Prime Suspect Page 9

  “No, of course not.” The idea of facing both Fairmonts at once sent a shudder rippling through her body. “Okay, then. I’ll be there tonight at eight. And Mr. Mitchell?”

  “Yes?”

  She took a breath. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

  “You’re welcome. Goodbye, Ms. Wiley.”

  When she hung up, Lauren stood and pulled her trembling body into a hug. “Are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.”

  “I—I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.”

  “It’s better to get it over with.” With a final squeeze, she released her. “This way you won’t have that hanging over your head for days.”

  “And you won’t be alone,” Caleb reminded her. “I’m going with you.”

  “I know.” She couldn’t manage even a shaky smile. “That’s the only reason I agreed to this to begin with.”

  * * *

  The offices of Fairmont Industries, one of the largest carpet manufacturers in Georgia, were housed in a four-story building in Midtown. Only a few cars were scattered around the parking lot. As Caleb pulled into the visitor space nearest the entrance, Darcie stared at the building. The design was modern, all glass and steel. Though the sun had not yet set, it had sunk below the building across the street. Fairmont Industries stood in shadow. The windows were darkly tinted so no light shone in any of them. If anyone was inside they could probably see out, but no one outside could see in. With a start, she realized she’d thought the same thing yesterday afternoon standing beside the pool house at Fairmont Estate, right before she had met Caleb and found Jason Lewis’s body. A sense of foreboding slid over her.

  Caleb shut off the engine and removed the keys from the ignition. “You ready?”

  No, she wanted to say.

  Instead she said, “I don’t know what to say to him. I can’t walk into his office and blurt out, ‘Are you my father, and are you trying to kill me?’”

  “That probably wouldn’t go over very well.” His laugh was no doubt meant to lighten her mood, but it didn’t work. He sobered. “Okay, what about this? You start out by assuring him you had nothing to do with Lewis’s death. Then tell him what happened last night. Then mention the letters.”

  Darcie committed his instructions to memory. “Okay. I can do that.” Her voice shook with nerves.

  He spoke softly. “Don’t worry. If you get tongue-tied, I’ll help you out. But if you can be the primary talker, that’ll be best. And one more thing. Take this.” He pulled something out of his breast pocket and handed it to her.

  Darcie inspected the small canister in her hand. It was pink, a little smaller than a travel-size hairspray. The right size to fit in her hand. On one end was a button atop a nozzle. An empty key ring dangled off the side.

  “What is it, pepper spray?”

  “That’s right. Lauren carries it with her. She gave it to me for you before we left the house.”

  “Why do I need it?” Rather than comforting her, the small can increased her fear. “You’ll be with me, right?”

  “Of course.” A reassuring smile appeared on his face, but when Darcie started to relax, it faded. “But we can’t predict what’s going to happen in there. So I want you to put this in your purse and keep it close. All right?”

  Shaken, she nodded. Her purse had a place on the side for her cell phone, which she moved to an inside pocket. There. Now all she had to do was reach into that pocket, pull out the can and spray.

  So why didn’t she feel better?

  The building’s front lobby was as sterile as the exterior. Inside the door to the right was a sitting area with square, brown furniture arranged on a rectangle of thick carpet. The rest of the floor was covered in white tile. The clack-clack from Darcie’s sandals echoed as if they were in a cavern as she and Caleb approached a plain blond wood reception desk.

  The uniformed security guard greeted them, “May I help you?”

  “We’re here for a meeting with Mr. Fairmont.” She clutched the shoulder strap of her purse. “He’s expecting us.”

  The man nodded. “He told me you were coming. His office is on the fourth floor. When you exit the elevator, turn right and follow that hallway all the way to the end.”

  He waved them toward a set of elevators behind them, and, with a nod of thanks, they made their way to them.

  Neither spoke during the short ride to the top floor. Darcie was preoccupied trying to plan what she would say to this man who might be her father, and Caleb seemed absorbed in tracking the progress of their ascent by way of the lights on the instrument panel.

  When the doors slid open, she stepped onto a thickly carpeted floor. An eerie silence enveloped them. There wasn’t a single sound from anywhere, not even the soft blowing of the air conditioner, though obviously the unit was working overtime. The chill of an artificial winter hung in the air.

  Caleb folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Man, it’s cold up here.”

  Though he spoke in a normal tone, the empty room absorbed and dulled his voice. Darcie looked over a field of chest-high cubicle walls, each one a sound barrier. Not a hint of movement anywhere.

  She pointed to the right. “I guess we go that way.”

  As they walked she found herself tiptoeing so as not to break the silence. Which was ridiculous, since the thick carpet made noise from her sandals impossible. But the very stillness of the room increased her desire to stay as quiet and unnoticeable as she could.

  At the end of the hallway, they encountered a row of real offices, the kind with walls and doors. A secretary’s desk sat in front of each one. She might have wondered which way to turn, but she saw that the door to the corner office on her right stood open and a warm light shone from inside. That office was three times the size of the others.

