Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 5

"On the Bat Phone?" Sally asked, her lips curving slightly.

"Yeah." There was a trace of rough nostalgia in his tone. "On the Bat Phone. I'll bring it with me to Devon's. That way, you can talk to the kids when you get to Williamstown."

A pause. "Pete...whatever you do, be careful."

"Never mind me. You be careful. No hiking into town or sneaking off to hit the slopes. Be a nice, New England homebody. In the meantime, I'll start digging around to see who hated Frederick Pierson and why."

CHAPTER 5.

The sun was poised on the horizon, sinking slowly downward, when Edward Pierson finished his phone call and slammed down the phone in the farm's walnut-pillared living room.

"The cops still haven't found Sally Montgomery," he announced, turning to Blake. "But evidently, she's alive and hiding."

Blake extricated the shredded hem of his jeans from between Chomper's teeth and frowned. "What do you mean 'hiding'?"

"I mean she called her ex-husband. Didn't want her family to think she was dead. She got out of the cabin before the fire destroyed the place."

"Why didn't she take Frederick with her?"

"Because he was already dead." Edward dragged an arm across his forehead. Looking ill, he explained the circ.u.mstances to Blake. "She's afraid that whoever killed Frederick and whacked her on the head will be looking for her to finish what he started. So she's not telling anyone where she is."

"Did she see the guy? Is she willing to give a description?"

"I don't know." Edward filled his water gla.s.s and gulped at it, clearly wishing it were bourbon. "The cops won't give me any details. All the sheriff keeps saying is: 'It's an ongoing investigation.' Which does me a h.e.l.l of a lot of good." He set down the gla.s.s with a thud.

Blake shooed Chomper away again, then gave up, letting the puppy tug at his jeans and chew the leg bottom into a soggy wad. "Grandfather, ease up. You've been pushing yourself all day. Grandmother would have your head, and so would the doctors. Let the police do their job. Concentrate on something else - like how strong James's showing will be in tomorrow's Grand Prix."

"Right." Edward's tension eased slightly. "According to our trainer, he's more than ready. His form's great and he's been clearing every jump." The scowl returned. "Of course, all that could go down the tubes before next Sunday's event. He'll have flown home to cope with a funeral and the fallout that goes along with losing not just his uncle, but the head of his branch of our company. That's bound to screw him up. You reported to Frederick, too. You and I have got to pick up the slack so James doesn't have to, and so the food-services division doesn't suffer. As it is, the staff will be in chaos, and our suppliers and accounts will be nervous as h.e.l.l. It's going to be ugly." A sidelong glare at Blake. "By the way, cut out the placating, diversionary c.r.a.p. It's revoltingly obvious."

"I wasn't going for subtle. And I'm not placating you. I'm helping get you through this ordeal. I'm well aware you'll fight me every step of the way. Just as you're aware that I'll fight back."

"Yes," Edward muttered, shaking his head. "Somewhere along the line I screwed up with you and James. You're not afraid of me like you should be. Everyone else in the family is."

"Except Grandmother," Blake reminded him. "Fear's not in her vocabulary. As for James and me, it's not a matter of your s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up. It's a matter of your nurturing what we represent: your legacies. James is fulfilling one - your life's pa.s.sion - and I'm fulfilling the other - your life's work. He inherited your hunger for Olympic gold, and I inherited your business creativity and the b.a.l.l.s to take Pierson & Company where it needs to go."

A simple enough explanation, Blake mused. With an ocean of details omitted. It was true that neither he nor James was afraid of their grandfather. But that was for entirely different reasons. And, yes, they each represented a different priority in Edward's life. But that's where the similarities ended.

"If you're saying I'm softer on the two of you because of your likenesses to me, that's bulls.h.i.t, at least where you're concerned," Edward replied, as if reading Blake's mind. "James is one story. But I'm harder on you than I am on any of your cousins, your uncles, and, certainly, your father. He's a lost cause."

Blake shrugged. "Dad's just not driven."

"Oh, he's driven all right. To sail, play golf, take vacations. You'd never know he's Pierson & Company's VP of marketing. He's in the office about three days a month. The rest of the time he and your mother are gallivanting around the world."

"He manages his end of the business."

"No, you manage his end of the business." Edward's gaze clouded. "But that's about to change. Everything's about to change, with Frederick gone."

