Switching on the computer, she began to check the phone logs from three of the Maxfield’s rooms. First, she tried Howell Purdis’s suite. He’d made several long-distance calls, but nothing local. Unless Morton lived out of town — something she felt was unlikely — or unless Howell made his cads to him from a different phone, there was no connection between the two of them.

  Next, she checked the connecting suite, the one belonging to Hugh and Adelle. Again, there were a number of long-distance calls, the bulk of them going to San Diego, where their son was now a preaching elder. One number, however, did appear to be local.

  Sophie copied it down and then punched it into her phone. After only one ring a rather breathy woman’s voice answered. “Hello, is that you?” She sounded excited, as if she’d been expecting the cad.

  “Good morning,” said Sophie pleasantly. “I wonder if I could talk to Morton?”

  “Who is this?” she demanded. “How did you get this number? It’s unlisted.”

  “Well, I —”

  “There’s no Morton here. And you’ve got to get off the line,” said the woman impatiently. “I’m expecting an important call.” The line clicked.

  So much for “Minnesota Nice,” thought Sophie, dropping the phone back in its cradle.

  Okay, she’d struck out twice. Maybe the third time would be the charm. Popping up Isaac Knox’s phone records on the monitor, she studied the list of numbers. He’d made at least twenty calls. A few were local, most were long distance. Interestingly enough, there was a local number that he’d called four times during his stay. Sophie felt her pulse quicken as she picked up the phone.

  On the second ring, a child answered. “Hello?”

  Sophie couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl, not that it mattered. “I wonder if I could talk to Morton,” she asked slowly.

  “Dad!” called the child, a hand placed partially over the receiver. “Phone.”

  Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. So she’d been right! Isaac was connected with Morton — if it was the right Morton, and she was sure it was. Sophie had saved Isaac’s room records for last because she still thought he had the best chance of being not only the one who’d taken Ginger to see the abortionist, but also her lover. Bram could be cautious all he wanted, as far as she was concerned, this was proof positive.

  She had to think fast. She needed to talk to him in person, but she had to do it somewhere public, someplace where he couldn’t possibly bring a weapon or threaten her in any way. Bram would be hysterical when he found out what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was too close to the truth now to allow a small degree of danger to get in her way.

  “Yeah, hello?” said a deep voice. “Who’s this?” Even though she’d only spoken with him briefly the other night, it wasn’t a voice she’d soon forget.

  Lowering her own voice to a whisper, she said, “I know about you and Isaac Knox. I’ll trade my silence for some information.” She knew she sounded like a bad TV show, but on such short notice, it was the best she could do. She hoped he’d take the bait.

  “Hey, who is this?” he demanded. She heard a door slam. He probably didn’t want to be overheard.

  “That doesn’t matter. We have to meet.”

  “Listen, lady, I’m not meetin’ with nobody. Not unless I know who I’m talkin’ to and what it’s all about. I ain’t never heard of — what did you say his name was? Isaac Knox?”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “And I already told you what it’s about. You have two choices. Either you talk to me, or I talk to the police. What’s it going to be?”

  “Hey, hey, just slow down.” His voice lost some of its bluster. There was a long silence. Then: “Yeah, I suppose we could meet. I ain’t admittin’ to nothin’, though.”

  “Fine.” She gave him a time and a location. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Listen, lady. I been livin’ in the Twin Cities all my life. I think I can find my way.”

  “Then I’ll see you in two hours.”

  “Right — but, I mean, what do you look like? How will I find you?”

  “I’d find you, Morton. Don’t be late.”

  Sophie hung up the phone and then took a deep breath. What on earth was she getting herself into?

  31

  Standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, Sophie selected a black wig, tight black jeans and boots, and Bram’s old motorcycle jacket. On the drive back home from the Maxfield, she’d come to the conclusion that it might be wise to disguise herself for her meeting with Morton. Since she dressed in disguise on a regular basis in order to visit restaurants anonymously for later review in her food column, she had many costumes from which to choose. This was one of Bram’s least favorites. He called it her “Betsy the Biker Moll” look.

