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She exhaled and pushed through the outside door.
While it was possible another tidbit or two would surface from the depths of her mind, the odds there would be enough to identify the perpetrator were minuscule.
Bottom line, the police were no closer to finding out who was behind the murder than they’d been on day one.
Lindsey exhaled, a frosty cloud of breath forming in front of her face.
How galling to think that someone who had murdered in cold blood could be sitting in front of a cozy fire or enjoyinga gourmet dinner with nary a care in the world, basking in the assurance they were home free.
A very real possibility.
And at this point, nothing short of a miracle was going to bring the culprit or culprits to justice.
HE DID NOTWANTto take this call.
But she or her lawyer would bug him all weekend if he didn’t.
Vibrating cell in hand, Anthony Oliver locked the hall door behind Lindsey and dragged himself back to his desk.
A stiff drink, antibiotics, and peace of mind. That’s what he needed.
The first two he could manage. The third? Not so much.
He carefully lowered himself into his chair and answered the call from his ex-wife. “I asked you not to disturb me during office hours.”
“Office hours should be about over. It’s late. Just like your alimony payment is. In case you’ve forgotten, yesterday was the first of the month. No deposits were made in my bank account.”
As if he didn’t know that.
But it was hard to pay the exorbitant amount she’d stiffed him for when the so-called sure-bet investments his broker had talked him into continued to nosedive.
“The money will be in your account by Monday.” Somehow. Some way. Liquidating tanking stocks wasn’t ideal, but if that kept his ex off his back and bought him more time, it was worth it. His money troubles should be over soon.
Unless his partner in crime continued to make mistakes.
Anger flared in his gut at the stupidity of last night’s stunt, but he held it in check, just as he had when he’d learned the news. He’d deal with that complication after this call.
“You’re late every month, Tony.”
He pulled out his handkerchief again. Patted his forehead.
The aspirin alone weren’t cutting it anymore. He needed antibiotics.
“I’m doing the best I can. I don’t make a fortune.”
“You do very well.”
“Not as well as I used to. A therapist who can’t even salvage his own marriage loses credibility—and clients. My reputation took a hit after the divorce. People assumed that if I couldn’t solve my own problems, I couldn’t help them solve theirs. Rebuilding my practice has been slow going.”
“You should have thought of that before we broke up. If you’d cared half as much about me as you do your clients, we’d still be together.” Her whiny petulance grated on his nerves, as always.
“I couldn’t be with you twenty-four seven, like you wanted. One of us had to work. And I was tired at the end of the day. I have a demanding job intellectually and emotionally.”
“As you never failed to remind me.”
Anthony started to respond to her sulky comeback. Stopped. They’d been over this territory ad nauseam. It was impossible to reason with her.
“You’ll have your money Monday.”
