Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

“Look at the closet,” she whispered, not sure if Pam was still in her bargaining mode.

“You like it?” Pam whispered back.

“Tons.”

“Don’t tell him, okay? Let’s be dismissive and see some of the others.”

“I don’t want—”

“I know,” Pam said in a louder voice, presumably for Kuhman’s hearing. “It’s a lot of work, and you already have that to look forward to in your own house. Let’s go.”

They left Kuhman to lock up, moving on to the see five more of the listings he’d found. By one o’clock they’d exhausted themselves and Kuhman. Several of the houses would be great, but the first was what she wanted, warts and all.

“So, which pleases you? Any of them? Or should we start again?” Kuhman made his pitch.

“I liked the last one, and the first one on Bodia Drive. I like the first one a lot, but they’d have to cut the rent in half for the first six months. With half rent, I could get the place cleaned and painted for them,” Torie said, frowning for form’s sake.

“You don’t want to get into that, do you?” Pam interjected. “I mean, I know I could help you find vendors and all that, painters, someone to do the kitchen, but you’ve got your own house to worry about.”

“If you would consider it,” Kuhman broke in, “I could talk to the owners. See if they would trade, ah, work on the house as exchange for rent, or perhaps a small fee to see to bringing it back to its glory, eh? They will sell it eventually.” He shrugged, watching both of them for a reaction. “But the way it is?” He made a face. “Difficult in this market.”

“Well, maybe if you checked with them?” Torie began, and Kuhman brightened.

“I will, I will. So I can reach you at this number?” He rattled off her cell phone number.

“So, how about lunch?” Pam said as they got back in the car. “We can talk about what you’re gonna do with that house, and yours.”

“I can’t. I need to get back to Pratt and Legend. We’re meeting with the detective.”

“Oh. Well, dinner maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s good. Would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.

“Isn’t there a hotel over on Parson? A big one? Like a Marriott or something?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Go get me a room, bring me the keys. I want to be out of Paul’s house tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Torie had never been more sure. She’d realized sometime in the night that she had always been attracted to Paul, ever since they met under such terrible circumstances at the frat house. She suppressed a shudder. Thinking about that so much lately brought back all the fear, the feeling of being so out of control, without choices. It had been terrible. Every time she thought about it, the “what ifs?” of the whole scenario overwhelmed her with fear.

Fear that she’d transferred to Paul.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, thinking about all I have to do,” Torie lied.

“Uh huh.”

“Really. It’s kinda frightening, you know? I’m crazy, too, to think about a house like that. Have you seen my house?”

Pam gave her a sympathetic look. “Yeah. I drove by right after it happened. It was a huge shock.”

“Yeah.” She might have said more, but her phone rang. “Excuse me.”

“Ms. Hagen?”

“Yes?”

“Barbara at Pawlings Insurance?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve been notified by the police that your house has been released, and you can start work on it. If you’d like to pick up your preliminary check for expenses, I’ll have it ready for you by the end of the day.”

“Oh, thank you for letting me know. I’ll be by. I’m going to look at a car later today. Has there been any change on that situation?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I can get a check for you on your car by tomorrow.”

The memory of her car, a burned hulk, being towed away, made her shudder.

“Thank you for all your help.”

Pam pulled up in front of Pratt and waited as she finished the call. “Insurance?”

“Yeah. Let’s skip the rental. How do you feel about car shopping?”

“Love it.”

“Good. Then once I’m done at Pratt, let’s go visit the dogs, pick up some pizza, and go car shopping.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll talk about the house, too.”

Paul and Melvin Pratt Sr. had finished up their morning meeting with more coffee. Paul was wired by the strong brew. Now, back in Pratt’s office for the meeting with Torie and the detective, he poured more into his company mug.

“It seems as if the incidents are tied together. The fact that we all knew one another in college and grad school may tie in as well.”

“Perhaps we should bring Melvin Jr. in to these discussions. He might be able to add something. He has quite a good memory for those kinds of details.”

Paul managed to keep his voice level as he answered. “He might be very helpful. Why don’t we meet with the detective and Ms. Hagen, then invite Melvin to join us.”

Pratt watched him for an uncomfortable moment, but nodded. “Good. Let’s see if either the detective or Ms. Hagen is here.”

He buzzed his assistant, and was informed that the detective was waiting and Ms. Hagen was on her way up.

“Send in the detective, won’t you?”

Tibbet came in, glancing around at the plush office. His face betrayed nothing of what he thought about all of the awards and photos of Mr. Pratt with various dignitaries.

“Detective, I’m Melvin Pratt Sr. I’m pleased to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to come to our offices rather than meeting at the station.”

“Better coffee, sir,” the detective quipped. “And better atmosphere.”

Pratt laughed. “Indeed. So, please sit. We’ve been covering the details of the incidents Ms. Hagen wrote down and Mister Jameson remembers, and recorded from their friend, Mister Peterson.”

“Your client.”

“Yes. I’ve also discussed bringing my son, Melvin Jr., into this discussion as well, once we’ve had a few minutes to reconnoiter.”

“Ah, you want him to come in…” Tibbet trailed off.

“Mister Pratt Jr. was at college and grad school with all three of us,” Paul said. “He was also a fraternity brother to Todd and me. His memory of events might be helpful.” Paul was striving for neutrality. Tibbet glanced his way, but it didn’t seem as if he’d given anything away.

“Ms. Hagen, sir,” Pratt’s assistant spoke from the door.

“Come in, please,” Pratt said as the three men stood. Pratt directed her to a seat at his right, between himself and the detective.

Paul could see she hadn’t slept. The circles under her eyes were carefully concealed, but since she wasn’t big on makeup, the fact that she now wore more than usual clued him in. She avoided looking at him as she spoke to the others at the table.

“So, there is some good news,” Tibbet began, setting the pace by starting right in. “We have a lead on what might have happened to your computer systems.”

“Ah, do tell.” Pratt looked satisfied.

“One of your former employees, a Taylor Caldwell, is being questioned in connection with the damage. He may have had an accomplice from the records department. According to your human resources folks, they were both, uh, terminated, on the same day.”

“Do you think they’re connected to Todd’s death?” Torie asked.

“We’re investigating both, but they’re denying any knowledge of Mister Peterson. Our cybercrimes folks served warrants late this morning.”

“I don’t know either of them,” Paul commented. “I heard that a couple of people had been terminated in December. I’d never worked with either of them.”

“I know. I don’t have much call to be in the computer center myself, so I was unaware that these individuals had such animosity toward the firm over their dismissals.” Pratt seemed disturbed that he hadn’t been aware. “When the firm reached a certain size,” he said, “you lose touch.”