Dangerous Impostor Page 3

  “To what end? Several people here interviewed her, including you. Your own notes are in the system. You said she was intelligent, knowledgeable and capable, and you gave the green light to hire her.”

  Rose’s explanation seemed completely logical, but Brent had still asked her to call human resources, just to make sure that had been the case.

  Now, glancing back at her lovely face and that dainty but determined chin, he felt a little guilty for asking Rose to check up on her. The bullheaded detective’s suspicions had influenced him, but there was not a trace of guile in those wide green eyes. This poor young woman had been through a lot, and she deserved his support, not his suspicions.

  They reached the far end of the casino, where a wide bank of elevators would take him up to his room, and a long glass-enclosed corridor veered off toward the conference center.

  “I’ll just go upstairs and drop my bag.” Brent pushed the button and then glanced upward at the floor indicator. The elevator was a floor below them, in the parking garage. “Then I’ll meet up with you at the conference registration desk.”

  She nodded. “I guess we’ll have to find whoever’s in charge of the seminars to let them know we need to cancel the session Frank and I were going to present.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Lauren turned to head into the glass walkway at the same moment the elevator doors swept open. A man wearing the crisp white shirt and formal black vest of a casino dealer stepped out. Brent waited until he cleared the elevator and started toward the casino, then stepped inside.

  “Good mornin’, Miss Bradley.”

  Brent jerked to a stop at the man’s words. He turned to find Lauren staring at the dealer, her expression perplexed. Her head tilted as she studied the man’s face through narrowed eyes.

  “Glad to see you up and about this morning. I hope Mr. Labetti is feelin’ okay. He was having a pretty good time at the table last night.”

  The elevator doors tried to close. Brent stopped them with a hand, his attention focused on the encounter. Lauren had insisted to Detective Gaines that she’d spent the evening alone.

  “The table?” She shook her head slightly. “Were you our waiter in the restaurant last night?”

  The man laughed. “No, the blackjack table. I was Mr. Labetti’s dealer. I guess you were havin’ a pretty good time yourself if you don’t remember me.”

  Lauren’s expression went politely cold. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “Not likely.” Now the dealer’s voice took on a stiff edge. “Mr. Labetti tossed me a two-hundred-dollar chip when he called it a night. I almost felt guilty takin’ it, because he wasn’t walkin’ real straight. I doubt if he could have made it up to his room if he’d been by himself.”

  Her eyes went round and snapped to Brent’s. He stepped forward and let the elevator door close behind him.

  “You saw who Mr. Labetti left the casino with last night?” Brent asked.

  The man eyed him for a second before answering. “Yeah. But it was this morning, not night. A little before two. I was supposed to get off work at one, but Mr. Labetti was tossin’ around a lot of dough and suckin’ down bourbon like it was orange juice, and I knew if I stuck around he’d show his appreciation. I was right.”

  “Who?” Lauren stepped toward the man and demanded, “Who did he leave with?”

  Heavy lines creased the man’s forehead for a second as he stared at Lauren. “You’re kiddin’, right?” His shoulders heaved with a laugh. “You. He left with you.”

  FOUR

  For a moment, surprise snatched the breath from Lauren’s throat. Beside her, Brent’s eyes had gone round for one second and then narrowed as he turned toward her.

  She found her voice. “That’s not true!” She faced her boss. “Honest, Brent, it’s not! I don’t even know how to play blackjack.”

  A blast of laughter came from the dealer. “Well, you were doin’ pretty good last night for somebody who doesn’t know how to play.”

  “Stop saying that! It wasn’t me.” She stomped her foot to emphasize her words.

  The man’s scraggly eyebrows arched. “O—kay. Whatever you say.”

  Frustration hovering on the edge of panic rose in her throat. What was going on here?

  “What was I wearing? I mean—” She shook her head with a jerk, confused. “What was the person with Frank wearing?”

  “I dunno.” The dealer shrugged a shoulder. “A dress. Blue. Something lacy around the neck.”

