61

NEIL’S TWO EARLY MEETINGS ON MONDAY MORNING KEPT him out of his office until eleven o’clock. When he finally arrived there, he immediately called Maggie, but got no answer.

He then called the Van Hillearys and briefly gave them his impression of Latham Manor, concluding with a recommendation that they visit there so they could judge the place for themselves.

His next call was to the private investigator who worked on confidential assignments for Carson & Parker, requesting a dossier on Douglas Hansen. “Dig deep,” he instructed, “I know there’s got to be something there. This guy is a world-class sleaze.”

He then called Maggie again and was relieved when she picked up. She sounded breathless when she answered. “I just got in,” she told him.

Neil was sure he could hear agitation and anxiety in her voice. “Maggie, is anything wrong?” he asked.

“No, not at all.”

Her denial was almost a whisper, as though she were afraid of being overheard.

“Is someone with you?” he asked, his concern growing.

“No, I’m alone. I just got here.”

It wasn’t like Maggie to repeat herself, but Neil realized that, once again, she was not going to let him in on whatever was bothering her. He wanted to bombard her with questions, like “Where have you been?” and “Have you come up with any answers to the things you said were bothering you?” and “Can I help?” but he didn’t. He knew better.

Instead, he said simply, “Maggie, I’m here. Just remember that if you want to talk to someone.”

“I’ll remember.”

And you’ll do nothing about it, he thought. “Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He replaced the receiver and sat for long minutes before punching in the number of his parents’ home. His father answered. Neil got straight to the point. “Dad, have you got those locks for Maggie’s windows?”

“Just picked them up.”

“Good. Do me a favor and phone over there and tell her you want to put them in this afternoon. I think something has come up that is making her nervous.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

It was a mixed comfort, Neil thought wryly, that Maggie might be more willing to confide in his father than in himself. But at least his father would be on the alert to pick up any hint of problems.

Trish came into his office the moment he was off the phone. In her hand she held a stack of messages. As she placed them on his desk, she pointed to the one on top. “I see your new client asked you to sell stock she doesn’t own,” she said severely.

“What are you talking about?” Neil demanded.

“Nothing much. Just the clearinghouse has notified us that they have no record of Cora Gebhart owning the fifty thousand shares of stock you sold for her on Friday.”