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punched on the phone. “Hey. I got your message.”
“Then why didn’t you return it? And why didn’t you answer in the first place?”
“I was in a meeting. I turned my phone off.”
“Great. I need to speak with you.”
“I know.” Monty cleared his throat. “Based on what’s been going on at my end, I’m not surprised about Arthur collecting Morgan for a family meeting. It’s nothing to freak out about.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“No. But I’m sure Morgan can. Have you heard from her?”
“Finally. O’Hara’s bringing her over in ten minutes.”
“Good.”
“That’s not the only reason I’m calling.” It didn’t take a psychic to figure out that Lane was irked by his father’s cryptic response. “I made that call you asked me to, and applied some pressure. I’ve got your answers, plus one. I also found something in one of the party photos that contradicts Arthur’s time line.”
Monty’s hand was already on the gearshift. “I’m on my way.”
“No, you’re not.” Lane’s words stopped him in his tracks. “I want some time alone with Morgan. She and I need to talk. I realize that’s not your agenda, but it is mine. Life happens. You’re the one who got me involved in this investigation. And now I am involved, far deeper than I expected. So this time we’re playing it my way. I need an hour, maybe two. Then I’ll call you and you can come over.”
Comprehension struck, clear as glass. So did frustration. “I hear you. But I’m less than a mile away from your place and—”
“I’ve got a lead for you to run down that should fill the time. Call Lenny Shore. Buy him a cup of coffee. Find out where the gun he used to keep at the deli went, and how long it’s been missing.”
“What gun?”
“That was the ‘plus one’ I was referring to. Remember the individual you wanted me to check into more thoroughly?” Lane kept his reference intentionally vague.
“Right.” Monty got the message, and the Hayek reference, no problem.
“Seems that about thirty years ago he gave his boss a gift. Something to keep an 007 aficionado safe. A Walther PPK.”
“Holy shit.” Monty sucked in his breath.
“I’ll fill you in fully later, face-to-face. In the meantime, it should be interesting to find out if the gun was ‘borrowed.’ And, if so, why didn’t Lenny report it?”
“Consider who supplied it. If the gun was hot, Lenny probably didn’t want to get his employee in trouble.”
“Makes sense,” Lane acknowledged. “Incidently, you know we can’t use this—not officially.”
“I assumed not. But it’ll steer us toward things we can. I’ll call now. Maybe he’ll still be at the deli, cleaning up.”
“Good. And, in the meantime, I’ll take care of things at my end.” Lane paused. “Monty, don’t think for a minute that I don’t want the real killer as much as you do. But this isn’t just about a case for me. Not anymore.”
“I get it. Probably better than you think.” A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. Lane was every bit his father’s son. He’d been fiercely single. Now he’d be fiercely a couple. “Do your thing, daredevil. Good luck. I’ll wait for your call.” A chuckle. “If I finish up with Lenny before I hear from you, I’ll use the time to call your mother. This news will make her day.”
“I’m sure. Later, Monty.”
“Yup—later. And Lane? Nice work.”
MONTY ENDED THE call, rummaging through his car until he found an old take-out menu from Lenny’s with the deli’s phone number and operating hours on it. Sunday night—open till eight. It was a little past that now. No doubt, Lenny would still be there.
As he stared at the menu, Monty contemplated this unexpected twist. The Walther PPK had never made sense before. Suddenly it did. And if Lane was right—the scales against Arthur were about to be tipped even more.
THIRTY-THREE
