Dead Right (3 page)

“It’s not my home number. It’s my cel . If you want to talk to me, that’s the
only
number. I like things simple.”

“You don’t have an office?”

“I have a smal office, but you’l rarely catch me there.”

Purring, Sophie brushed against her legs, but Madeline was too preoccupied to pay attention. “I take it you’re not interested in developing new business.”

“I have more business than I can handle.”

That response wasn’t encouraging…. “That’s fortunate for you, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Plumbing the depths of human frailty has its downside.”

“So why don’t you do something else?”

“Some people are good at building houses. I’m not one of them.”

He wasn’t particularly good with people, either, but she’d heard too many testimonials about him to give up now that she had him on the phone. “I have a chal enge for you.”

“I’m tired and I want to go bed,” he said. “But thanks for the cal .”

“Can I leave you my number at least? Wil you get back to me in the morning?”

There was a long silence.

“Hel o?” she prompted.

“Why don’t I refer you to a young associate of mine?”

Maybe this other person would be easier to deal with. “Is this ‘young associate’ any good?”

“He worked at my office for a short while doing database searches and just got his own license. He doesn’t have a lot of experience, but he’s hungry and he’s learning.”

Learning?
“No! I need someone who real y knows what he’s doing.”

“I don’t know what to say, Mrs.—”

“Barker. But I’ve never been married. Cal me Madeline.”

“Ms. Barker. If I haven’t made myself clear, I’m not interested. Judging by your accent, you live several states from me, anyway.”

“I’m in Stil water, Mississippi. Where’re you?”

“L.A.”

“It’s crowded in Los Angeles,” she said, hoping to point out one of the city’s less appealing aspects.

“That’s true, but if you’ve ever been here, you’d know why.”

“I’l pay you. Wel .” She frowned at the check register lying open at her elbow. That was hardly the card she’d wanted to play. She was barely keeping herself and the paper afloat. How would she manage?

“I suggest you contact someone in your own area,” he said.

Panic caused Madeline to tighten her grip on the phone.

“But I haven’t even told you what I want.”

“Let me guess. You want me to slay the dragon that’s keeping you up at night.”

She glared, bleary-eyed, at the clock on the wal to her right. She was tired, and too frayed around the edges to hide it. Evidently, that wasn’t working in her favor. “Isn’t that the case with most of your clients?”

“These days, I typical y work with people who want me to find out whether their estranged mates are hiding assets or having affairs so they can get a better divorce settlement.

Or they’re trying to col ect on a debt. Their dragon is usual y greed.” There was a slight pause. “Do you fit into either of these categories, Ms. Barker?”

“No, but…” She struggled to reel in her temper at his al -

too-easy dismissal. “So you’ve gotten lazy? You only take on the easy stuff?”

“I take on the
convenient
stuff, the
close
stuff. Besides, I doubt you could afford me.”

She final y bent down to scratch her persistent cat. “What makes you think that?”

“Maybe it’s the accent.”

Her jaw dropped before she could ral y her response.

“That’s…discriminatory,” she sputtered.

“You cal ed me. Feel free to hang up anytime.”

Nudging Sophie away, she stood and nearly told him to go to hel . But she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to find anyone else. According to what she’d been told, she’d certainly find no one better. “I need you,” she said, resorting to simple honesty. “I need your help.”

He cursed but didn’t hang up, so she took a bolstering breath. “You’re stil with me?”

“What is it you’re looking for?” he asked with enough resignation to give her hope.

“A person.”

“Who?”

“My father.” She didn’t add that he’d been missing since she was sixteen. Better to reveal the potential difficulty of the task in stages.

“Where do you think he went?”

Despite al the years that had passed, she’d clung to the dream of a reunion—until they’d found the Cadil ac. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

“Because…”

She caught her breath, letting it out a little with each word. “He hasn’t been seen in…a long, long time.”

“
How
long?”

“Nineteen years.”

“Almost two
decades?
Aren’t you a bit late in fol owing up, Ms. Barker?”

The accusation in his tone made her throat clog with emotion. “I’ve done what I could,” she managed to say.