  “There!” She rounded on Brent. “I don’t own a blue dress with lace at the collar, and besides, I didn’t bring a single dress with me on this trip. You can check my luggage.”

  He hesitated a moment, deep creases in his brow as he studied her face. Thick silence filled the immediate area around them beside the elevators, broken by the musical cry of the slot machines nearby. Lauren could almost hear Brent’s thoughts. He was wondering if she really had been with Frank last night. That nasty Detective Gaines’s accusations were no doubt coming back to him. Brent might even think she’d shot Frank. The absence of a dress was not valid proof. Of course if she were guilty she’d be smart enough to discard the dress she’d been wearing so it wouldn’t be found in her luggage. Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped them away before they could run down her cheeks. It was starting to look as if she was being framed for murder, and she had no idea why.

  Brent’s hand rose, and he rubbed his fingers across his mouth. “All right, everybody just stay calm.” He glanced at the dealer. “Maybe the woman you saw only looked like Ms. Bradley. Is it possible you’re mistaken?”

  Lauren opened her mouth to protest that of course he was mistaken, but Brent forestalled her with a raised hand. She snapped her lips shut.

  The man cocked his head and studied Lauren’s face. “Y-yeah. I guess it’s possible.” His tone shouted the opposite. “Maybe you got a sister in town?”

  Her teeth ground together, but she managed to spit out, “I’m an only child.”

  The awkward silence returned, but only for a moment. Then realization stole over the dealer’s features, leaving a knowing smirk in its wake. His eyes slid from Brent to Lauren, and he angled his head to give her a private wink.

  “Now that I think about it, I’m probably wrong.” He made a show of rubbing his chin between his fingers while he studied her. “Yeah, now that I look closer, I’m sure of it. That lady last night, she was taller, I think. And her hair was lighter. Nah, it couldn’t have been you after all.”

  Lauren was tempted to relax her rigidly held posture, but only for a second. The man was obviously lying, trying to cover for her to Brent, for some bizarre reason.

  Brent wasn’t buying it. He propped his hands on his hips, and his stare became hard. “Then how did you know Ms. Bradley’s name?”

  The dealer jerked toward him, startled by the question. Then his face cleared. “I heard her say it when she checked in. My girlfriend is a desk clerk, and I was hanging around up at the front desk, waiting for her to go on break.”

  “And you just happened to remember her name?”

  “Hey, that’s my job, to remember names. You’d be surprised how much bigger the tips are when you call a player by name.” He glanced at his watch. “I gotta go. If I’m late they’ll stick me in a bum location and I won’t make squat in tips.” He nodded a farewell at Brent and mumbled, “Sorry about the mistake,” to Lauren. As he left, he once again angled his head to give her a conspiratorial wink.

  When he walked away, Lauren felt slimy and slightly sick.

  “It wasn’t me,” she told Brent, her voice choked. “Really. It must have been someone who looked like me.”

  The excuse sounded hollow, fake. Even she didn’t believe it, though no other explanation made sense. How could anyone look enough like her to be mistaken for her? Brent held her gaze for a long moment, and Lauren forced herself to return his without blinkin
g. Then he gave a wordless nod and reached for the elevator button. The doors opened immediately, and he stepped inside.

  “I’ll see you at the conference registration desk.” His tone sounded tight, guarded.

  Lauren nodded. When the doors slid shut, she stood there a moment, absently examining her reflection in the shiny metal. Something was wrong, very wrong. Was someone actually trying to cast suspicion on her? Fear pressed against her chest like a weight. But why? She’d never done anything to make someone dislike her enough to frame her for murder.

  Except David.

  Ridiculous! That chapter of her life ended three months ago. No doubt he’d moved on by now. Besides, David had his faults, but he wouldn’t get involved in anything like murder.

  Lauren turned away from the elevator and adjusted her briefcase strap on her shoulder. This was all just a big mistake, and it was sure to work out in the end.

