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“I do…of course I do.”
Veronica smiled. “I’m sure the partners will decide that you do too. Once you’re a client, we’ll help sort this mess out.”
“Gus—”
“Even Gus. We have a lot of resources and excellent connections.”
Theo nodded. She did not doubt it.
Veronica dropped Theo back at Mac’s and waited while she punched in the correct security code and let herself in. She waved goodbye in the video surveillance.
Theo let Horse in and spent several minutes accepting the hound’s feelings on her return. Indeed, she sat on the floor and enjoyed the simplicity of the dog’s joy, the boisterous panting that seemed to say, “You’re back—thank God you’re back—where’d you go?”
“I was at a very important meeting, Horsey, old mate,” Theo said, pulling back as he licked her face. Her life seemed to have become so complicated.
She finally calmed Horse and sat at the kitchen table to think. It was all such a jumble, like random extracts from different novels. And then it occurred to her that to sort it out she needed to write it down…like a plot. Perhaps then she would see what was happening, be able to make sense of it.
She used the large notebook in which she had been writing notes for her ghost story. Beginning with everything she knew about Dan Murdoch—which admittedly was not a great deal—Theo timelined it all, starting with a nebulous date several years earlier when he’d moved from New York to Lawrence to avoid deranged fans. She wrote down every detail she could remember of finding Dan’s body, and the police interviews that followed, her first encounter with Spiderman, the collision in the parking lot, the open gate, Mac Etheridge and his family, Burt Winslow, and now that bastard Hugh Carrington. The process helped to calm her, gave her an illusion of order in the chaos, and made her realize that she still had no idea what was going on. She tried to see herself through Mendes’s eyes: an aspiring writer who fell into a relationship with a successful established author, decades her senior. Perhaps Detective Mendes thought she had set out to seduce Dan Murdoch. Hugh Carrington’s complaint gave him reason to believe she attacked older men at random. Or perhaps he thought it was some kind of literary spat—an argument over adjectives. As far as she could tell, Dan had been killed by someone who knew what he was doing, who thought to protect his clothes from the blood, who was calm enough not to walk through the blood. That was hardly what you’d expect from five-and-a-half-foot law school dropout. He’d have to see that…and then he would be able to focus on who really killed Dan Murdoch, all this would fade, and Gus would stop having to pay for being her brother…unless she did something to make Mendes keep looking at her. Like phoning him with what she thought were leads. Veronica was right. She was making things worse.
She wondered just how bad things were at Crane, Hayes and Benton. Gus wouldn’t tell her even if she asked.
Theo glanced at her watch. It was just past noon. She found her usual phone where she’d left it on the kitchen bench and dialed Jacqui Steven’s number.
CHAPTER 23
Caleb pulled the article up on the screen and read it again. Mac wasn’t taking him seriously—he knew that. It was up to Caleb to save him. He cursed…and typed Mary Cowell into his search engine.
Jacqui waved as Theo’s cab pulled up at the diner. It was a small establishment near the Spencer Art Museum, close enough to the university to hear the “Big Tooter,” KU’s beloved steam whistle, which blew hourly to signal the beginning and end of classes. An official sign bearing a gun in an interdictory circle prohibited firearms within the café. Theo had until recently thought such signs in cafés odd, more political than practical, and then she’d watched the Etheridges disarm before dinner. Now she appreciated the line it drew. Knowing people might be armed was a little like knowing there had been a spider on the wall just a minute ago.
As she pushed open the door, Theo did not miss the makeshift shrine at the nearby bus stop shelter. Candles, flowers, and stuffed toys below a poster advertising one of Dan Murdoch’s books.
She and Jacqui grabbed coffee and an order of fries between them and took one of the small booths along the wall. Jacqui’s corporate attire might have stood out among the primarily student clientele who, this close to the end of the fall term and finals, were drinking a lot of coffee. But the café was not well heated, so they kept their outer layers on and preserved a kind of great-coated anonymity.
Theo thanked her brother’s colleague for agreeing to meet her. “I’m worried about Gus…well, not him specifically…the firm…and him…but because of work, not because of him…”
Jacqui pulled off her mittens and placed a calming hand on Theo’s arm. “You’re babbling, but I do know what you mean. I take it Gus hasn’t told you what’s going on.”
“No. Gus’s life has been subsumed with my problems lately.” Theo blew gently on the steaming beverage in her hands. “But I can see how tired and worried he is.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“No,” Theo said guiltily. “Not yet—”
“Good. If he hasn’t refused to tell you, then how am I supposed to know he wants it kept secret?” Jacqui raised her latte triumphantly. “Loophole identified.”
Theo smiled.
“There is a clause in the partnership that allows the founding partners to force Gus out,” Jacqui continued. “Phillip Hayes wants to use it; John Crane isn’t sure. The firm lost a big client who used the article in the Star as an excuse…but Hayes is an idiot and can’t see that Bellevue Industries would have left anyway. When a big client jumps, there is often a ripple effect; other clients get nervous.” She sighed. “And we do represent a couple of jerks. One of them apparently said something out of line about you yesterday, and Gus kicked the guy out of his office. But he was a jerk.”
Theo swallowed. “What can I do?” She raised her eyes to meet Jacqui’s. “There must be something I can do.”
Jacqui’s face softened. “Theo, this isn’t your fault.”
“I’ve just lobbed up on Gus’s doorstep and blown up his life.”
“That’s only true if you really have been running round killing people.”
“Of course I haven’t—”
