Betty Pierre - Murder.Com

Angie shook her head and sobbed.

After checking her vital signs, he patted her arm. "I can give you a shot to make you rest or if you'd rather, I'll leave some tranquilizers. It will help you get through the rough spots."

She waved her hand. "No shot. Leave the pills with Marty."

Marty stood to one side, her hands clasping tightly at her waist. Dr. Parker handed her a couple of packets and a prescription. "Make sure she takes them for a day or two. Call me if you see signs of abnormal depression."

She nodded.

*****

After Marty escorted the doctor to the door, she returned to the living room. "Mr. Hoffman, would you help me get Angie up to her bedroom? She should rest now."

"Of course."

With Tom on one side and Marty on the other, they walked Angie up the stairs to her room. Then Tom pointed toward the bedside table. "I think you should unplug that phone. She doesn't need to be disturbed right now."

Marty agreed, knowing people from work would be calling soon enough. She not only unplugged it, but took the phone with her when she left the room. Tom followed her downstairs and into the kitchen. After placing Angie's phone on the counter, she faced Tom. "Can I get you a cup of coffee, Detective Hoffman?"

"No, thanks, I've got to get to work. But before I leave, I'd like to ask you a question."

Marty raised a brow. "What about?"

"Did you see Bud leave Saturday morning for his golf game?"

She shook her head. "No, I didn't. I always sleep in on Saturday mornings, but later Mrs. Nevers gave me the day off, so I went into town to visit some friends and shop."

Tom drummed his fingers on the table top in deep thought, then turned to leave. "Thanks, Marty. I'll talk to you later."

She walked him to the door and watched his car pull away. Back in the kitchen, she glanced at the clock, then reached across the cabinet and took that phone off the hook.

Knowing Angie would need some nourishment when she woke up, Marty busied herself fixing her favorite biscuits. When she pulled the flour canister toward her, she hesitated for a moment, then reached inside and removed a small bottle. After taking a long drag of the clear liquid, she capped it and put it back inside.

Her shoulders slumped and tears welled in her eyes as she sprinkled a handful of flour over a sheet of wax paper. "Oh, Angie," she whispered, and shoved the flour canister back against the wall with a clatter. She patted the dough onto the floured surface and viciously cut into it with a biscuit cutter. "So many lies. So many lies."

*****

Marty had closed the drapes in the bedroom, so when Angie opened her eyes in the dimly lit room, she felt confused. She hated the drab darkness, but got up too quickly and felt the reeling effects of the tranquilizer, forcing her to fall back on the edge of the bed. She held her head in her hands until the room quit spinning, then she slowly ventured to the window and pulled open the heavy curtains, letting the light flood the room. It must be close to noon, she thought, noticing the sun's position and the short shadows outside.

When she turned away, her gaze fell on the glittering-gold frame of their wedding picture. A wave of weakness surged through her and a lump formed in her throat. Fighting for self-control, she held onto the bedpost. If she let her emotions take over she might never gain control again. Soon the wretched shaking of her insides subsided. She took a long hot shower, dressed and went downstairs. The smell of baking bread met her nostrils as she entered the kitchen.

Marty glanced at her wide-eyed and hurried to her side. "Mrs. Nevers, are you all right?"

Angie hugged her. "Not really, but with your help, I'll make it."

Marty pulled away, her eyes cast downward. "You need to eat to keep up your strength. I'll fix you something."

Angie only picked at her food, but did get down a couple of her favorite biscuits. She scooted her plate out of the way and glanced at Marty. "Has anyone called?"

"No, ma'm. I've unplugged all the phones."

"Well, we have to face this, so you might as well put them all back on. I definitely don't want to miss any calls from Tom Hoffman. There's a possibility that the remains they pulled from that car aren't Bud's."

Marty shot a look at her, then walked over and put her arm around Angie's shoulders. "Mrs. Nevers, you haven't heard from him in two days. You know he never let anyone drive that car. So, please, don't set your hopes too high. It will do nothing but make you ill."

Angie reached up and held on to Marty's hand while fighting the welling tears. "I know, but someone might have stolen the Porsche and left him tied up somewhere. There are all sorts of possibilities. Until we know for sure, I won't give up hope that he's still alive."

Marty dropped her arm from around Angie and went to the sink where she busied herself rinsing dishes.

Angie crossed the room to the patio door and stared out the wide window. She imagined the blackened Porsche and hugged herself, her throat constricted as she whispered. "Dear God, please, don't let it be Bud."

Chapter Five

Later that afternoon, the receptionist ushered Tom into Ken Weber's empty office. She left, assuring him that she would locate Mr. Weber immediately. Clasping his hands behind his back, Tom glanced around the office. He didn't feel comfortable in this chrome and glass setting. Sure different from Bud's, which had a rustic oak and leather style that put you at ease the minute you walked in.

He paced, then stopped in front of the window and stared at the hills in the distance. Turning when Ken walked in with a somber expression, he extended his hand.

"Hello, Tom. Any news?" Ken motioned toward the chair in front of his desk.

"No. Too early," Tom said, taking the seat.

Ken sat down behind his desk and shook his head. "I still can't believe it. Bud knew those roads like the back of his hand. Why would he speed around that dangerous curve?"

Tom cleared his throat, shifted his posture and put his arm on the edge of the desk. "Angie tells me there were some problems here at work. Can you enlighten me?"

Ken shot him a look. "Problems? Did she give you a clue as to what they were about?"

"No. She didn't know. Told me to talk to you."

With a thoughtful look, Ken picked up a pencil and rested his elbow on the desk. He didn't speak for a few long moments. "The only thing I can think of is that he might have a problem with a client." He leaned back in his chair. "And he wouldn't confide in me about something like that unless it affected the business."

Tom nodded. "Do you know of any personal difficulties he might have been having? Like at home or with his health?"

Ken raised a brow. "I don't understand these questions. I thought Bud died in the car accident."

Tom drummed his fingers. "That crash didn't occur until hours after his golf game. He never called Angie to let her know he'd be late. I'm trying to close the gap between the time he left the course until the wreck. She told me you had a short meeting with him after the game. How long did it last? And where did you meet?"

"We talked at the clubhouse for about thirty minutes."

"What'd you talk about?"

"Business."

"Did Bud say where he'd be going after he left you?"

Ken shrugged. "No. I just assumed he went home like he usually did. So it surprised me when Angie called the house and asked if we'd seen him."

"Did that bother you then?"

"Not at first. But later that night, when Sandy called Angie back and found out he still hadn't shown up, then we began to worry."

"What did you think might have happened?"

Ken stared at him for a moment before speaking. "I didn't have the foggiest idea."

"Did you consider going out and looking for him?"