Her Best Defense. Jackie/Lori Merritt/Myles
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desk and began returning items to her briefcase. Her intercom line buzzed and she picked up the phone. “Lisa here.”
“Larry here. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Larry, just miles away when the phone rang. Did you call for a reason? Oh, I just realized that you’re here at work.”
“Saturday is just another workday in this business, Lisa.”
“How true. So, are you on the trail of something interesting?”
“If you’ve got a few minutes, come on by Research, okay?”
“Will do. I have a phone call to make then I’ll be along. See ya.”
Lisa pushed Larry—along with his “questionable history” remarks about the Witheringtons, plus her avid curiosity about what gains he might have made—to the back burner and dialed the Witherington home. Waiting for someone to answer her call, she thought of how much more she would rather talk to Larry than to Glory. Oh, well.
A woman answered; Lisa identified herself and asked for Mrs. Witherington. In a minute, Glory’s voice said, “So, what’s up, kiddo?”
“Well, you sound in a good mood,” Lisa said.
“And you sound as though you disapprove.”
“Sorry, that wasn’t my intention. Glory, I’m leaving in a minute or two to pay you a visit. I would like to interview your household staff, view the crime scene and clear up a few more details with you.”
“Not today, Lisa. I have a tennis afternoon all planned for the country club.”
Lisa sucked in an irritated breath. “What time are you leaving? I can be there in twenty minutes.” A definite exaggeration. She couldn’t possibly get across the city in twenty minutes.
“Well, honestly,” Glory said impatiently, as though no one had ever opposed her on anything before. “I’m not leaving for another hour or so, but this whole thing is a terrible bother and an intrusion on my life. I’m already so tired of it I could spit.”
“Spit a bucketful if it makes you feel better, but I’ll be at your house very shortly.”
“Couldn’t you interview Maria at her home and then talk to whichever part-time maids she digs up for you to question without my being present?”
“No, Glory, it doesn’t work that way. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.”
Unnerved and perplexed by Glory’s head-in-the-sand attitude, Lisa left her office and headed for the research department. She walked into the place and saw that Larry was the only employee working at a computer today.
He got up when she approached and moved a chair close to his desk. “Have a seat. Is that steam I see coming out of your ears?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Lisa plopped down. “Glory Witherington just may be the death of me. I can’t tell if she’s simply stupid or so damned spoiled that no one has ever said no to her.”
“How about a soft drink or some coffee? Maybe some nice herbal tea?”
“If you had a tranquilizer, would you offer that?” Lisa drawled. “It would probably do me more good than all the tea in China.”
“No drugs in here.”
“I know, I’m just kidding. Okay, whiz kid, what did you dig up?”
“You know I’ve been coming up with bits of information that I hadn’t wanted to pass on without confirmation, but what I’ve found is some very interesting data on criminal connections to Chandler Witherington Sr. The apple doesn’t usually fall far from the tree, and maybe that murder had more to do with Chandler’s activities than with Glory’s.”
Lisa sat very still and absorbed the implications. If Chandler were connected to mob activities—hiding behind a legitimate import-export business—maybe he’d been the intended victim that night instead of poor Mateo Ruiz.
But wasn’t that theory just a little too farfetched to even consider? Chandler Witherington might be a total jerk in person, but around Chicago he was regarded as an upstanding member of society.
“Larry, I think that’s really reaching,” she said.
“Yes, I know it is. But it’s not impossible, either, Lisa.”
“No, nothing’s impossible. But have you found one single thing that links Chandler to the wrong side of the law?”
“No, but I have this gut feeling…”
Lisa got up from her chair. “Sometimes gut feelings are nothing but gas, my friend. But you’ve definitely piqued my curiosity…and my imagination. Dare I request that you continue searching and keep me informed? I have to run, Larry. I told Glory Witherington that I was on my way to her house, and I don’t want to disappoint her by being late.” Lisa smiled wryly. “I’m sure she would much rather that I disappear from the face of the earth than show up at her front door to ask more questions. Thanks for everything. Talk to you later.”
Her smile faded as she walked from Larry’s domain to her own. As she entered her office, the phone began ringing. She picked it up and said, “Lisa Jensen.”
“Well, and how do you like being the center of attention?”
It was John Ludlow. Lisa’s heart sank. “I had nothing to do with that article, Mr. Ludlow.”
“From its tone, I’m sure you didn’t. Do you have any idea who did?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Journalists are persistent busybodies, Lisa, but they can also be extremely helpful at times. The byline on the article is the name J.D. Fields. Do you know him or her?”
“No, but maybe I should meet him or her. What do you think?”
“In good time, Lisa, in good time. Leave it lie for now. It’s too soon. You don’t have a solid case for your client yet. When you do, perhaps before trial, perhaps immediately following, the opportunity will arise for you to set your worth before the public.”
“My worth?”
“Don’t sound so down in the mouth, Lisa. The firm knows your worth, and so should you.”
She felt the burden of her job suddenly increase tenfold upon her shoulders. Had Ludlow intended to remind her of her responsibility to the firm, or had his compliment been genuine?
God, did she know anything for certain anymore? Everything and everyone seemed to have a dozen sides.
She chose to accept Ludlow at face value. “Thank you for the call,” she said quietly. “I have an appointment with Glory Witherington and must leave soon if I’m to be on time.”
“Good, glad to hear it. Forget that article and have a good day, Lisa.”
She put down the telephone, took her things and departed her office, the firm and the Ridge Building. A long breath of fresh air helped clear her head, and she set off for the Witherington mansion with renewed determination.
Chapter 5
At the Westbrook Depot, Lisa detrained and hailed a cab for the rest of her journey into the land of wealth and privilege. She was amazed at the size of what people called houses in this neighborhood. Each estate she passed seemed grander than the last. Each “house” was surrounded by tall rock or block walls covered in greenery, with only the roofs showing above them. The actual homes could only be glimpsed through security gates that allowed visitors access to the grounds—by invitation only, of course. The Witherington mansion was no exception. The only difference between that stunning property and others in the neighborhood was the herd of reporters camped out on the street in front.
“Does someone famous live here?” the cab driver asked.
“In