared at her in disbelief. If only I'd known he had a daughter, she thought. Still stunned by the news, Angie clutched her purse, the words of the young woman whirling in her head.

"I'm here to warn you I don't want the money to stop just because he's dead."

Clearing her throat, Angie shifted her position. "Who's your mother?"

"That's not revelant."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

Angie's mind flashed back in time. It would have been about the time she'd lost the second baby. The time of deep depression. Yes, it could be very possible that this woman is Bud's child. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Going to the best private schools money can buy."

Yes, Bud would see to that, Angie thought. Only the best. "Did you go to college too?"

"Graduated from Georgetown University."

"I don't understand why you need money. Don't you plan on working?"

Melinda glared at her. "That's not the point, Mrs. Nevers. I've been robbed of a normal childhood. I never even knew I had a father until a few months ago. I've always been told I had a benefactor."

Angie nodded. "I see. And you think blackmail money will remedy that?"

Melinda's eyes spit angry green fire. "I'm the product of a night of lust. Now, I want my mother to have a life. Out of the hole she's working in and into a home of her own."

"Well, that's very noble. But it sounds as if you've been well taken care of all these years. I'm sure that took a big burden off your mother."

The young woman rose and glared at Angie.

"Mrs. Nevers, I could ruin your life."

Angie met her stare. "Are you threatening me?"

Melinda turned away and studied the mall's walkway.

Standing, Angie pulled a notebook from her purse and scribbled down an address. "I'll meet you at Doctor Parker's office in the morning at eleven o'clock. Here's his address." She ripped off the paper and handed it to Melinda.

The girl looked baffled. "Why?"

"You tell me you're Bud's daughter. I want more proof than you've offered. I can't think of a better way than DNA testing. If you don't show up, I never want to hear from you again. Do you understand?"

Melinda's mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Angie marched away, feeling those penetrating eyes boring into her back. Surprised at her own inner strength, she made it to the car before the dam of tears broke. "Oh, Bud, why?" she sobbed. "Why didn't you tell me you had a daughter." Wiping away the tears, she started the car and headed home.

Even though the clock read ten fifteen when she reached the house, she called Dr. Parker at home. Knowing she could trust him, she explained about Melinda claiming to be Bud's daughter and how presumptuous she'd been in telling Melinda to be at his office at eleven o'clock. She hoped he could squeeze her in. Dr. Parker assured her they would, and he also explained that he'd have to send outside his lab for the DNA testing, as he didn't have the facilities.

After talking with Dr. Parker, her hand still resting on the receiver, she flipped through the Rolodex until she found Ryan Conners' name. He'd been the Nevers company's accountant for close to ten years. Could she trust him? She let out a sigh and dropped the phone back on the cradle. What would she ask him? She got up and paced the kitchen. He wouldn't know anything about Bud's private expenditures. She didn't even know. Their salary fluctuated each month, depending on their sales. Not only that, she wouldn't have the foggiest notion of how to find something unusual in the books.

Angie went into the den, where she mixed herself a gin and tonic. She stared at the slice of lime she'd just dropped into her drink. "I'm so damned naive," she muttered. Then her gaze traveled around the room. Pictures of her and Bud at different functions adorned the walls, their faces glowing with pride and happiness.

She walked around, speaking to each picture. "Bud, did you do this to me on purpose? Never involving me in money matters so I wouldn't know?" She refilled her drink, this time making it a double. Tears flowed down her cheeks. "You didn't want to adopt. Why, Bud? How many other women were there? How many other children are going to search me out?"

Flopping down on the couch, she stared at the ceiling. "I'm so damned gullible. You could have been doing all kinds of things and I'd never have been the wiser."

*****

The two detectives left the Nevers Computer complex and met at their favorite beer and pizza place. They sat in their usual booth, isolated in the far corner of the room, where they could discuss the case in private.

Cliff, still agitated over Ken Weber's behavior, ranted for close to thirty minutes before Tom finally raised his hand. "Okay. I understand we've got a man who doesn't cooperate, but that doesn't mean he's guilty. So far, we can't point a finger at anyone. We haven't got one real suspect."

"It's bound to be an inside job." Cliff said, slamming his hand down on the table. "That company is too damn clean. There's something fishy about it."

Tom pulled off a huge piece of pizza, dragging a long string of cheese behind it. "We'll find it. Don't get impatient."

Cliff yanked off a piece loaded with mozzarella cheese, then dropped it on the table. "Son-of-a-bitch, that's hot." He sucked on his finger for a moment. "We've gone through most of that place. No drugs, nothing. The place is just too clean."

His mouth full of food, Tom garbled. "Looks like they run a tight ship."

Cliff rolled a bite of the hot food around in his mouth, then chased it with a gulp of beer. "I'm going to start processing search warrants. I'll start with Ken Weber's home and work down the ladder. Including Bud's place."

Tom held up his hand. "I think Angie will let me search her house without one." He shrugged. "But, I don't think we'll find anything there. Of course, it won't hurt to look around."

The two men finished their food and went their separate ways.

Tom pulled into his garage, shed his dirty clothes and tossed them on the washer. He trudged into the house in his underwear and headed for the bathroom. After a warm shower, he flopped across the bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. The next thing he remembered, he was sitting straight up in bed as the digital clock flipped over to four AM.

He jumped up and grabbed his notebook from his jacket pocket. That young intern Bud hired. He just might be the key after all. He flipped through the pages and glanced at the clock. It would be seven back east. Better wait an hour or more before calling. He went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then paced the floor.

If the kid had discovered something and told Bud about it, Bud could have turned around and approached the accountant or Ken Weber. Would one of these men have gotten scared enough to murder Bud? With Cliff's constant haggling over how clean that company seemed, it all began to slowly take form in Tom's mind. Is the company keeping dummy books? If that's the case, where are the real ones?

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully. Those locked files on Bud's computer; could they possibly hold the key? If Ken happens to be guilty, he'd have access to Bud's office. He could have corrupted the files. Damn, let's hope we get to them before someone else does.

Tomorrow, after the visit from the computer whiz, he'd know. Excitement whirled in Tom's gut. He felt that for the first time on this case he was finally on the right track. Now, find the culprit and hang him by his toes. He picked up the phone and called Cliff, rattling off his ideas.

Suddenly, Cliff came awake. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It hit me this morning. The kid that Bud hired during the summer. He's our key. I'm going to call him this morning."

"Well, why in hell's name didn't you wait until you did before you woke me? See you in the office in a few hours."

The phone went dead.

*****

When the fire alarm upstairs sounded, Angie dashed down the stairs. Smoke poured from the kitchen and circled above her head. Coughing, she spotted the source immediately and hurried to the toaster oven, pulled the plug, grabbed the two charcoaled pieces of bread with a hot mitt and tossed them into the disposal. After turning on the ceiling fan, she opened the doors and windows, then walked the kitchen floor, waving a tea towel in the air. The smoky odor finally cleared and fresh air filled the room.

