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

DEVON LEANED BACK against the sofa, slapping the cordless phone onto the cushion beside her and rolling her eyes.

“That’s the third time I’ve been disconnected,” she muttered. “Well, I’m not giving up.” She punched up the number again, waiting while the tinny connection went through.

At last, she was rewarded with a mumbled, “Dígame.”

She sat up straight, signaling to let Blake know she’d gotten through.

“Esta es Señora Pierson.” She spoke in the older, throatier voice of Anne Pierson, launching into the simple, direct speech that Blake had prepared and she’d translated into Spanish. “Tenemos un problema con nuestro banco. El próximo pago quizás será tarde.”

The response she got was a sharp intake of breath, followed by some mumbled words of surprise and then a clarifying: “Señora Pierson?”

“Sí.”

“Un momento.”

Devon covered the mouthpiece while she waited. “I told him there’s a problem with his next payment,” she hissed. “He’s getting someone.”

Blake nodded, standing rigidly and waiting.

More background shuffling. Then a different male voice addressed her. “¿Quíen es?” he demanded.

Devon’s stomach lurched. He wanted to know who she was. The previous guy had asked for her name twice. Had they figured out she wasn’t Anne Pierson?

“¿Quíen es?” the new voice repeated.

“Señora Pierson,” Devon replied carefully. “Hay un problema. Su próximo pago será tarde.”

A sharp hiss greeted her ears. “Usted miente! Yo no soy estúpido. Si usted no manda mi dinero ahora, yo se lo diré 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 God’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 assumed that power accompanied youth. Not so. I’m far more formidable now. Why, I’m practically invisible. Everyone assumes I do nothing but fret and peruse old photos. That shows how foolish the world is.”