Deadly Aim (33 page)

“Sorry about that,” Joanie said as she headed toward their table, wiping her hands on a towel. “Just had a supply of ice cream come in, and I had to get it put away. Now then, what can I get for you?”

“One of your anise and orange biscotti—chocolate dipped.” Rachael studied the menu. “And a twelve-ounce mocha cappuccino.”

“I’ll have a...” Angel drummed her fingers on the table. “An amaretto latte. And do you still make those yummy chocolate-chip hazelnut scones?”

“I do. Do you want it with lemon curd or preserves and clotted cream?”

“Mmm. All of the above.” She tossed Joanie and Rachael a guilty look. “I’m drowning my sorrows in fat. Can you tell?”

“Like you need to worry,” Rachael chuckled. “Better that than booze.”

“Don’t worry,” Joanie teased, “I’ll stop serving you when I think you’ve had enough.”

Angel laughed. “Actually, I think I’m doing it because my mother thinks I don’t eat well.”

“I have news for you,” Rachael said. “This may be eating well, but it isn’t eating healthy.”

“How can you say that? Joanie told me herself that she takes all the calories out. Don’t you, Joanie?”

“Well, of course,” she said with a giggle. “Is that it, then? Want some soup or a sandwich with that?”

Angel hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Thanks for reminding me. I’ll have a bowl of clam chowder.”

“Me too.” Turning to Angel, Rachael asked, “Want to split a chicken salad sandwich?”

Angel nodded. “Sounds good.”

As Joanie prepared their food, Angel listened to Rachael extol Paul’s virtues. After delivering the order and bringing them waters, Joanie sat in a nearby chair. “How are you doing then, Angel? If
you don’t want to talk, that’s fine, but I’ve been worried about you. All that awful stuff they’re saying.”

“I’m okay. I’m sure it’ll blow over soon. At least I hope so.”

“Most of the locals are on your side, luv.” Joanie got to her feet. “There now. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject. I imagine you get your fill of it elsewhere. You two relax and enjoy yourselves.”

“We will, thanks.” Rachael turned to Angel. “It was nice of her to say something. I know it must seem like everyone is against you—especially when you watch the news.”

“Or listen to certain cops.”

They both concentrated on eating, and it didn’t take long for Angel to realize she’d ordered far more than she could eat. She asked Joanie for a bag for her scone.

Rachael glanced at her watch. “We’d better take off. Mrs. Dixon will be waiting.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing in the doorway of Alicia Dixon’s hotel room, introducing themselves.

If Alicia Dixon were to audition for the role of a grieving widow, she’d never get the part. There was no sign of smeared mascara, no telltale redness around her eyes. Her hair had been brushed up and teased to perfection, and it framed her oval face and accentuated expertly applied makeup. She was dressed in an elegant pantsuit of soft, draping fabric.

“Some people are accusing you of killing my husband.”

Angel forced her gaze to meet Alicia Dixon’s eyes. “I didn’t kill your husband, ma’am. I didn’t even know him.”

“Why are you here?” She pursed her lips and folded her arms, looking as though she was going to make them stay in the hallway.

“Mrs. Dixon,” Rachael said, “we’d like to find out who did kill him.”

The woman’s skeptical gaze caught Angel’s. “I’ll talk to you, but I doubt I can be of any help.” She opened the door wider and motioned them inside. She indicated a table with four chairs and took one of them herself.

“Did your husband have any enemies?” Angel asked once they were seated.

“Not that I know of. He was a kind man, and everyone looked up to him. I’ve already told the police all of this.”

Angel wondered if Callen had questioned her, but didn’t ask.

“Yes,” Rachael said, “I figured as much. We’re just following up.”

“Why was your husband here?” Angel asked.

“Mr. Broadman asked him to come. He insisted that the Hartwell boy’s shooting was a racial incident. Broadman told Todd that he was filing a civil suit and needed his help.” She sat stiff and poised, her words sharp and to the point. “He wanted my husband to help him raise money to cover legal expenses.”

