18 Deader Homes and Gardens (26 page)

“I did not ransack anything,” Caron said as she rose to her feet and sat down in front of the computer. “This will only take a second, Mother. Why don’t you go play fetch with the dog?” Her fingers began to flit across the keyboard. “I need a password. Inez, see if you can find her passport or birth certificate. A lot of people use their birthday or maiden name for their passwords.”

“Try Flopsy,” Inez suggested.

I was mesmerized by Caron’s fingers. Her handwriting was illegible, but her manual dexterity was superlative. Evolution was in high gear. Kindergarten children would never learn to hold a pencil or memorize the multiplication tables. Why bother, when computers and calculators replaced their pudgy little hands. Emotions would be reduced to emoticons. As an anomaly from the twentieth century, I would not be LOL.

“I’m in,” Caron announced. “There must be a hundred e-mails. She has more document files than the Library of Congress. This will take forever.” She leaned forward as she continued to type. “Garden parties, fashion shows, dinner invitation list, charitable contributions, business expenses, photos from at least ten different addresses, lawyer stuff, travel destinations, somebody’s baby shower registry—this is ridiculous!”

Inez put Flopsy on the floor and peered over Caron’s shoulder. “Look at all the kennels that sent information. Oh, and there’s a file from a private detective agency. Open that one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Does it concern her husband?”

“Yeah,” Caron said, “but the last report is dated six months ago. What a sleaze her husband is. Can you imagine staying at the Chez Amigos Motel? There are bullet holes in the door.”

I let them gasp and giggle while I looked around. There were no plats pinned to a wall or rolled up in a pile. The lack of tangible evidence did not negate the theory that Angela knew about Danny’s plans for Hollow Valley. I noticed that the answering machine was blinking frenetically.

I pushed the button. The messages concerned an upcoming fund-raiser for the local symphony orchestra, a bridal shower for someone named Penelope, and a reception in honor of a dean at Farber College. Angela was invited to be on a steering committee, arrange flowers, pick up Sylvia’s coffee urn, tell Jessica to stop being such a bitch, shop for shoes, and have lunch at an absolutely fabulous new café. In the middle of these, my messages began to intrude. The receptionist at the real estate company left perky messages; Bartleby’s messages were blunt. The last twelve messages were from me.

“Mother,” Caron said, “come read this. It’s an e-mail from her husband from a week ago.”

I took her seat in front of the computer. The e-mail had been sent the previous Tuesday morning, less than an hour before Angela had picked me up to show me the house. It read: “This is a waste of time and money for both of us. I will agree to the settlement proposal already on the table. You can have the damn house if it’s such a big deal, and the furnishings except for my personal stuff. I’ll take the lake house. You get the country club membership. I get the season football tickets. I don’t give a shit about the jewelry, so sell it or whatever. Take the damn dog, too. The financial assets will be divided as laid out in the proposal. You’re getting every goddamn thing you want, Angela. The only thing you have to do is stay the hell out of my business. If you screw up the development, this offer’s off the table. You mess with me and you can kiss your ass good-bye. Danny.”

“I wish he’d been more specific,” I said, disappointed. “Even his threat is vague.”

Caron nudged me aside. “Let’s see what she e-mailed him. It’ll be in her sent-mail box, most likely the evening before he sent her that one.” She tackled the keyboard. “Okay, here it is. This ought to be enough to nail him.”

Angela’s e-mail read: “Guess who I talked to tonight—Terry Kennedy. He’s willing to sell his house to one of my clients. Put that up your nose, jerk.”

I grinned at the screen. “That’s it! She got to him, and he was so desperate that he capitulated on the divorce settlement. We have his motive. Now Jorgeson can subpoena all the paperwork concerning the Hollow Valley development. Danny doesn’t have an alibi for Saturday or Sunday.”

“Did he murder Terry, too?” asked Inez.

“It makes sense,” I said. “He thought that kidnapping and murdering Angela would solve all of his problems. Then I found a way to get in touch with Terry, so his precious plan was still in peril. He snuck in the house and left the poisoned vodka.”

“How did he do that, Ms. Malloy?” Jorgeson asked from the doorway. His smile was strained and his voice chilly.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?”

