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

Monty gave a tight nod, then began pacing around. “That’s the part that doesn’t fit. Granger’s the only one who stood to get hurt.”

Devon sank down on the sofa, her expression pensive. “You knew about all this before James called.”

“Yeah. I found out a few hours ago. Edward summoned me into his office. He was pretty worked up. Once he heard Granger was okay, he calmed down. But he didn’t seem surprised or worried that James, the avid equestrian, was sick enough to bail out of an event. That bugged me. But not as much as what James just said. Edward didn’t mention anything about a scheduled drug test. He just tossed out the possibility like a what-if, not a fact. So, either he didn’t know as much as James did, or he did a damned good job of covering. Either way, you can be sure I’m going to poke around and find out how far ahead this drug screening was planned, and who knew it was going to take place.”

“Do you have anything to go on?”

“From what I’ve learned, Edward is a pretty big sponsor at Wellington. Maybe James used Grandpa’s clout to pay someone off. Maybe that someone told him about the drug test in advance.”

“Maybe James knew he was being targeted, so he opted out.”

“That’s the nice conclusion. The uglier one is that James is using and intends to keep that under wraps.”

“I hope not.”

“Yeah, well, the James who just called you isn’t the emotionally frayed nervous wreck his grandfather described. He was barely ruffled.” Monty shook his head. “I’m not sure what’s going on here. Yet. What I am sure of is that I don’t trust James Pierson.”

“What about Blake Pierson?” Devon felt compelled to ask. “Do you trust him?”

Monty heard her question loud and clear. He stopped pacing and looked at her. “There are a dozen company cars with the same make and model as Frederick’s. All the execs have them—from Edward to Philip Rhodes to Louise Chambers. And, yeah, to Blake. He must have used his this morning when you saw him at the clinic. But he’s a very bright guy. If he’d driven up to Lake Luzerne and torched his uncle, he wouldn’t be parading around in the car he drove up in. Feel better?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, don’t. I might not think Blake’s a killer, but that doesn’t mean I trust him. And you shouldn’t, either.”

Devon nodded. “Don’t worry. My guard is up.” She massaged her temples. “This case is getting more complicated rather than less.”

“They always do. That’s when we solve them.” Monty leaned forward and scooped an apple out of the fruit basket on the coffee table. “Where’s your sister?” he asked, taking a bite. “She let me in, then vanished.”

“Probably in the guest room, on the computer. She’s battling her way through a big econ assignment.” Devon glanced over at the deserted living-room computer. “She was working here when I came home.”

“Until she saw me. Then she took off.”

Devon sighed. “Monty…”

“Don’t worry.” He waved away her words of appeasement. “I’ve got thick skin and a will of iron. I’m not giving up. So, since you two haven’t eaten, how about I whip up some of my famous linguini in Montgomery sauce?”

That conjured up a warm, nostalgic memory. “Wow,” Devon replied, snippets of childhood flashing through her mind. “Talk about a blast from the past. We haven’t had linguini in Montgomery sauce in years. Even Lane might be persuaded to stay home for dinner.”

“Where is he?”

A shrug. “Who knows? He’s met with a few colleagues and made a couple of trips into Manhattan. But he’s being very vague about what his reasons are.” Devon crossed her fingers and held them up. “I’m hoping he’s putting out feelers for East Coast assignments. That way we’ll get him back home where he belongs.” She rose. “I’ll find Merry.”

“No.” Monty stopped her. “You make sure we have all the ingredients I need. I’ll find Merry.”

Devon nodded her understanding, then headed for the kitchen. “Good luck to us both.”

“Don’t forget the chili peppers,” Monty called after her.

“How could I?” she called back. “They don’t forget me—not for three days after I eat your famous Montgomery sauce.”

PHILIP RHODES LOCKED his office door and flipped on the light.

It was after nine. No one was in the building. Still, he had to ensure he was alone. Especially if he found what he expected to. Then the walls would come crashing down.

He logged onto his computer and punched up a security code.

Access.