A laconic voice replied, “Everything’s under control, Kedrick.”
“Quite the contrary, from what I hear.”
“Don’t tell me Stanley’s gotten to you with his woe and agony routine.”
“I could build a house in the Hamptons for what your set is costing. Not to mention the fact that your designer is six weeks late and a mil over budget. Why? Because you contracted the same designer who demolished our budget last year!”
“You have a point. I’ll take a personal look at how we allocate this overspend.”
“Allocate? Allocate?” Kedrick’s ire lifted him from the chair. “You’re seven weeks from your opening night! Fire the woman! Sue her! Burn her at the stake!”
A horrified silence. Then, “This is Louella Rhyther you’re talking about. She’s the most famous set designer in LA.”
“She won’t be when this goes down! She’ll be toast!”
“She wants another week.”
“Of course she does. The closer we come to our final deadline the more we’ll be willing to throw money at her problem!”
A sudden case of nerves oozed from the speaker. “Apparently she was slowed down by a severely sprained ankle.”
“Oh. Dropped her wallet, did she?”
“She’s splendid, Kedrick. The best.”
“I find her an absolute shambolic mess, if you must know. To have you say otherwise leaves me questioning your own abilities.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, the board can hardly be expected to maintain a strong rapport with a director whose judgment they question.”
There was an audible gulp. “I’ll handle it.”
“You really must be fierce with her about this deadline. And if she balks even by a half hour …”
“Yes?”
“Fire her. Or I shall personally fire you.” He punched the button and declared, “No doubt our famous new director will now give birth to a nine-pound ulcer.”
Kirsten rose to her feet. The smoke and mirrors were complete about this man. She would gain nothing more here. “Thank you for your time.”
“Go home, Ms. Stansted. That’s my advice to you. Marry your nice little lawyer friend, raise some beautiful children, forget there is a big world out there beyond the confines of what you find comfortable.” He smirked a superior farewell. “Leave these other matters to those of us who understand how the world truly works.”
CHAPTER 45
It was not until Marcus was turning into his drive that he finally managed to get an answer at one of the man’s numbers. “Dale? It’s Marcus.”
“I can’t talk now.”
“This is important. Vital.”
“Oh, and this isn’t? You think selling my house for a million less than it cost me to build is fun? Or maybe how I’m cashing out my entire portfolio and losing almost as much as I’m getting?”
“Dale, listen to me.”
“No, Marcus. The time for listening is over. Kedrick was right. The case was hopeless from the start. There’s only one way to get my baby girl back and that’s what I’m doing.”
“You’re right.”
“You’re not talking me around, I’m going ahead with this …” Marcus’ words finally sank home. “What?”
“The case was a nowhere job to begin with. All it did was bring them close enough to the brink for us to have this shot.” Marcus gave it a moment, then said, “Are you with me now?”
“Yes. But we have to hurry. I’m waiting to hear from the mystery buyer’s bank.”
“All right. I want you to think back to the break-in.”
“You mean, the one here at the house?”
“Tell me everything you remember.”
“Now is not the time.”
“Believe me, it’s never been more the time. Please.”
“It was just your basic burglary. They were here when I got in.”
“Here where?”
“In the house. Where else? You think I’d hammer them because they were walking across my backyard?”
“So you found them in the house. Where exactly?”
“On the landing leading to Celeste’s bedroom.”
“That’s it.” That was the point he had half remembered.
“It’s the same stairs that lead up to the master bedroom. The safe’s bolted to the floor in my closet. Where else would they be?”
There was nothing to be gained by sharing suspicions. “I’m coming down.”
“To Wilmington?”
“Yes. Keep your mobile switched on. I may have something important.” Marcus hung up before Dale could argue.
Marcus did not want to be going to Wilmington. His heart was already covering the distance to New York. Every time he spoke with Kirsten, the draw was stronger. He had not known such a sense of impatience since he was sixteen and just another hyperhormonal high school jock with nothing more than football and Carolina cheerleaders on the mind. The connection was so potent he could feel it radiating like a carnal scent, flavoring the office atmosphere.
He dialed the judge’s office in Wilmington. “Judge Perry, this is Marcus Glenwood.”
“I thought we had us an arrangement. You weren’t to ever bother me again.”
“Things change.”
“I’ve got me five minutes between two felony trials, and that’s the best you can do?”
“I need an introduction to the Wilmington district attorney.”
“I am astonished to hear I am the best reference you can find to our local constabulary.”
“The one and only.”
“Sir, your confidence in me is utterly unfounded.” When Marcus did not rise to the bait, he added, “In case you have missed it, I do not like you. Nor do I think much of your tactics.”
“Which tactic would that be?” Marcus lashed back. “The one that says every individual convicted of a felony in this land has the Constitutional right to legal representation?”
There was a silence from the phone. Netty’s head poked in around the door. Even his secretary realized it was not sensible to be yelling at a sitting judge.
But Marcus was too far gone to care. “Wait, no, it must be my other tactic you’re thinking of. The one where I have a man arrive on my doorstep and beg for help. This after all your local lawyers proved too cowed by Wilmington power brokers to realize the man is innocent of everything except wanting back his baby girl.”
“The DA’s name is Wilma Blain,” the judge replied. “You two should get on like a house on fire.”
Marcus slammed down the phone. He spoke to Netty before she could comment on his actions or state of mind. “Get the Wilmington prosecutor’s office on the line for me.”
She started for the door, then asked, “You doing all right?”
Marcus hefted his mug. His coffee was stone cold. “I’m worried about Kirsten.”
“You’re nothing but a bundle of nerves and frets.” She walked over to the desk and took the mug from his hand. “More caffeine is the last thing in this world you need.”
A few moments later, Netty called from the other room. “DA’s office on line two.”
“Marcus Glenwood for Wilma Blain, please.”
A half minute of seventies retro-rock, then, “This is Blain.”
“Marcus Glenwood. I’m an attorney operating out of Rocky Mount, mostly in the Raleigh-”
“I know who you are.” The woman’s voice was almost as deep as a man’s, and sounded both black and rapid-fire intelligent. “We might be working out of a sleepy backwater town, but we’re wide awake in this office.”
“I have come across something related to a case I’m involved in that might interest you.”
“Who referred you to me?”
“Garland Perry.”
“Judge Perry gave you my name?” She sounded genuinely surprised.
“He did.”
“Are you sure he was on the proper medication at the time? I’ve never gotten a thing from that man but a full-on runaround.”
“This matter is urgent, no matter what Judge Perry might think.”
“Ain’t they all.”
“Do you happen to recall a break-in at Dale Steadman’s residence, I’m not sure exactly when it would have been-”