[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.”The car, which had been drifting backward centimeters at a time, stopped.He put the vehicle in Park then got out as Smith appeared at Westen’s side.“I’m surprised she told you.She made me promise to keep this quiet.”“She didn’t tell us.One of her employees did.”“How the f—”Westen lifted both hands, palms up.“If you’re here to accuse me of letting the cat out of the bag you can just go to hell.Neither I nor my attorneys told a soul—we don’t work that way.This isn’t my first takeover bid—”“So we’ve heard,” Smith said.He gazed at her as if wondering what rock she’d come from under.“Not an iota of news leaked prior to them.And nothing leaked from us this time either.”“How much is the buyout?” Westen asked, mostly to change the subject.“Wait a minute! Who are you anyway? Somebody send you to get information so you can counter-bid?”What made him think they weren’t doing this on their own? Didn’t they look capable of executing a takeover? “Can we go someplace so my friend and I can explain who we are?”“You’re not here about the takeover?”“Only indirectly.”He checked his watch.“I am real short on time.Let’s go over here.” He led them to a picnic table, one of a half-dozen under some elm trees, probably there for employee smoke/coffee breaks.He wore a three-piece suit that had to have been tailored to his physique, that of a person who spent most of his time at a desk—a little paunch around the middle and thickening thighs.He walked with a smooth grace, in spite of his weight.Once they were seated, Westen introduced herself and Smith, and explained why they were in Chicago.“You probably heard about it on the news.”He nodded hard.Even so, not a strand of the professionally styled hair wiggled out of place.“I did.So, you think Andrea has something to do with its disappearance?”“We didn’t until we heard about your takeover.Do you mind telling us when this all began?”He didn’t hesitate.“Three months next Thursday.Next week it all becomes official.” As if they couldn’t do the math, he added, “She has one week to come up with the cash.” He shrugged.“I doubt it’s going to happen.”Westen guessed he was right.Last night, when they’d confronted Andrea, she said she’d get the money.She kept pronouncing that there’d be no takeover.“Her lawyer has called three times for extensions,” he continued.“Which you keep turning down.”“Right.A deadline is a deadline.”“I bet you never asked for an extension in your business,” Smith snapped.“He might be waiting till the last minute,” Westen said quickly to avoid a blow-up between the two.“What makes you think that? Did you hear something?” His bright blue eyes flashed.“Nooo.”“Yes you did.You made a face when you said that.”“I don’t know anything at all.Last night when I talked to Andrea, she insisted it wasn’t happening.”The blue-gray eyes narrowed.Two lines appeared between his eyes.Apparently he’d thought the takeover was in the bag.Westen suppressed a grin at being able to deflate his bubble a little, and rose from the table.“How well do you know Ms.Elliott?” she asked.“Only socially.We’ve attended a few city functions together.I know what you’re about to ask, and no, I wouldn’t suspect her of doing something like stealing that painting.”They thanked Mr.Manager and left.Next Ryan drove them to an address they’d gotten off the internet.Andrew Andy Elliott—Westen assumed Andrea was a firstborn child and the parents had hopes of a son—lived in Winnetka, a half hour north of the city.The elegant fieldstone-faced home had frontage on Lake Michigan.The grand entrance had been fitted with a wheelchair ramp, which told Westen that Andrea’s father was probably in it for good.Smith hit the button for the doorbell.Chimes echoed inside the house.The door was opened by a gorgeous woman—the spitting image of Andrea, maybe a couple of inches shorter but otherwise that same naturally curly brunette hair and green eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world in them.“My name is Westen Hughes.This is Phoebe Smith.I am an investigator for NH Property and Casualty Insurance.” The woman flashed a glance behind them to where Ryan waited in the car.“That’s our driver.” It felt good to say that even though they weren’t ensconced in a silver limousine like the one in the driveway.“My name is Sandra Elliott.I’m Andrew’s wife.” She backed a few steps, pulling the door open as she did.She wore a paisley patterned caftan with pink soft-soled slippers.“Come in.My husband is in the solarium.”Westen followed her through the living room decorated with what had to be custom-made furniture.Smith flashed her a raised-eyebrow look as they passed out a side door into the largest sunroom she’d ever seen.Views of the lake poured through two sides.Sandra Elliott called to a man in a wheelchair facing out toward the water.He spun around; a wide welcoming smile broke on his face.Westen wondered if he’d feel that way after they relayed the reason for their visit.She let Smith handle the introductions.“As you probably know, I am Andrew Elliott.Call me Andy.”“That’s what your daughter said to call her also.”He smiled.“She always was my little tomboy.From as early as I can recall, she wanted to be a truck driver.”“Could I get you ladies some coffee or tea?” The way Mrs.Elliott posed the question, it was almost an interruption.It gave Westen the idea that Andrea’s dad had wanted the truck driver more than either the mother or daughter.“I’m fine, thanks,” Westen said.Smith did likewise, though it seemed to pain her.“We won’t keep you long.”“It’s no bother,” Andy said.“Sit down, sit down.”Andy Elliott, the father, was nothing like Westen had expected—someone who appeared infirmed and well, sad.This man had the skin tone and manner of a virile and active person.As they settled on a rattan loveseat, he wheeled closer.“Now tell me what brings you to our home.I assume Andy sent you?”“No sir.” As with Lyle Manager, Westen explained whom they worked for and what they were doing in Chicago [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]