Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 39

"Quen es?" the new voice repeated.

"Senora Pierson," Devon replied carefully. "Hay un problema. Su prximo pago ser tarde."

A sharp hiss greeted her ears. "Usted miente! Yo no soy estpido. Si usted no manda mi dinero ahora, yo se lo dire a todos que me pagaron empezar ese fuego."

You're lying. I'm not stupid. If you don't send my money now, I'll tell everyone who paid me to set that fire.

Devon couldn't control the shocked cry that escaped her lips.

At the other end of the phone, there was a muttered oath in Spanish, then a click, and, finally, a dial tone.

"What is it?" Blake grilled her.

"Our answer." Devon stared at the phone, trying to process what she'd just learned. "The second guy I talked to set the fire," she said in a dazed monotone. "Apparently, he was paid off with the promise of more to come."

"He admitted all that to you right off the bat?"

"Yes."

"That makes no sense. Why would he do that?"

"Because he thought he was talking to the person who paid him." Devon raised her head, met Blake's gaze. "Your grandmother."

CHAPTER 29.

Anne Pierson stared Monty down with those frosty blue eyes. "Did you hear me, Detective? I said to drop your weapon. Now do it."

"For G.o.d's sake, Anne," Edward burst out. "Enough."

"Not quite," she corrected, still staring at Monty. "But almost." She pressed the gun barrel against Merry's head.

"You don't know how to use that," Edward tried.

"To the contrary, I became acquainted with the process the night Philip died. You, of all people, know that. Being an old lady has its advantages. No one ever suspects you. It's ironic. I always a.s.sumed that power accompanied youth. Not so. I'm far more formidable now. Why, I'm practically invisible. Everyone a.s.sumes I do nothing but fret and peruse old photos. That shows how foolish the world is."

Her forefinger settled on the trigger. "So tell me, Detective, which strikes the floor first - your dead daughter or your gun?"

Merry let out a small whimper, and tears trickled down her cheeks. "Dad...'' Futilely, she struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists.

"It's okay, baby," Monty replied in a soothing tone. "Stay still." He looked at Anne. "You win." He raised his arm, pointing at his jacket. "I'm reaching for my gun."

"Slowly, Detective," Anne advised. "No matter how good your reflexes are, they won't beat point-blank range." She watched while Monty extracted his pistol and held it out for inspection. "Good. Now slide it toward me."

Monty bent down, placed the gun on the floor, and kicked it over.

"Excellent." She gestured at an empty chair. "Have a seat. Right next to your ex-wife."

"Grandmother, what are you doing?" James croaked out as Monty complied.

"Cleaning up after you." Anne picked up the gun and gave James a brittle smile. "On my own, this time. There have been enough mistakes. Mistakes that cost me my son." Her smile faded, her lips thinning into a grim line. "Stupid illegals. They killed the wrong person. And now they brought me the wrong Montgomery." She glanced at Merry, then turned to stare at Sally, genuine hate in her eyes. "It's all because of you. Bad enough that you turned Frederick's head when you're totally unsuitable. But then you inserted yourself where you didn't belong, and Frederick died because of it."

She was about to say more, when Merry's kidnapper appeared in the doorway.

"Luis - bueno." Anne turned, beckoning him into the room. "Est aqu." A brittle smile curved her lips. "I think we're ready."

"For what?" Edward exclaimed. He bolted to his feet and stalked over to her, his step faltering as his blood pressure spiked. "What are you doing?"

Her smile faded. "Calm down, Edward. You're flushed and agitated. It's not good for you. Think of your heart."

"I can't fix this, Anne. Not this time. Not if you hurt these people."

"You won't have to." She lay a soothing palm on his arm. "Don't worry. I'm not planning on hurting anyone." She glanced over at James, who was standing, stiff with shock, beside Edward. "James, take your grandfather to his bedroom. He needs to lie down and rest. And call Dr. Richards. Tell him to drive up immediately. I want him to give your grandfather a thorough examination. Just to be on the safe side."

James turned to study his grandfather. It was true he didn't look well. His color was blotchy and his breathing unsteady. On the other hand, James wasn't eager to see his reaction if he were dragged out of the room. He'd probably go ballistic.

"It's your call," James informed him. "You obviously understand what's going on here a lot better than I do. Do you want to stay or go?"

For a moment, Edward didn't reply. He mopped at his brow, still scrutinizing his wife. "Anne, right now, it's all hearsay, except what's happening in this room. It can be fixed. Detective Montgomery's a reasonable man. He and I can come to an equitable arrangement. But only if you walk away."

"I intend to," Anne a.s.sured him. "In just a few minutes. The Montgomerys and I need to have a talk. After that, I'll be in to join you."

Edward's breath was coming in uneven pants. "Have Luis take them home."

"Go rest, dear. You need to lie down. And stop worrying. I have everything under control."

He grimaced, clearly torn between common sense and physical weakness. His chest was tight, and a sharp pain seared through it, reminding him that he was playing Russian roulette with his body. Fighting the pain, he leaned heavily against his desk.

"Enough, Grandfather." James appeared at his side, supporting him and guiding him toward the door. "Stop being stubborn. You can't risk another heart attack; it could kill you. Let's go."

Edward resisted long enough to turn to his wife. "I'm sure you know what's at stake."

"I do." Anne stepped aside so he and James could leave the room. "Pour your grandfather a gla.s.s of water," she instructed James. "And stay with him until Dr. Richards arrives."

"I will." James led Edward into the hall.