She’d even crossed the line a few times—breaking into Jed Fowler’s auto shop, hiring Officer Hendricks to scare Al ie into believing someone out there was stil dangerous.

“And you’ve learned what?”

Very little. The mystery was beyond her own sleuthing ability, as wel as that of the entire Stil water Police Department. Mr. Solozano was right, she should’ve looked for an outside investigator long ago. “Not enough.”

“Who stood to gain the most from his death?”

“It’s not that straightforward. My stepmother inherited the farm, but she’d never hurt a soul.”

“Who else is there?”

“Jed Fowler, an older man who was working on our tractor in the barn the night my father went missing. He can seem…strange. And a younger guy, Mike Metzger, who’s in prison on drug-related charges. But I don’t know if either one of them is responsible. That’s what I want
you
to find out.”

“Sounds like a murder investigation to me. You should contact the police.”

She bristled at his lack of compassion. He had to know, in twenty years, she would already have tried the police. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to get involved. Maybe Hunter Solozano was a good investigator but he was the most insensitive jerk she’d ever met.

“Forget it. I’m sorry I bothered you. Just—” her voice cracked “—just go back to fighting with your ex-wife. I hope she wins, by the way,” she said and slammed down the phone.

Antoinette had already won. Hunter tossed his cel phone onto the side table. He deserved Madeline Barker’s anger. Hel , he’d
asked
for it. He’d provoked her at every turn. After speaking with his ex-wife, and then his daughter

—God, what she’d said to him—he’d been angling for a fight he could win.

But he didn’t feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.

The flicker of his muted television served as the only light in the room. The darkness general y soothed him, but not tonight. Raking his fingers through his hair, he stood up, then sat down again.

Forget Maria. She didn’t know what she was saying. Her
mother put her up to it, as usual.

But he couldn’t forget. The pain was too physical. It felt like he had an open wound in his chest, as if his daughter had reached into that wound, wrapped her little hand around his heart and squeezed with complete abandon.

Considering the Barker woman’s terrible timing, it was a wonder the desperation in her voice had penetrated at al .

“
Ms.
Barker is not my problem,” he said aloud. His daughter was his problem. Or, more specifical y, the fact that his ex-wife had turned his daughter against him.

Although he paid exorbitant amounts of child support—he’d sent Antoinette an extra two thousand dol ars just this month

—it was never enough to make his ex happy. He doubted his daughter was even receiving the benefits of the money he sent. The last time he’d seen Antoinette, she’d had a new nose and breast enhancements that were so large she looked like a damn porn queen. The way she was spending money and hitting the L.A. party scene, trying to keep up with the rich and famous, was humiliating even though he wasn’t married to her anymore. Her behavior had to be doubly embarrassing for their daughter. How many PTA moms had tits the size of watermelons?

But Antoinette hadn’t become quite so obsessive about plastic surgery, designer clothes and who was who in L.A.

until after the divorce.

The guilt that fueled his self-loathing settled deeper in his gut. How had he managed to screw up so completely? If only he could go back…

But it was too late. The damage was done. And now Antoinette was using their child to extort more and more money out of him while painting him as the devil himself, the cause of al Maria’s problems.

Automatical y, his eyes cut to a picture of his twelve-year-old daughter. Her photograph rested on one of the empty shelves above the television, and was about the only decoration left in the beach house. Antoinette had stripped the place bare when she moved out more than a year ago.

Maria stared back at him, wearing a somber expression. He imagined the school photographer coaxing her, “Say ‘cheese!’” But she seemed to be thinking, “Get real. What do I have to smile about?”

The desire for a drink slammed into him like one of the waves he could hear churning down the beach. He felt helpless, pinned beneath his craving for the smooth burn of alcohol and the resulting disconnect. He wasn’t asking for a lot. Just one night of escape. Then he’d get back on the wagon. It had never been so bad before. His daughter had never said what she’d said tonight.

Please, leave us alone. You make everything worse…I
don’t want to be with you, okay? It’s all your fault!