Marty dashed in the back door and headed straight for the toaster. When she saw what had happened, she whirled around and faced Angie. "Oh, Mrs. Nevers, how terrible of me. I completely forgot I'd put on the toast and ran over to the cottage for a second." She covered her face with her hands.

Angie put her hands on her hips. "Marty, you could have burned the house down with me in it."

Marty ducked her head and turned away, as she pulled out two more pieces of bread from the loaf and placed them into the toaster. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Angie shut the door and closed the windows, then sat down at the table in the breakfast nook. She glanced through the newspaper until Marty brought in her meal, then decided enough had been said about the near disaster and changed the subject. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Much better. I slept most of yesterday and through the night. I guess I really needed that extra rest."

"I'm glad to hear it." She glanced up at Marty. "You look much better." However, Angie saw the hollow look in her eyes. "Marty, is something bothering you? You haven't been yourself lately."

"Don't you worry about me. You've got enough to think about. I'm fine."

Knowing the woman's stubborn nature, Angie figured no amount of prodding would reveal what was on her mind unless she wanted to tell you. She turned her attention back to her breakfast. "I'm going into town and won't be home for lunch. But plan on dinner unless I call."

Marty nodded and disappeared from the kitchen to perform her other duties.

Angle left the house at ten, dropped off the legal papers at the lawyers, then walked into Doctor Parker's office at ten forty-five. Melinda had not yet arrived. The doctor poked his head out of his private office door and motioned for her to come inside.

"I don't want to be nosy, but what's this all about?" He adjusted his glasses. "You say this young woman, Melinda Smith, claims to be Bud's daughter?" He looked over the top of the half-rims. "Is she blackmailing you?"

Angie sat back in her chair and exhaled. "Well, she's trying, but it isn't going to work. Regardless of whether she's Bud's daughter or not, the woman is twenty-three years old with a college degree. I'm going to take this a step at a time. First, I need to find out if she's telling the truth. If so, I'll handle it the best way I see fit."

Parker took off his glasses and chewed on one of the ear pieces as he studied Angie. "The DNA test results take about two weeks. Are you prepared to wait that long?"

She nodded. "Yes." Then she checked her watch and raised a brow. "Of course, if she doesn't show, I'll know my answer much sooner."

But, at that moment, the receptionist buzzed the office. "Melinda Smith is waiting."

Doctor Parker and Angie exchanged glances and stepped from the office. Angie met Melinda's stare. And for a split-second, Angie thought she detected a tinge of fear in those devastating eyes.

Chapter Twelve

In the waiting room, Angie glanced up from her magazine when Melinda, eyes blazing, stormed out of Dr. Parker's small lab and stopped in front of her.

"You'll be hearing from me in two weeks."

Before she could speak, the young woman had slammed out the door. Angie laid the magazine aside, stood and watched through the window as Melinda marched toward her car.

Dr. Parker stepped up beside her. "There goes a beautiful young woman with quite a chip on her shoulder."

"Yes, I know," she whispered. "Such a shame."

"Do you know her mother?" Parker asked.

"No, she wouldn't tell me. Did she tell you?"

He shook his head. "If she's Bud's daughter, she must have taken after her mother, because I don't see any resemblance to him." He touched Angie's shoulder. "I've got to get back to work. I'll call as soon as I get the results."

*****

Tom decided to make the call to the intern from work, and had just hung up when Cliff walked into his office. This morning he sported a golf hat and grumbled loudly about the traffic. Putting on his best smile, Tom nodded. "A good morning to you too, Detective Maxhimer. You need to get up earlier so you can beat the traffic."

Cliff fired a look at him that could have burnt a hole in his chest. "Some people get rude calls in the wee hours of the morning and have a hard time getting back to sleep." He slouched down in the chair next to the desk. "So, did you make the call?"

Getting serious, Tom shoved his sheet of notes toward Cliff so he could read them. "Yes. The intern's name is Bill Crane. The news of Bud's death shocked him. But once he composed himself, he told me he'd found an unusual entry in the Nevers company's financial books. An ABC Wafer Company had been receiving a hefty check each month from the Nevers company. He researched the name on the web and on the stock market, but couldn't find anything about them, so he brought it to Mr. Nevers' attention. He thought Bud took the news pretty seriously, but he never learned of the outcome of the audit because he left for school shortly thereafter."

Cliff stared into space as he listened. "I knew that company smelled too sweet." Then he turned toward Tom. "Your computer man gonna make it today?"

"Supposed to be there now. I gave him clearance."

"Let's get over there." Cliff stood and straightened his wrinkled coat. "It's going to be interesting to see what's locked up inside that computer."

The two detectives drove to the Nevers building and went straight to Bud's office. Cliff pulled a chair over to the front of the desk where William Bird, the computer expert, sat transfixed. His round-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of his nose as he stared at the monitor. The printer hummed, spitting out one sheet of paper after another.

"Yes!" Bird uttered, smiling and glancing up at the two detectives. "Just got the last one opened." Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes and pointed at the printer. "I'm printing them out as you suggested."

"So, how'd it go?" Tom asked.

"It's not hard to break open these files, but if someone uses a code or a series of steps to get in, it's tedious. This man had about five different steps, but once I got the hang of what he did, no problem. Just each one had different codes with some crazy little steps. He probably taught himself. I have to admit, though, he had a pretty good system. Not just anyone would be able to do it. But now that I've cracked them, I hope you're not going to leave this computer here with free access to anyone."

"I'll impound it immediately," Tom said.

Meanwhile, Cliff strolled over to the printer and began putting the papers in order as they finished. He had quite a stack by the time the last sheet printed out. He clipped them together and glanced at Tom. "This will take some time. I think we'll need an auditor next."

"Think we better alert the accountant?"

"Wouldn't hurt. He might need a lawyer."

Tom turned to William Bird. "Thank you for your work. You'll receive a check within the next couple of weeks. And anything that you might have read in these files is to be kept confidential."

Bird smiled. "Don't worry, I don't read them, I only open them."

The detective walked him out the door, then motioned for one of the officers to come to the office. "As soon as Detective Maxhimer is through, I want this computer and all its paraphernalia taken to the station immediately, and put under strict security."

Once the printing had stopped, Cliff motioned for the officers to come and get the equipment. Tom had alerted the receptionist to call Ryan Conners, the company accountant, to meet them in the office. A few minutes later, a small man with thick horn-rimmed glasses appeared at the doorway. The glasses looked too heavy for the bony, thin face lined with serious frown wrinkles. The right corner of his mouth twitched as he stood waiting, his arms folded in front of him.

Cliff finally stopped shoving papers into large envelopes and turned around. He looked at the man from under the brim of his hat. "You the accountant?"

"Yes sir, I'm Ryan Conners."

"Sit down, Mr. Conners. I'll be right with you."

The man edged over to the chair and stared at the vacant desktop where the computer had once perched. He crossed his legs and tapped his fingers on the wooden surface while watching Cliff stack the envelopes into a pile.

