Mad, Bad and Blonde (29 page)

“So how did things go?”

“They went well.”

“Only well?”

Faith smiled. “Awesome, incredible, mind-blowing.” “Does this mean you two are a couple?”

“I don’t know.” Faith moved her mac and cheese around the dish with her fork. “There are still a lot of things we have to work out yet.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Let’s talk about something else. Hey, did I tell you that I recently discovered the neatest sculpture? A lot of people like the Calder or the Picasso. Others love the Bean by Anish Kapoor in Millennium Park. But I think my new favorite statue is the tree-hugging torso in front of the John Hancock Building. Most people don’t even notice it, set into the ground at the base of a tree the way it is. But I like it.”

“You’re avoiding talking about Caine,” Megan said.

“Guilty as charged,” Faith said. She refused to feel guilty about what she’d shared with Caine last night. Guilt played a large part in their relationship. She suspected Caine felt guilty about his father’s suicide, and she sure felt guilty about her father’s possible role in that. She was also guilty of falling for Caine despite her best efforts not to. Not a smart move.

Monday morning, Faith’s BlackBerry started vibrating the instant she sat down in her cubicle. She didn’t have it set to ringtones when she was at work. She hoped it was Caine, who’d stopped by her condo last night and made love to her again and stayed long enough this morning to make breakfast for her, but a quick glance at the screen let her know that the call was from her friend Sherry Weiss, the forensic accountant.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Sherry said. “Another forensic accountant is checking into the same account you asked me to investigate. I’ve got her name, but I don’t know who hired her.”

Faith Googled the woman’s name and found a photo of her. It was the woman her dad had dinner with when Faith had spied on him.

Tired of beating around the bush, Faith went directly to her dad.

“Why did you hire a forensic accountant to look into Karl Hunter’s case?”

“Who says I have?” he countered.

“Don’t bother denying it. I saw you having dinner with her. Unless you’re having an affair with her?”

“What? No!”

“Then you’d better tell Mom that.”

Her dad blinked in confusion. “Tell her I’m not having an affair with a forensic accountant? Why would she think that?”

“Because you’ve been acting strangely, showing all the signs of a husband cheating on his wife. Come on. As the wife of an investigator, you don’t think she knows all the signs? The late nights, the preoccupation, the secrets, the guilt. But it wasn’t caused by another woman, was it? It was caused by Karl’s case, right? You were having second thoughts about it. Admit it.”

“Okay, I admit I had a few concerns. But I can’t talk about it now. I’ve got an important meeting across town. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Later
today
. I mean it, Dad.”

He nodded. “I promise.”

As soon as he left, Faith stayed in her father’s office and made the call to her mother. “He’s not having an affair. I saw him having dinner with a female client, and I discovered today she’s a forensic accountant Dad asked to look into Karl Hunter’s records.”

“I thought that case was closed two years ago.”

“It was, but it’s been reopened now. That’s why Dad’s been so strange. Because there could be more to this case than we originally thought.”

“But that poor man committed suicide.”

“I know.”

“Is that why Caine was dancing with you at the charity ball? Was he asking you about his father’s case?”

“Naturally he’s interested in the investigation.”

“He looked interested in you. Very interested. First you meet him in Italy, and then you hook up with him here.”

Faith hoped her mom didn’t know what the current definition of
hooked up
meant.

“Yeah, well, um, I just wanted to tell you that Dad is not having an affair,” Faith said. “Vince King was just trying to make trouble. He’s very good at that.”

“You didn’t tell your father that I thought he was cheating, did you?”

“Of course not. Well, not exactly. I’m not sure how I worded things or precisely what I said, but I told him to call you, which I’m sure he’ll do.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” her mom said.

Faith was looking forward to talking to her dad about Karl’s case, but instead of calling her, he sent her a text message. “Urgent. Don’t tell Caine. Need you to come to . . .”

She recognized the address. It was Nolan Parker’s house. Why would her father want her to join him there? She called his cell, but it went right to voice mail. That left her with only one way to find out what was going on—by doing what her father asked.

She took a cab to Nolan’s house and climbed the front steps. The door was ajar, and her knock opened it wider. She stepped inside. “Hello?”

She was grabbed from behind and a gun stuck in her side. “Welcome to the party,” a man growled.

Chapter Seventeen

“What’s
going on?” Faith couldn’t breathe. She told herself not to panic and not to pass out. She’d skipped lunch. She was lightheaded. She was scared spitless. “Where’s my father?” The voice hadn’t sounded like Nolan’s, but she’d only heard him two times in her life. “Nolan?”

The man holding her laughed as he grabbed her bag and tossed it in the far corner. “Guess again.”

The high-pitched voice rang a bell, but she couldn’t place it at the moment. Having a gun held on her didn’t make for the clearest thinking. “Who are you?”

“Fred Belkin Jr. at your service.”

Sure, now she could place him. She’d overheard him briefly talking to Nolan at the convenience store. “Where’s my father?”

“He’s tied up at the moment.”

Faith didn’t like the sound of that. “Does Nolan know about this? Is he here with you?”

“No, this is a one-man operation.” Fred Jr. kicked the front door all the way shut while keeping the gun pressed against her.

“Then why are we meeting here?”

“Because it’s quiet. Nolan is in Portland at a chemical conference, and his wife is visiting her mother in Buffalo. I offered to house-sit and take care of his parakeets while he’s away. He’d just fired his last pet sitter. Good parakeet caregivers are hard to find, you know.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. Parakeets are not that demanding compared to other companion animals.”

“I mean I don’t understand why you’re aiming a gun at me. Do you think I’m going to upset the birds?”

