Inadvertent Disclosure (26 page)

She said it with the knowing
air of someone who’d wasted too many mornings riding the hard wooden benches in
the hallway.

“Okay, I’ll meet you outside
the office right at noon.”

“Sure. If you’re looking for a
place to hang out til then, you’re stuck with Bob’s. Too bad it’s not next
week—Café on the Square is opening over the weekend. From what I hear, it’s
going to be upscale, local cuisine. I can’t wait. And the new owners plan to
open a hotel, too. Like a real one, with wireless internet and Starbucks in the
rooms. How awesome would that be?”

Sasha stared at her for a
minute, then said, “Make that thirty-two deeds. Get me the deed to Bob’s Diner,
too.”

CHAPTER 37

Carl Stickley twisted his cap
in his hands, working the brim back and forth. He wasn’t sure where to look, so
his eyes roamed around the room. And, damn, if that woman didn’t seem amused by
his discomfort. He wanted to tell her to put on some goddamn clothes but he
didn’t dare.

Heather Price licked her lips
and broadened her smile, as if she could read his mind. She lounged against the
high, curved back of her chair and draped a bare arm over the side. Her silk
negligee displayed quite a bit of cleavage but at least it was long, covering
her legs. Except when she shifted positions to re-cross her trim legs—then the
deep slit fell open to reveal a flash of tanned thigh.

“So, Carl, why don’t you tell
me what’s so urgent that you felt it necessary to drop by unannounced?”

Stickley cleared his throat and
tried to remember the speech he’d rehearsed on the drive over. As unnerved as
he was by her near-naked state, he was equally nervous because Heather Price
was his biggest campaign contributor, easily the most powerful person in the
county, and effectively his boss in this . . .side venture. Now, standing in
her bedroom, his planned explanation sounded weak in his head, so he decided to
just blame everything on Griggs.

“Well, Mrs. Price, here’s the
thing. That tape is nowhere to be found. It’s just gone.”

Behind her thick eyelashes, her
eyes flashed. “It can’t be just gone. It has to be somewhere. Find it.” She
waved her hand in the air.

“I’ve checked his chambers, top
to bottom. It’s not there. I checked his apartment, too.”

Gloria’s unfortunate heart
attack had been well-timed for his purposes. After Sasha had put her tail
between her legs and left town, he figured he’d give the apartment another late
night visit since his first had been interrupted.

But, when Russell rushed into
his office with the news that Gloria was over at County Hospital, he’d headed
straight to her house, let himself in the front door, and searched the judge’s
apartment at a leisurely place. Nothing.

Heather kept a level gaze and
waited.

“So, here’s what I think
happened. Griggs fu—messed up when he appointed that lawyer girl. I told him
not to. But, she has to have the tape. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I
told Griggs he needs to take care of her, but . . .”

Heather raised a hand. “Stop. I
don’t need to hear about your petty problems with the attorney general. You’re
sure this woman has the tape?”

He was pretty sure. “Yes,
ma’am.”

“And the attorney general
doesn’t have any thoughts on getting it back?”

“No, ma’am.”

He’d called Griggs before he’d
decided to involve Heather, but Griggs had pulled that politician bullshit and
evaded the issue of how they were going to get the tape.

So here he was. He knew what he
would do if it he were in charge, but it wasn’t his call to make. Heather had
made it clear that this was her party.

Her dark almond-shaped eyes
narrowed under their sleepy lids. “And this woman is back in Pittsburgh?”

“Uh, no. She’s actually here in
town, thanks to your sister.”

As soon as the words were out
of his mouth, Stickley wanted to pull his service revolver from the holster and
shoot himself in the head.

She sat straight up. “My
sister?”

Stickley sighed. He didn’t
understand women. But, he especially didn’t understand the gorgeous, overtly
sexual, competitive, quick-tempered Wilson sisters.

Heather was waiting for an
answer.

“Uh, Judge Paulson appointed
the lawyer to represent old Jed Craybill. I guess Doc Spangler reported him to
the county, said he couldn’t care for himself properly.”

“Yes, I know all this, Carl,”
she said, tapping the arm of the chair. “Bob explained it when he told me she’d
been appointed to investigate the judge’s death.”

She stopped the tapping and
raised her arm, pointing at him now. “But you framed that hippie and Bob shut
down her investigation. So, why is she back?”  She flung herself back in the
chair, exasperated.

