Trust Me

faultless, Desdemona thought. It was backed up by her intuition. But she could not prove anything. In the meantime, she had a terrible conviction that Stark was moving remorselessly forward along his own trajectory.
    She had to find a way to deflect him from his path and aim him in another direction before he managed to make Tony look guilty.
    The phone rang, jarring her out of her morbid thoughts. Desdemona climbed slowly out of her chair and walked across the room to answer the summons. She picked up the receiver, hoping the caller was not Stark. She wasn’t ready to deal with him.
    “Kid, is that you?”
    “Tony.” Desdemona clutched the phone. “Where are you?”
    “I’m back in Seattle,” Tony said in a strange voice. “But I’m not at my apartment.”
    “What’s wrong? You sound very strange.”
    “Probably because I’ve just realized that something really weird is going on around here. Desdemona, don’t freak, but I think someone is trying to set me up for the murder of Vernon Tate.”
    “Set you up?” Desdemona gazed blankly out the window. “What are you talking about?”
    “I got home an hour ago. Someone was in my apartment while I was gone.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I wasn’t sure at first. I just had a feeling that something wasn’t right. Know what I mean?”
    “Yes.” Desdemona did not question Tony’s intuition. He was a Wainwright.
    “I unpacked my suitcase and started to toss some dirty shirts into the hamper. But when I opened the hamper I realized that the green shirt I had left on top of the pile of clothes was no longer on top. I’m sure it was the last thing I threw into the hamper before I left for L.A.”
    “I don’t understand. Where was it?”
    “Farther down in the heap.”
    Desdemona frowned intently. “Someone went through your dirty clothes? Why on earth would anyone do that?”
    “I don’t know, but I got really nervous. I went through the entire apartment to see if anything had been stolen. Nothing had been taken, but something had been left behind.”
    “Tony, no offense, but this isn’t the last act of a dinner theater mystery. Don’t drag out the big revelation. What did you find?”
    “A gun. A thirty-eight,” Tony said. “It was in the bottom of the hamper.”
    “My God.”
    “Vernon Tate was killed with a thirty-eight, wasn’t he?”
    “That’s what one of the cops said, yes.” Desdemona’s knees threatened to collapse.
    “And the police didn’t recover the murder weapon, did they?”
    “No,” Desdemona whispered. “At least, not that I heard.”
    “Guess where someone intended that gun to be found,” Tony said bleakly.
    “Oh, my God.” Someone really was trying to make Tony appear guilty of murder, Desdemona thought. “But who was supposed to discover the gun? And when?”
    “How the hell should I know? Maybe the police were supposed to find it later, after enough so-called evidence had accumulated to warrant a search of my apartment.”
    “Evidence?”
    “Yeah. Evidence. Planted evidence. I’m sure the gun in my hamper was just the beginning.”
    Desdemona went cold. “That explains the message on my computer.”
    “I decided I’d better lay low. I got rid of the gun. I’m in a motel out on Aurora Avenue. I’m registered under another name, Stone Morgan.”
    “For heaven’s sake, Tony, wasn’t that the name of the character you were supposed to play in that soap you’ve been trying to get off the ground?”
    “Yeah. It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. Listen, kid, I’m a little spooked. Don’t tell anyone, not even the family, that I’m back in town yet, okay? I need some time to figure out a way to deal with this mess.”
    “But Mom and Dad are in town, Tony. They arrived a few hours ago. They know you’re expected. Surely I can tell them?”
    “No. Don’t tell anyone. Let everyone think I’m still down in L.A. You know how excited the family gets when there’s a crisis.”
    “Yes, but – “
    “I don’t want to alarm everyone yet.” Tony paused meaningfully. “And I definitely do not want someone accidentally telling the wrong person that I know I’m being set up to take the fall for a murder.”
    “The wrong person?” Desdemona was confused. “But who’s the wrong person?”
    “Can’t you guess?” Tony’s voice was bitter.
    “Are you saying that you know who’s behind this?”
    “There’s only one person who could be behind it. Your pal, Stark.”
    For an