Dearly Depotted (26 page)

“Be straight with me, Greg. Is there enough to make a case against Richard Davis?”

Morgan gazed straight at me with those baby blues and said, “He’s being booked as we speak.”

 

 

 

 

I
dashed across the courthouse lawn and headed straight for Down the Hatch to tell Marco the bad news. I was breathing hard and my stomach was in a knot, not only from what Morgan had told me but also from worrying about how it would affect Grace. And I was annoyed with Marco, who was supposed to have checked out Richard’s murder charge but had been so preoccupied with a certain exotic beauty that I just knew he’d forgotten to call the detective back. If I didn’t get an ulcer from everything that was happening, I’d be amazed.

I burst into Marco’s office and found him sitting behind his desk, calmly eating nachos smothered in meat, cheese, and salsa. The room smelled of spicy chili and cilantro, which normally would have had me drooling but now only made my stomach feel worse.

“Hey!” he said in surprise, swallowing a mouthful of food. “I’ve been trying to track you down. Don’t you return messages anymore?”

I sank into one of his leather sling-back chairs and leaned my head into my hands, afraid I was going to be sick. “They’re arresting Richard—right now.”

There was silence for a moment before he said, “Where did you hear that?”

“From Morgan. I was just over at his office. What am I going to tell Grace?”

“That you did your best.”

My head came up with a snap. “Obviously I
didn’t
do my best, and neither did you.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, but I was on a roll.

“I’ve been running around like a headless chicken trying to juggle all these”—I waved my hand in the air, searching for the right word—“these
crises
around me while you’re off with”—I did the hand motion again, like a coach signaling a play, unable to bring myself to utter the words
another woman
.

“Did you ever get back to that detective in Texas?” I demanded. “Oh, I forgot. You’ve been busy. Heaven forbid that a murder investigation that
you
volunteered to help me with should interfere with your personal life. And by the way, I
always
return my messages.” With a final huff I lifted my chin to show I was finished.

Marco had stopped eating and was now leaning back in his chair, his gaze level, his only reaction to my tirade being a raised eyebrow, as if to say,
Is that so?

Then he very calmly stood up and came around the desk, reminding me of a large cat who appears to be lazily trolling the high grass when actually he’s planning a surprise attack. He stopped in front of my chair, leaned his backside against the edge of the desk, and folded his arms across his chest. “You’d better check your voice mail and your answering machine to see if they’re working, because I left a message on each. I also tried to reach you at Bloomers. Grace took the call.”

I’d missed two calls and a message? No way. To prove it, I dug in my purse, flipped open my phone—and saw that I’d forgotten to recharge it. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember even glancing at the machine when I got home from work the evening before. And clearly Grace wasn’t at her best or she would have remembered to give me the message.

“Well?” he said.

I shut the phone, dropped it into my purse, and gave him a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. My fault.”

He pinned me with his cool gaze as he crouched down in front of me. “No, sunshine,” he said at last. “My fault. I
have
been busy and I should have explained why.”

My heart gave a lurch. I remembered Grace saying many times,
“Be careful what you wish for.”
I tried to brace myself for his explanation, suddenly not wanting to know anything about the woman. I should have kept my big mouth shut.

“Gina”—he began, and I let out a groan. Even the woman’s name sounded exotic—“is going through a rough time.”

A rough time? That wasn’t exotic. That was lame.

“Her husband can’t decide if he wants to stay married, and it’s tearing her up inside.”

Oh, brother! That was probably the second-oldest excuse in the book, trailing only the my-husband-doesn’t-understand-me lament.

“Let me guess,” I said. “She turned to you for comfort.”

Marco gave me a quizzical look. “Why wouldn’t she? I’m her brother.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. “Gina is your sister?”

“I told you about her.”

“Is she the one with the little boy?”

“No, that’s my other sister. This is the one who married the used-car salesman.”

“No, Marco, you’ve never mentioned her. I would have remembered.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his face cleared. “You thought I was dating her, didn’t you?”

My thumbnail suddenly needed my undivided attention. “Yes—not that it matters.” I could say that now only because I knew who the woman was.

“You were jealous of my little sister.” His eyes crinkled with laughter.

“I wasn’t jealous. It was more like a slight twinge of envy.”

“
Envy
?”

“Whatever. Like you’ve never felt that way.”

“I didn’t say that.” He suddenly looked uncomfortable.

I blinked, trying to understand. “What are you saying? You
have
been jealous? Over me?”

“I didn’t say that either. On a completely different topic, I happened to see you leaving with your ex-fiancé yesterday—not that it mattered.”

A different topic? Right. “Grandma Osborne was on the lam and Pryce asked me to help find her.”

“But why did he ask for
your
help?”

Was that a glimmer of jealousy in Marco’s eyes?
I decided to play naive and see. “I guess Pryce thinks I’m a good detective.” I shrugged. “Go figure.”

“So . . . how did that work out?”

“I found her.”

“And Pryce was grateful?”

“Highly grateful.”

Exactly how high would that be?
his gaze asked, and that’s when I knew I had him. Strangely, now that I’d proved I could make Marco jealous, I didn’t feel good about letting him suffer. “You know what?” I said with a smile. “I couldn’t care less about his gratitude. I mean, come on. We’re talking about
Pryce,
for God’s sake.”

Marco cupped his palm against the side of my face, his eyes searching mine. For a moment we simply gazed at each other. His face was absolutely still, preventing me from reading his thoughts, but that didn’t stop me from drinking in those dark eyes, that firm mouth, that strong, straight jaw that just begged to be nuzzled . . .