“You’re certainly trying to upset the applecart. That’s a strange phrase, isn’t it? And not really applicable any longer in the twenty-first century. I mean, no one has apple-carts anymore.”

“Is my father here?”

“Of course he’s here. I already told you that he’s tied up.”

“Where?”

“I’ll show you. Walk straight ahead and go into the first room on the right. And don’t try anything, or this gun may go off prematurely.”

He shoved her ahead of him. She walked into an almost-empty room to find her father sitting in an upright chair, bound by duct tape around his ankles, his wrists and his mouth. He was unconscious, and he had a bloody bruise near his temple.

“Dad!” She took a step forward.

Fred Jr. pulled her back before shoving her into the opposite corner of the room. Waving the gun at her, he said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“I don’t understand.” Her voice was unsteady.

“I took his phone and texted you on it. Simple, really. Don’t worry. He’s still alive. For now.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you made me do it. Sticking your nose into my business.”

“Is this about your lawsuit against ARC?”

“There is an indirect connection.”

“I don’t work for ARC. Neither does my father. We don’t represent them or their attorneys.”

“I know that.” Fred Jr. glared at her. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I don’t think you’re stupid. You used to be a children’s librarian. A noble profession. You should have stayed in the stacks.”

Faith was having similar thoughts herself at the moment—along with the panic that threatened to consume her. She focused on the rise and fall of her dad’s chest. He was still alive.

“You really should have let sleeping dogs lie. Another strange saying. But it’s true. You should have left Dr. Hunter’s suicide alone.”

She was frantically trying to put things together here and make sense out of it all. Why would he say that she should have left Dr. Hunter’s suicide alone unless . . . “Was it a suicide?” One look at Fred Jr.’s face, and she had her answer. “It
wasn’t
a suicide.” She followed her gut here. There was no pride in Fred Jr.’s eyes to indicate he was responsible. Abs may have scoffed at trusting instincts, but Faith didn’t have much else to go on. “Your father was the one who framed Dr. Hunter.”

“I didn’t know about that until after the fact. My dad had a brain tumor caused by working for ARC, yet they refused to acknowledge their culpability. He knew he was dying, and he wanted ARC to pay.”

“But why frame Dr. Hunter? Why make him pay?”

“He was collateral damage. My dad thought the accusations alone would be enough to tip Dr. Hunter over the edge because he was already depressed. But my dad couldn’t be sure. So he took matters into his own hands.”

“Karl Hunter didn’t take his own life, did he? Your father killed him.”

“Gave him an overdose and made it look like a suicide. It was the perfect cover.”

“It was murder!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I wasn’t part of my father’s plans. He only confessed all this on his deathbed. Even then I wasn’t sure if it was real or the tumor talking. Then I checked the bank account he told me about. He warned me to keep transferring money into various holding companies so no one could find it. But then you sent your damn accountants looking for it. I had to stop you.”

She wanted to know how he’d known the accountants had been hired by them but decided she had more pressing issues at the moment. “Listen, you said it yourself. This isn’t your fault. We can work this out.”

“No, we can’t.”

“You don’t want to do this.” She wasn’t sure what “this” was, but given the fact he had a gun, none of the options appeared favorable. “You can stop this.”

“I’m in too deep. I can’t stop now.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll help you. You weren’t involved in the murder. And you still have the money. You can return it—”

“Are you crazy?” He waved the gun at her with increasing agitation. “When am I ever going to get a chance for that kind of money again?”

“It’s blood money.”

“My father deserved that money, and he left it to me. He wanted me to have it.”

“What do you plan on doing?”

“Well, clearly I have to get rid of you and your father. And then there’s Karl’s Marine son. Caine. Yes, Caine. He’ll have to be taken out too.”

“You can’t spend your father’s money if you’re in prison.”

“I have a plan. I shoot you and your father. Then Caine when he comes. Then I wipe my prints from the gun and put it in Caine’s hand. He’ll be blamed for going off the deep end and shooting the two of you for causing his father’s suicide and then shooting himself.”

“But his father didn’t really commit suicide.”

“He won’t know that. Besides, he’ll be dead. You too. So you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Yeah right. Because she’d be dead. The one day she wore underwear with a hole in it. Hadn’t her mother always warned her not to do that? Because that was the one day you’d end up in the ER. Or the morgue.

In the mysteries she’d read, the heroine had always known what to do, how to cope. They never had to pee like Faith did right now.

Abs had once warned Faith never to travel with a full bladder because it could rupture in a car accident. Apparently Abs’s cousin was an EMT and told her gruesome stories.

Faith crossed her legs and ordered herself to stay calm and concentrate. No good wondering what Jane Austen would do in this situation. She’d never have gotten into this situation to begin with. Smart woman, that Jane.

Faith had pepper spray in her bag, but Fred Jr. had taken it from her and dumped it by the front door. She wished she had that stun pen she’d seen on the Internet. But she didn’t.

“Now we get you tied up like your father,” Fred Jr. said, “and then I text Caine using your phone, just like I used your father’s.”

Her phone was dead. She’d forgotten to charge it. She had a feeling Fred Jr. would not be pleased with this news, so she was in no hurry to share it with him.

She could tell by his moves that Fred Jr. was not used to handling a gun, which made him more dangerous in some scenarios and less so in others.

Faith hadn’t used a weapon since she’d left Las Vegas two years ago. She told herself it was like riding a bike. Her father had trained her well.

She looked over at her dad, checking to make sure he was still breathing. He was. She had to get the gun away from Fred Jr. But how? He’d hardly be willing to just hand it over. She’d already tried logic. That hadn’t worked.