Prologue

Hatred boiled within and made everything look like it had been dipped in red paint. The stalker was hidden in the shadows by the chain link fence along the back of the property. Overhead lights, protected by wire cages, cast a yellowish hue around the loading dock. Through the stalker’s eyes the light appeared orange.

The hatred caused the stalker to breathe in short, gasping breaths, which didn’t help with already high blood pressure.

I am here to finish this. Finish him. Make him suffer.

The stalker had let hate take over any rational thought. Hatred had ruled every waking moment, of every day, and every week, for the last month.

A car approached from the right, creeping along in the darkness. The beginning of the end, the stalker thought smugly. Just come a little closer.

The car stopped and the driver’s door opened. A man stepped out of the car and stood there, looking around.

The noise of the car’s engine was the only sound, except for the stalker’s frantic breathing. The hatred was boiling too fast now, it was boiling to the top and was going to boil over. The stalker tried calming down, tried breathing slower, through the nose. The light around the loading dock was now deep red, blood red, furious red. Stars were flickering behind the eyelids and tympani drums beat furiously in the ears. Fast and panicked breathing was reducing the carbon dioxide in the bloodstream, causing the blood vessels to the brain to constrict. Dizziness followed, and the stalker knew that calming down was the only hope of carrying through. This thought caused the panicked breathing to increase. Just before the stalker passed out from hyperventilation, a muffled sound came from the left and the driver of the car fell to the ground.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

chapter one

The warmth of the sunlight on my closed eyelids told me it was morning but my body wasn’t responding. Today I was starting a new job at the pristine and stuck-up law firm of McCallum & Watts, and next to sticking needles in my eyes, my next favourite thing was starting a new job. At a stuck-up law firm.

Don’t get me wrong, I was glad to have the job. I had been unemployed for six weeks and was starting to get desperate. In the past, I’d never gone more than a few days between jobs but this was 2002, not the early nineties, when you could quit a job in disgust, throw everyone the finger and start a new job the next morning at nine.

My last boss, Harold Didrickson, was being investigated by the Ontario Securities Commission for his participation in the manipulation of public stock prices. The company that had employed us, TechniGroup Consulting Inc. or TGC, was in the throes of being reorganized by a huge conglomerate that had purchased it for pennies a share.

My index finger gently rubbed the top of my ear where I had been shot by one of the executives of TGC in what turned out to be one of the nastiest scandals to rock the high-tech world. I’d lost the tip of my ear and my job but six weeks later, I was relatively unscathed. Glad to be starting a new job and relieved to know I’d soon have a regular paycheck, but the job itself was a few steps back in my career. Not that I was complaining, because as I had repeatedly told myself since I’d accepted the position, one couldn’t be picky.

I forced my eyes open and glanced at the clock beside my bed and groaned. It was only 6:30 and I didn’t have to be at my new desk until 9:00. By my standards, half the day was over by 9:00 a.m. At TGC I was in the office most days by 7:30 a.m. and if I left by 6:00 p.m., I considered it a good day. More often than not I worked weekends and in the last couple of years there, I was traveling a lot. Not a heavy workload by executive standards, but then again, I wasn’t paid like an executive. I was a paralegal, with a specialization in corporate and securities law. However, compared to what paralegals made at law firms, I was well paid. Was being the operative word. I was taking a pay cut at McCallum & Watts but I also wasn’t hired to do paralegal work. My new title was Legal Secretary.

Typing, dictaphone (yes, lawyers still dictated into those funny little machines), filing, billings, and making appointments was my new job description. And making nice-nice with the clients, especially those who paid their bills. Definitely a step backwards for me, but a job.

I turned on my back and stretched, pointing my toes and trying to reach the end of the bed. It was a game I used to play as a child, stretching every morning when I woke up to see if I’d grown overnight. Along with the standard children’s prayer we said every night, “Now I lay me down to sleep…”, I’d add under my breath, “And please God, make me grow”. It hadn’t worked, but I still checked every morning. I was thirty-four years old and just under five feet tall. Four foot eleven, to be precise, but I considered it my prerogative to add an inch when anyone asked. I dreaded growing older because I’d heard that some elderly people shrink in height.

I gave up the game of trying to reach the footboard of the bed and kicked off the duvet. The warm morning air drifted through the open window and I could smell summer. It was the middle of June and the thought of summer gave me an excited feeling in my stomach. Baseball, sprinklers, firecrackers, hide and seek after dark, staying up late, and barbecues. I was thinking like a school kid, but whenever I smelled summer in the air, I was ten years old again. Summer meant the end of school and endless play. I quickly brought myself back to reality though and stumbled out of bed to the shower.

Two weeks later I was still telling myself that I couldn’t be picky about the job. It’s a job, it’s a job, I chanted to the beat of the photocopier. The repetitive sound of the automatic feeder on the monstrous photocopier was becoming hypnotic. Che-chunk, che-chunk, che-chunk. I’d been listening to the sound now for the last three hours as I photocopied a mountain of paper for one of the lawyers in the corporate tax section. As low man on the totem pole, I had been getting all of the dog jobs. The secretaries in our group gleefully dumped the dog jobs on me and I found myself having to practice verbal restraint on a daily basis.

I pressed my back against the counter and did a couple of deep knee-bends to get the kinks out of my lower back. Along with this job being boring and mundane, it made my body ache. The photocopy job was one that I alone was tasked with doing because the lawyer in charge told me it was too confidential to send to the main photocopy room where there were oodles of lowly paid young men who would be happy to help out. As if anyone in their right mind would find anything interesting in these mounds of paper.

The room was suddenly silent which told me that the photocopier was finally done. I pushed myself away from the counter and bent over the sorter bin on the end of the copier to retrieve the copies.

“Hey,” a voice greeted me.

“Hey yourself,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m almost done here, you can have the machine.”

When I stood up with my arms full of papers, a very young, pimply-faced person was standing at the door to the room. This was a person I didn’t recognize but that wasn’t surprising because I was still seeing new faces every day at McCallum & Watts. There were reportedly 350 people on staff, 145 of whom were lawyers. My sharp deductive reasoning told me that this one was definitely not a lawyer. He looked totally out of place in his dress pants, starched white shirt and thin leather tie. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a suit jacket and was pushing a mail cart, told me he was one of us. Support staff.

“I don’t need the machine. Are you Kate Monahan?” he asked me. I nodded.

“Ashley in Corporate asked me to tell you to get your butt back to your desk.” With that he pushed off down the hall.

Ashley can go fuck herself, I thought to myself as I bundled-up three hundred pounds of paper in my arms and started the long trudge back to my workstation. Ashley had appointed herself my supervisor and if I didn’t throttle her before this week was out, it would be a miracle. She had arrived at McCallum & Watts right out of legal secretarial school at the ripe age of nineteen and had been here now for three years. In our little corporate tax group she was the most senior secretary in terms of years on the premises so when I joined the group, she took it upon herself to show me the ropes. That was the first day. On the second day, and each subsequent day, she had been climbing higher on her little hill, singing, I was sure, I’m the king of the castle.

There were five of us legal secretaries in the bullpen, as it was affectionately called by the all-male team of lawyers who we supported. There were eight of them. One partner, supervising seven junior associates. All of whom specialized in tax law. A quick shiver went up my spine and then back down again, at the thought of tax law. Dry, boring and mind-numbing was the only way to describe tax law. It was also a pretty apt description of the eight lawyers in our group.

Ashley on the other hand was cute and perky and her voice sounded like fingernails on a chalk board. It didn’t take me long to figure out that there was a high turnover in support staff in our bullpen and Ashley had assured me it was because of the boring work. Not that she thought it was boring. I was sure the high turnover was because of the perky Ms. Ashley. Every piece of work that came our way passed through her hands first and she doled it out. I was still getting my feet wet, she told me every day, so that was why I had to do all the photocopying and open the mail. My computer was gathering dust from lack of use and access to the files was still restricted to me, “until you understand the department,” I was patronizingly told, at least two thousand times each day.

My mother would be proud of my restraint, but I had started grinding my teeth again. To keep my comments to myself I had to constantly clench my jaw and physically restrain myself. It was a job. And a paycheck.

The ton of paper I was carrying made a loud thunk when it hit my desk and I had to quickly grab it as the pile started to topple.

“Kathleen,” I heard Ashley behind me. She was big on proper names and made a point of using mine.

“Yes, Ash.” My voice sounded bored and I hoped she got the dig with the way I had shortened her name.

“The personnel manager wants to see you,” she said excitedly. “Right away.”

The little bitch, I thought. She’s reported me for something and I felt like I was back in the seventh grade. I turned around and faced her.

“Is there a problem Ashley? Did I put the staples in the wrong corner on that tax return yesterday?”

Her faced flushed and she looked a little guilty.

“No.” She took a deep breath and puffed out her 32 double A chest. “I have no idea why she wants to see you.” There was defiance in her voice so I believed her. She was too young and stupid to lie well. Lying truthfully came with experience. I knew.

I made my way through the rabbit warren of workstations and waited patiently for the elevator, which, if I was in luck, would arrive before quitting time. The law offices occupied five floors and there was no way I was walking up five floors to the personnel manager’s office. In the six weeks I had been off work, I had started an exercise regime to get myself back in shape. Religiously every day, after dinner, I would walk briskly around my neighbourhood for an hour. I did that five nights a week and took the weekends off. I hated exercise, so I refused to do any more than my nightly walk. Including walking up stairs.

I had also quit smoking which was a feat in itself. I had been a chain-smoker who would’ve put the Marlboro Man to shame and deep down I was quite proud of myself for successfully kicking the habit. So far. At the thought of smoking, my hands went automatically to the pockets of my skirt for a cigarette. My finger punched impatiently at the elevator button instead.

Linda Beeston was sitting primly behind her neat-as-a-pin desk when I knocked on the door frame. The lack of visible work or mounds of paper was in no way indicative of how busy I knew Linda was. She was responsible for all of the support staff in the firm and the latest numbers indicated she rode herd on over 200 people. She herself had a staff of four just to keep track of everyone. Linda had interviewed and hired me because, being the smart lady she was, she recognized my skills and experience. However, they had no need at that time for another paralegal, so she had hired me as a secretary. I was grateful, but I was close to putting Linda on my shit list for having hooked me up with the perky Ashley.

“Come on in,” she invited me. “I’ve been expecting you. Close the door.”

She had one, uncomfortable, straight-back chair in her office. Just like the ones we’ve all sat on outside the principal’s office. I lowered my weary butt into it and smiled at her. It was a wary smile, because I wasn’t sure what was on the agenda.

“So. How’s it going with the great Ashley?” Her eyes were smiling at me.

“Wonderful,” I joked. “I’m thinking of naming my first born after her. She’s a peerless leader.”

Linda laughed. “Look, I’m sorry for having to put you in that group. We know your qualifications. The firm was thrilled to get someone of your experience and as I told you when I hired you, if something came up that was more suitable for you, we’d move you.” She paid me the compliment with sincerity.

“Just don’t tell me you’re promoting Ashley and you want me to take over her job.”

Linda shook her head. “God forbid. Ashley wouldn’t move out of that group. Tax is her life. So she tells me,” she said with a smirk.

“That’s a very telling statement, you know Linda.”

We both laughed.

“McCallum & Watts has just hired a senior corporate securities lawyer from one of the rival firms and he’s specifically asked for you. He’s coming in as a very senior partner and when he found out you were here, he almost made it a condition of his employment. Are you interested?”

She certainly had my attention now.

“Of course. If it’s corporate securities work, I’m there. And I’m flattered.”

I couldn’t imagine who it was but I did know most of the top guns in Toronto. I’d either worked with them, or against, them in the job I had at Scapelli, Marks & Wilson.

“Great. We consider it quite a coup that we’ve lured him away from Scapelli’s. John Clancy, our senior corporate partner is retiring next year and between you and me, I think they might have their eye on Mr. Johnston to replace him.”

When she said Mr. Johnston, my stomach sank so I waited for the sucker punch.

“Would Mr. Johnston have a first name?” I asked.

“Cleveland. Says everyone calls him Cleve.”

Well, Cleve had obviously forgiven me for my past sins or this was his way of making me pay for all those nasty things I’d said to him. My mind shot back to the last time I’d seen him and how I’d been an absolute, first-class, no doubt about it, bitch.

“Monday,” I heard Linda say and I jerked my attention back to her voice. “Come on and I’ll introduce you to your new workstation.”

I followed her meekly down the hall. Today was Friday. I had all weekend to figure out how to apologize.

chapter two

“Is this supposed to be good news or bad news?” I asked incredulously. My voice was raised a little and I made a conscious effort to lower it.

“Bad news for us. Good news for me,” he said meekly.

To say the least, I thought. Shit, fuck and damn. We were less than three months into our relationship and Jay was telling me he had to move. Cities. Not down the block.

“Sorry,” I told him. And I meant it. In my typically selfish style I was just thinking about myself. “The job. Tell me about the job. It sounds fantastic.”

“Well, that remains to be seen. But it’s something I can’t pass up. It’s only six months in New York and then I’ll be back in Toronto. Like I said, they want to train me there and if everything goes well, they’ll promote me back here.”

His hand rubbed my shoulder distractedly and we were both silent. Jay Harmon and I had known each other all our lives but we had only taken the relationship to an intimate level in the past three months. He told me he was head over heels in love with me and although I hadn’t admitted it out loud to him, I felt the same way. I was still having trouble with our age difference and the fact that I was six years older. We started out as best friends and even though the relationship had taken on a new twist in the last few months, we remained first and foremost, best friends.

As a friend, I was ecstatic for Jay because I knew how much his career meant to him. Like me, he had lost his job at TechniGroup Consulting. Jay had his MBA from Western and like all Western grads, he was a mover and a shaker. He had loads of potential, and I for one wasn’t about to hold him back. As much as I was going to miss him, it was only six months, I told myself.

“So, can I assume you’ll wait for me?” Jay said with a grin.

“You have to ask? I guess I’ll have to change my long distance carrier now.”

I heaved myself off the sofa where we’d been watching the ball game. “I’m going to make some coffee. Want some?”

“Any beer?”

“Sure,” I said as brightly as I could.

Jay had delivered the good news/bad news to me on Friday night and here I was on Sunday night, waving good-bye at Pearson Airport. The bad news had continued to get worse when he told me, after the ball game, that he had to leave Sunday.

I stood like a lost child beside the car as I watched Jay weave through the other passengers into the terminal. Air Canada was about to whisk away the only bright spot in my dreary life and I waved pathetically at Jay’s disappearing figure.

About seven years ago I had spent many Sunday nights in this same spot beside the curb, at Pearson Airport, under the yellow International Departures sign. Back then I’d been saying my farewells to my now ex-husband, on his way back to his business in Phoenix. We’d met at the law firm where I was working and he was a client. Our whirlwind romance turned into a tornado of lust that ended up in marriage. The plans were made for me to move to Phoenix, but I never got around to packing up my apartment. The team I was working with always had one more deal to close. Eventually my excuses wore thin.

Tommy and I are still good friends and he makes an effort to call me whenever he’s in town. I grimly told myself that, this time, I’d make an effort. My life had become comfortable with Jay, knowing that he was in the same city, in the same neighbourhood, always there to talk to. Comfortable was good. Comfortable was, well, comforting. I was thirty-four years old, which was practically a spinster by some standards. Not that my aim in life had ever been to catch me a man and marry him. Admittedly, my first stab at marriage had turned out pretty pathetically, but with Jay I felt that we might have a chance for a life together.

My reflection in the car window made me feel sick. Sick at the sight of my morbid face, looking like a dejected puppy. Suck it up girl, I mentally yelled at myself. Get on with it. Self-pity had never been one of my strong suits so I physically pulled myself together, and loaded myself into Jay’s jet-black Saab. Jay had generously offered me the use of his precious vehicle and I jumped at the chance to drive something that wasn’t on the verge of breaking down and that actually had door locks that worked.

Monday morning found me full of dread, if that’s still an expression used in the English language, sitting at my new desk. Cleveland Johnston was due to arrive any minute and I was still working on something cute and sassy to say to him.

Our histories together went way back and it seemed that I had known Cleve most of my professional life. He was a junior associate lawyer and I was a legal secretary at Scapelli’s when we first met. Over the years Cleve gained the experience to make partner and eventually head-up their securities practice. I remained a legal secretary/paralegal. Sure, I had the fancy moniker of corporate securities paralegal, but my job remained the same. Herding the lawyers, supervising the support staff, making things happen. I had a mid-life crisis in my late twenties and quit the law firm and worked temp until I landed at TechniGroup Consulting, a high-tech, public company.

Harold Didrickson, who was the Senior Vice-President, Legal at TGC had hired me to help him set up the legal department when the business was booming. He had retained Scapelli’s to do our corporate and securities work and Cleve Johnston headed up the team at Scapelli’s, so we had remained in contact.

The shit hit the fan at TechniGroup Consulting when my best friend Evelyn was murdered, and Jay was fired because the chief financial officer, Rick Cox, thought Jay had something to do with it. I was privy to certain information that pretty conclusively fingered Rick Cox and when he was eventually fired, the corporate bullshit press release said that he was resigning. Number one rule when dealing with the press: an executive is always allowed to maintain a certain decorum when murder and mayhem happen in the high tech world. In the meantime though the fact remained that Jay had lost his job. When I asked Cleve to help Jay keep his job because the board of directors knew Rick Cox was responsible, he played lawyer with me and stood by the company’s statement that Rick Cox was resigning to pursue other interests. Much yelling and breast-beating ensued, albeit one-sided. Cleve remained the consummate professional and listened calmly to my tirade but I ended up slamming down the phone on him. A few days later he had tried in a backhanded way to apologize but I cut him off, making some typically snide comment about friendship. My mother repeatedly tells me that my smart mouth will get me nowhere, but for some odd reason, I continue to ignore her.

Needless to say, the situation was about to become awkward. I had neither spoken to nor seen Cleve in several months and I believe some people would get great joy out of seeing the beads of sweat that had broken out all over my body.

“What goes around, comes around” was another of my mother’s favourite sayings and when I heard Cleve’s voice several offices down the hall, I knew that it was about to come around. I shook all thoughts of my mother from my head and put my head down and pretended to be busy.

“And this is your office and of course, you know your assistant, Kathleen Monahan,” I heard Linda saying. I sucked in a deep breath and pushed my steno chair away from the desk and stood up. Cleveland Johnston stood there, towering over Linda and grinning at me. Kind of a Cheshire cat grin. I stared up at all six feet, five inches of him and grinned back.

“I’ll leave you two then,” Linda said. “Kate’s been here long enough to be able to show you the ropes. Kate, call me if there’s anything you two need.”

Cleve silently gestured at the open door to his office, inviting me to lead the way. I heard the door close behind me and I turned around and looked up at him. The silence was deafening and the sweat on my upper lip was probably very visible. I surreptitiously wiped at it and said, “So, how many of the lawyers you met today were shocked to meet a white guy?”

He laughed. “All of the guys I’d met at the partners’ dinner the other night figured it out quickly enough but a few of the associates I was introduced to this morning were surprised to find out that the skin colour didn’t go with the name.” People were always surprised to find out that Cleveland Johnston was a very tall, white man. A very tall, handsome, some would say gorgeous, white man. But I was somewhat biased, having suffered a massive crush on him, way back when.

Cleve walked over to his desk, plunked his large legal briefcase down and snapped open the two locks. He reached inside and pulled out two champagne glasses that were wrapped in navy blue, linen napkins. His massive fingers gently unfurled the napkins and he placed the glasses gingerly on the desktop. He then flourished a champagne bottle and began working the cork, all the time staring at me with a stern look. When the cork blew out of the bottle and missed the side of my head by inches, he smiled widely and ceremoniously poured champagne into two glasses. He held one out to me and I took a few steps towards him to accept the glass.

“To new beginnings, Kate.” He held his glass up and toasted me.

“To new beginnings,” I repeated. I took a sip and knew that no apologies were going to be necessary.

chapter three

Our first week working together at McCallum & Watts was uneventful. Much time was spent doing up the paperwork for Cleve’s clients at Scapelli’s to have their files transferred to his new law firm. I think Cleve was proud of the fact that about three-quarters of his clients chose to follow him to McCallum & Watts. The twenty-five percent of his clients who refused to make the change were mostly those whose families had used the services of Scapelli’s since the birth of their great-grandfathers.

And of course, the one client’s name who popped out and slapped my heart was Phoenix Technologies, Inc. I had worked on the file at Scapelli’s when Phoenix first went public and I remembered the frantic pace at the time. We all worked long hours, especially when the prospectus for the initial public offering of their shares was being finalized. There were all-night sessions at the commercial printers, proofreading the document as changes were being made. I shook my head in amazement thinking about how driven we all were. There were several nights when we finished at the office around two in the morning and then went out to an all-night diner for something to eat. When we were finished there would be a string of limousines parked out front to chauffeur us home. Several times it was so late that I just had the driver wait while I showered and went straight back to the office. Being part of the excitement, part of the team, was what kept me going. And my desire to be around Tommy, the young president of Phoenix.

