Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (10 page)

TWELVE

A
ngel dropped Brian and Dorothy off at Beachwood Elementary School, then proceeded to Sunset Cove High School, which was on the other side of town. Tension emanated from both occupants, with Angel wanting to ask Gracie more questions and Gracie staring out the passenger side window, apparently not wanting to talk at all. Gracie wore little if any makeup, Angel noticed. Not that she needed it. She had pink cheeks and full lashes. She wore her blonde hair swept up in a ponytail, which she’d curled around and pinned in a haphazard bun.

“Do you enjoy cheerleading?”

“Yeah.” She turned to Angel and offered a genuine smile. “I want to go to nationals and maybe to cheerleading camp this summer.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It will be now that he’s gone,” Gracie said.

“Meaning that he wouldn’t have let you go?” Angel finished the thought and apparently guessed correctly.

“He didn’t like us to be away from home.” Gracie pinched her lips together.

“Did he tell you that you couldn’t go?” Angel asked.

“Yes, but Mom was going to talk to him about it.”

Angel couldn’t help but wonder just how much of a rift there was between father and daughter. “Bet that made you mad—that he said you couldn’t go.”

Gracie leveled a critical gaze on Angel. “He always said no. No matter what I wanted to do. The answer was always no.”

“Must have been hard.” Gracie certainly had motive to kill Phillip, but was the anger she obviously felt for him intense enough for her to act on it?

“I’m going to see your mother after I drop you off,” Angel said after several minutes of silence.

Gracie nodded. “I know. Mrs. Delaney told us you would.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you back at the house. Or accuse you.”

“You mean when you asked if I’d gone home yesterday afternoon?”

“Right. I’d like to help your mom, but I need a better picture of what went on during the hours or days before your dad was killed.”

“Phillip was not my dad.” Gracie’s tone was bitter and terse.

Angel tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Oh . . . um, I didn’t know. The way your mother talked, I just assumed . . .”

“She divorced my real father when I was five. He didn’t want her to. My dad is a great guy. He lives in California, and I’m thinking about moving there. I stayed with him last summer. He’s a set designer for a movie studio. He’s married and has a couple little kids.” Gracie turned away; the sadness in her eyes didn’t match the praise in her words, leaving Angel to wonder just how great a guy her real father was.

“Should I contact him?”

“What? . . . Um, no. I’ll call him later.”

Angel had barely come to a stop when Gracie unbuckled her seat belt and pushed open the door. She scooted out, but before closing the door, she leaned back in. “My mother didn’t kill Phillip. She wouldn’t do that. She loved him, and besides, she wouldn’t have the guts.”

But you do?
Angel leaned toward Gracie. “I hope you’re right. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think she did it either.”

Gracie stood there a second, then said, “You should talk to
Darryl. He’s Phillip’s nephew. Darryl was mad at Phillip for not loaning him money. Maybe he did it. He stole one of Phillip’s guns.” She slammed the door shut, adjusted her backpack, and practically ran up the walk.

Angel waited until Gracie entered the building before she parked in the closest space she could find, about a block away, and walked back. Climbing the same concrete steps that she’d climbed every school day for four years gave her a sense of déjà vu. High school had been a blur of activities, mostly sports. She had studied hard and played hard and come out with a four-point average. Frank Delaney had been proud of his Angel then.

The school was an old brick building that had seemed ancient when Angel had gone there. She climbed the patched concrete steps and made an immediate left into the office.

Considering the confidentiality laws, Angel doubted she’d get the information she needed, but after explaining the family’s situation to the principal, Mary Johansson was more than happy to comply.

“Something Gracie said this morning concerned me and, well, I’m afraid she may be skipping classes. If she’s having problems, I’d really like to know. Was Gracie in school all day yesterday?” Angel asked.

Mrs. Johansson turned to her computer and after a few clicks said, “Gracie didn’t check out, but according to the study hall roster, she wasn’t there.”

“When is her study hall?”

“Right after lunch, from 1:00 to 2:00.” Mary set her glasses on a stack of papers next to the computer. “It’s not something I’d be too concerned about. She may have gone out for lunch or to the public library to study.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Her teachers would have given out detention notices.

“In her case, yes. Our library is rather small and outdated. The important thing is that she was back for her 2:10 class. Gracie is a good student—one of our best. I was shocked and sorry to hear about her father. And then to have her mother arrested . . . unthinkable. Do you think Mrs. Jenkins did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I hope for the children’s sake she didn’t.”

“Me too.” Angel uncrossed her legs and started to stand.

“Are you working on the case?” Mary asked.

“Me?” Angel rubbed the back of her neck. “No. I’m actually on leave from the police department.”

“Oh.” She acted like she wanted to say more.

“Why do you ask?”

“I doubt you could do anything about it, but if you get a chance, maybe you could find out who’ll be handling the business affairs now that Phillip is dead and Candace is in jail.”

Angel frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“He . . . uh, Phillip owed my husband a lot of money. Around five-thousand dollars for updating their house. Greg, my husband, is an electrician. He finished the work three months ago and hasn’t been paid. I suppose it seems a little crass of me to bring up money—I mean, the man has just died—but we have obligations too.”

“I suppose I could look into it for you, but . . .”

“Never mind.” She stood and escorted Angel to the door. “I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

“That’s okay. I guess if I were in your shoes, I’d be concerned too.”

“I’m glad you stopped by. It’s good to know someone responsible is caring for the children.” Mary stopped in the doorway, waved, and went back into her office.

Once in the car, Angel digested the information she’d obtained. Gracie could have left the school and gone home, killed her father—correction, her stepfather—then gone back to school.
You’re reaching, Angel. Gracie is a cheerleader and a good student. Mary seemed to think well of her—and she’s just a kid.