  “This must be the place.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

  In response, Caleb placed a large hand on her shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. Somehow, the gesture gave her the courage she needed to propel her feet forward. She paused outside of the open doorway, drew in a breath for courage and stepped inside.

  Her first thought was that Mr. Fairmont had hired a different decorator for his office than his house. Though no less opulent, this room displayed more warmth and personality than any she’d seen in the mansion. Honey oak furniture gleamed in the warm light. Four tufted black leather chairs surrounded a small round table in one corner, and matching guest chairs faced the huge desk. Bookshelves lined one wall, and on the others hung photographs in a variety of oak frames. She glimpsed pictures of a man holding up a string of fish in one, a skier on a snow-covered mountain in another and a couple on horseback. She had a quick impression that the woman was a younger version of Mrs. Fairmont, but she didn’t take the time to examine any of them. Her attention was fixed on the man seated behind the desk, bent over a stack of papers.

  Richard Fairmont was an attractive man with an athletic build and thick silver hair. His face bore few signs of age, giving the impression that he had gone gray well before his time. The conservative white shirt he wore open at the collar had a freshly starched look, though she knew he had just gotten off an airplane. Had he gone to the trouble to change clothes for this meeting with her? Faint pleasure tickled in her stomach at the idea.

  He looked up and caught sight of her. For a moment, he sat frozen, the paper in his hands completely still as he searched her face. Then an emotion passed over his features, a nostalgic look of familiarity. The paper fluttered back onto the stack, forgotten, and he rose slowly from his chair, his gaze holding hers.

  “You could only be Darcie.” His words carried a hint of wonder. “You look so much like your mother.”

  There was no doubt he meant it as a compliment. A cold place in Darcie’s core warmed at his tone.

  He
became aware of Caleb, and she watched the slight smile fade as he inspected the big man at her side. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly for scarcely a second. The chair rolled away behind him as he rounded the corner of his desk toward them, hand outstretched.

  “Hello. I’m Richard Fairmont.” He shook Caleb’s hand.

  “Caleb Buchanan. I’m a friend of Darcie’s. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  Mr. Fairmont turned to her, and the smile returned to linger around his lips. “Darcie. We meet at last.” He sobered, and his expression became sorrowful. “Please accept my condolences on the passing of your mother. She was a fine woman and a wonderful mother, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you, sir. Yes, she was the best mom a girl could have.”

  Tears threatened, but with iron resolve Darcie refused to give in to them. Getting emotional would accomplish nothing and would only make her look like a weakling.

  “Please take a seat.” He gestured toward the table.

  Darcie rolled one of the chairs back and slid into it. She felt like a child when she settled into the soft leather. The men selected places on either side of her. When they were all seated, Mr. Fairmont folded his hands together and laid them on the table in front of him.

  “When Aaron told me this afternoon that you’d requested to meet with me, I was pleased. I’d already decided to get in touch with you when I returned from DC.” A pained expression overtook his face. “I’m so sorry you’ve become entangled in this mess with Lewis. Finding his body must have been traumatic for you.”

  She didn’t hide her shudder. “One reason I wanted to talk with you was to assure you that I didn’t have anything to do with Mr. Lewis’s death.”

  In some tiny corner of her mind she’d hoped that word of the detective’s suspicions had not reached him. In this she was disappointed. Instead of surprise, his look of sorrow deepened as he shook his head.

  “Of course you didn’t. I’ve told—” He caught himself. “I’ve told everyone that you are completely innocent, and I refuse to listen to any accusations against you.”

  No need to guess who he’d stopped himself from mentioning. No doubt Darcie had been the topic of at least one discussion with his wife.

  “Thank you for that.”

  The sorrow evaporated, replaced by a smile that twisted his lips sideways. “Of course, my dear. I feel somewhat responsible, since it was my idea for you to work at the house. Obviously...”

  He continued talking, but for a moment Darcie didn’t hear his words. Sound stopped registering on her brain when she saw that smile. It was so familiar. She’d seen it a million times in the mirror. And now that she looked more closely at his eyes, their shape was astoundingly similar to hers as well.

  He really is my father.

  The pounding in her rib cage picked up volume, and she had to force herself to tune it out, to listen to his words.

  “...here at the office. I’m not sure what, but I’m sure the human resources department can find something that will fit with your schedule when you return to school. And then when you’ve gotten your degree, we’ll figure out a better placement. Does that sound good?”

  She gave herself a little shake. “That’s very kind of you.”

  What came next? She searched her thoughts for Caleb’s instructions. Assure him that you didn’t kill Jason Lewis. Check. She’d done that. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her capris beneath the table and cast a panicked glance sideways at Caleb.

  With a slight nod that he understood, he spoke up. “Another reason Darcie requested this meeting was to tell you about some alarming things that happened to her last night.”

  That’s it.

  Mr. Fairmont’s brows arched high. “Oh?” He looked at her for an explanation.

  “My house and car were broken into, and then I was attacked in a restaurant parking lot.”

