Virginia Smith - A Deadly Game

Jack kept his tone even as he spoke. “R.H., I have something to tell you that may come as a shock.” He drew another breath, then broke the news. “Tom Ingram is dead.”

“Dead? Don’t tell me he wrecked the car as soon as he got it.”

Jack arrived at the pickup, and unlocked the door with a click of the remote. “No, it wasn’t an accident. He was killed. Murdered, right in his office.”

Silence on the line. Jack opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. A trace of warmth still lingered in the cab from his ninety-minute drive after the auction. He pictured his father, seated in his high-backed chair, digesting the news. He and Ingram were among a small group of wealthy businessmen who’d been in the habit of getting together for a monthly poker game for the past several years. Ingram’s death would be a blow to them all.

“That’s…terrible. Just terrible. Where did you hear about it? Is it on the radio?”

“No, I don’t think the press has gotten wind of the news yet. After his secretary bought the car, she couldn’t find a transport company to deliver it tonight. They were all booked solid for several days. Since I had taken an empty trailer with me anyway, I offered to bring the Corvette back to Lexington for her. We found the body when we got here.”

“Wait a minute. First you let someone else buy my car, and then you delivered it for her?”

Jack stiffened at the outrage in his father’s voice. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I just told you that your friend has been killed—murdered—and I found the body. And all you can think about is a car?”

“I said it was terrible. What more do you want me to say?” Jack heard a quick intake of breath. “What’s going to happen to the car now? Ingram certainly doesn’t need it anymore.”

He shook his head, unable to answer for a moment. Obviously he’d been wrong to describe Ingram as his father’s friend. R.H. had no friends. He had social acquaintances, business associates and employees, but certainly no one in whom he would confide as a friend. Jack had heard the lecture many times growing up—confidences were an act of weakness. Why would you tell someone your thoughts and give them a weapon that might be used against you later? Being too open with people was one of the many things for which R. H. Townsend faulted his son.

Still, a man had been murdered. Jack had known his father rarely wasted time on sentimentality, but to express an interest in the Corvette this soon? It was downright callous.

If that’s what being a successful businessman leads to, Lord, then save me from success.

There was no use trying to convince his father that the question was inappropriate. The man was a brusque, uncaring businessman through and through, and he wasn’t likely to change his attitude anytime soon.

Jack finally managed an even response. “I overheard his secretary tell the police that Ingram has two daughters. The car probably belongs to them now. Maybe they’d be willing to sell it to you.”

“How long do you think that would take?”

Jack closed his eyes. “I really don’t know.”

“Check on it then.”

A click, and the call disconnected. For a long time, Jack sat staring at the phone. He’d seen his father make some harsh business decisions with little regard for the people whose lives he had affected. He’d watched him sign away the jobs and livelihood of hundreds of employees with the flourish of a pen, without even a passing thought to their welfare. Heard him more than once berate midlevel managers with language that should have resulted in lawsuits. And he’d been on the receiving end of that famous Townsend temper more times than he could count. He thought nothing the man could do would surprise him anymore. But this reaction to Tom Ingram’s death plunged to a new depth. R.H. had proven himself to be completely heartless.

The cab lost the last of its warmth, and a circle of breath frosted on the inside of the windshield. Jack shook himself free of his thoughts and jumped out of the truck. He’d better go back inside and find out how to contact Ingram’s daughters about the Corvette. If he didn’t, R.H. would do it himself. At least Jack could try to handle the situation tactfully.

The walk to the door seemed longer than before. An uncanny silence had settled over the wooded area behind the building, as heavy as the darkness that enveloped them. As he walked, Jack couldn’t stop staring in that direction, peering between the heavy branches. They seemed menacing, as though they hid a dark and deadly secret. Had the murderer concealed himself there, watching Tom Ingram through the now-shuttered windows? Might he be there even now? The skin on Jack’s arms crawled beneath a menacing stare that might, or might not, be imaginary. He rubbed his hands on his arms and quickened his pace toward the door.

Susanna watched from beneath the shield of her hand as Jack left the room. She was thankful he’d been with her when she had arrived here. What if she’d been alone when she found—she gulped—the body? Even so, she was glad to see Jack go. His presence was a painful reminder of that terrible time four years ago, and she couldn’t bear to think about that right now. One tragedy at a time was all she could handle.

She glanced at the door to her boss’s office, but thankfully she only saw the moving figures of police officers inside. More reminders. A terrible weight pressed on her chest as the reality of the situation struck her afresh.

Mr. Ingram was dead.

“Kathy, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here,” she whispered into the phone, aware of the silence that pervaded the outer office and the police officer who hovered near the doorway. “I’m sorry to dump her on you like this.”

“I keep telling you, don’t worry about it. Lizzie and Maddie have been playing ever since I picked them up from the babysitter. And I’ve already told them they might get to have a sleepover tonight. They were thrilled.”

An ache throbbed behind Susanna’s eyes. She closed them and pressed her temples as hard as she could. “Thank you. I’ll return the favor sometime.”

The sound of shoes scuffing on the carpet in front of her drew Susanna’s attention. She opened her eyes to find the detective who’d been questioning Jack for the past ten minutes standing in front of her. Plainclothes, but she’d be able to pinpoint him as a cop in a second if she met him on the street. He had the same arrogant air about him as the one she’d spoken with four years ago in Tennessee.

Stop it! This guy’s probably on the up-and-up. Not all police officers are on some rich man’s payroll.

She straightened and spoke into the phone. “I need to go. I’ll call you when I know more.”

When she had lowered the phone and started to stand, Detective Rollins stopped her with a gesture. “You can stay seated if you like. In fact, I’ll join you.”

He dropped into the chair beside her. Susanna placed her cell phone on the small table between them, next to an array of magazines she kept there for visitors to read while they waited for their appointments with Mr. Ingram. The hovering officer, a young man with a fresh face, approached to stand beside Rollins, his pen poised over a metal clipboard to record her words.

“I know this has been a shock, Ms. Trent.” Rollins’s smile held a world full of sympathy. “We’ve already taken Mr. Townsend’s statement, but if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to tell me everything that happened today.”

Susanna drew a breath. “Mr. Ingram sent me to an auction out of town to buy a car for him. I didn’t even come in to the office this morning because he wanted me to be there all day, to be sure I didn’t miss the Corvette.”