"Well, we have to face this, so you might as well put them all back on. I definitely don't want to miss any calls from Tom Hoffman. There's a possibility that the remains they pulled from that car aren't Bud's."
Marty shot a look at her, then walked over and put her arm around Angie's shoulders. "Mrs. Nevers, you haven't heard from him in two days. You know he never let anyone drive that car. So, please, don't set your hopes too high. It will do nothing but make you ill."
Angie reached up and held on to Marty's hand while fighting the welling tears. "I know, but someone might have stolen the Porsche and left him tied up somewhere. There are all sorts of possibilities. Until we know for sure, I won't give up hope that he's still alive."
Marty dropped her arm from around Angie and went to the sink where she busied herself rinsing dishes.
Angie crossed the room to the patio door and stared out the wide window. She imagined the blackened Porsche and hugged herself, her throat constricted as she whispered. "Dear God, please, don't let it be Bud."
Chapter Five
Later that afternoon, the receptionist ushered Tom into Ken Weber's empty office. She left, assuring him that she would locate Mr. Weber immediately. Clasping his hands behind his back, Tom glanced around the office. He didn't feel comfortable in this chrome and glass setting. Sure different from Bud's, which had a rustic oak and leather style that put you at ease the minute you walked in.
He paced, then stopped in front of the window and stared at the hills in the distance. Turning when Ken walked in with a somber expression, he extended his hand.
"Hello, Tom. Any news?" Ken motioned toward the chair in front of his desk.
"No. Too early," Tom said, taking the seat.
Ken sat down behind his desk and shook his head. "I still can't believe it. Bud knew those roads like the back of his hand. Why would he speed around that dangerous curve?"
Tom cleared his throat, shifted his posture and put his arm on the edge of the desk. "Angie tells me there were some problems here at work. Can you enlighten me?"
Ken shot him a look. "Problems? Did she give you a clue as to what they were about?"
"No. She didn't know. Told me to talk to you."
With a thoughtful look, Ken picked up a pencil and rested his elbow on the desk. He didn't speak for a few long moments. "The only thing I can think of is that he might have a problem with a client." He leaned back in his chair. "And he wouldn't confide in me about something like that unless it affected the business."
Tom nodded. "Do you know of any personal difficulties he might have been having? Like at home or with his health?"
Ken raised a brow. "I don't understand these questions. I thought Bud died in the car accident."
Tom drummed his fingers. "That crash didn't occur until hours after his golf game. He never called Angie to let her know he'd be late. I'm trying to close the gap between the time he left the course until the wreck. She told me you had a short meeting with him after the game. How long did it last? And where did you meet?"
"We talked at the clubhouse for about thirty minutes."
"What'd you talk about?"
"Business."
"Did Bud say where he'd be going after he left you?"
Ken shrugged. "No. I just assumed he went home like he usually did. So it surprised me when Angie called the house and asked if we'd seen him."
"Did that bother you then?"
"Not at first. But later that night, when Sandy called Angie back and found out he still hadn't shown up, then we began to worry."
"What did you think might have happened?"
Ken stared at him for a moment before speaking. "I didn't have the foggiest idea."
"Did you consider going out and looking for him?"
"Why? I wouldn't have known where to begin." Ken frowned. "I don't like the tone of these questions."
"Sorry, didn't mean to step over my bounds." Tom stood and extended his hand. "Thanks for your help."
Ken pushed his chair back and stood. "Wish I could have been more helpful."
"I may be back after the autopsy." Tom started to leave, then turned back. "Oh, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep Bud's office locked and not let anyone in there until we know more."
"Sure, that's no problem."
Tom left and drove back to the accident site. The first officers on the scene had already verified there were no skid marks. The written report also stated that an anonymous caller had reported hearing an explosion and seeing the glow of what they thought to be a fire in that area.
He again walked the stretch of road on both sides where the Porsche had gone over the incline and methodically searched the ground where the car had left the road. Then Tom slowly walked down toward the large oak. One would never have guessed a car had gone over the embankment. The only evidence left was scorched grass, roughed-up soil and the blackened side of the tree. Within a few months, nature would heal those scars. While he stood staring at the scene, his cell phone buzzed. He snatched it from his pocket. "Tom Hoffman here."
"Tom, this is Angie. Sorry to bother you, but we need to talk."
"I'm in the area. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
He scurried back up the hill. When he reached the Nevers' property, the gates were already ajar, so he drove through. He parked in front of the house and hurried up the steps, but before he had a chance to knock, Angie opened the door. She would have looked great in her designer jeans and pale-blue silk shirt, but the dark circles under her eyes marred her soft features. He followed her into the study and before he could take a seat, she jolted him with her next statement.
"I don't believe Bud was driving the Porsche."
Tom raised a brow and leaned against the back of a chair, studying her for a moment. She's gone into denial, he thought. "What makes you think that?"
"Something inside me." She stopped abruptly and put a fist to her heart. "I can't explain it, but I want to start a search for him. I know legally you can't do it, for what, seventy two hours for a missing person?" She stared at him. "Tom, I can't wait that long. I'm going to hire a private detective. Can you give me the name of a good one?"
He stepped away from the chair and approached her. "Look, Angie. Why don't you wait until we get a positive identification of the person in the car. There's a possibility we'll know by tomorrow. Don't do anything rash right now. If it isn't Bud, we can start the investigation immediately."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I can't stand it. The frustration is driving me crazy"
He took her hand and led her to the couch. "I know it's hard. But I've already been doing a bit of digging."
She looked at him with wide eyes. "Did you find out anything?"
"Not yet. But I did talk to Ken Weber today and asked him about the problems at work that you'd mentioned. He said that things were fine and that Bud must have meant some problem with a client."
Angie furrowed her brow and slowly shook her head. "No, Bud distinctly said there were problems at work. He'd have said client if he'd meant that."
"Tell me. How well did Ken and Bud get along?"
Angie waved her hand. "Beautifully. They've been in business all these years without an argument."