As Good as Dead (12 page)

“The guard said he’d seen him on the floor before.”

Anna hadn’t said a word and had barely touched her food. Callen apologized for all the morbid talk at the table.

“It isn’t that. I just can’t understand why anyone would go to such extremes to kill Nick.” Anna drained her cup and announced that she was going to take a shower and go to the hospital to see Abby. “Thank you for a wonderful breakfast.”

Angel watched her mother deposit her cup in the sink and shuffle out of the room, wondering how long it would take for the spark to come back to her eyes and to her smile.

“She’ll be okay, Angel,” Callen said.

“I know.” Angel cut out a bite of pancake and put it into her mouth, savoring the luscious tropical flavors. “About Nick. I hope the security measures are tightened.”

“They have been,” Callen assured her. “It’s hard, though. We’ll
keep the uniformed guard. Our guys are volunteering to do extra duty. We have a list of people who are allowed access to the room, and we’ve placed their names on the roster. Anyone else attempting to go in will be escorted to the police department. They have orders to act first and ask questions later.”

“So, this guy got away?”

“I’m afraid so. By the time Nick was able to give an accounting, the guy was long gone. There are no doctors or nurses that fit his description. My suspicion is that our guy stole the identification and clothes out of someone’s locker. He’d have to know who was on vacation, but that wouldn’t be too hard to figure out. He was seen leaving the hospital, but we have no idea what he was driving or where he might have gone. We have an APB out on him and have given the news media a description.”

Angel tried to picture the orange-haired guy and superimpose his features over the gardener’s and the photos she had of the Penghetti clan. No luck. “I have something for you from Rachael.” Angel told him about the information Rachael had gathered on the Penghetti family and went back to her room to get it. She wanted to keep the photos for comparison but would get copies from Rachael later.

He flipped through the folder. “Rachael did her homework. This is all duplicating what I already have, though.”

“She thought it might. Do you mind if I keep these? I want to check the photos of the Penghetti brothers against the photos taken at the funeral.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Callen said. “We’ve left several messages with the reporter, but she hasn’t called back. And to be honest, we’ve been too tied up to follow through.”

“I can track her down for you.”

“Great. Just let me know what you find out.”

After breakfast, Callen left for work and Angel did the dishes. She’d just finished when Anna joined her in the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. “How would you feel about my going to visit Gabby?” Ma asked.

“Did Dr. Hathaway put you up to this?” Angel tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“Of course not. I told you yesterday about Gabby’s letter.”

“Oh, right. Do you want to go?”

“I think so. Lazing around here frustrates me no end. I see all these things that need to be done, and with my arm broken, I can’t do most of them.”

“I’m trying to help, Ma, but with all the remodeling...”

“You’ve been a tremendous help.” She smiled. “Callen and I have even made a halfway decent cook out of you.”

“Only halfway?” Angel chuckled, glad to have come that far. She’d never been much into domesticity, choosing to follow in her father’s footsteps rather than her mother’s. She was just beginning to learn the things she’d missed out on during her growing-up years. Like cooking and keeping house.

“Maybe a bit more. But you’ve a long ways to go before I’d say you were proficient in the kitchen.”

“Well, at least I don’t do takeout all the time like I used to.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Anna rested her cast on the table. “What do you think about my visiting Gabby?”

“I think you should go.”

“Good. I found a great buy on a ticket online. I’m leaving on Sunday.”

“Ma!” Angel laughed. “If you’d already made up your mind to go, why did you ask?”

Anna grinned. “I would have canceled if you didn’t want me to.”

“I want you to be happy.” Angel put away the rest of the glasses. “You’re not planning to see the professor while you’re down there, are you?”

“I might. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Just that... Ma, he was hitting on you, and I don’t trust him.”

“Don’t be silly, Angel. He was a perfect gentleman—and a married man.” She paused. “Besides, I can’t imagine you thinking...” Tears gathered in her dark eyes. “Honey, I’m certainly not interested in him, if that’s what’s concerning you. I loved your father so much. That’s why I need to leave for a while. I can’t bear being in this house right now. Every time I go into the bedroom, I’m
reminded of how sick he was and how he fell on me. I keep thinking there should have been something I could have done—some way to get to the phone.”

