Tibbet was briefly silent, then laughed again. “Yeah, even a guy would need to regroup. You think it’s safe to let her do that, though? This guy’s escalating already, so…” Tibbet let the sentence hang.
“I’ve got it covered. Private duty. Unobtrusive.”
“Good. I’d say I’d help, but the budget sucks, you know? Anyway, I’ll be there around eleven-fifteen. If she’s not there yet, we’ll go over some things.”
“Is she still a suspect?”
“Don’t know yet. Lab’s not back in.”
Hanging up, Paul shuffled through the papers on his desk. Ten folders, neatly aligned, contained all the info he and Todd had planned to discuss. He scooped them together and pulled out the fat legal-size folder with all of Todd’s estate planning.
“Martha?” He waited for her to answer his hail before asking, “Is Myra available for a few minutes?”
“I’ll see, Mister Jameson.”
He wanted Myra, the firm’s foremost estate planning specialist, to go over all of the estate issues with him one more time. He didn’t want to be without answers if the police asked specific questions.
By the time he was done with Myra, it was eleven. There was no sign of Torie or Tibbet.
Which meant he had time for more coffee. He felt like he’d already drunk a gallon of it, but with so little sleep, the punch of caffeine was a necessary evil.
He was filling his mug when Martha found him.
“Detective Tibbet is here, Mister Jameson.”
“Of course, I’ll be right there. Would you check on Ms. Hagen’s progress?”
“I will, yes. I’ll just follow you with Detective Tibbet’s coffee, then see if she’s on her way.”
“Thanks.” They rounded the corner and he greeted Tibbet. “And I believe Missus Prinz has coffee for you? Yes. Great, let’s go into my office.”
He sat down behind the desk, keeping the professional distance. What he wanted to do was grab Tibbet’s annoying little notebook and read it. Or stuff it down the man’s throat.
“So, Detective, what can you tell me about all of this?”
“Not much, Mister Jameson. Wheels turn slow, if you know what I mean. Nothing’s back on the car yet. They’re still running prints from the hotel room, but I don’t know if they’ll find anything. Hotel rooms are full of prints, especially if the maid service sucks.”
“Did you get the notice of our complaint?”
“Yep. I guess you filed it first thing.”
“As promised,” Paul said. Reconsidering his tactics and his thoughts about allies, he decided to try for a more friendly approach. “I know the other part isn’t on you, but I hope that whoever snagged the notes and let that shit leak gets at least a hand smack for blowing information to the press.”
Tibbet’s smile was sour. “Me, too.”
“So, how can I help you? How can we figure out who the hell wants my client dead.”
“Shots fired doesn’t equal a hit.”
“No, but if the same person’s responsible for all the stuff going on with the guys in Ms. Hagen’s life, he’s escalated.”
“Or she.”
“You think it’s a woman?” Paul was surprised. It made his theories spin a whole new direction. “But, I thought you said the body, Todd…”
“I didn’t say anything, Mister Jameson. I’m just not ruling out anyone at this point. With each day, this whole thing gets more complex, if you know what I mean.”
“Do I,” Paul muttered as he looked at the notes he’d scribbled while talking with Myra.
“Now why don’t you tell me where you were when the lady was fired on?”
Paul felt Tibbet’s look all the way to his toes. The camaraderie was still there, but he was making sure to cross his Ts and keep his case tight. “Here, making calls, trying to get a bodyguard hired. I’ve got a guy with her this morning, but he can’t stay more than today. Other commitments. I’ve also got to find her some place safe to live other than a hotel.”
“Why? I thought there was an antipathy between you two. And did she choose you to be her attorney?”
“No, but Todd Peterson did,” Paul said quietly.
Torie pulled herself from sleep to answer the phone. The tablet had done its work; she’d slept dreamlessly and deeply.
“’lo?” she managed.
“Ms. Hagen? This is Martha Prinz from Mister Jameson’s office?”
Torie cleared her throat, hoped she’d sound less raspy. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Mister Jameson is ordering a taxi for you, to be there at nine. He wasn’t able to get back into your room last night at the Extended Suites. The police have locked it off.”
“Why?”
There was a pause, then Martha continued. “He didn’t tell me all the details, Ms. Hagen. He did make some purchases for you at Target.” Torie could hear the older woman’s disdain. “However, I’m sure that you would prefer to purchase some additional things for yourself before having to be at our offices to meet with Mister Jameson and the police.”
Scanning the room, Torie saw the Target bags piled on the low dresser next to the TV. She frowned, thinking that the TV had been on when she went to bed. Then again, Paul had been back, so he’d probably turned it off.
“Um, yes, okay. I would.” Torie scrambled to keep up. No way was she meeting the police in the jeans she could see peeking out of the bag. She needed the armor of good clothes to help her get through it. “What time am I expected—”
Martha cut her off. “I was able to postpone the time of the meeting until eleven. It doesn’t give you much more time, but you should be able to find a few things before you have to be here. Also, there will be someone watching out for you, a bodyguard. He’ll be there to protect you, following you, but you need to get what you need and be done with it.”
“Thank you ma’am.” Torie managed to inject some warmth into her voice. Martha might not like her, but she’d protected Torie’s interests by getting her enough time to go buy clothes. Of course, she was warning her not to dawdle at the same time, which was annoying, but Torie chose to ignore that part. “I appreciate the help.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll see you then.”
Scrambling out of the bed, Torie again experienced a momentary disorientation. Spinning in place she looked at the other bed. Hadn’t she…? Seeing the bedspread in disarray she decided that yes, she had been in the other bed, and Paul had evidently moved her or woken her enough for her to move herself. She didn’t remember, but then again, she’d been so tired.
“Time, Victoria Marie,” she reminded herself, as her mother would have. “It’s marching on.” She headed for the shower.
Minutes later, hair in a towel, she surveyed the pitiful mess of stuff Paul had purchased for her. He’d managed a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant, but the rest was fairly useless. It was another cool day and he’d gotten short sleeves. The jeans were a ten, a fourteen, and a sixteen, and she wore a twelve. The socks worked, and she pulled those on, laughing at the five packages of hose, one in every size but queen. She piled all the rejects back in the large plastic bag, hoping he’d kept the receipt.
“He’s probably already put it on my bill,” she muttered to herself as she dug through the second bag. Sandals. Again, a cool day so they were a no-go, but surprisingly cute. Another pair of jeans, a size twelve this time, and another blouse with blessedly long sleeves.
“This would be more like it. Score one for the bad guys,” she said, snapping the tags off the jeans. There was no underwear of course, but she at least had her bra. Now more than ever she appreciated the taciturn Martha for her thoughtfulness in allowing for time this morning.
“First stop, Macy’s.”
Barefaced but for a little mascara, and clad in the mishmash of clothes Paul had purchased, Torie climbed into the cab right at nine o’clock. The Center City Macy’s opened at nine-thirty, thank goodness. She gave the cabbie the directions and sat back watching the miles pass. She wondered if she could spot the bodyguard. Taking out her phone, she turned it on.