"Because I have it."
She threw back her head, her blond hair glistening as it fell over her shoulders. "How'd you get it?"
Marty sighed. "I stole it out of a stack of mail when I recognized your handwriting."
"Ha!" Melinda then pointed a finger at her own chest. "Talking about me getting into trouble. You're messing with someone else's mail. That's a federal offense."
Ignoring her comment, Marty continued in a tight voice. "What do you mean that she'll know you're Bud's daughter on Thursday night?"
"I told her to call me, that I had something to tell her about Bud."
"She'll have the number traced."
"So what? She'll only find a pay phone." Melinda let out a disgusted sigh and headed for the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"No." Marty leaned back in the chair, her heart aching over the coldness of her daughter's behavior. The girl had no conscience. Didn't care who she hurt. But Marty knew that most of that blame belonged on her shoulders. She'd let Melinda live a lie for years, only telling her the truth a few months ago. Her so-called innocent daughter had changed overnight. Marty dropped her head into her hands. "I've created a she-devil," she whispered.
Chapter Nine
Tom sat at Bud's desk and made a call to Rubler's Janitorial Service. When he hung up, he turned to Cliff who waited patiently with an elbow resting on top of the filing cabinet, a file hanging from his fingers. "You were on there long enough, what'd they have to say?"
"They claim no one touched a thing on Bud's desk. In fact, it's their policy to leave that area of any office alone. They don't want anyone charging them with lost documents."
Cliff wiggled the folder between his fingers. "Odd. According to you, someone cleaned it off."
"Yep, in all the years I've known Bud, I'd never seen the top of this desk." He raised his hands and looked at it. "It's beautiful oak, too."
"How often do they clean this complex?"
"They hit the offices every night except Saturday."
Cliff put down the file and lifted his hat to run a hand through his hair, shoving the shock of wild hair underneath the brim of the fedora. "Did they happen to notice the cleaned desk?"
Tom shook his head. "No, they weren't allowed back into this office after Bud's death."
Cliff put the folder back into the file cabinet. "Well, if your theory is right, someone got in here. They snooped around, then wiped everything down."
Tom leaned back in the chair and dropped his hands to his lap. "Wonder what they were looking for?"
"Ever get those locked files open on the computer?"
"No. Got a man coming to do that in the morning."
"Well, I think you better go pick Mrs. Nevers' brain some more. Now that we've got a murder on our hands, we've got to find out what happened before his death. Someone had a bone to pick with him. While you're doing that, I'm going to get some search warrants."
Tom raised a brow. "Oh? What are you planning to search?"
"Not sure just yet. But I want them ready."
"Okay." Tom chuckled. "By the way, I talked with several people at the country club and many saw Bud and Ken there Saturday before and directly after their golf game. But I didn't find anyone who saw either of them after twelve-thirty that afternoon."
"Well, so far Ken's story is holding up." Cliff checked his watch. "Let's say we meet here at six this evening."
Tom stood. "Sounds good."
After Cliff left, Tom shrugged into his jacket, locked the office and went to the parking lot. He climbed into his car, whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and placed a call to Angie.
*****
Angie stood looking thoughtfully out the bedroom window after Tom's call. The letter from Melinda lay on the bed. She'd reread it several times, trying to figure out what this woman had to tell her. But her mind remained a blank. When she saw the Buick crest the hill, she slipped the envelope into her dresser drawer and went downstairs.
Tom gave her a quick reassuring hug. "You look good, Angie. Glad to see you up and around."
"Thanks. I decided to get my life back on track."
He furrowed his brow. "I hope the questions I have to ask won't be too painful."
She led him into the study. "Can I fix you something to drink?"
"Nothing alcoholic. I'm on duty."
Angie opened the small refrigerator under the wet bar, pulled out two sodas, filled some glasses with ice, then joined him on the couch. She looked into his eyes. "I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to have to answer questions. Bud's murderer has to be found."
"I'm glad you feel that way. I can't stand to see you go through much more."
She patted him on the knee. "You're very kind, Tom. But, go ahead. What do you need to know?"
"I want you to think back over the past several months and try to remember anything unusual that Bud might have said or done."
She frowned and lowered her gaze.
Tom studied her, feeling she had something on her mind but didn't want to talk about it. "I don't expect you to come up with anything at this moment. But I want you to think about it. And if something pops into your mind, regardless of how small it might be, please give me a call."
"I'd forgotten about the young intern Bud had working for him this summer. I think he's already gone back east to school. But he drove Bud nuts."
"How?"
"He had too much energy and wanted to learn everything about the company. He had his nose in every corner until some of the employees complained."
"Do you know his name?
She shook her head. "No. I'm sure it's in the records, he got paid. But Bud never made any derogatory or negative statements about the young man. In fact, he complimented him shortly before he left. Told me that the kid had gone through the books with a fine-tooth comb and pointed out some areas where they could update their bookkeeping."
Her statement piqued Tom's interest and he made a note in his notebook. "Anything else off the top of your head?"
Angie tapped her chin with a finger. "No. Not at the moment. But if I think of anything I'll let you know." Then she gazed at Tom in silence until it made him uneasy.
"What's bothering you?"
"Do you actually think someone at work killed Bud?"
Not wanting to comment on that subject, Tom stood and glanced at his watch. "We don't know, Angie, but I'm meeting Detective Maxhimer at Bud's office. Take care of yourself. I'll call tomorrow."
Stunned by Tom's implications, she slumped down on the couch, forgetting to accompany him to the door. Until now, she'd thought the murderer would have been a stranger, like Melinda. But, no. It had to be a man. A woman the size of Melinda would have had a hard time struggling with Bud's limp body. That is, unless she had an accomplice.
Angie rose and hurried upstairs. She snatched the letter out of the drawer and sat down on the edge of the bed near the phone. Spreading the paper out on the bedside table, she dialed the number Melinda had written. The phone rang and rang. Just as she started to hang up, a man answered.
"Hello."
The voice didn't sound familiar. She could hear faint tinkling music and the bustling sounds of many people. "May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"