Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (28 page)

The entire day went by in a blur as Angel stayed at the house with her mother and brothers, talking, making arrangements, and answering phone calls from well-wishers. Nick came by around 3:00 to offer consolation to his second family. He’d hugged her and Anna and then spent the next hour with Peter, Paul, and Tim. He’d said nothing about the Jenkins case or Callen or the letters, and Angel wondered if Callen had talked with him.

Angel didn’t ask, nor would she—not today at any rate. She was exhausted, and her eyes felt as if they were full of sand—probably from all the crying. She was hardly able to talk to anyone without tearing up. She finally went home at 10:00 and fell into bed, sleep hitting at about the same time her head hit the pillow.

The morning sun woke her at 7:00, and she dragged herself out of bed, snatched the Sunday paper off the porch, and made coffee. Normal Sunday morning events on a not-so-normal Sunday. Frank Delaney had been gone for three days, and Angel still could not absorb the reality of it. All her tears from the day before left her eyes feeling gritty and unfocused.

She thought briefly about the threatening note from Dragonslayer. Maybe he or she didn’t see her as a threat at the moment. Maybe he was biding his time.

You can’t afford to be paranoid about it
, she told herself.
There’s a good chance it was just a warning to stay away.
Angel didn’t much like to listen to warnings. She took the threat seriously but wouldn’t allow it to stand in her way. She’d just have to watch her back.

After a cursory glance at the paper and a cup of coffee, Angel showered and got ready for church. Angel planned to spend most of the day with her mother and the rest of the family. Church at St. Matthew’s started at 10:00. Angel entered the sanctuary at 9:59 and walked up to the second row from the front, easing into the space between Callen and her mother.

Callen’s tentative smile warmed her and disturbed her at the same time. He looked so right sitting there as though he were already part of the family. Her mother had no doubt talked to him before the service, asking him to sit with them.

How awkward things would be if she and Callen split up. It would be hard on Anna, maybe on the entire family. Funny how family, her family, anyway, merged a boyfriend or girlfriend into the fold so quickly. Rachael and Paul sat at the other end of the pew. Next to Rachael sat Tim’s daughter Heidi and Susan, Tim’s wife. Then Peter and Abby, Tim’s second daughter. When Abby saw Angel, she made her way over laps until she found Angel’s.

The organ music started, and they all stood to sing the first hymn. The bulletin held news of Frank Delaney’s death and the funeral. There would be a luncheon served by the women’s group after the funeral, which would be held after the service.

Tim went on to preach his prepared sermon—the second in a series on marriage. The sermon was on relationships. He began with the verse that talked about wives being obedient to their husbands. That verse had always given Angel trouble. Probably because she’d seen too many men use it as a reason to abuse their wives. Jenkins had done that.

Her brother surprised her by turning the tables and making obedience the responsibility of both partners. Husbands were to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Husbands and wives were to obey one another, but in order to achieve that obedience, there had to be sacrificial love on both sides. Both partners were to undergird one another and offer support in a way that each would become the best at whatever he or she was meant to do. Tim gave an example in his own life in which he wanted Susan to quit working after their first child was born.

“I thought she should do what I wanted because I, after all, was the head of the house. I made the rules. I wanted a traditional pastor’s wife who would head up the women’s ministry team and hostess our get-togethers. Susan came to me one day and told me that if I really wanted her to be a homemaker, she would. She loved
staying home with the baby. But she also wanted me to understand that the choice would be costly. She loved nursing, and by taking it away I would be diminishing her as well as our relationship.

“You see, nursing is Susan’s ministry,” he went on. “It’s part of who she is.” Tim glanced at Susan, his eyes tearing. With difficulty he managed to end his sermon, saying, “God showed me that day that what Susan chose to do was between him and Susan. My job was not to tell her what to do but to support her in whatever God wanted for her.”

Angel’s admiration for her brother went up several notches that morning, and at family dinner she told him so.