“You don’t like Ray Broadman much, do you?” Angel asked.

Mrs. Dixon raised a perfectly formed eyebrow. “Neither Todd nor I particularly cared for the man.”

“Why was that?” Angel picked a piece of lint from her pants.

“My husband doesn’t like being pressured. And Mr. Broadman was putting a lot of pressure on him to make a public statement to the effect that the police department here was prejudiced and would likely sweep the boy’s death under the carpet. He was concerned you would be exonerated and wanted to make certain the public knew the truth.”

“Was Broadman angry with your husband?” Rachael asked.

“Not angry.” She frowned, then added, “I’d say impatient. Todd likes to take his time and get all the facts. I think Mr. Broadman wanted things handled more expediently.”

Angel pressed on. “Can you tell us what happened the day your husband was murdered?”

“As I told the police, Todd had meetings all day. I left around 10:00 to go to Newport. I was meeting my sister and a friend at the aquarium there. We’d arranged to spend a couple days together.” She covered her eyes, showing grief for the first time. “I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“We’re terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dixon,” Rachael said. “The reverend sounds like a fine man.”

Alicia nodded, her lips pinched.

“We won’t take any more of your time.” Rachael stood. “We appreciate your help.”

Angel stopped at the door. “Do you by any chance have Mr. Broadman’s address?”

She shook her head then touched her hand to her mouth. “Wait. He called here the morning after we arrived. Todd jotted something down on a pad by the phone. It’s gone now, but maybe there’s an indentation.” She looked embarrassed. “Um—I read mysteries and, well, I don’t know if police officers ever do this, but can’t you tell what was written by doing a pencil rub?”

“It’s not very sophisticated, but it works.” Angel lightly rubbed the pad’s surface with a pencil she’d pulled out of the desk and jotted down the revealed address. She and Rachael then thanked Mrs. Dixon and left.

“That was interesting,” Angel mused as they walked down the hall to the elevators. “It looks like Ray Broadman may have had a motive after all.”

“Because Dixon was taking his time?”

“No, but if Dixon refused to cooperate, if they argued over it...”

“That’s a lot of ifs, but I agree. I wish we had a tape of the conversation those two had Friday night.” Rachael punched the down arrow and waited for the doors to slide open.

“We don’t have a tape,” Angel said, “but we could talk to the person who waited on them. I think waiters and waitresses hear a lot more than they let on.”

“Hmm. You have a point.”

They stopped at the resort and were surprised to find Callen’s unmarked Crown Victoria parked in the circular drive under the wide and brightly lit canopy. Had he come back to look over the crime scene and question more people?

As they walked into the restaurant, Angel and Rachael stopped one of the servers and asked to speak with the manager. She led them to a room in the office complex. “Mr. Sykes is with someone right now, but you could wait over there,” she said and gestured toward a small waiting area that looked much like that of a doctor’s office. Rachael seated herself and began looking through a
Coastal
Living
magazine. Angel paced up and down the hall, noting that her brothers had offices in this section of the resort as well.

The door of the restaurant manager’s office opened, and Callen stepped out. His surprised gaze met Angel’s and moved to Rachael. “What are you two doing here?”

“I was hoping to talk to the manager to find out who was serving Dixon and Broadman Friday night.”

“And you were going to do what with that information?”

Angel licked her lips. Callen didn’t have to say it. She knew what he was thinking.

“I know, I’m on leave, but I thought it might be helpful to find the server and see if he’d overheard anything...”

The pained look in his eyes stopped her. “It’s too late, Angel. The kid’s name was Alex Carlson.”

“Was?”

“He’s dead.”

W
here are we going?” Rachael asked when Angel turned off the highway onto Sixth Street, away from the ocean.

“I thought we might pay Ray Broadman a visit.”

“Why would we want to do that?”

