Aspen said, “No problem.”
Jacqueline hugged her around the shoulders and said, “I’m a bitch, but most of the time I’m a nice bitch. Yesterday things got away from me.”
“I understand.”
“We’ll do lunch and I’ll tell you some gossip to make up for it,” Jacqueline said.
Blake jumped in.
“Not about me, I hope.”
Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Mostly about you.”
The talk continued, but Aspen paid only enough attention to react when she needed to. Instead, she savored the fact that everything had actually returned to normal. Maybe she really did have a long-term place with the firm after all.
Blake Gray’s office turned out to be slightly more than a desk and a credenza. It had a pool table, a wet bar, couches and chairs galore, plants, a treadmill, a fountain, and two old pinball machines-all pointed at an incredible view of the Rockies.
“This is just like my office,” Aspen said.
Blake laughed.
“Now you see why I can’t go back to Colfax.”
The walls held expensive modern art, except for the wall behind his desk, which was totally barren except for an old check framed under glass.
“That’s the check I told you about,” Blake said, “the one that bounced. My reminder of reality.”
She looked at it.
$182.53.
“Insufficient Funds” stamped in red ink.
“After getting that check,” Blake said, “I spent a lot of time figuring out how to not get another one.” He chuckled. “Of course, it did no good. We still take our share of hits.”
Five minutes later, Blake’s personal assistant escorted two people into the room. Aspen recognized the man-Nick Teffinger-from the news report, but wasn’t prepared for the live version. She took her eyes off him only long enough to glance at the woman, an attractive African American with a powerful body, professionally dressed, about Aspen’s age.
“Nice digs,” Teffinger said.
He focused on the pinball machines.
“I used to play a little when I was a kid,” he said, looking at Blake Gray. “If you want to make a wager, I’ll bet everything I own against everything you own.”
Blake grinned.
“I don’t own anything,” he said. “My bankers do. But I’ll bet everything that I owe against everything that you owe.”
Teffinger walked over to the machine, tested the flippers, and put a ball in play as he talked to Aspen.
“So tell me the story,” he said. “How’d you find her?”
Aspen talked while Teffinger and Blake vied for points. “It was no stroke of genius,” she said. “I knew the date that Rachel Ringer disappeared. It was at the top of my mind. When the news report came on about the other two bodies, who disappeared about the same time as Rachel, I just put two and two together. It was just a matter of one dot, and another dot, and a straight-line connection.”
Then she told him about how she ended up in the water and actually found the head.
“No one knows yet that the head was detached,” Teffinger said. “We’re keeping that close to the vest. Have you told anyone about that?”
She ran through her memory.
“No,” she said. “Just Blake.”
Teffinger nodded.
“Good. I’d appreciate it if you both kept it that way.”
Not a problem.
“That’s all I know,” she added. “It was just a fluke.”
Even though the ball was at the top of the board, Teffinger took his hands off the flippers and looked at her. “That’s not entirely true,” he said. “You heard that we found a fourth body too, right?”
She nodded.
That was true.
“And you know her name, don’t you?”
She swallowed.
“Well, I did happen to sniff around some news articles on the Internet,” she said, “to see if anyone else also disappeared in early April.”
“And?”
“A name did come up,” she said. “Catherine Carmichael.”
Teffinger was impressed.
“Bingo,” he said. “We haven’t confirmed it yet, but that’s who we think it is too. Again, keep that close to the vest.”
After Blake Gray soundly beat Teffinger three games in a row, they ended up on leather couches drinking coffee, where Teffinger learned that Rachel Ringer didn’t have an enemy in the world.
“Not even a little tiny one?” Teffinger asked.
“If you’re looking for tiny stuff that doesn’t really count,” Blake said, “she did have a minor personality conflict with another lawyer in the firm by the name of Jacqueline Moore.”
Aspen wasn’t sure, but Teffinger seemed to react to the name.
“Jacqueline Moore,” he repeated.
“But no more so than everyone else,” Blake added. “Jacqueline rubs some people the wrong way.” He turned to Aspen. “Right?”
Aspen almost agreed, but decided to be politically correct instead.
“She’s not so bad,” she said.
Teffinger looked at her and frowned.
“In hindsight,” he said, “I wish we hadn’t put your face on the news. Someone might think you’re a witness or a threat.” He handed her one of his business cards. “Just keep a lookout. If you hear any strange bumps in the night, give me a call.”
He turned to Blake Gray. “I’d like to look through Rachel’s emails.”