Читать книгу Unexpected Outcome - Dawn Stewardson - Страница 7

DANA WAITED WHILE Robert Haine settled himself in a visitors’ chair, absently wondering why he’d come to see her.

Usually, a prospective client told her a bit about his problem when he called to make an appointment, but Haine hadn’t given her the slightest clue.

He finally looked across the desk and said, “You were highly recommended, Ms. Morancy.”

She smiled. “That’s good to hear. Who should I thank?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. I didn’t do the asking around myself. But I understand it was someone on the NYPD. An officer you used to work with.”

While she nodded acknowledgement of that, she did her best to ignore the familiar chill creeping through her.

An officer she’d worked with. Someone who knew she hadn’t been able to cut it on the job.

She stopped herself right there. Whoever had recommended her obviously thought she was a good private investigator. Despite her failings as a cop.

Forcing her full attention back to the moment, she said, “And what can I help you with, Mr. Haine?”

“Why don’t we drop the formality. Go with Robert and Dana.”

“Fine.”

As he took a few seconds to choose his next words, she eyed him surreptitiously. In his midfifties, he was roughly the same age as her father—but she suspected that might be the only thing the two had in common.

They were certainly on different pages when it came to clothes. Her dad always claimed he felt uncomfortable in a suit. Robert Haine, wearing a perfectly cut charcoal pinstripe, clearly didn’t.

“My business partner, Larry Benzer, and I have a company,” he said at last. “Four Corners Imports. Someone is trying to sabotage it.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “Sabotage it how?”

“Various ways. Arson in our warehouse. A couple of cargo containers that simply vanished—which left us scrambling to supply our clients. Invoices that were printed but somehow didn’t make it into the mail.

“Other things, too. Enough to affect both our bottom line and our reputation.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t just had a string of bad luck?”

He shook his head. “Our employees seem to figure that’s all it is. But only Larry and I are aware of everything that’s been going on. And seeing the complete picture, we’re convinced someone’s out to get us.

“So is my nephew, Noah Haine, who’s our director of finance.”

“I see,” she said again.

“The three of us have been spending half our time trying to figure out who it is. But the only thing we’re agreed on is that it has to be someone with access to inside information.”

“Someone on your staff, then.”

“That’s the obvious conclusion,” he said, his expression telling her how much that bothered him.

“Are you particularly suspicious of anyone?”

“There are a few people it could be. Theoretically speaking. But when it comes to hard evidence…”

He shrugged, indicating they had none, so she said, “What about a possible motive?”

“Again, only a couple of theories.”

“Theories are a good place to start. Why don’t you tell me what they are.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Well, you’ll need a little background information to understand the first one.

“A few years ago, Larry and I decided to expand into the West Coast market. That took money, so we went public to raise it.

“The shares did fine right from the initial offering, but in the past while they’ve dropped through the floor. Because, as I said, these problems have cost us money.

“But the point is, we figure someone could be accumulating shares on the cheap. And when he’s got enough the sabotage will miraculously stop. Then he’ll sell after the price recovers.”

Dana nodded, thinking nobody orchestrating a scheme like that would be dumb enough to purchase shares in his own name. Or her own, as the case might be. But there could easily be an accomplice with no apparent link to the company.

“Our other idea,” Robert was saying, “is that a competitor’s trying to drive us out of business. And has a Four Corners employee on its payroll.”

“Do you have many competitors?”

“Only two major ones. We’re a niche company—import collectibles and sell them almost exclusively to interior design firms.”

After another brief silence, he added, “Is this the sort of job you’d take on?”

“Yes. Definitely.” White-collar crime. No risk of shoot-’em-ups. Tailor-made for Dana Morancy.

“I’d just like to ask a few more questions,” she continued. “Exactly who knows you’re hiring a private investigator?”

“Right now, nobody except Larry and me. We’ll tell my nephew, of course, but he’s out of town until tomorrow.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “How would you feel about not telling him? About not telling anyone else who I really am?”

