Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 13

Devon put on a touch of mascara, then stepped back to a.s.sess her reflection in the bedroom mirror.

Not too done up. Not too casual. Cla.s.sic black silk slacks and a pale pink cashmere sweater.

Perfect for a date with the oh-so-smooth James Pierson.

A quick glance at the clock. Six forty-seven. Almost showtime.

Turning back to the dresser, Devon picked up her brush and ran it through her hair until it tumbled down her back like a silky curtain.

The telephone rang. Someone else in the house picked it up.

A minute later, there was a knock on Devon's door and Meredith poked her head in. "For you. It's Dad."

"Of course it is." Devon grimaced. "I'll be with him in a minute."

Meredith walked in and plopped down on the bed, reaching for Devon's phone. "Dad? Hang on." She was about to push the hold b.u.t.ton, then paused, the receiver still pressed to her ear. "What? I'm fine. Yes, I got your message. I have a ton of work to do. We'll see. Maybe. Yes, I'll get back to you tomorrow. Here's Devon." She handed her sister the phone. "You look beautiful," she told her.

"Thanks." Devon studied Meredith pensively. "Can you wait here a sec? I'll be off as soon as I'm prepped for battle."

"Sure." Meredith settled herself more comfortably and propped a pillow behind her head.

"Hey, Monty." Devon tucked the phone under her chin and applied her lip gloss as she spoke.

"Hey, yourself. All set?"

"Yup. Dressed and ready. And you're in the car - again."

"On my way to Edward Pierson's apartment. I was summoned. Time to report in on my first day."

"How'd it go?"

"As expected. No major surprises. Except Louise Chambers, who was too broken up to talk to me. She went home right after the funeral. I'll have to track her down tomorrow. It's too bad, too. Funerals make people vulnerable."

"And easier to interrogate."

"Right." Monty went on to fill Devon in on his chats with Marjorie Evans, Alice Jeffers, and Philip Rhodes. "That was my morning. My afternoon wasn't productive. No one got back from the service until three. And even then, they arrived in a trickle. The major players showed up for an hour or so and then took off. Again, more to come tomorrow."

"What about James and Blake?"

"As expected. James is the center of the universe. He's also insecure as h.e.l.l when it comes to his cousin Blake. With good reason. James has the flair. Blake has the substance. He's got great instincts and a big-picture mentality. There's no doubt that Blake is the future of Pierson & Company. And that's a lot more long lasting than a gold medal. By the way, did Blake ask you out?"

"Uh-huh. Dinner tomorrow night. I haven't done this back-to-back weeknight thing since college."

"Yeah, well, at least you'll get some good food out of the deal. Where's Blake taking you?"

"To be decided. We're talking tomorrow."

"What about James?"

"We're going to the Gedney Grill, right here in White Plains."

"Good choice. Get the baby back ribs. You'll be covered in barbecue sauce. Too slimy to touch."

Devon chuckled. "I like their sirloin. But thanks for the thought."

"No problem. I'm not worried anyway. You two won't be alone."

She blinked. "You plan on being there with your binoculars?"

"Nope. Not necessary. Edward's got security on his grandson, remember?"

"That's right. I'll keep that in mind, even though James has no idea he's being guarded like Fort Knox. I'll check out the place, see if there's some burly guy with a toothpick in his mouth peering at us over the top of a newspaper."

"Like I said, you watch too many cop shows. More likely, he'll be a young punk who's wolfing down a sirloin and guzzling imported beer so he can charge an expensive meal to Edward Pierson."

"Good point." Devon finished applying lip gloss. "Anyway, I appreciate the reminder."

"Sure thing. Now go figure out what makes Golden Boy tick. Use the personal angle. Poke around about his family relationships, his view of Philip Rhodes. You know the drill. But soft-pedal it. I'll do the heavy-handed stuff."

"I'll be cuddly as a kitten."

"Just keep your claws ready."

"Yes, Monty."

"Explore his other world - the show circuit. What's his mind-set in the saddle? Who are his compet.i.tors? Who'd have an ax to grind?"

"I get it, Monty."

"Call me when you get home. I don't care what time it is."

"I will, Monty."

"Oh, and one more thing - "

"Good-bye, Monty." Devon hung up the phone.

"That sounded like fun," Meredith noted drily.

"It was just Dad being Dad." Devon eyed her sister. "I take it he asked to see you?"

"Yeah, he wanted to get together. I can't. I have a huge paper to write and three exams to study for. As it is, I've been ignoring my friends. They've been IM-ing me since I left school. I have to go online and answer them."

"Ah, Instant Messenger. How did Lane and I get through college without it?" Devon's tone was teasing, but her gaze was serious. "Merry..."

"The cable guy was here," her sister piped up. "He came by this morning and cleared up the problem you were having with the upper channels. Apparently, it wasn't just you. It was your whole town-house development."

"That's nice." Devon wasn't fooled by the attempted distraction. "We have to talk about this."

"No, we don't."

Devon sat down beside her sister. "Try to cut Monty a little slack. He screwed up. He realizes that. He didn't mean to. He loves you."

Meredith sighed. "I know that, Dev. I get the whole picture - better than you and Lane think I do. I'm not a kid. I'm an adult. I understand mistakes. I also understand consequences. I'm not angry at Dad. I just don't have the same bond with him that you and Lane do. It's no one's fault. It's just the way things turned out."

"Mom's forgiven him."

