Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [118]
“If you’ll recall, Neil, I assured you that we had nothing to hide, nothing to clean up, as you put it.”
Simmons looked down while deciding what to say next. As he did, he never noticed Parish quietly get up and leave the room, Emma’s business card in his hand.
“I don’t understand about Jonell,” Simmons said to Marshalk. “Rotondi claims he’s been framed by someone here, and that—”
“And that someone here killed your mother,” Marshalk said, finishing Neil’s thought. “I suppose he’s accusing us of having something to do with Camelia’s death, too.”
“That’s right,” said Simmons.
“This guy is sick, Neil. He’s got a screw loose.”
Simmons swallowed hard against a developing nausea.
“Are you all right, Neil?” Marshalk asked.
Simmons looked to where Parish had been sitting. “Where’s Jack?” he asked.
“He’s on his way back to the party at the museum.”
Simmons drew a deep, prolonged breath before saying, “I know you didn’t have anything to do with Mom’s death, or Camelia’s, but I have to hear you say it, Rick.”
“If that will make you feel better, Neil, and put your mind at rest, I’ll be happy to say it. I had nothing to do with either of those unfortunate incidents. Absolutely nothing! Feel better?”
Simmons nodded. “Thanks, Rick. I think you’re right. Rotondi has a mental problem. Dad has to get away from him, and fast! He’s a danger to him, and to us.”
“You’re right,” Marshalk said, standing and coming around the desk, where he patted Simmons’s shoulder. “Look, I have to get back to the party, too.”
“I’ll come,” Neil said.
“Not on your life,” said Marshalk. “You have a lot on your mind, Neil, including the memorial service. You’ve been through a lot lately, and I need my president to be hale and hearty and rarin’ to go. We have some big things on the horizon. I need you with me all the way. You go on home now to that wonderful family of yours. We’ll touch base in the morning.”
Marshalk watched Simmons slouch from the room. He turned out the lights and headed downstairs, wished the security guard at the lobby desk a pleasant evening, and stepped outside to K Street, where his car and driver waited.
• • •
Emma Churchill had gone outside for some air; she’d just returned inside when Rick Marshalk came through the door.
“How’s everything?” he asked pleasantly.
“Wonderful party,” she replied.
“It always is with you providing the food, libations, and your radiant personality,” he said, laughing.
“Thank you,” she said. She glanced at her watch.
“Looks like things are winding down,” he said. “You go ahead and take care of business. I have a few people to say good-bye to before this breaks up.”
She watched him join a group and slip into the conversation they’d been having as smoothly as though he’d been there all along. She realized as she walked in the direction of the kitchen that she hadn’t seen him for a while, but chalked that up to the size of the party, and her attention being focused elsewhere. Forty-five minutes later, as she was leaving with some of her crew, Marshalk intercepted her.
“Thanks again, Emma, for a splendid job.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Marshalk. Anytime.”
“Heading home?”
“After I drop the van at the office. Then it’s home, shoes off, feet up, and a stiff drink.”
“Enjoy it,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”
He kept his eyes on her as she went through the door before walking to a secluded area of the large hall. He flipped open his cell phone, and pushed a rapid-dial number. “She just left,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was Emma’s intention to follow her usual routine: Drive the van to the small industrial building in which she maintained her office, storeroom, and kitchen, refrigerate what perishables were left over, and leave the rest for the morning. But one of her servers, who’d been with her since Emma started the catering company, insisted on helping unload everything.
“Okay,” said Emma. “Means I can sleep in tomorrow morning.”
As they brought things in from the van,