Tom came back into the building after seeing the equipment out to the police van. He spotted Conners in the office. Not wanting to take notes, he reached into his pocket and flipped on his voice-activated recorder before entering the room. The minute Tom stepped inside, he said. "Mr. Conners, I presume?"

The man leaped to his feet. "Yes sir."

"I'm Detective Hoffman, and this is my partner Detective Maxhimer."

Conners nodded toward both men.

Cliff scooted into Bud's chair behind the desk while Tom stood at the side.

"You may sit down, Mr. Conners," Cliff began. "We've just had the files unlocked on Mr. Nevers' computer. They appear to be the accounting books of this company. I know you've made a statement to the police already. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"No sir. I've already explained that I'd talked with Mr. Nevers about the computer crash the day before he died. My data got lost. And now my back-up disk has disappeared."

"Sounds like quite a coincidence, doesn't it?" Cliff asked.

Conners jumped up. "I resent that. I've been with this company for ten years. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my job."

Cliff lifted a hand and motioned for the man to calm down. "No one's accusing you of anything."

Beads of sweat formed on Conners' forehead. "All I can tell you is that I've done nothing wrong."

"Have you talked to Mr. Weber?"

Conners stopped mopping his forehead with his handkerchief and looked at Cliff with a puzzled expression. "No. Why should I?"

"Just wondered if you told him about the ABC Wafer Company?"

The man's face paled and his Adam's apple worked up and down above his collar. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Cliff nodded. "Okay, Mr. Conners, you can go. But stay available if we need to talk later."

Conners scurried from the room, still dabbing his face.

Tom turned off the recorder and leaned against the desk. "I do believe that man is scared to death."

"Wouldn't you be? Your boss murdered. A computer crash at a very convenient time. Your back-up disk disappears. Looks like someone is trying to point the finger at the little guy."

Tom nodded. "Yeah, or the little guy is as guilty as sin." He glanced at his watch. "The auditor should be at the station any minute now. We better get going."

Cliff raised his brows as they walked to the car. "Well, you got a lot done today. You should rise before the sun every morning," he chuckled. "So you can beat the traffic. It did you a world of good."

Tom grinned at Cliff's dry wit.

The two detectives had no sooner entered Tom's office when a sharp rap sounded on the facing of the door. They both turned. A tall grinning black man stood in the doorway.

"Hello. I'm John Graves, auditor from Hames and Goode. I'm supposed to meet Detective Tom Hoffman."

Tom stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Detective Hoffman. Nice meeting you. This is my sidekick, Detective Maxhimer.

The three men gathered around the desk as Graves removed the ledgers from his valise. While he stacked them on the desk, Cliff placed the printouts from Bud's computer next to them. After explaining what they wanted and the comparisons that needed to be made, the detectives left. Several hours later, Cliff and Tom returned to the office. Cliff shoved a wisp of loose hair back under his golf hat and leaned against the desk. "Well, Graves. What can you tell so far?"

John stood and stretched his tall lanky body, his hands almost touching the ceiling. "So far, I haven't found any discrepancies. You guys sure there's a problem?"

Tom looked puzzled. "What about the ABC Wafer Company?"

"Haven't found a mention of that company anywhere, but I'm not through yet. It might turn up."

Tom rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Doesn't make sense. Crane claimed the company was listed and that he had pointed it out to Nevers. Why would he lie?"

Cliff pulled the record book toward him. "Unless these are dummy books."

Graves thumped the book with his finger. "That's been known to happen. However, all the disks my company has and the printouts you gave me coincide with this written record."

Tom scratched his head. "How about Ken Weber's computer printouts? Do they also match?"

"Yes. Everything matches so far."

"Well, I'd cover my ass too," Cliff growled. "Especially since Bud Nevers is dead and can't confirm what he'd been told.

"I don't know what's going on," Graves said. "But I can tell you the accountant takes the figures he gets and puts them down. He might not discover things aren't adding up until the end of the quarter, six months or even a year later. And even then, some companies send bills late, haven't paid them or get behind. This can really screw the accountant up. All he can do is watch a pattern take form. Then he might go in and warn the boss that something smells fishy. It might take him months to figure out the problem. Computers are making a lot of this much easier, but it's still difficult."

Tom rocked from his heels to his toes several times while staring at the papers strewn across the desk. "How far did you get?"

John bent over the book and checked the dates. "These records cover a five year period. I have two more years to bring it up to date."

Cliff drummed his fingers on the desk. "We're going to leave you alone for a while longer. How much time do you need?"

Graves checked his watch. "Shouldn't take more than three or four hours. I'll let you guys know if there are any problems when you check back with me. If it's going to take longer, I'll get back here first thing in the morning to finish up."

Tom nodded. "Sounds good. We'll see you later."

The two detectives closed the door behind them.

Chapter Thirteen

Angie spent the rest of the afternoon trying to forget the encounter at Dr. Parker's office. She stopped at the beauty parlor, had her hair done and got a manicure. Afterwards she shopped for clothes that wouldn't remind her of Bud every time she dressed in the morning. The hours passed rapidly and she headed home around five pm.

She was turning up the street leading to the gate when an older-model white Toyota Celica raced past her, kicking up dust from the side of the road. Angie jerked her head around in time to catch another glimpse before the car swerved around the corner. She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth. She'd have sworn that was the car Melinda drove away from Dr. Parker's office. Why would she be in this area?

Angie glanced at the gate before pushing her remote control. It appeared tightly closed. Now, don't go getting all paranoid, she scolded herself. Continuing up the driveway, she parked in the garage and carried her bundles inside. Expecting to see Marty in the kitchen, she called her name, but received no answer. That's odd. She would normally be in here fixing dinner. Concerned over Marty's health, she decided to walk over, instead of calling her on the phone.

When she reached the cottage, she knocked softly on the slightly opened door. Hearing muffled sobs, she shoved the door open. "Marty!" she gasped.

Marty was curled in a fetal position on the floor, blood pouring from her nose. Angie raced to her and knelt by her side. "Dear God! What happened?"

"I-I don't know, Mrs. Nevers. I must have blacked out from too much booze and hit my head. It hurts something awful."

"Don't move." She reached for the phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."

But before she could dial, Marty raised herself up and waved a bloody hand. "No! No! Please don't call. I'll be fine, just banged my nose good. I'll be okay." She staggered to her feet and headed for the bathroom.

Angie hung up, but remained frozen to the spot. A small white envelope tucked partially under the telephone grabbed her attention. She immediately recognized the handwriting and picked it up. Turning slowly, she found Marty staring at her from the doorway of the bathroom, her eyes wide over the washcloth covering her nose.

"Why do you have a letter here addressed to Bud?" Angie asked, holding up the envelope.

Marty slumped against the doorframe, sobs shaking her body.

By this time, Angie had slipped the folded sheet out of the envelope and read aloud. "If the payments stop, you'll be sorry. So you better contact me soon. Melinda."

