Dark Room (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 2)

“She seemed pretty shaken, yeah.”

A hard swallow. “And that agenda is me. Charlie was right. Everything, right down to Rachel’s accident, were warning messages for me.”

“Let’s talk about Rachel,” Monty suggested, propping his elbow on the chair arm. “Tell me what you can about her background, her interests, even her taste in men. Then do the same with Karly Fontaine.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to figure out if they were randomly selected from the people you know, or if one or both of them was specifically targeted.”

“I see where you’re going with this. But it’s a sticky question. My client interviews are confidential.”

“Yeah, and your parents’ killer is out there.” Monty wasn’t mincing words. And he wasn’t letting Morgan’s ethics get in his way. “Look, I’m not asking because I want to pry into these women’s love lives. I

need this information before interviewing them. Just give me some basic facts.”

“Fine. They’re both attractive. Rachel’s on the petite side, dark-haired, and in her midtwenties. She’s probably the youngest management consultant in her firm. That’s because she’s superintelligent and aggressive. She prefers older men. Young ones can’t deal with her strength or success. The older ones who measure up to her are usually married. My job’s to find one who isn’t. Karly’s tall and willowy, thirty-four, with red-gold hair. She started her career in L.A. as a model—magazine and runway. She’s now the managing director of the New York branch of the Lairman Modeling Agency.”

“Okay.” Monty was writing. “And I take it both women are looking for long-term relationships?”

“Not just long-term. They want men with substance and character, a variety of interests, and a high level of ambition. That’s why I arranged dates for each of them with Charlie Denton. There were strong correlations in their profiles. Plus, my instincts told me the fits were good.”

“Does Elyse know either Rachel or Karly?”

The question caught Morgan by surprise. “I don’t think so. Why? Is that important?”

“Only if it takes us in the right direction. I’m trying to see if there’s an overlap between Elyse’s clientele and yours.”

“Absolutely. She’s given us great word of mouth, which is invaluable in both our businesses. As for Winshore, referrals are the mainstay of our business. We have several hundred clients at this point. Frankly, I’d need some time to recall who referred each of them.” Morgan’s smile was rueful. “Half the time, Jill and I don’t even meet each other’s clients for months. Once a rapport is established with a new client, whoever that client’s initial contact was tries to build a level of trust. It helps not to shove an entire staff in their face. Besides, most—though not all—client meetings take place outside the office—in restaurants, hotel lounges, even a client’s office, if they live and work in the suburbs. We try to make it as convenient as possible.”

“Interesting.” Monty was still scribbling. “Are you okay with my chatting with Rachel and Karly?”

“I have no problem with it. I can’t speak for Rachel’s doctor; you’ll have to check with him. I’ll give you his contact information, and Karly’s cell number.”

“Good.” He set down his notebook. “How’s your hot chocolate?”

“Gone.” Morgan placed her empty cup neatly on a coaster. “Now let’s get to the main purpose of our meeting while I’m still clinging to my bravado.” She shifted to the edge of the sofa cushion, her back ramrod straight, and pointed at the photograph envelope on the table. “Are those the original or the enhanced shots?”

“The originals. Lane’s still working on the enhancements. He was at it till dawn.”

“And now he’s heli-skiing?”

A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “He’s used to a no-sleep, high-performance lifestyle. He’s had to be, in his line of work. But don’t worry. Not only is he resilient, he’s adaptable. He probably slept on the plane.” Monty reached for the envelope of photos, all humor vanishing. “I’m going to lay these out in a specific order. It’s not to protect you; it’s to get maximum recall out of you.”

“I understand.” A weighted pause. “I’m ready.”

Monty studied her for another brief moment. Then he took out the photos and laid two before her. They were glaringly devoid of human beings. “Do you remember the room itself?”

“Yes.” The familiar tightness gripped her chest, but she tamped down on it, pushing past the panic that started to coil inside her. “The basement where it happened. I was upstairs, putting glitter on some holiday decorations. We were waiting for the food to be delivered. My parents went down to get the paper goods. The guests were scheduled to arrive soon.” She could see it as clearly as if it were happening again, right in front of her. “My mother had put music on; ‘A Holly, Jolly Christmas.’ That was why I didn’t hear any of the sounds…the gunshots…”

“Right. What made you go downstairs?”

“They were gone so long. I got scared. And, for what it’s worth, I never saw the room from either of these angles you’re showing me. I walked down these stairs.” She indicated the far left corner of the photos. “And when I got to the bottom, all I saw were their bodies. I couldn’t look away. So why don’t you show me those photos. They’re more apt to jog any memories I might have repressed.”

“I plan to.” Monty pulled out a few more shots and glanced at them. Morgan could tell by his expression that this was it.

He placed the photos on the table in front of her. “These were taken from the foot of the stairs. It’s the angle you walked in on.” His tone was steady, but his gaze was fixed on Morgan.

Her parents’ bodies. Bleeding. Lifeless.