Still, it’s something to consider.

There were other things to consider too. Phillip owed money to Greg Johansson. How many others was he indebted to? Phillip may well have accumulated a few enemies outside the family circle. She’d have to ask Candace about that.

In the meantime, Angel decided to follow up on Gracie’s absence yesterday afternoon. The librarian knew Gracie well and confirmed that she often came in to study.

“Was Gracie here yesterday from say noon to 2:00?” Angel asked her.

“No,” she answered without hesitation.

“How can you be sure?”

“I have several books on hold for her. If she’d been here, I’d have given them to her.”

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Angel asked.

“Goodness, no. I don’t have time to keep track of these kids.” The librarian tapped her pen against her hand. “Gracie often studied with Justin Bailey. She’d been tutoring him lately. Come to think of it, he wasn’t here yesterday either.”

“Okay, thanks for the information.”

After speaking with the librarian, Angel took her parents’ car back and picked up her Corvette. She headed toward city hall but made a detour on the way to talk to her favorite attorney. Minutes later, Angel pulled into the parking lot at St. Matthew’s Church. Rachael Rastovski was the only attorney Angel had ever met whose office was housed in a church. The situation was as unique as Rachael herself.

The stone church had been built in 1896, the structure as sturdy today as it had been back then. The steeple, with its belltower and ornate cross, reached toward the heavens, ringing every day at noon and on Sunday mornings and for special occasions. Angel bypassed the massive church doors and headed for the addition that had been built ten years ago to accommodate the offices, classrooms, and fellowship hall. Passing her brother’s office, she stopped and poked her head in.

“Oh, hi, Angel.” Paula, the church secretary, looked up from her computer. “Pastor Tim is in a meeting. Can I help you?”

“No, I just thought I’d say hello. I’m actually on my way to see Rachael. Do you know if she’s in?”

“As far as I know. I’ll tell Tim you came by.”

Angel thanked her and made her way down the hall to Rachael’s office. The office, if you could call it that, was a tiny cubicle that had once been a storage room. There was barely enough room for the desk, file cabinet, bookshelves, and a chair.

Rachael sat at her desk, head bent over a thick book. Sherlock, her cat, had draped himself atop the monitor of her computer. When he saw Angel he stretched and jumped down, then leaped to the top of the bookcase.

Angel knocked on the open door. “Hi. Hope I’m not interrupting something important.”

“Angel.” Rachael grinned, revealing a deep set of dimples. “What a surprise.” She stood and made her way around several piles of paper. Giving Angel a hug she asked, “Is this a social call or are you in trouble again?”

Rachael had represented Angel when she had to go before a grand jury for the shooting incident. She was also dating Angel’s brother Paul.

“Neither, actually. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure. Want to go into the conference room?” Her grin broadened.

Angel laughed. “Why not?” Since Rachael’s office barely had enough room for her and her cat, the attorney often used the church sanctuary to conduct her meetings.

Once they’d settled into a pew, Angel asked, “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

“Sort of. Why?” Rachael cocked her head. “Something going on I should know about?”

“Have you heard about Phillip Jenkins?”

“Who hasn’t?” Rachael wrote the date and time on the yellow legal pad she’d brought with her.

“I’d like you to consider representing his wife, Candace Jenkins. Nick arrested her this morning.”

“What’s he got on her?” Rachael jotted Phillip’s and Candace’s names on the pad and drew a line connecting them.

“I’m not sure.” Angel told Rachael about her involvement in the case and how Candace had cleaned up the murder scene. “I’m struggling with this. Part of me refuses to believe she’s guilty, but I can’t see Nick making the arrest unless he has some hard evidence.”

“Whether she’s guilty or not, she needs an attorney.”

“Which is why I’m here.” Angel let her gaze wander to the large stained-glass window at the front of the church—the one that had fascinated and warmed her since childhood.

“Are you sure she doesn’t already have one?”

“I doubt it.” She looked back at Rachael.

“All right. Tell you what. Let’s go talk to her, and afterward you can buy me a latte.”

“Deal. Do you want to meet me there or go in my car?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll go with you. My bucket of bolts needs a tune-up—it barely managed to get me to work this morning. Tim offered to take it to his mechanic this afternoon.”

“That would be Mitch Bailey?”

“Right.” She frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Angel said quickly. “He’s good.” She thought it best not to say anything about Mitch being the owner of the abandoned car Callen had mentioned. She doubted Callen would want the information made public at this point. “Let’s go.” Angel grabbed the pew in front of her and pulled herself up.

“I have to pick up my briefcase. I’ll meet you at the car.”

It took about four minutes to drive from the church to city hall and find a place to park. City hall was situated at one end of the courthouse, along with judicial offices, the police department, and a small jail. They went into the door at the north entrance that led to the police department and the jail. Angel stopped at the front desk to greet the receptionist, Rosie Gonzalez.

Rosie buzzed them in and pulled Angel into a bear hug. “It is so good to see you, girl. Where have you been? Just because you got some time off doesn’t mean you can’t come around here now and then. Are you doing okay? Tell me you’re here because you want to come back to work early.”

Angel laughed. “It’s good to see you too, and I’m doing okay.” Rosie had a velvety smooth Southern drawl. She and Nick had been dating for several weeks, and Rosie, who’d been drooling over Angel’s brothers for years, now seemed content.

“And the job?” Rosie looked hopeful.

“Sorry.” She introduced Rachael. “We’re here to see Candace Jenkins. I understand Nick arrested her this morning.”