"I realize that." Blake blew out his breath. "Let's take this one step at a time. The coroner has the dental records. Soon they'll make a positive ID. After that, we'll call James - before the news leaks out and he catches sight of a newspaper. The corporate jet will be there waiting. It's on standby, ready to fly him home, and back to Wellington after the funeral. Niles and Lynn are already back from Florida, and Mom and Dad will be landing tonight. Everyone else is home, ready to do whatever's necessary. As for the other company VPs, I'll call them after we've told James. We'll call an emergency management committee meeting for later this week, once the funeral's behind us."

Edward nodded. "Good." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking peaked but, at the same time, as if his wheels were spinning a mile a minute.

"As for the cops, maybe they'll be more forthcoming once they have official confirmation of Frederick's death," Blake suggested.

"I wouldn't hold my breath." A pause. "Sally Montgomery's ex is a retired cop."

Now, that announcement came out of left field. "So?"

"So he was with the NYPD. Worked a tough area in Brooklyn. Retired from the force a couple of years ago. Now he's got his own PI business. He's got quite a client list, from what I gather."

"And you know this how?"

"I made a few phone calls this afternoon, too - after I found out this Pete Montgomery had driven up to Lake Luzerne to consult with the sheriff."

"Next question - why is this important?"

"Because he's got an inside track to the cops and his ex-wife. Which means he might know more than he's saying. Also, because he sounds like a good guy to have in our corner."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "You're going to pump him for information?"

"No." Edward gripped his knees, the faraway look in his eyes vanishing. "I'm going to hire him."

DEVON FINISHED THE last of the dinner dishes while Terror finished the last of the table sc.r.a.ps.

"Starting tomorrow, you're going to have to share that food stash," Devon informed him.

Terror's head came up, and he blinked, clearly irked by the announcement.

"Relax," Devon said with a chuckle. "You won't mind your dinner partner. It's your pal Scamp. He's coming to stay with us, just until his mom gets home. Imagine the possibilities. By day, you can romp around together and drive everyone at doggie day care nuts. And by night, you can team up and destroy this place, leaving a trail of laundry in your wake. It's a veritable dream come true."

Terror barked his agreement. Then, prompted by the word laundry, he tore off in search of a discarded sock.

He'd have plenty of those to choose from, Devon mused. Especially now, with Lane and Meredith both staying over - and not just for a day or two, but for a week, maybe longer, depending on how quickly the Pierson case was solved. Lane had already made his requisite phone calls and rearranged his work schedule. And Meredith had e-mailed her professors, explaining the situation and asking if she could deliver her homework a.s.signments electronically.

The extended-stay scenario was imperative, partly because they all needed to be together for emotional support, and partly to keep up appearances. Their family had to come off as worried sick, glued to the phone for any word from the police. Supposedly, they had no idea where Sally was and if they would ever see her again. As a result, they'd be too paralyzed to return to their day-to-day lives.

Devon had done her part by calling Dr. Joel Sedwell, the founder and senior partner of Creature Comforts & Clinic, and arranged for superflexible hours until this family crisis was over. And Monty had put his entire caseload on the back burner.

In private, the Montgomerys were relieved as h.e.l.l. They'd all spoken to Sally, heard her voice, and knew she was okay. Meredith had called three times before she was convinced her mother was safe, settled in at the Garners' house, and on the mend. Rod had run Sally over to a local doctor, who'd treated her for a minor concussion and an irritated trachea. She was now well fed, tucked in a warm feather bed, and fast asleep.

After that, Monty had reviewed the drill with his kids. They were sworn to secrecy. If anyone asked, they had no idea where Sally was. If pressed, they'd parrot the story Monty had given the Warren County Sheriff's Office. As for talking to Sally, they'd do that only at designated times, and only on the Bat Phone.

But thank G.o.d she was all right.

Devon had promised Sally she'd take care of Scamp and make periodic drives up to the house to check on the horses, who were being fed and exercised by one of the Piersons' grooms. That promise was hardly a sacrifice. Not only did it put Sally's mind at ease, but Devon was crazy about Scamp and the house she'd spent her teens in. This gave her an excuse to enjoy both.

Having spoken to her mother, Devon had felt lighthearted enough to cook - a desire that didn't come along too often. Monty stayed for dinner, after which he made a slew of phone calls, which resulted in streams of incoming pages on Devon's fax machine, all of which he was now poring over. Lane took the opportunity to drag Meredith to a movie - a chick flick, no less - to help her relax. He looked pained at the prospect, but his concern for his baby sister won out. He did ask Devon to join them, but she refused - not because she didn't want to go, but because something told her she should stay here with Monty.

