A Gift for Murder

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"When?" The word came out sharper than I intended. "How?"

Grantwood looked at Spencer again. "By phone. This morning."

"Cell phone? Did you recognize the number?"

He shook his head. "The booth phone. It doesn't have Caller ID."

Each booth had a phone hook-up. Though nearly everyone carried a cell phone these days, service could be iffy inside the building. The booth units provided a backup and were useful for some contacts, especially for checking with home offices and manufacturing facilities and for letting potential customers find them.

"Voice? Man or woman? Young or old?"

Grantwood shrugged. "I think someone was deliberately disguising his or her voice. It was kind of high and shrill. I couldn't even tell if was a man or a woman."

"What did he or she say?"

"Can't remember the exact words, but the upshot was that it wouldn't be a good idea to go forward with the announcement we plan on Saturday."

"Anything specific about what he or she would do?"

Grantwood shook his head.

I considered the implications. "Ms. Spencer is right to be concerned. It would scare me, too. You'll need to tell the police, of course. And think about this. How many people actually know the details of the merger?"

He stopped and drew a breath. "I hadn't thought-"

"You'll have to now," I warned him.

"I don't have time to deal with the police and all their questions again right now. It was probably just a crank call."

I watched him. Grantwood was worried, more worried than he wanted anyone to know. I looked at Ellen Spencer. Her rigid stance and rapid breathing showed her concern and the work she put into controlling her emotions. She probably didn't even realize her hands had clenched into fists.

"Under ordinary circumstances, you could write it off as a prank call," I said. "But these aren't ordinary circumstances." I let that hang for a moment. "I have the number for the detective in charge of Mr. Bethel's case. Do you want me to call him for you?"

Grantwood and Spencer looked at each other before he turned his glazed stare back at me. "No, thank you. Give me the number and I'll make the call."

I doubted he'd do it, but I couldn't force him. I pulled out Detective Gilmont's card and copied the number onto a piece of paper Spencer handed me.

He took it, folded it, put it in the breast pocket of his shirt, and stood up. "Thank you for coming so quickly," he said. "I appreciate it."

His awkward, jerky movements betrayed his state of nerves. At the same time, squared shoulders and tensed mouth indicated his resolve to go ahead and do exactly what he planned. The show must go on.

"I'll talk to our head of security about getting someone to keep an eye on your booth," I suggested. "Without being obvious about it, of course."

A faint wash of relief crossed his face. "That would be an excellent idea."

"I'll see what we can do."

Ellen Spencer walked with me from the curtained-off area to the edge of the booth. "He's a lot more rattled than he wants to admit," she said.

"Understandably. Please try to get him to call the police. They need to know about that threat."

"I'll try, but you know... men!"