Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 03 - A Deadly Change of Heart (8 page)

Bradley frowned.  “No.  Their mother died last year.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  Was she ill?” I asked.

“Accident,” he answered, then took a drink of brandy.

“Dinner!” Pamela called from the dining room.

“I haven’t finished the tour, yet,” Bradley called back to her.  She stepped into the living room. 

“I’ll finish the tour after dinner.  Come on, before it gets cold,” Pamela insisted.

We sat down at the heavy oak dining table and admired the spread she’d put out.  A lovely salad, garlic mashed potatoes, Cornish game hens and a bowl of steamed vegetables.  Pamela wasn’t exaggerating when she said she could cook.

“This is great,” Craig said, grabbing a hen with the tongs and placing it on his dish.  “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Wait till you’ve tasted it before you start throwing around compliments,” Pamela replied.

“Anything that looks and smells this good has got to be delicious,” Craig said.  “But you’re right, to give a true compliment, I’ve got to put it to the taste test.”  He sliced a piece of white meat from the hen and speared it with his fork.  Pamela watched with anticipation as he placed it in his mouth.  He chewed it twice then rolled his eyes in ecstasy.  “This is wonderful,” he said, taking another bite.

“Thank you,” Pamela said, blushing.    

I scooped a spoonful of potatoes and handed the bowl to Bradley.  “Your business must be doing prett
y well
,” I said.

He took the bowl from me.  “I’m keeping busy.”

Pamela handed me the vegetables.  “He’s doing much better now that the lawsuits are over with,” she said.

Bradley shot an angry glare at Pamela, but it went unnoticed.  She was busy filling her salad bowl.

“Lawsuit?” I asked.

“Yeah.  Over that crazy Voltage program.  What a fiasco,” Pamela said. 

Bradley continued to fire daggers at her, but she had yet to look his direction.

“Voltage?  I think I read something about that in
Computer World
,” I said, trying to keep the
subject alive
.

Bradley finally decided to speak up before Pamela had a chance to spill any more information.  “I was a VAR for the company who sold the Voltage software.”

“VAR?” I asked.

“Value added reseller,” he explained.  “I arranged demos and set up meetings for clients who had a need for that particular type of software.”

“Voltage?  What’s it used for?” Craig asked.

“It’s sort of an ERP system for power plants.  Handles resource planning, costing, forecasting, inventory, the whole enterprise,” he explained.

“Except that it didn’t work,” Pamela interjected.

I could tell by the irritated look on Bradley’s face that his patience with Pamela’s comments was growing thin.  He chose his words slowly and carefully.  “The software didn’t consistently perform as advertised, periodically producing erroneous results that were not immediately recognized.”

I digested this statement.  “The software didn’t provide an auditing method?” I asked.

Bradley frowned.  “The package didn’t come with any reports.  That was up to the client to develop, since each individual company had unique reporting needs.  The database design was complicated, to say the least, with over seven hundred tables.  Redundant data in multiple tables was sometimes conflicting, due to a failure to properly rollback all transactions when there was a problem.  It’s the most de-normalized database design I’ve ever seen.  The package relied heavily on triggers to update tables, especially in the inventory module, which caused more problems because of the rollback issue,” he explained.

I cringed as he described problems caused by programming practices that should never have been implemented in a commercially available package
—
especially one with a price tag in the millions of dollars.  The computer lingo went over Pamela’s head, but the fact that she knew the software didn’t work meant that Bradley had probably put it to her in simpler terms some time before tonight.

“So, because you were a reseller, you were named in the lawsuits?” Craig guessed.

“Exactly.  I no longer endorse the software, but the damage had been done,” he said.

I glanced around the expensively furnished house.  He was obviously still quite solvent.  “You must have fared well in the suit,” I noted.

“Oh, they settled out of court,” Pamela reported.

