“In that case, both of you stay put.”
He ended the call and paused in front of the administrative assistant’s desk.
Brenda Wilson regarded him with her customary severely serene expression. She was sixty years old, athletic-looking and unmarried. As far as Jake had been able to determine, she was dedicated to her job. Early on in their relationship she had informed him quite proudly that she had worked for the company for over thirty years. She had started out as Owen Shipley’s secretary.
“Something has come up,” Jake told her. “I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. Hold all my calls.”
“Yes, Mr. Salter,” Brenda said crisply. “I assume this has something to do with the death of Mrs. Shipley?”
“You never fail to amaze me, Brenda. I just got the news five minutes ago. When did you hear it?”
“Four minutes ago, while you were on the phone. Mr. Glazebrook’s assistant called to tell me the tragic news.”
“Is Glazebrook still in his office?”
“No, he left shortly before noon. Said he wanted to go home and work on some special project.”
“See you on Monday, Brenda.”
“Have a good weekend, sir.”
“Something tells me it’s going to be a very long and complicated weekend.”
“Things are always complicated when Clare Lancaster is involved,” Brenda said.
The prim, suppressed anger in Brenda’s tone stopped him cold. He turned back to face her.
“Is there anything you think I should know, Brenda?” he asked quietly.
She picked up a stack of printouts and tapped the papers briskly against the desktop to square them. “Rumor has it that it was Clare Lancaster who found Mrs. Shipley’s body in the pool.”
“I heard that.” He waited.
Brenda cleared her throat. “By a strange coincidence it was Miss Lancaster who found the body of Mrs. Shipley’s son, Brad, six months ago.”
“Heard that, too. I get the impression that you don’t believe in coincidence, Brenda.”
“No, sir, I don’t.” She put the tightly squared stack of papers down and folded her competent hands on top of the pile. “Neither does anyone else around here. Not when the coincidence involves Clare Lancaster.”
He went deliberately back across the room and stopped in front of her desk.
“I won’t tell you what to think, Brenda,” he said. “But I want to make it very, very clear that it would be a good idea if you kept your opinions of Miss Lancaster and the subject of coincidence to yourself.”
Brenda went rigid. “Yes, sir.”
He left, heading for the parking lot. He wondered what Brenda would have had to say if she knew that her tidy little condo was one of the many residences he had searched during his short stay in Stone Canyon. Unfortunately, he hadn’t turned up evidence of anything other than a life devoted to work and office gossip.
Jake’s phone rang just as he got out of the BMW and started toward the lobby of the Desert Dawn Motel. He recognized the number.
“Hello, Archer,” he said.
“Where the hell are you? I just talked to Brenda. She said you left for the day and that it had something to do with Clare.”
“As usual, Brenda is on top of the situation.” Jake paused at the door. He did not want to have this conversation in front of the desk clerk. “I’m at Clare’s motel.”
“You’re already at the airport?” Archer sounded startled. “You made damn good time, especially in Friday rush hour traffic.”
“Got lucky,” Jake said. “Traffic wasn’t as bad as usual.”
“You heard what happened?” Archer demanded.
“Yes. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to the Shipley house. This is not a good situation, Jake. Not after what happened six months ago. I’ve already had calls from the local reporters.”
“Don’t give them anything,” Jake said.
“You think I’m stupid? Of course I’m not taking the damned calls. What’s worrying me is that I haven’t been able to get in touch with Clare. She’s not answering her cell phone.”
“I’ll let her know you want to talk to her,” Jake said.
“What’s the name of her motel? I’ll try her there.”
“You’re breaking up, Archer. I can’t hear you. I’ll get back to you later.”
“Hold on, damn it—”
Jake ended the call and walked into the lobby. The desk clerk looked up.
“Another night, huh?” he asked.
“No,” Jake said. “Miss Lancaster won’t be staying tonight, either. Get her bill ready. She’ll be checking out shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jake loped up the stairs to the second floor.
Elizabeth opened the door to 210.
“Jake.” Relief lit her eyes. “Thank goodness you’re here. Talk about a bad day at Black Rock.”
The sliding glass door at the far end of the room was open, letting in the last of the late afternoon heat. The window-box air conditioner hummed mightily but it was a losing battle. The room was close and stifling.
He could see Clare out on the tiny balcony, gripping the railing with both hands. She appeared to be riveted by whatever was going on in the pool area below.
“How is she?” he asked quietly.
“Exhausted,” Elizabeth said softly.
Clare straightened abruptly and turned her head to glare at Elizabeth and Jake through the dark shield of her sunglasses.
“For Pete’s sake,” she said briskly. “There’s no need to act like this is an intensive care unit. You don’t have to discuss my condition in hushed tones. I’m fine.”
“Tough as nails, isn’t she?” he observed to Elizabeth.
“They breed them hardy up there in San Francisco.”
Clare made a rude noise.
“Don’t let the attitude fool you.” Elizabeth closed the door. “She puts on a great act but the truth is, she’s been through a lot today.”
“Finding a dead body can have that effect on a person,” he agreed.
Elizabeth gave him a long, considering look. He got the feeling that she had come to some momentous decision.
“Especially when the dead body in question is that of the woman who tried to brain you with an eight-pound dumbbell a couple of hours earlier,” Elizabeth said.
“I think,” Jake said, “that the three of us need to talk.”