Angie felt that familiar spine-tingling sensation. Her hands trembled as she fumbled for a chair. She pushed back the stray hair that had fallen into her face, then slowly raised her eyes as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "You're Melinda's mother, aren't you?"

Marty nodded and choked out, "Yes."

Angie rose and walked out of the cottage in a daze. When she reached the house, she stormed up the stairs to her bedroom and yanked all the pictures of Bud off the wall and hurled them into the wastebasket. "You son-of-a-bitch!" she cried. "Right under my nose you screwed our housekeeper. You knew I wanted a baby so bad. You bastard! No wonder you didn't want to adopt. You already had a beautiful daughter."

She flung herself across the bed and wept. After her tears were spent, she retrieved the pictures from the trash and piled them on the dresser. "Didn't you know I'd have given anything for a baby?" she whispered. "I wouldn't have cared where it came from. And to think this child has your blood."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at their wedding picture. When did this affair with Marty start, and how long did it last? She reviewed the years, trying to remember any secret glances or smiles she might have observed between the two. But would she have noticed? She trusted them both implicitly, never dreaming anything would go on between them.

Angie recalled how her parents had hired Marty's mom and dad years ago. The two girls had grown up together. Marty seemed the natural choice for a nanny for her and Bud's children. Of course, it never happened. But Marty worked hard and proved herself to be a good housekeeper and manager of the household affairs.

Even as a child, Marty had been a natural beauty. Thin, smooth olive skin and a well-shaped figure. In her teens she'd been pretty wild, but once through those difficult years, she settled down. Her good looks still attracted men and she seldom went without a suitor. However, she had a problem with drinking. Even though it didn't seem to interfere with her duties, men shied away from her once they found out.

Angie let out a long sigh, went into the bathroom, freshened her face and brushed her hair. She couldn't retreat into her room like a teenage girl. These things had to be faced head-on. Her biggest decision was whether to keep Marty in her employment. She paced the room. Making a snap judgment wouldn't be fair after their long friendship. She made the decision to talk it out with Marty. Lay all the pieces on the table; then she'd know best what to do.

When she went downstairs it surprised her to find Marty puttering in the kitchen. This would be a good time to talk or the problem would fester like an ugly sore.

Marty glanced at her, then cast her eyes downward. "I want to prepare your favorite dinner of fried chicken before I leave."

Her nose had taken on a strange swollen appearance. Both eyes had dark circles beneath them. No doubt, by morning she'd have two big shiners.

Angie sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen bar. "You've decided to leave?"

"I know that you don't want me here anymore. I've saved up a little money, so I'll be fine until I can find another job."

"I haven't decided anything yet. I want us to talk first."

Marty stood at the sink with her back to Angie. "It happened a long time ago and I'm so ashamed. I've brooded all these years about the day you'd find out."

"Were you and Bud lovers?"

Marty jerked her head around, her blackened eyes wide as if in shock. "Oh, no, Mrs. Nevers, it just happened one night when you, Mr. Nevers and Mr. Weber were all in the study. Not long after you lost the baby and before Mr. Weber met Sandy. You were taking some strong drugs and couldn't drink, so you went to bed. You were barely coping then, the worst time of your depression."

Angie dropped her head in her hands, remembering the many nights when she'd left Bud and their guests alone. She'd felt bad about it at the time, but it didn't stop her from leaving. "Go on."

"This particular night, Mr. Nevers and Mr. Weber were celebrating a really big contract. They had the music loud and were tipping that champagne bottle like crazy. When you left, Mr. Weber came into the kitchen and danced me around the kitchen floor. He said, 'Marty come in here and join us in this celebration.' I told him no, but Mr. Nevers yelled, 'Yeah, get in here and share this champagne with us.' They were both already pretty tipsy and Mr. Weber flirted with me a lot."

Marty stopped talking for a moment, floured the chicken and put it in the frying pan.

Angie watched her wipe the tears away with the corner of her apron. "So what happened?"

"Please remember this happened over twenty years ago. I thought myself quite a good looker. I knew men noticed me. But I realize now how stupid I behaved. I'm so ashamed when I look back and realize how I teased those men."

Angie didn't want to know what Marty did to entice Bud into a sexual encounter, but she remained silent and let her continue her story.

We danced and drank that champagne until after midnight. I remember how I kept telling them to turn down the music and lower their voices, afraid of waking you. But Mr. Nevers said you were out like a light. Finally, I decided I better get to the cottage before I fell on my face. Mr. Nevers insisted on walking me. The next thing I remembered..."

Heavy sobs shook Marty's shoulders. She had the corner of the apron over her mouth. "I woke up before daylight," she choked. "Mr. Nevers lay across the foot of my bed and I didn't have one speck of clothes on. I woke him up, pushed him out the door and told him to get home before the sun came up. Nine months later Melinda came into this world."

Angie felt confused. "Why don't I remember you being pregnant?"

"I hid it for months by just wearing smocks and aprons up until near the end. Then, if you'll remember, you were doing much better and I took off for two months. Telling you that my sick aunt needed me. Mr. Nevers wanted me to abort. I told him I couldn't do that, but I'd make sure you never knew."

Angie stiffened. "Yes, now I vaguely remember you telling me there had been a family emergency and you had to go away for a while. I thought it strange that you never gave me any details, but figured it wasn't any of my business. But how did you hide a baby for all those years?"

"Mr. Nevers took care of all the details. He rented a small home and hired a woman to take care of her. I only got to be with her on the weekends. Then when she turned six, she lived in a boarding school. Not much of a family life for a young girl. But that's the only way I could have her. I couldn't bring her out here. Mr. Nevers felt guilty about the whole situation and wanted me to stay on working here for your sake."

"Melinda told me she didn't know who fathered her until a few months ago. Why didn't Bud ever tell her?"

Marty shook her head. "I can't answer that. But he made me promise not to. He said if I did, he'd fire me. Send me packing without another dime for Melinda's upbringing. I knew it would be foolish of me to give up all the things he could provide her. So I kept my mouth shut until one night when Melinda came to the cottage. You were gone for the evening and I thought it would be safe enough. However, I'd been boozing it up and we had a fight. In my drunken stupor I blabbed and told her. After that, she took things into her own hands." Marty covered her face with her hands. "I've discovered my little girl has a very mean, evil streak."

Angie stared at her as a thought flashed through her mind. "Marty, didn't you have a boyfriend about that time? How can you be positive that Bud is Melinda's father?"

Marty furrowed her brows. "I thought about that too. I'd broken up with him two months before this happened and hadn't taken on any new boyfriend. Mr. Nevers was the last man in my bed before I found myself pregnant."

Chapter Fourteen

When the two detectives arrived back at Tom's office they found John Graves chewing on the end of a pencil while still studying the books. The knot in his tie hung at mid-chest.

"Well?" Cliff asked.

John glanced up and raised a brow. "I've found nothing mentioning ABC Wafer Company. However, these books seem too perfect or else they've got a genius accountant."

Cliff scratched his head. "What makes you say that?"

