Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 35

CHAPTER 26.

Devon was sitting up, staring out the window and watching the first few rays of sun, when the phone rang. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it on the first ring.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Mission accomplished," Monty said.

"Are you okay?" Gratefully, she took the mug of coffee Blake pressed into her hand, scooting over so he could sit down beside her.

"Did you doubt it?"

"No. But I worried anyway. What did you find?"

"Frankenstein's laboratory. I didn't know what half the stuff was. But it looked as serious as a heart attack."

"Describe it to me."

Monty plunged into a description of the freezers, the generator, and the UPS. "He's powering a lot more than the average vet needs."

"And a lot more than a consultant who's sending out his tissue samples. Whatever he's doing, he's doing it there." Devon tucked her hair behind her ear. "Did you check out the contents of the freezers?"

"Yeah. There were a bunch of those petri dishes, filled with what I'm guessing were tissue samples. Thumbnail size, flesh-colored."

"Yup. Biopsies," Devon supplied. "Go on."

"Well, get this. The dishes were labeled. Names, dates."

"Horses' names?"

"Uh-uh. People's names. Or, to be more specific, illegals. Vista's got a file cabinet full of manila folders, each one labeled with a subject's name and containing his personal data and medical history. All the subjects are Mexican. All their social security numbers are 'not applicable.' And all their histories are vague. Now, here's the kicker - all their names match the names on the dishes."

Devon swallowed hard. "He's doing genetic testing on human beings?"

"Sure looks that way. He's paying them enough cash to stay in this country. In return, he's using them for his research."

"That's sickening. But I don't get the connection." Devon raked a hand through her hair. "How will that benefit Edward's horses?"

"I'm not sure - yet. But give me time." Monty paused, and Devon could hear the road noise in the background.

"You're driving home?"

"On my way as we speak," he a.s.sured her. "By the way, was Louise Chambers up at the farm last night?"

"Yes. She spent the night. Why?"

"I need to talk to her. When's she due back in the city?"

Devon repeated the question to Blake.

"This morning," he replied. "She and I are both involved in a ten thirty meeting. Which means she'll be in the office before ten."

"Good." Monty sounded pleased. "I'll catch her before that meeting."

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" Devon asked.

"Later."

Devon sighed. "Fine. Blake and I are about to pack up and head home. I'm due at the clinic at eleven. I'll be out by six. At which time you and I are meeting, either at my place or yours. Pick."

"Yours. I'll cook. Tell Blake he's welcome. So's Chomper. See you later."

AT NINE TWENTY that morning, Louise Chambers turned her car over to the midtown parking attendant and walked toward Pierson & Company.

She was in a foul mood. A long drive, a stressful evening, and a sleepless night. And all for what? To see Blake take off with Devon Montgomery for a romantic night alone.

Her last-ditch effort to salvage things was dead in the water before it began.

She rode up in the elevator, unb.u.t.toning her coat and trying to figure out if there was anything she could do to keep her long-term plan from backfiring. A quick fix was out. She'd have to bide her time - again. That had been her course of action for two-plus years. It was starting to get old.

Maybe it was time to give up.

The elevator doors opened, and she headed toward her office, murmuring good mornings to people as she pa.s.sed.

She paused when she reached her secretary's station. "Hi, Diana. Anything urgent? I've got a ten thirty meeting to prepare for."

"A few messages. They can wait," her secretary said brightly.

"Good. Hold my calls."

Walking into her office, Louise put down her briefcase, hung away her coat, and sank down in her leather desk chair. She had a slew of papers to review before the meeting with Pierson's key suppliers. Her concentration sucked, and her head was pounding.

She poured herself a gla.s.s of water and was swallowing two Tylenol when the door opened and Pete Montgomery strode in.

"Good morning," he greeted Louise. "Glad I caught you."

Something about his choice of words unnerved her.

"I've got a meeting to prepare for, Detective," she informed him. "I should be free late this afternoon. Please check with my secretary and make an appointment."

"That won't work," Monty replied, waving away the curt brush-off. "My situation trumps yours. It's a matter in which - what's that phrase you attorneys use? Oh yeah. Time is of the essence. But don't worry. I won't be here long."

Before Louise could respond, Diana burst into the office. "I'm sorry," she told her boss breathlessly, glancing from Louise to Monty. "I stepped away from my desk for a minute."

