Free Out of Character by Diana Miller Page A

had you arranged to meet him?”
    “I arranged to meet him. Do you think this has something to do with him?”
    “Disappearing is definitely suspicious. What’s he do?”
    “He’s an accountant in New York City. He said he works for a small firm, but I don’t know its name.” Her fingers cramped around the stem of her glass. She set the glass on the table and finally looked at Andy. “You don’t think he’s involved in anything illegal, do you?”
    “Maybe. Or maybe he discovered something someone wants to make sure he doesn’t disclose.”
    “But why would someone blow up my car and shove me in front of a bus? I haven’t seen him since the shooting.” She shook her head. “It must be something else.”
    “Unless the shooter thinks you can identify him?”
    “I doubt it. It was nearly dark, and I was on the wrong side of the chairlift.”
    “I’ll contact the Keystone police and see if they’ve learned anything more about the shooting.” Andy refilled his glass.
    She made herself say the words. “I could call Mark and see if he knows anything, or if he’s had any trouble since he left Keystone.” No matter how logical, that was the last thing she wanted to do.
    “He might have been the target,” Andy said.
    “Maybe he’ll tell me why.” Jillian massaged her temples. “I should think of a reason to be calling in case his wife answers. She might wonder how I know him.” She dropped her hands. “I can’t believe I got involved in something like this.”
    “We don’t know you got involved in anything,” Andy said. “Besides, we all make mistakes. I’m certainly an authority on that.” He sipped his wine then set down his glass. “How about if I call Mark? I can pretend I’m officially involved in the investigation and have some questions.”
    “I’d appreciate that. But he never gave me his cell phone number.”
    “I’ll bet I can find him.”
    Jillian tossed the afghan onto the sofa and followed Andy into his study, a small room furnished with modern office furniture in black metal and cherry wood. Andy sat on the black leather desk chair and woke the computer. “Do you know what part of the city he lives in?”
    “He never said.”
    Jillian watched over Andy’s shoulder as he went into a bookmarked directory and entered Mark’s name, then waited. Two Mark Jeffersons lived in the New York City area, one in Brooklyn, the other in Queens, but both were in their twenties.
    “He said his family’s in Connecticut,” Jillian said. “Maybe he lives there. Or in New Jersey.”
    But Andy didn’t find a Mark Jefferson living within commuting distance of New York City in either state. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with accountants.” He typed in more information. “Still nothing. Firms and companies don’t always list their employees, so I’ll pull up a list of CPA’s in New York state. Why don’t you get the wine?”
    Jillian went to the living room. Andy had no doubt figured out she’d done more than have dinner with Mark, and she felt guilty. Although why should she? For all she knew, Andy had been with Tiffany or some other woman that night. She picked up the wine bottle and carried it to the study.
    Andy was scanning a list on the monitor. “I can’t find a single New York CPA named Mark Jefferson. Maybe he never got his CPA.”
    Jillian set the wine bottle on the top of the bookshelf, next to a carved wooden moose. “He went to Harvard Law School.”
    “Which makes not bothering with a CPA unlikely. Everything Mark told you might have been true, and he lied about his name because he’s married.” Andy swiveled to face Jillian. “Except you have dinner with him, go skiing with him the next day, and voila, someone shoots at you. You never see the man again, but three nights later, your car blows up. You feel as if you’re being followed, then someone tries to push you in front of a bus. Maybe he was trying to avoid more than a jealous wife.”
    Jillian got up