“I might ask you the same question. I’m not implying that you didn’t knock, Ms. Malloy, but only as a gesture. You knew that no one was here to invite you and the young ladies to come inside and hack into this computer.”

“We did not hack,” I said in an offended voice. “Hacking implies violence. We did nothing more than turn it on. Shouldn’t you be having one of your men print out the e-mails?”

Jorgeson gave me a glum look. “We’ll print them out, but they can’t be used as evidence at a trial. The defense will claim that they might have been tampered with by a civilian. If we’d taken the computer to the PD, our tech would have opened them. The only fingerprints on the keyboard would have belonged to the victim.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m sorry. However, you know perfectly well that we didn’t tamper with anything. We found Danny’s motive, Jorgeson. All you have to do is find out who tipped him off Tuesday afternoon that Angela and I were at Winston’s house.”

“I fear that I have other things to do as well.” He looked at Caron and Inez, who had backed into a corner. “For the moment, you two may go home and stay there. I will do what I can with the city prosecutor, but the decision is his.”

“I can’t stay home,” Caron protested. “I’m going to the lake with Joel. He borrowed a kayak from his uncle.”

Jorgeson shrugged. “Then I apologize for the inconvenience. You are free to choose whether you prefer to remain at home or accompany us to the police department. I must warn you that the soda machine is broken and the reading material is limited to hunting and car magazines.”

Caron rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Inez. Let’s go to my house and do some online research about the legality of detaining juveniles.” She stomped out of the room, with Inez following obediently.

“As for you, Ms. Malloy,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, “you and I need to resume our interview in my office. Please give your car key to this nice young officer. I am reluctant to let you out of my sight until Deputy Chief Rosen is back.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why, I’d be delighted to ride with you, Lieutenant Jorgeson. Is there a chance we might swing by a coffee bar on the way for lattes and biscotti? My treat, of course.”

*   *   *

I did not get my latte and biscotto. Once I was seated in Jorgeson’s office, I forgave him for his petulance and said, “What did the medical examiner determine about Angela’s time of death?”

Jorgeson took his sweet time before responding. “She’s unable to do more than offer an approximation. The body was kept in cold storage for some period of time, so the standard measures are unreliable. She was killed elsewhere more than five days ago, and put in the ground within six hours of discovery.” He put up his hand to stop me before I could blurt out the obvious question. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Something heavy with a flat surface. Bits of dirt and debris in the wound. No indications that she fought back.”

I was amazed at his willingness to share the medical examiner’s findings. Peter would not have offered an observation on the weather. “Does Danny have an alibi for Tuesday afternoon and evening?” I asked.

“Yes, and it’s been verified. He was at his office until five and then had drinks and dinner at the country with a group of friends. His, uh, friend says the two of them spent the night at his condo.”

“Then his accomplice did it,” I said. “A couple of days later, Danny and the accomplice drove Angela’s car to Maxwell County to muddle things.”

“Well done, Ms. Malloy. If you’ll give us the name of the accomplice, we’ll have this wrapped up before the evening news.”

I was not amused by his flippancy. “The Farberville Police Department has adequate resources to identify the accomplice, while I, a civilian of no great consequence, am powerless and can only watch with awe and respect. Is that all, Lieutenant Jorgeson?”

It was not. I offered Jorgeson a multitude of means, motives, and opportunities that could be applied to every last person I’d met since the day Angela showed me the perfect house. Some plots required convoluted conspiracies, bribery, blackmail, psychotic breaks, and/or sexual misconduct. I gave him grudges galore. After I finished a theory in which Nattie was Bartleby’s ex-wife and Jordan was their love child, Jorgeson suggested that we take a very long break.

“What about Caron and Inez?” I asked him. “I am more than willing to sit here the rest of the day and explain why it was necessary for them to gain ingress, however the means, so that—”

Jorgeson’s gaze was a wee bit unfriendly. “I will make a note that they went inside to rescue the dog. The computer hacking need not be mentioned as long as I don’t come across their names in any future reports. Is there any hope that you and I can settle for the same arrangement?”