In between the time of filing the preliminary prospectus with the Ontario Securities Commission and the Securities & Exchange Commission in the U.S., and the countdown to filing the final prospectus, I went on the road with the executives from Phoenix and the underwriters while they sold the stock. I looked after the travel and meeting arrangements as they criss-crossed the country. The frenetic pace, and spending almost twenty-four hours a day with Tommy, led to the inevitable.

At the closing of the public issue, when the lawyers were manhandling all of the documents and the underwriters were breathlessly waiting to hand over their check, Tommy had sidled up to me and whispered a proposal in my ear. Our marriage lasted a couple of months but the friendship remained to this day. The last time I had heard from Tommy was a couple of months ago when my face was plastered all over the national news. He told me the picture of me being helped into an ambulance had sent waves of panic through him, but I had brushed off his concern. He had left me a couple of messages after that but I hadn’t returned his calls. In hindsight, I wished I had.

As a member of the board of directors and the corporate secretary of Phoenix Technologies, Cleve had to attend all of their board meetings, and the one scheduled for the following week, in New York, was planned to be a regular, run-of-the-mill, quarterly meeting. The agenda he had prepared for the meeting contained all of the standard stuff: approval of the minutes of the last meeting; review and approval of quarterly financial statements and the 10-Q; five-year forecasts; executive bonuses, etc., etc. The meeting was scheduled for early Wednesday morning, so Cleve flew out late Tuesday night. We had booked him a hotel in Manhattan, near the Phoenix offices.

Feelings of deja vu overwhelmed me as I worked on the file before the meeting. They weren’t good feelings but I brushed them aside, trying to re-establish the feelings of excitement I used to have whenever I worked on the file. All I could remember though was feeling like a failure because when my marriage fell apart, I left Scapelli’s for good and had my mid-life crisis, early. I had worked temp for a while, hopping from job to job, trying to overcome the depression.

The day before he left for the board meetings in New York, Cleve had asked me to call Tommy and speak to him about the agenda and any last minute changes. Tommy was in a meeting and I ended up speaking with his secretary, Carrie.

“Tell him it’s Kate Monahan at Cleve Johnston’s office. Cleve needs to know if there have been any last minute changes to the agenda.”

“I’ll give him the message,” she said. “And Kate?” She hesitated for a moment.

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be pleasantly surprised to find out you’re working with Mr. Johnston.”

“Pleasantly surprised?” It was the first time I had spoken to anyone at Phoenix since I started with Cleve.

“He speaks fondly and very highly of you.” Her manner of speech was somewhat stilted, and I pictured an older woman, sitting primly at her desk with her steno pad centered on her blotter with a sharpened pencil at the ready.

“Uh, thank you. Did Mr. Johnston not mention that I was working with him?” I knew this was going to be awkward and when she had said Tommy was in a meeting, I had been glad not to have to speak with him.

“Not that I’m aware of. Thank you for calling and I’ll make sure Mr. Connaught gets the message.”

When I returned from lunch later, there was a message on my voicemail from Tommy. It made me blush.

“Kate, Kate, Kate. Surprise, surprise, surprise. I couldn’t believe it when my secretary told me you were working with Cleve. That’s great news.” There was a long pause in the message and I was about to hang up when he spoke again. “Come to New York for the meeting. We could renew old acquaintances.” He chuckled into the phone. “Call me back.”

He’d finished the message speaking in that soft, sexy voice that I remembered so well. I quickly hung up the phone and buried my head in the filing cabinet while I waited for my face to return to its original colour. I didn’t tell Cleve about the phone call because I had no intention of going to New York.

Cleve called exactly at five the next day.

“Checking up on me?” I teased him.

“Uh no,” he said, sounding distracted.

“Why are you calling? You’re supposed to be on a plane. Did you miss it?” I had booked him on a 4:00 p.m. flight out because the board meeting had been scheduled to finish by 2:00.

“No. I’m still at Phoenix’s offices. Listen, Kate. Are there any messages for me?” I heard voices in the background.

“Nope. Want me to check your voice mail?” I offered.

“No. I already did. Tommy didn’t call?”

“Tommy? Isn’t he there with you?”

“Just a sec.” Muffled sounds came through the phone and then he was back on the phone. “Thanks,” was all he said. Then he hung up the phone.

I couldn’t believe what had just happened and I stared at the receiver when the dial tone started. My fingers flew as I punched in the phone number at Phoenix’s offices. I asked for Tommy’s secretary.

A voice that I didn’t recognize answered the phone. “Mr. Connaught’s office.”

“Carrie?”

“No. She’s not available at the moment. May I take a message?”

“It’s Kate Monahan at McCallum & Watts. Can I speak to Cleveland Johnston?”

“I’m sorry ma’am.” The voice became officious. “I can’t disturb the board meeting in session.”

“I understand. But this is an emergency.”

“I’ve been given strict instructions. Let me have your number and I’ll give Mr. Johnston the message.”

“He has it.” I forgot my manners and didn’t say good-bye as I quickly hung up the phone.

The next hour dragged as I waited for a return call and when my phone didn’t ring, I tried calling Phoenix again. The main switchboard was on voice mail and the electronic voice told me to either dial the extension of the person I was calling, or spell their name into the phone, starting with the last name. I had no idea what Carrie’s last name was so I pressed the sequence of numbers that spelled out Connaught. The phone rang five times and Tommy’s voice mail picked up. I dialed zero hoping that it would bump me to his secretary’s phone but I ended up back at the switchboard. Voice mail hell. I hung up in disgust and went home.

chapter four

When Cleve wasn’t at the office the next morning by 9:15 I called his house. There was no answer.

I spent the better part of the next hour opening boxes of files that had come over from Scapelli’s and putting the contents away in the four-drawer filing cabinets. Mindless work. My mouth had a metallic taste which I knew was from a nervous stomach. And I wanted a cigarette. Bad. What the hell was wrong with me?

When the phone finally rang at 10:30 I knew it was Cleve and a sudden feeling of foreboding came over me. As anxious as I had been to talk to him, I couldn’t pick up the phone. I just stood there and watched it ring. Four rings and then it kicked over to voice mail. I turned my back on the phone and stood in front of the file cabinet, wondering why I had just done something so stupid. My phone rang again and I turned around to look at it. The intercom was flashing.

It was the receptionist on our floor.

“Oh Kate. You’re there. Hang up and I’ll put Mr. Johnston through.”

My finger pushed the red release button and I disconnected her.

“Kathleen Monahan,” I said into the phone, pretending I didn’t know who it was.

“Hi.” That was it. A simple hi. But that one syllable word said so much. Just the way he kind of dragged it out. I pretended to ignore the tone of his voice.

“Hello yourself. Need me to book you a flight back?”

“No. I’ll be here a while. Kate, something’s happened. Can you transfer this call into my office and take it there?”

Linda Beeston, the personnel manager, was standing outside Cleve’s office when I opened the door. The look on her face told me that she knew about the call and that someone had forewarned her.

“We’ve got a driver outside, Kate, to take you home to pack a bag and take you to the Island Airport. Is there anything I can do for you here?”

Like a deaf mute I shook my head.

“Well, please call us if there’s anything you need here in Toronto. And let Mr. Johnston know that we’ll look after things here in his absence.” She was telling me this while I rummaged in the desk drawer for my purse. I was really looking for cigarettes and remembered that I’d quit.

She escorted me down to the front of the building and over to the waiting car. It was a navy blue Lincoln Continental sedan and the driver was standing at the rear door, holding it open.

Linda gave a weak smile and patted my arm before I got in the car.

“I’m sorry Kate.”

“Thanks,” I whispered back to her.

The driver obviously knew my address and we didn’t speak until he pulled up to the curb in front of my house.

“I’ll wait here, ma’am,” he said to me as he held open the back door.

“I won’t be long.”

My bedroom was in a shambles and most of my work clothes were in a heap on the rocking chair beside the bed, waiting to be taken to the dry cleaners. I grabbed a few outfits and jammed them into my suitcase along with my sweat pants and several pairs of socks and underwear. Most of my pantyhose were in sad shape but I managed to find a new pair, still in their package at the back of my dresser drawer. My running shoes and windbreaker were in the front hall closet and they were the last things to go in the suitcase.

I looked sadly at my latest goldfish, Beulah, and said good-bye. Probably for good. By the time I got back from New York, she would no doubt be dead, along with the other twenty or so goldfish I had managed to kill over the last couple of years. I had no luck keeping them alive and with a forced exit from the city and no one to come in and feed her, she was a goner for sure. God forbid the SPCA ever found out about me. I pinched an extra dose of fish food into her bowl and waved.

The driver was smoking a cigarette and lounging beside the car when I came out. He quickly butted it under his shoe and came towards me to take my suitcase.

“Got another one?” I asked him.

His face was a question mark.

“Cigarette.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He dug in his breast pocket and handed me a pack of DuMaurier’s. I greedily took one and dragged a little too deeply when he lit it for me. I held back a cough and put my hand on the side of the car to steady myself. The nicotine shot through my system and I felt my blood tingle. The second drag felt familiar, and the smoke stung my nostrils. I didn’t care.

“You can smoke in the car, ma’am. If you like.”

I had two more on the way to the airport and when we arrived at the private terminal after crossing a short piece of Lake Ontario on the ferry, he proffered a new package of DuMaurier’s with matches. The matches had his company name stamped on them.

A small man in a dark, navy suit met me at the car and walked me through the private terminal, directly out onto the tarmac. A sleek aircraft waited for me. I wished the circumstances were different and I could pretend that I was a celebrity or just a plain old billionaire. He followed me up the staircase into the plane and stowed my suitcase for me.

I could see two people sitting in the cockpit and the man in the left-hand seat turned around when we boarded. He pried himself out of his seat and came into the cabin. He offered his hand.

“Captain Floyd, ma’am. Thanks Alfred,” he said to my escort.

I watched as Alfred left the plane and manhandled the staircase up into the plane. Captain Floyd secured the door and turned back to me.

“Please. Sit.”

I closed my eyes tightly and scrunched up my face to try and get my concentration back. The only words I had spoken to anyone since Cleve’s phone call were to the limo driver to ask for a cigarette.

“Right. Sorry.” I turned around into the cabin and looked about. There were four seats on each side of the aisle, and I took one of the seats facing the front by a window. The total seating capacity was eight, with four seats facing front and four facing back. There was a polished wood table in front of the seats which looked as wide as most boardroom tables.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” the Captain said as he reached over to help me with my seatbelt.

“We’re flying into Teterboro, New Jersey and our flying time is less than two hours. The co-pilot will be back as soon as we’re airborne and get you some refreshments.”

“Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

We were in the air at our cruising altitude within a few minutes and the pilot’s voice came over the speaker. It was weird having him speak directly to me and I paid attention, unlike the times I travel on a commercial aircraft and I ignore all the announcements.

“Ms. Monahan. Captain Floyd speaking. We’re at our cruising altitude and I’ve turned off the seatbelt and no-smoking signs. In case you didn’t notice when you boarded, the restroom is at the rear of the aircraft.”

My hand went automatically to my pocket and I lit a cigarette. As I dragged on it I thought about how easy it was to go back to the habit. No will power whatsoever. The first sign of stress and I fell back in the trap. What a weakling.

The sky was cloudless outside the window and I stared into the nothingness. My thoughts finally returned to my phone conversation with Cleve and a glance at my watch reminded me that it had only been a little over an hour since we had spoken.

“The news isn’t good, Kathleen,” he had started.

“What? What’s happened?” I demanded.

“They found Tommy’s body early this morning.”

“What do you mean, Tommy’s body?”

“He was missing yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you called at five?”

“We didn’t know there was anything wrong at that time.”

“Bullshit Cleve.” My blood pressure was rising and I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or frustration.

“Kate. Leave it. I’m sorry, but Tommy’s dead. The police won’t tell us anything yet. We’ve sent the Phoenix corporate jet for you and it’s ready to leave as soon as you are.”

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. Sweet Tommy was dead and I couldn’t file the information anywhere in my head.

I finally answered him. “I’m not coming.”

“What?”

“I’m not coming,” I repeated. My stomach was doing triple flips remembering my encounter with death a few short months ago. I looked under Cleve’s desk for the recycling bin in case my breakfast decided it wasn’t staying put. Death and I didn’t do well together.

“Tommy and I were friends. That’s all,” I continued. “We’ve been divorced for years. You know that Cleve.”

“But you’re listed as his next of kin,” Cleve said.

“His next of kin? I don’t think so. We were divorced years ago.”

“I know that Kate. But his papers list you as next of kin.”

“Be that as it may, Cleve, I’m not coming. I can’t. I’ll just hang out here and look after things for you,” I said helplessly. My brain felt like it was enveloped in a fog and I just wanted to be by myself, not talking to anyone.

“Thank you for calling,” I said formally. Could I be called the widow? The ex-widow? The widow wanted time alone.

“Kathleen,” Cleve shouted into the phone. “Are you with me?”

His shout brought me back to the present.

“Yes,” I answered, suddenly feeling out of breath.

“I knew I should have had someone there with you. Now listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” I breathed into the phone.

“You have to come. Tommy’s will states that you are his next of kin and his life insurance policy names you as the beneficiary.”

“That has to be outdated, Cleve. We’re divorced.”

“Kate, it’s not outdated. The will was written a few months ago and the life insurance policy is less than a year old.”

“I don’t have to be there, Cleve. I can’t do it and I think you know why. I’m no good in these situations. If there are papers to sign, send them to me.”

“Kate, there’s more. It’s why I need you to come to New York right away.”

“What is it?”

“Tommy’s left you his majority shares in the company. We need a chairman of the board. Now.”

chapter five

There was another blue Lincoln to meet me at the airport in Teterboro and I was glad that the only other person in the car was the driver. The heat of the day greeted me when I stepped off the plane but I shivered nonetheless. I hadn’t asked Cleve how Tommy had died and I shook my head at that. When the phone had rung and Cleve had said “Hi”, I somehow knew. I was thankful the call hadn’t come in the middle of the night. My feelings of foreboding were weird enough in the middle of the day but if it’d happened at night-time, I think I’d be even more spooked.

A very attractive woman, about thirty years old, met me in the reception area at the Phoenix Technologies offices, located at Lexington and East 46th. She was about six inches taller than me and she had one of those hourglass figures you read about. Some would call her too big in the hips, but the suit she was wearing showcased her magnificent hips and small waist. Her hair was a beautiful brown, if brown has ever been described as beautiful, and cut short in a bob. It suited her.

“Ms. Monahan,” she greeted me quietly and put out her hand. “Carrie MacIntosh.”

I was surprised. I had expected Tommy’s secretary to be about my mother’s age.

“Hi Carrie.”

“I’m really sorry about Mr. Connaught.” Her eyes were water-filled but her face was composed.

“Thank you. Is Cleve Johnston around?”

“He’s back in the boardroom. Follow me.”

She led the way through reception and down a long corridor. I had to trot to keep up with her. I hate women with long legs.

“Carrie,” I called after her. “I’d rather see Cleve alone. That is, if he’s with people in the boardroom.”

“I’ll put you in Mr. Connaught’s office. That’s no problem.”

She stopped abruptly in front of a door and opened it. She waved me through and I entered into what was obviously a secretarial office.

“My place,” she explained as she walked past the desk and opened yet another door. I followed her in and quickly glanced around.

“Make yourself comfortable. Coffee?”

“Please,” I mumbled to the door as it closed. She seemed very efficient.

Tommy’s office was huge and the two exterior walls were all glass, overlooking Manhattan. His desk was centered in the room and soft seating was dispersed around the thick, luxurious carpet. One side of the space was taken up with a large, rectangular meeting table with eight, high-backed, leather chairs. I wandered around and noticed there were very few personal touches. A bookcase held two shelves of mementos, marble and acrylic paper weights commemorating various corporate achievements, sales and marketing give-aways and such.

I heard the door open behind me and turned around to see Carrie, entering the room with a tray of coffee. She placed it on a coffee table.

“I’ve told Mr. Johnston that you’ve arrived. He’ll be right in. Is there anything else you need right now?”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll need a hotel room.”

“Already taken care of.”

I looked around for an ashtray. Tommy had loathed my smoking.

“Ashtray?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Monahan, but smoking is not allowed in the office.”

I dug my DuMaurier’s out of my pocket and lit one.

“It’s okay, I’ll use the saucer,” I said as I blew out a cloud of smoke. I knew if I could smoke, I could handle what was going to happen in the next couple of hours.

Carrie opened a drawer in the bottom of a credenza and extracted an ashtray.

“How long have you been working with Tommy?” I asked her.

“Three months.”

The office door opened and Cleve walked in. Carrie’s long legs took her to the door in a few steps.

“I’ll be outside at my desk if you need anything.”

“Thank you Carrie,” Cleve and I said at the same time. The door closed quietly and Cleve looked at me for a moment.

“I thought you’d given up that nasty habit,” he said, pointing at the cigarette.

“No willpower.” I butted the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and walked over to the window. I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself and took in the view.

We were both quiet for a couple of minutes and without turning around I asked Cleve, “How did he die?”

“Gunshot to the back of the head.”

Ohmigod. Ohmigod. My stomach turned and my head swam. Tommy had been murdered. It hadn’t even occurred to me. Without thinking too much about it, I had assumed he had died in some sort of accident.

“Have they arrested anyone?” I finally asked.

“No.”

“Any suspects?”

“No.”

I turned around and faced him.

“None? Was it a mugging? Was he in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“We don’t know Kate. It’s too soon for the police to be telling us anything. In the meantime, we’ve got a public company here. A press release has gone out but we have to do some damage control.”

“Fuck damage control. Fuck the company. I don’t care. I’m in the wrong place. At the wrong time. This isn’t right Cleve.” I was having trouble putting coherent thoughts, words and sentences together.

“Right or wrong, Kate, you were listed as his next of kin. His secretary told us that his mother and father are both dead. Did he have any brothers, sisters, aunts?”

“No.” I shook my head. I remembered Tommy telling me how he felt being an orphan at twenty-three. His parents had died in a head-on collision. He had grand plans for a large family, to make up for his loss. We never even got to the planning stages.

“As his heir, you’ll have some decisions to make. Hard decisions.”

“Not now Cleve. I’d rather just help look after the funeral arrangements.”

“That’ll have to wait. The police aren’t releasing the body until after the autopsy and they can’t say when that’ll be.”

He reached inside his jacket and took out a white envelope which he held out to me. I didn’t take it.

“This was found in his papers. It has your name on it and says to be opened only on his death.”

“I don’t think I can right now Cleve. I need to use the ladies room.”

“Please Kate. Be reasonable. I can’t possibly imagine how you’re feeling right now. I understand though. So I’ll leave the envelope here for you and when you’re ready, please, read it. Have Carrie find me when you’re ready to talk.”

He placed the envelope in the center of Tommy’s desk and left the office.

I spent the next fifteen minutes huddled in a cubicle in the ladies room. Trying to sort out my feelings. The heaviness I felt was my body and mind in mourning, that I knew. I had felt the same way when my best friend Evelyn had died earlier that year. I finally surmised that my behaviour was denial. Denial that another good friend had passed. It was too early to be discussing wills and inheritances. Tommy’s body was probably still warm in the morgue and Cleve wanted me to participate in damage control.

Control of what I wondered? Phoenix Technologies was a company I knew little about. I had been involved with it over ten years ago when it was a fledgling high-tech company. What I did know was that technology ten years ago didn’t even resemble technology today. I hadn’t read much of the file when it came over from Scapelli’s, so my only current knowledge of the company was a brief conversation the previous week with Cleve. He had told me that Phoenix Technologies stock was still listed on the TSE and NASDAQ, and that they had grown to over 1,100 employees with offices in several cities. Tommy had moved the executive offices out of Phoenix to New York a few years ago. That was the extent of what I knew of the company.

I edged Tommy’s large executive chair closer to the desk and picked up the white envelope gingerly with my thumb and index finger of each hand. It was addressed to me in Tommy’s handwriting. The first line read: Kathleen Monahan. Underneath that in small, printed capital letters it read: To be Opened By Addressee Only On The Occasion of My Death. Occasion of his death? How formal. I turned the envelope over and noticed that Tommy had signed his name over the seal.

I touched the floor with the tips of my toes and swiveled the chair around to face the windows. I sat that way for a few minutes while I smoked and collected my thoughts. Sure, we’d been friends all these years. I tried to remember if Tommy had ever had another girlfriend. He had never remarried. When I asked for a divorce he’d told me very somberly that he’d never marry again. Not fucking likely, I remember thinking. Tommy was a catch. Handsome, caring, rich, funny. But after a while there wasn’t any spark for me. I thought of how I felt about Jay. Jay could cause a spark.

So Tommy and I split amicably, and remained steadfast friends. Occasional dinners and frequent phone conversations. I never had an inkling that he had cared so much about me that he felt the need to name me as his beneficiary. And leave me in such a fucking mess.

