Ingram was dead.
“Kathy, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here,” she whispered into the phone, aware of the silence that pervaded the outer office and the police officer who hovered near the doorway. “I’m sorry to dump her on you like this.”
“I keep telling you, don’t worry about it. Lizzie and Maddie have been playing ever since I picked them up from the babysitter. And I’ve already told them they might get to have a sleepover tonight. They were thrilled.”
An ache throbbed behind Susanna’s eyes. She closed them and pressed her temples as hard as she could. “Thank you. I’ll return the favor sometime.”
The sound of shoes scuffing on the carpet in front of her drew Susanna’s attention. She opened her eyes to find the detective who’d been questioning Jack for the past ten minutes standing in front of her. Plainclothes, but she’d be able to pinpoint him as a cop in a second if she met him on the street. He had the same arrogant air about him as the one she’d spoken with four years ago in Tennessee.
Stop it! This guy’s probably on the up-and-up. Not all police officers are on some rich man’s payroll.
She straightened and spoke into the phone. “I need to go. I’ll call you when I know more.”
When she had lowered the phone and started to stand, Detective Rollins stopped her with a gesture. “You can stay seated if you like. In fact, I’ll join you.”
He dropped into the chair beside her. Susanna placed her cell phone on the small table between them, next to an array of magazines she kept there for visitors to read while they waited for their appointments with Mr. Ingram. The hovering officer, a young man with a fresh face, approached to stand beside Rollins, his pen poised over a metal clipboard to record her words.
“I know this has been a shock, Ms. Trent.” Rollins’s smile held a world full of sympathy. “We’ve already taken Mr. Townsend’s statement, but if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to tell me everything that happened today.”
Susanna drew a breath. “Mr. Ingram sent me to an auction out of town to buy a car for him. I didn’t even come in to the office this morning because he wanted me to be there all day, to be sure I didn’t miss the Corvette.”
“Do you normally perform tasks like this for your boss?”
She hesitated. “Well, I’m his personal secretary, so I do run errands for him often. Mr. Ingram is a widower and a busy executive, so if he needs someone to pick up his dry cleaning or prepare snacks for his poker club, I don’t mind doing that. But this is the first time he’s ever asked me to buy a car for him.”
“Mr. Townsend told us that his father sent him there on the same errand. Is there something special about this Corvette?”
“Other than the fact that it’s a really hot sports car? I don’t think so.” Susanna leaned forward to grab the handbag she had shoved beneath the chair. She fished inside until she found the auction catalog Mr. Ingram had given her yesterday. It was already opened to the appropriate page. “I wondered at the time if it was…” She bit her lip and battled feelings of disloyalty before she continued. “A midlife crisis.”
Detective Rollins inspected the picture of the bright red Corvette—bloodred was the term Mr. Ingram had used to describe it. The uniformed officer peered over the detective’s shoulder.
Rollins’s lips twitched. “Speaking as a man of around the same age, I can affirm that if I could afford to buy a car to help me over a midlife crisis, that’s one I’d pick.” He returned the catalog, and Susanna shoved it back into the depths of her purse. “Ms. Trent, are you aware of anyone who might want to harm the victim?”
Since the moment she’d realized Mr. Ingram was dead, Susanna had been racking her brain trying to think who would do something so horrible to such a nice man. She’d drawn a complete blank.
“I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Ingram. He is—” she bit her lip “—was well respected by everyone—all the employees here at Ingram Industries. The customers. Everyone.”
“What about competitors?” Rollins tapped the issue of American Coal magazine that topped the stack on the table between them. “I imagine the coal industry is fairly competitive.”
“Of course there’s competition in any business, but nothing serious enough to kill someone over.”
“A disgruntled employee, maybe? Anyone been fired lately?”
Susanna shook her head. “No.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she looked up in time to see Jack step into the room. What was he doing here? She’d thought he had gone home.
After a quick glance in his direction, Rollins focused all his attention on her. “Who would be the most knowledgeable about the victim’s day-to-day business dealings?”
Jack wandered over to her desk and picked up the framed photo on the corner, the one of her and Lizzie taken at last summer’s company picnic.
“That would be me.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I maintain Mr. Ingram’s calendar, both business and personal. I arrange all his meetings, screen all his calls, draft his correspondence. And I can’t think of a single issue that’s come up lately with even the slightest bit of conflict.”
The detective studied her for a moment, then gave a nod and slapped his hands on his knees before standing. “We’ll need some information from you. The names of anyone who’s had contact with the victim in the past few weeks, to begin with. His appointment calendar, phone records, things like that. Then we’ll need the company’s employee roster with contact information.”
Susanna followed the detective’s example and rose. A list began to compile itself in her mind, beginning with those who had closest contact with Mr. Ingram—the executives at Ingram Industries. And what about the board of directors? Detective Rollins would probably want their phone numbers, as well. Her conscience prickled, but she dismissed the feeling. No one would fault her for providing their private contact numbers to the police if it helped to apprehend a murderer.
“Hopefully it won’t take you too long to pull that together. When you’ve finished, you’re free to go.” Rollins shifted his gaze to Jack. “Perhaps Mr. Townsend would be kind enough to escort you home.”
A hot flush threatened to flood her cheeks. A glance at Jack’s face showed he was as surprised at the detective’s suggestion as her.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” she assured Rollins. “My car is in the parking lot.”
The detective stopped in the act of walking away and turned to face her with a sober expression. “I don’t want to frighten you, Ms. Trent, but I hope you understand how serious this situation is. You could be in danger yourself.”
“Me?” Her voice came out in a frightened rush. “Why would I be in danger?”
Rollins’s eyes flicked toward the inner office, where the low murmur of voices blended with the mechanical click of a camera. “A man has been killed in this office. Until we know more, we can’t rule out the possibility that the killer’s motive has something to do with the victim’s business. And who is most closely acquainted with his business dealings?”