Angel wiped her hands and circled her mother’s shoulders with her good arm. “It doesn’t do any good to blame yourself. There was no way you could have moved him. You know that. But I know what you mean. I blame myself too. If I had gotten here earlier, maybe I could have saved him.”

Anna nodded. “You had no way of knowing. I doubt either of us could have made a difference.” She sighed. “Guilt and self-blame are part of the grieving process, I suppose.”

“Yes, but knowing that and believing it are two different things.” Angel gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We have to keep reminding ourselves that it was Pop’s time to go. And like Tim keeps telling us, he’s in a better place.”

Anna dug into her pocket for a tissue. “I know. I’m just... having a hard time. I want the crying to stop, and I want to get on with my life. I’m tired of buying tissues.” She offered a wan smile, a pathetic laugh—just enough to break the somber mood.

“Me too.” Angel needed a couple tissues of her own.

“Why don’t we walk on the beach?” Anna sniffed. “And we can talk about my trip.”

“It’s raining.”

“And your point is?”

Angel chuckled. She’d spent most of the days since her dad’s death with her mother. Holding her when she cried. Walking when she needed to walk. Talking when she needed to talk. After the funeral, a friend had given her a book on helping someone through grief, and one of the most important things the author stressed was just going through it together and being there for one another.

Anna was still crying when they reached the packed sand. Angel knew it was going to be one of those days.

The rain washed away their tears and stung their faces, but on they walked. After a while, Anna turned back. “I think I have it out of my system now, or at least it’s lessening.”

“What?”

“The anger. He had no business dying on me when he did. I’d
wanted him to retire for more than a year, but he wouldn’t. We were going to travel. See some places I’d always wanted to see. The first place I wanted to go was California. I’ve always wanted to spend some time there.”

“You can now.”

“It’s not the same. He won’t be there with me.” She sighed. “Listen to me, rambling on. I’ve no right to be angry about anything. Frank is in heaven, healthy and happy and waiting for me to join him. We had a good life, your father and I. The Lord has blessed us.”

Angel didn’t respond; it seemed right just to let her mother talk about death and life and unfulfilled dreams. More than once she wanted to tell Anna about Luke’s presence at the funeral. More than anything Angel wanted to let her know that her eldest son was still alive and that he had come home to say good-bye to Pop. But how could she, when she’d also have to tell her that Luke was gone again and they had no idea where he was.

“Have you talked to Faith about the article?”

“Not yet.”

“I found her card. You can call her when we get back.”

“Sure. I’ll make it a point to call her today.”

“Good. I’d like to see the article before I go to California so I can bring a copy with me. Gabby will want to see it.”

Once home, Angel showered and dressed in jeans and a lightweight ivory sweater with blue trim. Her hair curled in loose tendrils around her face, giving her that Shirley Temple look. Angel used combs on either side to pull it back. She didn’t bother with makeup, never really needed to. And with the way her tears came and went lately, it seemed a waste of time anyway.

Before leaving the house, Angel called Faith Carlson’s number. Her answering machine said she’d be in around 11:00. She then called the newspaper office, but the editor and owner said Faith hadn’t been in for several days. Not unusual, apparently, since Faith worked mostly from her home.

Because she didn’t want to wait around for an hour, and needing to run some errands, Angel decided to stop by the reporter’s home around noon. She dropped her mother off at the hospital so
she could visit with Abby, who was doing well enough to go home. After a brief visit, Angel made arrangements for Tim to take Anna home later. She stopped to see Nick, but he was asleep.

Angel then stopped by Joanie’s for a hot mocha before driving over to 12th Street, where Faith Carlson lived. It was an older home, built when Sunset Cove was in its infancy in the early 1900s. Faith had renovated the building, painted it a pale gray with alternating mauve and navy trim.