"Not one mistake in addition. Of course, today's technology makes that easier. However, this company is supposedly in a growth spurt and should be making money. I mean, this script-writing thing where you can also make a printout in your own handwriting is a winner. Yet, it doesn't show in the profits. Either they've got a big storehouse somewhere full of lots of unsold stock," he waved his hand over the desk, "or someone's fixing these books."

Tom listened intently as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "So you think there's something unusual here?"

"Yeah. This is not for the record. But, yeah. There's something strange going on here, but damned if I can spot it. Particularly this past year."

"For instance?" Tom asked.

"A big change in the ordering pattern. They ordered lots of stuff to put into their product, but I can't find the output. Yet, everything balanced. My brain tells me they're short about six hundred thousand dollars this year."

Tom tapped his foot, his mind working. "That would fit with what Bill Crane said."

John leaned back in his chair. "Who's Bill Crane?"

"A young college intern that Bud hired. The kid spotted this ABC Wafer Company. He told me he'd informed Mr. Nevers that fifty thousand a month was going out to that company. Which, by the way, coincides with that figure you just quoted. So how do you figure they've hid it?"

"Beats the hell out of me." He pointed to one side of the book then the other. "Probably within several companies; a few thousand dollars here and a few thousand there. All the books display the same numbers. It would require a hell of a lot of time to locate the discrepancies. Probably in the beginning they used that ABC Wafer name as a dummy company, but have since figured out a more sophisticated system." He pointed a finger at Tom. "But somewhere there are original records. And that's where you'll find that ABC Wafer Company. Some genius they have in that company has managed to change all the books and computers to read the same."

Tom scratched his side burn, then extended his hand. "Thanks, John, you've done a great job and we appreciate the many hours you've spent here today. If we run across the originals, you'll be the first one we'll call."

After John left, Tom looked at his partner and shook his head. Cliff let out a long sigh and took off his hat, running his fingers through his hair. "That damn back-up disk is the one we need."

Tom paced the room, stopped in front of the window and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ken Weber is the only person who had access to Bud's computer. I think we better have a talk with him."

Cliff slapped his thigh. "Fine. But what the hell are we going to say? That all the books matched? We'd look like fools. Pray tell where would Bud have kept a set of original records? He was obviously too smart to leave them on his computer, that is unless someone trashed them."

Tom nodded. "You're right. Sometimes they can still find stuff on a computer that has been trashed or erased. We may have to find someone who can do that. Keep your brain engaged over the weekend and if you come up with something let me know. I'm calling it a day."

Cliff trudged out of the office as Tom sat down at his desk. He decided to call Angie even though he didn't have any new news, but felt the necessity to keep in touch. When she answered, he detected a tinge of strain in her voice. "Everything okay?"

"Not really, but nothing I can't handle."

"Maybe you need a night out. How about having dinner with me?"

A slight hesitation, then her voice sounded more cheerful. "You know that's not a bad idea. I think I'd enjoy that. When will you pick me up?"

"Will an hour give you time?"

"Perfect. See you then."

Tom's spirits soared. He hoped she felt the same way.

When he got home, he immediately called for reservations at one of the nicer restaurants and lucked out due to a cancellation. He jumped in the shower, humming.

In exactly one hour, he knocked on Angie's door. His heart raced when she met him with sparkling eyes and a big smile.

"I'm really glad you called, Tom. I needed a break."

At the restaurant, before their dinner arrived, he noticed she grew quiet, her eyes darting around the room. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

She exhaled loudly and slumped back in the chair. "I'm trying to decide whether to talk to you about the latest occurrences, but hate burdening you with my troubles. You have enough of your own."

He smiled slightly. "We're in this thing together. Maybe it will help with the investigation."

"That's possible," she said, shrugging. She sat forward and related Marty's confession about being Melinda's mother and how it had come about. When she finished, she let out a long sigh. "It doesn't seem possible this could have happened right under my nose."

Tom observed her relaxed disposition during the story and surmised she'd sorted out the upsetting news and accepted it. "You seem to be handling the problem. Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "No. Just being my sounding board has helped."

Their meal arrived and after the waiter left, she looked at him and smiled. "Well, I've pretty well monopolized the whole conversation. So how's the investigation going? Any new leads?"

"I wish I had something concrete to tell you. Right now we're working on problems with the Nevers Company accounting books. Something fishy is going on within the company but the auditor can't find it. He feels that it's possible he's dealing with altered records. Whoever used the ABC Wafer Company in the beginning has since dropped that name and gotten more sophisticated in eluding the law."

"Is that the company Bill Crane discovered and told Bud about?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could tell you Bud kept records at home. But I've found nothing so far."

"He might have put them on a CD or a disk."

"I haven't gone through everything yet." She shook her head. "I get too emotional. But I'll check through the CDs. He has a bunch I stored in a box for the time being. I'll go through them again and examine each one carefully."

"Would you mind if I took a look?" Tom asked cautiously.

"Not at all. In fact, why don't you come over tonight after dinner and we'll sort through them," she said smiling. "I'd love your company."

The thought made his blood surge. "Great."

Later that evening, back at Angie's house, she and Tom sat on the floor with the box of CDs between them, taking turns sticking them into the computer and verifying the titles. After checking twenty-five, Angie stretched her arms above her head and complained of her eyes getting tired. Tom took the hint. "Why don't I take the rest home with me?"

"Better yet, why don't you just come back tomorrow afternoon? I can help you finish."

Guessing she didn't want the box out of her sight, Tom nodded. "Sounds good. But I don't want to interrupt your day."

"I've nothing planned. It would be perfect. I'll have Marty fix dinner for us here."

"You're sure it won't put you out?"

She grinned. "Positive."

*****

Angie lay in bed that night, thinking about Tom. Such a wonderful and kind friend, so thoughtful. Never wearing out his welcome and genuinely interested in her well-being. Bud had always regarded Tom highly and now she could see why. Not only was he a good, down-to-earth cop, but a wholesome person as well. With those pleasant reflections, she drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Angie found herself looking forward to Tom's visit. In preparation, she searched through Bud's office for any extra disks or CDs that he might have stuffed into the desk drawers. She found several and added them to the ones they hadn't gone through. Something nagged at the back of mind, but not being able to put her finger on it, she brushed it aside.

Angie headed for the study to check the wet bar supplies, but stopped at the kitchen door and observed Marty preparing their dinner. The strained relationship between the two women had relaxed somewhat, but she knew their friendship could never be the same. However, Angie didn't want to lose Marty and hoped that they could eventually resolve most of the problems.

Marty must have felt her presence, and turned. Smiling, she removed a pan from the cabinet. "I like Detective Hoffman; he's a nice man. I enjoy fixing a dinner for someone who's so appreciative."

Angie strolled into the kitchen. "Yes, he's very nice and considerate. And not having a wife, he enjoys a good home-cooked meal."

Marty leaned against the cabinet, twisting the pan in her hand. "I don't mean to bring up unhappy memories, but has he made any progress in finding Bud's murderer?"

