Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (22 page)

Couldn’t you have waited, Dad? Not even for a day?

TWENTY-TWO

T
he next morning, as students were settling into their classes, Angel drove over to the high school and up and down the rows of cars in the parking lot, looking for the pickup Darryl had reportedly seen.

She had awakened at 6:00 a.m., dazed and disoriented. She’d talked to Anna at 7:00 and arranged to come to the hospital around 10:00 to take her home. Neither spoke of their loss.

Perhaps because her emotions were too raw, Angel kept thoughts of her father at bay. When thoughts of him came to mind, she shoved them aside. She could not bear to think of his passing, or face the reality of his death or the fact that the troubles that had divided them would never be resolved.

You should call Callen.
The thought came unbidden and settled in among the others. Angel knew very well what would happen. He’d rush back to Sunset Cove to be with her, to comfort her. Angel didn’t want comfort. She didn’t want tears. She’d have to tell him eventually, but not now and not over the phone.

Her only escape was to focus on work. So here she was, scanning the parking lot for the gray, primer-coated pickup that Darryl
claimed to have seen Gracie in shortly before he had supposedly found his uncle’s body.

She found the pickup parked in an end space under a maple tree and wrote down the license plate number. With students in class and no one around, she parked behind the vehicle and walked around it. On a whim, she tried the driver’s side door, surprised to find it unlocked. She found the registration form and insurance card in the glove box. The owner’s name was Justin Bailey, the auto repairman’s son.

Small world. Too small.

Callen would be questioning Mitch Bailey about the cheerleader from Florence. The mechanic’s car had apparently been stolen, but maybe it hadn’t been stolen after all. Maybe his son had taken it? The thought churned around in her stomach like spoiled milk. Angel didn’t like drawing a correlation between the two cases. Didn’t like that Gracie had been out at the farm with this kid. Her stomach knotted and her heart tripped along a little faster.

She was going to have to talk with Justin and Gracie soon. Maybe she’d try to catch them after school.

Angel got into her car and headed for the Jenkins place to interview the neighbors. As she drove, she ruminated over her progress so far. The information she’d gathered jumbled around in an incoherent mess—like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together to make a picture. Which meant she was nowhere near finished with her so-called investigation. How did Callen manage to keep all the details of his cases straight in his head?

Guilt gnawed at her as she drove.
Who do you think you are, playing detective? You should be at the hospital, sitting with your mother.
She brushed the negative thoughts away, but they kept coming back and lighting in her mind like pesky flies on rotting fruit.

Dad had a massive stroke
, she told herself.
There was nothing you could do.

Several times she thought about turning around and going back into town but didn’t. Part of her wanted to give up, to go straight home and crawl into bed. Part of her resisted the urge, determined to stay on task as her father had taught her.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going.
She could almost hear her father’s voice reciting the old saying. He had a lot of them. He wasn’t a quitter and never allowed his children to quit either, not even his little girl.

She hauled in a deep, determined breath and turned onto Cayman Road.

Officers usually interviewed neighbors when a crime took place, and she felt certain Nick had done that. She doubted, however, that he’d share his findings with her. Which meant she’d have to talk to them on her own.

Though Candace and Phillip had no close neighbors, maybe one of them had heard or seen something. Plus, Angel wanted to verify Darryl’s story and find out if anyone else had been out at the farm. She drove into the driveway opposite the one leading to the Jenkins’s farm. And after a short drive along a tree-lined paved lane, she found herself parked in front of a beautiful home with a horse barn and several well-cared-for thoroughbreds.

Angel pulled up to the house and started up the walk. A German shepherd bounded around the corner of the house, barking and snarling. Angel started back to her car when she heard someone ordering the dog to stop. “Sit!” The dog backed off immediately and obeyed the order. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat, coveralls, and a long, loose overshirt came around the corner of the house. In her hand she carried a weed puller.

“Can I help you?”

“Possibly. I’m Angel Delaney.”

“Oh, of course. I thought I recognized you.”

Everyone seems to these days.
“You look familiar too.”

The woman tipped back her head and laughed. “Well, I should think so. I’m Elsie Moore, Brandon’s aunt—Beverly’s sister? We met at a Christmas party at the Lafferty’s last year.”

Oops.
The party Angel couldn’t wait to leave so she could get back to the Christmas Eve celebration at her parents’ home. Beverly, Brandon’s mother, clearly hadn’t wanted her there. “I’m sorry. I met so many people . . .”

“No apology needed. I couldn’t wait to get out of there myself. My husband can’t stand her. Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister.” She sighed. “Beverly seems rather haughty, but it’s just a facade. Inside she’s an insecure woman desperately trying to maintain the lifestyle she married into.”

“Beverly insecure? Are we talking about the same person?”

“Hard to believe, I know. We came from a very poor family. In fact, our father spent ten years in prison for embezzling funds from the company he worked for. Our mother divorced him, and we moved here to escape the embarrassment he caused us, but the damage was done. Beverly was mortified by it. She suffered much more than I did.”

“Why’s that?”

“She was still in grade school, and the kids teased her unmercifully.”

“And they didn’t tease you?”

“They did, but I have a more resilient personality. I was five years older and able to understand that what my father did was not a reflection on my character.” A deep, throaty chuckle escaped Elsie’s lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Beverly would be mortified. She tries so hard to keep all those sordid details a secret and keep up appearances.” She tilted her head, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you. Guess I just wanted to apologize for any grief she may have caused you.”

