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“Damn straight it does.”
Interlacing her fingers on the counter, Devon turned to Monty. “That’s it in a nutshell. What’s the verdict?”
Monty swished the coffee in his mug around, staring broodingly into it. “You’re a maverick like your father. Also like him, you’re lousy with rules. But you did good. Let me meet with Blake and call him on his offer. The conversation I have planned will tell me if he’s for real.”
“Explain.”
“There’s a big piece not fitting here. It got lost in the shuffle after Rhodes’s death. But it’s bugging me. It should be bugging Blake, too.”
Devon inclined her head, waiting. Late for work or not, she had to know where Monty was going with this.
“The extortion. It’s way out of whack.”
“That’s bothered you since the beginning.”
“Yeah, but now it’s a glaring red flag.” Monty pivoted on the stool, his hand slicing the air as he spoke. “Bad enough that the timing was off on Frederick’s murder and James’s near miss at Wellington. But what about the extortionist’s demands? It’s been three days since I prepped Edward for that phone call. None came. Why?”
“The logical assumption would be that Rhodes was the blackmailer, and now he’s dead.”
“That assumption sucks. Rhodes called Edward the night he died. He never mentioned any demand for millions. Plus, suicidal people don’t stock up on money before blowing their brains out.”
Devon nodded. “So whoever killed Rhodes wants him to look like the blackmailer.”
Monty’s gaze narrowed. “That theory falls flat, too. In order to frame Rhodes, the blackmailer would have to give up on his windfall. Any attempt to collect would mean Rhodes was innocent.”
“You’re right.” Devon’s mind was racing. “You think the blackmail was staged.”
“I sure do. And I know just the guy who’d do it.”
“James.”
“Yup. Golden Boy himself.”
Devon held up her palms in a quizzical gesture. “But why? To get his uncle and Rhodes out of the way? It doesn’t fly. James doesn’t want the company; he wants Olympic notoriety. Plus, Rhodes was no threat to James’s rise to the top. He wasn’t even a Pierson.”
“True. But he might have had damning information that would sc
rew James out of his place in Grandpa’s life. The same goes for Frederick.” Monty pursed his lips. “What if the argument your mother overheard at the Pierson barn wasn’t about Rhodes? What if it was about James? What if James was the one Frederick didn’t trust?”
“That’s not the picture Edward painted when he hired you. You think he was protecting his grandson?” Devon shook her head, negating her own question. “No way. Not if James killed Frederick. He was Edward’s son.” A pause. “Besides, we confirmed that James never left Wellington on Wednesday night. So how could he have shot Rhodes?”
“He could have hired someone. As for the first part, you’ve got too soft a heart. Edward Pierson would protect his grandson no matter what—even if he committed murder. And, yeah, even if the victim was Edward’s own son. James is the light of his grandfather’s life. No way he’d let him rot in jail.”
Devon blew out a breath. “That’s a pretty tough scenario. You plan to run it by Blake?”
“Yup. It’s a great way to test the sincerity of his commitments.”
“What commitments?”
“To find the killer. And to you.”
“Monty…”
“Don’t bother. I’m not listening.” Monty waved away her objection. “You’re my daughter. You’re falling for this guy. Which means I’m allowed to play macho dad. End of story.”
“Great,” Devon muttered. “Do you plan to wave your Glock in his face or just flash the holster at him for effect?”
“Give me a little credit for finesse.” A hint of amusement lit Monty’s eyes. “Although I like the image. I might use it if he pisses me off.”