I swung the chair back around and quickly slit open the envelope. It was dated two days after my brush with death a few months back, and was written in Tommy’s handwriting.

Dearest Kate, it read. Dearest? He had never referred to me as dearest. It continued: What I saw on television the other night made my heart stop. But just for a second because I saw you were walking into the ambulance and you were obviously all right. I’m not sure how I would deal with the news if someone came to tell me you were dead. But that’s what you’ve just heard about me, and for that, I’m sorry. That last sentence was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write.

My eyes filled up with tears and the rest of the letter became a blur. You son-of-a-bitch, I thought. Why are you dumping this on me? I wiped my eyes angrily and continued reading.

If you’re reading this letter, I’m dead. There. I said it. I’ve missed you all the years we’ve been apart but I understand why you decided our marriage couldn’t work. I am truly grateful that we’ve remained friends. You have my utmost respect for the person you are.

Enough of the mushy stuff, he wrote. Thank God. This letter is by way of explanation of what you will learn of the contents of my last will and testament.

I have left to you the sum of my worldly goods. Sounds quite Victorian, doesn’t it? My worldly goods include my golf clubs, my aquarium with the exotic fish (just fucking lovely, I thought, more fish to kill off), my collection of Beatles albums, and the rest of my possessions. Including my majority ownership of Phoenix Technologies, Inc.

Why? Because there is no one else I trust to continue the company. And yes, Kate, I’ve stipulated that you are to become the Chairman (or Chairperson) of the Board, immediately. Being the good little legal beagle that you are, you know that the shareholders appoint the directors and the directors appoint the officers. Being the rightful owner now of the shares, you can appoint yourself a director. And rest assured that the remaining directors will immediately approve your appointment as Chair.

You have the brains, the guts and the willpower to do this. You’ve just never been given the chance.

Trust Cleveland Johnston to give you the counsel you deserve. My kindest regards, with much love and affection. Tommy.

I immediately lit a cigarette just to show him I didn’t have the willpower.

chapter six

“Carrie?” I called her name quietly through the door I had opened a crack. She quickly turned around in her steno chair.

“Yes?”

I beckoned at her with my index finger and motioned for her to come in. Being the efficient secretary, she quickly picked up her steno pad and two sharpened pencils. I asked her to sit in one of the chairs in front of Tommy’s desk. I took the chair beside her.

“I need to go to my hotel,” I told her.

She made a note on her steno pad.

“Right away, Ms. Monahan. I’ll have Mr. Connaught’s driver out front immediately.” She rose from her chair to leave and I put my hand on her forearm.

“Please. Carrie. Sit down.”

She reclaimed her seat and poised her pencil over the pad to take more instructions. I reached over and took the pencil and steno pad out of her hands and placed them on the desk in front of us. That made her finally look me in the eye.

“This situation is very hard for everyone,” I started. “And I imagine, especially hard for you. I know Tommy, uhm, Mr. Connaught, was a very good man and I’m sure he treated you well.”

“Yes. Yes he did.” Her eyes were filled with water again. This time her face did not remain composed and she pursed her lips to try and control the tears. I knew the feeling.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Tommy was a great guy. I’ve just read a letter he left me and it seems he wants me to have some involvement with the company.” Some involvement. Nothing like understating the situation.

“Yes. Yes. That’s good,” she whispered. “Mr. Connaught always spoke highly of you.” She took a deep breath and I could see she was trying to regain control.

“If I might ask, Ms. Monahan, what is it you do in Toronto?” she asked me.

“Do? You know what I do. I work with Cleve Johnston. At the law firm.”

“Yes. I know that. But are you a securities lawyer, or a tax lawyer, or a corporate lawyer? I wasn’t sure since Mr. Johnston hadn’t had time to fill us in on his new partners.”

I was dumbfounded.

“Uh. I work in the securities and corporate field. But I’m not a lawyer Carrie. I’m a secretary. Like you. A legal secretary, but a secretary just the same. In my last job I had the high and mighty title of Corporate Securities Paralegal. But I was just a glorified secretary.”

As I was telling her this her eyes got a little wider and a slight smile showed at the corners of her mouth. I waited for the inevitable bitchy response.

“I’m glad to know that,” she said genuinely. “And I hope I can stay around and help you out here.” She mischievously wrinkled her nose and I knew her offer was genuine.

“Thanks Carrie.” I knew I had a comrade in arms. “Are all of the directors in the boardroom?”

She nodded.

“Then show me how to sneak out of here without running into any of them.”

Tommy’s driver, the same one who had picked me up at the airport, drove me to The New York Palace Hotel and whisked me through the reception up to the 54th floor. He assured me he had already checked in for me and that my suite was ready. I was feeling a little like a movie star.

He left me with his card and told me to page him, at any time, if I needed his services. The name on the card read “Lou Cardenello”.

“Thank you, Lou,” I told him. He handed me the key to my room and silently walked back down the hall. I closed the heavy door and turned around to survey the room. Or rooms. The suite was huge. And luxurious.

I threw my suitcase on the bed and proceeded to unpack. My clothes seemed seedy and worn in this room, and I wished I had taken the time to pull out some of my good outfits. Okay. One good outfit. I called the valet service from the phone beside the bed and asked how soon I could get clothes dry-cleaned.

“Immediately, Ms. Monahan. Within the hour. Just put everything in a bag you’ll find in your closet on the floor by your door, and I’ll send a bellman to pick them up right away.”

Now that was service.

I stuffed everything I had brought with me except a clean pair of panties and sweat socks into the laundry bag and tossed it out to the front door. Then I grabbed the thick, terry cloth robe hanging in the closet, and locked myself in the bathroom for some privacy and a long, hot soak.

The bathroom was the size of a small gymnasium and the sunken bathtub could hold a family of six. While I waited for the tub to fill, I found a well stocked bar hidden in a mahogany armoire. In the bathroom. The height of decadence. I filled one of the large crystal glasses with Diet Coke and slid into the tub.

I dozed off for a few minutes and the electronic ringing of the telephone woke me. The buzzing sound irritated me and I thrashed around in the water for a moment, trying to get my bearings and came perilously close to going under. I made a mental note to wear a lifejacket in the tub next time I took a bath.

The phone was conveniently located on the wall beside the tub and I grabbed at it to make the buzzing stop. I had been asleep longer than I thought because the water in the tub was cool.

“Hello.” I started shivering.

“Kate?” Shit. It was Cleve. My hiding was over.

“Oh. Hi. Cleve.”

“Kate. You shouldn’t have disappeared on us like that.”

“I didn’t disappear. Tommy’s secretary knew where I was. I had to get out for a while.”

“Okay, okay. Listen. I’ve a few things to say to you. First, my condolences. I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was.”

I cut him off before he became too maudlin.

“That’s okay Cleve.” I looked around the bathroom to see if I could manage to get out of the tub and grab a towel and still hang on to the phone. The receiver cord was very short so I continued to shiver.

“Secondly, Kate. As much as this whole situation is a shock to you, we have to move swiftly on a few business issues. That’s where we need your full attention and co-operation. I’ve kept the members of the board here in town and I’d like to call a special meeting of the directors tonight. With your consent of course.”

A special meeting of the directors. That term was very familiar to me but it had never before given me such an eerie feeling. Special meetings are those called on an urgent basis, when there isn’t time to give as much notice of the meeting as is required in the company’s by-laws. In those circumstances, I’m generally running around like crazy, typing up waivers for the directors to sign, consenting to the business to be transacted the meeting, etc., etc. This time though, I wouldn’t have to prepare any of the documents for the meeting. Usually, before special meetings of directors, I’d run around like a meshugana getting everyone settled. Looking after grown men. I guess this time someone else would look after the documents and I’d sit in on the meeting. And they wanted my consent.

“Sure. What time is it now?”

“Five thirty.”

“Fine. Call the meeting for nine o’clock. In the meantime, I’d like to meet with Tommy’s personal lawyer and have him describe to me the terms of the will. How it relates to my inheritance of the shares. I want to know exactly where I stand before I go in that meeting.”

“Uhm. I’ll try and get in touch with him.”

“Cleve. I’m not going in that meeting without knowing where I stand. You either find that lawyer or you can send all of the directors home.” I wanted to finish off with: Do I make myself clear? That was one of my mother’s favourite expressions, but this man had been my boss earlier in the day.

“You’re right. I’ll call you back, Kate.”

I quickly pulled myself out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me. My clothes had all been returned to my suite and were hanging in the closet in plastic wrap. They had even ironed my sweatpants. I could learn to love this.

chapter seven

While I waited for Cleve to call me back, I telephoned my parents to break the news about Tommy. They were upset, especially my mother who had adored him. I deliberately neglected to tell them about the will.

Then I called Jay and told him I was in New York.

“What a surprise!” he said excitedly. “Can we do something tonight?”

“No. Sorry.” I stalled.

“Oh. No problem. Are you working?”

“Not exactly. Well kind of. At Phoenix Technologies.”

“Oh yeah,” he said slowly. “Your ex-husband’s company.” A slight tone of jealousy came through when he said ex-husband. That miffed me a little.

“No longer ex-husband, Jay. He died.”

“Oh. Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry Kate.”

“Thanks. That’s why I’m here. In New York.”

“What happened?”

“He was shot.”

“Shit. Only in New York. Should I come over?”

“No, it’s okay. There’s some sort of special directors meeting tonight, which I’m involved in.” Another grand understatement. “I don’t know what time it’ll be over. Maybe I’ll call you later?”

“Of course. For sure. Anything.”

“Great. I gotta go. I’ll call you.”

“Kate.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry about Tommy. I love you.”

“Bye Jay.”

God, we were great conversationalists. We were just out of practice, I told myself. The red light on the phone was blinking, and I stared at it. Another fucking voice mail system. The card beside the phone told me how to access my messages and I dialed a series of numbers just to hear a click. The caller hadn’t bothered to leave a message. So I sat huddled on the bed waiting for the phone to ring.

The room was dark and it matched my mood. The situation I found myself in was overwhelming. I was supposedly now the major shareholder of a high technology, publicly-traded company. The responsibility was going to be tremendous. Eleven hundred employees. Probably several hundred shareholders. Offices in several cities. Products and services that I knew absolutely dick-all about. To say nothing of the Beatles’ collection and the exotic fish. And what the hell was I going to do with golf clubs?

Lou, the driver, pulled the car up to a steel-encased skyscraper on Fifth Avenue where I could see Cleve waiting for me at the front entrance. I had the back door of the car open before Lou could get to it and he looked a little put out as I got out of the car.

“I’ll wait,” he told me. “But I can’t park here so please call my pager when you’re ready to leave.”

“It’s okay. We can get a cab.”

“I don’t think so, ma’am. This is my job.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” I was going to have to get used to dealing with this one.

Cleve signed us in at the security desk in the large, cavernous lobby and quickly led me to the elevator bank marked for floors 52 through 70. We were both silent as the elevator started and I sneaked a glance at Cleve’s profile. There were visible lines around the corners of his eyes and the laugh lines which were normally so noticeable around his mouth had disappeared.

“Tired?” I asked him.

“Exhausted,” he said without looking at me.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For your loss.” He turned to face me and suddenly he looked like a little boy in a giant’s body.

“I know you and Tommy were close. More than just client and attorney.”

He nodded his head. “You’re right. It had gone past the attorney-client relationship in the last couple of years. We golfed. You know.”

The elevator doors opened and we entered directly into a darkened reception area. Cleve led me past several groups of arm chairs and sofas and through a set of large, double doors into the offices beyond. He obviously knew where he was going and he flicked the light switch on in a small, glass-enclosed meeting room. He plunked his briefcase down on the table and immediately picked up the phone and dialed a three-digit number.

“We’re here,” was all he said before he hung up the phone.

“Know your way around, don’t you?”

“Remember? I used to work here. Not that I spent much time in the New York office,” he explained. And then it hit me. We were in the New York office of Scapelli’s. When Cleve had called me at the hotel to tell me that he had arranged for us to meet with Tommy’s personal lawyer, he didn’t mention what firm he was with. But it made sense. Most clients keep all of their work within the same law firm. The name Dennis Hillary wasn’t familiar to me but he had probably not been with the firm when I was an employee years ago in the Toronto office.

I took a seat and waited. When Mr. Hillary entered the meeting room I wasn’t surprised to see a man who looked like the proverbial bookworm. Guys who did wills and estates were not the most exciting types, and Dennis certainly fit the bill. He was small, not that I held that against him, although with three inch heels on I’d probably tower over him at the cotillion. Long strands of damp hair were brushed over his bald head, from one ear to the other. Little bug eyes stared at me through thick, frameless glasses, and when I stood up to shake his hand, he wouldn’t look directly at me. His hand was damp and the shake was lifeless. He didn’t let me down either, when he started to speak and his stutter was easily discernible.

The man immediately went up several notches in my esteem, because I knew that no worthy law firm would have such a nerd on staff, unless he was absolutely brilliant. Dennis settled himself at the table and messed with the bellows file of materials in front of him. He glanced at Cleve several times and it was obvious that Cleve’s presence made him nervous.

He cleared his throat a couple of times before he spoke.

“Miss Monahan. First of all, let me express my deepest condolences.” He was looking at the tabletop as he said this. I looked over at Cleve with a little grin on my face and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Thank you Mr. Hillary.”

He balled up his fist which he placed in front of his mouth and coughed, clearing his throat.

“As Mr. Johnston has told you, I had the job of preparing Mr. Connaught’s last will and testament.” He finally looked up at me. “Which I have right here.” He proudly flourished a thick document.

I would hope so, I thought.

“Before I proceed with the reading, might I ask if you would like Mr. Johnston,” he coughed again behind his hand, “to uhm, leave, uhm, wait for us outside?”

There were little beads of sweat clearly visible on his forehead and under his lower lip. The man needed to calm down.

“No that won’t be necessary. But maybe Mr. Johnston could round up some cold drinks for us?” I looked over at Cleve and gave him a look, which he clearly didn’t understand, but he lumbered out of his chair and left the room.

“Mr. Hillary. I need Mr. Johnston to be here. He’s Phoenix Technologies’ corporate lawyer. He obviously makes you nervous, but please, calm down.”

Dennis gave a high-pitched squeal, and his face broke out in a wide grin.

“No. No, no, no. Mr. Johnston and I are colleagues. It’s you I’m a little nervous of. People around here still speak of you, and even before Mr. Connaught named you in his will, I knew of you. We have several partners here in New York who started in the Toronto office. Some of them as law students. They still quiver at the mention of your name.”

I guffawed. “You’re putting me on, Dennis.”

He shook his head. “Oh no, Miss. Your reputation has certainly preceded you. I understand you used to run quite a tight ship there in Toronto. May I tell you one of my favourite stories, one that gets repeated most years at the firm party?”

Jesus. The man was looney-tunes.

“Sure,” I agreed, glancing at the door, hoping for my knight with the Cokes to return swiftly.

“Several years after you had left Scapelli’s,” he started, “you returned to the law firm one night with your current boss. Scapelli’s was acting for the company you worked for, doing, uhm, an acquisition, I believe.”

I stared blankly at him, willing him to get to the point. So far, nothing rang a bell.

“One of the junior lawyers, who I understand you used to work with during your time at Scapelli’s, was part of the team working on the acquisition. She has since left Scapelli’s and is now at the Ontario Securities Commission.”

That rang a bell. Missy Goodman. How could I forget. The type of woman who gave the rest of us a bad name. A chip on her shoulder the size of a large tree trunk. She had started at Scapelli’s as a summer student, spent a year articling and then was hired on full-time after she was called to the Bar. Initially, she and I had become good friends. I took her under my wing and showed her the ropes. And then the little bitch had turned on me.

She was one of the few women allowed into the all-male bastion of the corporate securities department at Scapelli’s. So she had something to prove. Little Missy Goodman. It was Missy when she was a summer and articling student, and then Melissa, as soon as she became a full-fledged lawyer.

I was naive then, and the one thing I have to thank Missy for is my wariness at making new friends. Jesus, she’d even spent a weekend with my family at my parent’s place on Georgian Bay. But as soon as she was called to the bar, I was the secretary and she was the lawyer. And make no mistake about it. It was difficult working with her after that. Especially in the team environment I liked to foster in our group. She stayed at Scapelli’s for four years and then made the jump to the OSC. I now remembered what the story was that Dennis was droning on about.

“So,” he continued eagerly. “You showed up with your boss. Everyone was running around, doing their thing. And Melissa Goodman came up to you with some documents in her hand, and in front of everyone, asked you to make some photocopies.”

I smiled widely.

“And you said, Fuck you,” he blushed as he said fuck, “I’m the client now. Make your own damn copies.”

He beamed. “Legend. Absolute legend.”

I heard Cleve laugh behind me. “He’s right Kate.”

The sweat had disappeared from Dennis’ face. I decided I liked him.

chapter eight

The actual “reading” of Tommy’s will took less than twenty minutes. I tried really hard to concentrate but the heretofores, henceforths and notwithstandings kept me mostly confused. My knowledge of wills and estates could fill the head of a pin so I was lost.

But, the bottom line was it was all mine. Whatever it was that Tommy had owned was now mine. Hithertofore. Henceforth. And forevermore. The true bottom line though wasn’t defined in the will because, as Dennis explained, they had to present value everything in the estate and the valuation would take some time.

“However, if you’re interested in a ballpark figure, for the shares alone, that I can provide you,” he told me.

“How many shares are issued and outstanding in Phoenix?” I asked.

Dennis deferred to Cleve on this one.

“Almost ten million at last count.”

Whew. “And the current trading price?”

Again, Cleve answered. “About seven and three-eighths.”

That was $7.375 a share. My math was terrible, but already my head was swimming.

Dennis piped up. “That makes the outstanding shares worth roughly $73,750,000.”

My throat tightened and I was sure I was choking. Just to make sure, I fumbled in my purse and found my cigarettes and quickly lit one. Seventy-three million dollars. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Now I had to know. Up until now, I hadn’t thought about what this inheritance meant. In terms of dollars. Not more than a month ago, I was unemployed, and worried about whether I should spend the money for an oil change on my old clunker. I smoked my cigarette and stared at Dennis and Cleve.

I finally popped the question. “What was Tommy’s percentage?”

“Thirty-three percent.”

My old boss used to tell me I didn’t have trouble with math, I had trouble with arithmetic. I didn’t even try to make the calculation.

I thought it rude to ask the next question, but I pushed on.

“And that would be approximately what, Einstein?”

“A little over twenty-four million dollars, Kate.” Dennis said this proudly. He’d probably never had a client who’d left someone so much money.

“On paper,” Cleve added.

Of course, on paper. I couldn’t believe Tommy had been worth so much. On paper, of course.

“And, then there’s the matter of the life insurance policy,” Dennis said.

“Why would Tommy have a life insurance policy when he was worth so much?” I asked.

“The stock market is never a sure thing, and as he said in his will, he wanted to make sure he provided for you,” Dennis told me.

Why Tommy felt he had to provide for me was beyond my comprehension. I had never asked for, and in fact I would not have even accepted, alimony. I was too proud and besides, I was self-sufficient. My job had supported me before I met Tommy, and my job continued to provide for me. All of this wealth was overwhelming. To say nothing of the responsibility that went along with it.

I stood up and started pacing the room, chain-smoking.

“Cleve, I can’t take this all in. The money, the responsibility, it’s impossible. And unbelievable.”

Here I was suddenly very rich, and very depressed. And I certainly didn’t like the way I had inherited it all.

Dennis coughed to get my attention.

“The life insurance policy is valued at one million dollars,” he quickly spit out. He’d been dying to tell me that.

“Ha. A measly million? Peanuts,” I said sarcastically.

Dennis coughed again but this time it came out as a squeal.

“She’s joking Dennis, joking,” Cleve assured him.

I finally sat at the table and put my head down on my arms. I wanted to go to sleep now. Waves of fatigue rolled over me and I felt my eyes closing. I wanted to curl up in a ball under my duvet in my little apartment, and go to sleep. Sleep comes easiest to me when I’m stressed but I reluctantly forced myself to sit up and pay attention.

“Can I have some coffee? Is there a machine around where I can make some?”

Dennis jumped up. “I’ll get it for you. Decaf?”

“No way. I need high test.”

When Dennis left the room, Cleve quietly asked me, “How are you feeling about all of this, Kate?”

“How the fuck do you think I’m feeling?” I shouted. “Do you want me to jump up and down and yell, I’m going to Disney World? This is terrible, it sucks. I never asked for all of this. I’ve never even dreamed about winning the lottery. I have no idea what to do about all of this. I don’t want it.” I had a sudden thought. “I can refuse to take it, can’t I?”

Cleve slowly shook his head.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I don’t want it. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. You take the money. And the responsibility. And the eleven hundred employees. And the fucking exotic fish.” At that, I burst into tears. I was so incredibly mature.

Dennis arrived at that moment with a thermos of coffee in one hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups in the other.

“Dennis,” Cleve said. “Can you give us a minute?”

