Wrong Place, Wrong Time by Andrea Kane Page A

interrupted in that no-nonsense detective voice. “Now is about getting you settled in and checked out by a doctor. Call me when you’re safely in Rod’s truck.”
    “On the Bat Phone?” Sally asked, her lips curving slightly.
    “Yeah.” There was a trace of rough nostalgia in his tone. “On the Bat Phone. I’ll bring it with me to Devon’s. That way, you can talk to the kids when you get to Williamstown.”
    A pause. “Pete…whatever you do, be careful.”
    “Never mind me.
You
be careful. No hiking into town or sneaking off to hit the slopes. Be a nice, New England homebody. In the meantime, I’ll start digging around to see who hated Frederick Pierson and why.”
     
CHAPTER 5
     
    The sun was poised on the horizon, sinking slowly downward, when Edward Pierson finished his phone call and slammed down the phone in the farm’s walnut-pillared living room.
    “The cops still haven’t found Sally Montgomery,” he announced, turning to Blake. “But evidently, she’s alive and hiding.”
    Blake extricated the shredded hem of his jeans from between Chomper’s teeth and frowned. “What do you mean ‘hiding’?”
    “I mean she called her ex-husband. Didn’t want her family to think she was dead. She got out of the cabin before the fire destroyed the place.”
    “Why didn’t she take Frederick with her?”
    “Because he was already dead.” Edward dragged an arm across his forehead. Looking ill, he explained the circumstances to Blake. “She’s afraid that whoever killed Frederick and whacked her on the head will be looking for her to finish what he started. So she’s not telling anyone where she is.”
    “Did she see the guy? Is she willing to give a description?”
    “I don’t know.” Edward filled his water glass and gulped at it, clearly wishing it were bourbon. “The cops won’t give me any details. All the sheriff keeps saying is: ‘It’s an ongoing investigation.’ Which does me a hell of a lot of good.” He set down the glass with a thud.
    Blake shooed Chomper away again, then gave up, letting the puppy tug at his jeans and chew the leg bottom into a soggy wad. “Grandfather, ease up. You’ve been pushing yourself all day. Grandmother would have your head, and so would the doctors. Let the police do their job. Concentrate on something else — like how strong James’s showing will be in tomorrow’s Grand Prix.”
    “Right.” Edward’s tension eased slightly. “According to our trainer, he’s more than ready. His form’s great and he’s been clearing every jump.” The scowl returned. “Of course, all that could go down the tubes before next Sunday’s event. He’ll have flown home to cope with a funeral and the fallout that goes along with losing not just his uncle, but the head of his branch of our company. That’s bound to screw him up. You reported to Frederick, too. You and I have got to pick up the slack so James doesn’t have to, and so the food-services division doesn’t suffer. As it is, the staff will be in chaos, and our suppliers and accounts will be nervous as hell. It’s going to be ugly.” A sidelong glare at Blake. “By the way, cut out the placating, diversionary crap. It’s revoltingly obvious.”
    “I wasn’t going for subtle. And I’m not placating you. I’m helping get you through this ordeal. I’m well aware you’ll fight me every step of the way. Just as you’re aware that I’ll fight back.”
    “Yes,” Edward muttered, shaking his head. “Somewhere along the line I screwed up with you and James. You’re not afraid of me like you should be. Everyone else in the family is.”
    “Except Grandmother,” Blake reminded him. “
Fear
’s not in her vocabulary. As for James and me, it’s not a matter of your screwing up. It’s a matter of your nurturing what we represent: your legacies. James is fulfilling one — your life’s passion — and I’m fulfilling the other — your life’s work. He inherited your hunger for Olympic