Angel didn’t know what to do with this new information. “Well, it doesn’t matter much anymore, because Brandon and I broke up.”

“I know, and I’m terribly disappointed.” She smiled. “You were good for Brandon. I’m not certain about Michelle. Do you know her at all?”

“Um . . . not really.” Angel didn’t feel it appropriate to go into Michelle’s history with her abusive husband. “She seems nice, though.”

“Hmm. I’m worried that Brandon’s infatuation for her is misguided.”

“Meaning that he feels sorry for her?”

She nodded and brushed a sleeve across her brow. “Time will tell, I suppose. But you didn’t come all the way out here to talk about Brandon, did you?”

“Actually, no. I’m checking in with the Jenkins’s neighbors.”

“Does this have something to do with Phillip’s death? That poor man. I understand his wife killed him.” She shook her head. “Hard to believe. She seemed so sweet.”

“She’s been arrested, but that doesn’t mean she did it. I’m investigating for her lawyer. How well did you know them?”

“I spoke with Candace once or twice and the children a few times—lovely children. We knew Phillip quite well. He built our house, and we couldn’t be happier. He actually took over for the man we fired . . .”

Fired?
“Who would that be?”

“Jack Savage.” Elsie clucked. “The man was impossible. He refused to change his building plans to accommodate us. I had specific measurements for my kitchen and pantry along with some changes in the master bath. Come on in and I’ll show you.”

Angel walked into a high-ceilinged entryway that opened into an elegant open area containing a kitchen, dining area, and family room.

“I wanted all of my cupboards done with pull-out drawers that were custom made to fit my various appliances.”

The kitchen was huge with a long bar—a little too austere for her tastes, but nice.

“We entertain a lot, and I needed shelves and cupboards to accommodate our lifestyle. After arguing with Jack for about a week, with him telling me why what I wanted couldn’t be done and treating me as if I didn’t have a brain in my head, I fired him. I heard about Phillip through a friend—do you know the Fitzgibbons?”

“Yes.”

“Lorraine and Barry recommended him. I invited Phillip over, and he seemed genuinely impressed with my design skills and was happy to incorporate the changes I wanted. He even came up with some ideas I hadn’t thought of. He suggested the private patio off the bathroom. It made the bathroom seem twice as large and gives us a private Jacuzzi. We love it.”

It was Angel’s turn to be impressed. Fitzgibbon had said Phillip was talented, and this house proved him right. “How did Jack Savage handle the rejection?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. He threatened us with a lawsuit. Our lawyers are still battling it out.”

“Is Savage the kind of guy who might want revenge?”

“You’re not suggesting . . .” She placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, dear. I hope not.”

“Did you notice anyone coming or going the day Phillip was killed?”

“I’m afraid not. I was here all day.” She waved her arm. “As you can see, we’re rather remote. I can’t see the road from the house, which is the way we like it.”

“Did you hear anything—a gunshot, maybe?”

She moved her head from side to side. “I don’t believe so. I wish I could help, but I get involved in my gardens and tune out the rest of the world.”

“My mother is like that.” Angel wondered what her mother would do now. Would she find her garden a respite from her grief? Angel dragged her thoughts back. “Thanks for talking with me.” She headed for the front door. “I’d like you to give me a call if you think of anything.” She handed Elsie one of the cards Rachael had given her and thanked her. Once in the car, she added another name to her suspect list. Jack Savage.

From Elsie’s place, Angel headed over to the Jenkins’s farm. Someone’s blue Ford Taurus was parked in the driveway. Angel recognized it from the parking lot at Coast Contracting and assumed it belonged to the receptionist.

The door was unlocked, and Angel slipped inside. “Hello!” she shouted from just inside the door. “Anyone here?”

Becky, the receptionist, stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, hi, I . . . um . . . I was just getting some files. Phillip used to work here sometimes, and Mr. Fitzgibbon asked me to pick up whatever belonged to the company.” Her gaze darted to the door. “I got permission from the police and from Candace’s parents. They stayed in a hotel last night and were planning to come out here after school today.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Angel smiled. “I wanted to talk to you earlier, but your boss seemed upset—probably something I said.”

Becky flipped her long hair back and tucked it behind her ears. “Can you blame him? You practically accused him of killing Phillip.”

“Do you know that he didn’t?” Angel asked.

“No, but . . . What did you want to talk to me about?”

“How long have you known Phillip?”

“Three years. Since they moved here. He advertised in the paper for office help, and I applied. I got the job.”

“Did you like working for him?”

“I loved my job.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she looked away. “I’m going to miss him.”

“Did you come out here often to get work he may have done?”

“Sometimes. He brought stuff with him into the office too.”

“Can you get into his computer files?”

She frowned. “Yes, why?”

“I’d like to take a look at his files.” Angel glanced at the screen, which displayed a screen saver of a howling wolf under a blue moon.

“Do you have a court order?”

“No. I’m trying to find out who might’ve killed him.”

“Candace did. I mean, she’s been arrested and she’s admitted to doing it. No one else had any reason to.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Phillip and Candace didn’t get along. He was planning to ask her for a divorce.”

“A divorce?” Angel ran a hand through her hair. Great. Becky had just given Candace another motive.

“He told me he didn’t love her anymore.”

“Whoa.” Becky’s tears and her expression left no doubt in Angel’s mind. “Let me guess—you and Phillip were having an affair.”

Becky pinched her lips together. “It’s not what you think. I’m not a home wrecker, it’s just that we fell in love not long after I
started working for him. We tried to resist, but . . .” Her voice broke into a sob.