“Hello—Devon, isn’t it?” Seeing Devon’s nod, she opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in?” She scrutinized Devon as she complied, her pale green gaze as sharp as chips of jade. Then she extended her hand. “I’m Cassidy Pierson. Frederick is…was…my uncle.”
Cassidy Pierson. Devon could see the page in her mind’s eye. VP of human resources. Twenty-eight years old. Daughter of Gregory. Sister of Blake.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Devon replied, shaking Cassidy’s hand. “Although I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“As do I.” Cassidy waved her arm toward the rear of the sprawling, dimly lit house. “Please join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude. I just…” Devon cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And maybe to be among others who understand. I didn’t know your uncle, but my mother held him in high regard.”
Cassidy’s probing gaze softened. “You’re scared. I don’t blame you. Whoever did this horrible thing is still out there.”
“And so’s my mother.”
“I know.” Cassidy turned as the pickle reappeared. “Albert, please take our guest’s coat.”
“Certainly.” He waited while Devon shrugged out of it, then draped it over his arm and walked away.
“Are you sure this isn’t a bad time?” Devon felt compelled to ask.
“Not yet. Right now it’s just family and a few close friends. Later, it’ll be a circus.” Cassidy’s reply was refreshingly and, surprisingly, honest. “Come on,” she urged. “I’ll introduce you.”
Devon followed her through the polished hardwood foyer. The house was imposing. Like the family.
The voices grew more distinct, and the foyer opened up into an expansive pillared living room with burgundy leather sofas, walnut chairs and end tables, and about a dozen chatting people.
The Pierson clan.
All eyes were on Devon as she stepped into the room. Her first thought was that she now understood what Cinderella must have felt like when she made an entrance into a royal ballroom. Her second thought was that she was glad she’d listened to her instincts and changed into a tailored pantsuit before heading over here from her mother’s. The jeans and sweater she’d had on before would have stuck out like a sore thumb.
“This is Devon Montgomery,” Cassidy announced—a mere formality, since everyone already knew who she was.
Actually, they weren’t at too much of an advantage. Devon had very little trouble figuring out who was who. She quickly put faces to the names and profiles Monty had gone over with her last night.
Anne Pierson was a matriarch if ever there was one. The grande dame of the family, she had silver white hair, piercing ice blue eyes, and a regal carriage that nearly made Devon curtsy instead of acknowledging Cassidy’s introduction with a handshake.
“I’m so terribly sorry about your loss,” Devon told her sincerely.
Those frosty eyes pinned her to the spot. “Thank you. Has there been any word on your mother?”
“None since yesterday. We’re trying to stay positive.”
“Of course you are.” It sounded more like an accusation than an acknowledgment.
“Grandmother, you should sit down,” Cassidy interceded to suggest. “You look exhausted.”
“You’re right. I am.” Anne lingered a moment longer, her gaze fixed on Devon. Abruptly, she turned away. “Please excuse me.” It sounded more like an order than a request.
Next, Cassidy introduced Devon to her uncle Niles and aunt Lynn, followed by her parents, Gregory and Natalie.
No surprises there, either. Niles and Lynn were the snobs; Gregory and Natalie were the free spirits.
Devon was just meeting Philip Rhodes when there was a commotion from the hall, and a golden retriever puppy exploded into the living room. He was about three or four months old, Devon surmised; still chubby, with paws too big for his legs—a furry, adorable, clumsy ball of energy.
Ignoring the exclamations, he shook off a layer of snow, then sprinted into the center of the room, stumbling, panting, and wagging his tail all at once. His warm brown gaze found Devon and he bounded over, sniffing as he did. He jumped up, yanking at Devon’s blazer with his teeth, and yipped excitedly. Just as swiftly, he was back on all fours, crouching down so he could sniff at the hem of her pants. He grabbed the material between his teeth and began to chew, just as a tall, dark-haired man strode over, snapping his fingers and commanding: “Chomper! Drop it!”
