Mad, Bad and Blonde - Cathie Linz [84]
The man holding her laughed as he grabbed her bag and tossed it in the far corner. “Guess again.”
The high-pitched voice rang a bell, but she couldn’t place it at the moment. Having a gun held on her didn’t make for the clearest thinking. “Who are you?”
“Fred Belkin Jr. at your service.”
Sure, now she could place him. She’d overheard him briefly talking to Nolan at the convenience store. “Where’s my father?”
“He’s tied up at the moment.”
Faith didn’t like the sound of that. “Does Nolan know about this? Is he here with you?”
“No, this is a one-man operation.” Fred Jr. kicked the front door all the way shut while keeping the gun pressed against her.
“Then why are we meeting here?”
“Because it’s quiet. Nolan is in Portland at a chemical conference, and his wife is visiting her mother in Buffalo. I offered to house-sit and take care of his parakeets while he’s away. He’d just fired his last pet sitter. Good parakeet caregivers are hard to find, you know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. Parakeets are not that demanding compared to other companion animals.”
“I mean I don’t understand why you’re aiming a gun at me. Do you think I’m going to upset the birds?”
“You’re certainly trying to upset the applecart. That’s a strange phrase, isn’t it? And not really applicable any longer in the twenty-first century. I mean, no one has apple-carts anymore.”
“Is my father here?”
“Of course he’s here. I already told you that he’s tied up.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you. Walk straight ahead and go into the first room on the right. And don’t try anything, or this gun may go off prematurely.”
He shoved her ahead of him. She walked into an almost-empty room to find her father sitting in an upright chair, bound by duct tape around his ankles, his wrists and his mouth. He was unconscious, and he had a bloody bruise near his temple.
“Dad!” She took a step forward.
Fred Jr. pulled her back before shoving her into the opposite corner of the room. Waving the gun at her, he said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“I don’t understand.” Her voice was unsteady.
“I took his phone and texted you on it. Simple, really. Don’t worry. He’s still alive. For now.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you made me do it. Sticking your nose into my business.”
“Is this about your lawsuit against ARC?”
“There is an indirect connection.”
“I don’t work for ARC. Neither does my father. We don’t represent them or their attorneys.”
“I know that.” Fred Jr. glared at her. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I don’t think you’re stupid. You used to be a children’s librarian. A noble profession. You should have stayed in the stacks.”
Faith was having similar thoughts herself at the moment—along with the panic that threatened to consume her. She focused on the rise and fall of her dad’s chest. He was still alive.
“You really should have let sleeping dogs lie. Another strange saying. But it’s true. You should have left Dr. Hunter’s suicide alone.”
She was frantically trying to put things together here and make sense out of it all. Why would he say that she should have left Dr. Hunter’s suicide alone unless . . . “Was it a suicide?” One look at Fred Jr.’s face, and she had her answer. “It wasn’t a suicide.” She followed her gut here. There was no pride in Fred Jr.’s eyes to indicate he was responsible. Abs may have scoffed at trusting instincts, but Faith didn’t have much else to go on. “Your father was the one who framed Dr. Hunter.”
“I didn’t know about that until after the fact. My dad had a brain tumor caused by working for ARC, yet they refused to acknowledge their culpability. He knew he was dying, and he wanted ARC to pay.”
“But why frame Dr. Hunter? Why make him pay?”
“He was collateral damage. My dad thought the accusations alone would be enough to tip Dr. Hunter over the edge because he was already depressed. But my dad couldn’t be sure. So he took matters into his own hands.”
“Karl Hunter didn’t take his own life, did he? Your father killed him.”