Trust Me

  “We'll see.” Stark got to his feet and followed his brothers to the door. He walked out onto the front steps.

  Macbeth sat behind the wheel of the black Jeep. He was attired, as usual, in his black mirrored sunglasses, work shirt, and leather vest. He lifted a hand in greeting as the boys ran toward the vehicle.

  “Mornin' Stark.”

  Stark went down the steps. He walked to the Jeep and braced one hand on the top of the cab. “I wasn't sure you'd show this morning.”

  Macbeth's teeth flashed briefly. “I heard about the fuss here last night.” He lowered his voice as Kyle and Jason scrambled into the Jeep and reached for their seat belts. “Desdemona said you were pissed because someone tried to get inside your computer.”

  “Yes.”

  “She said you thought it was Tony.”

  “I have good reason to think that it was.”

  “Nah,” Macbeth said easily. “Tony's no thief. He's a screwup, but that's different.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Hey, don't worry about it.” Macbeth flashed a grin. “Desdemona's going to take care of everything.”

  “She is?”

  “Yeah.” Macbeth put the truck in gear. “She's going to hire someone to look into the situation.”

  Stark stared at him. “She's going to do what?”

  “Hire someone. You know, like a private eye.”

  “A private eye. Is she nuts?”

  “It'll probably cost her an arm and a leg, and we both know Tony's the one who should pay for it, but he can't. No money. So Desdemona is going to handle it. We'll all chip in whatever we can, of course.” Macbeth smiled again. “Good thing I've got this great day job.”

  Stark stepped back when the Jeep's engine thundered. Kyle and Jason waved to him as Macbeth eased the vehicle back out of the drive.

  Stark stood absolutely still for what seemed a very long time. Then he turned and went back up the steps. He strode into the kitchen and grabbed the phone.

  “Desdemona, it's for you,” Juliet yelled above the din of early-morning activity.

  “I'll take it in my office.” Desdemona put down a pan full of freshly shelled hard-boiled eggs and stripped off her plastic gloves. “Finish these stuffed eggs for me, will you, Aunt Bess?”

  “Of course, dear.” Bess took charge of the eggs. “Roasted red pepper filling?”

  “Right.” Desdemona hurried into her office and closed the door. She picked up the phone. “This is Desdemona.”

  “What the hell do you think you're doing?” Stark asked without any preamble.

  Desdemona caught her breath. He had called. She had been almost certain he would, but she had not been completely positive. There were too many things about Stark that were not yet predictable.

  “At the moment, I'm stuffing hard-boiled eggs.” She forced a determined lightness into her tone. “We're doing an eleven o'clock brunch for a sportswear company's clients. Do you have any idea of how long it takes to stuff a hundred eggs?”

  “Forget the eggs,” Stark growled. “I'm talking about your insane idea to hire a private investigator.”

  “Oh, that. Macbeth told you about my plan?”

  “Have you gone completely nuts? It'll cost you a fortune, and it's a total waste of time.”

  “Not in my opinion,” she said.

  “Just what the hell do you think an investigator is going to find?” Stark demanded.

  “The truth.”

  “He'll have to interview me first, and I'll tell him about the toothpicks, Tony's history of embezzlement, his working knowledge of computers, and his hostility toward me, and that will be the end of the damned investigation.”

  “I believe a good investigator will turn up some other suspects.”

  “Desdemona, I do not want a private investigator involved in my affairs.”

  “Why not? Have you got something to hide?”

  “I do not intend to discuss Stark Security Systems' proprietary information with anyone,” Stark said grimly.

  “You can't expect us Wainwrights to take your accusations lying down. We have a right to defend ourselves.”

  “You act as if I'm accusing all Wainwrights of attempted theft. That's not the case.”

  “You've accused Tony of attempted theft, and you've as good as accused me of being a trusting, naive, gullible fool for believing in him. Do you deny it?”

