“Don’t worry. I shouldn’t keep you too long. Linda and I are going, too, and she’ll have my head if I stand her up.”
“Ah. Yeah? Okay, then. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting right here in the parking lot.” He said good-bye and switched the phone off, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was something to Lyle’s rumor after all. Shaun certainly sounded nervous about something.
His palms were so damp the steering wheel slicked through his grip as he cornered the car. Shaun started to wipe his hands on his thighs and stopped himself at the last moment before making sweaty streaks on his tuxedo pants. Then he barked an unpleasant laugh. In a matter of minutes, he might be the best-dressed occupant of the Washington County jail.
He noticed the speedometer and eased up on the gas. He had taken Courtney’s Volvo wagon, since his Mercedes still had a small fan blowing across the driver’s seat. He knew his wife would want to appear at the dance in the sedan, and he had no way to explain the wet leather. It had, at the most, another thirty minutes to dry. That was if he made it to the dance, of course.
What had Russ found? What did he know? The list of possibilities was short and terrifying, so he refused to think about it. He breathed: in with the calm, out with the fear. He needed to be cool, collected, at the top of his game. Maybe this was just a fishing expedition. If it was, he had a chance to sail away unscathed-if he didn’t look like Richard Nixon proclaiming he wasn’t a crook. Russ had been a lifelong army guy. Narrow-minded. Unimaginative. Shaun had successfully gone toe to toe with CEOs and shareholders and bankers. He could handle Russ. Yes. In. Out.
His first surprise was seeing a squad car parked right up front, by the offices. Its headlights were trained on some little green car. Not that he was going to complain. The farther away Russ stayed from the old mill, the happier Shaun would be. He coasted to a stop a few spaces away from the mystery car and, retrieving tissues from Courtney’s center compartment, hastily wiped his palms dry.
Russ and a uniformed cop were flanking the car. Shaun walked forward, arm outstretched, on the offensive. “Russ, my man. What’s going on? What’s this car?”
Russ shook his hand. Then his eyes widened. “What the hell happened to your face?”
Shaun was ready for this one. He touched his cheek with two fingers and laughed ruefully. “This is what happens when you try Rollerblades at our age. I flew straight off the sidewalk and ran into a tree.”
“I hope the tree looks worse.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
Russ gestured toward the green car with a solid-looking flashlight. “You recognize this car?”
“Never seen it before. It’s one of those hybrids, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” Russ shone the flashlight into the interior. Shaun could see a cheap tapestry overnight bag.
“Is it stolen?”
“Nope. It’s been missing, though.”
Shaun felt an electric prod against the small of his back. Christ. What if it was Millie van der Hoeven’s car? What was it doing here?
“It belongs to a young woman named Becky Castle. You know her?”
What the hell? “No.”
Russ made a grunting sound. “There should be a fancy dress hanging in here. I don’t see anything, do you?”
“No.” What was going on? What was Russ suspicious of? Shaun felt himself stretching out, seeking balance, looking for the right path through a potential minefield. Information was power, and he had precious little of it right now.
“This is where someone would park if they came to your office, right? It doesn’t look like the layout’s changed since your dad’s time.”
“There was no need to change it.”
“Were you in the office today?”
“Yes.” That sounded too bald. “It’s not unusual for me to come in on a Saturday for a while. I can get a lot of work done without any calls and faxes coming in.”
“I bet. About what time were you here?”
Shaun calculated rapidly. “Noon until two-thirty.”
Russ tipped the flashlight so the beam pointed at Shaun’s starched white shirt. The edge of the light splashed across his face. “Could we take a quick look inside your office?”
“Sure.” He needed to know what Russ was looking for. He had nothing to do with this car, and there wasn’t anything in his office that might point toward the van der Hoevens. But why did Russ have him come out to see Becky Castle’s car? Wait a second. Castle. He knew a Castle. “Is this Becky Castle related to Ed Castle? Castle Logging?”
“His daughter.” Russ pointed his flashlight toward the station wagon. “Is that your car?”
Shaun’s face tightened. He forced a light tone into his answer. “Sure is.”
“Were you using it earlier today?”
“Yeah,” he lied. He dug into his pants pocket, fumbling for the office keys. “Here we are,” he said when he found them. “Let’s go on in.”
Inside the door, he flicked on the lights. The reception area sprang to life. Thank God, there was nothing amiss. He crossed the floor and unlocked the door to the inner offices. He flung it wide open. “Here they are. Nothing much has changed. Mine is where my dad’s used to be.”
Russ strolled into Shaun’s office, his gaze taking in everything. “Looks like you did some redecorating.”
“Courtney,” Shaun said.
“Nice couch. Long enough to really stretch out on.”
“Yeah, she has an eye for-” He spotted the pale pink fabric wedged in the cushions the same time Russ did.
Russ leaned forward and pulled it free. It was a pair of pink thong panties. Russ held them up on one finger. “Yours?”
“Where the hell did that come from?”
Russ bent over and pulled the leather cushions away from the couch frame. There was a scattering of coins, some crumbs, and, balled into one side, another piece of fabric. Russ lifted it, and it unfolded into filmy pale pink pantyhose. He looked at Shaun.
“I swear. I have no idea how those things got here. I never saw them before in my life.”
“Where’s that door lead to?” Russ nodded toward the far wall.
“It’s my bathroom.”
“Anybody else use it? Your secretary, maybe?” Russ opened the door and switched on the light.
“Not… usually.”
Russ’s large frame blocked Shaun’s view into the bathroom. “You sure you don’t want to rethink your statement about not knowing Becky Castle?”
“I’ve never met the woman!” Shaun struggled to keep his breathing even. In with the calm. Out with the fear. It didn’t matter what Russ thought about this Castle woman. In that, Shaun was completely, utterly blameless. The important thing was to make sure they didn’t link him to Eugene van der Hoeven. And that they stayed away from the old mill.
“Come on in and take a look.”
Shaun squeezed into the bathroom next to Russ. There, on the vanity, was a woman’s makeup bag, unzipped. Next to it was a pair of dangling chandelier-style earrings, the kind that would go with a-Shaun caught a flash of hot pink out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a full-length strapless satin dress on the shower rod. It was dangling crookedly from its straps, as if someone had hastily looped them over the hanger and then hurried away.
“It looks to me,” Russ said, “as if a woman came in here to give someone a private showing of her fancy ball gown and all its accessories. And then she let someone take them all off.” He looked down at Shaun. “Or I suppose it could be that you’re a transvestite.”
“I am not a cross-dresser!” Shaun managed to get out.
Russ nodded. “Pink would be a lousy color for you, anyway.” He moved toward the door, forcing Shaun to back out ahead of him. “We’re still missing Becky’s coat.”
“This is ridiculous. You have no proof these are Becky Castle’s.”
Russ ignored Shaun’s protest in favor of walking back to the reception area. “This where you hang your coats?” He rolled the closet door open.