I noticed Bradley’s fist clench.  He aimed his stare at Pamela, then picked up his dinner plate and shoved it toward her.  “This has gotten cold.  It needs to be heated up,” he said.

“Certainly, sweetie.  I’ll just pop it in the microwave for a few seconds,” she replied.  I gaped as I watched her carry it, with a smile, into the kitchen. 

Craig caught my expression and touched my leg under the table.  “Can you pass the butter please, honey?” he asked, diverting my attention and helping me to maintain some self-control.

It would take every ounce of restraint I could muster to keep from giving Bradley a piece of my mind.  I bit my tongue and continued eating.  “You settled out of court?  Must have been expensive,” I pried.

“I survived,” he said, taking another drink.

Pamela returned from the kitchen.  “The insurance money helped,” she said, placing the warmed dinner plate in front of him.

My ears perked up.  “Insurance?  Do you have some sort of coverage for lawsuits?” I inquired.

Pamela opened her mouth to speak, but Bradley cut her off.  “No.  It was completely unrelated.  Can we change the subject?  Talking about it’s giving me heartburn,” he said.

Pamela patted his hand.  “Certainly, sweetie.”  She sat back down in her seat and leaned over toward me.  “It was from his late wife’s insurance policy,” she whispered, loud enough for all of us to hear.

I jumped when Bradley dropped his fork on his plate and stood up.  He didn’t touch another bite of his newly warmed dinner.  He picked up his brandy.  “I’m done.  If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do,” he said and stormed out of the dining room.

“Don’t you want some cake, sweetie?” Pamela asked. 

He didn’t reply.  We watched him disappear into his home office.  Pamela turned to us.  “I’m sorry about that.  He’s not usually like this, but I think all the talk about the lawsuit and his late wife must have upset him.  You knew his first wife died?”

“He told us.  How did it happen?” I asked.

“She fell of a cliff or drowned or something.  He never talks about it,” Pamela said.  She started clearing the dinner plates from the table.  “You ready for some cake?” she asked.

Craig stretched back and patted his stomach.  “I’m stuffed, but in a little while you’ll have to hold me back from attacking that cake.”

“Me, too.  How about that tour of the house you promised, then I’ll help you with these dishes.  By then, I’ll be ready for cake,” I said.

Craig took my empty plate and placed it on top of his.  He stood and helped Pamela clear the table.  “The two of you will not touch a dirty dish tonight.  A rule of the house I grew up in said the one who cooks the meal doesn’t wash up afterwards.  Besides, you have wedding business to take care of.  You go tour the house.  I’ll do the dishes.”

Pamela looked at me with raised eyebrows.  “Is this the same man you argued with over the phone at the restaurant today?”

I failed to fill Craig in on that particular detail of how I’d managed to work my way into Bradley Parker’s life, but he seemed to catch on.

I winked at him.  “Actually, it turns out he had been trying to reach me all morning, but I hadn’t turned my phone on.  I owe him a huge apology.  It was totally my fault,” I said, looking very remorseful.

“No.  I’m sure it was my fault,” Craig responded, trying to say the right thing.

“No.  Believe me, honey, it was my fault,” I said, hoping he’d quit trying to accept responsibility for the make-believe argument he knew nothing about.

“Okay.  Whatever you say,” he said, smiling at me.  “You have an apron, Pamela?”

Pamela handed him an apron and showed him where the scrubber brush was, then she led me off on the rest of the tour. 

The house had four bedrooms plus the office, four bathrooms, a family room and living room, formal dining room and breakfast nook adjoining the kitchen.  The laundry room was just off the three-car garage.  The master bedroom was enormous.  I entered and my eyes immediately fixed on a gorgeous solid oak roll-top desk in the corner.  “What a beautiful desk,” I said, running my hand along the smooth wood.

Pamela frowned.  “It was Diane’s.  He gave it to her for one of their wedding anniversaries.  I’d like to move it out of here
—
bad memories, you know.  He finally did allow me to pack up some of the clothes she left here when she moved out.  I need to find a place to take it.”