When Dennis had left the room, again, Cleve told me to sit down and get a grip on myself. The man was definitely the strong, sympathetic type.

“You can’t change what’s happened Kate.”

“No I can’t.” I wiped my nose in a very unladylike manner on a balled-up Kleenex that I found at the bottom of my purse. “But I don’t have to like it. In fact, at this moment, I’m more pissed off at Tommy then I’ve ever been. Didn’t he have a favourite charity or something?”

“Kate, you’re missing the point. Phoenix Technologies was his life. And he said in his will that he wanted it left in the capable hands of the one person he trusted implicitly. You.”

“Well, Phoenix Technologies is in deep shit. Sure, I can type like a demon, transcribe dicta-tapes until the cows come home, organize a mean meeting, but I have no idea how to chair a board of directors and run a multi-million dollar company.”

Cleve reached across the table and covered my hand with his huge paw.

“You’ll just have to learn.”

I turned up the air conditioner full blast, and stood naked under the ceiling vent. When I was chilled sufficiently I crawled under the covers on the king-size bed, curled up in a ball and tried to sleep but I could still feel the caffeine coursing through my veins. The digital alarm clock on the bedside table read 1:45 a.m. and I cursed the amount of coffee I had consumed over the past several hours.

It had been just after midnight when Lou returned me to the hotel. The lobby was quiet and I was overwhelmed with feelings of loneliness as I trudged to the elevators.

After the meeting with Dennis, Cleve and I had returned to the Phoenix offices for the emergency board meeting. Cleve introduced me to each of the directors and then he conducted the meeting because I had told him I had absolutely no intention of chairing the meeting and that the onus was on him to get through the business at hand. I had sat mute throughout most of the meeting, trying to pay attention and understand everything going on.

It was the first time in my life that I remember feeling completely intimidated and shy. Shy wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary but the overwhelming enormity of what had happened to me in the last twelve hours rendered me helpless in front of these people.

The names of the directors were familiar to me when I was introduced but my mind was too full to try and remember their backgrounds. A couple of them I remembered from my dealings with the company when it had first gone public. One of the directors was a vice president of the company.

Cleve had started the meeting by introducing me formally and then explaining the terms and conditions of Tommy’s will. There were no gasps of surprise so I was sure everyone had been brought up to speed before I arrived. Cleve then put forth a motion to appoint me chairperson of the board and it had been carried unanimously.

The next item for discussion was the content of the press release that would be sent out first thing in the morning. The release set out in vague verbiage how I had come to be appointed to the office of chairperson. Several directors were quoted with bon mots about the tragedy of the loss of life and how pleased they were that I was joining the company and that I’d be a great addition to the team.

There was a paragraph about me, outlining my illustrious career in law and high technology. I had trouble believing that what had been written was actually about me. It was all factual but it gave me an uneasy feeling. Whoever had written it made it sound too good.

I held up the draft press release and pointed to the paragraph about me.

“Is this necessary?” I asked Cleve who was sitting beside me at the boardroom table.

“Absolutely. The shareholders are going to want to know who’s running the ship.”

“It’s too flowery. Almost unbelievable. Tone it down a little. I don’t think we should oversell me.”

“We’ll rewrite it. But we have to put in your background.”

“Fine. I’d rather we didn’t have to do any damage control when someone takes a close look at it. We should be up front from the beginning. Full, true and plain disclosure,” I reminded him, stating the strong, basic principle of securities law.

“Absolutely,” Cleve agreed with me. I wasn’t going to play any of the games with press releases that I had witnessed in my years at TechniGroup Consulting.

A short press release had gone out earlier in the day announcing the death of Tommy and the shares of the company had closed down about half a dollar. Cleve warned me that we could expect that the stock would be down again the next day and that it would be impossible to predict what the market’s reaction was going to be.

We finished up the meeting quickly, covering off the approval of the financial statements because the company had a deadline for filing the various documents with the OSC and the SEC and the stock exchanges. I abstained from voting.

Before leaving the office I asked for a copy of all press releases from the last two years and the last two annual reports and 10K’s. I had some serious studying to do and some fast catching-up. And I was probably going to have to hire a tutor to help me through the financial stuff.

After the meeting I made a quick exit and Cleve escorted me down in the elevator to the waiting car. In the elevator I broached the subject I had been avoiding all day.

“I want to speak to the police about Tommy’s death. I need to find out what happened. Has anyone been in contact with you?”

“Yes,” he responded slowly. “In fact, there’ve been several messages from the detective in charge. They want to meet with you as soon as possible.”

“They have no idea who was responsible?”

Cleve didn’t answer me.

“What’s happening with the investigation?” I pressed him.

We were outside the building now, beside the car, and Cleve conveniently ignored my question and opened the back door for me.

“Do you realize, I know nothing about how Tommy died. Except that he was shot in the back of the head. Now, if you have some more information, I’d be grateful if you’d share it with me.”

Cleve gave a visible sigh and a fatherly look came over his face.

“The investigation is continuing. Obviously. I have no hint of what’s going on.”

“You’re patronizing me Cleve. Don’t do that.”

“Fine. You’ll find out soon enough. I understand they’re investigating Tommy’s death as a homicide, as you know, and that they suspect it was someone who knew him. They have definitely told me it wasn’t a random mugging.”

“Thank you. What was so hard about sharing that information?”

Cleve stared at me hard, for a few moments.

“Because it seems you’re the obvious suspect.”

chapter nine

Sleep finally came to me but I woke up restlessly several times in the night. I dragged myself out of bed around seven and immediately made myself a pot of coffee. While I waited for it to brew I brushed my teeth and dunked my face into a sink of cold water to try and revive myself. I wondered if this is how drug addicts felt in the morning.

The red light on my phone was blinking and I checked for the messages I had ignored last night. There was only one and it was from Jay.

I called his studio apartment and woke him up. Told him I needed to see him before he went to work and asked him to come to the hotel and have breakfast with me. When he arrived forty minutes later I gave him a long, hard hug.

“Nice digs,” he said as he looked around the suite. “Certainly coming up in the world,” he joked.

“Comes with the territory. That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

We sat at the small dining room table where room service had laid out muffins, croissants, jam in little jars, fresh fruit, juice and coffee. I poured myself another coffee and explained to Jay what had happened over the last day. He didn’t speak throughout my whole explanation and when I finished, he had an amused grin on his face.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“Yeah, well neither do I.” I lit my third cigarette of the day and blew the smoke at the ceiling, away from Jay. He hadn’t said anything when I first lit up in front of him and I was grateful. One doesn’t need to be reminded of one’s weaknesses.

“What’re you going to do, Kate?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Are you up for this?”

“What do you mean? The challenge? The new job?”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Jay said. “I know you. I’ve known you all my life and I’ve never known you to back away from a challenge. You’re incredibly bright and you’ll have no problem catching up with the business. I meant the wealth that comes with the challenge. Are you up for handling it?”

“I have no idea. You know me. I live from paycheck to paycheck. I barely have anything in my RRSPs. Last night I told Cleve I didn’t want it. I’m still thinking that way. Do you happen to know if sudden, new-found wealth changes people?”

“No idea. We were dirt poor as kids and I’m just glad to have a job and have enough money left over each week to send my mom. I’d have no idea how to handle what you’ve got now. I read somewhere recently that they’ve done a study on people who’ve won large sums of money in lotteries and they all say they aren’t any happier. But you’re a well-adjusted person now. Are you looking to be happier? Why would all this money change you?”

“The responsibility. It’s making me miserable already.”

“Scared of a little responsibility?” he challenged me.

I shook my head.

“Then dive in. Have fun with it. How many years have you been telling me you could do a better job than the monkeys at the top?”

“That was fantasyland. This is reality. And reality sucks.”

“Well, welcome to reality.”

As much as I felt like calling in sick on my first day on the job, I thought it would be prudent to at least show up and make an effort. I had no idea what to expect and no inkling of what lay ahead of me.

Carrie was at her desk when I arrived at 9:30 and I asked her to join me in my office.

“I’ll need your help with today with a few things,” I told her. “I need to get the lay of the land, so to speak. So, first things first. Can you show me where the coffee room is?”

She looked a little surprised but pleased.

I followed her through a maze of corridors to a large kitchen which resembled coffee rooms in offices around the world. Microwave oven, large refrigerator with an ice-maker on the front of the door, coffee-maker with several pots on the go, bulletin boards on the walls, and several Formica-covered, round tables with chairs. The room was empty of people and after I poured myself a cup we returned to my office. We didn’t bump into any staff in the hallways and I was surprised at how quiet the place was.

“The police have been calling?” I asked her.

She nodded.

“Well, let’s call them back and set something up. I need to talk to them.”

Two detectives arrived about half an hour later and I put aside the Wall Street Journal where I had been looking for financial news reports on Tommy’s death.

To my surprise, both detectives were women. They were complete opposites but that’s where the similarity to Cagney & Lacey ended. The one who introduced herself as Detective Bartlett was African-American and not much taller than me. The kindest way I can think of describing her physically would be rotund. She was round. Her face was circular and she wore her hair in a perfectly-shaped Afro. She was sporting two extra chins.

Detective Shipley was so tall I wondered if she had thought about playing professional basketball. My best guess put her at about six foot two. Her mousy brown hair was cropped short and it looked like she cut it herself. She was wearing brown, plain clothing which suited her just fine.

They were strictly business and after a fashion got right to the point.

“Thank you for seeing us so quickly Ms. Monahan,” Shipley said as she rummaged around in her purse. “Ha,” she finally said, and flourished a dog-eared notebook. She put her head back in the purse and I glanced at her partner who just shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes.

“Pen, a pen,” I heard her mumble and I offered one across the desk to her.

She grabbed at it gratefully and flipped over several pages in the notebook. Shipley was not impressing me and I checked out her overcoat to see if there were any more resemblances to Peter Falk’s Detective Columbo. She finally settled down with the pen poised over her notebook and looked me in the eye.

“Could you let us know your whereabouts on the night Mr. Connaught was murdered?”

Nothing like getting right to the point.

“I was in Toronto.”

She noted that in the notebook.

“Exactly where?”

“In my apartment,” I replied.

“Can anyone verify that?”

“No.” I didn’t like the direction she was heading with this line of questioning, but I wasn’t surprised. When Cleve had told me that I was a suspect, my immediate reaction had been horror at the thought.

“Initially Kate, you’d be the best bet for a suspect. The ex-wife who stands to inherit.”

Cleve had watched the gamut of emotions run across my face and then had done his best to calm me down.

I snorted. “What, are they nuts?” I said.

“I know it’s ridiculous. We both know it. But they still have to question you.”

So, when Shipley started asking me very direct questions, I had my answers ready.

“When was the last time you saw your husband?”

“My ex-husband.” I stressed the ex.

“Your ex-husband. When was the last time you saw him?” she repeated.

“I think it was about six months ago.” I had been thinking a lot about that the night before and I had remembered fondly the last time he came to town. As usual, Tommy’d been on a tight schedule but made time to call me and we went out for dinner. I couldn’t remember the exact date but it had definitely been before all the trouble at TechniGroup.

“Had you spoken to him in the last few days?” Detective Shipley asked me.

I hesitated before answering because I wondered if a message on voice mail counted.

“No. But I did have a message on my answering machine at work from him the day he died.”

Shipley made a long note in her book before looking up at me again. I wondered if Detective Bartlett ever spoke.

“And what was the message?”

“He said he wanted me to come to New York. My boss, Mr. Johnston was coming here for a board of directors meeting and Tommy left a message asking me to come along.”

“How did he sound on the message?”

“He sounded great. Full of enthusiasm, as usual. He was surprised to learn that I was working with Mr. Johnston.”

“Please describe your relationship with Mr. Connaught,” she said woodenly. It sounded like a question right out of a survey.

I didn’t have to think about my response. “Good. We were friends.”

Detective Bartlett’s eyebrows went up in disbelief at my response.

I stared at her and said, “Do you find that hard to believe Ms. Bartlett? That a divorced couple could have a good relationship?”

She blushed under her dark skin and lamely shook her head.

“Are you currently involved in a relationship with someone?” Shipley continued.

“Yes. But what’s that got to do with the price of rice in China?” I demanded.

“Just trying to get the whole picture.”

I’d had enough of their questions and decided to turn the tables.

“I’d like some information on how your investigation is going. Do you have any suspects?”

They both looked at each other and I was sure I saw the beginning of a grin on Bartlett’s face.

“Besides me?” I snapped.

“We’re not at liberty to say.” Shipley closed her notebook and jammed it back in her purse. “We’d like a copy of your financial statements.”

“My what?”

“Your financial statements. We can get the information by going directly to your bank and your employer, but you could help us by just handing over the information.”

“That’s just a waste of your time. Let’s go on the record here and now,” I stated emphatically. “I did not kill Tommy Connaught, and I did not have anything to do with his death. And I will not hand over my financial statements. You want them, go through proper channels.”

Shipley had an amused look on her face at my outburst and I was sure she was thinking I think thou doth protest too much.

I ignored her. “And yesterday was the first I heard that Mr. Connaught was naming me as his beneficiary. I would suggest that you turn your sights on someone else because you’re wasting your time investigating me.”

They both stood up to leave and Shipley left her card on my desk. I felt completely frustrated and was positive I’d hear from them again.

chapter ten

The next hour was spent very productively. I sat dumbly in my chair and stared out the window and chain-smoked. I felt useless and out of my comfort zone. I had trouble putting any thoughts in coherent order and repeatedly asked myself why I was here. I also thought about leaving. Packing it in and returning to Toronto. Running away from it all. Getting the hell out of Dodge.

Just before I slid completely into the black-hole of self-pity, I heard a timid knock on the office door. It was Carrie.

“You’ve got a call,” she told me.

I looked at her standing in front of my desk and wondered where she got the money to buy her clothes. Yesterday she’d been wearing an absolute knock-out suit and today she had on an outfit that probably set her back several hundreds of dollars. Like the suit she had on yesterday, this outfit showed off her hourglass figure. The jacket was long, tapered at the waist and flared out over her hips. Without moving my head I glanced down at the pathetic suit I was wearing. Definitely not dressed for success.

“Ms. Monahan?”

I snapped my attention back to Carrie.

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“You’ve got a call holding. I wasn’t going to interrupt but I thought you’d want this one. Someone from the morgue.”

The someone at the morgue was calling to let me know that the body was ready to be released. The body. I understood that all bodies were like slabs of meat to them but they could have been a little more delicate when they were calling the next of kin.

I had no idea what to do next. So I went to find Cleve. Carrie told me he was working out of a small meeting room down the hall. I stuck my head in the door and found him surrounded by mounds of papers and books.

“Gotta minute?” I interrupted him.

“Hey.” He seemed happy to see me. “I’ve been buried up to my neck here with paper. I need some of your time to go through all this mess with you.”

“Sure Cleve. But first I need some help.”

He was quick to offer to make the arrangements on my behalf.

“What kind of service do you have in mind?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” I told him truthfully. “Can you just get Tommy to a funeral home and then I’ll decide?”

His hand reached across the table and covered mine.

“Consider it done. What else can we help you with right now?”

“Everything. Can I be absolutely honest here?”

He nodded.

“I’m completely overwhelmed. I’ve got no idea where to start. And I have no idea what needs to be done.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Tell me what needs looking after. What’s expected of me?”

He thought for a minute before replying. “First of all, there’s nothing that needs your immediate attention. Maybe you should just take the next day or so and catch up on your reading. Last night you asked for all of the annual reports, press releases and financial statements. Why don’t you work your way through those first? Then I can spend some time bringing you up to speed. You should meet the executive team. And the project leaders. Get to know the people. Once you know the people, they can introduce you to Phoenix’s products and projects.”

It sounded like a plan to me.

“What are your immediate plans, Cleve? Are you sticking around for a while?” I knew it was a lot to ask. He had a family in Toronto.

“For as long as I’m needed,” he reassured me.

The financial statements were a total puzzle to me. The press releases and annual reports were a bit more helpful, and I started to gather a little understanding of the company. I was cautious though because I knew from experience how much or how little a public company was willing to share with the public. If it was mediocre news it was published with much fanfare. If it was great news they called a press conference. If it was bad news, they had a conference call with the stock analysts and tried to make it look like good news and downplayed the bad parts. Full, true and plain disclosure took on a whole new meaning when you were wading through a public company’s press releases.

The last two years’ releases gave me a very skimpy view of what was happening at Phoenix. There were releases announcing contract awards, financial results, appointments of directors and officers, and that was about it. The annual reports were pretty much a compilation of all the news that was fit to print in one place, setting out the company’s accomplishments for the past year, their plans going forward and the yearly audited financial statements.

The financial statements, from what I could understand, indicated that the company was consistently making money. The latest annual report showed a five year history of the stock price, and it had steadily risen in small increments over the five years.

But I definitely needed a lesson on how to read the financial statements. Heated discussions I had overheard throughout the years of senior executives arguing with the auditors to sign off on different accounting treatments kept echoing in the back of my mind. I needed to know where a company could pad the statements.

I gave up in disgust at six o’clock and left the office. I was surprised to see Lou waiting for me beside the dark Lincoln in front of the building.

“Don’t you have a life?” I joked.

He held the door of the car open for me and gave me a little smile.

“I was always on call until I heard from Mr. Connaught. I intend to keep at it until I hear differently from you.”

He was concentrating on the traffic as we pulled away from the curb.

“Lou,” I called from the back seat. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nodded.

“Why weren’t you driving Mr. Connaught on the night he was killed?”

He maneuvered around a stalled car blocking our lane and didn’t answer me until his attention allowed.

“I’m not sure when he was killed, ma’am, but I didn’t drive him on Wednesday. When I went to pick him up on Wednesday morning at his apartment, he never showed. I just thought he’d gone to the office early. He did that some times. But then his secretary, Miss Carrie called me, all in a panic, around ten o’clock that morning wanting to know where he was.”

This was all news to me.

“You mean he never showed up for the directors’ meeting on Wednesday morning?”

“Not that I’m aware of ma’am.”

“Do you know when they found his body?”

“No ma’am.”

Why hadn’t I asked any of these questions earlier? I grabbed the cellular phone that was mounted between the seats and dialed Cleve’s cell number. I looked at my watch and hoped I got him before he got on the plane. I had insisted he go home for the weekend.

The phone wasn’t through one ring before he answered.

“Cleveland Johnston.”

“Hi. It’s Kate. Did you report Tommy as missing when he didn’t show for the board meeting?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“What time?”

“Around six that night.”

“Did the police do anything?”

“No. They said a person has to be missing more than twenty-four hours before they could consider them as missing.”

“But where was he?”

“They don’t know, Kate.”

“I know that. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“The police are looking into it.”

“Sure they are. I’m their prime suspect so that means they’re not looking elsewhere.”

“You’re not their prime suspect. They’re just covering all the bases.”

I needed to know. Something was burning inside me and I needed to know, now.

“Cleve, can I get into Tommy’s apartment?”

“Sure. It’s yours now anyway. I understand the police are done looking through it and the doorman has the key and instructions to let you in. The law firm sent over a letter today.”

I told Lou we had a change of plans and we headed for Tommy’s apartment.

chapter eleven

I was nervous and apprehensive now that I was here, and I tried to look casual as I stood under the awning-covered entrance to the apartment building and looked across the busy street at Central Park. I felt at “sixes and sevens” as my grandmother used to say, and my feet seemed cemented to the ground. Lou had insisted on waiting for me and was lounging beside the car. I walked back over to where he was standing several yards down the street.

“I’ll take you up on your offer,” I told him.

When we had pulled up in front of the building he had offered to introduce me to the doorman who manned the desk in the lobby of the apartment building.

“I’ve known him for some time now, Miss,” he had said. “I often wait for Mr. Connaught in the lobby.”

In my typically independent way I had refused his offer, but was now having second thoughts about the whole thing. I wasn’t even sure in fact if I wanted to go into the apartment. What did I expect to find?

Lou led the way through the revolving entrance door and to the marble-encased reception desk where an elderly gentleman sat. His uniform looked like something right out of the Wizard of Oz, with all sorts of gold braid and tassels. I suppressed a school-girl giggle.

He stood up as we approached and a wide smile crossed his face when he recognized Lou. The name tag on the breast of his jacket read “Ted”. After Lou had introduced us and Ted had expressed his condolences, I made my way to the elevator, alone. Both had offered to accompany me, but I had declined their offer.

I stepped off the elevator into a small foyer where the door to the apartment faced the elevator. Ted had told me the apartment was on the 14th floor and when I asked the number of the apartment, he had told me the whole of the 14th floor. I had tried not to look too surprised.

The lock was well-oiled and the door opened quietly. I entered the dark apartment and closed the door behind me. Silence surrounded me and I stood in the dark for a few moments while my eyes adjusted. My hand found a panel of light switches on the wall beside the door and I flicked them randomly. Pot lights came on over my head and I swiveled in a one hundred and eighty degree turn to take in the surroundings. The entrance-way was massive, by my standards anyway, and probably measured thirty feet by thirty feet. The floor was tiled in a dark green marble and the walls stretched upwards to about fifteen feet. The area was painted in a neutral earth tone and a few small pieces of art were hung randomly.

