He switched on the light. Ranks of gleaming tools were neatly arranged on the walls. Pliers, screwdrivers, wrenches, all were organized according to size and type. Storage chests with clear plastic windows on the drawers held precisely sorted nails and screws. A sack of grout left over from the recent marathon tile project stood in the corner.
He walked to the large wooden table in the center of the room and lounged against it next to the drill press. He did his best thinking in this room and right now he wanted to think about Leonora Hutton.
Night and day. Reverse images in a mirror.
He’d been so damn sure what to expect from the woman he assumed had been Meredith’s partner. But Leonora baffled him. She hadn’t even tried to seduce him. He told himself he shouldn’t take it personally. Still, he had a feeling it would have been an interesting experience. A lot more interesting than it had been with Meredith.
Sex had been a precision tool for Meredith. She had wielded it with professional competence. As far as he had been able to tell, she hadn’t taken any real pleasure in the work itself, though. All she had cared about was the end result which, as he had learned the hard way, had nothing to do with an orgasm. But like any good craftsman, she had taken care of her equipment and kept it clean.
That had been enough for him for a short time. For her part, Meredith had not asked him to pretend a depth of feeling that they both knew did not exist. Looking back, he knew now that she had been content to terminate the relationship as soon as she had realized that he wasn’t going to give her anything she could use to further her embezzlement scam.
Meredith had been a con artist, a professional liar and a thief. But when you got right down to it, she was not a mystery. He was pretty sure he understood what had made her tick.
Leonora, on the other hand, was a mystery.
He thought about the mysterious Leonora and wondered if he’d used the right tools to get the job done.
“He actually threatened you?” Gloria Webster demanded.
Leonora looked at her grandmother who sat across from her on the other side of the restaurant table.
Her grandparents had raised her from the age of three following the death of her parents in an airline disaster. Her grandfather Calvin had died six years ago.
Gloria was eighty-something. She kept her helmet of permanently waved curls tinted a bright, brassy blond and she never went out of her apartment without a fresh application of her favorite crimson red lipstick. She favored polyester pantsuits with tunic style tops designed with little stand-up collars to hide neck wrinkles. Tonight’s ensemble was in a shade of green that matched her eyes. There were a number of gold bracelets on her wrists and several rings glittered on her hands. None were very valuable but Gloria liked a lot of sparkle.
Leonora considered Gloria a role model. She planned to dress just like her when she got to be eighty-something. She had decided years ago that she would never go too far wrong if she patterned her own life after her grandmother’s. At the very least, she would never be bored.
“That’s how it sounded to me,” Leonora said. “He more or less indicated that if I don’t help him find the money, he’ll see to it that I’m implicated in the embezzlement.”
“Think he meant it?”
Leonora ate a shrimp while she contemplated the question.
“Yes, I think he meant it,” she said. “Thomas Walker certainly didn’t look like he was bluffing.”
“Sounds like a desperate man.”
The comment startled Leonora. “Desperate? I don’t think that’s quite the right word. Determined would be more accurate. Think of an ocean liner. Very hard to turn around.”
Gloria’s eyes brightened. “Oh, my. Is he a big man, your Mr. Walker?”
“More like unstoppable.”
“Dumb as a brick?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Hmm.” Gloria took a sip of her pink zinfandel and put down her glass. “Doesn’t sound like Meredith’s type.”
“I got the same impression. I doubt if the affair lasted long. She no doubt tried to use him to further her scam, and dropped him fast when she realized she couldn’t manipulate him.”
“You don’t think she was able to control Thomas Walker?”
“I don’t think anyone could control Thomas Walker except Thomas Walker.”
There was a short silence. Leonora occupied herself with her baked potato.
“Well, well, well,” Gloria said very softly.
Leonora looked up sharply from the potato. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Gloria said with a suspiciously airy tone.
“Stop.” Leonora aimed the fork at her. “Stop right there. I know that look and it is entirely inappropriate in this situation. Don’t get any ideas, Grandma.”
“No, dear.”
Leonora was not satisfied with that soothing response. She knew her grandmother too well. Gloria wanted her married. Ever since the engagement to Kyle had ended, she had taken an almost obsessive interest in Leonora’s love life. Gloria had adopted a now-or-never attitude toward the project that was downright scary at times.
“Do you think Meredith really embezzled that money?” Gloria asked.
“Probably. She was a con artist.”
“Sad but true.”
“The thing is,” Leonora said slowly, “I’m not sure about Thomas Walker’s goal in this thing.”
“You said yourself that he wants to find the missing funds.”
“Yes, but maybe he doesn’t intend to put the money back into the endowment account.”
“Aha.” Gloria arched her carefully drawn brows. “You think he’s after it because he wants to steal it himself?”
“As he so succinctly pointed out, a million and a half dollars is a very motivating amount of cash.”
“My, this is complicated, isn’t it?”
“There’s more.” Leonora paused. “Brace yourself. He implied that there’s a very remote possibility that Meredith was murdered.”