Angel knocked, but there was no answer. She peered through the large front window and saw that the living room had been turned upside down. Her stomach knotted. Faith’s home looked like Angel’s apartment had after it had been vandalized. Angel forced her gaze to travel to the overturned sofa, the upended end tables and broken lamps, over the photos strewn about the floor. She stopped breathing when she saw what looked like a woman’s arm.
Oh no. God, please. Don’t let this be what I think it is.

Angel ran to the car for her cell phone and called 911.

EIGHTEEN

D
on’t be dead.
Please don’t be dead.
Angel repeated the litany as she went back up on the porch and tried the door. On the line to the 911 operator, Angel said, “The front door is locked; I’m going around back.”

She tried the back door. “It’s locked too.” Angel began circling the house, looking for an open window but finding none. By the time she’d come back to the front of the house, a patrol car had pulled up. Brandy Owens, currently the only woman police officer in Sunset Cove. The paramedics drove up behind her.

“Hey, Angel, what’s up?” Brandy exited her car and started up the walk. Brandy had a sweet smile and large blue eyes. She kept her tan even after a long winter, probably the result of spending twenty minutes a week lounging in a tanning bed. She was tall, around five-nine, and well proportioned. Her newly cut blonde hair hugged her head like a cap.

They both greeted the paramedics, and Angel said, “I came by to see about some photos, and when no one answered, I looked in the front window. The place looks like it’s been ransacked. I can see someone lying on the floor in there, but the doors are locked.”

“Great.” Brandy and the medics cupped their hands and looked inside. Straightening, Brandy said, “I hate stuff like this. We have to get in there to see if she’s okay. Think we’ll have to kick in the door?”

The EMTs set their equipment on the porch, ready to comply.

“The back door has a window, so we can get in that way.” Angel led them toward the back of the house.

Brandy cleared her throat. “Right. Lead the way.” The four of them gathered on the back porch. Using her jacket as a sheath to protect her arm, Brandy broke the glass and reached in to unlock the door.

The smell that accosted them left no doubt as to the victim’s condition. Brandy and the EMTs went ahead to verify. They came back out seconds later. “She’s gone,” Brandy said. “Been dead at least a couple of days, maybe more. I’d better call the medical examiner.”

Angel guessed it had been longer.

The older of the EMTs, a woman in her forties, spoke into her radio. “Right. Nothing we can do here. Okay. We’re on it.” She clipped the phone to her belt. “We have a traffic accident just north of town. Sorry, but the live ones take precedence.”

“Thanks, guys.” Brandy waved.

Angel pulled out her cell phone. “I’d better let Detective Riley know.”

“Why?” Brandy asked. “He’s OSP, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I think this might have something to do with whoever shot Nick.”

“No kidding.” She glanced back at the now-open door. “How’s that?”

Angel told her about the funeral and the photos Faith had taken there. “It’s possible she inadvertently got a picture of the shooter. At any rate, that’s why I came over. I wanted to see if Nick could make a positive ID and compare it with one...” She sighed. “It’s a very long and complicated story. Trust me, Callen needs to be in on this.”

“Whatever you say. I need to get this scene taped off.”

Angel had only seen Brandy a few times since the officer-involved shooting incident, and every time she’d treated Angel as though she were still on active duty.

While walking around to the front of the house, Angel called Callen’s cell and gave him the information. “It may not be a
related incident. For all I know, the woman had a fallout with her boyfriend or something.”

“You’re right to connect the two,” Callen said. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

Angel helped Brandy string up the crime scene tape. “I like your hair,” she said, eyeing the boyish cut. Brandy’s blonde hair was about an inch long all over and still had some wave in it.

“Thanks.” Brandy shrugged. “I’m still trying to get used to it. I wanted serviceable. Got what I asked for.” After wrapping the tape around the last post, she said, “So when are you coming back to work?”

Angel smiled. “Not sure.”

“So you are coming back.” Brandy took the roll of tape to her car and set it neatly in one of the two plastic boxes she kept there. From another box she pulled out a clipboard on which she’d record the details of the crime scene and log in who had come and gone at what time.