Ronald Pinkham. Guillaume shook his head, even as his mind dredged up a hearty curse. No, he didn’t know Ronald Pinkham and couldn’t imagine how his business card came to be in the man’s pocket. Maybe Monique had met him at the open house, milling around in the big crowd of prospective residents. She had gone as the president to the residents’ council and as representative of the development management. Of course she would have the manager’s card in her pocket, especially given their relationship to each other.
The cops in turn shot him hard-eyed stares, their mouths slightly twisted. They scrawled comments in their notebooks and thanked him. “We may have more questions later,” one of them said. “Don’t go far.”
Guillaume steadied himself, offering them a sincere smile. He tipped the door shut only after they walked away. Inside, he reeled a moment before stalking to the den. Monique had shoved aside his copy of the Westcotts’ hard drive and the box of CDs. She surfed along the electronic “front pages” of her favorite newspapers, gathering a bite of the news from each.
“Ronald Pinkham is dead,” he announced. “And the police seem not to believe I have nothing to do with it.”
Monique continued to gaze into the monitor. “Incompetent lout. He lost his edge ages ago. The last straw was him hiring that moronic ex-con to do his dirty work. Pinkham should have realized that made him the middle man and the middle man is just so much dead weight.”
Guillaume leaned on the back of Monique’s chair. “You came up with that, my love? And being the woman of action that you are, I presume you immediately saw to it that the job was completed.”
“If you want something done right…”
“And you added your own fiendish touch…” Guillaume stroked her hair. “One of my business cards…”
“That was a warning to Mr. Pinkham’s associates.”
Guillaume grabbed a handful of Monique’s hair.
“Let me remind you,” Monique said, one hand rising to brush Guillaume back. “I am the terrible, swift sword of Wycliff, the left hand of darkness.”
“Stalemate, my little parsnip. I am the right hand of Wycliff, the face of his business empire, and the brother of the left.” He kissed her on the top of her head. “And we both know that the aforementioned Monsieur Wycliff would be appalled and infuriated to return from exile to a world where one of his two most trusted confederates had been snuffed out like a candle.”
Monique sighed. “We need to either promote the ex-con or dump him. Either way, we need a new street czar to handle the daily operations of Wycliff Incorporated.”
“Allow me to take responsibility for this task.”
Monique leaned back and grabbed her brother by the lobe of his ear. “You can also take responsibility for messing up my chances to get a table at Horatio’s. Do it again and I will deal with you less kindly next time.”
