Bitter Sweet (9 page)

The living room drapes were open
and Sam stepped up to the porch to get a look. Pressing the doorbell and
knocking didn’t raise a response from Ted, as she’d fully expected it wouldn’t,
so she peered inside.

Nearly all the furnishings were
gone. Built-in shelves along one living room wall held a few books and the
detritus of curios that a world traveler collects for their own pleasure, but
surely no one else’s. A model of the Eiffel Tower lay tipped on its side, next
to a set of carved wooden camels, surrounded by a few personal photos in
ordinary frames that no one had wanted to buy. The tables which had displayed
clothing for sale yesterday held about half the previous inventory, picked-over
colorful heaps of unidentifiable fabric. She moved to the dining room
window—more of the same. Papers littered one section of the floor, as if
someone had bought a file drawer and simply dumped the contents where they
stood.

Back in the studio, the vultures
had been more thorough. Not a single item of art or pottery remained of Lila
Coffey’s life’s work. Bare shelves showed where the pottery had once been
displayed. An empty recess at the back of the room probably once held her kiln.
A jar of glaze had broken and dripped from an upper shelf to the floor, marring
what had once been beautiful tile. Sam was glad that Zoë had not seen this. It
was too sad.

But more than learning the
condition of Lila’s possessions, Sam wondered if Ted O’Malley might have left
behind some clues to his own whereabouts. She glanced toward the road to be
sure she was alone, then used one of her lock-picking techniques to get in
through the kitchen door.

The place felt cold and
abandoned. After a year of breaking into houses Sam had begun to develop an
instinct for whether an owner would be back. But just to be sure, she peeked
into the refrigerator and saw that it was empty. No un-expired milk in this
one. She would have bet money that Ted O’Malley never planned on coming back
here. He’d taken all the chips he could rustle up and he’d cashed out.

She wandered through the rooms,
knowing that at some point someone might decide to sell the property and a
person like herself would need to come in and give it a final cleanup. Her
fingers almost reached for items, old habit telling her to bag, box and
otherwise get it all ready for disposal—but she couldn’t. She already had
enough projects on her plate for the summer. Still, she might find something of
use in tracking down O’Malley, if Beau could put together any compelling
evidence to put him away.

If there had been wedding or
honeymoon pictures, O’Malley had done a good job of finding them. He’d
apparently erased all traces of his one-time occupation of the house. In the
master bedroom, the furniture was gone but someone had dumped the contents of
nightstand drawers in a corner. Sam pulled the drapes open for better light.
Among the usual clutter of night creams and magazines, she spotted a couple of
religious tracts. Stapled to the front of one pamphlet was the business card of
a Reverend Ridley Redfearn. The alliterative name caught Sam’s attention and it
occurred to her that maybe the church could use some of the clothing and small
items, either to pass along to the poor or to generate some cash to help
someone. She picked up the pamphlet and jammed it into her pack.

On the way back to Sweet’s
Sweets, Sam pulled off Kit Carson Road to the side street where Zoë and
Darryl’s bed and breakfast was located. Two guest cars were parked out front;
Zoë would surely allow her to make this a quick visit. She tapped at the
kitchen door and walked in.

“Hey there,” Zoë said, looking up
from a stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

“How are you doing today?”

A vague nod.

Sam gave the condensed version of
her visit to Lila’s house just now, leaving out the condition of the studio and
the overall sad air about the place. “I found this,” she said, pulling the
preacher’s card from her pocket. “If Lila attended his church, maybe she would
want the extra clothing and stuff to go to them.”

Zoë dried her hands, took a look
and shrugged. “I don’t remember her ever mentioning this name. But sure, it
sounds like a good idea.”

“Beau is doing a little more
research on the husband. If we can find out how to contact him again, I’ll
suggest it.”

One of the B&B guests walked
into the kitchen and Sam used the moment to say a quick goodbye. Back at the
bakery, Jen said that Beau had called, wanting to know if she was still on for
lunch. She pulled out her cell phone and sure enough, she’d missed a call.
Reception wasn’t always great on those roads back in the mountains. She called
him back and they agreed to meet at one of their favorite sandwich shops in
thirty minutes.

