“Any thoughts as to who that someone might be?”
“No.”
Monty scanned his notes again. “I see you were home alone on Thursday night and that you worked at home all day Friday. Saturday, too. I guess it wasn’t one of your ‘seeing other people’ weekends.”
“I guess not.” Louise tapped a manicured fingernail on the desk. “If you’re concerned about my alibi, check with my doorman and the parking attendant at my garage. I arrived home around eight o’clock Thursday night. I was exhausted. I slept in. I brought work home. I didn’t leave my building Friday until after Blake called me with the news.” She peeled off a Post-it and reached for a pen. “Shall I write down my address and the appropriate names for you?”
“That won’t be necessary. I already have them.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Nope. I’m a good detective. And you’re a good lawyer.”
Louise put down the pen. “I cared deeply for Frederick. I also respected him as a CEO. He was the most dedicated man I ever met.”
“And you miss him.”
“Yes, I miss him.”
“What about Blake Pierson?”
“What about him?”
“Are you two friends? Outside the workplace, I mean.”
Clearly, the question struck a chord. “I’m not sure I understand your implication.”
“No implication. A straight-up question. You’re about the same age. You’re both smart, good-looking, and ambitious. You’re close colleagues. I noticed that you left for and returned from Frederick’s funeral together. So, are you friends?”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘friends.’ Blake’s been very supportive of me, and I of him. We’re both reeling from Frederick’s murder. And, yes, we get along well—personally and professionally. So, if that’s your description of friends, I guess we fill the bill.”
“I guess you do.” Monty went with his gut. “Tell me, Ms. Chambers, did you happen to call Blake Pierson on his cell phone last night—say, at around seven thirty?”
She looked a little taken aback. “As a matter of fact, yes. Why? Did Blake mention it?”
“Actually, no. But I was with him when he got the call. From his end of the conversation, I got the feeling it was you.”
“I don’t recall his saying my name.”
“He didn’t. Like I said, it was a gut feeling.”
“I see.” She swallowed, then spoke slowly and distinctly. “Yesterday was a horrible day, Mr. Montgomery. I was emotionally raw. The funeral threw me a lot more than I anticipated. The pain. The finality. Blake was equally unnerved. I needed to lean on someone. So did he. That’s why I called.”
“Did he drive over to your place after our meeting?”
“As it turned out, no. He spent some time with his grandparents. After that, we were both exhausted. We stayed in our respective apartments and spoke on the phone before turning in. Separately,” she added with a pointed stare. “Is this line of questioning going somewhere special?”
“Nope.” Monty shut his notebook and rose. “I appreciate your time. If you think of anyone—anyone—who might want Frederick Pierson out of the way, let me know.” He stared directly at her. “You’ll do that, won’t you?”
Not even a flinch. “Of course. No one wants Frederick’s killer caught and punished more than I do.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to him—or her. You have my word, Ms. Chambers.”
DEVON HAD BEEN edgy all day.
And that edginess had a name: Blake Pierson.
Their date was tonight. And she had no idea what she was walking into.