Crime Seen (26 page)

I nodded and wiped my eyes. ‘‘Thanks,’’ I said as I got up and trudged down the hall. Once I got into the bathroom and began my bath, I took a serious look in the mirror and held up my hairbrush like a microphone. ‘‘I’d like to thank the academy,’’ I said to the mirror, then sighed at my reflection as I thought about how great Dutch had just been. I scowled at my image. ‘‘It was necessary,’’ I said. The face staring back didn’t look convinced. I stuck my tongue out and turned toward the tub, hoping the guilt would wash off with a few bubbles.

The next morning, just as Dutch was waking up, I pounced. ‘‘Hey there,’’ he said with a smirk as my fingers went places they couldn’t go in public.

‘‘Morning, sexy,’’ I purred.

‘‘You’re frisky this morning,’’ he said, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

‘‘Mmmhmm . . .’’ I said and shimmied closer. Twenty minutes later, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and Mr. Sexy was drifting back to sleep, just like I’d planned it. Carefully I crept out of bed, grabbed jeans and a shirt, and headed to the kitchen. As Eggy snuggled in his doggy bed I quickly made him his fried-egg breakfast, then headed out the door before Dutch could wake up and pester me with questions.

I knew that eventually he’d corner me, and I really hated hiding the truth of what I was up to from him, especially when he’d been so great about comforting my fake meltdown the night before. But the longer I could put him off my trail, the more time I’d have to figure out who really killed Walter McDaniel and why.

Not knowing where else to hide out until Dutch cleared out of my house, I went to my office. As I walked through my door, I was surprised to find Candice at her computer with a big cup of Starbucks coffee by her side.

‘‘Hey,’’ I said, closing the lobby door.

‘‘Hey, Abs,’’ she said, looking up. ‘‘You avoiding Dutch?’’

I nodded. ‘‘You avoiding grandma?’’

Candice nodded. ‘‘She’s driving me crazy. Simon picked me up last night and I introduced him to Nan, and before I know it, she starts talking about what a good wife I’d make and how she thinks we should have lots of babies together.’’

‘‘That’s a mood killer,’’ I said.

Candice groaned. ‘‘I’ve got to move out of that house.’’

‘‘You thinking of getting a place?’’

‘‘Yeah, but I hate the thought of living in an apartment, and until my business takes off, I’m reluctant to sink my savings into a house.’’

‘‘Maybe you could rent a house,’’ I suggested, feeling my radar begin to hum.

‘‘Yeah, but I’d have to sign a lease, so I’d still be committed for a year.’’

‘‘I think you’ll find a compromise,’’ I said to her. ‘‘There’s a place out there for you, Candice. You just have to wait for it to materialize.’’

Candice sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘‘I hope you’re right, ’cuz there is only so much of Nana I can take. Anyway, you ready to tag along and do some digging on Walter McDaniel?’’

My eyebrows lifted. ‘‘Today? But it’s Sunday.’’

‘‘All the better. People tend to be home on a Sunday, so they’re easier to find.’’

‘‘Ah,’’ I said. ‘‘Good point. And by that, I mean let’s go. The longer I can avoid Dutch, the better.’’

Candice and I made it out to her car and I had to smile. ‘‘Still driving the Hummer, huh?’’

‘‘The insurance check for my SUV should be along soon. The moment it gets to me, I’m cashing it in on one of these babies.’’

‘‘Kind of hard to find a parking space,’’ I said, eyeing the two spaces she was occupying.

‘‘They have midsize ones,’’ Candice said easily. ‘‘Still, I really like the bigger model. I’ll have to weigh it all out.’’

We hopped in and headed out as Candice put a small gadget on the dashboard and pushed a button. The screen on the gadget lit up and a little voice said, ‘‘Exit the parking structure and turn left onto Washington Avenue.’’

‘‘That’s cool,’’ I said.

‘‘Comes in handy,’’ she said, patting the gadget. ‘‘I’ve already programmed all the addresses. We’ll start with Dillon McDaniel.’’

‘‘Walter’s son?’’ I guessed.

‘‘Yeah. Walter’s wife passed away a few years ago. Dillon’s in his mid-thirties. He’s got a house in Bloomfield Hills, and as far as I can tell, with all the property he inherited, he doesn’t do much except collect the rent from his tenants.’’

As we drove, I noticed a little box next to my feet. ‘‘What’s this?’’ I asked.

Candice grinned. ‘‘My spy box,’’ she said. ‘‘Go ahead. You can open it.’’