  An hour later, after leaving her car in the short-term parking lot, Sophie entered the main airport terminal, ready as she’d ever be to talk to Morton. She walked quickly to the nearest security station, where she was eyed somewhat warily by the guard on duty. Once past this checkpoint, she took up a position across the lobby and waited. The airport was the only place she could think of where she had a guarantee that Morton would be searched by an expert before they met. It was also about as public a place as she could imagine.

  Realizing she had a good fifteen minutes before Morton was supposed to arrive, she stepped over to a pay phone, sat down, and punched in her number at the Maxfield. Much to her disappointment, Isaac still hadn’t returned her call. He probably had a lot on his mind, especially if there really was some sort of evangelical war brewing. Whatever the case, the message she’d left hadn’t moved him to contact her and she was starting to get annoyed. The least he could do was acknowledge the call, even if he didn’t have time to talk to her right then.

  As she contemplated leaving him another — more specific — message, she saw Morton saunter into the terminal. He’d already come through security, so unless he was some sort of slick foreign terrorist, he was unarmed. She watched him walk slowly over to the Burger King counter, speak to the woman taking the orders, and then wait as he was given an empty cup. He handed her some change. Moving over to the drink area, he filled the red Coke cup before finally heading off toward the red concourse.

  Sophie got up immediately and followed him, keeping a good distance between them as she made her own way toward Gate 28. As she neared the spot where she’d asked him to wait, she saw him sitting in one of the seats directly across from a ceiling-mounted TV set. At least he could follow directions. She stood next to a vending machine and slipped in some change for a cup of coffee, noticing that he was reading a newspaper, his drink on the floor next to him Every few seconds his eyes would dart over the top edge of the paper, examining the people moving down the concourse. He didn’t seem exactly nervous, but wasn’t taking any chances either. No one was going to sneak up on him unobserved.

  Sophie waited a few more minutes, sipping her coffee and going over in her mind the questions she intended to ask. Finally, after removing a pair of dark glasses from her pocket, she slipped them on and crossed into the waiting area.

  Morton looked up as she sat down one seat away from him. She could see the question in his eyes, and then a certain loss of focus as he seemed to put it together.

  “So, you’re the one who called,” he said, lowering the paper to his lap. He studied her for a moment, then picked up his Coke. “I wanna make this fast. I got other stuff to do.”

  She glanced up at the TV set. It was an ad-news channel, and the local news was just about to begin. “Ad right.” She lifted the coffee casually to her lips, then regretted it immediately when she saw her hand was shaking.

  Since no planes were arriving or departing from this gate, she decided that if they kept their voices down, they didn’t need to move. ‘Ted me why Isaac Knox hired you to stalk Lavinia Fiore.” She might as well put it on the table.

  He glared at her a moment and then his eyes drifted toward the windows as a plane roared down the runway. “Listen, lady. I don’t have to tell you shit about —”

  “You’re right. You don’t. So let me tell you what I know. You were questioned by the police last Saturday afternoon after you were picked up at the Maxfield Plaza for stalking.”

  “The police didn’t have no proof of that,” he protested. “They let me go.”

  ‘True. But what I know and the police don’t is that Isaac Knox called you at least four times this past week — and that he paid you off quite handsomely on Sunday night, after Lavinia was murdered.”

  “Shit,” he said, accidentally spilling the Coke on his pants. “I knew I shouldn’t have talked to you that night.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “You … mean you recognize me7’

  “Sure. You’re Sophie Greenway.”

  “You … know my name?”

  “It’s a secret or somethin’?”

  Her shoulders sank as she realized her stab at anonymity had fallen flat.