"That's all right, Diana." Louise interlaced her fingers on her desk and stared Monty down. "I suspect the detective waited for that opportunity and used it to his advantage." She nodded at Diana. "You can go. This meeting will be brief."

Her secretary left the office, shutting the door behind her.

"Okay, Detective Montgomery, what's this about?" Louise inquired. "I a.s.sumed you'd be barking up a more fruitful tree by now."

A corner of Monty's mouth lifted. "That depends on which aspect of this case I'm investigating. The one I'm here about sent me barking right to your office door."

He perched on the edge of a chair. "Here's the scoop. I have a client. A wealthy, decent man who's crazy about his wife. Only she's carrying on with some young stud. He hired me to get the goods on them. So I tailed them, watched them go at it like rabbits. Something about the whole scenario struck me as weird. Talk about staged photo ops. It was like she knew her husband had hired a PI and was trying to be as obvious as possible. Which would mean she wanted to get caught. But why? She and my client had a prenup. She'd never be awarded the hefty settlement she was angling for if he could prove she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around. It just didn't make sense."

"How fascinating." Louise's tone and expression remained impa.s.sive.

Monty leaned forward. "Then I met with my client, and it all suddenly clicked. The guy was a mess, thanks to his wife. Physically shot. Weak. Sickly. During our meeting, he shoved a couple of nitroglycerin tablets under his tongue. That's when I realized he had a heart condition. A serious one. The kind that could prove fatal if he were faced with a severe shock. You know, like the shock of seeing p.o.r.n shots of his wife and her boy toy."

Louise pinned Monty with a cold stare. "That's a shame, Detective - although not exactly a unique scenario. What does it have to do with me?"

"Quite a bit. It got me thinking about Frederick Pierson's wife, Emily. She had a heart condition, too. A serious, debilitating heart condition - not the recently acquired one you indicated during our chat. Because of it, she was a recluse. She stayed holed up in her apartment for years. Saw no one. Oh, except you."

A hard light glinted in his eyes. "When we spoke last week, you told me you'd met Emily Pierson. You also said nothing went on between you and Frederick until after she died. Well, as it turns out, there are some major discrepancies in those statements."

"I'm not following."

"Sure you are. It's true you met Mrs. Pierson, but not as some innocent Pierson employee. You were having an affair with her husband. You knew he'd never leave his wife. So you found a way for her to leave him - permanently."

Louise's eyes narrowed. "If you're suggesting I harmed Emily Pierson, you'd better have some d.a.m.ned strong evidence, or I'll be suing you for defamation."

"Don't bother." Monty waved away her threat. "I learned a long time ago never to confront lawyers without proof. You see, Ms. Chambers, I did some digging. Turns out you visited Frederick Pierson's apartment the day his wife died. You paid off a doorman to let you upstairs and to forget he ever saw you. I tracked him down. As luck would have it, he regained his memory when I flashed a wad of cash at him. So, incidentally, did the concierge at the hotel you and Frederick used as a love nest for the first months of your affair. As you can see, I've got more than enough proof. Care to fill in the blanks? Or should I?"

He pressed on without waiting. "You walked into Emily Pierson's home and told her you were sleeping with her husband. Maybe you took it a step further and hinted that Frederick was on the verge of leaving her. Whatever you said, it was enough to trigger a heart attack. She died. You got Frederick. And you were on your way to happily-ever-after."

"That's not the way it happened," Louise snapped. Her hands shook as she refilled her water gla.s.s and took a gulp. "Yes, I went to see her. And, yes, I told her about Frederick and me. But I did it so she'd let him go, not so she'd die. I was thirty-two years old. It never occurred to me that a blunt talk about a marriage that was in name only would be enough to induce a heart attack."

"But it did."

"It's possible. It's also possible the two events were unrelated. I wouldn't know firsthand. I left."

"That's a lie. You were there when it happened. The nurse who cared for Emily Pierson told me she heard someone leave the apartment as she reached Mrs. Pierson's side. She a.s.sumed it was a servant. But it wasn't. It was you. I've got times on everything, right down to the minute. Arrivals. Departures. When Emily Pierson's body was discovered. It's all right here." Monty walked over to Louise's desk and slapped down a sheet of information. "I'd quit playing the denial game. It won't fly. And before you decide to opt for silence, let me remind you that there's no statute of limitations on murder. You're an attorney. You know that."

