“Excuse me,” I said, “Mr. Montgomery?”
He set the pile of paperwork down on the side of his desk and looked up at me.
“And you are?”
“My name is Sloane Monroe.”
He leaned forward and extended his hand.
“I hoped to get an address from you for Charlotte Halliwell’s assistant,” I said.
He turned toward a picture on the corner of his desk and studied it for a moment. From my vantage point it looked like Charlotte, Jack, Vicki and two or three other people I didn’t recognize. The caption on the photo read Top Agents of the Year.
“If you need any information, you can get it from my secretary.”
“Did you know Charlotte Halliwell wanted to transfer to another agency?” I said.
He squirmed in his chair like a schoolboy waiting for the recess bell to ring.
“She’s dead now. I don’t see why it matters.”
“She was the best selling agent in the office, wasn’t she?” I said.
“Not just the office, in all of Summit County.”
“I imagine others vied for her talents then,” I said.
“Charlotte was unparalleled, a one of a kind in our industry. I’ve never seen an agent with the same drive and ambition that she had, and I don’t expect to, not for a long time.”
“With her track record I imagine the other agents were jealous of her success.”
“If they were, I didn’t know anything about it. She was happy here.”
“Why do you think she wanted to leave?” I said.
He scrunched up his face.
“She didn’t.”
“You don’t expect me to believe she didn’t have offers from other agencies,” I said.
“Why are you here asking about her?”
“I was told Charlotte planned to leave this agency and work for someone else, and I was curious about why she wanted to do that.”
“That’s horse shit.”
“Why is it so hard for you to believe Mr. Montgomery?” I said.
“I don’t have time to answer any more of your questions.”
“There’s no need for you to get defensive.”
He launched his body upward which sent his chair spiraling backward. It ricocheted off the wall and tumbled to its side.
“I don’t know who you think you are barging in here with all these wild accusations, but I’ve had enough.”
A woman entered the office and handed a stack of papers to Jack. She saw the look on his face and backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“If I can just get that address I’ll be on my way,” I said.
He shook his head.
“We’re done here. Leave, now.”
There was one thing I was certain of as I left; Jack Montgomery was lying. But why?
CHAPTER 12
The EnergySolutions Arena brimmed in anticipation of the night’s big game. Fans mingled outside in the hallways and were proud to display their yellow, green, and blue on shirts, ball caps, and even on the child who whizzed past, the words Go Jazz painted on both sides of her cheeks. The air was abuzz for the big match up, and I had a golden ticket.
Nick approached me with a beer in one hand and popcorn in the other.
“Well traitor, should we find our seats?”
“That’s a bit harsh,” I said.
“Would you rather I announced the location of the conspirator in the midst?”
“It’s just this one night,” I said. “I’m for the Jazz on any other night.”
“Except when they play your precious Lakers.”
I deposited our tickets into the usher’s hands. He scanned them briefly and said, “Follow me,” which we did like a couple of lost sheep in the wilderness.
We descended the stairs until we were all the way at the bottom with nowhere left to go. The tickets had a number seven on them outlined in gold foil, but for all I knew it was row seven in the nosebleed section.
The usher summoned us with two fingers.
“Come on over,” he said.
The row he stood in was positioned right behind the players.
Nick placed his hands together like he was about to say grace.
“Thank you Marty,” he said.
The stadium thumped to the beat of hip-hop music and the crowd awaited the start of the game. In the next row over a man flashed me with his enormous Jazz glasses that blinked on and off like a hotel sign declaring a vacancy. Nick appeared relaxed amid all the chaos and nursed his cup of beer.
“Isn’t this great?”
“Best seats in the house,” I said.
The kiss cam hovered overhead and sought innocent victims in the crowd, prompting them to give one another a big smooch in front of the insatiable crowd. An older man and woman locked in its sights. The woman clapped her hands with glee and puckered up to the man whose face was as red as a tomato in July. He moved in for a quick one.
“Marty deserves a big kiss for this,” I said.
Nick laughed.
“Just make sure it’s on the cheek.”
The Jazz mascot rode around the court on a miniature motorcycle and jumped over various obstacles in his path. I imagined one day he would fly through a ring of fire and attempt a black flip, and when he did, his enormous bear head would slide off to reveal the excessively tatted Carey Hart. Motorcycle racer by day, Jazz Bear by night.
“How did it go today with the chief?” Nick said. “I heard your client went to the paper.”
“I had no idea she would do that.”
“Have you made any progress?” he said.
“I’m still doing the preliminary rounds and Maddie’s on board too.”
He grinned.
“Maddie must love that.”
“What?”
“The challenge,” he said.
“I’m counting on it.”
Game time. The players hustled out on the court while the announcer commenced with the necessary introductions. First up, the Lakers. They entered the sports arena to rowdy Jazz fans that spewed forth their comments while the team took their places. Then it was time for the Jazz. The team penetrated the court with a loving embrace from the crowd who stood on their feet and chanted for them.
“Care to wager?” Nick said.
“Loser cooks dinner,” I said.
“You’re on.”
“Five-course minimum, you sure about that?”
Nick took a considerable amount of time before he answered. On one hand, no man in his right mind ever passed up one of my home-cooked meals, of this I was certain. On the other, fine cuisine wasn’t his specialty. He weighed the risk and then nodded.
Game on.
The players in the middle bounced on bended knee and the jump shot sprung them straight up in the air like a pair of rockets and we had liftoff. My stomach twisted with disquietude and I watched through squinted eyes. Both outstretched hands launched their fingers in the air to protrude the ball forward and two seconds later, the Lakers were in control. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Long way to go still,” Nick said.
“I think of the first toss up as a sign.”
“What’s next?”
“My team beats yours.”
“I meant with your case,” he said.
“I checked out where it happened which was a huge waste of time. I also went to Charlotte’s office. Now it’s time to focus on the boyfriend while we wait for Maddie’s autopsy results to come back.”
“What if it shows her death was an accident?”
“Hopefully that will be enough for Audrey to put it to rest.”
The Lakers dribbled and then swoosh, a perfect three pointer. For a moment I forgot my place in the enemy’s camp and shouted out a supportive YES! which elicited dirty looks from the spectators around me. A crotchety silver-haired man a few seats over gave me the stank eye and shook his head in disgust. My secret was out.