  “Like I told you, I lived in this town all my life. I used to drive a cab up to a couple of years ago. I seen you goin’ and comin’ at that fancy hotel lotsa times. I maybe even had you in my cab once or twice. I mean, you dyed your hair and all, and you’re dressin’ better, but I saw it was you right away — just like the other night.”

  Sophie looked past him to a 757 moving slowly up to a far gate.

  “Listen,” he said, brushing some of the liquid off the end of his knee, “how come you’re so interested in all this?”

  Realizing there was no point in keeping it from him now, she said, “Lavinia Fiore was an old college friend of mine. Isaac was the dean of students the year a friend of ours died.”

  “Purdis Bible College?” he asked curiously.

  “Yes. How did you know about that?”

  “You ever meet someone there named Russell? Tina Russell.”

  “You mean Isaac’s wife? Sure, I knew her.”

  “She’s my sister-in-law. My wife’s sister.”

  She digested this for a moment. “You mean — you’re related to Isaac?”

  “Guess so.” He took a sip of Coke.

  “Then —” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “No, lady. You don’t understand.”

  “But —”

  “Look, I don’t have to tell you none of this. I did what I did, and I can’t change it. But, I mean, after what’s happened — maybe I’m feelin’ kinda sorry I got mixed up in it. I can’t talk to the wife, even though … see, it wasn’t like Isaac hired me to do nothin’ illegal.” He shifted as far away from her as he could without changing seats.

  “Then what was it?”

  “See, my wife and her sis are still pretty close. And Isaac and I, we been buddies for years. I taught the guy everything he knows about huntin’ and fishin’. He brought his family to Minnesota nearly every summer and fall for the past eight years. Maybe you don’t think a guy like him could like a fella like me, but you’d be wrong. We was great pals. He liked to get away from all the churchy stuff and just hang out with regular folks sometimes. He said it relaxed him. I got to know him pretty good. I respected him a lot.” He squinted, then looked away. “Loved him, even,” he said under his breath.

  Sophie waited, hoping he’d go on with the story without being prodded.

  “So, one day last week I get this cad. He’s in town on business and he teds me some lady from his past is buggin’ him, threatenin’ to ted his boss about somethin’ he done when he was way too young to have any sense.”

  “Did he ted you what that something was?” asked Sophie.

  He gave a guarded nod. “He, ah, helped some girl get an abortion.”

  Fascinating. Isaac ready did trust this guy. “Did he ted you why?”

  “No. And I don’t butt in where I ain’t asked.”

  “But you had a theory.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.” Swirling the Coke around in his glass, he said, “You know how things are sometimes. Maybe he got her pregnant.”

  “And so how did you get involved?”

  “Well, he asks me could I mess with Lavinia a little — keep her off balance. You get the picture. Until he figured out what to do next.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “Sure. Why not? If a buddy can’t help a buddy, what good is he?”

  “But… Isaac wrote the note, right?”

  He scowled. “What note?”

  “The one you supposedly sent Lavinia after she stood you up.”

  “Oh, yeah. I never seen it until the police showed it to me. Was I glad he didn’t threaten her. I could of been in deep shit if he had. I guess he dropped it off by her door on his way to breakfast — least that’s what he told me later.”

  “After the police hauled you in.”

  He nodded. “But I never killed no one. Neither did Isaac I got no idea what happened to that lady.”

  “Isaac told you that — he didn’t poison her?”

  “Absolutely. Swore up and down.”

  “He swore?” said Sophie, repeating his word. She knew full well that Isaac would never swear to anything. It was completely against what the Bible taught. She still remembered the verse. Matthew 5:34. “Swear not at all; neither by heaven; for it is God’s throne: Nor by the earth; for it is his footstool.”

  “Yeah,” he said, warming to his story. “Isaac said, ‘Morton, I swear to you on this Bible and on the life of my wife and children that I didn’t hurt no one.’ And I believed him.”

