Mad, Bad and Blonde - Cathie Linz [55]
“So you’re a White Sox fan, huh, Weldon?” she said. “Me too.”
Caine wasn’t about to let her use baseball to upstage him again. “My name is Caine Hunter. You worked with my father, Dr. Karl Hunter.”
“Caine is a Cubs fan,” Faith told Weldon.
“I’m really not into baseball,” Weldon mumbled. “Somebody left this hat on the bus.”
“Still, you were smart enough to pick it up,” she said. “That shows you are very smart. Brilliant, some would say.”
“Would you stop with the fake compliments?” Caine glared at her.
She blinked at him with feigned innocence. “They are not fake. Are you calling Weldon stupid?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’ve been told by people who know that Weldon here is a brilliant man.”
Weldon stood a little straighter. “Who told you that?”
“People who work with you.”
Weldon’s expression turned suspicious. “Why are you talking to people I work with? Do I know you?”
“Not yet, but I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Weldon.” She gave him a thousand-watt smile.
“Don’t trust her,” Caine said. “Her father is the one who drove my dad to do what he did. She’s just using you to get back at me.”
“That’s not true!” Faith said.
“Weldon, if you had any respect for my father, then you’ll work with me,” Caine said.
“I did respect your father a great deal,” Weldon said.
Confidence radiated from Caine. “Then work with me.”
“Look, we all want the same thing here,” Faith said.
“I doubt that,” Caine said.
“We want the truth.”
“You only want to prove that your rich daddy was right.”
“And you only want to prove that your father was innocent.”
Faith glared at Caine.
Caine glared at Faith.
It took both of them a moment to realize that Weldon was gone.
Anger flew over Caine’s face. “Shit. Where did he go?”
“He took off,” Faith said. “Can you blame him?”
“Hell yes.”
“If you’d done your research, you’d know that Weldon doesn’t deal well with social confrontations.”
“Tough shit.”
“That’s very empathetic of you. Obviously you scared him away.”
“Me? You’re the one who keeps getting in the way of my investigation. Why are you doing that? To prevent me from finding out what really happened?”
“I could say that you are obstructing my investigation,” she said.
“Does your daddy know yet that you’re sticking your nose into this case?”
The look on her face was answer enough. “Which should prove I’m not doing anything on his behalf,” she said.
“No, it just means you’re sneaking around behind his back.”
“Pitiful,” a new gravelly voice stated. “You call yourselves investigators? Amateurs. I hate dealing with amateurs.”
Chapter Twelve
“ Who the hell are you?” Caine demanded.
“I’m a much better investigator than the two of you, that’s for dang sure. The name’s Buddy Doyle, and I’ve been working as a gumshoe long before either one of you was born. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame was my great-grandfather.”
Faith was impressed. “Really?”
“Nah, but it makes a good story.”
Buddy was a study in gray: gray cardigan, gray sweat-pants, gray hair. He looked old and cranky, like one of those garden gnomes out to make trouble. His vivid blue eyes displayed his aggravation, while the wrinkles on his face said this was a man who’d seen it all and hadn’t been impressed by any of it.
“Are you saying you’re investigating my father’s case? Who hired you?” Caine demanded.
“I’m not saying anything. You two have done enough talking for an army. Amateurs.” Buddy shook his head.
“What’s your connection to this case?” Caine said.
“You’re an investigator,” Buddy replied. “You figure it out.”
“I will. But it would save time if you told me now.”
“Is that your way of saying that I’ve got one foot in death’s doorway and the next foot on a banana