“Well, I guess Jed took a turn
for the worse. Deputy Russell found him, as it happens, and drove him to the
hospital. Anyway, Marty Braeburn told your sister they had to call Ms.
McCandless because of the active court case. She came flying up from Pittsburgh
like a bat out of hell, with a federal agent and a geriatric doctor.”

“A federal agent?  Which agency?”

Stickley laughed. “Don’t worry,
he’s just a sky cop, an air marshal. But, about McCandless and your tape, what
should I do?”

She fluttered her fingers,
displaying her dark red nails, then dropped the smile. “Just clean up your
mess.”

CHAPTER 38

Bzzzzt, bzzzt.
Shelly Spangler’s cell phone
vibrated in the breast pocket of her lab coat. It was the fourth call in as
many minutes. She excused herself from her conversation with the hospital’s
occupational therapist and ducked into an empty room.

“Spangler.”

“Shelly, where have you been?  I’ve
been calling and calling,” her sister demanded, her  voice low and threatening,

Shelly summoned all of her
patience before responding. “I’m at the hospital doing rounds. I can’t talk
now. Can I call you later?”

“No, honey, I have a packed
schedule. I really need to talk to you. It’s urgent.” Heather’s voice went
breathy and dramatic at the end.

Of course she did. Shelly felt
her irritation rise. Here was a woman who spent her days lounging around the
house in her lingerie, perhaps, Shelly suspected, aimed at finally stopping her
octogenarian husband’s overtaxed heart.

To her older sister, a packed
schedule meant she’d have to stop drinking her wine spritzers some time around
three to go get her hair done before she poured herself into a cocktail dress
to make an appearance at a fundraising dinner or, once a month, actually put on
a suit to go sit through a county council meeting. Maybe once a week, she
popped into the headquarters at the trucking company she’d sweet-talked her
besotted, befuddled husband into signing over to her. Yes, clearly, Heather’s
schedule should take priority over her own day filled with rounds,
examinations, minor surgeries, and the minutiae of running a medical practice.
But, of course, that was the way it had always been.

“Of course, sis,” Shelly said,
careful to keep her annoyance out of her voice. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay.
What have you done?”

“What have I done?”  Shelly
scoured her memory for something that would have pissed off Heather and came up
empty. “I don’t know, you tell me?”

“You did something to Craybill,
didn’t you?”

Shelly hissed into the phone,
“I can’t talk about that here, Heather.”

“I know you did. That smelly
old fool Stickley just left my house. Craybill just suddenly took a turn for
the worse, and now the feds are in town. The feds, Shelly.”

Shelly closed her eyes. She had
hoped that somehow news of the federal agent’s visit wouldn’t make its way back
to her sister. It had been a foolish wish, really. Heather had so many people
who either owed her favors, were on her payroll, or both, that she probably
knew what Shelly had for breakfast.

“He’s not a problem, Heather.
Trust me.”

She hoped she sounded
confident. Truth was, she was terrified. Dr. Brown had told her nothing useful
at all about the federal agent or his reasons for being in town.

“Not good enough, Shelly. What
were you thinking?”

“You told me Jed’s property was
the key. You came to my office and said that, remember, Heather? What did you
want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Shelly, but not
this
.
You’ve done it too many times, given someone a little push into incapacitation
and, now look, you’re being investigated! What did dad always tell us?  Pigs
get fed and hogs—”

“Get slaughtered.”

“That’s right. If the feds start
sniffing around the hotel deal because they’re onto you, so help me God, I’ll
kill you myself.”

Shelly’s custom-fitted lab
coat, tailored to show off her tiny waist and perfect breasts, suddenly felt
constricting, as though she couldn’t take a deep breath. Someone who knew
Heather only in passing would have written off the tirade as venting. Shelly,
who had suffered under Heather’s sadistic thumb for sixteen years, until the
bitch had finally graduated high school and moved out of their mother’s house,
knew it was no idle threat.

“Heather, I promise you, Agent
Connelly isn’t interested in our business holdings or my guardianship stuff. In
fact, I think he’s only hanging around because he’s shtupping the lawyer.
Russell said he spent the night with her at Judge Paulson’s apartment.”