Chomper’s ears went up. But he didn’t miss a beat. Totally ignoring his owner, he dragged more material into his mouth, made a nice, wet wad, and settled down to chew on it.
“Chomper! I said, drop it!”
This time, the ears barely flickered.
Biting back laughter, Devon gazed from the enthusiastic pup to his irritated owner, who was now squatting down to take a more hands-on approach. “I don’t think he’s listening,” she noted.
“He never does.” The man began trying to physically pry Chomper’s teeth away from Devon’s slacks.
“That’s not going to work,” Devon informed him. “Not in the long run.”
“So I see.” Giving up, Chomper’s owner leaned back on his heels. He tilted back his head and gazed up at her, a corner of his mouth lifting in a rueful grin. “I apologize. We just got in from our walk, and he took off before I could grab him. I’ll gladly pay for any damage to your suit.”
“No problem.” Devon watched the man rise and smooth the front of his navy jacket. He made a pretty devastating package. Over six feet tall, athletic build, Brioni suit—this guy emanated power and charisma. His hair was jet-black, a few strands of which swept his broad forehead, and there was a lionlike quality to his amber eyes that was hard to look away from.
Too tall and powerfully built to be James. Hair color and texture like Cassidy’s.
Must be Blake.
Sure enough, he stuck out his palm and said, “I’m Blake Pierson. This is Chomper, who’s introduced himself the hard way.”
Devon smiled, shaking Blake’s hand. “Devon Montgomery. And don’t worry about Chomper. I’m used to being slobbered on. It’s a daily hazard for me.”
His brows lifted. “You have a manic retriever pup, too?”
“A terrier. Mine steals socks. But that’s not what I meant. I’m a veterinarian.”
“So you deal with guys like Chomper all day.”
“Dogs, cats, birds, ferrets…you name it. That’s probably the reason for my popularity with Chomper. I stopped at the clinic to check on some patients. I’m sure I brought all kinds of interesting animal scents up here with me. And there’s one other reason he could have been drawn to me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the peanut butter dog biscuits she carried everywhere with her. “May I?”
“Please.” Blake gestured at the floor, where Chomper was still occupied with Devon’s pants. “Especially if it will divert him.”
She squatted down, saying Chomper’s name in a quiet, firm tone until she got his attention. Then she showed him the biscuit. “Not these,” she instructed him, tugging away her pants. “This.” He sniffed at it, caught the enticing scent of peanut butter, and snatched it up. “Good boy,” Devon praised.
The praise was nice. The biscuit was better. Chomper crunched away happily.
“Diversion accomplished,” Devon announced, standing up.
She came face-to-face with a willowy, attractive woman in her mid-thirties, who’d evidently joined them while Devon was dealing with Chomper. Stylish, blond, well put together.
This one didn’t require a guess. Devon had seen her photograph, on the arm of Frederick Pierson, in the newspaper archives Monty had searched.
Louise Chambers. Pierson & Company’s corporate counsel.
“Dr. Montgomery. It’s a pleasure.” The woman held out a manicured hand. “I’m Louise Chambers.”
“Ms. Chambers.” Another handshake. And more head-to-toe scrutiny of Devon. This time it seeme
d to be more personal. Best guess? It was because she was Sally’s daughter and Sally had been dating Frederick. And, from what Devon had gleaned in the social columns, Louise and Frederick had been something of an item this past year and a half.
“Louise is a close family friend,” Blake was saying. “She’s also Pierson & Company’s outstanding general counsel.”
“Put that in my paycheck,” Louise quipped, patting Blake’s arm. She turned back to Devon. “You must be worried sick about your mother.”
“I am.” Devon trod carefully. “Very worried. I’m also very sorry about Mr. Pierson.”
Genuine pain flashed in Louise’s eyes. “We all are.”
“Maybe Devon would like a drink.” A lean guy with dark wavy hair and a Crest Whitestrips smile strolled over.
Medium height. Grandma Anne’s blue eyes and aristocratic features. And Pierson charm.
