Messages immediately popped up, twenty-seven of them. She scrolled through the list, looking for any that she knew. She recognized Pam’s number, Paul’s, one could possibly be Dev or GoodMama. She winced at the thought. She owed GoodMama a call and a thank you for the warning, though she hadn’t had time to heed it. She also had to apologize for involving Dev in the mess of her life.
Oh, God, I have to call my mother.
She cringed at the thought as she continued to scan the list. The office had called four times. She frowned at that. She wasn’t due back until tomorrow. Torie hoped there hadn’t been a problem with a client.
“Here we are, Miss,” the driver said, snugging up the car to the curb as he rattled off the fare. She dug out the money and handed it to him. “You have a good day now, ma’am. Please call me if you would like me to transport you again.” He handed her his card, and before she’d barely shut the car door, he was off again.
Walking into Macy’s was like walking into Nirvana. The thought of having clothes that fit, not to mention underwear and makeup, put a spring in her step. She had to do this anyway, thanks to the fire, so it was time to begin rebuilding her wardrobe.
When she finished shopping and piled into the cab to go to Paul’s office, she felt human again. Cosmetics were a wonderful boost to the ego, or at least cosmetic saleswomen were. Good-looking pants and proper attire for a meeting made her feel like she could face Detective Tibbet, and whoever else needed to ask her questions. The warm boucle jacket in jewel-bright colors also made her feel feminine and capable, more normal than she had since the fire and Todd’s death.
She’d never even seen the bodyguard.
Although she felt odd carrying four shopping bags into Todd’s office, she hoped Martha would continue to be her ally and tuck them away for her until she could go back to the hotel.
“Good morning. May I help you?” the youthful receptionist chirped.
“I’m here for a meeting with Mister Jameson.”
The young woman’s eyes widened a bit, but she said nothing more than, “I’ll let Missus Prinz know you’ve arrived.”
“Thank you.”
Before she could sit down, Martha strode purposefully around the corner. “If you’ll come with me, Ms. Hagen?”
“May I put these somewhere for safekeeping?”
“Certainly. There’s a closet in my office. We’ll put them there.”
“Thanks, and thank you for helping me with the timing so I could be presentable.”
“You’ll need all the help you can muster, Ms. Hagen,” Martha said coolly as they entered her office. She said no more, just opened the closet door and motioned her to set down the bags. “I’ll show you in, then get you coffee, if you drink it.”
“I do. Sweet and black, please.”
“Certainly. Would you care for anything else?”
“Is Detective Tibbet here already?”
“Yes.”
“No, I’ll just take coffee, ma’am.”
With a curt nod, Martha turned away toward Paul’s office. “Here we are. Brace yourself, and put on your game face.”
Torie couldn’t believe the quiet murmur of advice had come from the sourpuss of an assistant. Nevertheless, she did put herself in negotiation mode, just as she would with a client. Construction clients were usually men, and a woman engineer had to be bold and take the initiative if she wanted to succeed.
Torie was very successful. So she put on her game face.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said as she came into the room, taking charge by speaking first.
“Torie, good morning,” Paul said, standing as she entered and coming to shake her hand. He squeezed it a bit, giving her an encouraging look while his back was to the detective. “Looks good on you,” he whispered.
She simply smiled.
“Detective. I’d say good to see you again, but under the circumstances, it’s not that good.”
“I get that a lot,” Tibbet said, but he grinned as he said it.
“Let’s move to the table, shall we?” Paul directed them to a round table. With deliberate ease, he set their two chairs together a bit and set Tibbet apart on the other side of the table.
“Ms. Hagen, the detective and I have been going over a few things,” Paul said. “However, he would like you to answer some of his questions directly.”
“Of course.” Torie crossed her legs and waited.
Tibbet ran her back through the usual questions about her whereabouts during Todd’s murder, then progressed to the events of the previous night.
“I was quite serious last night, Detective. Having just gotten back from North Carolina, I was exhausted. The only way I knew something was wrong was because of the driver. He’s a hero, if you ask me. He saved my life.”
“Indeed. We think we have an area pinpointed where the shooter would have been positioned.”
“Do you have any leads?” Torie decided it was time to go on the attack herself. “And do you know who leaked the information to the press about the incidents with people whom I’ve dated?”
“That’s being handled. Your lawyer here,” Tibbet said, indicating Paul, “filed a complaint this morning. He’s already offered to do it again several more times if you don’t receive an official apology from the department.”
Torie couldn’t help it, she smiled at Paul. “Thank you.”
“My job.”
It was always the job with Paul. She turned back to Tibbet.
“We’ve already asked you about who might be interested in hurting you. So far we’re following up on things there, but what about Mister Peterson? Do you know anyone who would have wanted to hurt him?”
Torie shook her head to emphasize her answer. “No. No one. In all seriousness, Detective, if there was anyone who did their level best to help people it was Todd. The money didn’t change that one bit, did it, Paul?”
“No, it didn’t.” Paul was as adamant about that as she was.
“He gave a lot of money away, I know that. Of course, he was really good at investing it, too, so the money he won just continued to grow, or so he told me once. Then he’d win more stuff, like golf things. He won a car by doing a hole in one. He’d never shot a hole in one before, but he wanted to give a car as a prize to a charity for the church, and the next thing you know, he’s shooting a hole in one at the Castico Open. You know, the one out the Main Line at the Lands End Course?”
Tibbet nodded, indicating he knew it.
“So without spending more than the fee to play, he was able to give that to the church for the raffle.”
“Would there be anyone at the church who was jealous of the money, or who was pressuring him to give more?”
Glancing at Paul again to see if he had input, she said, “No, I don’t think so. I don’t get to church every week and I’m not in the sort of inner circle that plans things, but I don’t think anyone was particularly upset. The opposite actually seemed to be true. He never minded if they hit him up to cover a shortfall. I think he told the deacon’s committee that he’d match the annual donations.”
Paul spoke up. “I can corroborate that. He was quick to give.”
“Did you know of anyone who wanted more, Mister Jameson? Anyone who was trying to scam him, or get him to join them in some scheme or something?”
“As easygoing as he was, he was pretty sharp about that sort of thing. After all, he was a lawyer before he was a multimillionaire. He was generous, but not a soft touch.”
“How so?” Tibbet paused, his pen hovering over his book.
“He got into it with this guy once. The guy had set up a meeting, seemed to be legitimate and all that. But when Todd and I began to question him, the guy didn’t have good answers. We closed out the meeting, and Todd hired a private investigator. Shut the guy down. He was working for a legitimate charity, but was skimming huge amounts off the top.”