Robert didn’t seem to like the suggestion, so she said, “If one of your employees is involved, introducing me as a P.I. would warn him off. And if he goes to ground I’ll have a harder time learning who he is.”

“Yes, of course,” he said slowly. “That makes sense. But what does it have to do with not telling Noah?”

“When you’re trying to keep a secret, the fewer people in on it the better. All it takes is one slip…”

“Hmm…I see what you mean.”

She waited, letting him debate with himself. She never pushed clients very hard on issues like this. That way, the decisions didn’t come back to bite her.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Only Larry and I will know. But if we don’t say you’re a P.I., how do we explain you?”

“Well, I’ve established an identity for undercover work—Dana Mayfield, an organizational design consultant. It’s solidly backed up, so it checks out as authentic if anyone gets curious.”

“A consultant,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. You’ve had this run of trouble, so you bring in a consultant. Your people would see that as a reasonable move, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess most of them would. Noah, though…one of the first things he’ll ask is whether we told you we think the problems are more than simple bad luck, that we’re convinced someone’s behind them. He’ll figure that otherwise we’re just wasting money.”

“But logically, you would have told me. I mean, you’d have at least raised it as a possibility, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, you’re right. So…how would this be? We say that we mentioned it, but didn’t tell you we’re pretty well certain—because we want you starting out with an open mind.”

“Good. That sounds believable.”

Robert nodded, then said, “Okay, that’s how we’ll handle it. And so that I don’t come off looking like an idiot, I guess the next thing we need to talk about is what an organizational design consultant does. I only have a vague idea.”

She gave him a smile. “You and just about everyone else. Which makes it a great cover. I can ask practically anything without raising suspicions.

“But, basically, a real OD person would look at the various structures in your company—reporting relationships, processes and systems, then recommend ways to improve them.

“So I’d be talking to your employees about their jobs. And the business in general. Asking for their input on how to make things work better.”

“And while you’re doing that you’re hoping someone says something…incriminating?”

“I’m not normally that lucky. But if I ask enough questions, sooner or later I usually get a lead.”

“Well…”

“Is there a problem?”

“Just a minor one. Something else with Noah.”

“Uh-huh?”

“You see, Larry and I don’t think much of consultants. We’ve heard about too many cases of them causing more problems than they’ve solved. And Noah’s aware of how we feel, so he’ll figure it’s awfully strange that we’d suddenly decide to…

“But there’s no reason for you to worry about that. Larry and I will come up with an explanation. Which gets us to the question of when you can start.”

“Let’s see,” she said, glancing at her appointment book. “This is Wednesday and I’m tied up tomorrow. But I could meet with you and your partner on Friday morning.”

“Sounds fine.”

“Good. Then I’ll need a small retainer now. And on Friday the two of you can fill me in on the details of these incidents.

“Plus, if you get together an organization chart, a list of your employees and copies of the latest annual reports, I’ll review them on the weekend. And starting Monday, I’ll be able to devote most of my time to you.”

Since Robert seemed surprised, she added, “A lot of my work is for trial lawyers. But half of them spend their summers in the Hamptons, which makes July and August slow.”

“Ah.”

When he said nothing more, she began to grow anxious.

He looked worried that she might have given him the “slow summers” explanation to avoid the truth. And worried the truth was that she didn’t have enough clients to earn a decent living.

However, since New Yorkers who concerned themselves about strangers were an endangered species, he was far more likely reconsidering the wisdom of hiring her—probably wondering if whoever had done the asking around for him had goofed, maybe suspecting she was actually readily available because she wasn’t a particularly good P.I.

Uneasily, she pictured the anemic balance in her bank account. Then, to her relief, Robert Haine reached inside his suit jacket and produced a checkbook.

FOUR YEARS OF LIFE in squad cars had left Dana with absolutely no desire to ever drive in Manhattan again.

Besides, she liked walking, found that immersing herself in the constant rush of the city energized her. And when walking wasn’t feasible she happily relied on cabs and public transit. She didn’t need either, though, to get to Four Corners Imports.

Its head office was on the northern fringe of the Village, not much more than an easy stroll from her Chelsea apartment. And a pleasant one on a sunny July morning, even if the air was a bit too muggy for comfort.

