“Okay, I roughed him up a lot. The point is, he didn’t have the coins. I searched the office. They weren’t there. If you ask me, Allister Quaid’s probably got ‘em.”
Edward Bainbridge’s grip tightened on the cordless phone. He squinted against the glare of the sun and gazed past his stables to the snow-covered paddocks marking the north end of his property.
This couldn’t be happening, he thought. It couldn’t be falling apart like this. First, he’d lost almost everything when the building-development project in London had fallen through, then his offshore-oil company had gone into receivership, and finally, after pooling his remaining resources into this last attempt to see himself out of his financial hole, everything was coming apart at the seams.
It was Vince Fenton’s fault.
No, it was his own fault for hiring a moron like Vince in the first place. He should have known better. And he should have put Vince to work on Palmer the second he’d found out about Allister Quaid a couple of days ago. He should have pulled up stakes right then, knowing that the ex-shipper would almost certainly mean trouble.
There could be only one reason Allister Quaid was hanging around Palmer Storage and Shipping, and no doubt, it had to do with him and his shipment. Vince was right. If anyone had the coins, it had to be Quaid.
And if that was the case, Allister Quaid would have a lot more to deal with this time than a prison term.
“I’D LIKE YOU to deliver the eulogy, Allister.”
Allister’s back was turned to Barb as he stared out the patio doors. It had stopped snowing finally, and the lateafternoon sun filtered through the bare trees that bordered the Palmers’ backyard.
Allister closed his eyes. He was thinking of Gary.
Last night, after he’d left Stevie in the hospital corridor and slipped out unnoticed, he’d initially driven toward home. The sanders had been out, and the snow had begun to taper off. But two blocks from his apartment building, Allister had turned around and headed back to the warehouse. Thoughts of Gary lying there alone in the ransacked office haunted him.
He had no idea what he intended to do even as he pulled onto the quiet industrial street at ten-forty-five. Part of him—a very small part that hadn’t been crushed by four years in prison—had wanted to believe that the truth was best. He’d wanted to believe that he could call the police, that he could tell them everything he knew and they would actually believe him.
In retrospect, he was glad that by the time he got to the warehouse the police were already there. He’d seen the blue strobes of the patrol cars as he neared the building. And then he’d spotted the white van next to Stevie’s Volvo. The cleaning crew had been late because of the storm, but they’d still showed up. And obviously found Gary’s body.
Allister had kept driving, back to his apartment.
Barb had called almost four hours later, long after he’d gotten home and washed up. She was at home. Two detec tives were there with her waiting to take her to identify Gary’s body; she asked Allister to meet her at the morgue. She sounded amazingly calm and in control. Allister arrived at the morgue right behind her, and after they’d confirmed Gary’s identity, the two detectives had mounted their preliminary questions.
Eventually they’d asked about Stevie Falcioni. The de tectives told Barb and Allister that shortly after arriving at the scene, a phone call came through to Gary’s business. It had been Stevie Falcioni’s partner, the older detective explained; she’d become concerned when Stevie hadn’t returned. With the Volvo still parked at the warehouse, the police had called around and located her at Danby General. They told Barb how they suspected Stevie may have stumbled onto Gary’s killer and consequently been attacked herself. It was only when they stated that Stevie was still unconscious in the intensive-care unit that the cumulative shock of the night’s events had begun to show on Barb’s face.
Allister had been able to persuade the detectives to postpone their questioning until the next day and had driven Barb home. Except for this morning, when he’d managed to slip away for an hour, he’d been with her ever since.
“Allister,” Barb tried again, exhaustion dragging at her voice, “I think you should deliver the eulogy.”
He shook his head, still unable to face her or her request. “Barb, I—”
“You have to, Al. Please. You were Gary’s best friend.”
Best friend. Somehow, that title didn’t seem exactly appropriate after last night. What kind of best friend left a man lying dead on the floor of his office? What kind of best friend lied to the man’s wife about his knowledge of her husband’s murder?
“Allister?” She came up behind him now and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You must.”
When he turned to her finally, he was surprised by the firm set of her mouth and the determination in her pale blue eyes. Barb Palmer was a strong woman. From the moment they had stood together looking at Gary’s body on the stainless-steel table at the city morgue in the wee hours of morning, she had been holding up unbelievably well.
And ever since that moment in the morgue, Allister had wanted to tell Barb the truth—that he’d been in the warehouse last night, had held Gary in his arms and that Gary hadn’t been alone when he died. Most of all, he wanted to tell Barb how her name and Gary’s love for her had been the last words from Gary’s lips. But Allister couldn’t. No one could know he’d been at the warehouse last night.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Barb said. “I know the two of you had grown apart while you were…” She shook her head, unable to say the words. Both she and Gary had always made a painful habit of trying to deny what Allister had gone through, where he’d been those four years and how it had altered his life. “But still, Allister, no matter what you think, you were closer to Gary than anyone. You knew him best.”
Allister looked out across the soft blanket of snow that covered the backyard.
She was wrong. He didn’t…hadn’t known Gary anymore. They had grown apart—on that point, Barb was right. But there was much more about Gary now that Allister didn’t know or understand.
Like his failing marriage, for one. Barb had shocked him this morning with the news of their plans for a divorce. Gary had never even let on that there were problems, and here Barb was, already planning to sell the house and leave Danby for a new life.
Even more disturbing than that, Allister couldn’t understand what had possessed Gary to try to double-cross a man like Edward Bainbridge, especially after what Gary knew about him, after Allister had warned him.
Was it for money? Because of the divorce? No. Barb wasn’t the type of woman to take more than her share when she left the marriage. As a family counselor with a successful practice, she had her own money.
It just didn’t make sense. The Gary he had known and grown up with wouldn’t take those kinds of life-threatening risks. Then again, maybe that was it. With Barb leaving, maybe Gary figured he had nothing to lose by taking on the likes of Edward Bainbridge. Maybe he figured he could make some extra money.
Or maybe he’d just gotten restless. Gary had always been restless, even as a kid. Always wanting to move on, try new things. Allister