When she walked in, he’d already
gotten a table and she detected an air of excitement as he greeted her.

“What’s up?”

“Got some background results on
that Ted O’Malley. His youth record was sealed, of course, but at eighteen he
was brought in a few times for minor things in Albuquerque—graffiti, starting
fires in dumpsters, drunk and disorderly. By twenty-five he’d either
straightened out his act or moved out of state. Recently he’s not been visible
in the state of New Mexico but it turns out the Nevada police have him on their
radar.”

Their waiter came around and they
decided to split a roast beef sandwich. When he went away Beau continued.

“O’Malley’s wanted for several
things ranging from traffic tickets to an intent-to-distribute charge involving
some cocaine that was found in his vehicle. Las Vegas PD suspected him of leaving
the state because of that, plus some unpaid gambling debts to a few unsavory
types.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, opening it to reveal
a photocopy of a driver’s license. “Age 45, height 69 inches, weight 162, home
address in Las Vegas.”

Sam looked at the picture. It was
Ted O’Malley, all right. His hair was quite a bit darker, even though the issue
date of the license was only a year ago. Had he added some gray, to make
himself appear closer in age to Lila?

“Those are the hard facts, but
the juicy stuff came from the LVPD lieutenant I spoke with.” He paused to get
her attention. “O’Malley is already married.”

“What?” Sam startled the waiter,
who had brought their sandwich.

Beau waited until the young man
set the plate down and left. “Ted O’Malley has a wife, Debbie, in Las Vegas.
She works as a waitress, they got married right out of high school, have three
kids. Looks like we can add bigamy to the misdeeds of our friend.”

“Wow. I never saw that coming.”

“Apparently, neither did Lila
Coffey. I got names from the guest book at the funeral home and called a couple
of the women who attended her service. They said she’d fallen for Ted hard and
fast. He showed up in town about three months ago and met Lila at Chez Luis.”

One of the most upscale
restaurants in town, and a place where many of the more successful artists hung
out. Sam knew because she’d delivered pastries there a few times for special
events.

“Two of the ladies I spoke with
mentioned how well-traveled Ted was, how he talked about Paris and London as if
he’d lived in those places. Lila loved the fact that he’d also been to more
exotic spots like Bali and Peru. That, plus his slightly European accent and
charming ways. One of them said he reminded her of Sean Connery when he wore
his tuxedo.”

Sam didn’t recall Ted O’Malley
speaking with an accent and she told Beau so. “How does a guy who borrows from
loan sharks get into
that
lifestyle? And where are the wife and kids
while he’s off doing all this?”

He shrugged. “According to both
of these friends, Lila was all set to book the two of them on a world cruise,
just as soon as she finished her current pottery commission and got paid for
it.”

“I don’t think I’ll tell Zoë
about all this. She’ll feel like she should have been there for Lila. She would
have probably seen through this guy.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,
scam artists like this are usually very good at reading their targets. They’ll
get the women talking about their friends and family, then they’ll isolate them
from anyone who seems a threat to the plan. Friends who are sharp enough to be
skeptical will rarely meet the guy until it’s too late.”

“So you think he set Lila up,
right from the moment he met her?”

“He may have even stalked her, in
a way, observing from a distance. Maybe watching women collect their mail to
find out who received statements from banks and brokerage houses. These guys
can be pretty cunning.”

Sam suddenly lost her appetite.

“There are a couple of ways we
can approach the case, and I’m going to be working with the Las Vegas PD to
catch this guy.” Beau took another bite of sandwich. “First, they know his
habits. Staying married to the same woman for more than twenty-five years, he
does show up back at home now and then. Even when he has stayed away for months
at a time, he always seems to go back to her. They’ll be watching her house
closely. Secondly, since Lila Coffey was a well-known artist, her work is
recognizable. If he took pieces and tries to sell them, there will be people
watching for those transactions too.”

