“Forget it, Sherman. The woman’s a contortionist. If you tried any of her moves, you’d be stuck in that position for life.”
Another grunt. “You’re probably right. Anyway, I’m on them like tar. If they’re planning anything more than a screwing marathon, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thanks. Listen, I know I left you with a full caseload. But before you head out now, do me one favor. Call the precinct. See who’s got time in their schedule for a security gig. It’s for Pierson, so the money’s good. Starts tonight. Ends when I solve this case.”
“How many guys do you need?”
“Plenty. There are four generations of Piersons to protect.”
“I’ll get on it now, and call you back.”
IT WAS 9 A.M., and already eighty degrees in Wellington.
Soon thousands of people would be arriving at the winter festival, eager to watch the competitions, shop, or catch a glimpse of the rich and famous.
James rolled over in his bed and plumped his pillow. No riding today. Not for him. He was a mess. The necessary arrangements had been made. Now it was just him, his family’s lavish Wellington hacienda, and the central air-conditioning. A welcome reprieve from crowds, kids, and pressure.
Tonight, he’d call Devon. He’d be feeling better by then. His grandfather would be pissed as hell, but he’d get over it. No way she’d blow his concentration. If anything, she’d be a great picture to hold in his mind when he won.
Frowning, he wondered if Blake had made any inroads with her by now. Well, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it from here.
Actually, that wasn’t true.
He reached for his cell phone and called FTD.
“ANYTHING?” MONTY LEANED over Alfred Jenkins’s shoulder as the accountant studied the computer monitor. He’d been closeted in Frederick’s office for four hours now, poring over months and months of business records. And Monty had popped in three times already.
“Still no red flags.” Jenkins shook his head. “The guy looks clean. He’s got some hefty corporate credit-card bills, but that’s not unusual. Especially if he was the kind of CEO who schmoozed people over expensive meals and high-priced wine.”
“Great.” Monty grimaced.
“Hey, I’m just getting started. There’s a lot of territory to cover here.”
“In other words, chill out.” Monty stretched and headed for the door. “I’ll check in with you later.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you will.”
Monty stepped into the hall and practically collided with Philip Rhodes.
“Oh…excuse me.” To say Rhodes was flustered would be a gross understatement. “I need a file from Frederick’s office. Is it off-limits?”
“Only if it involves accessing his computer.” Monty kept his expression and tone nondescript. “I’ve got someone working there.”
“Doing what?”
“Just some routine accounting stuff. Go on in and get what you need.”
Rhodes looked ill. “Thanks.”
DEVON WAS RESTLESS.
It was a little past noon. The hustle-bustle at Creature Comforts & Clinic had reached a midday, midweek lull. Devon’s morning appointments were finished, as was the surgery she’d performed on Rocky, a boxer with a disk problem. She’d checked her schedule, only to find that her afternoon was quiet.
The truth was, she didn’t want to run into Blake when he came out of Chomper’s obedience class.
She poked her head into Exam Room 3, where Dr. Joel Sedwell was finishing up with a long-haired tabby kitten who’d been abandoned and was now a permanent resident of the clinic.
“Joel? Any problem if I run out for a few hours? I want to ride up to my mom’s house and check on the animals. If I leave now, I’ll be back in time for the late-day craziness.”