I held my breath and waited.

Suddenly, his mouth curved into that sexy grin, and just like that we were copacetic. Even the knot in my stomach had eased. More important, something had strengthened between us, a bond that would have to be explored when the time was right. But not yet.

“We’ve got work to do,” he said as he got to his feet, all business once again. “And just so you know, I negotiated a temporary cease-fire between my sister and her husband.” He went to his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. “Now, tell me what Morgan said.”

I gave him the scoop on Richard’s arrest, then flipped open my pad and read him my notes on the autopsy report. After Marco had finished making his own notations, I said, “It seems like the police are so focused on Richard that they’re missing the obvious. Look at this. The time of death is listed as approximately nine thirty p.m. We know Josiah and Melanie didn’t get to Mrs. Walsh’s house until a little after ten. That would leave plenty of time for Josiah to do Jack in. So put that together with the fistfight and the lies Josiah told, and there you have it—the perfect suspect. Why are the cops ignoring that?”

“Probably because they have more on Richard. His arrest down in Texas must have tipped the scales against him. Trust me, cops don’t take murder charges lightly.”

I sat back in frustration. “So how do we get them to take a closer look at Josiah?” My stomach growled, reminding me it hadn’t been fed recently. “Are you going to eat the rest of those nachos?”

Marco pushed the plate toward me. “Help yourself.”

As I scarfed down the food, he said, “Here’s what I think you should do. Start with the weakest link—Melanie. If you can make her believe you have proof that she had a hand in Jack’s death, she might be frightened enough to tell you what really happened.”

“You keep using the word
you
—as in me. Aren’t you going with me?”

“If you want me to. This is your case, sunshine. I’m just backup.”

It sounded like a plan to me. I phoned Mrs. Walsh and discovered that Josiah was out in the field on his tractor. It was his usual custom to work until five o’clock, she told me. I glanced at my watch. Three o’clock. We had less than two hours.

 

We left Marco’s car in Mrs. Walsh’s driveway, then hiked to the Turners’ house, keeping a sharp eye out for Josiah’s tractor. Marco stood guard outside the house while I went to the door and knocked, hoping I could convince Melanie to let me into the house.

“I can’t talk to you,” I heard her call.

I peered through the screen door and saw her standing a few feet back. “Please, Melanie; I promise this won’t take long. I just need to ask you a few questions about Jack. I know he came here to see you a few weeks ago.”

The baby crawled up behind her and tried to pull herself up using the hem of Melanie’s long cotton skirt. She picked the child up and moved closer to the door. “How did you know that?”

“A lot of things come out during an investigation, such as the fact that you lied about Josie being sick Monday night.”

I saw her face turn white, so I moved in for the kill. “I don’t personally think you killed Jack, but there’s some strong evidence that says you had a hand in it, and I’d hate to see you arrested for something you didn’t do. Think of Josie, Melanie. Who’d raise her if you went to prison?” It was pure bluff, but Marco had promised me it was an effective tactic.

Melanie bit her lower lip, and I could see she was wavering.

“I’ll be gone before your father gets back,” I said. “Just answer a few questions to clear up any doubt about your involvement.”

She shifted the baby to her other hip, then glanced over my shoulder to the fields beyond the house. “Okay,” she said, pushing the door open to admit me, “but you’ll have to be quick.”

I followed her into the big farm kitchen, an old-fashioned affair with a black-and-white linoleum floor, a coal black stove, laminated counter tops that were curling back at the outside edges, and a small, round-topped refrigerator that looked like it had been purchased in the nineteen sixties. Luckily, the windows were open, so Marco could position himself to listen in.

Melanie pulled out a chair at the pine table in the middle of the room and sat down with the baby on her lap. I followed her example and sat adjacent to her, leaving my notebook in my purse on the floor beside my chair. I didn’t want to pull it out just yet. I needed time to let her feel safe with me.

She ran her fingers through the baby’s fine brown hair, not looking at me. “What do you want to know?” Her voice was a mixture of wariness and defiance.

“Why Jack came back to the reception after the fight with your father.” I waited for her to answer, and when she only continued to stroke the child’s hair I decided to try a long shot. “He came back to see you, didn’t he?”

Her chin started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. She pulled a tissue from her skirt pocket, wiped her eyes, and was on the verge of speaking when Josie started banging on the table with her plump baby hands, clamoring, “Ma-ma-ma-ma.”

“I’m sorry,” Melanie said, sniffling, and set Josie on the floor between our chairs. She gave her a stack of plastic measuring cups to play with, then sat down again and folded her hands on the table. “I hadn’t heard from Jack in months, then one day he showed up here begging me and Josie to go with him to see his mother. He told me she was dying of lung cancer and he’d get his inheritance only if his mother believed he’d be a responsible father to Josie. Otherwise she’d leave everything to his brother. But I knew that even if she left Jack the money, we’d never see a penny of it, and I wasn’t about to lie to a dying woman, so I told him I wouldn’t do it. What kind of person would ask me to lie to his own mother on her deathbed?”

Now I understood why Jack had come back. It wasn’t that he cared for Melanie or wanted to start supporting his child; it was all for money. Not wanting to break Melanie’s concentration, I eased my notebook and pen out of my purse and made quick notes as she wiped bitter tears off her cheeks.

“When Jack finally got it through his head that I wasn’t going to change my mind, he tried to convince me he had a big deal in the works and that he was about to come into some money that he’d split with me right away—but I’d still have to go with him to visit his mother. I asked him what this big deal was, but all he’d say was that he had a contact at a bank, some woman he’d started seeing.