“Let me do the talking,” he said.
She gave him a quick glance. “Glad to. I’d like to hear what you’re going to say.”
“I told you what I was thinking, but I always play situations like this by ear.”
He’d looked up the address but not the suite number. Pausing at the directory in the lobby, he scanned the entry and found Cannon Limited on the second floor.
They were both silent in the elevator and didn’t speak as they walked down the carpeted hall and into an office reception area that was decorated in tasteful shades of beige. On the wall were expensive-looking modern oil paintings of the slash and dribble variety.
An attractive, dark-haired young woman sitting at a desk to one side looked up questioningly as they approached her workstation. The metal tent sign on her desk said Allison Holiday.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“We were hoping to speak to Mr. Cannon.”
“And you are?”
“Max Lyon and Olivia Winters.”
She consulted a computer screen. “I’m sorry, I don’t have you on his appointment list.”
“We’re from the Donley reunion committee. We were talking to Brian at the committee meeting the other night, and we were hoping he had a few minutes to see us now.”
“Just a moment,” she said, got up from her desk and walked down the hall.
Olivia glanced at Max. “Smooth.”
“I practice.”
A few moments later, Ms. Holiday returned. “He can give you a few minutes. His office is at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you,” Max said.
As they walked down the hall where the same kind of paintings lined the walls, Olivia said in a low voice, “He must be doing pretty well in the commercial real estate business.”
“You mean you think he spent a lot on this artwork.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he got his dog to do it with its tail.”
She snorted.
“Or get me some paint cans, and I’ll make you some.”
The door at the end of the hall was opened, and Max stepped through the door ahead of Olivia.
“This is about the reunion ?” Brian asked. “Did they put you in charge of fund-raising or something?”
“No. But I hope you can give us a few minutes of your time,” Max said.
Max took one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, and Olivia took the other.
“I’ve been talking to Olivia,” Max said when they were seated. “About the murders of your classmates.”
“You started that conversation last night. I wish you’d drop it,” Cannon said, sounding annoyed that Olivia’s new fiancé was rocking the boat. Whatever boat that was.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I didn’t know about any of this when I got engaged to Olivia, but as soon as I found out, I realized it was my duty to protect her.”
“Isn’t that the job of the police?” Cannon asked.
“They don’t seem to be doing a very good job,” Max countered.
Cannon was silent, and Max recognized the technique. If you said nothing, the other person would eventually fill the silence. In this case, Max was prepared with his story. Which was true as far as it went.
“After the meeting last night, Olivia had a nightmare. I woke her up, and she was quite upset.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t have gone to the meeting,” Cannon suggested.
“It’s too late for that.” This time Max was the one who paused. After their encounter in the SUV, he’d vowed to keep his paws off Olivia, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching over, taking her hand and knitting his fingers with hers. The sign of a concerned fiancé, he told himself, noting that Cannon followed the gesture.
“What was it about?” Cannon asked, sounding wary.
Max kept his gaze on the man. “About a party at your house.”
“I had a lot of parties at my house.”
“This was the one on Cinco de Mayo, your senior year. The one where Gary Anderson shot off a gun.”
Cannon blanched, and his gaze shot to Olivia.
She shrugged.
“Oh, that party,” the man across the desk muttered.
“We were talking about the members of the class who died under strange circumstances—or were killed. Both Angela and Gary were at that party. And also Patrick Morris.”
“Jesus! You’re including him.”
“He’s dead,” Max countered.
“From a faulty furnace giving off carbon monoxide.”
“It might not have been an accident.”
Cannon’s accusing gaze shot to Olivia. “Three dead people who died from unrelated causes don’t prove anything.” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “And we agreed not to talk about what happened that night.”