as he stretched his legs to catch up with his pretty blond passport.
She held the door open for him. “You haven’t talked to anyone here yet, right?” she asked.
“Not yet. I focused on the plant first.” And had found one thread worth tugging on, which had led him to headquarters. “I did try to speak to some people here yesterday. Got turned away.” He lifted his eyebrow. “Good block.”
“I do what I can.”
The building itself was one of those oversize glass-and-chrome splinters modern architects were fond of, buffed and buttressed by steel. Attractive enough, Ethan supposed, in its way. But he preferred brick or stone. The foyer made him think of bank lobbies—lots of glass, a gleaming tile floor, with potted plants huddled in the corners trying valiantly to soften things. One wall held the bank of elevators; another was dedicated to a photographic history of Baronessa’s early years.
The executive offices occupied the fifth floor. He pushed the up button.
She pulled off her coat and draped it over her arm. Ethan sighed with pleasure. Nothing like a long, cool blonde dressed all in black. She’d left her hair down today, too, which made up for the fact that she wasn’t wearing a skimpy little skirt like yesterday’s. He planned to enjoy looking at her while he could. She wouldn’t be around long.
“Who are we talking to first?” she asked. “Nicholas?”
“Good question. I need to see a personnel file. How do I obtain it?”
“First you tell me whose file you need, and why.”
He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “And if I do, can you get the file for me?”
Her lips pursed. “I think so, but I have to know why I’m getting it first.”
“Ed Norblusky. He worked at the plant until three days after the tasting was sabotaged. He was fired for showing up for work drunk. Seems he shot his mouth off afterward about how he’d teach ‘those rich bastards’ a thing or two. And he’s disappeared.”
She bounced on the balls of her feet, excited. “You said you didn’t know who it was! This Norblusky—”
“May have just moved, not intentionally disappeared. And people blow off steam all the time without setting fire to an ice cream plant to make their point. But he’s worth checking into. I need the name and address of his last employer, his next of kin, his social security number—all of which should be in his personnel file.”
She nodded decisively. “I can get it. Nicholas and I deal well together. That’s whose approval we’ll need.”
“Tell me what he’s like.”
“A man with a mission,” she said as the elevator doors opened. Three people got out, giving them curious glances. “He always has a plan, a goal to shoot for. When he was eight, his mission was a puppy.”
“Did he get it?”
“Of course. A hyperactive little Dalmatian, cute as could be. He took care of it, too, right from the first. That’s why his missions usually succeed. He plans, he works toward that plan and he follows through.”
“What’s his mission these days?”
“Being the world’s best daddy, I think.” Her smile was wide and bright, but he noticed that it didn’t push any crinkles into the corners of her eyes. “Or maybe Husband of the Year. I’m sure perfect Chief Operations Officer is still high on the list, too.”
“Do you always do that?”
“What?”
“Smile harder when something hurts.”
Her eyebrows twitched crossly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m very fond of Nicholas. Naturally, I’m happy for him.”
“If all it took to make us happy was the happiness of someone we cared about, the world would need only one happy person. Chain reaction, you see. The original happy person would make everyone he or she met happy, and they’d make all their friends and family happy, and they—”
“You have a strange mind, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. Did you know that your eyes only crinkle up at the corners when you really mean your smiles?”
She blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“I guess not.” How about that. She was speechless. He bet that didn’t happen often. Whistling softly, he straightened and punched the button for the fifth floor.
For some reason Claudia’s stomach was tight. Not because Ethan Mallory’s observation had upset her, of course. He was way off base. She was happy for Nicholas, who deserved every drop of his recent good fortune.
No, it was her distressingly competitive nature that was to blame. Claudia had long ago acknowledged that she just plain liked to win. The score between her and Mallory wasn’t quite even—she remained one up due to her flanking maneuver with the photograph—but he’d certainly narrowed her lead.
He was an annoyingly observant man, though. That was a good quality in a detective, she conceded privately as the elevator carried them to the fifth floor. But tricky in an opponent.
Fortunately, Nicholas wasn’t in a meeting or otherwise unavailable. Claudia had very little time to chat with his assistant before they were told to go on in, which was probably just as well. Mrs. Peabody was trying to give away puppies.
Claudia liked Nicholas’s office. The window-walls made it sunny when the weather was clear, and even on a gray November morning like this they imparted a spacious feeling. Nicholas was seated when they entered, a big, dark-haired man with what Claudia liked to call laser eyes—sharp and keen as a scalpel.
At the moment he was looking decidedly wary. He stood and walked around his desk, holding out his hands. “I’m delighted to see you, of course, but…you haven’t decided Baronessa needs your attention, have you?”
She chuckled as she took his hands, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ve done too good a job here. There’s nothing for me to fix. Aside from the problems we discussed the other night, that is. Nicholas, this is Ethan Mallory.”
“Ah. The detective.” Nicholas nodded, but she noticed he held on to her hands long enough to make it unnecessary to shake Ethan’s. “Mr. Mallory. You’re here with questions, I assume.”
“That, and a request.” He slanted Claudia an amused glance. “Properly vetted by the family’s tame dragon, here.”
Nicholas smiled. “Don’t bet on the ‘tame’ part.”
Claudia had no objection to being called a dragon. They were beautiful, powerful beasts, after all, highly intelligent and, in Chinese folklore, the repositories of wisdom. But she didn’t care for tame. “I am civilized, I trust, but tame implies a certain subordination. While I’m perfectly capable of working with others—”
“Ha,” Nicholas muttered.
“I’ll