Angie shook her head and sighed. "No, they keep running into a brick wall. But I feel something will open up soon."

Marty nodded and continued her preparations.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Angie asked.

"No, thanks. I've got everything ready so all I have to do is stick it in the oven."

When Tom arrived, Angie led him into the study. They finished going through the box of CDs but found nothing. Tom leaned back on the couch, his brow furrowed. "I thought we'd find something. My gut tells me Bud made a copy of the original records with the ABC Wafer Company on it. Crane said Bud showed a big interest in his findings. Where in the hell would he have put it?"

Angie shook her head.

"Do you have a safe-deposit box?"

Suddenly, Angie's face lit up. "Dear Lord, why didn't I think of it before? No, we don't have a box at the bank, but we do have a wall safe here in the house. And just the other day when I pulled out some legal papers to take to the attorney, a CD fell out of the vault onto the floor. I didn't think much about it, just figured it to be one of Bud's favorite songs that he didn't want to accidentally record over. I wasn't in the mood to deal with it at the time, so I tossed it back inside."

Tom jumped up. "Where's the safe?"

Inside Angie's bedroom, Tom stood back as she worked the combination. She finally opened it, retrieved the CD, then rummaged through the rest of the contents, making sure she hadn't overlooked anything.

They hurried back to the study, where Tom slid the CD into the computer. Angie felt his anxiety as a folder popped up on the monitor. He glanced at her. "Keep your fingers crossed."

When he double-clicked, several folders filled the screen. Angie knew he was excited as he studied each one intensely. Suddenly, he touched her arm and pointed. "There it is. The ABC Wafer Company." He slapped his thigh. "By damn, I knew Bud wouldn't let us down." He clicked through several of the pages. "I'm going to copy these files onto this computer, then onto another disk. When I finish, I want you to store this original CD back in your safe."

Angie shook her head in silence, her stomach knotted. She knew in her heart that they were a step closer to finding Bud's killer.

Chapter Fifteen

On Sunday morning, Sandy called. "Angie, have you got anything planned for this beautiful day?"

"No, just paying bills."

Sandy laughed. "How boring. Why don't you come over for a barbecue this afternoon? Ken is fixing chicken on the spit. The twins will be gone for the day, which means we can get caught up on all the gossip. It's been ages since we've talked."

"It sounds wonderful. What time?"

"Say between one and two o'clock."

"I'll see you then."

The invitation lifted Angie's spirits. They hadn't seen each other for a couple of weeks, and she'd missed their visits. So much had happened and she knew a decision had to be made on how much she would tell her friend.

She stared out the kitchen window as she sipped her coffee and thought about last night. After Tom had left, she'd gone into the computer to study the Nevers Company financial records. Not much made sense and it all looked like a foreign language. But she continued to search anyway, in hopes of finding some entry that might indicate a payment toward Melinda's welfare. But all she found that made any sense were salary statements. They didn't help. Bud had always taken care of their money matters. He'd once told her she didn't need to worry; there would always be money to run the household and to take care of any personal items that she desired.

Leaning back in the chair, she stared at the monitor. It made her angry that she hadn't asked questions about their finances, if for no other reason than for her own private knowledge. She banged her fists on the table beside the computer. "How stupid of me," she said aloud. "I should have been more involved in Bud's life and learned more about the business."

She had no one to blame but herself for all those years of being so dependent on her husband. She dropped her hands to her side. "Too late now," she sighed. Picking up her cold cup of coffee, she headed for the kitchen where she warmed it in the microwave before heading upstairs to get ready for the barbecue.

Later that afternoon, Angie and Sandy sat under the shade of the large oak tree that shaded the Weber's back yard. Ken stood at the grill basting the two chickens he had on the spit, the fire sizzling with drippings. The aroma curled around the women.

Angie sniffed. "Oh, that smells so delicious. It's been a long time since I've had grilled chicken."

"It's good to have you here," Sandy said. "How are things going?"

"I've had a few setbacks. But so far I've managed."

Sandy raised a questioning brow. "For instance?"

"Tom feels someone has been tampering with the company's books. He hasn't said it outright, but I think he believes there's a connection between that and Bud's murder. I found an unmarked CD in our home safe. It turned out to be a copy of the original books, which listed the dummy company Bill Crane mentioned." Angie's voice caught. "It's hard to believe someone at work murdered Bud."

Ken had been staring at Angie as she spoke. "Why haven't I been told about this latest discovery?"

She shrugged. "I'm sure someone will advise you. We just found it late yesterday afternoon. Tom's going to have an auditor check it out."

Ken immediately excused himself, saying he'd just remembered a phone call he needed to make. After a few minutes, he returned with a somber face and resumed his grilling.

Sandy picked up her drink and scooted to the edge of her lounge so she faced Angie. "You said setbacks. What other things have happened?"

Angie took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. "I'm being blackmailed."

"What!"

"Remember the woman I asked you about, Melinda? Well, she's claiming to be Bud's illegitimate daughter and wants the child payments he supposedly has been making to continue."

Sandy shot a look at her husband.

Angie noticed the exchange of glances and frowned. "So you did know about Melinda?"

Lowering her eyes, Sandy nodded. "Ken told me the night you asked us about her."

Angie stared at Ken. "And how long have you known?"

Ken turned his attention back to the grill. "From the day it happened. Bud swore me to secrecy."

"And you know that Marty is her mother?"

Ken grimaced and nodded without speaking.

Angie felt like her heart had been squeezed by this betrayal. She glanced from one to the other. "Why didn't you tell me after Bud's death? At least I could have prepared for the encounter."

Without looking at her, Ken spoke in a low voice. "I never thought the girl would have the guts to approach you."

She rolled her cocktail glass between her hands. "Dr. Parker is doing a DNA test. But it's probably a waste of time since you two knew about it and Marty has told me everything. Obviously, Melinda is Bud's daughter."

Sandy furrowed her brows. "Angie, how can she blackmail you? The girl is past eighteen years of age. And everything's out in the open now."

"She swears she's been robbed of her childhood, plus she wants to buy Marty her own house." Angie stood and paced. "I really haven't decided what to do. She threatened to ruin my life. This girl is not a sweet person, but she is Bud's daughter. So, I'm really torn over this whole mess."

"What does Marty think?" Sandy asked.

"She's made herself ill worrying about it. She doesn't want to leave me or her cottage and believes Melinda is evil."

Without a word, Ken put the cooked chicken on the picnic table and disappeared into the house. Sandy frowned, then followed him inside, leaving Angie alone in the middle of the yard. Sensing an uncomfortable moment between the two, Angie decided everyone's emotions were on overload. Her appetite had left, so she picked up her purse and went out the side gate to her car.

She felt uptight and stressed as she drove home. Maybe she'd talked too much about her problems. It did bother her greatly that Ken had harbored the secret of Melinda all these years, not even confiding in Sandy. That seemed odd, but what didn't seem strange anymore? Her whole life had taken on a different perspective. Look how much Bud had hidden from her.