After turning off Ninth onto West Thirteenth, she stopped to take her black pumps out of her briefcase and change into them from her sneakers. Then she tucked those away and started walking again—mentally reviewing the homework she’d done on the company’s key players.

She’d learned, long ago, that checking out new clients often revealed interesting details they’d “forgotten” to mention. But in this instance she hadn’t learned anything even remotely strange or startling.

Robert had begun his working career in sales. Then he’d met Larry Benzer—recently back from fighting in Vietnam and with a little money saved—and the two of them had established their own business.

Noah Haine, the nephew who’d joined the company a few years back, had initially been brought on board to orchestrate the process of taking it public.

With an MBA from Columbia and experience working for an investment banker, he’d been up on what had to be done to make Four Corners comply with all of the Securities and Exchange people’s regulations.

As for the men’s personal lives, Robert was well into his second marriage, no children from either. Larry and his wife had been together for almost twenty-five years. They had two sons and a daughter. Noah was single.

While a few more facts were parading through Dana’s mind she reached her destination, which proved to be an old, but well-maintained, three-story brick office building.

Beyond the bar-protected glass of the front entrance she could see a wide, old-fashioned wooden staircase. To the right was a hallway, to the left a reception area.

It was accented with a variety of interesting-looking collectibles—undoubtedly examples of the sorts of things Four Corners imported. Between those and the numerous paintings on the walls, the space reminded her of a tiny gallery in a museum.

But when her gaze came to rest it wasn’t on any of the objets d’art. It was on the tall, dark-haired man talking to the woman behind the desk.

His back was to the door, so she couldn’t see his face. Given the set of his broad shoulders, though, combined with the relaxed way he was standing, she’d say he was the kind of man who felt comfortable in his own skin.

Hoping the humidity hadn’t done too bad a number on her hair, she combed her fingers through it. Then she pressed the buzzer.

The receptionist glanced over, scrutinized her, then released the lock. Apparently, the woman had been expecting her. The man turned to see who had arrived.

When he did, she felt a quick internal tug—a feeling she so rarely had that she almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. Instantaneous attraction. There was something about him…

She let herself study him for a moment, trying to determine exactly what it was, then finally decided it was a combination of things.

His eyes were the color of rich black coffee, his features strong and regular; his square jaw looked rock hard. All in all, it was hardly surprising that he’d started her pulse stuttering a little.

As she stepped inside he smiled at her—such a high-beam smile she couldn’t have stopped herself from smiling back if she’d tried. Then he glanced at her naked ring finger, and his apparent interest made her face grow warm.

Lord, how long had it been since she’d blushed? Certainly months. Possibly years.

“You must be Dana Mayfield,” he said.

“Yes. And you must be…?”

The receptionist’s phone began to ring.

“Noah Haine,” he told her as the woman picked up. “Robert’s nephew. I’ll take you to him.”

“Thanks.”

“Most of our office space is on this floor,” he said as she fell into step beside him. “Back there,” he added, gesturing toward the wall behind the staircase.

She nodded, just able to hear the muffled sounds of people at work.

“But Robert and Larry hide out upstairs. They like to keep clear of the line of fire.”

When he gave her a quick grin to say he was joking, she couldn’t help thinking it was positively criminal that she’d have to ignore the pull she felt toward him.

New York was not a primo city for meeting eligible men. Not eligible men who rang her chimes, at any rate.

At thirty-one years of age, she’d been in precisely three serious relationships, none of which had been serious enough to lead to marriage.

And these days, all the single men she came in contact with seemed to be either gay, work obsessed, or in critical need of therapy.

Given that, and adding in the fact she was…

She settled on selective, rejecting picky—a word her mother had been known to use. But semantics aside, the point was that Noah Haine was off-limits.

She firmly believed in never mixing pleasure with business. And even if that wasn’t true she’d be careful around Noah. At least until she felt sure she could rule him out as a suspect.

After all, he was the director of finance. And one of the “incidents” had involved a batch of invoices that never reached the customers.