Inside I found all sorts of cool gadgets like a tiny digital recorder, night-vision goggles, and something that looked like a mini bullhorn. ‘‘What’s this thingy?’’ I asked, holding it up.

‘‘That little gizmo allows me to listen to people insidea building or their house. I just drive by and I can hear all sorts of stuff.’’

‘‘Very cool!’’

‘‘I stopped by my favorite spy shop on the way home yesterday and picked up a few things. I had to replace the kit I had in my SUV when it crashed.’’

‘‘The next time you go to that store, can I come?’’ I asked.

Candice grinned at me. ‘‘Yep. You are going to make one great private eye, Abs.’’

We drove up Woodward to Sixteen Mile and made a left. From there, we traveled a mile or so past my old junior high and made a right onto Cranberry Cross. From here, the sizes of the houses we passed went from large to supersize. I scowled as we moved into the opulent neighborhood. I wasn’t comfortable around anyone else’s wealth except my sister’s, mostly because my sister wasn’t a snob about it.

Candice’s little navigating gizmo chirped and said, ‘‘At the next house turn right into the driveway.’’ Candice did just that and the gizmo said, ‘‘Destination complete.’’

‘‘Wow,’’ said Candice, looking up, and up . . . and up. ‘‘Nice digs.’’

‘‘He’s got an affinity for British palaces,’’ I remarked as I took in the castle in front of us.

Dillon’s palace had a gray masonry exterior and had been designed to resemble a castle, complete with turrets, parapets, crenellations, round towers, and what looked to be a small moat circling the house and running under the driveway.

Candice and I parked and walked to the front door, where a large brass knocker hung. ‘‘Is there a doorbell?’’ she asked, looking over the arched frame of the doorway.

‘‘I think you need to use the knocker,’’ I said.

Candice sighed and picked up the heavy handle, clanking it three times against the brass knob. ‘‘That’s obnoxious,’’ she whispered after the last loud clang had sounded.

‘‘At least there’s no mistaking that someone’s at the door,’’ I said quietly.

We heard footsteps echoing from beyond the door, and after a moment a small window flipped open and a set of brown eyes stared out at us. ‘‘Yes?’’ asked a male voice.

‘‘Mr. McDaniel?’’ Candice asked.

‘‘This neighborhood is off-limits to solicitors,’’ the voice responded.

‘‘We’re not solicitors,’’ Candice said, pulling her PI badge out of her purse and holding it up to the window. ‘‘We’re here to talk to you about the man who murdered your father.’’

The small window closed with a small
thwack
and a moment later the door opened and a man about five-ten stood there in a paisley silk robe, a white shirt, and yes, an ascot. ‘‘You may come in,’’ he said.

Candice and I glanced at each other, then walked across the threshold. Once we were inside, I had to work hard not to gape. Surrounding us in the circular front hallway were a dozen or so suits of armor, propped up like a small army guarding the castle. Some were holding swords, others battle-axes, and one or two wielded those metal ball things with spikes on the end. ‘‘Charming,’’ I heard Candice say as she looked around.

I had to hold my breath to keep from laughing, because the last thing this place had was charm. ‘‘Very unique,’’ I said with a convincing nod.

‘‘Thank you,’’ said the man, extending his hand to me. ‘‘I’m Dillon,’’ he said warmly.

I smiled and said, ‘‘Nice to meet you, Dillon, I’m Abby Cooper.’’

Dillon shook my hand and swiveled to Candice, who also introduced herself. Once we’d all gotten acquainted, Dillon gave a light wave of his hand and said, ‘‘We can talk on the patio. This way, ladies.’’

He led us through the rather dark interior of his castle, which seemed to be decorated entirely with things from merry old England. We reached the patio and again I tried not to gape. The patio was covered and overlooked the pool. In the center of it was a large round wooden table, and each chair around it was decorated like a throne. Dillon headed to the largest throne chair and pulled it out for himself. Before sitting, he pointed to the other chairs at the table, indicating that Candice and I should take seats.

We sat down and Dillon pulled a pipe and a lighter out of his robe pocket. Putting the pipe in his mouth, he squinted while he lit the tobacco and asked, ‘‘So what’s this about, exactly?’’

Candice discreetly put a hand on my leg under the table, letting me know that she would do all the talking. ‘‘We’ve been hired to gather evidence for Bruce Lutz’s parole hearing,’’ she said.

Dillon cut her a quick look as he took a puff on his pipe. ‘‘Who hired you?’’ he asked.

‘‘I apologize, Mr. McDaniel, but that’s confidential.’’

