A Deadly Game. Virginia Smith
“Well, I’m his personal secretary, so I do run errands for him often. Mr. Ingram is a widower and a busy executive, so if he needs someone to pick up his dry cleaning or prepare snacks for his poker club, I don’t mind doing that. But this is the first time he’s ever asked me to buy a car for him.”
“Mr. Townsend told us that his father sent him there on the same errand. Is there something special about this Corvette?”
“Other than the fact that it’s a really hot sports car? I don’t think so.” Susanna leaned forward to grab the handbag she had shoved beneath the chair. She fished inside until she found the auction catalog Mr. Ingram had given her yesterday. It was already opened to the appropriate page. “I wondered at the time if it was…” She bit her lip and battled feelings of disloyalty before she continued. “A midlife crisis.”
Detective Rollins inspected the picture of the bright red Corvette—bloodred was the term Mr. Ingram had used to describe it. The uniformed officer peered over the detective’s shoulder.
Rollins’s lips twitched. “Speaking as a man of around the same age, I can affirm that if I could afford to buy a car to help me over a midlife crisis, that’s one I’d pick.” He returned the catalog, and Susanna shoved it back into the depths of her purse. “Ms. Trent, are you aware of anyone who might want to harm the victim?”
Since the moment she’d realized Mr. Ingram was dead, Susanna had been racking her brain trying to think who would do something so horrible to such a nice man. She’d drawn a complete blank.
“I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Ingram. He is—” she bit her lip “—was well respected by everyone—all the employees here at Ingram Industries. The customers. Everyone.”
“What about competitors?” Rollins tapped the issue of American Coal magazine that topped the stack on the table between them. “I imagine the coal industry is fairly competitive.”
“Of course there’s competition in any business, but nothing serious enough to kill someone over.”
“A disgruntled employee, maybe? Anyone been fired lately?”
Susanna shook her head. “No.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she looked up in time to see Jack step into the room. What was he doing here? She’d thought he had gone home.
After a quick glance in his direction, Rollins focused all his attention on her. “Who would be the most knowledgeable about the victim’s day-to-day business dealings?”
Jack wandered over to her desk and picked up the framed photo on the corner, the one of her and Lizzie taken at last summer’s company picnic.
“That would be me.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I maintain Mr. Ingram’s calendar, both business and personal. I arrange all his meetings, screen all his calls, draft his correspondence. And I can’t think of a single issue that’s come up lately with even the slightest bit of conflict.”
The detective studied her for a moment, then gave a nod and slapped his hands on his knees before standing. “We’ll need some information from you. The names of anyone who’s had contact with the victim in the past few weeks, to begin with. His appointment calendar, phone records, things like that. Then we’ll need the company’s employee roster with contact information.”
Susanna followed the detective’s example and rose. A list began to compile itself in her mind, beginning with those who had closest contact with Mr. Ingram—the executives at Ingram Industries. And what about the board of directors? Detective Rollins would probably want their phone numbers, as well. Her conscience prickled, but she dismissed the feeling. No one would fault her for providing their private contact numbers to the police if it helped to apprehend a murderer.
“Hopefully it won’t take you too long to pull that together. When you’ve finished, you’re free to go.” Rollins shifted his gaze to Jack. “Perhaps Mr. Townsend would be kind enough to escort you home.”
A hot flush threatened to flood her cheeks. A glance at Jack’s face showed he was as surprised at the detective’s suggestion as her.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” she assured Rollins. “My car is in the parking lot.”
The detective stopped in the act of walking away and turned to face her with a sober expression. “I don’t want to frighten you, Ms. Trent, but I hope you understand how serious this situation is. You could be in danger yourself.”
“Me?” Her voice came out in a frightened rush. “Why would I be in danger?”
Rollins’s eyes flicked toward the inner office, where the low murmur of voices blended with the mechanical click of a camera. “A man has been killed in this office. Until we know more, we can’t rule out the possibility that the killer’s motive has something to do with the victim’s business. And who is most closely acquainted with his business dealings?”
Susanna’s mouth dried. Her lungs refused to cooperate, refused to draw in a breath. Fear paralyzed them.
The detective saw her reaction, and gave a nod. “Just so you understand the gravity of the situation. If you prefer, I’ll have Officer Bledsoe make sure you get home safely.”
Jack returned the picture to the desk and stepped forward. “I don’t mind following you home.” The smile he flashed at her held a note of apology. “We need to talk about what happens with the car anyway.”
Though she far preferred the officer as an escort, Susanna couldn’t think of a polite reason to refuse Jack’s offer. Her mind was still reeling from Detective Rollins’s warning. And the image of Mr. Ingram’s lifeless eyes. And the thought of going into her dark, empty house alone.
Mutely, Susanna nodded.
Light shone from the windows of the houses on either side of Susanna’s, but hers was covered in blackness. Even the porch light was dark, burnt out a few weeks ago. She pulled her car into the driveway and made a mental note to replace the bulb as she slid out of the driver’s seat. The rattle of Jack’s diesel engine interrupted the neighborhood’s peaceful silence. Susanna stood in the dim circle of light from her car’s interior, her hand resting on the rim of the open door, as the pickup and trailer rolled to a stop at the curb in front of the house.
A sound broke the silence behind her. Startled, she whirled and peered into the deep shadow of overgrown evergreen shrubs that separated her house from the one next door. Was something there? Yes, the branches were moving. Her pulse kicked into high speed as she strained to make out details. Though clouds obscured the moon, there was no wind tonight. Was someone hiding there, between the houses?
The bushes moved again. In the second before she leaped back into her car, ready to slam the door and punch the lock button, she realized the movement was too low to be a person. She strained to discern black from pitch-black as the figure moved toward her. A tense breath left her lungs in a rush when the shadows materialized into the neighbor’s cat, sauntering toward her with an unhurried gait. It disappeared beneath her car, apparently in search of a warm place to sleep. Susanna released her death grip on the door. How foolish of her, afraid of a cat. That detective had her jumping at shadows.
The truck’s door slammed, and she turned to see Jack striding toward her across the grass.
Susanna closed her own car door and pointed toward the trailer as he approached. “I don’t know what to do about the car. I don’t have a garage to park it in.”
Jack shoved his hands in the front pocket of his jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. “I overheard you saying Ingram has two daughters. What about taking it to one of them?”
“The oldest lives in California, and the youngest is studying in Europe.” She had given the police their contact information. Did they know yet that their father was dead? Susanna intended to call tomorrow, to see if they needed her to help with the arrangements.
“Does Ingram