I crossed the lobby floor and entered the apartment. My random flicking of the light switches had turned on several table lamps and a quick look to the right and left took my breath away. There were no walls and the long room appeared to be the size of a football field. I stood rooted to the spot and peered about in the soft light. To the left was the living area and straight ahead of me was a long, highly polished dining table. I quickly counted twelve chairs around it and shook my head in amazement. Everything looked like it was out of Better Homes and Gardens. The furniture in my apartment can best be described as early-American, hotel lobby.

I ventured from my spot into the living area and wandered around several groupings of sofas and easy chairs. The outside walls were not walls, they were windows. Floor to ceiling, all around the room. At the center of the windows there were French doors which opened onto a terrace overlooking the street and Central Park. Wrought-iron furniture filled the balcony.

I turned and looked to the far end of the room, past the dining area where I could see a large desk with a computer and several wing-back chairs. I quickly crossed the yards and yards of plush carpet to Tommy’s desk, eager now to discover some answers. Answers to what Tommy had done in his last hours. I sat in the large leather chair at his desk and looked around. The desk was neat but not overly pristine like the rest of the apartment. This was a working area and Tommy’s presence was obvious. A waft of his after-shave hit my nostrils and I felt him nearby.

I sat for a moment trying to remember the brand of his after-shave, which I had never smelled on anyone else. It brought back some sweet memories and a smile played across my face.

And then I heard a door close. The noise took a few seconds to register because where I lived in my apartment in Toronto, the sound of closing doors was a regular sound, one you became used to hearing. This sound though was a quiet one, and I remembered that I had the whole floor of the building to myself, so I shouldn’t be hearing doors closing. Fear shot up my back and my shoulders clenched. My eyes darted around the room and I slowly got out of the chair. There was a door in the wall to my left and I was sure the sound had come from somewhere behind that door.

I tentatively pushed on the door and it swung open into an eating area with a large kitchen behind it. Both rooms were dark and the only light came from the outside, through the large windows.

“Hello?” I called out tentatively.

My stomach was knotted with nerves but I walked through the eating area into the kitchen. I found a corridor off the kitchen to the left and I peered into complete darkness. I stupidly started down the hallway, with my arms outstretched, feeling for a light switch on either side of the wall. A sound came from behind me but before I could turn around I was sprawled on the floor. I wasn’t hurt but I cried out in surprise and quickly tried to scramble to my feet.

Whoever had pushed me, shoved at my back again and this time I yelled in frustration and anger.

“Stop.”

I was on my hands and knees and before I could turn around, a fistful of knuckles slammed into the side of my head. The force of the punch landed me on my side and my hands automatically covered my face. I kicked at my attacker and tried to see who it was but I could only see a large figure standing above me in the darkness.

My ears were ringing from the punch and fear screamed up and down my spine. But no screams or sounds came out of me. I was paralyzed with fright, afraid to move. All of this had happened in seconds but time seemed endless. The body above me reached down and grabbed my suit jacket at the shoulder and heaved me a few inches off the floor. I hit out at an arm and tried to push away but I should have left my hands over my face because the next blow knocked me out cold.

The patrolmen told me that the intruder had left through the door in the kitchen that led to one of the internal staircases in the building. I was nursing a wallop of a headache and holding an ice-pack to the side of my head, while they checked the perimeter. They informed me that there were two exits to two different stairways and they were sure the kitchen exit had been used because the door was unlocked. That stairwell went all the way to the basement of the building where anyone could leave the building without being seen.

Ted the doorman was standing nervously against the window, turning his hat round and round in his hands.

When I had come to and called him on the intercom I discovered on the kitchen wall, he and Lou had rushed up to the apartment.

“Shouldn’t have happened,” he kept mumbling, over and over. I think the poor man was in more shock than I was, and Lou had taken control of the situation and immediately called 911.

The scene was somewhat reminiscent of what had happened to me several months ago, and I felt a certain sense of deja vu. That time someone had broken into my apartment, while I slept. Afterwards my apartment had been filled with police while I sat, dazed and confused. And pissed off.

And I was pissed off again. I had sworn that I wouldn’t find myself vulnerable again, after the last time, and here I had walked right into it. The promise to myself to learn how to defend myself had never been acted on.

I looked up at the patrolman standing in front me.

“We’ve checked, and it seems he came in the same way he left. All of the other perimeter doors are locked. Ted here tells us no one could get past him in the lobby, so we’re assuming it was a professional job of lock picking. Must have come through the basement.”

I nodded in agreement because I didn’t know the layout of the building. It all seemed feasible to me. But why this apartment? So, I asked the question.

“A number of reasons, ma’am,” the cop told me. “My best guess is that your attacker read that the man who owned this apartment died and thought the place would be an easy mark. We can’t tell if anything’s been stolen, but the place doesn’t seem disturbed. We think you interrupted him in his tracks.”

When they had left I asked Lou to take me to my hotel. I needed to get out of here, and in spite of my throbbing head, I was full of nervous energy.

It was only 8:30 when I got back to my suite and I paced the rooms, chain-smoking and thinking. I didn’t believe that the person who had broken into Tommy’s apartment was a cat burglar or a drug addict, looking to score. The burglar had plenty of time to steal everything while I was laid out cold on the floor, but I was sure nothing obvious had been taken. The break-in must have had something to do with Tommy’s death. I made up my mind to go back to the apartment and find out what they had been looking for.

chapter twelve

“How do you get yourself into these messes?”

“Get myself into messes? You think I plan it, Jay?”

I was standing in the small hallway outside the door of his studio apartment. He was three floors up, above a small, independent bookstore on the ground floor.

Jay had answered the door and immediately saw the swelling on the side of my face. Rather than a hello, he wanted to know how I get into messes.

“And besides,” I continued indignantly, “messes are what a cat makes when it misses the litter box.”

“Alright, already,” he said soothingly. He pulled me into the apartment and into his arms. “So I reacted badly. You scared me. Have you looked in a mirror?”

“No,” I said into his chest. I never look in mirrors.

“Not a pretty sight, but you’re still beautiful to me.” He held me back and looked at my face again. “What happened?”

“Sucker punched.” I looked around Jay’s apartment and smiled. His unit could fit in the bathroom of my suite at the hotel. I sat in the lone armchair and told him my story. He just sat quietly and kept shaking his head.

“What’re you going to do?” he asked me when I finished.

“I’m going back to the apartment.”

Jay held up his hand like a traffic cop.

“Stop it. Do you think you’re ready for this?” He put his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart and said, “Last time, you came this close,” his voice was getting louder. “This close to biting it. Leave it alone. Go home. The cops’ll do their job. They don’t need you. Go back to Toronto.” He was almost yelling now.

I just sat there and watched him and waited for him to cool down. He was remembering what had happened the last time I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. I had been attacked in my bed, knocked out cold with a gun butt, kidnapped and ended up having the tip of my ear shot off. You’d think I’d learned my lesson but something inside me kept me fighting. As a kid, my size made me a target for every bully in the neighbourhood and I became a fighter. Jay knew me because we grew up together.

“You can’t ask me to leave,” I said quietly.

“I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

That got my blood pressure up a few notches.

“Taking charge now? Telling me what to do? Let me tell you something. I’m not leaving New York.” I stood up. “But I am leaving this apartment, with or without you. I’m going back to Tommy’s place. Are you coming?”

He stared at me and shook his head. It wasn’t a negative shake of the head, it was an I can’t believe this type of shake.

In the taxi I held on to his arm for dear life, because I realized he was only worried about me.

This time I had a more thorough tour of Tommy’s apartment and I discovered the bathrooms and bedrooms off the hallway where I had been attacked. The master bedroom was about as large as one would expect after having seen the size of the other rooms. One corner held a StairMaster and rowing machine. The oversized, king-size bed seemed small in the large room. The decor and the room reeked of masculinity. The only feature that made the room cozy was the floor to ceiling, wall to wall built-in bookcase along one wall.

I walked along the length of the bookcase and looked at Tommy’s selection of reading material. Several shelves held leather-bound volumes which looked like they had never been touched. The shelves at eye-level held scores of more modern books. There were hundreds of paperback novels shelved in alphabetical order. Everything from Tom Clancy to Leon Uris with John Grisham nicely in the middle. The bottom shelves held technical manuals that came with computer programs, and engineering textbooks.

All the shelves were book-lined except one, higher up where I could see a space about a foot across. I jumped a little to see if there was anything in the space but couldn’t see a thing. Shit, I hate being short at times like this.

I felt Jay behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Perfect timing,” I said. “Can you see if there’s anything up there?” I craned my neck upwards.

Jay reached up and pulled out a small, five by seven picture frame. He handed it to me and said, “It’s a picture of you.”

I peered at it, trying to remember where it had been taken. I was sitting on top of a picnic table, with my feet on the bench and my arms resting on my knees, grinning at the camera. A rare photo of me smiling because normally I hate getting my picture taken. With a flash I remembered it had been taken on our honeymoon, at a dude ranch in Arizona. We had laughed at ourselves the whole time we were there. Complete idiots on horseback, trying to be cowboys. We had both grown up in the city and, for both of us, it had been our first time on horseback.

The honeymoon package included daily trail rides and the most vivid memory of my honeymoon was of a sore butt. As athletic as Tommy had been, he’d been no horseman. He just never got the hang of it and the memory made me smile.

Jay was wandering around the bedroom, opening closets and drawers. “Everything looks untouched Kate. In fact, it doesn’t even look like anyone lived here. Everything is so perfect. Except this room, at least it looks a little more normal.”

“I find it very eerie. Let’s tackle the computer,” I suggested.

Tommy’s computer was the latest and greatest in technology. Jay turned it on and sat down in front of the screen. When the machine was warmed up, Jay pointed at the screen.

“All the standard stuff. What should we look for?”

“I don’t know. Just check his files. Look at the Word and Excel stuff..”

Jay went to work with the mouse and surfed around in Tommy’s computer. I stood beside him and tried to follow what he was doing but he was moving around too quickly for me. My knowledge of computers extends to word processing legal documents and reading emails. After about three minutes he looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

He laughed. “Sure. Be my guest. But there’s nothing on here but the programs.”

“No files of his own?” I asked.

“Nope. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Nothing but what it takes to run the computer. There are no document files, no spreadsheet files, no databases, no nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, nothing that sticks out. Maybe the stuff is hidden. But to find it would take some time and someone a lot more technical than I am.”

I started opening desk drawers, not sure what I was looking for. The top drawer of the desk held pens, pencils, paper clips and a few balls of dust. The second and third drawers were empty and the bottom drawer, larger than the other three, was full of hanging file folders. I eagerly thumbed through them looking for something, anything that would give me a clue to what Tommy did at this desk. They were all empty too.

“Nothing. I wonder if Tommy even worked here.”

“Tell me again what it is you’re looking for,” Jay said.

“I don’t know.”

I was at a loss now as to why I had started this exercise. I wandered the length of the room to the living area and plopped down in one of the oversized chairs. The few table lamps that were lit threw soft light around the room and my eyes took it all in. I had seen rooms like this in decorator magazines - several groups of beautifully upholstered furniture strategically placed to allow for conversation, matching tables with fragile lamps, oriental and silk carpets strewn casually about. Rooms like this I had only ever dreamed about and the realization hit me that I now owned this one.

I picked up a long, sleek remote control from the table beside me and looked around for the television it belonged to, but there was no evidence of anything electronic, so I held the remote at arm’s length and pushed the red power button. A very large section of the wall in front of me started sliding open and I laughed out loud.

I quickly got out of the chair and walked towards the opening. The soft light coming from behind the wall was tantalizing and the colours coming from it shimmered. I placed my hand on the cool glass and stared at the hundreds of quickly darting fish. I couldn’t recall ever having seen such a large aquarium.

“It’s awesome,” I heard Jay say behind me.

I nodded my head in agreement and was suddenly overcome with the responsibility. On average I could keep a goldfish alive for ten days. The tank held hundreds of fish, so I figured I had at least several months before I annihilated them all. I put my face up against the glass and whispered to the fish, “Start saying your prayers, boys.”

chapter thirteen

The next morning I was full of nervous energy with nowhere to channel it. I paced the hotel suite, drinking cup after cup of strong coffee. My mind whirled with everything that needed to be done, and in the back of my mind were all sorts of unanswered questions. Questions that I had no hope of finding answers to. I knew what needed to be done - arranging Tommy’s funeral, gaining a true understanding of things at Phoenix Technologies, meeting with the lawyers to settle the estate. The sheer volume of things that needed my attention made me nauseous. And then there were the questions. Questions that Jay had told me the night before would be answered in time.

“The police will handle it,” he’d said several times.

“But what if they’re looking in the wrong places?” I’d protested.

“What’s the right place then, Kate?”

This had gone back and forth, with no resolution whatsoever. I’d just confused myself even more.

“Concentrate on the things that’re important, right now,” Jay had said.

“Tommy’s death is important. How he died is important to me.”

“I know it is. And I’m not trying to trivialize it. But face it Kate, how much did you know about him? What did you know of his life, here in New York? His friends? His co-workers?”

I shrugged my shoulders in response.

“So you’re starting with nothing. You might have stumbled on something already and not know it. You have nothing to compare with. Leave it to the police. Concentrate your efforts on what’s important now.”

I had reluctantly agreed but now in the light of day, the questions, and the elusive answers plagued me. So I got myself busy and tackled the tasks at hand.

The funeral director reminded me of Rudolph Valentino. His black hair was slicked back and the odour of Brylcreem, reminiscent of my father’s favourite brand, wafted from his head. A perfectly trimmed, pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip and it made his solicitous smile seem supercilious. He was dressed in a jet-black suit with a gray silk tie and the overall effect was one of Hollywood. If I were the costume designer in a Mel Brooks movie parodying funerals, this is exactly how I’d dress the funeral director. To round out the effect, his voice was one octave higher than it should have been.

“Let me express my condolences, Miss…”, he glanced down at the clipboard he held, “Monahan.”

I had arrived unannounced, determined to get this task off my list of things to do. If I thought of it as a task, a job, then I could get through this. I had repeatedly told myself just that on the cab ride over.

He led me to his office where he sat upright and placed his hands on the desk in front of him. The nameplate on his desk read Mr. Theodore Bradley, Director.

“How may we help you?” he offered.

Which seemed like a pretty stupid opening line if you asked me, and I wondered how he’d react if I asked him where the swimwear department was.

“Well, Mr. Bradley, I think that’s pretty obvious. I need to make funeral arrangements. For Mr. Connaught.”

“Yes, yes. What type of arrangements did you have in mind?”

“Cremation.”

His eyebrows shot up and he looked at me with a big old question mark on his face.

“Yes?” I prompted him.

He mumbled something to himself and fussed with the papers on his desk. “When would you like to have the service?”

“No service.”

This time the question mark on his face was accompanied by a little squeal from somewhere at the back of his throat. I didn’t feel I had to explain.

“Just let me know how soon you can arrange for the cremation.”

“But…” he sputtered.

“Do you make it a habit to question your client’s wishes?” I shot at him.

He cleared his throat and shook his head.

“It’s just…”

“Just what?” I helped him.

“A man of Mr. Connaught’s stature. Well-known in the business community. I just thought… Normally, a service…” He was truly floundering now.

“I don’t believe it says anywhere I need to justify my wishes.”

I stared hard at him, daring him to question me. He didn’t respond. Glad we were past the simpering, condolence stage of the proceedings, I told him where I could be reached.

His weak voice reached me as I was pulling on the office door. I turned around to him.

“The body is ready for viewing,” he told me. “Do you wish some time alone with Mr. Connaught?”

No answer came from me and I turned and walked swiftly down the long hall. View the body? My pace quickened as I felt the bile rising in my throat. I burst through the double doors, sucking in the fresh air and started walking.

That afternoon, I walked until my feet were numb. My eyes didn’t take in much of the scenery and most of the time I had no idea where I was. Some landmarks were familiar, but Manhattan was just a blur that day.

Most of the time I tried to ignore the thoughts tumbling around in my head. Kept pushing them to the back. Decisions I knew had to be made. Typically, I’m a doer, not a thinker. I’m told what to do and I do what I’m told. When it comes to my work, I’ve always had someone there dictating what needs to be done. And I’m good at taking a task and seeing it through to the end. If I’m told to organize a shareholders’ meeting for two hundred and fifty people, that’s all I need to be told. Leave it up to Kate, and it’ll get done. That’s why I’ve always considered myself a professional support person.

I now found myself in a situation where I alone was going to be making the decisions, but I needed someone to tell me what decisions to make. As Jay had reminded me the other night, I’ve always bragged that I could do better than most of the idiots I’d worked for. So now I had my chance. But did I want it? Did I want to be the head of a multi-million dollar high-tech company? Did I want to be responsible for hundreds of employees? Did I want to be beholden to public shareholders?

And did I want to live in New York? Frankly, the city scared me. I knew no-one. No friends, no relatives. Could I leave everything I had in Toronto? At that thought, I snorted. And what exactly would you be leaving behind, I asked myself.

A few friends, a rundown apartment and a car that on its best days started only when I cursed at it. My only close girlfriend had died earlier that year. My parents didn’t even live in the same city. So, I told myself, there wasn’t much to leave behind in Toronto. And the only thing I had in New York, right now, was Jay. My best friend, my love, my family. How long his job would keep him in New York was something I didn’t want to think about.

I could sell my interest in Phoenix Technologies and run away. Run away from it all. The thought was appealing, make no mistake about it. But what would Tommy think? Did I care? He was dead and I was about to set his body on fire.

The thought of cremation suddenly seemed too cruel, too thoughtless. I was angry with Tom Connaught for plunking me into the situation, but did he do it to be cruel to me? Did he know he was going to die when he wrote that will? Somehow I doubted it. Tommy was always so full of life, so sure of himself. He exuded confidence, success. That confidence is what attracted me to him in the first place.

Tommy had said in his letter to me that he trusted me. Trusted me to look after it all. It felt like too much of a burden for me but my little voice of reason reminded me of our wedding vows. Ridiculous. We were divorced, but somehow those wedding vows, until death do us part, were coming back to haunt me.

I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, I told myself. So I thought back on the many obstacles I’d faced and the realization hit me that most of my so-called challenges were ones I knew I couldn’t fail at. The difficult ones I’d walked away from. The possibility of failure was what had been bothering me all along. And nothing I’d done in the past even came close to this. Failure could mean losses of millions of dollars and losses of hundreds of jobs. Once again reality reared its ugly head.

All the while I was worrying about myself, poor little me, and how Tommy’s death was going to affect me, I was putting off thinking about Tommy’s death. Typical Kate Monahan behaviour, I chided myself. Worry about yourself, to the exclusion of the suffering of others. Well, maybe I was being a little hard on myself, but I did admit reluctantly that I had given little thought to Tommy’s murder. Every time the subject crept into my head, I pushed it aside.

I had been a pro all my life at not allowing horrible mental pictures and dreadful thoughts into my brain. If I didn’t think about it, it couldn’t have happened. If I didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t happen. Denial with a capital D about past and future awful events. Hence my strong, superstitious belief in jinxing the pitcher - if I didn’t think about something awful, or God forbid, say something out loud about wicked things that could happen, then they wouldn’t happen.

What did I know about Tommy’s murder? That he was shot. Did I know where his body had been found? Did I know how many times he had been shot? Did I ask any of these questions of Detectives Bartlett and Shipley? I did not. And why didn’t I? Because I was too damned chicken to ask.

Detective Shipley was on a day off but Bartlett agreed to see me when I telephoned.

“What exactly can I help you with?” she asked me over her shoulder as I followed her into a small interview room. She had given me directions to the 20th Precinct on West 82nd Street, on the other side of Central Park from Tommy’s apartment.

We sat at a small, square table, the top of which was sticky and disgusting, so I put my hands in my lap and my purse on the floor. We faced each other across the table. The room smelled of dirty feet, body odour, and bad breath. I breathed in and out through my mouth, trying to avoid the old, stale smell.

“Well,” I hesitated. What exactly did I want? “Is there any news? Any breaks in your case?”

Bartlett stared straight at me and shook her head. “No.”

“No suspects? No ideas at all?”

“None that we’re prepared to talk about at this stage of our investigation.” She continued to stare at me and clearly wasn’t being very helpful.

“Can you tell me where you found his body?”

“In the loading dock area, behind the Van Buren Health Centre,” she said.

“Van Buren Health Centre? Is that a clinic?” I asked.

“No ma’am,” she stated. “The Van Buren is one of New York’s finest hospitals,” she told me proudly. “I believe it was founded with money from the Van Buren family, descendents of Martin Van Buren, the eighth President of the United States.”

Well, thanks for the history lesson.

“Where is it? I don’t know New York City very well,” I told her.

“At the corner of West 69th and West End Avenue. West of the American Museum of Natural History. Not far from here.”

