The Planck Factor - Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Alexis

Reading that letter may have been the hardest thing Alexis had been made to endure so far. Daniel’s words coming to her from beyond the grave. That was creepy, as if his ghost were whispering in her ear. To keep from crying, she bit her lip so hard, she almost drew blood.

After taking a few moments to compose herself, Alexis thought about the implications of Daniel’s closing words. Don’t tell anyone else what you’re doing. By anyone, could he have meant Swede? But Swede was his partner. He couldn’t have meant Swede, too--or could he?

Alexis replaced the note in the envelope, folded it, and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans. She picked up the box and got up to leave but stopped short. “What do I tell them?”

She could just tell them it was a private letter, which was true. But Swede would no doubt wonder why Daniel took the trouble to put it in a safe deposit box.

No, she’d have to lie. Tell them something that would raise no questions, or at least fewer questions.

Clutching the box, she walked to the door and pulled it open to find Swede and Lena waiting in the hall.

“So?” Lena said. “I’m dying of curiosity here.”

Swede just stared at Alexis.

Alexis cleared her throat. “The letter was about life insurance he’d taken out. He never told me, and he wanted to make sure I was paid, if something happened to him.” She decided to stop there.

“You’re kidding. Why would he go to the trouble of putting that in a safe deposit box?” Lena pursed her lips and blew out a dismissive sputtering noise. Alexis just shrugged in response.

Swede’s gaze remained pinned to Alexis’ face. He looked disappointed, plus . . . an emotion she couldn’t quite nail down.

“Nothing more?” he said, his voice disbelieving.

“It didn’t have what we were looking for.”

That part was true, anyway.

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Jessica

I stopped work and checked the clock. Just after noon. By now, Liz had probably read the headlines or heard the news from someone else. She could be at lunch when it scrolled across the bottom of a TV set at a local take-out deli or even a casual restaurant. Of course, Liz was so Type A, she probably ate a brown-bag lunch at her desk. As a busy Justice Department attorney, would she really pick up on an item in the many news headlines about a murder in Boulder? Perhaps she would because of what I’d told her and my hasty departure to visit her.

My cell phone rang. Probably Liz wanting an explanation. But the ID said “Private Caller.” My heart sank. Not again. I considered ignoring it but decided they’d probably keep ringing if I did.