Angel chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Alex served Broadman and Dixon last night in the restaurant. Dixon was murdered and Alex is dead. Tell me that’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe it is. Callen said the kid apparently died from a drug overdose.”

“But Alex waited on Broadman and Dixon. He might’ve heard something.”

“He may not have,” Rachael argued. “Seeing Broadman isn’t a good idea, Angel. The man threatened to kill you.”

“I just want to ask him some questions.”

Rachael shook her head. “You’re treading on thin ice, kiddo. It sounds as though you’re doing your own investigating, and that’s definitely taboo.”

“All right. I’ll stay in the car while you ask him questions.”

Rachael rolled her eyes. “Like what? Did you murder the Reverend Todd Elroy Dixon and Alex Carlson?”

“That’ll do for a start.” Angel wondered at the wisdom of coming here herself, but she had to do something.

Broadman lived in a ten-year-old subdivision filled with expensive homes. The yards, his included, were neatly maintained. Broadman was obviously better off than his sister and mother.

“I’m not really worried about it,” Angel went on. “You’re with me, so I doubt he’ll try anything, and if he does, I’ll have a witness. Anyway, let him try. I’d take great pleasure in seeing him arrested.”

Rachael folded her arms. “Humph. I just hope he’s the one who ends up getting arrested and not you.”

There was no car in the driveway, and no one answered the door. Disappointed, Angel started back to the Blazer. “We might as well go.”

They were just getting into the car when Callen drove up. He didn’t look happy to see them. “Would you two mind telling me what you’re doing here? In case you’ve forgotten, Delaney, you’re on leave.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Angel lifted her gaze to his face.

“And you’re here because...?”

“We came out to talk to Broadman.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I know Broadman is guilty.”

“You know nothing of the kind.” Callen rubbed his jaw. “Look, I know you believe he’s the one who threatened you, but again, you have no proof.”

“Well, not proof exactly. But listen to this. Rachael and I talked to Alicia Dixon, and she indicated that all was not well between Broadman and her husband.” Angel frowned. “Why are
you
here?”

“I talked to Mrs. Dixon on Saturday, and based on her testimony and the alleged animosity between the two men, I was able to obtain a search warrant. I was just about to go in.”

Angel nodded her approval. Not that he needed it or wanted it. “Do you mind if we stay to see if you turn up anything?”

“Suit yourself.” He still sounded angry. “You can come in with me if you want. I’ll do a walk through, and if we find anything, I’ll get the lab people out here to take samples.”

The house was a single story home in which all the walls were painted white. Except for a few breakfast dishes in the sink,
it looked spotless. In the office they found notes and papers pertaining to the lawsuit, and correspondence to Dixon, but nothing to indicate Broadman might’ve killed the man.

Angel and Rachael followed Callen through the house and yard. After checking the garbage can, Callen brushed his hair back and straightened. “Place looks clean on the surface.”

“If he did kill Dixon,” Angel said, “he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave any evidence laying around.”

Callen placed both hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I know this is important to you, but we’re on it, okay? Why don’t you go home and let me handle the investigation?”

“I am letting you handle it; it’s just that I need to know what’s happening.”

“I’m telling you what I can.” Callen dropped his arms.

That isn’t good enough
. She heaved a sigh. “All right, you win. I’m going now.” She’d gone a few steps when she stopped and turned around. “Callen, about Alex Carlson. Call me when you get the medical examiner’s report, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Once in the Blazer, Angel cranked the key. In her rearview mirror, she saw Callen get into his car and ease away from the curb. She fell in place behind him.

“You know, Angel, Broadman may not have killed Dixon.” Rachael gave her a sidelong look. “Maybe you have the wrong person.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She chewed on her lip as she maneuvered around a garbage truck. “But then who did it?” She had to admit there were other possibilities, but none so compelling as Broadman. The man was a menace, and she had no problem imagining him as a killer.