Callen came to the house after the funeral, insisting on taking over the kitchen so Anna could rest. Surprisingly she didn’t argue. Angel made her mother comfortable on the sofa and helped Callen prepare a simple meal of oven-fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh green beans, and a tossed salad. Callen was strangely quiet during the meal preparation and through dinner.

After the meal, the women cleaned the kitchen while the guys set up the volleyball net on the beach. Guys against the girls. Angel played hard, but her competitive spirit was missing. She guessed they all felt that way, because they gave it up after forty-five minutes.

Callen went home after offering his condolences again. He hadn’t asked Angel over, and she hadn’t asked him to stay. She couldn’t say why and didn’t really want to know. Had Tim’s message on marriage scared him off? He hadn’t commented on it. Had she shown him too much of her own temper, her own stubbornness? Maybe it was for the best. No need to break things off. Just let whatever it was they felt for each other fade into oblivion.
That suits me.

Liar.

Angel offered to spend the night, but her mother said she didn’t want to stay in the house just yet. She’d be staying with Tim for a few more days. Angel didn’t blame her. Besides, Susan would do a much better job of taking care of her than Angel could. That settled, Angel said her good-byes and went back to her empty apartment.

Feeling restless and lonely, she did her run that evening an hour before sunset. She ran past Callen’s home, thinking to at least say hello to Mutt. She cleared the dune enough to see Callen’s porch and stopped. A woman stood at the railing, smiling into the wind as she watched the setting sun.

Getting up on Monday morning was always hard, but today the task seemed monumental. Amid the aching muscles from the volleyball game was the heartache of seeing a woman standing on Callen’s deck as though she belonged there. She might have been a model, sleek and trim, all dressed in white, with a red mane tossing in the wind. No wonder Callen hadn’t invited her over. He’d apparently had other plans.

Angel didn’t know what to make of it. Didn’t really want to think about it. They hadn’t made any kind of commitment. Still, it hurt far more than it should have that he would be seeing someone else.

She got up and made coffee, showered while it perked, and tried to keep the woman’s image out of her mind. Hurt melded into anger. He could have at least told her he was seeing someone else.

You’re beyond all that
, she tried to tell herself.
Jealousy is for those who care.

Okay. She cared, and she was jealous and angry and hurt.

And you don’t have time for it.

Angel swept the turmoil under a rug in the corner of her mind, determined to concentrate on her job. Once dressed in her PI uniform—jeans, a light blue V-neck T-shirt, and a plaid wool blazer—she fixed herself a piece of whole grain toast with crunchy peanut butter, drank her second cup of coffee, and picked up the phone. It was 9:30.

“Rachael,” she said when the attorney answered. “We need to talk.”

“Right. I was hoping you’d call. I just had the most interesting conversation with a new client.” She cleared her throat with deliberation and disapproval. “Why didn’t you tell me about this email business yesterday? You’re supposed to keep me informed.”

“When did I have time? You were hanging on to my brother all day. And you two took off right after the game. Besides, no one seemed very talkative yesterday.”

“I know. Paul was having a hard time—all of you are. Um, I don’t mean to be insensitive, Angel. If you need some time . . .”

“No. I need to keep busy.”

“I wish I’d known about Janet before you told Callen.”

“Sorry, my priorities were a little out of line. The point is, what do we do now? Will the emails make a difference for Candace?”

“I’m not sure. It hasn’t so far. Listen, I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Pick me up at my office, and we’ll go to Joanie’s.”

Once they’d ordered and received their coffee and bagels, Angel filled Rachael in on what she’d discovered so far. “Do you think they’ll drop the charges and let Candace out?” Angel bit a piece off her cinnamon raisin bagel. “Phillip’s funeral is today.”

“I doubt she’ll be able to go. The police aren’t buying it. I have a call in to the DA, but I don’t expect him to change his mind. They’re saying Janet may have written the notes to protect her client and that she’s somehow all involved in this diabolical plan to free Candace.”

“The DA told you that?”