Anne shut the door behind them. Gesturing to Luis, she pointed at Monty and Sally. "Ate las manos."

In response, he yanked some rope out of his pocket and walked over, pausing behind Sally's chair.

"El hombre primero," Anne ordered.

Obediently, he moved a few steps to the left, preparing to tie Monty's hands first.

"Much as I loathe your ex-wife, you're more dangerous." Anne kept the pistol aimed at Merry as she addressed Monty. "Put your hands behind your back, Detective."

Monty studied her for a fleeting instant. Then his gaze slid to Merry. a.s.sessing her terrified expression, he stuck his hands behind his back.

"Wise decision." Anne waited until Monty's wrists were tied. "Ahora la mujer," she instructed.

The man pulled Sally's arms behind her and tied them.

Sally winced as the ropes bit into her wrists. She averted her head, looking over to see why Monty was being so unusually compliant. He was staring calmly ahead. But Sally knew that expression. He was devising some kind of strategy. Her gaze dropped lower, and she saw what that strategy was.

Monty's bound hands had slid down until his fingers were brushing the pocket of his pants - the pocket where he'd stuffed his cell phone. He'd worked a forefinger inside and was grazing the outline of the b.u.t.tons.

The motion stopped.

He slanted a sideways look at Sally, and winked.

He'd found the number he wanted. Speed dial would take care of the rest.

IT HAD STARTED to snow.

A light dusting already blanketed the highway as Blake's Jag raced up Route 287 en route to the farm.

Gripping her cell phone, Devon stared out the front windshield. "I've tried Monty's cell three times. It's ringing, so I know it's on. He must have it set on vibrate. I wish he'd pick up. I want to update him on our call to Uruguay."

"He's probably having it out with my grandfather." Blake's jaw was rigid. "In which case, I doubt he has the luxury of answering his phone. Remember, he's going for my grandfather's Achilles' heel. That means all-out war. I'm sure he's got his hands full." A pause. "I hope he finagles my grandfather into admitting something that makes sense out of what we just learned."

"If he hasn't managed to do so by the time we arrive, he will soon after."

"Yeah." Blake frowned, his expression still as shocked and strained as it had been when Devon first told him what she'd heard. "I'm completely at a loss. My grandfather has never involved my grandmother in any business transactions, much less shady ones. Why the h.e.l.l was she the one paying off Frederick's killer?"

"That's not business," Devon reminded him. "It's personal."

"Personal? Paying off a hit man?" Blake rubbed his forehead. "A hit man who was hired to knock off her son? Uh-uh. There's no way she'd go along with that, much less play an active role in making it happen."

Devon swallowed, giving voice to the sickening possibility that had struck her a few minutes before. "Maybe Frederick's not the one she paid to have killed."

Blake slanted her a look. "He's the one whose head was bashed in."

"Maybe that was an accident. Maybe he woke up before he was supposed to. Maybe he got in the way. Maybe something in the original plan went wrong."

"You think your mother was the target?"

"It would explain your grandmother's involvement. It would also justify your grandfather's extensive efforts to find my mother. He didn't know what she'd pieced together. He couldn't risk her talking to the cops."

"What motive would either of my grandparents have to order your mother killed?"

Devon drew a slow breath. "A few days before the fire, my mother overheard Edward and Frederick arguing. Frederick wanted someone at Pierson & Company fired. He suspected that someone of criminal behavior - behavior that could jeopardize the entire company. Edward was dead set on protecting that someone. It was serious, a time bomb waiting to explode, according to Frederick."

Blake shot Devon a look. "Your mother told all that to your father?"

"Yes. Right after the fire." Devon pressed her lips together. "That's why I'm so jumpy now. She's over there with Monty. Who knows what your grandfather's reaction to seeing her will be?"

Before Blake could reply, Devon's cell phone rang.

She stared at the display. "It's Monty." In one motion, she punched on the phone and tucked it in the curve of her shoulder. "Finally," she greeted her father. "What did you find out?"

No reply.

"Monty?"

Some indistinguishable sounds brushed Devon's ear, and she frowned. "Monty - are you there?"

Voices. Muted and far away.

Devon paused, listening intently.

"Okay, lady, we're trussed and ready." The m.u.f.fled words drifted through the phone. "Edward and James are gone. So it's just us. Time to cut the c.r.a.p."

Monty.

Devon's breath suspended in her throat.

"You aren't letting us go. You can't." Monty's voice was growing clearer, more distinct, as if a blanket were being removed from around his phone. "That speech you gave was nothing but bulls.h.i.t. A bunch of carefully crafted words to get your husband to leave. I get it. You're not planning to kill us yourself. That's what Luis is for. Any way you slice it, we're dying."

"Don't sound so outraged, Detective. Because of your ex-wife, my son is dead."

That voice belonged to Anne Pierson.

Devon shot a frightened look at Blake.

"What is it?" he hissed.

She didn't answer. Instead, she reached down, groping in her purse. She yanked out a minirecorder. Then she jammed the phone into the hands-free kit, held the recorder up to the microphone, and pressed the record b.u.t.ton.

"It's divine justice for Sally's daughter to die, too," Anne was declaring. "It's not what I'd planned, but it is what's known as an eye for an eye."

"Meredith has nothing to do with this."

Devon bit her lip to keep from crying out. That was her mother.

"She's totally innocent," Sally continued in a quiet, unsteady voice. "Let her go."

"That's no longer possible."

"Christ," Blake muttered as he figured out what was going on.

Devon responded by leaning forward and pressing the mute b.u.t.ton on the phone.