Dillon gave a grunt and pulled the pipe out of his mouth. ‘‘In other words, you could be here on behalf of Lutz, or against him.’’

Candice gave him a winning smile. ‘‘I assure you, our intentions are that the man who killed your father serves the maximum sentence allowed.’’ Of course, I knew that she wasn’t referring to Lutz, but the way she said it made it sound like we were intent on socking it to Lutz at his parole hearing.

Dillon gave her a nod of approval. ‘‘I’d kill Lutz with my bare hands if it were legal,’’ he said, and my lie detector went off.

Candice gave him a look of deep sympathy. ‘‘I never met your father,’’ she said, ‘‘but everything that I’ve heard about him suggests he was an amazing man.’’

Dillon looked down at the tabletop. ‘‘He was,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘And to be shot like that—execution style—was such an insult to his legacy.’’

After a moment of silence, Candice said, ‘‘We’re so sorry for your loss.’’

Dillon snapped his head up, and the wave of sadness that had flashed across his face was gone. ‘‘It’s been a long time, but it still feels like yesterday. How exactly can I help you, ladies? The police have all the evidence against Lutz. I’m afraid I’m not the one to tell you anything new about my dad’s murder.’’

Again my lie detector went off, and I worked hard to keep my face from showing any emotion. I looked down at my arms and saw goose bumps popping out on my skin. Something was off here, really, really off. Candice wasn’t aware of what I was sensing, and she asked Dillon a few rudimentary questions before going for the gusto when she said, ‘‘The one thing that puzzles me, Dillon, is that when I looked into your dad’s records, I noticed something peculiar.’’

‘‘Oh?’’ Dillon said as he took another puff from his pipe.

‘‘Yes,’’ said Candice, and I could tell she was choosing her next words carefully. ‘‘It appeared as if right around the time that your father was murdered, many of the rental properties that were in his name were being financed through Dick Wolfe’s mortgage company, the very man he was investigating.’’

Dillon gave Candice a soft smile. ‘‘Ironic, isn’t it?’’ he said.

‘‘Can you elaborate on that?’’

Dillon blew out a sigh and pulled a package of tobacco from his pocket. ‘‘My best friend and college roommate got his first job with Wolfe’s mortgage company. This was before we knew how corrupt the son of a bitch was,’’ he said with a trace of malice. ‘‘The rental property idea was actually mine. I’d been in a car accident just out of college and I’d won a tidy settlement. My dad had suggested that I invest the money in something that could produce a return and give me some income, because I couldn’t work after the accident. I decided to purchase several rental properties, but I had poor credit and couldn’t borrow the money on my own. My dad offered to cosign on the loans, and my old roommate did the paperwork.’’

‘‘Did your dad realize who your roommate worked for?’’ Candice asked.

‘‘He had no idea. Artie, my buddy, came over with the application papers, and my father just signed without asking a lot of questions. About a month later, we closed, and that was at the title company, so I don’t think my dad ever knew of the connection. It wasn’t until I spoke with the two detectives on my dad’s case that I learned about Wolfe, and then I quickly refinanced my loans and told my old roommate that he needed to look for a new boss. He no longer works at the mortgage company.’’

Again my lie detector went off. ‘‘You’re right. That is ironic,’’ I said somewhat sarcastically into the silence that followed Dillon’s speech. This was the first time I’d spoken, and both Candice and Dillon cut me a look of surprise. I didn’t care. I didn’t like Dillon. I wasn’t sure
why
I didn’t like him, but my radar was never wrong about such things, and it was screaming that he was a big fat liar, liar, pants on fire.

Candice stared hard at me, then turned back to Dillon and said, ‘‘I assume you didn’t stop with just those few properties,’’ she said, giving a nod to the extravagant—and somewhat eccentric—surroundings.

Dillon smiled. ‘‘I’ve got thirty-six rental properties,’’ he said smugly. ‘‘And I’m always on the lookout for more.’’

Candice discreetly looked at her watch and said, ‘‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr. McDaniel.’’

The three of us got up and trooped back through the castle. As we passed into the front hall, my radar buzzed and I turned to an enormous portrait of a kingly-looking man dressed in royal robes and a gold crown. What intrigued me was the likeness the portrait had to Dillon. I squinted at the brass plate under the painting and saw that it read, KING EDWARD VII. I didn’t know why my radar had pointed me to it, but there wasn’t time for much reflection as we reached the entrance and Dillon shook Candice’s hand good-bye. ‘‘If you need any additional information, please call on me again.’’