“Of course,” I said merrily. “There is one thing, though. I promised Jordan that she could come spend the night with Caron and Inez, so I’ll need a letter of passage to pick her up.”

He scribbled out a note that ensured my safety behind enemy lines. His parting words were desultory, leading me to wonder if he was unwell. The previous day had been exhausting for both of us, I thought as I drove home and parked next to Caron’s car. She and Inez were cross-legged on her bed, texting silently like Zen adherents. There seemed to be so many texts zipping through the atmosphere that it was a miracle there was adequate oxygen for respiration. If everyone was sending them, who had time to read them?

I called Peter and was composing a message when he said, “Claire, is something wrong?”

It was a poser. I opted for innocence. “Everything’s fine. I told Jorgeson what I know, and now it’s his headache. We’re not going to get the house, so I’ve decided to move on. Later, I’ll go get some magazines with house plans. But how are you? Do you know how long you’ll be stuck up there?”

“No idea. Most of the agents are out in the field. I’ll meet with the brass from the trucking company and their insurance people and then participate in a conference call with the feds. The truck driver’s not talking. I could be here for at least a couple of days.” He stopped for a moment. “I’ve got to go. Can I trust you to stay out of the investigation just this once?”

“You can always trust me, darling.”

I made a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of iced tea. I was brooding on the balcony when Caron came out.

“If I’m going to prison, I’m not going to bother with the summer reading list,” she said. “It’s not like we’ll sit around in a cell and discuss
No Exit
. Do I need to start packing anytime soon?”

“Jorgeson said that he’d overlook our minor escapade if we keep a low profile.”

“Can I go to the lake with Joel? Inez wants to come, too.”

“Yes,” I said, “but you have to be home at four, and not one minute later. I promised Jordan that she could come spend the night. You can take her to the mall, and I’ll give you money for pizza. After everything that’s happened out there lately, she deserves a respite. She was with me when we uncovered the body.”

“Cool,” Caron said. “Yeah, we’ll be here at four. Inez says that Jordan has body piercings and a tattoo. I’ve never met anyone like that. She probably has some really neat stories.”

The peanut butter solidified in my stomach. “Don’t even think about it. If you so much as draw on your skin with an indelible marker, you’re grounded for the rest of the summer. I mean it, Caron. You are not going to make the same mistakes she made.”

Caron grinned, then went to her bedroom to confer with Inez. I drowned my worries in iced tea, calling good-bye to the girls as they went downstairs. In a year, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time, Caron would make her own decisions. If she made the wrong ones, Peter and I would not leave a forwarding address.

Rather than descend into depression, I turned my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Danny Delmond claimed to have alibis for the day when Angela disappeared and for the six-hour period when her body had been transported and buried. Angela’s low opinion of the young woman was less than impartial. She might be a respectable sort, who had a good job, called her parents every week, and sang in a church choir. Or she might be a slut. Jorgeson had not mentioned her name, and he most likely would not do so if I called him.

I’d agreed to keep a low profile, but I hadn’t promised to spend the next few days polishing silver. Angela had told me that she’d amended the divorce petition from the standard “irreconcilable differences” to the ever popular “adultery,” and named Danny’s girlfriend as a corespondent. I found Angela’s briefcase under a chair and took out the documents from the lawyer. All things
Delmond v. Delmond
were covered, including property division proposals, vitriolic notes from Angela that contained references to Danny’s manhood, conciliatory letters from her lawyer, D. W. Hendrix, and preliminary rulings. Not one listed the name of the corespondent.

I found D. W. Hendrix’s office number in the directory and dialed it. When a receptionist answered, I launched into an impromptu speech. “I’m with KLMNOP, your local all-news station. As you surely have been informed, Angela Delmond’s body was found yesterday, and the police are investigating it as a murder. To give depth to our report, we’re running background stories about Mr. and Ms. Delmond. I’ve located the divorce petition filed by your office, along with the amendments. If you could just give me the contact information for the corespondent, you’d save me a trip to the courthouse.” I paused and then lowered my voice. “You know how bosses can be. Mine thinks I can drop everything to fetch him coffee or run errands. Last week I had to take off a day because my child was ill, and I nearly got fired.”