The American Museum of Natural History was familiar. One of the many landmarks I had discovered earlier that day on my walk around Manhattan.

“What was he doing there?” I wondered out loud.

“We’re still trying to determine that,” she replied.

“Was he robbed?”

“No. All of his personal belongings appeared to be intact.”

I sat quietly for a moment, wondering if I wanted to ask the next logical questions. Cleve Johnston had told me that Tommy had been shot in the back of the head. But did I want more of the gory details?

I took a deep breath and pressed on. “How many times was he shot? Did it look like he was able to fight off his attackers? Do you think he suffered?” I asked my last question in a whisper. The thought of Tommy suffering through the gawdawful pain of it all was too much to bear. I hung my head and took some deep breaths to calm myself down.

“Ms. Monahan, the Medical Examiner has indicated that death occurred because of one shot in the back of his head. Death would have been instantaneous. There was no sign of any fight, or struggle.”

My jaw had been clenched while she was telling me this and I tried to relax. If there was any relief in this fucking goddamn shit mess, it was relief that Tommy had not suffered.

“Do you have any idea why he was at the Van Buren Health Centre?” I asked.

“None, at this point,” Bartlett told me. “We understand from the people at Phoenix Technologies that he was supposed to be at the office, in meetings.”

“That’s right,” I agreed with her. “He was expected to be there the whole day in meetings of the board of directors. Mr. Connaught’s driver told me that he never showed up on Wednesday morning when he went to pick him up.”

She was nodding her head. “Yeah, we knew that. We can’t seem to account for his time from Tuesday evening when he left the office until late the next night when we found his body.”

“What time was the body found?” I asked.

“Late. Long after regular working hours, because the loading dock was closed. A nurse practitioner found the body. She was waiting for a delivery and was walking around, having a cigarette. In all the disruption of the police arriving and sealing off the area, we almost had a minor disaster on our hands. The locals were denied access to the area and a special delivery almost didn’t get through. It was a heart, being delivered from a hospital in Brooklyn, for an urgent transplant.”

She continued, “The Van Buren is known as a first-class transplant hospital and their research department is world renowned for their work on artificial organs. My great-uncle was one of the first recipients of a heart transplant back in the late sixties and he had it done at the Van Buren,” she told me by way of explanation. “The place is very special to our family.”

That’s nice, I thought to myself. I wondered if she was going to hit me up for a donation for a fundraising campaign.

“But what was he doing there?” I demanded rhetorically.

“No idea, ma’am. We’re still interviewing all the staff who were on duty that night. So far, we haven’t found anyone who knew Mr. Connaught, or knew why he might be at the hospital.”

I left after a few more minutes. My talk with Detective Bartlett left me with more questions and feeling more frustrated than when I had arrived.

chapter fourteen

Five days later I still had no answers. I had lots of questions though about my capabilities as an executive. By Thursday, I was up to my neck in the business.

My watch and the tense muscles in my neck told me it was quitting time. I swiveled around in my chair and took in the nighttime view of Manhattan. With the hours I’d been putting in at the office, it was the only view I was getting of the city.

I made a weak attempt at tidying up my desk (never one of my stronger points) and gave up in disgust. Carrie would look after it in the morning. She was a God-send and a mind-reader. Every morning the desk was miraculously neat and within a half an hour of my working at it, chaos would reign.

On Monday morning, I’d reported to the office with a gung-ho attitude. The weekend had been spent mentally whipping myself into shape for the tasks at hand. I’d decided a positive attitude would get me through the hurdles. So far, it had only managed to make me tired.

My first order of business on Monday morning was to get better acquainted with Carrie. No one had to tell me how important and essential a good secretary was. I had to find out just how good she was.

“I’m not sure where to start,” I told her. I pointed at the pile of reading material I’d left on the desk on Friday night. “Probably, I’ll just continue to plow through these.”

“That’s good. But…,” she hesitated and stopped.

“What?”

“Why not just learn as you go? Mr. Connaught’s in-basket is full of work that needs attention, and he had several appointments already booked for this week. You should probably not cancel all of those.”

Why didn’t I think of that?

“Good idea. Walk me through what’s here.”

She pointed out what was urgent, what could wait and what I should ignore. She was bright and organized. Tommy’s first meeting that morning was with his executive team, followed by a session with the research and development boys and girls.

“Everyone assumes the meetings are canceled,” Carrie said.

“Well un-cancel them. I’ve got to meet everyone at some time. Now’s as good a time as any. Tell me about these meetings. Are they regularly scheduled? Or can I expect problems?”

“Mr. Connaught had regular meetings with his teams. And I’m pretty sure they don’t wait for the meetings to bring up the problems. He kept in touch with them, regularly.”

“Who normally attends?”

“For the executive team meeting, there would be Russell Freeson, the Chief Financial Officer, Sandra Melnick, the Vice President, Operations, Steve Holliday, Vice President, Communications, Mark Hall, Vice President of Sales, and Nat Scott, the Vice President of Research and Development. For the R and D meeting, the heads of each of the projects as well as the Vice President will be there.”

“Big crowds?”

“No. Lately, the R and D meetings have been getting smaller.”

“Why’s that?”

Carrie shrugged her shoulders. “Less research and development?”

“Any other appointments scheduled for today?”

She shook her head. “No, but Steve Holliday wants to see you.”

Steve was one of the Vice Presidents and I remembered being introduced to him at the board meeting the other night.

“Remind me who he is.”

“Vice President, Communications. He does the PR stuff. Talks to the analysts. Shareholder relations.”

Now I remembered. I had silently nicknamed him Slick when we were introduced. Tall, young, balding, more than okay-looking and dressed like a model right off the pages of GQ.

“Did he say what he wanted to meet with me about?”

“Something about damage control,” she said and shrugged her shoulders. “He was pretty vague.”

“Okay, set it up. I could do with something nice to look at this morning.” I grinned at Carrie as I said it and she gave me back a knowing look.

Steve didn’t disappoint either of us. When Carrie opened the office door to announce him, she gave me a sly wink. I took a moment to take in the effect of Steve Holliday and I must admit, he was like a cool drink on a hot summer day. I don’t know the price of men’s clothing, but if I had to guess, I’d say his suit cost him more than I pay in taxes every year. The colour was perfect on him and one that most men wouldn’t wear because they wouldn’t have had the guts. Kind of a toss-up between dark blue and dark green and it hung on his body like it had been painted there. And Steve had the body for showing off a great suit. He must have been about six three because he was taller than Jay and bigger. Bigger in the shoulders, bigger in the legs, bigger in the arms.

He cleared his throat to get my attention and I blushed. I had been staring a tad too long and got caught. My hand shot out quickly and we shook.

Steve shook my hand and with his left hand steered me into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. He took the seat next to me, inched the chair closer, crossed his legs and leaned his long arm on the back of my chair. I was dumbfounded and a little claustrophobic. His aftershave was overpowering and he was so close to me I could count the hairs in his ears. Slick and smooth.

“Kate,” he purred at me, “so good of you to see me. And so soon after your loss. You’re a trooper. Yessir. I remember Tom telling me how tough you were. And he was right. Yessir.”

When he referred to Tommy as Tom, I knew he wasn’t part of the inner sanctum. Anyone close to my ex-husband called him Tommy.

My eyes wandered up to Steve’s balding head. What hair he had left on the top of his head was cropped short and the sides were cut professionally and looked good.

But his purring was getting to me. He was droning on about how wonderful it was that I was able to do this, how he was going to make it right, right for the company, right for the press and right for the shareholders. When I felt his hand touch my back and his fingers lightly caressing it, I’d had enough. Our knees touched when I stood up and I felt I finally had the advantage because I could look down on him. My hands tugged down on my suit jacket and I gave him my ice look.

“Are you quite finished?” I said in my best Mary Poppins voice.

“Uhm, yes. I guess so.”

“Good.” I walked around the desk and sat in my chair. “Have you had a female boss before Mr. Holliday?”

He shook his head.

“And it shows. Patronizing doesn’t work with me. Neither does unwanted body contact.” He paled a little at that comment.

“Ever had a sexual harassment suit slapped on you?”

“God, no!” he blurted out.

Now I had him where I wanted him. I stood up and put my hands on the desk in front of me and leaned across at him. My voice was menacing. A number of my friends, secretaries, receptionists, law clerks and young female lawyers had been put in these awkward situations and most times were too timid about their jobs to do anything about it. This asshole probably knew I was a secretary and wanted to find out just how timid I was.

“Mr. Connaught told you I was tough. Were you trying to find out how tough?” The question was rhetorical so I didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t let my size fool you Mr. Holliday.”

Now he was red. The flush started in his perfect size sixteen neck and went right to the top of his bald pate. I was sorry now that I’d admired his physique and wardrobe. When I’d stared at him the look on my face was probably an admiring one, and the idiot thought I was interested. Now my face was red.

I sat back down, lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction.

“What was it you wanted to see me about?”

Steve Holliday could barely look at me when we all sat around the table for an executive team meeting later that day. He sat at the far end of the table and busied himself with messages on his Blackberry. I stood and shook each Vice President’s hand as they arrived in the room. I had met Russell Freeson, the chief financial officer, at the board meeting on Thursday night but had not met the others. Cleve had reminded me that Russell had been with Tommy since the beginning of Phoenix and I vaguely remembered him. Russell was very young looking for someone who was the chief financial officer of a public company. He was very tall and lanky with jet black hair and a shy smile. Sandra Melnick, the Vice President of Operations looked to be about the same age as Russell. She was a bit taller than me, so she was pretty short, but she looked strong. Her neck muscles were visible and her handshake was firm. She had shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair, cut in a style that probably looked fabulous when it was blow-dried by a professional, but looked ragged and uneven now. She was naturally attractive and wore very little make up.

Mark Hall, the Vice President of Sales, looked run off his feet when he arrived, without his suit jacket on and his sleeves rolled up.

“Kate,” he said as he held out his hand, “is it okay to call you Kate?” He hurried on. “I’m sorry I’m late, customers have been keeping me on the phone. Damage control, you know.” Mark was on the chubby side, with a very boyish face and a really full head of hair. His hair was so thick it looked like a wig.

“Yes, it’s okay to call me Kate,” I told him and the others in the room. “And you’re not late. We’re still waiting for Nat Scott.” My watch said we were already five minutes late starting and I was a stickler for being on time, so I sat down in the chair at the head of the table.

“Well folks, as you know, I’m your new Chair and CEO. I’m Kathleen Monahan, uhm, but most everyone calls me Kate.” I was nervous and sounded like a fisherman from Newfoundland.

A woman younger than me entered the room and stopped inside the door. She looked like a recent high school grad. Her hair was long, done in corkscrew curls and her nose was covered in freckles.

“I’m Natalie Scott. Most everyone calls me Nat,” she said, imitating me. Nat Scott was listed in the company’s roster as the Vice President of Research and Development. I had assumed Nat was male. And older.

“Pleased to meet you, Nat,” I said, wondering if she was going to apologize for being late. She ignored me as she took her seat, placed a writing folder in front of her, and stared at Russell Freeson across the table.

There was a perceptible chill in the room and I knew I was the cause of it. I was making everyone uncomfortable, myself included. I had no idea how to chair a meeting of an executive team.

“Well,” I started, “how about each of you bring me up to date on where you are with your area of responsibility.” I looked at each of them around the table. A few heads nodded and Mark Hall was the only one who spoke up.

“I’ll start,” he offered.

The meeting went fairly well and lasted several hours. The Vice Presidents did a thorough job of explaining their department’s responsibilities to me and I tried to take it all in. As the meeting progressed my level of internal panic rose. There was so much to learn and so much to take in. I sacrilegiously cursed Tommy several times.

Sales were on target but Mark was concerned. Customers had been calling him. They wanted to know what was going to happen to the company. Although Mark had been trying to reassure them, he needed more support from the executive team. I took a stab at being a chief executive officer and asked the team to work with Mark and start talking to the customers. We agreed that we should be telling them that it was business as usual, despite the loss of the company’s leader and visionary.

Nat Scott snorted at this. This one was definitely rubbing me the wrong way. “Natalie?” I prompted her. Nothing. “You’ve got something to say?”

The silence was deafening. She was acting like a petulant twelve year old.

“Okay then,” I said, trying not to look more like an idiot than Nat.

Russell Freeson gave a good financial overview and told me that the company was in sound financial shape. I warned him that I wasn’t very good at reading financial statements (yet), and that I needed to know the basics. We had cash in the bank (a good thing), invested solidly, no outstanding accounts payable, and no serious accounts receivable problems. We were halfway through our financial year and our operating expenses were on budget. The analysts were happy with the company and its potential, and until Tommy’s death, the shares had been trading at a steady level. Russell promised to set up some tutorial sessions with me on how to read and interpret the financial statements.

My next meeting with the research and development team and their leader Nat Scott reminded me of a bad trip to the dentist.

The sounds of chatter emanating from the room had immediately ceased when I arrived and the icy atmosphere chilled me to the bone. I was tempted to take everyone’s pulse, they were so withdrawn and quiet. And to top it off, there was an undercurrent of hostility. The group obviously expected me to run the meeting and although I wasn’t prepared I threw myself into it.

“Well,” I started off, stupidly, “I’m glad you could all make it.” Six pairs of eyes stared back at me. “As you probably know, I’m Kathleen Monahan, and I’ll be…” I paused. “I’m the, uhm, new Chairman and CEO.” The eyes continued to stare at me, blankly.

Someone at the other end of the table wrote something on their pad of paper. Another person coughed lightly. The woman sitting next to me lifted her coffee cup to her lips and peered at me over the rim. The silence was deafening.

“Perhaps we could go around the table and introduce ourselves. Help me put faces to names.” Help me, I silently prayed. Ever had a dream where you’re naked in front a crowd? That’s exactly how I felt. Nervous and naked. I gave myself a mental shake and listened to the introductions.

I looked at the person next to me. This one was your textbook research and development type. He was small and bookish looking. His eyes were huge behind his thick glasses and he was nervously picking at a hangnail on his thumb. He was wearing a short-sleeved, white dress shirt, buttoned at the neck with no tie. The shirt pocket held a plastic pocket protector with three pens carefully and precisely clipped to it. I’m not kidding. And to top it off, he looked younger than Natalie.

“Rick Williams,” he said softly, without looking at me. I looked down at the list Carrie had given me of the attendees and quickly found his name. He was listed as the team leader for the Gila River project.

Sitting next to him was an older man. Older than Rick and Nat but probably about my age.

“Derek. Derek Hutton. I’m the project team leader for the Papago project.”

Across the table from Derek was another woman, who looked like Rick William’s sister. The only difference to me was the obviously missing pocket protector. She was mousy looking and her blond hair needed a wash. Her resemblance to Rick ended when she opened her mouth. Rick had sounded timid and shy. This one was far from it.

“Belinda Moffat,” she barked. Her voice was deep for a woman and very loud, and when she spoke, the sound vibrated around the room. I jumped slightly in my seat. My list told me she was team leader for the Fort Apache project.

Seated on Belinda’s left was Dan Thornton who actually stood up from his chair and reached across the table to shake my hand.

“Dan Thornton,” he said. When he stood I could tell that he was short. His body language exuded energy although he was working hard like the rest of them trying to make my life miserable. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his tie was loosened and he looked like a man with a mission.

“I’m heading up the Navajo project,” he told me. “Glad to have you aboard.” For his friendliness, I gave him a smile.

The last person was sitting directly across from me and introduced himself as Ben Tucker. Ben was so handsome, it almost took your breath away. He had curly, thick, blond hair and a square face. Ben’s face was made more perfect by his straight nose, full lips and intense eyes. Individually, facial features are pretty much the same, but the way Ben’s collection was put together, it was magical. He had the face of Michaelangelo’s David, and Casey Kasem’s voice. Deep and resonant, but without Casey’s singsong way of speaking. I detected a slight, southern drawl, especially when he called me ma’am.

“Ben Tucker, ma’am,” he introduced himself and held his hand out in front of him. “I’d get up,” he explained, with a shrug, “but…” Ben was in a wheelchair.

I quickly stood and reached across the table. His warm hand engulfed mine and his handshake was firm.

“San Carlos,” he said, nodding his head at the list in front of me. There it was. San Carlos project team leader. The project names all sounded familiar and I turned to Nat on my left.

“Are the project names code names?” I asked her.

“Yes. They’re all names of Indian reservations in Arizona. Your ex-husband had an affinity for anything related to Arizona,” she said knowingly.

It was news to me, but made sense. Tommy had lived in Phoenix all his life.

“Oh,” I said uselessly. Once again the room was silent and the air had become thick with tension as soon as Nat made reference to Tommy. Time to take control.

“So.” I lined up the papers in front of me. “The purpose of these meetings would be what? Are we here specifically to update the CEO? Or is it an exchange of information type of meeting?”

Incredibly, all six of them stared blankly at me. There wasn’t one helpful face in the pack.

“Then I can assume all projects are on target?”

Silence.

Now I was pissed off.

I glared at them around the table. The look I gave them was reminiscent of my stare-down with Steve Holliday.

“In that case, consider this meeting over.” I stood up and gathered my things and headed for the door. Someone snickered behind me. Actually snickered. You remember the noise that would come out of someone’s nose when the teacher’s back was turned to the class and he had a “kick me” sign on his back. That kind of noise. I whipped back around at them and took a deep breath.

“If this is the type of co-operation I can expect from the team members around here, I’m disgusted,” I told them through clenched teeth. “I expect a certain level of professionalism from the officers of this company, Ms. Scott. And I haven’t seen it exhibited here. This meeting will start again in thirty minutes. And all project team leaders will provide me with a briefing on their respective projects.”

That caught their attention and now all eyes were on me.

“Thirty minutes,” I repeated. “Your report will include the status of the project, costs incurred to date, expected costs for the next month, a headcount report on all staff reporting to you, including their resumes, and anything else relevant that the CEO should know. Those of you not choosing to participate in the meeting will have their resignations on my desk in twenty-five minutes.”

Now the silence was golden.

chapter fifteen

Not surprisingly, all five project team leaders and their Vice President were present at the meeting thirty minutes later. And every one of them was beautifully prepared. Dan Thornton, who I’d pegged as a keener, even had PowerPoint slides. The tension in the room was still unbearable, but I did my best to ignore it.

Nat Scott’s presentation was last and was basically a wrap-up of the ongoing projects. She was abrupt in her presentation. There was no eye contact between the two of us and the chill factor made the room feel like we were in the Yukon on a January day. We were obviously not going to become best friends and share beauty secrets. I thanked everyone and asked her to stay at the end of the meeting.

We were sitting across the table from each other and I waited a few moments before speaking. Tension mounted and I didn’t care.

“Care to explain what happened here earlier?” I asked her.

She shook her head sharply and her long curls surrounded her face.

“Then can you explain to me how it is that you became a Vice President in this organization? Your behaviour is appalling. Tommy was a team player. I’m sure he encouraged that here at Phoenix Technologies. Did you act like that when he was around?”

“How I acted when Tommy was around is none of your business,” she snarled at me. Perfectly round, red spots appeared on her cheeks, highlighting her freckles.

Unbelievable. Maybe she had a career death wish.

“Fine. But your attitude here today has me concerned. You have until the end of the day to decide if Phoenix Technologies is the place you want to be. In the meantime, I’ll speak to some of the other Vice Presidents and see if they can convince me to keep you on.”

“You do that,” she told me. “But don’t forget that research and development is a large part of this company. And the shareholders of this company are counting on research and development.”

“Be that as it may, Ms. Scott, if you and I can’t work together…” I left the rest of the thought to her imagination.

“I can work with anyone.” She lowered her voice and the rest came out in a hissing whisper. “But I’ll be damned if I have to take orders from a secretary.”

In hindsight, it was funny how she said that word “secretary”. But at the time, there was so much menace and disgust in her use of the word, it gave me a shiver. I pictured two people out for a walk in the park and one steps in a massive pile of dog shit. The stuff oozes up the sides of their shoe, and they say, in a panic, “Oh my God, I’ve got secretary all over me.” She clearly thought of me as a pile of shit.

“Natalie, I wouldn’t expect you to take orders from a secretary,” I said soothingly. “Last Thursday, I was a secretary. Today’s Monday. And today, I’m the chief executive officer. I’m sure a nerd,” and I put as much disgust in my voice when I said nerd as she had used when spitting out the word secretary, “can figure it out.”

I gathered up my things and left her with one parting shot. “I expect to hear from you by the end of the day.”

The stalker was fuming. Angry. How dare she come in here and question our work? Furious. That little bitch. The stalker could taste bile rising from a roiling stomach. She knows nothing. Nothing about Phoenix. Enraged. Nothing about the lives we have saved. Incensed. Through clenched teeth the stalker pictured her dead. Lying on the ground in the orange light.

I motioned for Carrie to follow me as I stormed through her office area into my office.

“So what’s up with Natalie Scott?” I asked her. Secretaries, the good ones anyway, always had a pulse on the personalities.

Carrie shrugged her shoulders. “Is she doing her ice queen routine?”

