Free Intrusion by Arlene Kay

Yancey.”
    “Tommy?” My surprise was genuine. No need to pretend.
    “Yes, Tommy. Dr. Sand got into a shouting match with him last month. Witnesses swear to it. This guy’s got quite a temper.” Andrews leaned forward. “Might make him lose control.”
    Candy’s face got a greenish tinge that no makeup could eradicate. I knew she was picturing our friend’s final moments as he fought for his life. I poured her some Pellegrino and slid it down the table. She’s a fainter, hits the deck on a regular basis. Fortunately, I’m not the fragile type. I’ve only fainted one time in my life. Under the circumstances, most people would understand.
    “Is that all, Sergeant? We have several appointments this afternoon.” I rose and guided Andrews toward the door. “We’d like to make arrangements for a memorial service. Any problem with that?”
    Ichabod Crane Andrews gave his cadaverous grin. Maybe it worked in Sleepy Hollow. In Boston, it was a nonstarter.
    “In due time, Mrs. Buckley. We’re not ready to release Mr. Yancey’s body yet.”
    Candy gave a strangled cry. That was all the encouragement Andrews needed to get out of Dodge. As he grabbed his folder and slipped through the conference room door, he fired one final shot.
    “Remember what I said, Mrs. Buckley. Stop screwing around.”

 
     
     
     
    Eight
     
    Candy clutched the stem of her water goblet in a death grip. She looked wan, drained of her usual vitality. Luckily today was her product-sampling day. She assembled enthusiastic focus groups twice a month. These women — and a few men — vied to spend two hours with the legendary Candace Ott . They willingly slathered creams, conditioners and scrubs on their bodies in return for personalized advice and fantastic goody baskets filled with Sweet Nothings products. Volunteers signed up months in advance via Candy’s blog. It was what we business school types call “a win-win.”
    I never participated. Because of my job I wore makeup, used hair products, the whole nine yards. Noblesse oblige and all that. I endured it but never loved it like Candy and her minions. Modeling products was an integral part of our business strategy. Both Tommy and Kai had used our men’s line. Kai fluffed his luscious locks with a hint of gel, while Tommy stuck to pomade. They had been a toothsome duo, those two. My heart ached.
    Andrews had done me a favor. It was strictly inadvertent, but there it was. I’d almost forgotten about those clippings Tommy had sent. Since Rand blabbed about Mary Alice Tate, I knew she was a client. My task was to determine if Judge Jacob Arthur, Ian Cotter or Richard Chernikova were clients of CYBER-MED. Tommy was never fanciful. He had sent those unadorned clippings for some reason. I thought about the disk. It was someone he knew, someone capable of murder. Probably affiliated with CYBER-MED but maybe not. After all, he’d made plenty of contacts at Sweet Nothings and elsewhere.
    I checked the listings in my iPhone and phoned Meg Cahill’s private line. She answered on the first ring, sprightly as ever. We exchanged social niceties, then got down to business. There was much to admire about her, but I knew we could never become friends. That veneer of sticky pseudo-sweetness was a big turnoff. Kai always said my major liability as a lawyer was that I had no talent for duplicity. Nevertheless, I simpered a few bits of nonsense before closing the conversational gap.
    “Listen, Meg, I’ll get right to the point. I know how important Tommy was to CYBER-MED.”
    Wariness crept into her voice. “You’re so right. Rao and I contacted an executive search firm only today. Perhaps you can join us when we interview candidates, Elisabeth.”
    “Excellent. Until then, you can make use of my services. Tommy and I had the same academic training, and we shared the financial duties at Sweet Nothings. Ms. Ott and I have already discussed it, and I can handle both positions with no problem.”
    Meg