  “Desdemona, listen to me—”

  “Do you deny it?”

  “Damn it, I issued a warning to that fool stepbrother of yours, and yes, I do think you're gullible where he's concerned. You're a sucker for his hard-luck stories because he's family.”

  “So? As it happens, he's had a lot of hard luck.”

  “Desdemona, he's used you, and he's going to continue using you as long as you allow it.”

  “I don't care what you say, Stark, I'm going ahead with my plan.”

  “You'll be wasting your time. Your investigator won't get anywhere without my cooperation, and I don't intend to give it to him.”

  “Is that so?”

  “What's more, I'll have a very long talk with your P.I. I will explain the facts of the situation to him. I will then explain the facts of business life to him. I'll inform him that if he interferes in my business affairs, I'll see to it that he never works for me or any of my clients.”

  “You'd issue threats to my investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it's going to be a little tricky issuing threats to yourself,” Desdemona murmured. “I wonder if you'll back off or if you'll tell yourself to go to hell. I'm betting on the latter.”

  There was a distinct pause from Stark. “What are you talking about?”

  “You're the investigator I intend to hire.” Desdemona slammed down the phone.

  Within seconds the instrument warbled like an irate bird. She picked up the receiver. “Right Touch Catering. May I help you?”

  “I am a computer security expert.” Stark sounded as though he were speaking between clenched teeth. “I don't do the kind of thrilling hard-boiled detective investigations that you read about in mystery novels.”

  “This is a computer security problem, isn't it? You're a computer security expert.”

  “The only kind of investigations I do are computer investigations.” Stark's tone implied he was holding on to his temper through sheer will power. “I search computer files and follow computer trails through various kinds of networks and systems while seated at my desk. I do not interview suspects. I do not carry a gun in a shoulder holster. I do not conduct stakeouts.”

  “However you want to handle this is fine by me,” Desdemona said easily. “Look, you don't tell me how to put on a buffet for two hundred, and I won't tell you how to do your job.”

  “This is crazy. Speaking hypothetically, because that is the only way in which we can even discuss this situation, just what do you expect me to discover?”

  “I'm hiring you to find a suspect other than Tony who had both motive and opportunity to steal ARCANE. I want you to realize that my brother is not the only suspect or even a very likely suspect. I want you to stop focusing on Tony and look at the big picture.”

  “Damn it, Tony is the most likely suspect.”

  “You're reacting emotionally, not logically, Stark.”

  “If you mean I'm getting more than a little annoyed, you're right. I am not, however, being illogical. You're the one who isn't being logical.”

  “I don't have any particular interest in logic, per se,” Desdemona said. “Granted, it works for some people, but we Wainwrights rely more on intuition.”

  “Then apply your intuitive powers to the problem of paying my fee,” Stark said in a thoroughly dangerous voice.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” Stark said very deliberately, “that you cannot afford me.”

  “Ah, now, that's where you're wrong,” Desdemona said. “I have something you want, and you have something
I want, and we're both business people. We should be able to negotiate a deal here.”

  There was a moment of acute silence. Stark's next words were coated in ice. “What, exactly are you offering?”

  Desdemona tightened her grip on the phone. “In exchange for your services as a computer security investigator, I am willing to provide free catering to your company for one full year.”

  There was another long silence. “I see.”

  Desdemona scowled at the receiver in her hand. “What's the matter? You sound weird.”

  “I thought you were going to offer something else.”

  “My lush, lovely, nubile body?”

  Stark cleared his throat. “That thought did cross my mind.”

  “Tacky, Stark, very, very tacky.”

  “Yes, I guess it was.”

  “Now, then, to get back to the terms of our deal.”

  “What deal?” he asked.

  “Pay attention, Stark. You will have the services of Right Touch without charge for twelve months. We'll have to draw up a new contract, of course.”

