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He’d never had a woman he cared about in danger. The pressure to find the killer before he could get to Beth again was a crushing weight. Then there was Tony’s personal crap. His mother’s refusal to soften her demands on him. The hurt in Beth’s eyes this morning when he made it plain he wouldn’t be introducing her to his family in the near future. Dealing with his family was stress enough without introducing anyone new. But her expression had served as warning: Beth wasn’t a woman who could enjoy a casual dating and sexual relationship with no expectations for a future.
Yeah, this was too soon. But would he ever be ready?
It took him a few minutes, but he finally jammed all the tension down deep, freeing him to focus on interviewing a man who would have known Christine Marshall well.
The first time Tony had come by here, his primary intent had been to gather information on her clients. Since then, he’d done some research on Reistad.
He’d barely been older than Christine when she went to work for him. Like Dr. Schuh and the arrogant attorney, Michael Longley, Reistad had been lean and handsome. Also married, and still was to the same woman. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t had affairs.
Reistad came out to shake hands and lead Tony to his office. Tony hadn’t found a recent photo but saw that the man hadn’t changed much. Maybe five foot ten, he had wavy brown hair that, despite what was probably a salon cut, still managed to appear disheveled. He’d stayed fit, like Tony’s other leading suspects, and had a broad, friendly smile. He wasn’t handsome in the same way the other two men were, with his nose crooked, his whole face slightly out of alignment, but Tony could imagine a woman finding him more appealing.
“What can I do for you?” the CPA asked, after they were seated in an office that was a whole lot more utilitarian than the partners’ offices at the law firm. Walls were bare, the furniture comfortable but understated. While attorneys had to impress potential clients, it was possible any display of wealth would repel clients here, who didn’t want to believe their accountant was soaking them.
Tony launched into his usual explanation: as part of investigating Christine Marshall’s death, he was trying to speak to her friends and co-workers, and was hoping Reistad would let him see her client list.
He saw the refusal gathering in eyes as blue as Christine’s had been. Reistad kept smiling even as he said, “I think you’ll need a warrant for that. I can tell you that, in general, she dealt mainly with couples, some steady businesses, nothing too complex.”
Keith Reistad could play Puck in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Yeah, that hint of mischief in his smile might well have appealed to a woman married to a man Tony suspected was incapable of humor.
“I know that she developed a friendship with at least one of her clients,” he said.
“The pediatrician?” Reistad shrugged. “She took her kids to him, too, so that was natural enough.”
“What about other clients? Do you become friends with people you meet when you do their tax returns?”
“Rarely.” Body relaxed, Reistad didn’t look bothered by the question. “You know, nobody likes tax time. We’re probably a little like dentists. No pleasant associations.”
“Unless you save someone a lot of money.”
He laughed. “That does happen. As for Christine…” He gave his head a slow shake. “I don’t remember anything like that, but I’m not sure I would, or that she’d have told me.”
“Did she have particular friends among her co-workers? I’ve been able to track down only one close woman friend.”
“I want to say she and Andrea… Van something—” he clicked his fingers until his expression cleared “—Vanbeek, that was it. I know they went to lunch together, that kind of thing. I can’t tell you where to find her, though. She quit and moved away after a divorce. Six or seven years ago?”
“Perhaps your records include a forwarding address.”
“I’ll ask,” he said pleasantly. “Now, if there isn’t anything else?”
“I’d like your impressions of Christine. You worked with her for some years.”
