In Washington, cherry trees, their blossoms now fading, lined the avenues. Thousands of cars and buses jammed the streets. Squealing brakes and honking horns added to the chaos. Jill Hathaway, oblivious to the cherry blossoms, maneuvered her burgundy Chrysler sedan through traffic snarls and jaywalking sightseers. The car picked up speed as she left the hubbub of the city.
When her alarm clock woke her at 6:30 that morning, Jill had considered rolling over and going back to sleep. She didn’t want to face what she knew would be waiting when she arrived at the office. And she was right—her day had been absolutely crazy. Reporters from all major networks and The Washington Post had swarmed on her at nine.
“Is it true that J. Melton Lampwerth IV embezzled millions of dollars?”
“Now that Lampwerth International is bankrupt, what will happen to the three hundred employees?”
“How could you and the Vice President not know what Lampwerth was doing? Or are you both in it with him?”
“Interesting, isn’t it, that both the President and Vice President of Lampwerth International are missing. Is it true they’re gay and have run off together?”
Jill had wanted to scream. Instead, she answered all the media’s questions as indirectly as possible, ending with, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a lot of work waiting for me. I’ll let you know when I have more information. Nan will see you to the door.”
Knowing that she and the accountant must confront Robert with Louis’ suspicions as soon as possible, she buzzed Louis Beale’s office as soon as the media left. He was home sick. “Severe nausea, diarrhea, chills and a fever,” his assistant said. “Doctor says it’s most likely the flu. Probably won’t be back at work until Monday. Sure hope I don’t catch it.”
Then late that afternoon, Mr. Lampwerth’s housekeeper called. “Ms. Hathaway, this is Lucille. I think I’ve found Russell.”
“Wonderful! How did you find him?”
“I never listen to the messages on Mr. Lampwerth’s answering machine. To me it’s like rummaging through somebody’s purse. But a little while ago I noticed there were twenty-three calls on it. I don’t know how many it will hold, and besides, some could be important. So I listened.” She paused, wanting assurance from Jill that she hadn’t violated Mr. Lampwerth’s privacy.
“You did the right thing, Lucille. Please go on.”
“Several messages were from you. But the last one—it came in several hours ago while I was at the market—was from a national dog registry. Evidently, someone in Virginia has Russell. Seems a woman found him and took him to a vet. He was identified through the microchip in his neck. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Lucille, that’s good news. Where in Virginia is he?” Jill picked up a pen and reached for her notepad.
“Oh, let me see. I wrote it down on a piece of paper … now where did I put that? I had it just a minute ago.” Jill waited while Lucille rummaged through papers stacked on the telephone table in the penthouse. “Here it is. Let me see, it says Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia, and gives a phone number to call for directions and information. A Dr. Eggleston reported Russell to the registry, then the registry called Mr. Lampwerth and left the message I just told you about.”
Jill jotted down the information, thanked Lucille, and dialed the veterinarian.
“Ms. Hathaway, I’m relieved the registry found you. Yes, the dog will recover. Mrs. Aurora Harris found him—he’d been injured—and she brought him to me. I had him for a couple of days. Aurora picked him up late yesterday. You can probably catch her at home.” He added, “Good thing you had a microchip implanted.”
Jill didn’t tell Dr. Eggleston she wasn’t Russell’s owner. She poured herself a cup of coffee and called the number the vet gave her.
“Hello.”
“May I speak with Aurora Harris?”
“This is she. What may I do for you?”
“Mrs. Harris, my name is Jill Hathaway. I’m calling from Washington, D.C. A veterinarian, Dr. Eggleston, gave me your telephone number, said you had my dog. Actually, Russell belongs to my boss J. Melton Lampwerth, who hasn’t been seen since Friday afternoon. Maybe you’ve seen him. He’s in his sixties, short and heavy, has gray hair but going bald, wears expensive clothes, suits mostly.”
“Afraid I’ve seen only a dog. What does your missing dog Russell look like?”
“He’s a Jack Russell terrier, white with brown spots. He’s incredibly smart.”
“The dog I found sounds like Russell. I’ve been calling him Little Guy. Afraid I haven’t seen anyone that matches Mr. Lampwerth’s description, though.” Aurora added, “Did Doc Eggleston tell you that Little Guy, sorry, I mean Russell, had been shot?”
Jill gasped. Shot! Why? And how did Russell get to Smith Mountain Lake, and where was Lampwerth? Jill told Aurora she would make arrangements to have Russell picked up in a couple of days, and hung up.
Aurora wondered if the body in the lake could be Lampwerth, but she hadn’t mentioned it to Jill. After all, there wasn’t a body for Jill to identify. She decided to tell Lieutenant Conner about Russell and Mr. Lampwerth.
Jill waited impatiently at Reagan National Airport for Robert Reeves. She glanced at the clock on the terminal wall. Ten-thirty p.m. She was irritated and starving. If she’d known his flight would be so late, she would have eaten a decent dinner instead of a burger, fries and shake. She checked the arrival board. Robert’s flight should land any minute. This will be the first time in over five years that Robert and I have been alone together. Why am I so nervous? To her surprise, her heart fluttered when he walked into the terminal.
“Fill me in, Jill,” he said as she rushed to keep pace with his long stride. She told him everything except that he was a suspected embezzler. That could wait.
“Where at Smith Mountain Lake did the woman find Russell?” Robert asked.
“Mrs. Harris said 210 Spawning Run Road.”
“I own a house on Spawning Run Road,” he said. “I built it five years ago. To take my mind off you.” Robert stopped walking and looked straight at her.
She turned her head away from his piercing eyes. Don’t do this to me, Robert.
Man and woman walked in silence for a moment. Then he explained that he had often encouraged Lampwerth to spend some quiet time at Smith Mountain Lake, but that Lampwerth never had. “He has a key; I gave him one a couple of years ago. When you first tracked me down and told me he was missing, I assumed he’d finally accepted my offer. But no one answered when I called. That’s why I returned.” He glanced at her. “Sorry if I was curt on the phone.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
Robert retrieved his luggage, loaded it into the trunk of Jill’s car, told her he’d drive, and sped away from the airport. He stopped at Wal-Mart.
“Jill, I want you to buy yourself a change or two of clothes, a nightgown, and any toiletries you might need.” He looked down at her feet. “And get out of those heels. Buy some comfortable shoes. Here, use my Visa.” He pulled the credit card from his wallet.
“I can pay my own way. And besides, why should I buy those things?”
“Because we’re not going back to D.C. We’re driving straight to Smith Mountain Lake. Now.”