James.
“What can I get you?” he asked Devon.
“I’d love a Diet Coke.”
“Done. I’m James Pierson, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“And it’s nice to meet you.” He gave her a blatant once-over, followed by a more lingering perusal. He then flashed an approving, if obvious, smile before going in search of the Diet Coke.
Bingo. James wanted to hit on her. What more natural scenario in which to initiate a personal conversation?
Swiftly, Devon scanned the room, her mind racing. She didn’t have much time. People were starting to filter out. Last-minute arrangements were being made. A funeral. A business, sans a CEO. The Piersons had a lot on their plates. Till now, Devon had been a curiosity. Soon she’d become an annoyance. Before that happened, she had to secure more than formal introductions. She had to talk, really talk, to at least one of the Piersons. She’d met nearly all of them. The only ones left were Tiffany and Roger Wallace. And that had to be them, standing in the corner, talking quietly to a child of kindergarten age. Their daughter, Kerri, no doubt.
She’d forfeit meeting them. She had to capitalize on James’s interest in her.
“Subtle, isn’t he?” Cassidy murmured beside her.
Devon turned, grinning at the knowing twinkle in Cassidy’s eyes. “No. But I doubt he has to be. Is he your brother?”
“My cousin.”
“Frederick’s son?”
“No, Niles’s.” Cassidy gestured in Niles’s direction. “Frederick and Emily never had children.”
“Then that branch of the family’s gone.”
A reflective nod. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes. Niles is Grandfather’s eldest now.”
“That must drop the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
“In business, you mean?” Cassidy looked amused. “Niles will carry it well. He thrives under pressure. Then again, I doubt he’ll get involved in the food-services division. He’s a fine-dining guy all the way. Plus, with James’s equestrian competitions, he’s on overload already.”
“Did I hear my name?” James asked, walking back over and handing Devon a crystal glass.
“Don’t you always?” Cassidy replied good-naturedly. “I was just telling Devon how busy your father is, between Pierson & Company and your riding.”
“Yeah, that’s Dad. Always on the go.”
Devon sipped at her drink, eyeing James as she did. “Cassidy mentioned equestrian competitions. What kind and where?”
“Show jumping. And wherever they’ll have me.”
“Ah, that’s my cue.” Cassidy gave a mock sigh. “James pretends to be modest—which is far from the truth—so I’ll toot his horn and make him sound more impressive. He’s competed at major events everywhere, including Calgary and Toronto this past fall. Right now, he’s competing at the Winter Equestrian Festival in Wellington. He came in second at today’s Grand Prix. We’re all sure that he and Stolen Thunder are on their way to the World Games in Aachen, and from there to Olympic Gold in Beijing.”
“The Olympics? That is impressive.” Devon’s brows rose.
“You’re right. It does sound better coming from you,” James informed his cousin. “Let’s hope your predictions come true.”
“Are you kidding? Grandfather wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“So you don’t work at Pierson & Company?” Devon asked, feigning ignorance.
“Sure I do. I’m VP of sales.”
“How do you manage that? Two demanding careers—I can barely handle one.”
“Talent,” James replied with a teasing grin. “No, seriously, discipline and commitment. It also helps that riding is my passion.”
“Among others,” Cassidy muttered.
He shot her a look, then turned his charm back on Devon. “I heard you say you’re a vet. That must mean long hours.”
“It does.”
“Does it leave any time for fun?”
Devon had just opened her mouth to reply, when Chomper shot up from the floor and barked, then abandoned his biscuit crumbs and bounded across the room. Following him with her gaze, Devon saw that Kerri had perched on the edge of the sofa and was drawing a picture. Chomper, evidently, had spotted her crayons and decided they were edible. He snatched two in his mouth, then took off, with Kerri in close pursuit.
“Chomper!” Blake, who’d been concentrating on some vehement revelation Louise Chambers was in the process of confiding, broke away to go after his dog. Louise frowned as she watched him go. Her troubled stare slid briefly to Devon before she walked over to the martini pitcher on the sideboard and refilled her glass.
