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“Much as I loathe your ex-wife, you’re more dangerous.” Anne kept the pistol aimed at Merry as she addressed Monty. “Put your hands behind your back, Detective.”
Monty studied her for a fleeting instant. Then his gaze slid to Merry. Assessing her terrified expression, he stuck his hands behind his back.
“Wise decision.” Anne waited until Monty’s wrists were tied. “Ahora la mujer,” she instructed.
The man pulled Sally’s arms behind her and tied them.
Sally winced as the ropes bit into her wrists. She averted her head, looking over to see why Monty was being so unusually compliant. He was staring calmly ahead. But Sally knew that expression. He was devising some kind of strategy. Her gaze dropped lower, and she saw what that strategy was.
Monty’s bound hands had slid down until his fingers were brushing the pocket of his pants—the pocket where he’d stuffed his cell phone. He’d worked a forefinger inside and was grazing the outline of the buttons.
The motion stopped.
He slanted a sideways look at Sally, and winked.
He’d found the number he wanted. Speed dial would take care of the rest.
IT HAD STARTED to snow.
A light dusting already blanketed the highway as Blake’s Jag raced up Route 287 en route to the farm.
Gripping her cell phone, Devon stared out the front windshield. “I’ve tried Monty’s cell three times. It’s ringing, so I know it’s on. He must have it set on vibrate. I wish he’d pick up. I want to update him on our call to Uruguay.”
“He’s probably having it out with my grandfather.” Blake’s jaw was rigid. “In which case, I doubt he has the luxury of answering his phone. Remember, he’s going for my grandfather’s Achilles’ heel. That means all-out war. I’m sure he’s got his hands full.” A pause. “I hope he finagles my grandfather into admitting something that makes sense out of what we just learned.”
“If he hasn’t managed to do so by the time we arrive, he will soon after.”
“Yeah.” Blake frowned, his expression still as shocked and strained as it had been when Devon first told him what she’d heard. “I’m completely at a loss. My grandfather has never involved my grandmother in any business transactions, much less shady ones. Why the hell was she the one paying off Frederick’s killer?”
“That’s not business,” Devon reminded him. “It’s personal.”
“Personal? Paying off a hit man?” Blake rubbed his forehead. “A hit man who was hired to knock off her son? Uh-uh. There’s no way she’d go along with that, much less play an active role in making it happen.”
Devon swallowed, giving voice to the sickening possibility that had struck her a few minutes before. “Maybe Frederick’s not the one she paid to have killed.”
Blake slanted her a look. “He’s the one whose head was bashed in.”
“Maybe that was an accident. Maybe he woke up before he was supposed to. Maybe he got in the way. Maybe something in the original plan went wrong.”
“You think your mother was the target?”
“It would explain your grandmother’s involvement. It would also justify your grandfather’s extensive efforts to find my mother. He didn’t know what she’d pieced together. He couldn’t risk her talking to the cops.”
“What motive would either of my grandparents have to order your mother killed?”
Devon drew a slow breath. “A few days before the fire, my mother overheard Edward and Frederick arguing. Frederick wanted someone at Pierson & Company fired. He suspected that someone of criminal behavior—behavior that could jeopardize the entire company. Edward was dead set on protecting that someone. It was serious, a time bomb waiting to explode, according to Frederick.”
Blake shot Devon a look. “Your mother told all that to your father?”
“Yes. Right after the fire.” Devon pressed her lips together. “That’s why I’m so jumpy now. She’s over there with Monty. Who knows what your grandfather’s reaction to seeing her will be?”
Before Blake could reply, Devon’s cell phone rang.
She stared at the display. “It’s Monty.” In one motion, she punched on the phone and tucked it in the curve of her shoulder. “Finally,” she greeted her father. “What did you find out?”
No reply.
“Monty?”
