"Mr. Sinclair is extremely busy."
"I'm sure he can fit me into his schedule. It's in his best interest."
She stammered, "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you."
She dialed his extension. "Hi, Angela. There is a Deputy Wild here to see Mr. Sinclair. He says it's urgent." She listened intently for a moment. "I'll tell him." She ended the call, cleared her throat, then addressed me. "Please have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”
I reclined on the cushy leather couch, grabbed a magazine from the coffee table, and started flipping through it.
High heels clattered down the hallway 10 minutes later, and Angela stepped into the lobby. She had long, wavy red hair, fair skin, and caramel eyes. She wasn't bad to look at, especially in that navy skirt and cream blouse. She forced a smile. "Deputy Wild, I'm Angela," she said, extending her hand. "Mr. Sinclair’s assistant. How can I help you today?”
I stood up and greeted her. "I’d really like to talk to Mr. Sinclair.”
"He's extremely busy at the moment. Can I give him a message?”
"I'm sure he can make time to talk about something that could affect his company's bottom line."
Her curious eyes narrowed. "Can you be more specific?”
"I think this is a matter Mr. Sinclair would rather discuss privately."
"I see. Have a seat, and I'll see what I can do."
Angela spun around and strutted back down the hallway. I took another seat on the sofa and waited.
Eventually, she stepped back into the lobby. "Deputy Wild, Mr. Sinclair will see you now."
I climbed off the sofa again and followed her down the hallway to Mr. Sinclair's office.
It was large, with an expansive view of the ocean. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a minibar, a gallery flat panel, comfortable couches and chairs, a coffee table, a pool table, a dartboard, and a few old-school stand-up arcade games. It was more like a rec room than an office. Rory looked barely more than a child.
Though he was a man of 35 years, he had a boyish quality to him with a narrow face, big eyes, and shaggy curly hair that hungon his head like a mop. Of course, he was dressed in the typical founder’s uniform of a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He was a skinny guy without an ounce of body fat.
Angela escorted me into the office, announced my presence to Mr. Sinclair, then pulled the door shut behind us as she left.
Rory was on a call with wireless earbuds. He stood by the window looking out over the ocean. It was a magnificent view. Florida sunshine spilled in.
After a few words, Rory ended the call, then walked across the room to give me a handshake. With a smile on his face, he said, "What can I do for you, deputy? They made it sound like it was urgent.”
"It's about Evelyn Ellington."
He frowned. "Tragic loss. She was a wonderful assistant. I heard she got mugged at the mall." He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do without her. She kept my life organized. Now it's in disarray."
Rory didn't have concern for anyone but himself.
"I don't think she was mugged.”
"Really?”
"I think she was targeted.”
"Well, you can't really believe anything you hear on the news, can you?”
"When was the last time you talked to Evelyn?" I asked.
His lips tightened, then he blew out a breath. "Probably the day before she died. I was in almost constant communication withher. Sometimes well into the evening. We'd often exchange text messages up until midnight.”
