Page 99 of Accidental Murder
“Of course. Forgive my rudeness.” Simmons swept open the door.
Megan stepped inside. Vaughn followed. A bouquet of nonseasonal flowers that would have cost her a month’s salary filled an oriental urn on a side table in the foyer. The room to the right was decorated with tasteful appointments. Brocade-covered loveseats, burgundy silk drapes, matching antique bookcases and furniture. A Christmas tree twinkled with white lights. Wrapped presents beneath the tree screamed wealth.
Oh, how this man must miss his wife, she thought.To face the holidays with their little girl without her had to be excruciating.
“Sir”—Megan hadn’t mentioned to anyone outside her team Kayla was alive—“Ashley Macintyre has been making inquiries about a number of her sister’s clients. She believed your wife?—”
“I haven’t seen Ashley Macintyre.”
“Fine. Okay.” That wasn’t where she was headed. “But Miss Macintyre claimed your wife had an investigation pending about Bledsoe Research Institute. She said it might have some bearing on her sister’s death.”
“Please. Stop.” Simmons held his hands up as if to ward off an onslaught. His eyes misted over. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Why must you people continue to dredge up my wife’s life as if it were nothing more than a piece of fodder for the news? The lookie-loos. The press. It doesn’t cease.”
“I’m sorry if my questions cause you pain, but I need to find out if you know the location of Bledsoe Research Institute. We can’t locate an address for it.”
“Are you asking me to go through my wife’s files at this time of night?”
“Daddy?” A graceful girl, somewhere between six and eight, appeared at the top of the stairs. She had long golden curls and wide-set blue eyes. “Why are you crying?” The child’s plaintive tone tore at Megan’s heartstrings.
“I’m fine, honey.”
“What’s taking so long? Nancy Drew is ready to tell Ned she solved the mystery.”
“I’m hurrying, Cici. Go back to bed. I’ll be right up.” Simmons blew her a kiss.
The girl took one long look at Megan and scooted out of view.
“Inspector, my wife had dozens of ongoing inquiries,” Simmons said with a sigh. “I could search for hours and not find what you’re seeking. Bledsoe doesn’t ring a bell. She never spoke of it. What was its factor? Its downside?”
Of course a financial officer would think in terms of the pluses and minuses of a deal, Megan mused. That notwithstanding, his aloofness was disturbing. Plus his gaze had turned flinty, as if he was working hard to formulate answers before she asked a question.
Say goodnight, Megan. You’re tired. Move on.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. “Sir, do you have a clue when your wife and Kayla Macintyre last met?”
“A week or so ago. Why?”
“If Ashley Macintyre calls you . . . ”
“She has no need to.”
“If she does, would you please have her contact me?” Megan handed him a business card. “It’s vital we speak to her. Her uncle had an accident.”
“How horrible.” Simmons perused the card. “Two family deaths in a week. What a shame.” He opened the front door,indicating they should leave, and cast a quick glance back upstairs. “If you don’t mind, my daughter is waiting.”
“Thank you, sir.” Megan gave Vaughn a nudge.
He stepped outside and she followed.
Once she was inside the Camry, she said, “I didn’t tell him her uncle died.”
Vaughn grinned. “I was hoping you’d picked up on that. Also, why was he dressed under a robe? He looked ready to go out, not stay in.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Kayla awoketo the odor of feces. The screech of monkeys. The sound of claws scratching metal. And a throbbing headache. She opened her eyes and realized she was trapped inside a cage. A glimmer of light emanating from beneath a door illuminated animals in similar enclosures. Had they been left in the dark to provoke aggressive behavior? Were the scientists measuring how genomes worked when complicated by sociological aggression?
“Ee-ah-ah,”shrieked a monkey in the adjoining cage.