  “Desdemona—”

  “Keep in mind that the only thing you're getting for free is my services. You will still have to pay for the basic expenses: food, equipment, rentals, ice sculptures, that kind of thing. But I won't charge you for the planning, preparation, and cleanup.”

  “You're going to subtract your fee from the bills?”

  “Right.”

  “Tell me,” Stark said. “Do you have any idea of how little of my time you're going to be able to purchase with this arrangement?”

  “I know you're expensive.”

  “Very expensive.”

  “But I figure that a hotshot security specialist such as yourself should be able to crack this case in short order. I have great faith in your talents, Stark.”

  “Let us suppose, just for the sake of argument, that I do turn up another possible suspect. That doesn't mean Tony isn't guilty.”

  “No, but it means that you can't dump all of your suspicions on him. You will be forced to acknowledge that there is a reasonable doubt. And,” Desdemona concluded, “you will be forced to apologize to me.”

  “For what?” Stark asked blankly.

  “For calling me a naive, gullible fool.”

  “Hell, if that's what's really bothering you, I'll apologize right now.”

  “No good. You don't mean it.”

  “Desdemona?”

  “Yes?”

  “What would it take for you to acknowledge that your stepbrother tried to rip me off last night?”

  “Overwhelming proof, and you can't supply that, Stark, because it doesn't exist. I've known Tony since I was five years old, and he's not a thief.”

  “You can't get past the fact that he once saved your life, can you?” Stark asked quietly. “What did he do? Rescue you from a swimming pool?”

  “No.”

  “Whatever it was, you've cast Tony in the role of hero, and you can't believe he might not still be one.”

  Desdemona glanced at her watch. “Look, I've got to run. Have we got a deal?”

  “Desdemona, this is crazy.”

  “It's business. What's your answer?”

  “I'll think about it and get back to you,” Stark muttered.

  “You do that. But don't take too long to make up your mind.”

  “Why not?”

  “The trail will get cold. If you dawdle, I'll have to find another security expert.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Yes, it is. You can call me here before ten with your decision. If you dither around until after ten—”

  “I do not dither,” he said ominously. “I think things through carefully before I act.”

  “Yes, well, if you think things through until after ten, you can reach me at Exotica Erotica later this afternoon. I'm catering the grand opening. Bye, Stark.”

  “Hell.”

  Desdemona hung up the phone. She perched on the corner of her desk and nervously swung one foot as she considered what she had just done. A shiver of dread went through her.

  She reminded herself that she was a Wainwright. Wainwrights were theater people. Risk-takers by definition. Only a true gambler would stake everything on a career in front of the footlights.

  The curtain had just been raised in a new drama that featured herself and Stark. She was stepping out on stage with an unseen script and an unpredictable leading man. There was no knowing how the play would end.

  There were so many things that could go wrong. Stark might never call back. Or he might accept her offer to investigate and come to the same false conclusion that he had reached last night. He was, after all, a very stubborn man. A real linear thinker. A man who trusted only what he could see, hear, or touch.

  The door of the office opened. Tony slouched into the room wearing an artificially beat-up leather jacket and black jeans. A young Marlon Brando, sullen and vengeful.

  “I just talked to Aunt Bess and Juliet.” Tony propped one shoulder against the wall. “They said you're trying to hire that bastard, Stark, to prove himself wrong.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “That's stupid. Why the hell would he want to prove I'm innocent? He hates my guts.”

  Desdemona contemplated that. “I don't think so. But I will admit he's not exactly the trusting sort.”

  “Then why bother with him? Cut your losses, kid. The jerk isn't for you. He can't prove a damn thing against me, so he's not going to press charges. We've got nothing to worry about. Walk away from him.”

  “I can't,” Desdemona said quietly. “I'm in love with him.”

  “Shit.” Tony straightened away from the wall. “You're going to be sorry you ever got involved with him. Trust me, a guy like that will turn on you in a second.”

  “He won't turn on me.”

