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

Damn, he was in trouble.

Rhodes wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. He was next on the PI’s list of “chats.” He couldn’t give any indication that he was coming unglued. Montgomery was a retired detective. A pro. And with the funeral still an hour away, there was plenty of time for him to interrogate Philip and tear him to shreds.

He had to get through to Bolten.

Leaning over his desk, Rhodes punched on his speakerphone and pressed the redial button—again.

The same receptionist answered. “Paper and Plastics Limited. How may I direct your call?”

“Gary Bolten.”

“One moment, and I’ll connect you.”

One ring. Two. Three. Voice mail.

Dammit.

Rhodes jabbed at the phone, disconnecting the call. He’d left the guy three messages already—two in his office and one on his cell phone. Where the hell was he?

Jumping up, Philip crossed over and poured himself a glass of ice water, lifting it to his lips with a shaking hand. He had to get it together, now, before Montgomery walked in.

Talk about setting a new low in bad luck. The situation would be comical if it weren’t so harrowing. Sally Montgomery. Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be Montgomery’s ex-wife whom Frederick had taken up to that cabin? Why hadn’t he taken Louise? Anyone but a cop’s ex.

The intercom buzzed.

“Yes?” Rhodes answered.

“Mr. Montgomery’s ready to see you,” Alice, his secretary, informed him. “And Mr. Bolten’s on line three. Should I tell him you’ll call back?”

“No.” Rhodes snapped out the answer a lot more harshly than he’d intended. “No, Alice,” he repeated, this time more calmly. “It’s a quick call. And, with all that’s going on today, I won’t have a chance to get back to him. Tell Mr. Montgomery I’ll be with him in a minute.”

He didn’t wait for the reply. He pressed the flashing light on line three.

“Gary?”

“Yeah, Phil. Sorry I d

idn’t get back to you sooner. I was at my daughter’s college for parents’ weekend. The police tracked me down there and filled me in on what happened at the cabin. I still can’t believe it. Poor Frederick. Did the cops find out who did it? Is that why you’re calling?”

“What? No.” Philip’s mind was racing. “When you spoke to the cops, what did you say?”

“I confirmed that the cabin was mine and that I loaned it to Frederick for the weekend. What else could I say?”

“That loaning it to him was my idea.”

“What difference does that make?”

“To me? A big difference. Did you tell them?”

“No.”

Philip felt a pang of relief. “Good. Don’t. I mean it, Gary. Don’t say a word.”

A prolonged silence.

“This is nuts, even for you,” Bolten finally said. “You think that because you wanted your boss to enjoy a weekend getaway, the cops are gonna think it was a murder setup?”

“I don’t know what they’ll think. But I don’t need to plant any seeds.”