When she pulled into the garage, she noticed that Marty's car was gone. She hoped she hadn't decided to visit Melinda. Angie could prevent the girl from coming onto the premises, but she couldn't prevent Marty from seeing her own daughter.

Just as she stepped inside the house, the phone rang. She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter. "Hello."

"Angie, this is Sandy. Why did you leave?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up Melinda."

"We upset you, didn't we?"

"It shocked me to learn you knew. It makes me wonder how many other people are privileged with the same information."

"We feel terrible about the whole thing. Ken has never told anyone in all these years and I certainly wouldn't have. We just prayed the girl would never enter your life. Can you forgive us?"

Angie stared at the ceiling, biting her lower lip. "Don't worry about it."

"Since this afternoon fell through like a bomb, I insist on taking you out to lunch next week."

"Okay. We'll talk about it later."

*****

Early Monday morning, Tom and Cliff met John Graves in his office at the Hames & Goode Company. The three men sat around Graves' desk as he studied the printed files from Bud's CD. Graves ran his hand over his face. "Well, gentlemen. I think not only do you have a good case for embezzlement, but a motive for murder."

Cliff took off his cap and slapped it against his thigh. "Just as I thought. That company smelled too sweet."

The two detectives left the office and headed for the Nevers complex. Cliff couldn't stand Tom's silence and blurted. "Okay, what's on your mind? You're too quiet."

"Ryan Conners. I can't picture him as the mastermind. He has no guts. When we questioned him in Bud's office last week, he almost fell apart. And how did he manage to get access to Bud's computer? It doesn't add up."

Cliff shoved loose strands of hair back up into his cap. "I'm surprised you're letting his appearance fool you. We've dealt with such men before and they turned out to be the masterminds of big shams. I agree this one has a more nervous disposition. Maybe it's his first time attempting such a scheme. Just reading him his rights might crack him."

They pulled into the parking lot at eight thirty, just as people began arriving for work. Tom glanced around before getting out. "Keep a wary eye."

Cliff gave him a concerned look, knowing Tom's inner sense must have kicked in. He adjusted his jacket and positioned his gun for easy access. Tom unbuttoned his coat, letting the sides flap open, exposing his shoulder holster.

An odd sensation hit Cliff as they entered the building. He kept his hands loose at his sides. Just as they approached the receptionist's desk, a piercing scream reverberated down the hall.

Both detectives drew their guns and raced toward the sound. A young woman stood in the hallway, sobbing hysterically, one hand over her mouth, the other pointing toward an opened door leading into an office.

Tom quickly put an arm around her trembling shoulders. "What is it?"

Again, she pointed toward the office. "In there," she cried. "It's Mr. Conners. Blood everywhere." One of the onlooking co-workers grabbed her as she sank to her knees. Tom and Cliff moved to the doorway.

"Oh my God," Tom said. "Everyone stay back."

Chapter Sixteen

It wasn't a pretty sight. Ryan Conners lay slumped over his desk, the top of his head blown off. A trail of blood and brains crossed the floor, ending in splatters on the opposite wall.

Cliff quickly ushered the gathering crowd away from the doorway and down the hall to an empty office. Once he calmed the bewildered group, he hurried back to Tom, who'd already called for the investigation crew. The two detectives guarded the entrance of the office and viewed the grisly sight. Tom scrubbed his chin with his fist. "Looks like our man got damned scared and put a gun to his head."

Cliff exhaled loudly. "Yep. Sure looks that way."

At that moment, Ken Weber came running up the hall. "What's happened?" He glanced into the room and his face paled. "Oh, my God!" Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

Tom put out a hand. "Are you okay?"

Ken waved him off. "Yeah. I'll be fine in a minute." He bent over and took several deep breaths. "That's a pretty gruesome sight."

Several emergency vehicles pulled up in front of the building, followed by the coroner's wagon. Within minutes they had the office cordoned off and the investigation crew began dusting for prints and taking pictures. Ken took a second look as the camera flashed, then staggered back to his office, his hand over his mouth.

Tom and Cliff took measurements for their own purposes, then, working along with the team, searched the room for clues. After the body had been removed, Tom studied the blood-spattered computer and sheets of paper on the desk. He motioned to Cliff and pointed at the computer monitor. "Looks like a suicide note."

Cliff slipped on his half-glasses and read aloud.

To Whom It May Concern: I thought after getting

rid of Mr. Nevers, I could get by with my crimes.

But the police are too close. I can't cope with the

pressure.

Ryan Conners

Tom continued to examine the keyboard. "It's odd how the blood is smudged on these keys. If this note had been written before he died, it wouldn't be embedded in the letters. I think this note was written after his death."

Cliff bent down and inspected it. "Good observation, Detective Hoffman." He called over the photographer. "Did you get a close up of this note?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now take several of this keyboard at different angles."

The photographer nodded and adjusted his camera. After he finished, Cliff touched one of the keys with his gloved finger. "The blood's dry. And from the looks of the body, rigor mortis is setting in. He's probably been dead for several hours. We'll check the photos under a magnifier. That should give us a good clue of when this was written." He hit the Print button and folded a copy of the note into his pocket.

Later that day, Tom and Cliff drove out to Ryan Conners' home. The address bordered the low-income part of town where young married couples found shabby but affordable places to live. The small frame home nestled between two others of identical architecture.

The door opened, revealing a small, skinny woman with dishwater-blond hair that hung in greasy loose strands over her shoulders. Her freckled skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, shadowing already sunken, washed-out blue eyes. Two little girls, about two and three years old, clung to each side of her legs. She frowned at the two detectives. "Yes?"

"Are you Mrs. Conners?"

She nodded.

The men displayed their badges and Cliff removed his ball cap, smoothing back his hair the best he could. "May we come in, Mrs. Conners?"

She stepped back so they could enter.

The little girls still clinging to their mother's legs were small and frail with stringy hair. Neither made a sound, but stared intently at the two men.

When Tom led the way inside the house, the first thing he noticed was the stench of dirty diapers. The scarcity of furniture seemed odd. Surely Ryan Conners had made enough money to support his family better than this. He turned and looked at the woman again. "You are Mrs. Ryan Conners? Your husband works at Nevers Computer Technology Company?"

She eyed them suspiciously. "Yes. Is there something wrong?"

Cliff guided her to the worn couch. "Please sit down, Mrs. Conners. Do you have family nearby?"

She slowly shook her head. "I have no one but Ryan and my two girls." She put an arm around each of the girls and pulled them up beside her, hugging them closely.

Tom remained standing as he presented the news as kindly as possible. The woman never moved or blinked an eye. Cliff switched his hat from one hand to another as he watched her.

"So he's dead?" she asked.

Tom kept his voice soft. "Yes. I'm sorry."

Cliff stepped in front of her. "I know this is a terrible time to be asking you any questions. But could you tell us if your husband owned a gun?"

"Yes, he had a gun. But he kept it at the office because he took care of the money business. I wouldn't allow one in the house because of the girls."

"I understand. Thank you."