  This, thought Sophie, was a lie. Perhaps Isaac did explain to Morton that he hadn’t murdered Lavinia, but he would never have said it in that manner. And of course, this left her with a dilemma. What else had Morton lied about? Thus far, she’d believed him. Had that been a mistake? “So,” she said, coaxing him to continue, “on Sunday evening, Isaac paid you off?”

  “Cripes, you make it sound so … dirty.” He cleared his throat, took a sip of Coke, and then began again. “See, it wasn’t like the way you’re paintin’ it. Isaac asked me to do him a favor and I done it. No questions asked. And then, well, you know how hard it is to make a buck. He knew I got laid off from my job three weeks ago, so he gave me some money to tide me and the family over. That’s all. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He glanced up at the TV set, batting at his cheek with the back of his hand.

  Was that a tear? wondered Sophie. An odd reaction. “Ad right,” she said, picking up her coffee cup but rejecting it when she realized it was lukewarm. “I appreciate your time. I’ll be talking to Isaac later today. One way or the other, I intend to find out who murdered Lavinia Fiore.”

  “You what?” he said, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  She was unnerved by his sudden intensity. “I said … I intend to find out —”

  “No no,” he said, shaking his head. “The part about Isaac.”

  She realized she was growing impatient with him. “That I hope to meet with Isaac later in the day. Actually, I’m sure by the time I get back to the hotel, I’ll have a message from him.”

  “You talk to angels, lady?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He flicked his eyes to the TV screen.

  As Sophie looked up she saw the beginning of a news clip showing the police surrounding a parked car. The voiceover said, “An early-morning runner found a man dead in his car at Boom Island Park in downtown Minneapolis. Police later identified the man as Isaac Knox of St. Louis, Missouri. While the initial cause of death was thought to be a heart attack, the police later discovered a computer diskette in the man’s pocket containing a suicide note. Knox was in the Twin Cities for a church convention.”

  Sophie felt as if a firecracker had gone off inside her head. She was dazed — stunned. Unable to move.

  “The wife’s been cryin’ since they announced it on the morning news,” said Morton softly. “She wouldn’t even let the kids go to school. I had a hell of a time gettin’ out of the house. She’s been on the phone to her sister off and on all day.”

  “I … didn’t know,” said Sophie. “I’m sorry.” It was about all she could squeeze out of her paralyzed brain.

  “Yeah. Thanks. Anyway,” he said, folding his arms over his chest and returning his attention to the TV. “It’s a hell of a mess.”

  32

  When Rudy worked afternoons, he often took a break around two and walked for a while in the Maxfield’s garden. Today, as he entered through the spiked wrought-iron gate, he saw Hugh Purdis sitting on a far bench, his arms resting on his knees, his eyes staring straight ahead. He looked like a man deep in thought, someone who wanted to be left alone.

  As Rudy wove his way through the gravel-lined paths, he made a quick decision. He’d been wanting to talk to Hugh Purdis ever since he’d learned that the Purdis family was going to be staying at the hotel. This was the first time he’d seen Hugh by himself, instead of surrounded by a mass of people all vying for his attention.

  The gravel crunched softly under his feet as he slowed his pace, hoping he wasn’t interrupting something important. He didn’t like to be bothered when he was deep in thought either, but this couldn’t wait. It might be his last opportunity to catch him alone. The church festival ended day after tomorrow. As far as he was concerned, it was now or never.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Mr. Purdis?”

  Hugh stirred from his reverie. “Yes?”

  Rudy could tell that Hugh was looking at him, but not really seeing him. “You may not recognize me. I’m Rudy Greenway. Norm and Sophie Greenway’s son.”

  Confusion creased his eyes. “Oh, sure. I remember you. Nice to see you again.”

  Rudy wasn’t certain he did remember. He’d been pulled back from someplace far away and the response felt like a simple reflex. “I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute.”

  “Wed …” He took Rudy in for the first time. “You said you were Norm Greenway’s son?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wed, sure I remember you. You were a lot younger the last time we met.”