“You live in denial of your talents.”
She was quite happy that way, too.
Wendy’s plant drooped sadly on the lateral file. “Oh, would you look at that?” She lifted the limp fronds.
“Why don’t you tell me about this alibi?”
“I was trying to tell you”—before he got on her case—“I was at Billy Joe’s from approximately nine-thirty until a little before eleven. So despite what Nick thinks, that still gives him time to kill Wendy and get there to see me before I left.”
“Jury’s still out on Nick then, huh? If logic prevails.”
She ignored the dig. “Wendy might not believe he did it, but I require proof.”
Cameron snorted. “So what do we have here? Remy wears a ring similar to one you saw in a dream—”
“I’ve got to get a better look at that ring.”
“And Nick implies you’re his alibi for the time Wendy died. Let’s face it, sweetheart, we haven’t got a shitload of useful evidence in all this. Even if the ring is exactly the same, what the hell does it prove?”
“It proves Remy beat her at one time or another.”
“It only says that someone wearing a ring exactly like his was in your dream. Because you never saw a face, did you, Max?”
Dammit, no, she hadn’t seen a face. In addition, while she didn’t like Remy, she hadn’t picked up quite the same level of malevolence from him that she’d sensed in the bad man of her dream.
Max headed to the tiny lunchroom, flipping light switches as she went. In minutes, the rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the area. Her stomach growled appreciatively. She filled another pot with water and returned to hydrate Wendy’s thirsty plant.
With liquid and light, it perked up in minutes. Its death would have been a bad omen.
“What am I doing wrong, Cameron? Why can’t I figure this all out?”
“Are you talking to yourself, Max?”
She jumped. Water from the half-full pot splashed all over her black suede shoes and the legs of her slacks. “Jesus Christ, you scared me, Mr. Hackett.”
“Call me Remy. And please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
She passed a hand across her brow. Jesus Christ was bad. Screw was okay. All right. Fine. She’d get the hang of it.
“I’m sorry. I forgot myself for a moment.” Dickhead. She enjoyed the word, even if it was only in her mind. “Well, now that my heart rate is back to normal...” She fanned herself. “I was just thinking what a nice class ring you have. Rubies are one of my favorite stones. May I see it a little more closely?”
Her approach certainly lacked finesse, but Max was past caring. Cameron laughed from somewhere in the breakroom. He’d undoubtedly gotten high on the scent of fresh coffee. Or he’d sneaked a cigarette.
Remy held out his hand. Max refused to actually touch his fingers. “It’s not a ruby,” he said. “I preferred a garnet.”
Max saw that now. Damn. The stone was not the bright, eye-catching red of the gem in her dream. Remy’s was rustier in color. She hadn’t seen the dream ring closely enough to notice other contrasts, but Remy wore his on the pinkie, whereas the monster in Wendy’s vision wore it on the fourth finger.
“Quite diaphanous, don’t you think?”
Diaphanous. She wasn’t sure he’d used the word correctly. Then again, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t.
“It’s very nice.” She stepped back, catching Remy’s speculative look. All she could do was throw him her best ditsy, dumb-blonde smile. Even if she wasn’t blond.
“You’re in early, Max.” He stood in the doorway of her office. Somehow, she felt trapped.
She spread her hands. “An accountant’s work is never done.”
“I’ve asked. No one admits making that call to your agency.”
Max turned, fluffed the fronds of Wendy’s spider plant. “Oh well, must have been a ghost.”
He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
From the breakroom, there was a crash, then the sound of something heavy smashing on the linoleum tile floor, then more crashes, in rapid succession. Remy jerked, turned, then half-ran, half-skipped across the bullpen, with Max fast on his heels.
Cameron was calling attention to himself again.
Remy stopped two feet into the coffee room. Max almost slammed into his back. Sidestepping around him, she shook her head as she gazed at Cameron’s mélange of broken crockery. He’d knocked the entire rack of mugs off the wall. Of the twelve they’d started with, only four survived.
“What a mess. I’ll clean it up. I already know where the broom is.” Max turned and stopped dead.
Remy’s face flamed red. “I-I-I—” he stammered, never making it past the pronoun.
Remy Hackett looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
What had Cameron done to him while her back was turned?
Not a damn thing, I swear. On a stack of Bibles.