Blood might be thicker than water, but that didn’t mean Noah-of-the-thousand-watt-smile couldn’t be playing games.

That thought front and center in her mind, she managed to keep her eyes off him until they reached the second floor.

At the top of the stairs was a small waiting area. Beyond it stood an empty conference room, its door open, and to their left was a short corridor.

“The corner offices,” Noah told her as they started toward them, “are my uncle’s and Larry’s.

“And this one in between belongs to Helen Rupert,” he added, stopping outside its door.

He introduced Dana to the woman sitting behind the desk, then said, “Officially, Helen is Robert and Larry’s executive assistant. In reality, she runs the company.”

Helen, a plump woman in her fifties, laughed.

“That’s only because I’ve been here forever,” she said. “And I know where all the skeletons are buried.”

Noah shot her a grin, then led Dana the rest of the way to Robert’s office—where both the partners were waiting for her.

In contrast to Robert’s refined appearance, Larry Benzer was a large man whom she’d have guessed would deal in sports equipment, or something of that sort, rather than collectibles.

He’d been a boxer in college, she recalled, thinking that even a brief check into someone’s personal life usually turned up interesting bits of trivia. And he’d obviously kept in shape.

As he shook her hand, almost making her wince in the process, Robert said to Noah, “There’s no reason you need to sit in on this. Larry and I are just going to give Dana an overview of the company.”

The look that flickered across Noah’s face said he suspected the older men were keeping something from him. And since his obvious guess would be that it was something to do with her, once he’d left she asked if he had thought it was strange that they’d hired a consultant.

“He was certainly surprised,” Robert admitted. “But we came up with a pretty good story—said that while he was out of town Larry’s wife began pushing the idea. Told him that she’d read an article about organizational designers and decided a good one could probably help pinpoint why we’ve been having problems.”

“Noah’s aware I haven’t filled her in on our saboteur theory,” Larry added. “If I did, she’d only be more concerned. So it would make sense to him that she’s just thinking in terms of problems.”

“I see,” Dana said. “And when you talked to Noah? Did you get the impression that he really believed all it took was her suggesting—”

“You’d have to know Martha to understand,” Larry interrupted. “Until a couple of years ago she worked with us. Actually, we hired her way back when, to help me with market development, and then I ended up marrying her.

“But that’s beside the point. Which is that she still feels she’s part of the company and…she’s kind of headstrong.”

Dana glanced at Robert in time to catch the hint of a weary smile. From that, she concluded Larry should have omitted the “kind of.”

“When my wife sets her mind to something and doesn’t get her way,” he added, “she can drive people crazy.”

“In other words,” Robert said, “Noah won’t be thinking it’s too unrealistic that we’d go along with her.”

Turning her gaze back to Larry, Dana said, “If she still feels she’s part of the company, does she ever stop by, or…”

“Oh, sure. We have a condo in SoHo, so it’s no distance. And every now and then she has a marketing idea that she just can’t wait to discuss.”

“I see,” Dana said again, suspecting Martha Benzer was probably bored—and possibly regretted having left the company.

“Or she might want to go out for lunch on a day her friends are all busy,” Larry was continuing. “And I’m better than staying home.”

“I’m sure you’re much better,” she said with a smile. “But I didn’t make the reason for my question clear. I was wondering what would happen if she was here and ran into Noah. If he said something about her suggesting you hire me.”

“Oh, that’s covered,” Larry said. “I told her we were blaming you on her—as far as Noah and Helen and anyone else who might ask is concerned and…

“But I didn’t mean blaming you. What I should have…well, the bottom line is, you don’t have to worry about Martha.”

Dana didn’t exactly understand what Martha knew and didn’t know, but before she had a chance to ask anything more Larry was saying, “So, getting back to Noah, we said that we weren’t hiring you only to make Martha happy. That we’d started thinking we might be too close to see clearly. And were hoping something might leap out at an outsider like you.”

“And what did Noah say?”

Robert shot Larry a look, then shrugged. “That it would have made more sense to hire a private eye.”