"So have I. That doesn't erase all the years in between. Besides, don't compare me to Mom. She's hardly objective. She's still crazy about him."

"I know." Devon traced the geometric pattern on her comforter with one fingertip.

"And you still think there's a chance they'll get back together."

"Guilty as charged," Devon freely admitted. "I've never seen two people so much in love - even fifteen years after getting divorced."

"No arguments. But love doesn't conquer all. Not in real life."

"You sound like Lane."

"Well, Lane's right. The fact is, Mom's an incredible woman. She deserves someone who'll put her first. Dad never did."

"His life's different now."

"Is it? He's all gung ho about this case. He's got you working it with him. Is this really about Mom and her safety? Or is this just Monty, doing his d.i.c.k Tracy thing?"

Devon blew out a weary breath. "You really are bitter."

"No, I'm realistic. I see Dad for what he is."

"Then maybe it's time you accepted him as he is," Devon suggested softly. She gave Meredith's arm a squeeze. "Grab a sandwich with him. Talk. Get to know each other. Monty missed out on your childhood. Don't deprive him of getting to know you as an adult. You're a terrific, sensitive young woman, Merry. Give him a chance."

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

"That's your date." Meredith scrambled to her feet. "I'll let him in."

"Merry?"

Her sister paused in the doorway. "I'll think about it. Okay?"

"Okay."

MONTY a.s.sESSED THE Park Avenue penthouse, wondering if the butler who'd taken his coat earned more a year than he did. Talk about living your money. If anybody doubted how much Pierson & Company raked in in profits, one glance at Edward Pierson's four-thousand-square-foot, floor-to-ceiling windowed palace would change their mind.

The king himself was in the sunken living room, pacing around restlessly and glaring at the gla.s.s of ice water in his hand. On one of the antique sofas, Blake Pierson sat, engaged in quiet conversation with the regal-carriaged, elderly woman who had to be his grandmother.

An interesting combo of personal and professional.

"Mr. Montgomery," the butler announced.

Edward veered around, waving Monty in. "You made good time."

"I aim to please." Monty stepped into the room and waited for Edward to set the stage.

"You've met Blake." Edward paused while the two men acknowledged each other. "And this is my wife."

"Mrs. Pierson," Monty responded with a respectful nod of his head. "My condolences on your loss."

"Thank you." Anne Pierson didn't rise, but extended a polite hand to him in greeting. Her tone and expression were cool, but there was pain behind those piercing light blue eyes. "I understand you're working for my husband."

Monty shot Edward a quick, questioning look.

"I know everything," Anne supplied before Edward could answer. "I pried it out of these two. I won't be protected. Not when it comes to my family. Frederick was my son. You're looking for his killer. And for whoever's threatening James. I want to know what you've found out."

Monty wasn't particularly surprised by her s.p.u.n.k. Anyone married to Edward Pierson had to be a tough broad. She'd climbed the ranks with him from paper-goods distributor to food-industry giant. You had to respect that. Sixty years ago, she'd been a salesperson at Macy's. Now she was a matriarch.

"Not much," Monty answered her question. "Not yet."

"Nothing?" Edward snapped. "That's no better than the cops."

"Murderers generally don't want to get caught. That's why finding them takes a while."

"Why don't you have a seat, Mr. Montgomery," Anne suggested, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine." Monty perched at the edge of a chair. "What did the police have to say?"

"Very little we didn't already know," Blake provided. "They found a few more tire treads down by the road. Turned out to be a dead end. They belonged to Frederick's Mercedes, just like the others. Gasoline was the killer's accelerant of choice. He splashed the stuff around and then probably lit the drapes. The whole cabin was torched in minutes. No other clues were found in the debris." A pause. "Of course, the hunt is still on for your ex-wife."

Monty got the message loud and clear. "No one knows that better than I do. My kids are a mess. But judging from what Sally said on the phone, she's as clueless as we are. Traumatized, but clueless. And scared to death."

"She hasn't called again - not even her kids?"

"Nope. They would've let me know."

"So you check in with them often?" Blake asked carefully.

"Every day." Monty met Blake's probing stare. "Sally raised them. But they're my kids, too. Grown or not. Since this happened, I keep tabs on them, make sure they're okay." Putting an end to that obvious fishing expedition, Monty turned to Edward. "Any follow-up on the blackmail letter?"

Edward shook his head and gulped down some water. "Not a word. No phone calls. No mail. Nothing."

Monty frowned. "Strange."

"Maybe they're waiting for James to go back to Wellington. Up here, he's no threat to his compet.i.tors."

"That would only make sense if the extortion was an isolated incident. But if it ties into Frederick's murder - as we both a.s.sume it does - that theory doesn't fly. My money's still on a business or family vendetta. That would encompa.s.s the whole enchilada, from Pierson & Company to the show ring to your family members themselves."

"You're saying we all could be in danger?" Anne demanded.

"I'm not trying to alarm you, Mrs. Pierson. I'm just calling it as I see it." Monty's gaze returned to Edward. "I questioned some of your staff today. I'll be doing more of that tomorrow. I've also started rundowns on your potential enemy list. So far, no red flags. But I'll keep at it. In addition, I'll start digging around inside Pierson & Company for a paper trail. Which reminds me, I put in a call to a forensic accountant I work with. Alfred Jenkins. He's top-notch in his field. He knows what to look for in situations like these. He'll leave no stone unturned. Acceptable?"