“But yesterday I saw a lot of
people buying her work, right there at the studio. They have a legitimate claim
to whatever they bought, don’t they? I mean, some of them might try to turn
their purchases for a quick profit—people who aren’t remotely connected to Ted
O’Malley.”

“True, I suppose that could
happen. The artwork is definitely the weaker link back to Ted, but one we can
keep an eye on anyway.”

“So, what next? Will you have to
hand the case over to the Nevada authorities? Surely O’Malley is far from here
by now.” She picked at the French fries absently.

“I’m thinking I can budget a
quick trip there, to go over the case with them and to talk personally with the
wife.” He gave her a quick smile. “
Wanna
come?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but her cell
phone buzzed. She felt a guilty twinge. “It’s Delbert Crow, and he’s left
multiple annoying messages. Hold that thought.”

The restaurant noise level rose
by the moment so Sam carried her phone out to the parking lot to take Delbert’s
call.

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you.
What’s up?” she began.

“A glitch.” In Crow-parlance,
glitches were not a good thing. “That property on Tapia Lane . . . I just got
word that the lady passed away. So, it’s still an open file.”

“What? Sadie Gray died?” Sam felt
a pang for the poor, birdlike little lady she’d met only once.

He went on, but Sam only half
heard him as she switched gears to remember where things had left off.

“Didn’t Marshall Gray contact
you?” she asked. “He told me he was going to get the payments up to date and
that everything would be okay. He seemed to think there was some kind of
paperwork error.”

She could hear Crow flipping
through pages in a file, then clicking some computer keys.

“Nope. The whole thing is still
in arrears. Not a penny more has been applied to the account.”

“But are you sure? Maybe there’s
just a delay before the record is updated.”

“Ms Sweet, if you can’t make time
to fulfill your contract . . .”

“It’s not that. It’s just, I hate
to see that poor lady lose everything.”

“Hello? Did you not get that she
has
lost everything. She died.” He paused for a moment. “I will go so far as to
recheck the account and make sure no last-minute payments were made. There
could be heirs to her estate and heaven forbid that they lose out because she
didn’t pay her bills. But don’t count on any real change of plan. It looks like
you’ll still have to clean the place out and get it ready for auction.”

Heartless creep.
Sam
jammed her phone into her pocket and walked back into the restaurant, where
Beau had thoughtfully boxed up her half of the sandwich. He was standing over
the table, dropping some cash to cover the bill.

“
Darlin
’?
You okay?”

She turned back toward the door
and he followed. “It’s just that—
grr
—frustrating Delbert Crow. He thinks I’m being lazy and
not wanting to do my job, but it’s not that. I just can’t help picturing that
poor old lady, and now her husband will get kicked out of their home.” She felt
emotion welling up.

Beau snaked an arm around her
shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s not your fault, babe. You can’t always
make everything all better.”

“I just have a hard time watching
the
system
come in and take over. I mean, true, sometimes it’s needed.
But sometimes they just don’t stop and consider the human aspect at all.”

He made some more there-there
noises and she realized that standing out in a parking lot and blubbering on
about unfairness wasn’t accomplishing anything.

“I better try to find Marshall
Gray’s phone number and let him know. Like he needs more to worry about at this
moment, when his wife has just died.”

“Do that. Staying busy with
little tasks will help.” Beau kissed the top of her head and steered her toward
her van. “And, my offer still stands. If you want to go along to Vegas, we
could stay a night. The department will pay for my ticket and I’d be happy to
spring for yours.”

She had absolutely no business
going out of town for two days, but at the moment escaping the workload here in
town really held a lot of appeal.

“I’ll call you later and let you
know the schedule. You can give me your answer then,” he said, ushering her
into her vehicle.

She watched Beau get into his
cruiser and start it up. He waited, obviously not planning to leave until he
saw her safely off, so she started the van, blew him a kiss and headed toward
the bakery. Knowing she shouldn’t do it while driving, she dialed the number
she’d used before for Marshall Gray. The same generic voice mail message came
on, and she felt a sense of déjà vu as she left a message, this time expressing
condolences over Sadie and asking him to call her regarding the house.