"I did not murder Emily Pierson." Louise had gone deadly pale. "Okay, you're right - I was there when it happened. I saw her collapse. I'll never forget the look on her face. I nearly died myself. I froze. By the time I got it together enough to react, it was too late."

Monty's brows rose. "You don't strike me as the emotionally fragile type."

"I'm human. I saw a woman die."

"You saw an opportunity. You let that woman die."

Louise's chin came up. "That's one charge you can't prove."

"You're right. And even if I could, I'd only be able to get you on failure to render a.s.sistance - a misdemeanor, at best, with a two-year statute that's almost up. Unless, of course, there's more. Tell me, Ms. Chambers, what happened when Frederick started seeing Sally? That derailed your plan again. Did you decide to get rid of her, too? Is that what happened at that cabin? You hired some punk to drive up and torch the place. But things didn't go as planned. And the wrong person died. Makes sense. It also explains your sudden interest in Blake Pierson - the rising star of Pierson & Company."

"No!" Louise's voice trembled, and her eyes were damp. "I had nothing to do with Frederick's death. I cared about him." She reached for a tissue. "As for your ex-wife, I wouldn't go to the trouble of having her killed, much less risk my career and my freedom for it. She was a fling, and not Frederick's first. For that matter, I wasn't exactly a saint, either. But he and I always came back to each other. That would have happened this time, too. If someone hadn't murdered him."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We'll never know, will we?" Monty shrugged. "One thing's for sure: You're one h.e.l.l of an opportunist. The Piersons didn't know what they were letting themselves in for when they hired you." He glanced at his watch. "We're through here," he announced, turning and heading for the door.

"Wait," Louise demanded. "What are you planning to do?"

Monty paused, glancing back at her. "My job. Figuring out who killed Frederick Pierson."

"So you no longer think that someone was me?"

"Never did. The evidence says otherwise."

"What about my job?"

Another shrug. "That's up to the Piersons. If it were up to me, I'd kick you out on your conniving a.s.s. But it's not my call." Monty's expression hardened and he pinned her with his stare. "One piece of advice. Stay the h.e.l.l away from my daughter and Blake Pierson. Your grand plan to snag Pierson's head honcho is over. If I get even the slightest inkling you're gunning for Devon, you'll answer to me. And I'm one tough judge and jury."

THE NOTE HAD been insufficient motivation.

It was morning and Devon Montgomery was making no move to stay away from the Piersons - beginning with Blake. The two of them had left her mother's house at dawn, arms around each other as they hiked through the snow to Blake's car. That meant he was her ally as well as her lover. And that made her twice as dangerous. She wasn't giving up on her crusade to find out what was going on in Vista's trailer. And with Blake in her corner, who knew what she'd uncover.

Time to take drastic action.

DEVON WALKED INTO her living room and dropped her overnight bag on the rug. She sank down on the sofa, dropping her head in her hands.

She was exhausted. She'd had less than three hours' sleep. And she still couldn't figure out what Vista was up to.

There was a piece missing. But what?

Her musing was interrupted by Terror, who exploded into the room, barking and jumping up and down with excitement at her homecoming. He leaped onto the sofa beside her and began licking her face.

"Hey, boy." Devon rubbed his ears, leaning over to plant a kiss on top of his head. "It's good to see you, too."

"Hi, Dev. I didn't hear you come in." Merry strolled into the room, munching on an apple. "But Terror did. He actually abandoned his breakfast and an old crew sock to run out and greet you." Seeing her sister's drawn expression, Merry broke off, sinking down on the cushion beside her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just tired," Devon replied. "The week and a half since the fire seems more like a month."

"I know what you mean." Merry nodded. "But there is a silver lining to all this. You met Blake. He's crazy about you."

"The feeling's terrifyingly mutual," Devon admitted. "I can't believe how intense this relationship's gotten in just a few days. Nothing real happens this fast."

"Mom and Dad did."

A quick sideways glance. "Yes, they did."

"And, speaking of Dad, I can tell he's getting close to solving these murders. Which means Mom will be home soon. And everything will go back to normal. Maybe better."

That was too many pointed innuendos to dismiss as coincidence.

Devon felt her first surge of optimism where this subject was concerned. "Are you trying to tell me something?" she asked her sister.