“Joe told me. Janet has an alibi for the afternoon Jenkins was killed. According to her assistant, she was in the office all afternoon.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Angel licked cream cheese off her knuckle. Something Rachael had said clung to her mind like a magnet. “Diabolical plan,” she said aloud. “This may sound really far-fetched, but what if several women devised a plot to kill off their husbands? Maybe they establish an alibi for themselves while another woman from their group kills the husband. Candace has her alibi, but the timing didn’t work out the way it was supposed to.”

“Whoa. That’s some imagination you’ve got there.” Rachael was quiet for a moment. “It sounds pretty crazy, like all those government conspiracy theories, but . . . it’s possible, and that scares me.”

“What’s really scary is that they aren’t finished yet.” Angel sighed. “At least that’s what the last email indicated.”

“Or the police might be right. Maybe Janet did manufacture this Dragonslayer to take the attention off Candace.” Rachael picked red onion strings off her bagel and set them on her plate. “Might have worked too, if she hadn’t confessed.”

“Hmm. It does seem a bit contrived that someone would come forward now, especially with the letters appearing on Janet’s computer and Dragonslayer using her account.”

They continued eating and after a few bites, Angel asked, “Have you talked to Candace about her confession?”

“She’s sticking by it. Says she still wants me to defend her. Guilty by reason of insanity.” Rachael picked up her lox and cream cheese bagel and looked at it, opened her mouth, and closed it again.

“She’s lying,” Angel said. “I know it and you know it, but she won’t back down.”

“Thanks to your little confrontation. I wish you hadn’t told her Gracie had been there. But like you said, she already knew.”

“Like I said before, I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s not really your fault. I’m working up a good defense, but it won’t be easy.”

Angel stared into her drink before taking a sip. “If the emails are bogus, what about the threat against me? Was that bogus as well?”

Rachael frowned. “What threat?”

“Dragonslayer wants me out of the way.”

Angel’s cell phone rang. It was her mother. “Where are you?”

“At Joanie’s, why? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need me to come over to Tim’s?”

“I’m at home.” She sighed. “Where I belong.”

“Alone?”

“No, Susan brought me. At any rate, Debra Stanton just called. She’s frantic. Her husband is missing.”

Angel dropped what was left of her bagel and rummaged in her bag for a pen. “Has she called the police?” Her heart picked up tempo. Was Douglas Stanton Dragonslayer’s next victim?

“Yes, but they’re not really doing much at this point. You know
that twenty-four-hours thing. She’s afraid he’s been murdered like the others. She called me hoping I could talk you into looking for him. I gave her your number.”

“All right, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

Angel rang off, and her phone rang again. This time it was Debra, and she sounded far more distressed than her mother had indicated.

“Calm down,” Angel told the woman. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Doug didn’t show up at the office this morning. I called and he wasn’t there and no one knows where he is. I’ve called the nursing home where his mother lives and he wasn’t there. This isn’t like him. The police are giving me the runaround. Please, your mother said you’d help.”

“Hold on a minute.” Angel covered the mouthpiece and turned to Rachael to explain the situation.

“Debra is in the support group, right?”

Angel nodded.

She whistled. “Tell her we’ll check it out.”

“Debra, I’m with Rachael, and we’re going to look for him.”

“Thank you,” she sobbed. “I know I’ve said some hateful things about Doug, but I love him.”

“I need to ask you a few questions.” Angel pulled out a pad and began writing. “I imagine you checked, but is anything missing, like an overnight case, any of his clothes . . . ?”

“No, nothing. He left at 8:00 like he usually does to open the bank, and apparently never got there. Laura Ostrander, the vice president, called me at 8:30 asking if he was okay. Fortunately she has keys, but he wasn’t there and there was no note or anything.”

“What kind of car was he driving?” Angel began making notes to herself.

“The Mercedes. Black with black leather interior.”

Angel asked for the license plate number and got a description of what he was wearing. She had met the bank president and knew him by sight. He was around fifty with dishwater blond hair graying at the temples. About five-ten to his wife’s five-six. Thin but muscular and in good shape. Angel had often seen him running on the beach when she did her own runs, and he went to the same gym. Of course, everyone in Sunset Cove went to the same gym, since it was the only one they had.