Tossing down the dish towel, she wandered into the living room, sinking down on the sofa next to her father and tucking her legs beneath her. "What did you find out?" she asked, peering over his shoulder.

"That the Pierson empire is a golden octopus with tentacles all over the place." Monty pointed at the page he was reading. "Look at this rundown on their history. Edward Pierson started the company fifty years ago as a small paper-goods distributor to the food industry. It grew like crazy, expanding into food services and catering. Evidently, Pierson pulled the right strings, because all of a sudden, his little company dominated the food-services business at major sporting arenas all across the country."

Pulled the right strings. Devon had heard her father use that expression often enough to know what it meant. "You think he bribed politicians, threatened compet.i.tors - that kind of thing?"

"Big-time. The man is smart, unscrupulous, and a corporate bulldozer. He wasn't happy standing still, even after locking up the sports venues. He wanted more than just a food-services division - something more refined. So he launched a fine dining division - those sw.a.n.ky Grand Prix restaurants he owns. The first one opened in Palm Beach twenty-five years ago. It's still thriving. Only now it has nineteen siblings, all located near the major equestrian compet.i.tion sites: Lexington, Peapack-Gladstone, Bridgehampton, Fair Oaks, Napa Valley - you get the drift."

"Wow. That's quite an empire. Edward Pierson must be in his glory, especially since overseeing the fine-dining division means he can indulge his pa.s.sion for showing horses." Devon leaned closer, reading the corporate summary. "What's this about a family-dining division?"

"That's his newest restaurant venture: Chomping at the Bit."

Devon grinned. "Cute name."

"Yeah, and another gold mine in the making. It's going to have the same horse theme as the Grand Prix restaurants, but aimed at a whole different crowd."

"Families."

"Yup. Lower prices, casual decor, kid-friendly atmosphere. The flagship restaurant is set to open this spring a block away from Yonkers Raceway."

"Yonkers Raceway - that's a far cry from Palm Beach. Then again, it's a shrewd choice. Busy area, lots of horse lovers, adjacent to a big shopping center. It'll bring in families by the droves." A pensive frown formed between Devon's brows. "Edward Pierson's almost eighty years old. Vital or not, he can only do so much. And with Frederick gone, who else is running all this?"

"Which Pierson isn't? Edward's got the whole family managing the company. Frederick ran the food services division. Niles, Edward's second son, heads up the fine dining division. And Edward's grandson, Blake, is in charge of the family dining division. It looks like Chomping at the Bit was his baby. Blake's father, Gregory, is Edward's youngest son. He's the VP of marketing. There's another grandson, James - he's Niles's kid. He's VP of sales and a champion show jumper...." Monty shoved the paper aside. "I'm getting a headache."

"And I'm getting the idea." Devon leaned back against the sofa cushion. "So Edward Pierson's combined all his pa.s.sions into one - family, horses, money, and notoriety. Pretty impressive." A questioning look. "All the company execs are family?"

"Looks that way. All except their attorney, Louise Chambers, and their senior VP of sales, Philip Rhodes. Oh, and their CFO, Roger Wallace, but he doesn't count as nonfamily. He's a grandson-in-law, married to Niles's daughter, Tiffany. She's VP of business development, by the way. And Blake's sister, Ca.s.sidy, is VP of human resources. Gee, I wonder how many more Piersons are out there who never made it into this report."

"Interesting." Devon ran a hand through her hair, sorting out her thoughts. "What you just described leaves lots of room for resentment. Family members resenting other family members for having more power. Nonfamily members resenting family members for having all the power to begin with. Employees who feel they'll never get ahead, that nepotism rules the day. I wonder what kind of boss Frederick Pierson was?"

"Good question."

"What about Edward's grandchildren? Don't any of them belong to Frederick?"

"Nope. Frederick was a childless widower. His wife, Emily, died of a heart attack two years ago."

"Hmm." Devon pursed her lips. "I'd love to see Edward's will. I wonder who's next in line to inherit and/or run the Pierson empire. And how the family fortune is allocated."

"More good questions. As a matter of fact, you're following my train of thought to a T." Monty shot his daughter a look. "I told you you have the mind of a cop. Cut back on your animal hours and go into business with me."