  Still, as she threaded her way through the casino toward the conference center, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her, maybe even stalking her. There was, after all, a killer wandering around loose. Spooked, she glanced over her shoulder and increased her pace.

  The conference director, whose name tag read Keith Long, was a slight man with pasty skin and artificially dark hair, inexpertly arranged in a sparse comb-over. When Lauren delivered the news, his eyes bulged like a Chihuahua’s.

  “But you can’t cancel.” His nasally whine immediately set her nerves on edge. “Your workshop starts in three hours.” He snatched a conference program, a glossy magazine-style booklet, off the registration table and flipped to the opening day’s schedule. With a nervous finger, he stabbed at the page. “See? The Power of Real-Time IP Networks, presented by F. Labetti and L. Bradley of Sterling Foods. People are expecting you.”

  The man’s voice carried in the large room. The two women seated at the registration table glanced over, then went back to helping the lines in front of them. A dozen or so conference attendees stood talking in small groups around the registration area, name badges dangling from their necks and identical canvas bags from their shoulders. Conversations halted as they turned their attention toward Lauren. Her face warmed, and she angled her back to the room and spoke quietly.

  “But you don’t understand.” She dipped her forehead toward him and kept her voice quiet. “Frank Labetti is…no longer with us.”

  Irritation flickered on the man’s face. “Well, if your company fired him, why didn’t they send someone to take his place in this workshop? They made a commitment.” His expression grew stern. “We’ve comped your conference fee, Ms. Bradley, in return for a presentation from Sterling Foods.”

  Lauren wet her dry lips. “He wasn’t fired, Mr. Long. He passed away early this morning.”

  Long reared back, all color leaving his already pasty face. “He’s dead?”

  His shout silenced the room.

  The buzzing in her ears could be anger at his insensitive bellow, or it could be a sign that she was about to faint from embarrassment. She wavered on unsteady knees and reached for the edge of the registration table.

  A strong, warm hand touched the small of her back, infusing her with a steadying shot of calm. From her side, Brent smiled down at her.

  “Hello. I’m Brent Emerson, VP of information technology at Sterling Foods. Is there a problem…” His gaze dropped to the name badge on the conference director’s chest. “Keith, is it?”

  His pleasant expression had an immediate calming effect on the director. The man’s shoulders straightened, and his grip on the program booklet relaxed.

  “Actually, yes, there is a problem. Ms. Bradley,” he glanced at Lauren, “just informed me that her copresenter for this afternoon’s workshop is, ah, recently deceased.”

  A murmur of interested voices nearby buzzed. Lauren glanced around the room. Every face turned their way.

  Brent followed her gaze. “Tell me, Keith, is there a place we can discuss this privately?”

  “Yes, sure. Good idea.”

  Lauren fell in beside Brent as they followed the man down a hallway and through a door with a sign that read, “Conference Staff Only.” Tables had been pushed against all four walls, their surfaces covered with computers, conference booklets, CDs and stacks of paper handouts. No one else was in the room. When the door closed behind them, the murmuring of the conference attendees ceased.

  “That’s better,” Brent said.

  He pulled out a chair and gestured for Lauren to be seated. Grateful, she sank on to the cushioned seat. She forced herself to relax against the seat back and looked expectantly up at her boss. He and Keith selected chairs of their own before Brent spoke again.

  “I’m afraid Ms. Bradley is correct. Mr. Labetti was killed last night.”

  “Killed?” Keith shot out of the chair he’d just taken. He stood in the center of the room and turned wide eyes toward her. “I assumed you meant he’d had a heart attack or something.”

  Lauren shook her head and opened her mouth to provide an explanation, but Brent answered before she could.

  “He was killed in this very hotel. No doubt your conference attendees will hear of it soon. Of course, people may be afraid his death is somehow related to the conference, which isn’t true. We thought it would be a good idea to tell you privately, so you can decide the best way to disseminate the information with the least amount of negative impact on the conference.” Brent’s voice rang with cool professionalism.

