Skepticism slashed the acting mayor’s patrician features, but with the reporter’s focus off of him, his antagonistic attitude vanished. It could also have been the prospect of running into a city employee now that they were inside that kept him in line. In politics, image was everything.
Following him in, Rio breathed in the institutional smells of pine cleaner and floor wax and matched Hal step for step down the wide, green-and-white-tiled hall.
“If you want to know anything about a developer, check with city planning.”
“I need a more personal touch on this.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Maxwell Brown.”
If Rio hadn’t been watching Hal, he would have missed his hesitation before the man pasted on his politician’s smile. “Max? What about him?”
“What do you think of him?”
Tile gave way to gray marble when they passed from the back of the building into the more public areas. A quick right and they were heading up a wide stairway, cutting a path through the middle of the two people coming down.
“I think a lot of him. He’s sharp. He knows how to make a buck, but he doesn’t forget the little guy. Between all the businesses he owns in Grand Springs, he provides jobs for at least a hundred of our citizens.”
The dark double doors of the mayor’s office loomed straight ahead. Walking past frosted glass doors marked City Clerk and City Manager, Hal pushed through the door with the empty brass plate holder on it and entered the outer office. A beige leather sofa and a table sporting Chamber of Commerce literature formed the waiting area off to the right. To the left was an L-shaped secretarial desk.
Rio watched Hal scowl at his administrative assistant’s empty chair. The attractive young woman he’d hired to replace Olivia’s faithful workhorse of an assistant was obviously occupied elsewhere.
“While the cat’s away,” Hal muttered, and picked up the pink message slips from the holder on her desk. Leafing through them, he continued talking to Rio. “As I understand it, Max sponsors a Little League team and he’s a deacon or something in his church. Very involved in the community. He’s a patron of our Winterfest and contributes to most of our charities.” Folding one message slip, he stuffed it in his pocket. “That’s about all I can tell you.”
“What about contributions to your checking account?”
Hal’s perpetual tan faded to gray when he blanched, but his recovery was impressive. The fact that he didn’t demand to know how Rio had come by the information made it even more so.
“Those are consulting fees,” he asserted, the flatness in his voice making it sound as if Rio had gone to a lot of trouble for nothing. “Perfectly legitimate. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have calls to return.”
Hal turned toward his private office, but not before Rio caught the red of blood pressure on the rise creeping up his neck.
“Consulting for what?”
“I give him financial advice.”
“I didn’t know you were licensed to do that.” As quick and painless as Rio tried to be when he interviewed victims of chance or circumstance, he had no qualms whatsoever about needling a liar. And Hal Stuart was literally lying through his teeth. Rio would stake his hard-earned reputation on that fact. “Is this a sideline you’re developing?”
When Rio had encountered Hal at Eve’s, he’d had the impression then that Hal was precariously close to snapping. That impression was compounded tenfold when Hal spun on his heel.
“I don’t know what you think you’re onto,” he muttered, jaw rigid. “But you can just drop it right here. Drop everything that has anything to do with me or my family. You hear? I don’t imagine your editor would be too happy about a lawsuit for harassment, but you’re getting damn close.”
He was certainly getting close to something, Rio thought, aware of the bulging blue vein throbbing in Hal’s left temple. But he wasn’t the least bit concerned about the threat. He was nowhere near to harassing this guy. The fact that Hal was feeling that way made it as clear as the window glass that he was onto something, though. But what?
He didn’t get a chance to ask. Hal had wadded the rest of his messages in his fist and slammed his office door behind him. As Rio turned to the outer door, he also noticed that Hal hadn’t wasted any time getting to his calls. One of the lights on his assistant’s telephone had just blinked on.
He was saved from having to do battle with his conscience over whether or not to pick up the extension, by a long-legged brunette in a short red dress and lipstick to match. Hal’s new assistant, a statuesque trophy in the barely twenty-year-old range, hurried through the doorway, her arms loaded with photocopies.
“Mr. Redtree,” she greeted, flashing him a brilliant smile. “Mayor Stuart hasn’t returned from lunch yet. Can I help you with something?”
“Actually,” he said, hitching his thumb toward the door, “he’s in there. He just got back.”
She was about to lose the top of her stack. Taking it before it slid off, not sure how she’d pick up anything in the elastic band of a skirt she wore, he set the copies next to the calendar on her desk.
“Do you want me to let him know you’re here?”
“Thanks…Stacy,” he added, picking up her name from the nameplate on her desk, “but I already got what I was after.”
He could feel her puzzled glance following him all the way out the door. But he had, indeed, obtained what he was after—confirmation that there was a story behind the acting mayor’s finances. When he’d stumbled onto the oddities in Hal’s checking account, Rio had thought he might be dealing with a case of campaign fraud or payment for political favors. He was leaning more in the direction of the latter, though the large deposits of cash also hinted at money laundering. The one thing he did not believe was that the money was fees for financial consulting. He had no way to prove that, though. Not yet.
What he did have was another investigation on his hands. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to dig into it any deeper at the moment. He had the story on the WGGS lawsuit to do, then he had to clean up his copy on the state’s grant of more funds for a wider road up to the ski lodge. And tonight, he wanted to stop by Eve’s to go through the things she’d told him about. He’d give anything for a break in Olivia Stuart’s murder case. One that would actually lead somewhere. Stone had told him just yesterday that the only fingerprints on the gardenia flower bowl that had been brought over just after the funeral were Eve’s.
Another lead fell through.Those, they’d expected to find..
* * *
The police would come up with something. They just had to.
Eve sat on the edge of Molly’s bed, the thought echoing in her mind as she quietly stroked her daughter’s soft forehead. She usually found such comfort in her little girl. And she did now, she supposed, thinking how peaceful the sleeping child looked with Ted tucked securely in her arms. But the agitation that had been with her all day had yet to fade, and thoughts of what had happened to her mother were constant. Even reading three stories to Molly and staying with her until she’d fallen asleep hadn’t lessened Eve’s anxiety.
She pressed a kiss to Molly’s temple, breathing in the clean scents of baby shampoo and bubble bath, and forced herself back from scooping her baby up in her arms. It wouldn’t be fair to disturb Molly’s sleep just to make herself feel better. So Eve slipped quietly from the room, leaving the dream catcher Rio had brought her to guard her child’s dreams, and headed down the stairs to finish a task she’d started earlier.
She was okay as long as she stayed busy. It was the only way she knew to deal with the unsettled thoughts that had lingered since the luncheon: thoughts of how Olivia’s words had made Eve miss her mother so very much more; of the unsmiling detective’s