The next day Maddie called.
“How’s Whitley?” I said.
“Much improved.”
“Did you get anything out of him?”
“Really, Sloane, what do you think?”
“Should I ask what you did to get it?” I said.
“Probably best if you didn’t.”
Something crunched in the background.
“Care to know what’s in my hot little hand right at this moment?”
“Not Whitley, I hope.”
She laughed.
“And people don’t think you’re funny.”
“Do you have something for me?” I said.
“Indeed I do. Can we meet at your office?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot. Maddie, who knew where to find the hidden key, opened the door and greeted me with the file in hand.
“Merry early Christmas or a merry late one,” she said.
“And a Happy New Year to Whitley,” I said.
“Don’t shake your head at me, Sloane; I know all about what you’ve had to do for information.”
I ignored her statement and sat down. “Did Whitley give you this file?”
“Copy machines are so much better these days, so quiet.”
I shook my head.
“You got any drinks around this place?”
“There’s a bottle of pinot in the cupboard,” I said.
She raised her left nostril and rifled around for another viable option.
“What the mother lode…you got enough tea in here? Because I’m sure there’s a village in some third-world country that could survive at least a month on all this stuff.”
“Not funny,” I said.
She raised her hands into the air and surrendered. “Don’t mess with a woman and her tea. I got it.”
I nudged her out of the way. “Here, let me look.”
I moved all the tea to the side and pulled out a bottle from the back.
“Bailey’s?” I said.
“Excellent.”
I poured her a glass.
“Have you looked the file over yet?” I said.
She nodded.
“And?” I said.
She took a few sips of her drink and leaned in. I did the same.
“It doesn’t add up,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“Any of it.”
“I see,” I said. “And why are we whispering?”
Maddie reclined back in the chair.
“Good point. Here’s the thing. On paper, the report would hold up to snuff for anyone who looked it over and didn’t know any better. The way it reads Parker shot himself, end of story.” Maddie lifted her thumb and pressed her pointer finger against her right temple and pulled the trigger. “Bang,” she shouted.
A flare for the dramatic was one of her many charms.
“But you just said––”
“The report is conclusive, he killed himself.”
“I guess that’s it then,” I said.
She took another sip from her glass and handed me the report.
“If you read this, you’ll be convinced Parker shot himself. Because that’s what they want you to believe.”
“You’ve lost me. Who’s they?” I said.
Maddie poured herself another glass of Bailey’s. “I can’t say for sure.”
“So did he or didn’t he?” I said.
She held up one finger in the air. “I have a theory.”
I hoped at some point she started making some sense or any sense at all. She walked back over to the chair and leaned forward, and we were back to whispering again.
“I don’t think Parker killed himself, but I believe someone wants you and everyone else to think he did. It took a few glasses of brandy, but I got him to talk, at least enough to get one thing out of him.”
“Maddie, out with it already,” I said.
“It seems our esteemed Whitley is on somebody’s payroll.”