Devon got the distinct feeling that whatever had just been said concerned her.
“Great,” Cassidy noted in disgust. “Chomper’s on the run again. I hope my brother reaches him before he reaches the back door. Otherwise, Blake will be organizing the second search party of the day.”
“I assume Chomper likes to take off.”
“Constantly. He’s either escaping or destroying something.” Cassidy rolled her eyes. “And that’s up here at the farm. Imagine him in a Manhattan brownstone.”
“Your brother lives in the city?”
“Whenever he’s not up here, yes. I’m sure you can’t guess which place Chomper prefers.”
“I’m sure I can.” As she spoke, Devon spotted Kerri returning to the living room, sans crayons. There was no sign of Chomper or Blake.
Reacting on instinct, she set down her glass. “I’m pretty good at tracking down runaway pets. Maybe I should give Blake a hand.”
James caught her arm. “Blake can manage,” he assured her. “Besides, I was enjoying our talk.”
“So was I.” Devon hesitated, unwilling to blow her opportunity to get information out of James, yet equally unwilling to stay idle when she knew she could expedite the task of finding Chomper.
Cassidy made the decision for her.
“Let her help, James,” she urged. “The sooner Chomper’s found, the better. We’ve got guests arriving to pay their respects. You and Devon can talk later.”
“Can we?” James asked, studying Devon intently.
“Yes.” Devon met James’s stare, giving him what she hoped was an eager look. “I’d really like that.”
“So would I.” Pleased by her response, he released his hold on her arm. “Go ahead. I’ll be waiting.”
Devon weaved her way through the living room and into the hall. No need to ask directions. She followed the racket of scurrying paws and chasing feet.
The sound of padding paws vanished. But the running footsteps continued, along with a few exasperated shouts.
She reached the back door in time to see it waving open on its hinges, with Blake standing on the threshold, glaring outside.
“Dammit.” His expression was intent as he scanned the well-lit grounds.
“A few minutes too late,” Devon surmised, coming up behind him.
He turned his head, noting her presence. “Yeah. And a few minutes is all it takes.” He jiggled the handle on the
swinging door. “We’ve got to get this latch fixed. The wind keeps blowing it open.”
“Which is Chomper’s cue to bolt.” Devon stepped past him to peer outside.
“Don’t bother looking for paw prints. He’s too light, and the ground’s too frozen for him to make any imprints.”
“That’s not what I was doing. I was figuring out the detours he could have taken to vanish so quickly. And I was checking out the grounds to see where he might hide.”
“Any conclusions?”
“Where did you find him earlier today?”
Blake grimaced. “I see Cassidy’s filled you in on Chomper’s antics. I found him near the pond.” He pointed. “I have no idea why he went there. It’s frozen.”
“It’s got an eastern exposure. The sun was out this morning. He probably found a warm spot to play with whatever he’d stolen.”
“That would be my glove,” Blake supplied. “And the weather’s a nonissue. Chomper’s not picky when he’s in bandit mode.”
Devon shivered, hugging herself to stay warm. “Trust me, he won’t like this chill. The poor little guy must be freezing. It’s gotten windy, and the sun’s gone down. I’d suggest we check enclosed places. Places he’d be able to wriggle his way into, like a barn or an indoor arena.”
“We’ve got three indoor jumping arenas. They’re on the western portion of the property. The barn’s to the north. So are the feed and tack rooms.”
“Any other heated areas?”
“The wash stalls. They’re right next to the feed room.”
“We’ve got our work cut out for us. You take the arenas. I’ll take the barn area.”
Blake nodded, already in motion. “I’ll get our coats and some flashlights.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, Devon finished a quick search of the wash stalls. Dark, deserted—no signs of Chomper. As for the feed and tack rooms, the doors were shut tight. On to the barn.
She turned up her collar and headed in that direction.