Free Wrong Place, Wrong Time by Andrea Kane

staying at my daughter Devon’s place. It’s in northern White Plains. That’s a good half hour closer to Millbrook than Queens is. It’ll take just an hour plus to get to you. Devon’s driving up to Sally’s place tomorrow anyway. She wants to check on the house and the animals. I’ll just grab a ride. I’m sure she could use the company.” He ignored his daughter’s glare. “I should be there around six. We’ll continue this discussion then.”
    He punched
end
and turned to Devon. “Well, what do you know. Edward Pierson wants to hire me. He seems to think I can do a better job of finding whoever killed his son than the Warren County sheriff can.”
    “Yeah, what do you know.” Devon folded her arms across her breasts. “And
you
seem to think I’m partnering up with you.”
    “You are.”
    “No, Monty, I’m not.”
    His hands balled into fists, made deep indentations in the sofa. “Devon, this time’s different. It’s your mother’s life at stake.”
    “Dammit, Monty, that’s emotional blackmail.”
    “Is it working?”
    “You know it is. You know I’d do anything for Mom. But this is a mistake. I don’t have your nerves of steel or your ability to stay objective. I’m emotionally involved. That’s a detriment, not an asset. How can I possibly help you?”
    “I’m not sure. But my gut tells me you can.”
    “How?” Devon could feel her resolve weaken.
    Worse, so could Monty. He jumped all over her ambivalence, firing out suggestions as if he’d been cogitating for days, rather than devising them on the fly. “The groom who’s been caring for Sally’s horses. Talk to him. Maybe he can give you a feel for the players. The grandchildren. Pierson just mentioned that they’re all flying in or driving up tomorrow. They’re congregating at the farm to make funeral arrangements — and probably to avoid the press. They’re all around your age or a little older. Strike up conversations. See what dirt you can dig up.”
    “In other words, be the mole,” Devon responded, summing up Monty’s thought process. “The innocuous veterinarian who blends in with the crowd and empathizes with their loss. My mother was seeing their uncle. She was nearly killed at his murder scene. That’s our common ground.”
    “And your fear that Sally’s still in danger — that’s your jumping-off point. From there on, the conversation will take on a life of its own.”
    “So, while you’re closeted in some private office with the family patriarch, I’ll be hanging out with the yuppies, getting to know them.” Devon gave a tentative nod. “It could work.”
    “It
will
work.”
    “I’ll need to look at that report of yours,” Devon heard herself say, reaching for the pages. “Just so I can remember which Pierson is which.”
    “Here.” Monty thrust them in her hand. “The more I think about that phone call, the more I know Edward Pierson’s got something up his sleeve. Think about it. He’s about to get official confirmation that his son’s dead. His entire family is converging under the worst of circumstances. That means emotional meltdown and, in this case, business upheaval. Tomorrow is going to be the day from hell. So why is Edward calling me tonight, insisting we meet ASAP? Why not wait until the storm has passed?”
    Devon was used to going through these mental exercises with Monty. “Because time is of the essence. Edward’s son was murdered. He’s grieving, angry, and impatient. He’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants when he wants it. He’s determined to find Frederick’s killer — yesterday, if not sooner. He’s banking on the fact that you can do that for him. Maybe he’s also hoping to capitalize on your personal relationship with Mom and your brotherhood with the cops.”
    “Both, I’m sure. But there’s more to it. He’s done his homework, just like I have. He knows I’m good, and he’s also hoping I have inside information. But he’s got to know I