  Shock dawned on his features. “Are you all right? Were you harmed?”

  “Just a few bumps and bruises. The police insist that the attack was random, but...” She caught her lip between her lips. “I know it sounds paranoid, but I think I’ve got something that someone wants.”

  He went very still, and then leaned toward her, holding her eyes with his. “What do you have?”

  In the moment before she answered, his manner became tense, expectant.

  She glanced at Caleb and found him watching her. The time had arrived to discuss the real reason they’d come. His slight nod urged her to continue.

  Turning back to Mr. Fairmont, she forced herself to answer in a normal voice. “I’m not sure, but I think it may have something to do with some letters I found in my mother’s things after she died.” She paused. “Letters from you.”

  For a moment his face was completely blank. She watched his features change as realization dawned on him and the friendly, open expression became closed, distant.

  He leaned back slowly in his chair. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” She swallowed. “About my...my father?”

  “That’s why you’re here. You want me to explain those letters.”

  Her hands trembled, and she clasped them together beneath the table. “Yes. I want to know what your relationship was with my mother.” She gulped. “And with me.”

  No one spoke. Darcie watched the struggle of unnamed emotions on his face. The silence grew awkward, and beside her Caleb shifted in his seat.

  She saw the moment when he came to a decision. The struggle stopped, and his expression became resigned, almost sad. His gaze rose from the tabletop to fix on Caleb’s face. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Buchanan, I’ll ask you to step outside so I can talk to my—” His lips snapped shut for the space of a breath, and Darcie’s pulse quickened. “To Darcie alone.”

  Caleb also leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, giving the impression of an immovable mountain. “No, sir.”

  Mr. Fairmont’s voice became politely cold. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said no.” His jaw hardened. “I’m not leaving her alone with you.”

  Anger flickered in Mr. Fairmont’s eyes. “Surely you aren’t accusing me of intending to harm her.” When Caleb made no move, he sucked in a long breath and then let it out. “I am about to tell her something that has been a shameful secret in my family for twenty-two years, something less than a handful of people know. I don’t know you. At this moment, I don’t wish to know you. And I certainly am not going to air the Fairmont dirty laundry in your presence.”

  Dirty laundry? Was that how he thought of her? Darcie could have been angry, but instead she felt despair pressing on her. Her own father thought of her as a dirty secret to be kept. Her throat tightened around a painful lump. But at least he would do her the courtesy of sharing the secret.

  And she desperately wanted to know.

  Her purse sat in the chair beside her, the strap still hanging from her shoulder. She slung it off and pulled the purse into her lap. Beneath the table she slipped out the canister of pepper spray and held it in her hand.

  Swiveling the chair slightly toward Caleb so he could see, she said, “I’ll be all right.”

  She watched his eyes move as he studied the room. The only door was the one through which they’d entered. The floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall did not open.

  Finally, he uncrossed his arms and stood. “I’ll be right outside the door. If you need me, holler.” He leveled a warning glare on Mr. Fairmont before he left, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Darcie stared at the door, her bravado of a moment before melting away. She wasn’t afraid of being physically hurt in this office. But the possibility of Mr. Fairmont inflicting a different kind of pain terrified her. Sometimes emotional wounds hurt a whole lot more.

  ELEVEN

  The cli
ck of the door closing had not died away before Mr. Fairmont shook his head. “That’s quite a friend you’ve got there.”

  Now that she was alone with Mr. Fairmont, she felt more on edge and less inclined to friendly talk. “About those letters?”

  “Ah, yes.” A laugh floated out on a blast of breath. “I never dreamed Beth would keep them.”

  The can of mace grew warm in her hand. She leaned forward. “Mr. Fairmont, are you my father?”

  “Me?” The surprise on his face was impossible to fake. “Is that what you think?”

  Her voice shook when she answered. “I don’t know what to think. All my life my mother told me my father had died in a car accident. But then I found the box with the letters.” She lifted her free hand to press against her temple, where a pounding ache threatened.

  To her surprise, he leaned forward and laid a hand gently on her arm. “She was telling the truth. I’m not your father, Darcie. I’m your uncle.”

  “My uncle?” Her body grew numb as her brain digested his words.

  “That’s right. Your father was my younger brother.” He removed his hand and settled back into his chair. “Ryan was always a little wild. Today they’d probably diagnose him with some disorder or other, but in those days his teachers told my mother he was undisciplined and a troublemaker. Our father inherited a failing carpet manufacturing business from my grandfather when I was a boy, and he spent all his time working to build it into something strong. We didn’t see much of him. Mother always had a soft spot for Ryan.” He shrugged. “He was her baby, I guess. She didn’t discipline him, or maybe she couldn’t. He was quite a charmer.” His eyes focused on a faraway thought. “Growing up I envied him. He was daring in a way I wasn’t. He did exactly what he wanted, when he wanted.”

  What an odd feeling, to hear a description of the father she had never met. Darcie hung on every word.

  “What did he look like?”

  Mr. Fairmont smiled. “Me. We both took after Father.”