Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 27

"You're about as objective as Juliet was about Romeo."

"Cut it out, Monty." Devon waved away his comment. "I'm not a starry-eyed girl. Nor am I wearing blinders. Yes, Blake is a Pierson through and through. And, yes, he's determined to protect his family. I can't exactly fault him for that. If I did, I'd be a hypocrite, since I'm doing the same for my family."

"What about the fact that he went after you hot and heavy? Did he admit it was Edward's idea?"

"It was more complicated than that. But yes, Blake admitted that his grandfather told him to stick close to me, in case Mom showed up at my door. Blake's keeping tabs on me, just like I'm keeping tabs on him."

"Go on."

"He's dead set on finding out who killed his uncle and Philip Rhodes." Devon paused. "Like I said, he has a good handle on you. He spelled out the whole theory he believes you're operating on - and he was right. What's more, he agreed with it. He asked that you go to him directly, and he'll do what he can to help."

"You're kidding. What made him...?" Monty rubbed a palm across his jaw. "Never mind. I'm not going to ask what prompted Blake's unexpected burst of candor. Lane's right. I don't want to know."

Devon hid her smile. "With regard to what else I didn't tell Blake, I kept quiet about Mom, except to reiterate what he already knew. Anything pertaining to her whereabouts stays in this house."

"d.a.m.n straight it does."

Interlacing her fingers on the counter, Devon turned to Monty. "That's it in a nutsh.e.l.l. What's the verdict?"

Monty swished the coffee in his mug around, staring broodingly into it. "You're a maverick like your father. Also like him, you're lousy with rules. But you did good. Let me meet with Blake and call him on his offer. The conversation I have planned will tell me if he's for real."

"Explain."

"There's a big piece not fitting here. It got lost in the shuffle after Rhodes's death. But it's bugging me. It should be bugging Blake, too."

Devon inclined her head, waiting. Late for work or not, she had to know where Monty was going with this.

"The extortion. It's way out of whack."

"That's bothered you since the beginning."

"Yeah, but now it's a glaring red flag." Monty pivoted on the stool, his hand slicing the air as he spoke. "Bad enough that the timing was off on Frederick's murder and James's near miss at Wellington. But what about the extortionist's demands? It's been three days since I prepped Edward for that phone call. None came. Why?"

"The logical a.s.sumption would be that Rhodes was the blackmailer, and now he's dead."

"That a.s.sumption sucks. Rhodes called Edward the night he died. He never mentioned any demand for millions. Plus, suicidal people don't stock up on money before blowing their brains out."

Devon nodded. "So whoever killed Rhodes wants him to look like the blackmailer."

Monty's gaze narrowed. "That theory falls flat, too. In order to frame Rhodes, the blackmailer would have to give up on his windfall. Any attempt to collect would mean Rhodes was innocent."

"You're right." Devon's mind was racing. "You think the blackmail was staged."

"I sure do. And I know just the guy who'd do it."

"James."

"Yup. Golden Boy himself."

Devon held up her palms in a quizzical gesture. "But why? To get his uncle and Rhodes out of the way? It doesn't fly. James doesn't want the company; he wants Olympic notoriety. Plus, Rhodes was no threat to James's rise to the top. He wasn't even a Pierson."

"True. But he might have had d.a.m.ning information that would screw James out of his place in Grandpa's life. The same goes for Frederick." Monty pursed his lips. "What if the argument your mother overheard at the Pierson barn wasn't about Rhodes? What if it was about James? What if James was the one Frederick didn't trust?"

"That's not the picture Edward painted when he hired you. You think he was protecting his grandson?" Devon shook her head, negating her own question. "No way. Not if James killed Frederick. He was Edward's son." A pause. "Besides, we confirmed that James never left Wellington on Wednesday night. So how could he have shot Rhodes?"

"He could have hired someone. As for the first part, you've got too soft a heart. Edward Pierson would protect his grandson no matter what - even if he committed murder. And, yeah, even if the victim was Edward's own son. James is the light of his grandfather's life. No way he'd let him rot in jail."

Devon blew out a breath. "That's a pretty tough scenario. You plan to run it by Blake?"

"Yup. It's a great way to test the sincerity of his commitments."

"What commitments?"

"To find the killer. And to you."

"Monty..."

"Don't bother. I'm not listening." Monty waved away her objection. "You're my daughter. You're falling for this guy. Which means I'm allowed to play macho dad. End of story."

"Great," Devon muttered. "Do you plan to wave your Glock in his face or just flash the holster at him for effect?"

"Give me a little credit for finesse." A hint of amus.e.m.e.nt lit Monty's eyes. "Although I like the image. I might use it if he p.i.s.ses me off."

"You'd better be joking."

"I'll let you know afterward." Monty's grin faded as his thoughts reverted back to the investigation. "I'll lay out the James theory for Blake. I want to see how he reacts, and how much he spills to Grandpa. Oh, and I'll tell him you know about the blackmail aspect of the case. I'll do that when I inform him you're keeping your Sunday night date with James."