  “Are you kidding? If he ever decides that you're directly involved in what happened last night, not just my innocent, gullible victim, he'll tear you to pieces.”

  Desdemona stopped swinging her foot. She gazed at Tony, unable to think of anything to say. She had an uneasy feeling that he was right.

  Dane closed the menu and set it aside. He glanced around the crowded downtown restaurant with a practiced eye. Stark knew that he was checking to see if there were any clients, past, present, or future, in sight. Dane always kept an eye on business.

  When Dane had finished the automatic survey he regarded Stark with wry amusement. “I hate to be the one to bring this up, but has it escaped your attention that Miss Wainwright might be in this up to her cute little ears?”

  Stark's fingers tightened around the menu. He had invited Dane to join him for lunch today because he wanted to discuss the bizarre situation in which he found himself. He was not very hungry, however. He wondered if the overly sweetened breakfast cereal he had ingested might have destroyed his entire digestive tract.

  “You mean you think she's using Right Touch as a cover for her light-fingered relatives?” Stark asked with forced casualness. “That she's running a burglary ring?”

  Dane cocked a brow. “I'd say it's a distinct possibility. I can't believe that you haven't already thought about it.”

  “Hmm.” Something cooked without too much grease or sauce, Stark thought. That's what his stomach needed. Something mild. Something soothing.

  “Maybe this is a regular routine for the Wainwright clan,” Dane continued. “It wouldn't be the first time an entire, close-knit family has been involved in crime. You've got to admit there's a certain logic to it. Especially for a family that appears to have had no stable means of support for three generations.”

  “I know.” Stark decided on the halibut and put down the menu. “A caterer is in a perfect position to rip off her clients. She sets them up through a legitimate business relationship. She and her staff have ample opportunity to case the premises and identify valuables.”

  “They make their move during a time when the house is full of people. Ther
e are literally dozens of suspects, assuming the victim even realizes when the theft occurred.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you've at least considered the possibility.”

  “Yes.”

  Dane raised his hands, palms out. “Then I will say no more.” He grinned briefly. “Except to comment that you're beginning to sound like a genuine private eye. I'm impressed. You've even got an attractive female client, just like the fictional investigators always seem to get.”

  Stark ignored that. He was not at all sure if he still had Desdemona, and the uncertainty was eating at his insides. It was probably doing more damage than the cereal had done. He folded his hands on the white linen tablecloth. “I don't think we're dealing with a crime family.”

  “No?”

  “No. The Wainwrights are theater people. They're romantic. Melodramatic. Emotional.”

  Dane looked thoughtful. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that if they were involved in criminal activities, they would be more likely to steal expensive necklaces or rare vases or paintings. Not hard disks and computer programs.”

  “I'll admit that stealing a hard disk isn't quite like stealing an expensive necklace or a rare vase,” Dane said. “Special expertise is involved.”

  “Yes. And I think Tony Wainwright is the only member of the Wainwright clan who can tell a hard disk from a floppy disk.”

  “In all fairness, Miss Wainwright is correct about one thing,” Dane said. “There may well have been some other people at the reception last night who possessed the skill and the will to dig a hard disk out of a computer.”

  “True,” Stark said. “But none of them had the kind of motive or opportunity that good old, lovable Tony had. Or a past history of having been involved in an embezzlement case.”

  “So what are you going to do about Miss Wainwright's offer?”

  Stark looked up, mildly surprised at the question. “I'm going to take it.”

  Stark had not called by four o'clock that afternoon.

  Desdemona surveyed the buffet table she had arranged in the center of Exotica Erotica. The opening of Kirsten's shop was a gala affair. The sky was still overcast, but no rain had appeared. A good-sized crowd had materialized. The throng was composed of Wainwright family and friends, such as Ian Ivers, some neighboring shop owners, and curious passersby who drifted in off the streets of Pioneer Square. Everyone gathered beneath a colorful canopy of multicolored, helium-inflated condoms that decorated the ceiling.