Same Place, Same Time. C.J. Carmichael

his wife.”

      Poor Nan. She would have to deal with death and infidelity, all in the same blow. Not to mention murder…

      “And I suppose you’ve been assigned to the case?”

      He rubbed a hand over his chin, his gaze confirming her suspicion. “Can we sit down? I have some questions for you.”

      Questions? Trista didn’t like the sound of that. Back in her office she sank into one of two armchairs, while Morgan perched across from her, on the edge of the sofa. She knew from past experience that his eagle eyes were recording every detail about her appearance: the stylish new haircut, the fact that she’d lost weight since he’d last seen her, even the new, tiny wrinkles that had developed around the corners of her eyes. Nothing would escape him. She sat still, resisting the urge to squirm, to turn away from his open staring. Eventually he spoke and the tension in her shoulders eased slightly in response.

      “What time did you hear the intruder?”

      “Just after nine.” Trista glanced at her watch. It was quarter to ten now. She watched him reach inside the breast pocket of his jacket and pull out a notepad.

      “You said Jerry was shot?” she asked.

      Morgan nodded. “Died instantly.”

      At least there’d been no suffering. “Was the gun found at the scene?”

      A half smile twisted Morgan’s mouth. “No.”

      She shrugged. “Not that I would have suspected suicide.”

      “Nice to have that thought confirmed.” Morgan’s eyes gleamed for a moment and she knew she’d been indiscreet.

      “So what brought you here, just at the precise moment I called security?”

      “The timing was fortunate. The reason I’m here…” He broke off for a moment, his eyes drawn to the dark night outside the window. “We were looking through Walker’s financial papers and saw a canceled check made out to you. It seemed a point worth checking to me. Married man is killed while waiting for his lover to show up. The same married man is going to marriage counseling with his wife. Interesting paradox, don’t you think?”

      What had he thought when he’d recognized her name on that check? What had he felt? He gave no indication now that he cared one way or the other. But Trista knew it must have been a shock.

      “Rather despicable if you ask me. But how did you know to find me here? You couldn’t have known I’d be working late.”

      “Why not? You usually do.”

      Trista put a hand to her throat. There was such familiarity in those words. Had he been checking up on her over the years?

      “I did try calling you at home first,” Morgan conceded.

      Trista fingered her key chain nervously. Morgan had her unlisted home number? Of course, the police would have access to that sort of information. Still, it was kind of unsettling.

      “Where did it happen?” she asked. “The murder.”

      “The Night’s End.”

      “The motel with the flashing neon palm tree along the expressway in Etobicoke?” It was hardly one of the area’s finer establishments.

      “Yes. I think Jerry had been meeting this woman there for a few weeks now. They seemed to have a routine going. Now you’ve got your questions answered, so how about answering mine? Why did you know that the Walkers’ file would be missing?”

      “Because I had an appointment with them today. Which they did not show up for, obviously. The file is sitting in the out basket on my desk.”

      “Lucky for that or it would be missing right now.”

      “You think the intruder was after the Walkers’ file?”

      Morgan didn’t deign to answer. “Who has access to your office? The outside door is in perfect condition. Whoever got in here had to have had a key.”

      Trista noticed that he wasn’t doubting that there’d been an intruder, the way Joe had. “Only security and my secretary have keys. And mine’s still here.” She held up the chain she’d been playing with earlier.

      “You’re sure there’s no other?”

      “Well, there is a spare. We keep it in the petty-cash box. I think there’s an extra one for the file cabinets, too. Just a minute. I’ll get them for you.” She walked back into the reception area and unlocked the top drawer of Brenda’s desk. Inside was a small metal box. She opened the lid and pulled out two twenties and a five. A few dollars’ worth of change remained on the bottom. “That’s odd.”

      “What is it?” Morgan had followed her. Now he held her gaze with his own, and she saw that tension had stretched his mouth thin.

      “Our keys.” Trista looked back at the box. “They’re missing.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      MORGAN LOOKED OVER Trista’s shoulder into the metal box. “Are you sure your secretary kept the key here?”

      “Of course I am.”

      “Does anyone else have access to it?” Morgan asked, undaunted.

      “This is a small practice. There’s only Brenda and me.”

      “Well, what about when Brenda goes for lunch or to the washroom—does she lock the drawer?”

      Trista felt her patience snap. “We keep a fifty-dollar petty-cash supply in there, Morgan. Hardly a fortune.”

      He ignored her flare-up. “So any one of your clients might have had the opportunity to take that key?”

      Trista bristled further at his assumption. “Why does it have to be one of my clients? Perhaps it was a deliveryperson, or a courier. Why, even the young man who comes in every week to water our plants could have found that key as easily as any of my clients.”

      “That’s a good point. Why don’t you make a list of all the deliverypeople, etcetera, that you’ve had through the office in the past few weeks?”

      Trista sighed. She was sorry now that she’d ever mentioned anything about the noises she thought she’d heard. “Isn’t this a lot of fuss for a simple office break-in? Especially when nothing has been stolen?”

      “You know darn well I wouldn’t go to these lengths for a simple break and enter.” Morgan’s eyes flashed dangerously.

      Trista was silent for a moment before asking, “You really think someone was after the Walkers’ file? That there’s a connection with the murder?”

      “I do.”

      His blunt answer shook her as much as anything else had that night. She didn’t need these problems in her life.

      “Well, I don’t.”

      “Really? You don’t find it suspicious that someone has been nosing around in your files just one day after your client was murdered?”

      “Ever heard of coincidences?”

      “Heard of them, but I don’t believe in them. And if you thought about it, I think you’d agree with me. You’re just so anxious to get me out of your office you can’t think straight.”

      Trista looked away. Yes, he was right. She did want to get him out of her office. Their past was an emotional minefield capable of blowing them both to bits. “This is doing neither of us any good.”

      “I agree. But unfortunately, I have a job to do. Now, would you please check your office and make sure the Walker file is still there.”

      Biting back a sarcastic comment on the virtual immobility of a manila folder, Trista left the reception area and went back to her office, scooping the slender file with