Wincing as the memory lashed a part of him that was already raw, he reached for his keys and his wal et, both sitting next to his phone. He’d go down to the bar on the corner. If he planned to drink, he had to go somewhere.

Sober for six months, he had no alcohol in the house.

But he stopped at the door. Maria’s eyes seemed to be fol owing him, accusing him.
You’re just what she says you
are. A drunk.

Clenching his jaw, he bowed his head, battling the weakness that threatened to overtake him. He’d beat the craving for booze—if only to prove Antoinette wrong.

Eventual y, he forced himself to return to the couch and pick up his guitar. It was al so damned ironic, he thought, trying to gain some perspective on the phone cal that had hurt so badly. Alcohol was the only thing that had made it possible to cope with the irritation and dislike he faced on a daily basis in his marriage. And alcohol had caused him to make the one mistake he’d promised himself he’d never make, the mistake that had landed him in their neighbor’s bed and destroyed his marriage.

He strummed through several Nickelback songs, hoping to get lost in the music. His guitar helped him relax. But tonight nothing could release the pent-up frustration.

Antoinette had promised he could take Maria to Hawaii next weekend for seven days. He’d been planning on it for two months. And then Maria had cal ed to say she wouldn’t go….

He played a few more chords, but his heart wasn’t in it.

His throat and eyes burned, his muscles ached with the effort of subduing his reaction.

Grasping for something, anything, to fil his mind besides the echoing rejection of his daughter, he turned his thoughts to the Southern woman who’d cal ed.
What are you looking
for…? A person…Who…? My father.

Hunter sighed. Maria didn’t want her father. They lived less than ten miles apart, but she refused to see him. Which pleased Antoinette inordinately, of course. His ex hated him

—because he’d never real y loved her.

Stop! Think of something else!

Madeline Barker’s voice came to him again.
That’s
discriminatory.

Setting his guitar aside, he frowned. Mississippi wasn’t exactly high on his list of places to see. But he knew what need was. And he had nothing here, did he? He was stuck in an empty house with only his guitar for company, working night and day so he wouldn’t break down and start drinking again.

His life had become too pathetic for words. He loved California, had lived in Newport Beach nearly al his life, but the steady pounding of the waves twenty yards from his house seemed to whisper, “Maria…Maria…Maria.”

He’d been an idiot to lose her. And he’d been even more of an idiot to place the rope that had hanged him right inside Antoinette’s beautiful y manicured fingers. Now she was laughing while she watched him swing….

Maybe it was time to stop the show. He wouldn’t force his daughter to see him; he couldn’t bear the thought of making her any unhappier than she already was. She’d told him she’d be better off if he gave up, walked away. Maybe, for a while, he should. Lord knew he wasn’t doing anyone any good sitting here going out of his mind. And he wasn’t about to vacation in Hawaii by himself. He didn’t need that much time on his hands. If he went, he probably wouldn’t last a day before seeking out the closest pub.

“What the hel ,” he muttered and turned on a light so he could see the number Madeline Barker had cal ed him from.

Madeline raised her head and blinked at the shril ring.

Could it be morning? Already?

Her body felt stiff and sore. Squinting at her watch, she realized why. It was only one o’clock. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, and slumping over her desk had put a crick in her neck.

The phone rang again. She almost dropped the handset but eventual y brought it to her ear.

“Hel o?” Her voice sounded throaty and low.

“Ms. Barker?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Hunter Solozano.”

She jumped up, then teetered on her feet for a moment.

“What do you want, Mr. Solozano?”

“What airport should I use?”

“For…You’re coming? Here?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, but—” nerves made her scalp tingle “—we haven’t discussed any of the logistics.”

“I charge a thousand dol ars a day, plus expenses.”

A thousand dollars a day!
She clapped a hand over her mouth. But he didn’t pause.

“You said you had no worries about paying me. Is that stil true?”

He cost a fortune. Even more than she’d expected. But she wasn’t about to admit she had any doubts. Not after what he’d said to her before.
I think it’s the accent.
Maybe she lived in the boondocks by
his
standards, but she was no uneducated, backward hick. “Sure. No problem,” she lied.