  Keith’s shoulders rose as his chest inflated. “Yes, of course. I appreciate that. Some attendees will no doubt be alarmed. I’ll have to handle this carefully.” He returned to his chair.

  Lauren looked down at her hands in her lap, impressed. Brent had diffused the man’s panic by reminding him of his position of authority and making him feel as if he had important work to do. The truth was they had no idea why Frank had been killed, so it could be somehow connected to the conference, but until the police came to that conclusion, it didn’t make sense to alarm anyone.

  Detective Gaines didn’t sound as if he thought the murder had anything to do with the conference. He thinks it has something to do with me.

  Lauren’s hands clasped one another at the terrible reminder.

  “In the meantime,” Brent said, “obviously this afternoon’s session is impossible. Perhaps you could invite another presenter to fill the time slot. People are always complaining about missing one great session because they had to go to another great session conducted at the same time. Offering a repeat of a popular topic would probably be viewed as a benefit.”

  What a great idea. Lauren awarded Brent a quick smile.

  Keith’s finger tapped on the arm of his chair as he considered the idea, but then he shook his head. “We can’t do that. You have no idea how carefully we’ve selected the workshops for this conference, how much time has gone into planning the program. Real-time IP networks are a hot topic, and this is the only practical application session we have scheduled on the subject.” He looked at Lauren. “You’ll have to do it by yourself.”

  Lauren jerked upright in the chair. “Me? I can’t do that. I only know the business end. This is a technical conference, and Frank is—” She stumbled over the word. “—Was the technical expert.”

  “What about you?” Keith turned a desperate expression toward Brent. “Surely you know about your company’s technology.”

  This guy was starting to get on her nerves. A man was dead, for goodness’ sake, and all he could think about was his stupid conference session?

  Brent opened his mouth. “That’s—”

  “Out of the question.” Impatience made Lauren’s voice sharp. “Mr. Emerson is a vice president. He doesn’t get involved in the day-to-day technical details of the company’s applications.”

  Brent’s eyebrows arched. He spoke to Keith but kept his gaze fixed on her. “Actually, I was going to say that’s not a bad idea. I make it a practice to understand the ins and outs of cutting-ed
ge technology, especially when it’s used by Sterling Foods. If Frank had any notes about what he intended to say, I think I could cover for him.” He turned in the chair so his body angled toward her. “But perhaps Ms. Bradley would prefer that I conduct the session alone, which would be perfectly understandable considering all she’s been through.”

  A flush warmed Lauren’s neck. In other words, he was giving the weak, pathetic female an out. Maybe he meant the suggestion as chivalrous, but the implication that she needed to be rescued stung. Especially when that’s exactly what she would prefer.

  “No, of course not.” She sat higher in the chair and raised her chin. “I have no problem fulfilling my obligation.”

  “What a relief.” Keith wilted dramatically in his chair, then popped up to his feet. “I’d better get busy figuring out how to handle the news of Mr. Labetti’s death. All the equipment you shipped ahead of time is in the storage room next door, clearly labeled. We kept the workshop room clear for two hours before your session begins to give you time to set up, so you should be able to get in there…” He glanced at his watch. “In about forty minutes.”

  He lunged forward and shook Brent’s hand, nodded at Lauren and exited the room at a brisk pace.

  The quiet snick of the door shutting echoed in Lauren’s ears. Brent made no move to rise from his chair, nor did he speak. She stole a glance at him and caught him staring at her with shrewd eyes. A lump formed in her throat. What was he thinking?

  “Um, thank you.” She fidgeted in her chair. “For conducting the session with me, I mean. Sorry I assumed you wouldn’t know the details. It’s just that, well, you know.” She attempted a nonchalant shrug that felt unnatural, stiff. “You’re a vice president.”

  He stared a moment longer before the corners of his lips twitched upward in a brief smile. “I think I’m an aberration when it comes to corporate executives. I prefer crawling in the trenches with the troops to giving orders from a distance. You haven’t been with the company long enough to know that.”