Gloria had just taken another sip of the wine. She coughed, sputtered a bit and took another sip to fortify herself.
“Murdered?” Gloria looked momentarily blank. “Murdered?”
“Walker suggested that an accomplice might have been responsible for the accident. I think he suspects that she might have had a partner.”
“Who would that have been?”
“Me.”
“You? Utter nonsense. You and Meredith had nothing in common.”
“Thomas Walker doesn’t know me as well as you do, Grandma.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true.” Gloria pursed her lips. “Perhaps Mr. Walker invented the murder theory to terrorize you into cooperating with him.”
“Who knows? That’s the whole problem here. I don’t know what is going on or what to believe.”
“This is all so typical of Meredith, isn’t it?” Gloria said. “Create a mess and let someone else pick up the pieces.”
Leonora drove Gloria back to Melba Creek Gardens after dinner. She parked in the visitors’ lot, got out and hauled the sleek, wheeled walker out of the trunk.
Gloria had the passenger door open by the time Leonora got the walker unfolded and in position. Together they made their way into the elegantly appointed lobby of the retirement community. The receptionist nodded in greeting as they went past.
They got into a glass elevator that overlooked the lushly landscaped grounds and rode it to the third floor. Leonora got out and waited for Gloria to get the walker aimed in the right direction.
A number of apartments opened off of the carpeted hall. Next to each door was a small wooden shelf, just large enough to hold a vase of flowers, personal knickknacks or a holiday decoration. It was understood that each resident was expected to do something creative with his or her shelf. Leonora was always amused to note that none of the shelves had been left unadorned. Peer pressure was a powerful force at any age.
Halfway down the carpeted
hall the door of one of the apartments opened. A man stuck his head out into the corridor. What little was left of his hair was very white. He eyed them over a pair of reading glasses.
“Hello, Herb,” Leonora said.
“Evening, Leonora. Thought I saw your car downstairs in the parking lot. You two have a nice time?”
“We had a lovely meal,” Gloria said. “I’ll probably pay for it later, but who cares? Got a cabinet full of antacid.”
“You look real nice, Gloria,” Herb said. “I like that green on you. Matches your eyes.”
“Skip the compliments, Herb. They won’t get you anywhere. Finish your column?”
“Hell, yes,” Herb said. “I don’t miss my deadlines, unlike some people I know.”
“Now, now, you know Irma had a good excuse last week. Her nephew was visiting from Denver.”
“So what? My niece came to see me two weeks back. I still managed to get my column done.”
“Irma turned in a great travel article this time,” Gloria assured him. “A detailed list of Las Vegas hotels that have handgrips in the bathrooms and wheelchair-accessible gaming tables. I’m following up with a hard-hitting editorial that asks the tough questions.”
Leonora looked at her. “What are the tough questions?”
“Why is it that fancy hotels always locate the rooms that are supposed to be accessible to folks in wheelchairs and walkers at the end of the hall as far from the elevators as possible? And why is it those rooms are always the ones with the worst views?”
“Good questions, all right,” Leonora said.
Gloria’s Gazette, the online e-zine that Gloria had founded a few months before, after taking a series of computer classes for seniors, had proved to be a resounding success. The subscription list grew daily as more and more seniors got on the Net.
“So, Herb, what’s the major issue in the ‘Ask Henrietta’ column this week?” Leonora questioned.
“Millicent in Portland emailed to tell me that her family is pushing her to give up her car keys. She says she’s not sure she’s ready to stop driving, but the pressure from the relatives is getting to her. Also, one of her friends had an accident recently. Made her nervous.”
“That’s a difficult problem,” Leonora said.
“Nope,” Herb said. “Not difficult at all. I reminded her how much money she’ll save if she gives up her car. Costs a lot of dough to keep one in the garage, what with insurance and gas and all. Told her she can apply that amount to cab fares and have a lot left over.”
“You’re good, Herb,” Leonora said admiringly. “You’re really good.”
“I know,” Herb said. He looked pointedly at Gloria.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Gloria said.
“You know what I want.”
“Not yet, Herb. I’m still thinking about it.”
“Damn it, I deserve to have my name on the advice column,” Herb said. “I’m sick and tired of folks emailing ‘Ask Henrietta.’ They oughta be writing to ‘Ask Herb.’ ”
“Hasn’t got the same ring,” Gloria said.
“Who cares about the ring? This is a matter of journalistic principle.”
“I told you, I’m thinking about it.” Gloria put the walker in gear and moved off down the hall. “Let’s go, dear,” she said to Leonora. “It’s late. Herb needs his sleep.”
“The hell I do,” Herb called after her. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in twenty years. Sleep’s got nothing to do with this. I want my name on that damned column.”
“Good night, Herb.” Gloria did not look back.
They turned the corner in the hall and stopped in front of another door. Leonora waited while Gloria got her key out of her purse.
“You know, I think Herb is kind of sweet on you, Grandma.”
“Hah. Columnists are all alike. They’ll do anything for a byline.”