Devon's head came up. "You want me to see him?"

A nod. "Right here in this very house. For dinner and alone time. He'll be thrilled. It's just what he's been angling for."

"Monty, what are you cooking up now?"

"Lane and Merry will go out for the evening. You'll be wearing a wire. And I'll be outside in my car, listening. You and I can write your script beforehand. I'll record every word that's said. If James is our guy, we'll find out. And we'll nail him."

EDWARD SLAMMED HIS car door shut.

Turning up his collar against the cold, he glanced around, ensuring he was alone. The frozen acres of land that composed his farm were deserted. The house was far enough away, and occupied only by his staff. And the stables were shut tight.

He made his way toward them, marching up to the trailer that was parked there.

A decisive knock. "Vista, it's me," he announced.

Shuffling sounds came from within.

The door opened, and Lawrence Vista poked his head out. "Come in."

Edward climbed inside.

Other than being antiseptically clean and free of clutter, the place looked like any other veterinary trailer belonging to an equestrian specialist. Medical equipment, examination stalls, and floor-to-ceiling closets.

It's what was inside those closets that made all the difference. That, and what was hidden behind the curtain.

Edward shoved his hands in his pockets and leveled a hard stare at Vista. "How close are we?"

Behind his gla.s.ses, the other man blinked. "You know the answer to that. The preliminary results were positive. We're almost there. A few more weeks, maybe."

"That's not good enough. Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we've got to speed this process up. I need immediate results."

Beads of perspiration broke out on Vista's brow. "Why? Has something happened?"

"Not yet. But we've run out of time."

"This isn't a race. We can't arbitrarily speed things up. Not without major health risks. Plus, I need to wait a reasonable amount of time to ensure there are no adverse reactions."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n," Edward snapped. "I'm almost eighty. My heart's in lousy shape. I've got no idea how long I'll be here. And I need to secure my legacy. That's what I pay you for."

"I still don't see the urgency - "

"You don't have to see it. You have to get results. Now." Edward dragged a shaky palm over his face. "Two people close to me are dead. The cops are crawling around Pierson & Company. How long do you think it'll be before they extend that investigation to my apartment, and then to my farm? What the h.e.l.l are we going to tell them when they knock on your door for questioning - and when they can't reconcile your extravagant lifestyle with what I'm supposedly paying you?"

All the color drained from Vista's face. "Why would they question me? How do I factor into a murder investigation?"

"Everything factors into a murder investigation," Edward shot back, struggling to keep his temper in check. "Look. Let's not waste time bickering. Just get this done. I don't care how. Take pills. Drink coffee. Do whatever you have to. But pick up the pace. Work twenty-four/seven. I want this finished, tested, and ready in a week. That'll give us a month before Wellington's big CSIO Olympic qualifying event. James will be winning that."

CHAPTER 21.

Blake's brows rose as he opened his front door. "Detective Montgomery. This is a surprise."

"I doubt it." Monty pulled off his gloves, looking past Blake and into the foyer. "You weren't at the office. So I a.s.sumed you were here. Are you alone?"

"Yup. Catching up on paperwork."

"Good. Then you can take a short break."

Amus.e.m.e.nt tugged at Blake's mouth. "Looks that way." He stepped aside. "Come in."

Monty was already past him.

"Can I take your jacket?" Blake inquired. He waited while Monty shrugged out of his down parka and handed it over. "I just brewed a pot of coffee. Want a cup?"

"Sounds good - thanks." Monty glanced around. "Nice place."

"I like it." Blake led Monty into the living room, gesturing for him to have a seat on the sofa.

Monty complied.

From behind the closed kitchen door, a series of barks sounded, followed by a round of insistent scratching.

"My golden retriever," Blake explained.

"No need to keep him in there. He can join us."

"He's pretty rowdy."

"So am I. It's fine."

Blake opened the kitchen door, and Chomper exploded out, bright-eyed and panting. He spotted company and raced into the living room, sniffing Monty's jeans and boots with great enthusiasm. Then he jumped up, paws on Monty's lap, and began licking his face.

"Down, Chomper," Blake commanded.

Reluctantly, Chomper obeyed, landing on all fours. He brightened up when Monty leaned over and began scratching his ears.

"Hey, boy. You're a real ball of energy, aren't you?"

Chomper barked. Then, bored by the inactivity, he crouched down, eyeing the bottom of Monty's jeans.

"Don't even think about it," Blake warned.

The pup stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Blake.

"Sit," Blake instructed.

Chomper scrambled around. Facing Blake, he plunked his bottom down to the floor and sat up tall, gazing expectantly at his owner.

"Good boy," Blake praised. He walked over and stroked Chomper's head, handing him a peanut-b.u.t.ter biscuit. The pup s.n.a.t.c.hed it between his teeth, then rushed over to the rug by the fireplace. He lay down, giving the reward his full attention.

"Not bad," Monty commented.

"That's Devon's doing."

"Really? Does it work on men?"

Blake's lips twitched. "I wouldn't know."

"Well, I would. She's had me wrapped around her finger since the day she was born."