“Yeah. And I definitely don’t like it. Is she always like this?”

“Most of the time. Not when she was around Mr. Connaught though.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. Most employees are usually on their best behaviour around the boss. Although she didn’t show it today.”

“Maybe she’s having a little trouble with you being boss,” Carrie offered insightfully.

“That I figured out. But I caught other undercurrents. Like I’d pissed in her Corn Flakes or something.”

Carrie blushed a little at my profanity but gave me a blank look.

“Carrie, it’d be really helpful if you knew something and shared it with me. I don’t encourage gossip…” Which was a bold-faced lie, because as a secretary I used to thrive on it. Not the malicious type of gossip, but the threads of information that good secretaries would sew together so they could have the complete picture. I was a student of human behaviour, because how people treated me and acted around me dictated how we worked together.

Carrie continued to give me a dumb blonde look. Wide eyes and innocence. A wall had definitely gone up.

“Come on Carrie. Spill. Share. If I’m going to have a chance, I’ll need input from you. I’m a big girl and can handle it. You never gossiped with Tommy did you?”
She shook her head.

“You probably would’ve eventually, when you’d been together longer. We’ve only been at this a day. But considering the circumstances, a little help here would be appreciated. Whatever information you give me will stay between the two of us.”

“They had a relationship. Mr. Connaught and Nat.”

Now it was my time to snort. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” She held up a two finger salute. “Girl Scout’s promise. I swear.”

“Who knew?”

“Only a few people. Although Mr. Connaught never actually came out and told me. Not that it was any of my business.”

I lit a cigarette and walked over to the window. Tommy and Natalie. Somehow I couldn’t picture it. She was so mealy-mouthed and tight. What did he see in her? I felt Carrie’s hand on my shoulder.

“But it was over, Kate.” She said this to make me feel better, as if I was hurt, just because Tommy was in a relationship with someone.

“It’s okay Carrie. Tommy and I were divorced. Many years ago. He was free to do what he wanted. I’m just having trouble picturing the two of them together. When did he break it off?”

“He didn’t. Natalie ended the relationship. About a month and a half ago.”

Somehow that made me feel a little better. When Tommy had left me the message on my machine in Toronto last week, asking me to come to New York, his voice was inviting. He wouldn’t have teased me like that if he’d been involved with someone. My thoughts were interrupted by something Carrie had said.

“Pardon?”

“I said, she ended the relationship when Mr. Connaught cut off the funding to her pet project. She was livid.”

Bingo. I’d just tripped over suspect number one with a motive.

chapter sixteen

While I was thinking malicious thoughts of how well the moniker murderess fit Natalie Scott, Rudolph Valentino the undertaker called. He wanted to know if I had thought any more about a memorial service for Mr. Connaught. I hadn’t and I was ashamed to admit it. Tommy deserved better than a quick cremation with yours truly as the only mourner. So I lied and told him I was still calling people and he’d hear from me within the next couple of hours.

Steve Holliday was surprised and a little embarrassed when I showed up at his office door.

“Katie, come in.”

The sound of his voice coupled with him calling me Katie gave me a shiver reminiscent of someone dragging their fingernails over a chalkboard.

“Kate,” I told him. “Or Kathleen. Please.”

“Sure.” He motioned at a chair in front of his desk. I ignored the offer.

“I need your help. Arrangements have to be made for a memorial service for Tommy. I don’t know any of his friends, co-workers or business acquaintances. You seemed like the best place to start.”

“Let me look after it,” he offered. When and where were the only two things he asked and I felt relieved to leave the whole thing in his hands.

“Tomorrow. Late in the day.” And I gave him the name of the funeral parlor. “Call Mr. Theodore Bradley. He’s dying to hear from us.” I chuckled at my little pun but Steve didn’t get it.

My next task was to get through a two-hour sales meeting pretending I understood what was being talked about. I was pleasantly surprised that the language was English and I that did understand. Status reports were given on current bids and RFPs, and the status of contract negotiations on bids we had won. The Vice President of Sales, Mark Hall, assured me that everything was on track and there were no surprises coming up. I listened closely for sounds of condescension in his voice but there were none. I decided I liked him. He wasn’t flashy and didn’t speak out of the side his mouth as you would expect from a sales type.

“Is there anything else you need to know at this point, Miss Monahan?” he asked me. “Any questions for any of the staff here at the meeting or anything we can get back to you on?” Mark sounded sincere.

“No. Thank you,” I said gratefully. This was such a change from the marble gargoyles I’d met from research and development.

I found two memos on my desk when I returned from the sales meeting. The first one was a very short note from Natalie Scott, stating that she intended to stay on at Phoenix (as if that were her choice, I thought) and continue to lead the R and D team. No apology and no indication that she had any remorse for the way she behaved. I had no idea how to deal with Nat Scott and frankly didn’t have the stomach for the stress of having to fire someone this early in the game.

The second memo was from Steve Holliday outlining the arrangements for the memorial service. It was scheduled for 3:00 p.m. the next day (Steve said in his memo we wouldn’t get as big a turn-out if we held it after 5:00 p.m.), he had pulled some strings and managed to get a small notice put in the New York Times for the next day’s publication, he had put all of the ‘girls’ (I sucked air through my teeth at the nerve of him putting that on paper) in the office on the phone calling all the business associates, and he had sent out an all-points-memorandum by e-mail to Phoenix employees. And I was to kindly let him know if there were any of our personal acquaintances I wished to invite.

The day was taking its toll and a low grade headache was starting to throb at the back of my head. Time to end this workday and go home. Which was a good idea until Carrie knocked on my door and announced that the police were here and needed to speak to me.

Detectives Bartlett and Shipley helped themselves to the chairs in front of my desk. If it was possible, Shipley looked even more rumpled and frumpy than the last time she was here, and not for the first time I wondered if her persona was a little bit faked. Like Columbo’s. I remembered her as being sharp and abrasive in her questioning. Today though, Bartlett started off.

“Ms. Monahan, we’d like you to tell us about the last time you spoke with Mr. Connaught.”

“I think I told you this already. The first time you were here to talk to me?”

They both stared back at me, not saying word, waiting.

Fuck it. “The last time I spoke with Mr. Connaught was about six months ago. He was in Toronto on business and we had dinner.” I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest.

Shipley spoke up this time but first she flipped through her notebook, snapping the pages. “Yep.” She looked up at me. “We mean the last time you spoke with him on the phone.”

I had no idea where they were going with this. “I told you, the last time I spoke with Tommy was about six months ago. The last time I spoke with him on the phone would have been around that same time when we talked about where to have dinner.”

Shipley said, “Well, the Bell Canada records at McCallum & Watts show that you received a phone call from Mr. Connaught two days before he was murdered.”

I inched forward in my chair, tried to put my feet on the floor and leaned towards the Detectives. “Check your notebook Mrs. Columbo, because as I told you before, Mr. Connaught left me a voice message that day. We did not talk.”

My insides started shaking and I was angry. Angry to think that it had been less than a week ago that my life was somewhat normal. Five days ago Tommy was alive. And in the five days since Tommy had been murdered, the best they could come up with were the Bell Canada records at the law firm?

The Detectives ignored my snide remarks.

“Tell us about how life has been since you inherited all this,” Shipley said as she waved her arm around the office.

I assumed that question was rhetorical and chose not to answer it. My blood pressure was rising and I realized that the Detectives were trying to get a rise out of me. And it was working. With the combination of my body language and angry retorts to their questions, I was acting defensively and just like someone who had something to hide. Several deep breaths helped bring my blood pressure back to normal, and I tried a smile on New York’s finest.

“Well, it’s been a tough haul,” I told them. “Tom Connaught has been dead less than five days and I’m on a helluva steep learning curve. Learning about the company, learning about the staff, learning about our products, learning how to be a chief executive officer. And, learning how to get around in New York,” I said with some satisfaction. “And oh yeah, learning how not to kill exotic fish,” I added.

They both looked puzzled by the last comment but didn’t go anywhere with it.

“Your personal finances are in better shape, no doubt,” Shipley said.

“Just what do you mean by that?” I demanded.

“When we looked into your situation in Toronto, it was clear that you weren’t as financially well off as you are now,” she said. “A small retirement fund, no large debts, credit cards paid on time, no real assets except a 1990 Toyota Corolla, a small chequing account, no savings to speak of.” She was reading from her notebook and each time she noted something in the realm of my personal worth, her sidekick Bartlett held up another finger as if counting off the items.

People who know me don’t want to be around me when I’m pissed off and angry. Add embarrassed to the mix and I’m downright ugly. Detective Shipley had just summed up my sorry financial life in one sentence, and Detective Bartlett had added it all up on six fat fingers. Shipley carried on, in an almost apologetic tone.

“Things have changed for the better though, haven’t they? You don’t have to worry about the finances now, do you? I know what it’s like having an old car, one that gives you heartburn every time it doesn’t start. But you don’t have that worry anymore. In fact,” she turned to her partner, “she has a driver now doesn’t she?” Bartlett grinned and nodded.

I’d had enough. These two buffoons were wasting my time. Time that should be spent trying to find Tommy’s killer.

“Okay ladies.” I stood up. “You may think you’re going to get a rise or a reaction out of me. But it’s not going to happen. Why don’t you get off your asses and go and find some bad guys?”

Bartlett started to stand up but Shipley’s left hand shot out and motioned for her to sit down. When she spoke this time, her tone had changed.

“Our counterpart at the Toronto Police Service told us we’d have our hands full dealing with you.” She stared directly at me. “He said you have a habit of sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

I took a deep breath and sat back down in my chair.

Shipley flipped a few pages back in her notebook and found what she was looking for.

“Detective Leech,” she continued, “told me all about you.” She looked down at her notebook and read from it. “Involved in a murder, a multiple shooting, a kidnapping, a suicide, and,” she turned the page of her notebook, “securities fraud. Hey Bartlett,” she said turning to her partner, “are there any felonies our Ms. Monahan hasn’t been involved in?”

Guilty as charged, I thought, as I rubbed the top of my ear where a bullet had grazed it. A couple of months earlier I had been an innocent, albeit involved, by-stander in all the mayhem she was describing. Detective Leech had been the lead detective on the case. To say that he and I had shared some quality time together would be an understatement.

“Listen,” I started, “that’s all in the past. It has nothing to do with why we’re talking today.”

Shipley held up her hand, interrupting me.

“In the past, yes,” she agreed with me. “But there are some disturbing similarities.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.

“Well, let’s start with the B&E and assault at Mr. Connaught’s apartment last Friday. Did you even think to mention that to us? You had a chance on the weekend when you dropped by to visit Detective Bartlett at the precinct. You know, Detective Leech told us that you can be a royal pain in the rear end by not sharing information that may be relevant. I’m thinkin’ he may be right. What do you think Bartlett?”

Her partner nodded her head in agreement and said, “To think we had to find out from my brother-in-law, who I can barely share a civil word with. We were at my mother’s last night for dinner. We found it funny that we both had cases involving a Canadian.” Bartlett glared at me. “Did you think you might have told us about getting hit over the head at Mr. Connaught’s apartment? You let the patrol officers think that it could have been someone who broke in to steal the contents because they knew the occupant had died. We,” she paused and waved her hand several times back and forth at her partner and then herself, “we’re thinking it might just be related to Mr. Connaught’s murder.” Her sarcasm was not lost on me, and I felt like a school girl who had just been chastised by the vice principal.

Shipley said, “Ms. Monahan. We are no closer today than we were five days ago to finding out how and why Mr. Connaught was murdered. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and we’d appreciate your cooperation.” I nodded my head because I didn’t want them accusing me of hindering their investigation.

Shipley continued. “We need some information from the company. What the company is working on, what its customers are up to, any recent sales, some information on the employees. General access to all the files. We’d like to talk to the employees, go through the files, get a general sense of the business.”

It made sense to me, but I wasn’t sure about the legalities of the police going through our customer files, and the files in our research and development area.

“I have no objection to that, but I’d want to check with our Legal Department first. Just to make sure we can get you the access you need.”

“Sure, you do that. We’d appreciate talking to the employees sooner than later,” Shipley told me. I detected a wee bit of snideness in her tone.

I stood up from my desk, hoping that they’d take the clue and get out of my office. Shipley stared at me from her chair and didn’t take my hint.

“Ms. Monahan, how tall are you?”

“And just what has that got to do with anything?” I shot back.

“Just answer the question. How tall are you?”

“I’m four feet eleven inches.” One inch taller than my grandmother and probably a good foot or more shorter than Shipley.

“We might want to confirm that by having our crime scene technicians measure you.”

“Why? You’d think I’d make up the fact that I’m under five feet? What the hell is this all about anyway?”

It was Bartlett’s turn to speak up. She got a tiny nod from Shipley before she spoke. “Forensics have determined that Mr. Connaught was shot from a low angle. The only thing that makes sense at this point is that the shooter was very short.”

I think I blanched. Or at least that’s what it felt like. In my favourite romance novels the heroine blanches when she’s scared or about to faint.

When the detectives finally left I stuffed a stack of mail from the in-basket into my briefcase and left the office. Carrie was at her desk and I told her to call the driver and let him know I would be walking.

She shook her head. “Lou won’t like that,” she admonished me.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I feel like walking. See you tomorrow.”

The elevators were crowded with energetic people, obviously glad to be leaving work for the day. I wondered how many of them were employees of Phoenix.

When I stumbled out of the elevator at the ground floor it took me a moment to get my bearings. I got nudged more than once on the back of my legs with the briefcases of people rushing past me, hurrying to their subways and buses. The few other nights I had left the building, the cavernous lobby was empty. I headed for the revolving doors and was surprised to see Natalie Scott push ahead of me in the crowd.

She was dressed like a lot of New York working women. Smart business suit with running shoes and white ankle socks, and a knapsack on her back. She had her head down and barreled through the crowd. Natalie was a pushy broad and it showed in the way she treated her fellow pedestrians. She gave one person a shoulder and smartly stepped in front of another to take her place in the revolving doors. I shook my head and wondered what Tommy saw in that.

When I was finally lucky enough to exit the building I turned right on Lexington and started towards my hotel. It was only about a six block walk but I needed the exercise. Jay would be proud of me, I thought. It wasn’t too long ago that he had to coax me to walk around the block. But in the last couple of months I had started exercising. I hated it but was adult enough to admit that I enjoyed the feeling when I was finished. Like banging your head against a wall - it felt so good when you stopped. I walked fast today to make up for the fact that I’d started smoking again. If I could get through this week in one piece, I’d quit again. That was a promise.

Natalie Scott suddenly appeared in front of me again just as I reached my hotel. She still had her head down and looked like a woman on a mission. Some “devil made me do it” moment happened and I decided to follow her. There were several people between us and I was sure she hadn’t seen me. On Madison she stopped abruptly in front of a shop window and I panicked momentarily and ducked in an open doorway. I peeked around, feeling totally foolish. I was only pretending to follow her and had nothing to hide. But the game was fun. When Natalie started off again I stepped out of my hiding place and kept pace.

The street signs told me we were now on Fifth Avenue and I was pretty sure we were heading north because I could see the trees of Central Park several blocks away. When the Plaza Hotel and Central Park came into view, I knew where I was and decided to call it a day. I could get a cab in front of the Plaza and go home and stop playing games.

I watched Natalie cross at the busy corner of Fifth Avenue and East 59th. She kept going straight up Fifth on the sidewalk across the street from Central Park. I stood and watched her for a moment and then I started after her again. I was curious now and needed to know where she was going.

I couldn’t believe it when she crossed East 63rd Street and turned into a familiar, awning-covered building entrance. I was incredulous when the doorman smiled at her and held the door open. But I was dumbfounded when the doorman told me she lived there. In the same building as Tommy.

chapter seventeen

The doorman told me that Miss Scott’s family had lived in the building for twenty-some years. She was still living there with her widowed mother. Their apartment was on the 20th floor.

How convenient, I thought.

“Does my key to the apartment work on all the outside doors?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am. It works on all the entrances to your apartment, the front door and the two exits. It also opens the doors on the outside of the building, at the back.”

I rode the elevator to the 14th floor and let myself into the apartment. I hadn’t been back since my visit with Jay and realized that the poor fish were probably dead by now. I found the remote control and opened the wall displaying the aquarium and was surprised to see signs of life. With no fish food in at least a week, they had probably been eating each other.

The aquarium was built flush into the wall and I had no idea where to put the fish food I found on the shelf below the tank. I ran my hands over the wood surrounding the tank, feeling for a knob or latch to gain access to the top of the aquarium. The wood paneling had seams but there were no obvious hinges. The space below the aquarium was open shelving so I knelt down in front of it and ran my hands down the sides of the shelves, under the top, all around. Nothing.

I picked up the remote control again and stared at all the buttons. It was larger than the remote I had for my television and I think it was called a universal control. Small buttons on the bottom read “cd”, “radio”, “tv”, “dvd”. Along one side were up and down arrows for volume and the arrows on the other side said “channel”. Numbers from zero to nine filled the middle of the remote control.

I pressed the red power button and the wall closed over the aquarium. I flicked the power button again and the wall opened and the lights came back on in the aquarium. I wondered what else the remote control powered, so I pushed the button “cd” and the Beatles blasted out of hidden speakers. Ringo’s nasal voice was singing one of their ridiculous ditties, the name of which escaped me. I quickly pushed the “tv” button and the music went off but nothing else happened.

I turned slowly around the room looking for a television, pointing the remote in different directions, pushing the tv button. Nothing. The same thing when I pressed the “vcr” button.

The music blared again, at the beginning of the same stupid song when I switched to “cd”. The volume buttons worked and I lowered the sound to a reasonable level. There was no sign of a stereo system and the whole thing was starting to frustrate me.

I plopped down in one of the large, easy chairs and stared at the fish tank. My fingers played with the remote and I pushed the down arrow on the channel changer and heard a very soft, low, whining sound which stopped when I took my finger off the button. I pressed the button again, holding my finger on it and the sound reminded me of an electric can opener that gets stuck. A motor trying to work and getting nowhere.

The up arrow on the channel changer was what I was looking for. When I pressed it I got a happy motor sound. I held my finger on the up arrow, listening, and watched incredulously as the entire wall holding the aquarium swung slowly open.

“Cool,” I said out loud, sounding like a teenager.

With the wall open at a ninety degree angle, my questions about how to feed the fish were answered. The backside of the wall revealed the workings of the aquarium and there was an inset shelf holding a variety of fish equipment, small nets, food, things to add to the tank water and such.

The lower half of the wall revealed the stereo system. Piles of cd’s were jammed into the spaces around the receiver and cd player.

The opening in the wall exposed a small room, perhaps eight feet square. The hideaway held a small table with a computer along one wall, and two small filing cabinets. Halfway up the wall beside the computer were two outlets. Wires from the outlets were hooked to the back of the computer. On top of the filing cabinets was a small laser printer.

Well, well, well, I thought to myself. What have we here? I powered on the computer. Now I would get some answers. To what, I didn’t know. The fact that Tommy’s computer in the den held no information didn’t seem so strange now. I pulled out the small chair tucked under the desk and rubbed my hands together like a concert pianist, warming up.

I stared at the screen, watching all sorts of words fly by as it booted up. A small, colourful box appeared and disappeared just as quickly. Something about doctor somebody, the virus checker. Finally, things I recognized started appearing on the screen and the Windows logo and icons appeared.

I grabbed the mouse, ready to start exploring but a small box, centered on the screen materialized and commanded me to enter my password.

“Shit,” I said out loud.

A lost cause. Tommy was technical enough to realize the worth of a solid password, and if the machine needed a password, there was definitely something to protect. My only experience with passwords for computers was at the law office where we would have to log-on to the local area network. I never changed my password if I could help it, and it was usually something as simple as my name or my mother’s name. There was never much to hide on my computer, just letters, agreements and nonsense.

The computer in the den didn’t require a password but then again, there was nothing on that computer except the software to run it.

I fed the fish and thought about my chances of discovering what the password might be. I had come across nothing so far, in the apartment or at Tommy’s office, of a personal nature where he might have written down secret passwords.

A sudden remembrance flashed before me and I almost slapped myself for being so stupid. Tommy lived by his electronic organizer. He had one of those small, handheld, computer-type organizers that fit in the inside breast pocket of a suit. The last time we had dinner together he had whipped it out and proudly showed me. He demonstrated how it held all of his appointments, kept all of his phone numbers organized, and how he could create little memos to himself and store them on it. It had a minuscule keyboard.

I had laughed at it and told him to learn to type on a real keyboard. He had assured me he could type.

“Keyboarding, it’s called nowadays, Kate,” he’d said. “And remember, I’m a code-head from way back. Programmers can type faster than most secretaries.”

Where was his organizer? My search of the apartment hadn’t revealed it. There was no sign of it at the office. The logical and obvious answer was that he had it on him when he died.

No personal belongings had been returned to me as next of kin so the police must still have everything. I made a mental note to call them in the morning.

The two filing cabinets were locked and no amount of tugging and cajoling would open them. I had no idea where to look for keys.