Leonora drove home through the balmy southern California night. Melba Creek was a comfortable town on the fringes of the San Diego suburbs. She had moved here a few years ago when she had been offered the position in the reference department at nearby Piercy College, a small liberal arts school. Gloria had followed after Calvin died.
For a time Leonora and Gloria had lived in neighboring apartments in the same building. But after two frightening falls that had left her lying helpless for hours on the floor of her living room, Gloria had opted for the security of the Melba Creek Gardens retirement community with its emergency pull cords in every room, handgrip-equipped bathrooms and twenty-four-hour staff. Not to mention the nonstop activities that included everything from daily bridge to swim aerobics and computer classes.
Gloria claimed she had made the move because it suited her to do so, but Leonora knew her grandmother had done it for her granddaughter’s sake. There was no denying that it was a huge relief to be able to go to work or leave town for a few days without having to worry about Gloria taking another bad fall or getting sick with no one around to help her.
Leonora noticed the blinking light on the phone as soon as she walked in the door. Her first thought was that Thomas Walker had called to see how well his carrot-stick thing was working. Adrenaline flowed, leaving her with an odd, tingling sensation.
She would be delighted to tell him that the carrot-stick thing wasn’t working one damn bit. Looking forward to it, in fact. Couldn’t wait.
She had been right, she thought. He had caved first. Triumph blazed through her.
She stopped tingling as soon as she heard the familiar voice of her ex-fiancé.
“. . . Leo? It’s Kyle. Honey, I’m starting to get the feeling that you’re avoiding my calls . . .”
“Very perceptive.”
“. . . We need to talk, Leo. This is important. I’ve got a good shot at getting on the tenure track here in the English Department this year. There’s just one teeny little glitch. Your friend Helena Talbot is on the committee. You know how she feels toward me because of what happened last year. But I think we could clear things up if you would give her a call and let her know that I wasn’t responsible and that you don’t blame me in the least . . .”
Leonora hit the erase button. There were no other messages.
Thomas Walker had not called to apply pressure. She had no business feeling so . . . so deflated. This was a game of brinksmanship, not seduction, for heaven’s sake.
Damn. Now she was thinking about sex. What had made her think about sex?
Sex should be the last thing on her mind tonight. But it wasn’t.
Thomas did not call the following evening, either. Instead of being relieved, she grew increasingly uneasy. Something told her he was not the type to just give up. He was still playing the waiting game, letting the suspense work on her nerves.
She would not be the one who blinked first.
Two days later she awoke from a restless sleep feeling groggy and out of sorts. She didn’t fire up her laptop to check her email until after she had made a strong pot of Dragon Well green tea.
There was only one message.
It was from Meredith.
The message line read “From beyond the grave . . .”
She could almost hear Meredith going heh, heh, heh as she wrote the words.
Leo:
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Bummer. I set this message up to send to you only if I wasn’t around to cancel it. Creepy thought, isn’t it? What really bothers me the most is that it means your grandmother was right when she said that I was going to come to a bad end. Hope I went out in a blaze of glory.
I’ll cut to the chase here. I hereby bequeath to you all my worldly possessions. There are about a million and a half of them. Not bad, for a small-time operator like me, hmm? My biggest score ever.
You’ll find your inheritance in an offshore account in the Caribbean. Given that email is not exactly the most secure form of communication I won’t write out the magic number that you’ll need to access the account. There’s a safe-deposit key on its way to yo
u. In addition to the number of the account there are a couple of other items in the box.
A word of advice. There are some folks out there who will be a tad upset when they find out what I’ve been up to lately. (What else is new?) If anyone comes around asking about me, just say you haven’t seen me since I wrecked your engagement. By the way, I still think that I did you a huge favor. By now Kyle would have cheated on you with someone else. Trust me, I know men.
One more thing, if for any reason things turn nasty call a man named Thomas Walker. You can reach him at the number below. He and I were an item for a while and if he figures out what I did he’ll be really pissed off. Some men have no sense of humor, you know? Nevertheless, he’s one of a rare breed: a man you can trust.
Here’s hoping you’ll miss me once in a while. I know I caused some trouble but we had some good times, too, didn’t we? Sorry we didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.
Love, Meredith
Leonora gazed at the email message for a long time. She was still staring at it when the doorbell chimed.
The overnight delivery person handed her an envelope. She signed for it, took it into the front room and opened it. There was a safe-deposit key inside and the address of a San Diego bank.
She was at the door of the bank when it opened.
An hour later she dialed Thomas Walker’s number.
He answered on the second ring.
“Walker here.”
“We need to talk,” Leonora said.
Chapter Three
She had called.
About time.
Relief mingled with a roaring exhilaration. The suspense of wondering if he had miscalculated had kept him awake again last night. Thomas wasn’t sure he could have played the waiting game much longer.
But Leonora Hutton had lost her nerve and called first. He had won.
He leaned back in the swivel chair, phone to his ear, and gazed unseeingly at the details of the bond account he had called up on his computer. He had just sat down to earn his daily bread when the phone had rung.