Wrong Place, Wrong Time (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 1)

MONTY ASSESSED 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 glass 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 spunk. 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 competitors.”

“That would only make sense if the extortion was an isolated incident. But if it ties into Frederick’s murder—as we both assume it does—that theory doesn’t fly. My money’s still on a business or family vendetta. That would encompass 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?”

“Yes, acceptable,” Edward agreed.