“You’d better hope you’re
right, Shelly. Is Stickley right, this fed is an air marshal?”

Shelly had no idea. But, God,
she hoped so.

“Yes, Heather. Like I said,
he’s not a problem.” Shelly’s voice betrayed her, quaking and breaking.

The anger left Heather’s voice
as quickly as it had appeared. Now, the charm was back. “Maybe you could do me
a favor?”

“Sure, sis. Anything for you.”

“If you get a chance—take care
of that lawyer. I think Stickley’s going to give it a try, but you know, he’s
so inept.”

Surely Heather was kidding now.
She couldn’t have just copped to asking Stickley to kill the lawyer, could she?
Over a cell phone?

“You know what else dad said,
Heather?  Don’t write if you can speak; don’t speak if you can nod; don’t nod
if you can wink.”

Although their father had been
nothing more than a failed furnace salesman, he’d fancied himself some kind of
minor mobster because he had to bribe his suppliers out of Johnstown.

“I mean, just convince her to
go back home, Shells. Tell her whatever she wants to hear about Craybill, so
she’ll go. Please? I know I said we need his land; we’ll figure something else
out, okay?”

Heather displayed no hint that
she’d meant that she wanted the attorney to be killed, but the change in her
tone and her use of Shelly’s nickname confirmed for Shelly that her sister had
said more than she’d meant. Now, she was backing away.

“Listen, I have to go. Don’t
worry about Craybill or this fed, okay?  Everything’s under control. I’ll see you
at the grand opening dinner, right?”

“Right,” Heather said, her
voice bright once again. “Love you, sis.”

“I love you, too, sis.”

Shelly ended the call and leaned
against the wall by the door, gathering herself. What she had told Heather was
true. The brooding federal agent did appear to be romantically involved with
Sasha McCandless. She just hoped the tiny lawyer was the extent of his interest
in Clear Brook County.

She had passed a sleepless
night counting up the rules and regulations that her real estate venture had
violated. She was reasonably sure most of them were state laws or medical
ethical obligations. Really, nothing she’d done should have earned her any
federal attention. If this guy really was an air marshal, he definitely wasn’t
interested in her dealings, but Stickley was wrong as often as he was right.

The genius of her plan was its
simplicity. All she needed was one moderately lazy office drone at the
Department of Aging Services, who was more than happy to have the county’s most
popular doctor take on the task of serving as guardian for the increasing
number of older citizens who were finding it impossible to remain independent.

No one ever questioned her
recommendations; they just forwarded them along to Marty Braeburn, who prepared
the papers and then convinced opposing counsel, if there was one, to consent to
an order granting the incapacitation petition. Apparently, the county’s handful
of attorneys were at least as lazy as the county government workers, because,
until Judge Paulson had appointed that lawyer from Pittsburgh, no one had ever
contested one of their petitions.

Once she had the papers giving
her control over the incapacitated person’s finances, she waited a decent
interval, moved the old person to one of several nursing homes, and then let
her contacts at the oil and gas companies know she was accepting bids for the
mineral rights to the land. Everything was above board, with one small
exception: when she filed the requisite financial reports with the court, she
reported the lease income on behalf of the incapacitated individuals, but she
understated the income from the hydrofracking leases by ten percent.

She liked to think of it as a
finder’s fee. Between that little slice of the pie and the fee the county paid
her to serve as guardian, she had built up a nice little supplement to her
income from practicing medicine. It was virtually risk-free. A cushion, just in
case something ever happened to her practice. Even though, she did have to give
Heather her cut.

It was pretty rich, though, Heather
accusing
her
of being the greedy hog, when she was satisfied with a couple
extra hundred thousand and her piece of the money Heather extorted for the
trucking contracts. Heather was the one who wanted to branch out with the
restaurant and the resort hotel.

Although, Shelly did have to
admit that Heather’s insistence that she get Jed Craybill’s property was going
to pay off, even if the hotel deal fell through. He owned one hundred and sixty
acres of desirable land—that would get the oil and gas people salivating. She
could probably get a bidding war started. That should make Heather happy.

First, though, she had to get
Marty to appeal or do whatever he had to do to fix that stupid judge’s decision
appointing dopey Sam Brown, of all people, as guardian. In the meantime, she’d
just have to keep a close eye on Dr. Brown to make sure he didn’t undo all her
work.