Deadly Pedigree - By Jimmy Fox Page 0,82

would believe you, a third-rate hack hungry for publicity, a plagiarist? A man who has stolen public documents? The police are more likely to charge you than me. And where do you think those young men work?” she said, feebly pointing outside.

The two goons are cops!? A sudden onset of vertigo made him grab the arms of his chair. Somehow, the idea that they were cops made him more frightened than if they’d been ordinary civilian assassins. He was alone in this mess, with no authority to back him up. The climactic scene from North by Northwest flickered into his consciousness: Cary Grant hangs by one hand over Mount Rushmore, Eva Marie Saint dangling from his other hand, as Martin Landau steps harder and harder on his knuckles…

“I would know the instant you contacted a detective,” Armiger was saying, her voice having regained its customary confidence. “You wouldn’t live long enough to drive to police headquarters.”

As usual, she had all the answers before he even asked the questions. A tricky situation: keeping the documents hurt the Balzars’ case; releasing them, leading to the inevitable discovery that he’d stolen them, would land him in very hot water–certainly he’d be drummed out of the genealogy corps; and giving them to Armiger doomed the documents to perpetual imprisonment, perhaps destruction.

But of all the reasons he could think of at the moment, the most important was that the documents he’d stolen were his ticket to continued health, since Zola had broken off with him. He wished fervently that he’d never accepted Armiger’s money in the first place.

Nick struggled to sound unrattled as he began to present the strategy that had come to him in a previous jogging session. “Look, Mrs. Armiger, Zola is no closer to the real story because of what I’ve done. Agreed?”

“You’re treading on dangerous ground,” Armiger warned.

He swallowed hard and continued. “She has no reason to doubt that she’s your daughter. I’ve even bolstered the idea that she’s Hyam Balazar’s direct descendant. I don’t want to hurt her. I happen to be in love with her, but let’s put that aside for now. All those glass cases”–he nodded toward the gallery–“make it unlikely she could follow the European line to her parents, either with amateur luck or professional help. You may not have everything there is out there, but what you’ve gathered would certainly stymie even an experienced genealogist. I’ve worked with a few adoptees; the desire to know birth parents should come from within, not outside. For Zola it’s a matter of identity, and I would be wrong to tamper with one that satisfies her–regardless of my opinion of your role in the matter. Give me some credit on that score, okay?

“With the Balzars, it’s a financial question–much easier to resolve for a businesswoman of your talents. Settle with them. You’ll never have to go to court, and the Natchitoches crap will become moot. As a bonus, you’ll never hear from me again.”

Unless I find a way to nail you for two murders.

He was pleased with his performance; his nervous sweating had stopped, and his damp T-shirt was cold. Had he won her over?

She seemed ready to agree but finally shook her head. “They are unreasonable. Their demands escalate every day. Absurd allegations–”

A telephone chirped somewhere. Armiger pulled a cordless phone from a drawer of the desk. She listened for half a minute, then replaced the phone in the drawer. A new surge of pain hit her.

“Genealogists spend too much of their time in the company of dead people,” she said. “It affects their judgment. I suggest you give more thought to the living. For Zola’s sake, if not your own.”

“So you refuse to consider the Balzars’ claim?”

“I will take care of their claim!” she shouted, her anger flaring through the icy grip of claws inside her chest. “Give me the documents, or you will be killed. And never mention Zola’s past to me or anyone else again. You have a week. Get out!”

Not the most successful meeting he’d ever sat through.

The two goons were gone when Nick got downstairs. He was supposed to get back on his own, it seemed. But he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to spend more quality time with them today.

At the iron gate, the security guard was conspicuously absent.

He replayed Armiger’s final statement over and over again in his mind as he searched through the guardhouse for a way to open the gate. “I will take care of their claim!” Ominous, very