Devon rolled her eyes. "We've been through this a thousand times, Monty. I'm not cut out to be a cop. I don't have a tough enough skin. Besides, I love what I do."

"My buddies at the ASPCA's Humane Law Enforcement Department - the ones who ran those off-site training cla.s.ses you took - said you were the sharpest one in the bunch. A chip off the old block. And, no, they weren't blowing sunshine up my a.s.s. They meant it. No one believed you were in vet school going for a DVM. They thought you were in the Police Academy, joining the force."

"It was one of the best summers of my life. But that's because of the animals. And because I was spending so much time with you."

"What time? I was working a case."

"Maybe. But you showed up anyway. A couple of times each day. Kind of like you were checking up on me to make sure I was performing up to snuff. Remember?"

"Yeah. I remember."

"The pride on your face meant more to me than I can say."

Monty blew out his breath. "Devon, your instincts are dead-on. Your mind's like a steel trap. Think about how many pet owners you've helped, not in the clinic, but in the field. You've managed to locate dozens of missing animals. Pets who were lost for weeks and no one could find - not even with flyers plastered everywhere and big rewards offered."

"Just call me Ace Ventura." Devon squeezed Monty's arm. "Seriously, that's not because I've got a cop's mind. It's because I understand animals. I know their habits. I know their minds. And I know what questions to ask to zero in on their idiosyncrasies. Then I look for clues. And, hopefully, I turn up something."

"What the h.e.l.l do you think a cop does?"

Devon sighed. "Monty, you know how much I love and respect you, and what you do. And, yes, every once in a while I'd love to play Nancy Drew. But there's no brutality in her cases - not like the kind you deal with."

"Things are different than they were before. I'm a PI now. Not every case I take on has - "

He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

"It's my office line," he observed. "I call-forwarded everything to my cell while I was here." He glanced down at the caller ID and frowned. "Private. Well, that really narrows down the prospects." He punched the phone on. "Montgomery."

His brows lifted slightly, and he glanced over at Devon. "Yes, Mr. Pierson, I know who you are. My condolences on the loss of your son."

Edward Pierson? Now, that was a surprise.

Devon leaned forward to listen.

"Care to tell me why? I'm sure the sheriff gave you the exact same story he gave me." Monty paused. "Yes, I heard from my ex-wife. She's terrified and on the run. Whoever killed your son tried to kill her, too. She's afraid he'll try again. The only reason she contacted me is so I could bring the cops up to speed on what actually happened in that cabin, and so I could let our children know she was alive. She hung up without saying where she was or where she was going. Nope, she never saw the guy. So there's not a lot more I can tell you. Certainly not enough to warrant your sending down a limo to drive me up to your farm for a meeting."

Another pause, as Monty absorbed whatever Edward was saying. "That's very flattering, and very intriguing. But I can't imagine where you're going with this. Care to elaborate? Right. In person. Okay, I'll bite. Sure, late afternoon's fine. Four o'clock works. My office is in Little Neck - a semiattached house. One side's my home, the other's my office." Abruptly, Monty broke off, and he snapped around to face Devon.

Uh-oh, Devon thought, recognizing only too well that gleam in her father's eyes. He had a plan. And whatever it was, she wasn't going to like it.

Sure enough, Monty gave a hard shake of his head, as if negating the last part of what he'd just said. "I have a better idea, Mr. Pierson. I want to check in on my kids anyway, make sure they're holding up. They're in bad shape, as you can imagine. They're all staying at my daughter Devon's place. It's in northern White Plains. That's a good half hour closer to Millbrook than Queens is. It'll take just an hour plus to get to you. Devon's driving up to Sally's place tomorrow anyway. She wants to check on the house and the animals. I'll just grab a ride. I'm sure she could use the company." He ignored his daughter's glare. "I should be there around six. We'll continue this discussion then."

He punched end and turned to Devon. "Well, what do you know. Edward Pierson wants to hire me. He seems to think I can do a better job of finding whoever killed his son than the Warren County sheriff can."

"Yeah, what do you know." Devon folded her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "And you seem to think I'm partnering up with you."

"You are."

"No, Monty, I'm not."

His hands balled into fists, made deep indentations in the sofa. "Devon, this time's different. It's your mother's life at stake."

"Dammit, Monty, that's emotional blackmail."