Page 167 of A Dead End Wedding

"What? And why was Langley here with his brother-in-law, anyway?" he asked.

"His brother-in-law works for BDC?"

Jake gave me a funny look. "What are you talking about? His brother-in-law owns a car dealership in Orlando. Are you in the market for a new car?"

"Are you saying that Harold Punter is Langley's brother-in-law?"

"Well, his name is HaroldParker, but yes. I've met him several times."

It finally happened. I was shocked speechless. Hisbrother-in-law?

Slowly, the puzzle pieces snapped into place. Langley had played me. Big time. But why the charade?

I leaned against the door and stared at Jake. "No," I said slowly. "I'm not in the market for a new car. But I may have just been sold a lemon."

45

Jake and I ate cold pizza and spent an hour trying to figure out what kind of game Langley could have been playing, to have his brother-in-law pose as a BDC rep. "Did he think I wouldn't find out? And what about the offer? Does this mean it's invalid?"

Jake shrugged, holding his hands out, palms up. "Beats me. You lawyer types are too devious for me."

I rolled my eyes. "Right. Whatever. After the three messages I left on his voice mail, you'd think he'd have called back by now."

"After that last one, where you called him the scurvy underbelly of a diseased goat, he might wait for you to calm down."

My cheeks got a little hot. "So I watch too many pirate movies. Sue me."

He tossed his napkin in the trashcan and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "So, where were we? Greenberg wanted to meet with you, but it had to be on the yacht . . ."

I nodded, tapping my pen on the paper. "Yeah, she couldn't do lunch because she had the funeral of some associate orsomething. Poor guy committed suicide," I said, shuddering. "Although working with her would be enough to drive anybody over the edge."

Jake had sat up straight at the word "suicide." "Who was the associate?"

It was my turn to shrug. "I don't know. Why? Is it important?"

"I don't know. I just know that I hate coincidences. Why are all these people dying? Dack at the museum, some associate of Greenberg's. I don't like it."

"I don't like it, either, but it's pretty far-fetched to think the BDC cases had anything to do with a suicide."

He stood up and walked over to my side of the desk. "Humor me. Let me onto your internet for a moment."

He leaned over me while I logged back on to the computer, and I tried not to notice the tingling in the back of my neck. I rolled my chair out of the way, and he started a search. Within seconds, we were looking at an online article in thePost-Unionabout the death of Marion Ziggeran, the "much-beloved colleague" according to a quote from Sarah herself.

I rolled my head around, trying to work the knots out of my neck. "Ziggeran, Ziggeran. Why does that name sound so familiar?"

He shook his head. "I don't know it. Are you sure you don't have Zivkovich on the brain after today?"

He moved to stand behind me and put his hands on my neck and started working the knots out with firm pressure. "Counselor, that's some tension you've got built up here. You ought to relax more."

Every sane thought flew out of my head at the touch of his fingers. Magic fingers.

I tried not to drool. Drooling is so unappealing.

Focus, December.

"Right. No. Not Zivkovich. Ziggeran. Andyoutry to relax, when you have people shooting at you, assaulting you, getting murdered next to you at the museum . . ."

The museum. What . . .

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