She shut the door in my face—a bit gentler this time, so at least we were making progress. Opting to take her advice, I headed to Brad’s office next.
I hated that we didn’t have Derek as a buffer today. He was usually the only one who could keep Brad even close to in control. Still, I needed answers, and I needed them much sooner than later.
“What’s up, doll face?” he asked when I clicked his door shut behind me.
“Doll face? Really?” I shuddered. First of all, that pet term was from at least eight decades ago, and second, it wasn’t at all appropriate for work.
“What? You prefer sweet cheeks?” He glanced pointedly toward my rear and widened his eyes in what I assumed was appreciation. Gross.
“What I want is for you to call me my name and only my name,” I ground out, taking great care not to slap him across the face—at least not before getting the info I’d come for. “It’s Angie, by the way,” I reminded him.
“Okay, Angie,” he said pointedly, smirking up at me. “What can I do you for?”
I decided to just spit it out so that I could spend as little time alone with this walking lawsuit as possible. “What do you know about the purple silk bra I found in Mr. Fulton’s office yesterday?”
His smile widened to a sickening degree. “Heard about that, did you?”
“I saw it,” I said, shuddering again.
He chuckled. “Aww, don’t be jealous. There’s plenty of Brad to go around.”
“So, it was yours,” I spat.
“Not mine, but…” He shot me a creepy smile as he thought of how to put it. “A friend’s,” he finally settled on.
“If it was your friend’s, then what was it doing in Mr. Fulton’s office?” I demanded.
He shrugged casually. “My friend may have thought I was the junior partner here.”
“And why would she think that?”
He sighed and shook his head. “C’mon, Angie. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
Ick, ick, ick. “Does Mr. Fulton know?”
He cleared his throat. “Of course not. You think I want to be put on suspension?”
“No, but you deserve it. Worse, even,” I hissed, giving him one last withering look before charging out of his office.
Finally, the firm had enough reason to send Brad packing. I didn’t care how influential and well respected his father was. Brad was, hands down, the biggest creep I’d ever met. He should have been fired months ago for sexual harassment, but then again, it was possible that neither Thompson nor Fulton knew since Bethany and I tended to let his disgusting behavior carry on unchecked.
Well, no more.
I barged straight to Fulton’s office, forgetting to knock.
I found him on the phone, speaking in a raspy whisper. “I don’t care what it takes,” he growled. “Keep it buried. At least until the divorce is final.”
Our eyes locked, and his face contorted in momentary rage before he wiped his expression clean once again. I should have turned on my heel and run away but was too startled to move a muscle. Stupid deer in headlights effect.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he whispered into the phone, then turned his full attention to me and plastered on the most inauthentic smile I’d ever seen in all my life. “Angie, do you have my petition ready?”
“Yeah, let me just go get it,” I lied, then I booked it out of there as fast as my legs could carry me.
Brad’s dismissal would have to wait for another day. Right now, I had to make sure that I wasn’t next on the chopping block. I’d happily give up my job, however, if it meant keeping my head.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luckily, Mr. Fulton left shortly after I summoned the courier, which meant I was safe for the time being. I’d definitely be looking over my shoulder extra until he was behind bars, though.
When I told Octo-Cat about the call I’d overhead, even he had to agree that no one but Mr. Fulton could be to blame for Ethel’s murder.
“And if he’s killed before, it’ll be easier for him to do it again,” he added.
I shivered in fear. “You’re right, and I’m pretty sure he knows that I know.”
“Based on what you’ve told me, you’re probably right.” Octo-Cat rubbed his head against my arm affectionately, but it wasn’t enough to put my mind at ease. Suddenly, every lingering shadow, every unexpected sound transformed into a warning that my boss was coming to kill me for what basically amounted to being too good at my job. Then again, I was supposed to be researching legal precedents, not clues in a murder mystery.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, panic rising in my chest.
Octo-Cat looked up at me with large, amber eyes and an understanding nod. “Where to? Ethel’s house?”
“Heck no!” I practically shouted. “We’re going to Nan’s.”
I packed up his Fancy Feast, Evian, and freshly cleaned litter box in a hurry, feeling far too exposed in my own home.
“Don’t forget my iPad,” he reminded me as he pawed at the bedroom door. He seemed far less frightened than I did. Was this because he had nine lives to draw on? Whatever the case, he hadn’t seen the livid expression on Mr. Fulton’s face when he caught me eavesdropping on his call. If looks could kill…
No, if I focused too much on my fear, I wouldn’t be able to act to keep myself safe. Right now, I just needed to focus on getting us out of there. Once we were out of there, we could brainstorm the best way to present our case to local law enforcement. Maybe Nan would have some good ideas about how to repackage our evidence in such a way that excluded the fact our primary informant was a talking cat.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Octo-Cat and I turned up at Nan’s door with our overnight bags. Thank goodness for small towns and short drives.
“Angie?” my grandmother asked, blinking first at me and then at the tabby who stood at my side.
“What a nice surprise,” she exclaimed, motioning us in and saddling me with a huge hug. She didn’t even ask about the cat I’d randomly acquired since our last meeting. It all made me feel very guilty and like I should probably visit my nan more often.
She led us to the couch, and Octo-Cat immediately hopped up on her lap and began to purr.
“I like her,” he announced. “She reminds me of Ethel.”
“He likes you,” I told her.
“I like him, too,” she cooed. “Is he yours?” Today she wore an emerald green blouse with gemstones hand-sewn around the neck, and it suited her perfectly. I glanced down at the jeans and T-shirt I’d changed into after work, suddenly feeling underdressed for our visit. Then again, I was always coming up short compared to my elegant and talented Nan.
I shook my head and frowned. “No. Well, maybe. It’s kind of a long story.”
“I have time. Tell me what’s going on.” She continued to pet Octo-Cat while she listened to my tale of unexpected workplace terror.
Once I started talking, I just couldn’t stop. It felt so nice to be able to unload it all on someone I knew was actually paying attention for a change. I caught her up on all the evidence against Mr. Fulton and what were more than likely false accusations toward Bethany. Now that I thought about it, I definitely owed her an apology. A sincere and heartfelt one.
“It sounds like something straight out of an off-Broadway script,” Nan said, summing things up pretty accurately. “One thing I don’t quite understand, though, is how you suspected murder in the first place.”
I glanced toward Octo-Cat for guidance.
“You might as well tell her,” he said, leaving Nan to take up residence on my lap. “You can pet me, if it helps,” he offered selflessly.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Thank you for what, dear?” Nan asked with an unassuming smile.