Never mind. She wanted an answer. “He was in England in March. He called Mr. Connor from somewhere in Devon and hasn’t been heard of since.”
He wouldn’t have believed it either. Bright snorted. Healy just raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Nothing?”
“Not a dicky bird!” Too late he remembered “dicky” might offend. It wasn’t always easy communicating in his native land. Mind you, things had changed a bit since 1865. The fact that Grace Healy was an FBI agent rather underscored the fact. Back then, she’d have been picking cotton or, if very fortunate, gracing her owner’s mattress.
“What about his pay? Bank accounts? 401(k)? He just left all that?”
“Yes. Since we have no record of a next of kin, we set up an escrow account, in case he reappears.”
“You think that likely?” Bright asked.
“To be honest, no.” Not unless ashes could reanimate.
“What makes you so sure, Mr. Wise?”
Toby turned to Agent Healy. “Because two members of my colony witnessed a witch destroy him” might be pushing credibility a trifle. “Because of the tangle he left behind him.”
They obviously hadn’t expected him to admit the existence of irregularities quite this early in the conversation. It was most likely a big mistake. But he’d just made it. Toby leaned back, letting his leather chair rock slightly. “When Laran Radcliffe departed, disappeared, absconded, or whatever, Mr. Connor’s daughter, Elizabeth, hired me to sort things out.”
“And you found…?”
Toby made himself look at her but forbade himself to smile. “I’m not in a position to share details of company finances at this point.” Not until he made damn sure Elizabeth’s father was in the clear.
Agent Bright leaned over his paunch. “We could subpoena financial records.”
“Yes, you could.” And would have already if they had enough proof. “Hardly necessary since Connor Inc. is willing to cooperate.” Toby smiled. Neither smiled back. “The financial records are in a pig’s ear of a mess. We’re in the middle of an internal audit. Once that’s completed…”
“You’ll cooperate?” Agent Healy asked.
“Madam,” Toby eyed the warm-coffee skin on the slim neck that rose out of the silk blouse. The scent of human flesh promised warm, rich blood. “I am cooperating—as far as I can in the circumstances. In a few weeks we should know the extent of the goings-on.” After the auditors went over the sanitized accounts. It had taken Kit, Dixie and himself the better part of four days and no sleep to go over every computer in the company. The FBI agents were welcome to dig and delve to their mortal hearts’ content. There was nothing to find.
“Meanwhile, perhaps we should speak to Mr. Connor.” Agent Healy leaned forward.
Good luck to them! “You are aware he had a serious stroke.”
“So it has been reported.”
They doubted? Surely they’d checked hospital records. He shrugged. “I can only reiterate our willingness to cooperate and repeat what I said in my correspondence: Radcliffe’s actions were totally unauthorized. Leave a list of what you want, and after I talk to our lawyers…”
“We’d rather talk to Mr. Connor.”
Toby restrained the scowl. Attractive or not, the woman was as persistent as a rooster on a hen—wrong simile, but accurate. “If you feel it necessary, by all means call his medical team and arrange a convenient time. But I warn you, he is in no physical or mental condition to answer questions. His inability to run the company was the reason Ms. Connor brought me in.”
The both stood up. Exact timing perhaps, or did G-men and-women have secret communication?
“We’ll be back in touch, Mr. Wise,” Bright said and nodded to Agent Healy to leave.
As the door closed behind them, Toby turned to Ms. Wallace. “What did you make of that?”
“Odd,” she replied. “I think they came to intimidate and get you sweating, and you played it cool. Congratulations!”
No matter what they did, they’d never get him sweating, but he wasn’t sure congratulations were in order.
Toby drove back to the house on Devil’s Elbow faster than was judicious on the twisting road, but an odd urgency propelled him: a niggling suspicion that those two FBI agents would arrive at the house and badger Piet Connor. Not that it would do them any good, and it might just prove his point that the man was way beyond answering their questions. On a good day Piet recognized his nurses and Toby. On a bad day…Toby shook his head. He had only Elizabeth’s word for the vital, intelligent and driven man her father had been before blind ambition and lust for power led him to ally himself with a renegade vampire who’d zapped his mind.
Toby had promised Elizabeth to look after her father and unravel the tangled mess of Connor Inc.
So far he’d dismantled the money laundering. It had necessitated closures and redundancies, but they had been needed to sever the links of Laran’s nasty enterprise. And now…Toby turned into the drive that led up to the Connors’ clifftop house. This part of the country was so different from his native South Carolina—and he relished the difference. Even after almost a century and a half, memories of slavery still had him shuddering.
He eased the car to a stop before the automatic garage doors and pulled inside. Making himself walk at mortal speed, he strode through the house to where Piet Connor sat huddled in a wheelchair in the glazed-in porch. The man spent hours just watching the ocean.
“Hello, Piet,” Toby said, bending down to be eye-to-eye with his shriveled body.
A faltering smile followed the light of recognition. “Hello, Toby. Is my Lizzie coming?”
“Soon,” Toby replied. She’d promised to fly over for a week at the end of the month. He’d be darn glad to see her—and Tom. Tom Kyd had proved his friendship once again by fixing computer records and helping sort out the mess that had once been a thriving multinational conglomerate.
“I miss Lizzie,” Piet Connor muttered. “Must say I’m sorry. Didn’t mean…” A tear trickled down his cheek as his voice faltered.
Toby wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb. “Never mind, Piet. She understands.” More than the old man would ever realize.
He turned to the nurse in the pastel blue uniform who hovered a few feet way. “Difficult day, Nurse Redding?”
“No more than most,” she replied. “Will you sit with him while I fix his dinner?”
“Of course.”
“Sure I can’t fix you anything?”
“Thank you. I’ll get something later.” Having plenty of staff did make Piet’s care easier, but it seemed they’d all taken on the mission of trying to feed Toby as well. Thank Abel, none of them lived in, or they’d soon notice his nonstandard eating habits.
As