I nodded with acknowledgment, then
glanced around the room and spotted a huge Jacuzzi tub through the door to the master bathroom.  I entered the room and admired the marble tub.  Frosted glass windows surrounded it.  The fixtures were polished brass and matched the double sinks’ faucets.  “I’m afraid I’d never leave that tub once I got in,” I said.

“I know.  It’s really relaxing,” she replied.

My eyes stopped on the open door to an enormous walk-in closet.  I stepped through the door and was mesmerized by the size of it.  “My God, you could hold a dance in here,” I said.

“Isn’t it great?  There’s room for everything,” she said.

Two large plastic bags were piled in the corner, stuffed full of women’s clothes.  Those must have been the things Pamela said she’d packed up.  I studied the boxes on the shelves.  The one that caught my attention was a simple computer-paper box with big bold letters printed on the side:  “Diane’s things.”

I brushed past Pamela
back into the bedroom, then
sat down at the roll-top desk an
d stroked the smooth wood
.  “I’ve been wanting to get a wedding gift for Craig.  He’d love this desk.  If you think Bradley would be willing to part with it, I would like to buy it.”

“That would solve my problem of wanting it out of here,” Pamela noted.

“That’s sort of what I was thinking,” I said. 

“I’ll ask him,” she said.  She thought for a moment, then continued.  “But not tonight.  We don’t want to discuss it in front of Craig.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  Are you ready for some cake?”

“Definitely,” I replied.

Pamela started out of the bedroom.

“I’ll be right there.  I just need to use your restroom,” I said.

“Okay,” she replied over her shoulder as she strolled down the hall. 

I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then slipped into the closet and switched on the light.  The box was on a high shelf, but it wasn’t out of my reach.  I pulled it down, careful not to spill the contents on my head.  I sat it in the middle of the floor and started removing the items stored inside.  An assortment of bud vases, a paperweight, a framed diploma from UCLA with Diane’s maiden name printed on it, a small spiral notebook, and a videotape labeled, “Science Project.”  I stuffed everything but the notebook and video into the box and hoisted it back on its shelf.  I inspected my attire
—
a pair of khaki shorts and a striped cotton T-shirt with three-quarter length sleeves.  No place to tuck anything this bulky.  I glanced around the closet.  My eyes stopped on the two plastic bags.  I quickly stuffed the video and notebook in one of them, under several layers of clothing
, then
opened the door and slipped back out of the closet.  Bradley Parker stood in the middle of the bedroom with his arms folded across his chest and scrutinized me.  I hoped I didn’t have the same expression I used to get when my mom caught me eating spoonfuls of brown sugar out of the box.  My heart skipped a beat, but I didn’t blink.  I smiled at him.

“I can’t believe the size of that closet.  I just had to get another look at it.  What are the dimensions?” I asked, trying to sound as relaxed as I could even though my heart was racing and about to pound its way out of my chest. 

He shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  I can get a tape measure,” he offered in a tone that made it clear it would be a huge inconvenience for him.

“Oh, no.  Th
at’s okay.  I was just curious.”

Bradley, Pamela, Craig and I sat around the dining table and devoured the cake in silence.  Whether it was my imagination or not, I felt Bradley’s stare and was sure he was suspicious of me.  I was uncomfortable and wanted to leave.  Finally, Bradley shoved his chair out from the table and stood up, leaving his dirty plate for someone else to pick up.

“Th
at was great, Pam.  I’m going
back to my office to finish up some work.”  He turned his attention to Craig and me.  “Goodnight.  It’s been a pleasure,” he said, with all the sincerity of a snake.

“Goodnight,” I replied, resisting an urge to jump across the table and knock him up side the head with his dirty dessert plate.

Craig stood and shook his hand one more time.  “It was good to meet you,” Craig said.  Then he picked up all the dessert dishes and headed for the kitchen.