Tom wondered if the news had really sunk in. The woman seemed so void of emotion. "Is there anyone we can contact for you? Or anything we can do to make this matter easier?"

Slowly she raised her head and gazed at him with tearless eyes. "No. Thank you. I'll be fine."

"I'd like to ask you one more question," Tom said. "Did your husband contact anyone at the office last night?"

"Ryan never came home last night. He seldom does. He lives at that office. We seldom see him. I don't even know the names of the people he works with. I couldn't tell you who he does or doesn't talk to."

"Excuse me, ma'am." Cliff put his cap back on his head. "Was your husband right- or left-handed?"

"Left."

"Thank you."

When the two detectives got back in the car, Cliff shook his head. "Boy, the way some people live. It just amazes me."

Tom glanced over at him. "Have I missed something?"

"Why do you ask?"

"The left and right hand thing?"

"Well, you might not have noticed, but the gun had fallen to the floor on his right side."

"Very interesting," Tom said, nodding.

By the time the men got back to the police station, most of the regular staff had left. They went to Tom's office and started reviewing the packet of pictures the investigators had left. They were particularly interested in the photos of the keyboard.

Angie felt totally shocked over the news of Ryan Conners' suicide. She couldn't imagine that meek man involved in embezzlement. But one never knows. She knew the company would suffer. And sure enough, after only a few days, rumors were circulating that Ryan had been murdered like Mr. Nevers. Terror reigned throughout the company, with gossip about a madman stalking the halls. Several employees quit. She hoped Ken could get hold of the rumor and put an end to it.

But before talking to Ken, she wanted to check with Tom to find out if the rumors had any foundation. She hadn't heard from him lately, but figured he had his hands full with two unsolved murder cases. She also wanted to wait until she heard from Dr. Parker on the DNA test results.

Angie had her hand on the phone, contemplating who to call, when it rang.

"Hello."

"Angie, this is Sandy. Could you meet me for lunch?"

"Sure."

"Velvet Turtle in thirty minutes. I'll meet you in the bar."

"Okay."

After hanging up, Angie stared at the phone. That was sure abrupt, she thought. Sandy really sounded uptight and worried.

Angie quickly freshened her face and hair, then left. She entered the restaurant's bar and stood on her tiptoes to see over the heads of the lunch hour crowd. She finally spotted Sandy in the far corner of the room and hurried toward her, greeting her with a hug. "It's good to see you."

Sandy nodded and smiled faintly, then motioned for the waitress. Angie studied her friend and knew something was amiss when Sandy avoided her gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Is it that apparent?"

"I've known you too long not to see it written all over your face. Are the twins giving you problems?"

"Not since I've sent them to mother's."

Then she saw the tears glistening in Sandy's eyes and took hold of her wrist. "Is it that bad?"

Sandy fumbled in her purse for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. "It's not the girls, it's Ken."

Not expecting that answer, Angie slumped back in her chair. "Ken?"

She nodded. "Ever since Bud's death, he's been different. But since Ryan's death, he's totally changed for the worst."

Angie's stomach lurched at the reference to Bud. How she missed him. He'd know what to do in this situation. Obviously, her reaction didn't show outwardly as Sandy continued talking.

"He yells and screams at me and the girls like we're his enemies. It really upsets the twins. Even though I've tried to explain how these deaths have upset him, they don't understand his behavior." She sighed. "And frankly, I don't either. One day, he slapped Cindy and it shocked her so bad that she's avoided him ever since." Sandy choked down a sob. "He's never struck either of the girls before. It's gotten so bad that I had to send them away for awhile until he settles down."

Angie frowned. "He's under a lot of pressure, not only with the deaths, but having to take over Bud's job as well as doing his own. Of course, it doesn't help with police swarming all over the place and people quitting left and right."

"I realize that. But his behavior's erratic. Some nights he stays out for hours and comes home drunk. Then there are mornings he's up before the crack of dawn and never tells me where he's been. He even slapped me when I asked. Told me it wasn't any of my damn business."

At that moment, they were called to their table. Angie watched Sandy pat her cheeks with the tissue, then smooth down her hair. "Do I look okay?"

"You look fine."

They continued their conversation after they were served.

"Have you talked to Ken about his actions?" Angie asked.

"Yes. But he doesn't care what I think. He's turned into some kind of a monster. I don't know what to do."

Angie twisted her napkin in her lap. "Sandy, I don't know how to ask this, but do you feel your life is being threatened?"

Sandy nervously waved a hand in the air. "Oh, no. I don't think he'd go that far."

"Well, I've never seen you look so frightened. It worries me."

Sandy poked at the food on her plate, then dropped both hands into her lap. She looked up at Angie with watery eyes. "I'm scared to death."

Outside the restaurant, Angie watched Sandy trudge off to her car with slumped shoulders. "Wait," she called, and ran to catch up with her. "Look, I'm all alone in my house. There's plenty of room if you'd like to come and stay until this blows over."

Sandy leaned against her car. "I don't know if it would be a good idea. Ken needs me and he might really go off the deep end if I leave now."

Angie bit her lip. It sounded like he'd already toppled over the cliff. The fear in Sandy's eyes told her that. "But you said you were scared."

She shook her head and blinked, fighting back the tears. "I am. I'm just so baffled by his actions, I don't know which way to turn."

"I can't let you go back home like this." Angie said, putting her hand on the car door.

"Thanks for your concern, I appreciate it." Sandy climbed into her car, then poked her head out the window, giving Angie a weak smile. "But give me a day or two. Maybe things will calm down."

She watched her friend drive away. The poorly concealed bruise on Sandy's cheek indicated to Angie that the slap she'd described was far worse than she admitted.

What had happened to make Ken turn violent? Surely Bud's death wouldn't have caused that type of behavior. And she couldn't imagine the extra work doing it. Ken and Bud had always enjoyed an overload; they both thrived on it. She rubbed her temples. Maybe the fact that Bud had been murdered had affected him. Ken might even fear for his own life with the murderer still on the loose and the police no closer to finding a suspect. It frightened her too. She quickened her step. I need to talk to Tom. Find out what's happening.

Chapter Seventeen

Tom slapped his hands against the surface of the desk. "We found the gun on his right side. Now tell me for God's sake, why would Conners, a left-handed man, shoot himself with his right hand? His fingerprints were on the gun, but no powder burns on his hand or head. Someone murdered him, then set it up like a suicide."

Cliff rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yep. And they definitely knew his pattern of practically living at the office. The coroner said he'd been dead several hours. Which means someone killed him in the wee hours of the morning. The employees I questioned didn't think Conners ever left his office. Which goes along with what his wife said. Also makes for more suspects."

Tom twirled a pencil between his fingers. "We also know that whoever typed that note wore rubber gloves."

"We searched every trash can in the place plus all the goddamn dumpsters in the area and never found them. So, I think it's time we start tracing Ken Weber's footsteps and press him hard for some answers."

"Got the search warrants ready?"

Cliff patted his pocket. "Yep."