The surprise and elation I’d felt at finding the room turned to dejection. I powered off the computer and closed the magic wall. I looked around for a good hiding place for the remote control and ended up putting it in my purse. All the good hiding spots were too obvious and the apartment had already been broken into once. I wasn’t taking any chances.

chapter eighteen

I called the detectives in the morning and asked about Tommy’s things.

“I’m afraid I can’t release those at the moment,” Detective Shipley told me.

“Why?”

“Evidence.”

“Well, can you at least tell me what there was?”

“No.”

I sighed loudly through my nose. I was obviously getting nowhere.

“Okay. Let’s stop playing hide the weenie. Did you find an electronic organizer?”

“A what?”

“A small black case. You can electronically store phone numbers, appointments, things like that on it.”

“How big is it?”

“About four inches square.”

“Small enough to fit into a pocket?”

“Yes.”

“And you said it was black? Does it look like a Blackberry?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically.

“Nope.”

“Nope what? It’s not among his personal effects?”

“Nope.”

I hung up before some sarcastic remark crossed my lips about New York’s finest.

The stalker was in the middle row on the left side of the chapel. Trying to be inconspicuous. Breathing had returned to normal but only after enormous effort to concentrate and to hold the hatred back. The hatred had gone away when Tom Connaught was pronounced dead. But there were times in the last couple of days when the hatred came back and got close to the surface. She brought it back. She was responsible now.

The memorial service was held at the funeral home which wasn’t large enough to hold everyone who showed up. Employees, members of the board of directors, partners from the law firms, and dozens and dozens of other people who I didn’t recognize.

Hordes of people were milling around outside the entrance when I arrived in the back of Lou’s car. Both sides of the street were lined with limousines with their drivers standing smartly beside them. There were no parking spots available but that didn’t deter Lou who stopped in front of the funeral home, double parking the car. He quickly put the car in park and told me over his shoulder to wait until he opened the door for me. I suppose he didn’t want to be seen slacking off in front of his professional brethren and I wearily assured him that I was in no rush.

My body felt heavy and my mind was numb. Lou opened the door and offered his hand to help me out.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said quietly.

“You’re not coming in?”

“Only if it’s okay with you, Miss.”

“Of course it’s okay. This is a service for all of Tommy’s friends,” I assured him. He gave me a grateful smile and led me through the throng of milling people.

Two people immediately stepped forward and snapped my picture. I was dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?” I demanded of them. They both identified themselves as photographers for two of New York’s daily papers.

“And your purpose here would be what?”

One of them informed me that they were just doing their job. A press release had been sent out by Phoenix announcing the memorial service and they were there as a follow up to the murder.

A press release? I couldn’t believe it. I had asked Steve Holliday to handle the arrangements but I hadn’t figured on him inviting the media. I scanned the crowd and easily found him. He was looking slick as usual, trying to appear solemn, giving an interview to a television crew. I quickly pushed my way through the mass of people into the funeral home to avoid any more press. Men and women, all dressed in somber clothing lined the hallways and were talking in lowered voices. I spied Mr. Theodore Bradley standing with his hands clasped in front of him at the end of the hall and hurried towards him. Several people quietly greeted me as I passed and I shook their hands, recognizing none of them.

“Mr. Bradley,” I said, offering my hand. I felt out of breath, as if I had been running.

“Ms. Monahan. How are you today?” he asked.

“Fine, just fine.” I was getting nervous and my stomach was churning. I peeked into the massive room, amazed to see most of the chairs already full.

“Can we get started?” I urged him. He nodded and wandered off to round up the stragglers.

I timidly stepped through the double doors into the room and was immediately overcome. The beautifully carved coffin placed at the front of the room had a small spray of flowers centered on it. Beside it was a podium with a microphone. Unrecognizable, typically funereal music was playing softly in the background. The low murmur of voices surrounded me and I looked for a seat. Blood was pounding in my ears and my eyes were unfocussed.

I found an empty chair in the back row, way off to the side. I sat with my hands tucked under my thighs, staring at the coffin. I will get through this, I chanted to myself. I knew I wasn’t good at funerals, having attended one very recently for a close friend. Was anyone good at funerals, I wondered silently. The whole notion of public displays of mourning just didn’t sit right with me. As I watched the people pouring into the room, taking their seats, I wished I had stuck by my original plan to have a private service.

“Ms. Monahan,” Mr. Bradley breathed into my ear. I stared up at his blurred image, and realized my eyes were not just unfocussed, they were tear-filled.

“But you must sit at the front. We’ve saved seating there for you. As the only relative of the deceased, it’s only right,” he told me. He took my elbow and tried to help me to stand but my hands remained firmly stuck under my thighs.

“I can’t,” I whispered back at him.

“I’ll help,” I heard a familiar voice. It was Jay. Once again, I was overwhelmed, but this time with relief. The cavalry had arrived. My knight in shining armour. Jay sat in the chair beside me and knowingly, didn’t touch me. He knew when to respect my personal space and my tightly hidden hands gave him the clue.

“I’ll sit with you up front,” he soothingly told me. “Come on.” He stood up and I reluctantly followed suit. As we walked down the side aisle towards the front row the low, murmuring voices stopped all around me. You could hear the proverbial pin drop. We took our seats and waited for the proceedings to begin.

Cleve Johnston appeared before me at the podium and started talking. I didn’t hear a word he said, or what the other speakers had to say. I played one of my childhood games in my mind, and blocked it all out. Tried to envisage myself in a happy place, playing with my favourite toys. I used to do that when I had to get a needle, or the dentist was drilling my teeth. Only this time it didn’t work. All I could think about was Tommy and how much I was missing him. My one hundred and fifteen pound body felt about four hundred pounds heavier and I was feeling the tell-tale signs of an oncoming migraine behind my eyes.

I don’t know how long the service lasted and when I finally refocused on the ceremony, someone who I didn’t recognize was at the podium. He said his last words and the music started up again, louder this time. I felt Jay’s hand in mine, and wondered when he had taken it. I looked over at him and gave him a weak smile, which he returned. I glanced over my shoulder at the people and saw them standing, waiting.

“I think they’re waiting for you to leave,” Jay whispered in my ear.

There was no way I was walking out in front of all these unknown people, with their sympathetic faces.

“I just want to sit here for a while. Tell them to go.”

Jay motioned to Mr. Bradley who then took the podium and softly thanked everyone for attending. They started to leave but several people came forward to offer their sympathy. Every one of them felt the need to clasp my hand and murmur something soothing. The amazing thing was how few of these people I knew, and I sadly realized how much about Tommy I didn’t know. They were Tommy’s friends, and obviously feeling the loss as much as I.

I played the bereaved widow well, and my mother would have been proud of me. I didn’t snap at anyone or yell at them to get out of my face as I so dearly wanted to do. Jay stood on one side of me and my loyal soldier, Cleve Johnston, stood on guard on the other.

When the last of them had cleared the room I looked up into Jay’s friendly face and bawled like a baby.

“I want to go home,” I cried.

chapter nineteen

Wednesday and Thursday were hard, nose to the grindstone days. In the two days since the funeral I had been mentally busier than a Ph.D. student cramming for her thesis defense. But I was learning, and several times I found myself smiling when things made sense.

I dutifully read memos, reviewed reports, answered letters of condolence, signed documents, and generally amazed myself. Overall, I understood what I was reading, reviewing and approving. When I didn’t understand, I asked questions. Playing the role of CEO wasn’t as hard as I had anticipated, but I didn’t completely fool myself. In two days, I had barely made a decision, and the few I had made, were minor.

I lit a cigarette and swiveled my chair around to gaze at the skyline. My mind was exhausted but my body was restless. And hungry. I hadn’t walked anywhere in the last two days and had had absolutely no exercise. I was quickly becoming used to having Lou at my disposal and felt guilty about how the poor man was at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day.

I paged Lou and told him to go home and then tried to track down Jay. A night off from this place was more than appealing and I wanted to eat something other than room service. Jay sounded distracted when I finally reached him and he told me he had a late meeting. He’d call me tomorrow.

The offices were dark and deserted when I left and the cavernous lobby was inhabited by a sole security guard. He reminded me it was 8:45 p.m. when I signed the exit register.

“Is there somewhere close by where I can get something decent to eat?” I asked him.

“Good food, or fancy food?”

I smiled. “Good food. I hate that fancy stuff. Never seems to be enough on the plate, and half the time it looks too pretty to eat,” I joked with him.

He nodded knowingly. “My fancy pants son-in-law took me to one of those places and the prices made me sick. And the food didn’t help either.” He stood up and pointed out the front of the building. “Just out front, turn left and about half way up the next block is a favourite place for you young folks. Called TJ’s. Food’s good.”

TJ’s was packed. At first I couldn’t quite decide if it was the music or the conversation that was the most deafening. My ears quickly adjusted to the din and I heard the hostess asking me in an exasperated tone of voice if I wanted a table. The hostess with an attitude showed me to my table by leading me through the morass of bodies like she was a guided missile, where she quickly slapped the plastic coated menu on the table and took off. I wondered if she had taken her training in Paris.

I gazed around the restaurant and found it too much to take in. Television sets hung from the ceiling every six feet and each one appeared to be tuned to a different channel. There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to the decor. Some of the memorabilia hanging from the walls was from the fifties, some of it had a nautical theme, the bar area was festooned with ferns, giving it a seventies, Looking for Mr. Goodbar feel, clusters of tables were dotted around the floor and booths lined the walls. Frank Sinatra finished belting out My Way and was quickly followed by a hard hitting Bob Seger tune, the title of which escaped me.

A waiter appeared and took my order. My senses slowly adjusted to the place and I relaxed and sipped my Diet Coke. A table on the far side of the restaurant erupted into loud laughter. I glanced over at the table and recognized the group as Phoenix employees. Nat Scott’s employees. One of them greeted me later just as I was wrestling with a particularly single-minded piece of melted mozzarella which was stuck between my teeth, refusing to let go from its warm bed of French onion soup. I pulled at the cheese with my fingers, as daintily as I could, and looked up at my visitor. It was the handsome god in a wheelchair and I fished around my memory banks for his name.

“Ms. Monahan, what a surprise,” he was saying in that yummy voice of his.

“Mr. Tucker,” I replied, remembering his name just in time.

“Please, call me Ben.”

“Please, call me Kate,” I repeated, trance-like. I pushed my food back and got a grip on myself.

“You should join us.” He pointed at my dinner. “When you’re finished your meal.”

“Thanks. I might. How are things going anyway?”

He smiled. I melted, again.

“In the R and D department. I meant how are things in R and D?”

He wheeled himself around and said to me, over his shoulder, “Join us after you eat, and we’ll fill you in.”

I finished my meal and signaled for the check, meaning to make a quick exit. I had no intention of joining Ben and his table mates, and wanted to make an unobtrusive departure but as soon as I stood up from my booth and gathered my briefcase and jacket, I saw waving arms across the room. Now I had no excuse. And just what was acceptable behaviour as CEO of these employees, I glumly wondered as I plastered a smile on my face and headed towards their table.

Everyone at the table shifted around and someone grabbed a chair for me and placed it at the head of the table. I sat down and smiled stupidly. I quickly did a mental run down and surprised myself by remembering everyone. Rick Williams, the small, nerdy engineer with thick glasses sat on my left, beside him was Belinda Moffat. Her hair still looked like it needed a wash but that didn’t seem to be bothering Rick, who was practically sitting in her lap. I wondered if the two of them were an item. My other clue was the moon-eyed look Rick was giving Belinda.

Dan Thornton and Ben Tucker sat on the other side of the table.

“Where are Derek and Natalie?” I asked.

“Derek couldn’t get a pass, and Nat never joins us,” Dan informed me.

“A pass?” I asked.

“He’s married. More often than not, he runs home to the wife. And Natalie, she’s too busy with her work,” Dan informed me.

I smiled at everyone again, feeling like a third wheel. They all stared at me, with weak smiles. Great, I thought, I’ve just ruined their evening.

“So, how’re things?” I feebly asked the table in general.

“Good, great,” they mumbled.

A waitress appeared and saved me. “Something from the bar?”

“No, thanks. I can’t stay.” She wandered off. “In fact, I’m late as it is. Good to see you all.” I gathered up my stuff and gave a weak wave, like the Queen Mother.

They waved back and looked relieved.

Outside the restaurant as I was trying to get my bearings and looking for a cab, someone pulled on my jacket from behind. I turned around.

“Late for what?” Ben Tucker asked me.

“Pardon?”

“You said you had to leave because you were late. Late for what?”

“Nothing,” I admitted. “I just felt totally out of place. And besides, I was making everyone else uncomfortable.”

“Go on. No way,” he teased. “We’re used to drinking with the CEO.”

“You invited me. Were you trying to set me up?” I think I was flirting with him a little bit.

“No. I was just hoping to get your attention.” Now he was flirting with me. “Can I buy you a coffee?” He pointed to the Starbucks across the street.

“Sure.”

Ben insisted that I get a table while he ordered. I watched in amazement as he maneuvered his wheelchair through the maze of tables with one hand and served me my coffee with a flourish. He zipped back to the counter to fetch his and arrived back with a grin. I stared at him the whole time and he knew it.

“Skiing accident.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re wondering how I ended up in this chair. Aren’t you?”

“I’m wondering lots of things. And yeah, that was one of them.”

“What else do you want to know?”

“Do you still ski?”

“Yep. And play basketball and floor hockey.”

All of which would explain his incredibly fit-looking upper body. I wouldn’t mind getting a look at his forearms under his nicely tailored suit jacket.

We chatted about mundane things, his family, where he went to school, where he lived in the city. Chit chat. The conversation finally got around to the one thing we had in common. Phoenix Technologies.

“How long have you been at Phoenix?” I asked him.

“Going on four years. I was with the company in Arizona and moved out here to New York two years ago.”

He had started as a programmer and worked his way up to project team leader in research and development. He loved it. In fact, if it was at all possible, his face became even more animated and handsome as he talked about his baby. The San Carlos project. I just sat back and watched and listened, mesmerized by his enthusiasm and his obvious passion for his job. It was a one-sided conversation, Ben talking, me listening.

“So when her project was cancelled and funding withdrawn,” he was saying, “I got some of her team members on the San Carlos project.”

My ears had perked up.

“Whose project?” I asked.

“Nat’s. Weren’t you listening?”

I blushed a little. “Sorry. I had heard about that project being cancelled. What’s Natalie working on now?”

“Who knows? As usual, it’s totally top secret. Very few get into her inner circle. And since the demise of Mr. Connaught, that inner circle is even fewer.” He grinned at me knowingly.

I gave him my best dumb blonde look, pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Oh come on. Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“About Nat and Mr. Connaught. Everyone knew.”

That’s not what Carrie had told me.

“Knew what?” I persisted. “I’ve been holed up in my office. And I’m not exactly best friends with Nat. What are you talking about?”

He looked at me for a few moments, probably trying to decide if he had said too much.

“I’ve probably said too much.” I had read his mind. “Nat and Mr. Connaught were an item. He was your ex-husband, wasn’t he?”

I nodded.

“You seem more his type than Nat. None of us could figure out the attraction. Nat’s nickname is the Ice Queen.”

I smiled. I had already given her that moniker myself.

chapter twenty

“She strikes me as very focused. Someone who takes her work very seriously,” I said.

“Her work is her life. That’s one of the reasons we all found it so surprising when she and Mr. Connaught started seeing each other.”

It seemed obvious that most people knew about the affair, despite what Carrie told me. I wanted to question Ben about Tommy and Nat, but I needed to do it discreetly. I was in the executive offices now, not the secretarial pool and although I was sure the upper echelons of corporations had their fair share of gossip, I wasn’t sure if executives kept their juicy morsels among themselves.

“What could possibly have been the attraction?” I pondered out loud. “I can’t picture those two together. Tommy was so loose and easy going. Natalie Scott strikes me as someone so uptight you could bowl with her shit.”

Did I just say that out loud? I looked over at Ben and he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“She’s that, I’ll agree,” Ben said. “They worked very closely on that project of hers. Mr. Connaught used to get right in there with his shirt sleeves rolled up. We all worked long hours and he was often there with us, programming, throwing out ideas. Part of the team. I suppose all those long hours spent together just led to the two of them hitting it off.” He shrugged his shoulders and sipped his coffee. “Go figure.”

“Yeah, go figure,” I agreed. “What was the project all about?”

“Well, it’s still top secret. I could tell you, but then I’d have to shoot you.” He leaned across the table and pointed his finger at me, like he was shooting a pistol. “Bang bang.”

“Very funny. Just tell me what the project was about,” I insisted in an exasperated tone.

“Well, I guess now that you’re the CEO, I can spill my guts. This secret’s been such a burden to carry around,” he said very seriously. He hung his head.

My heart raced a little. Maybe this was the break I was looking for. Some solid information. I looked around me to see who our table neighbours were, and realized we were the only ones left in Starbucks.

“So spill your guts,” I urged him in a near whisper. He lifted his head and he had a huge, shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“Gotcha!” he exclaimed.

“Ha ha,” I deadpanned. Ben was turning out to be just a little juvenile. I was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and decided to pack it in for the evening.

“Thanks for the coffee. I just realized how tired I am.”

Ben grabbed my hand and pulled on it.

“Come on Kate. Sit down. Joke’s over. Okay?”

I sat down reluctantly.

“Just tell me about the project, will you? I’ve enjoyed our joking, but now I’m tired. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll get the info somewhere else.”

“Okay, okay. It was a subcontract for a bio-medical engineering company. We were developing an interface device for one of their projects. The company is called Global Devices. Global ended up losing too much money before they could get their product to market, so they just closed it down. It was as simple as that.”

“What was their product?”

“An artificial kidney.”

“An artificial kidney? You’re kidding me again. I’ve read about artificial hearts, and there’s one company up in Canada that were leading the way in that area, but artificial kidneys. Wow. Very Star Wars.” A low wattage light bulb was turning on in my head.

Ben shook his head. “Nope. I’m deadly serious. There are dozens of bio-medical companies out there in the race to develop artificial organs. A couple of companies have introduced artificial hearts and others are close to animal trials on other organs. If someone can come up with a plastic heart, why not a kidney? There are more people on waiting lists for kidney transplants than heart transplants.”

“But what about dialysis? Isn’t that, in a sense, an artificial kidney?”

“Sure it is. But in this day and age, the medical engineers think we can do better for kidney patients. If you’re a patient on dialysis, you are literally tied to the dialysis machine. Most patients have dialysis three times a week, and most of them have to go to a hospital or a clinic to receive the treatment,” he explained. “Global Devices was developing a kidney that could be implanted into the human body.”

The Van Buren Health Centre was world renowned for research and transplants. Tommy was murdered behind the Van Buren Health Centre. The light bulb in my head was functioning now but only giving off about forty watts.

“Explain to me how computers are used for this sort of thing.”

Ben was in his element now and eager to teach me. “Well, because the organ is artificial, the brain and central nervous system obviously can’t give the organ any signals on how to work. The organ recipient has to be hooked up to a computer, outside the body, that gives the artificial organ, in this case the kidney, the signals it needs to operate properly. These computer units are about the size of a cell phone and can be clipped on to the person’s belt. It sends signals to the artificial kidney through radio waves, so there are no wire hook ups. Amazing, right?”

“Amazing,” I agreed, “but a little scary. Artificial hearts, artificial kidneys. What’s next? An artificial brain?”

He laughed. “Probably not impossible, but highly improbable. Today that is. Who knows where we’ll be in fifty years with computers?”

“Well, I don’t know if I want to live long enough to see an artificial human brain. Sounds like something out of a cheap movie.” I shuddered at the thought. “So how far along were we in the software development before the plug got pulled?”

Ben shrugged. “The project was almost done. Remember, Phoenix was doing just a portion.”

“Which portion?”

“The remote signaling. We were developing software to enable the computer outside the body to give the remote signals to the chips embedded with the artificial organ.”

“So the company just ran out of money? Totally? Did they go tits up?” I grimaced inwardly as I said that. I made a mental note to start cleaning up my gutterisms, as my mother called them. I have to start acting more ladylike, more CEO-like.

“No, they’re still around. They just ran out of funding for the development of the artificial kidney.”

I was a little puzzled. “So Phoenix Technologies just gets cut out of the contract?”

“It’s part of the research and development world. Happens all the time. No big deal. “

“And this was Nat Scott’s pet project,” I stated. “How did she react when the contract was cancelled?”

“She blew a gasket. I heard she was throwing things around her office. Mr. Connaught was in there calming her down. She left the building and didn’t come back for a week. Word was she was on a holiday. Yeah, right,” he said.

Oh, the girl has a temper. “How long ago did all this happen?” I asked.

“About a month or six weeks ago, I think,” Ben said. “When Nat came back from her vacation,” he mimed finger quotes when he said vacation, “she and Mr. Connaught were no longer a couple.”

No doubt, I thought. The Tommy I knew would never put up with temper tantrums or hissy fits.