For Love of Money (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“The police are questioning the owners of Stevens Ventures.” A young man holding a mini-recorder stood just inside the door of the funeral home. He’d cornered a middle-aged woman, but he spoke loudly, as if he wanted to be overheard. “Sources inside the sheriff’s department say they have questions about Tim Stevens’s possible involvement in Ms. Ramirez’s death.”

Holly gasped. As far as she knew, the only thing Tim had done was offer Marcy a job.

And maybe have an affair.

“Were you concerned about Ms. Ramirez working there? Tim Stevens’s business partner, Alex Montoya, found the body. Is there a connection?”

Holly whirled around and looked for Alex. He’d go ballistic if he heard this BS. She didn’t see him or his mother. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed the commotion, or were too far away to hear the guy’s questions.

She turned back to the reporter. Should she say something? Defend Tim and Alex?

A group of men who looked a lot like Marcy swarmed out of the inner room. They filled the entrance hall with noise, the clatter of feet, voices speaking English and Spanish.

“
¡Salga!
Leave! This is a private function.” An older man led the pack.

The reporter stood his ground and directed his next question to the crowd. “What about Ms. Ramirez’s husband? Why isn’t he here? Have the police been able to locate him?”

Holly felt like a spectator at a tennis match. Her head swiveled between the group of men and the reporter. The scene was ugly, but if somebody actually answered the guy, she’d get some answers, too.

“Have the police given any indication Ms. Ramirez was involved in activities that contributed to her death?” The reporter moved closer to the older man.

“Get out!” One of the younger men stepped forward, not touching the reporter, but definitely in his face. “Now.”

An angry barrier of men hid the reporter from sight. Holly turned. JC seemed to be good at calming yelling matches. She didn’t see the detective. Apparently, he was still in the inner room, probably trying to question another family member.

The woman in front of her spun around. Feverish red spots lit her cheeks and her teeth clenched around words which were ready to burst from her mouth.

“Yessica?” Holly stared in astonishment at the furious woman.

“That reporter doesn’t want to interview anyone for the truth. He’s telling more lies.”

“He’s just making noise, trying to get a reaction.” Based on Yessica’s expression, the reporter had succeeded.

“It isn’t right. Why is he dragging my sister’s name through the mud?”

“He can’t print stuff like that.” At least she didn’t think he could print blatant speculation. Although he’d had no problem printing she was a Person of Interest. Which might be factual, but it sure seemed like slander—or was it libel?

“Was Ms. Ramirez afraid of her husband?” The reporter hadn’t given up.

The men pushed the reporter outside.

“Dammit!” Yessica sputtered. “Why is he doing this?”

Holly’s earlier words to JC rang through her head.
Women just need someone to listen while they get it out of their systems
.

Tears overflowed Yessica’s eyes—eyes that had the same tilted corners and warm brown color as Marcy’s. Holly fumbled in her purse, found a battered package of tissues, stepped closer, and held Yessica while she cried.

A few minutes later, Yessica wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Thanks.”

Holly stepped back. “Did you talk to the police? Have you told them about Lee Alders?”

The color on Yessica’s cheeks deepened. Her gaze drifted over the remaining crowd. “My mother wouldn’t like it.”

“It could be important.”

“You don’t understand. Mama and Papa don’t want to make Maricella look bad. She was a good girl.” Yessica shredded the tissue. “I can’t prove Lee killed her, so why bring him up?”

Holly gestured toward the front door, where there were now sounds of a scuffle. “It’s going to come out. If nobody tells him anything, that reporter will print whatever he wants.”

Yessica raised her eyes and stared at the doorway. She turned and glared at Holly. “How did that reporter know about Lee? Did you tell him? You said you’d keep it quiet.”

She jammed the mangled tissue in her pocket and took an angry step toward the inner room.

“Wait.” Holly grasped her arm. “I understand you want some privacy—believe me, I
really
understand. I didn’t say anything. The restraining order is a public record. So’s her marriage. That’s how the reporter found out.”

“We don’t want to discuss it. We don’t want to ruin her reputation. It’s all she has left.”

“Then get on top of it. Spin it in your favor.”

Yessica hesitated. Uncertainty joined the anger in her eyes.

“Make people see Marcy as the victim. Tell your version of the story.” Holly scanned the throng for JC.

In seconds, she found him—watching her. Their gaze met and lingered. Stifling the other messages she sensed in his eyes, she tilted her head toward Yessica and mouthed, “I need you.”

Chapter Seventeen

“What’s up?” JC gave the men still clustered near the funeral home’s entrance a quick inspection before shifting his attention to Holly.

“Detective Dimitrak, you’ve met Yessica Herrera, haven’t you? She’s Marcy’s sister.”

JC didn’t so much as twitch at the sudden formality—had she ever called him Detective rather than JC?—but Yessica recoiled. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I told you, my mother won’t like it.”

“If you tell Detective Dimitrak about Lee, about what he did, the police will know to look harder at him.”

“You mean, tell them everything that man did?”

At Yessica’s stricken expression, Holly said, “It’s the only way we can help Marcy.”

With their backs to the crowd, the three of them created a bubble of privacy while Yessica repeated her story. She spoke more freely than she had at the boutique, so when she finished, Holly asked, “Do you think Lee had something to do with…what happened?”

How big a step was it between beating someone and killing them? Had Lee realized he couldn’t control Marcy any longer and lashed out in a rage?

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Yessica’s shoulders slumped. “He hit her, but he always seemed to know when to quit. Maricella would lie and cover for him. I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until I stopped to see her on my way to Bellingham. She looked awful.”

Yessica’s fingers fluttered to her ribs, as if touching her sister’s battered body.

Holly murmured a soothing phrase and laid her hand on the grieving woman’s arm. As Yessica leaned toward her, JC subtly shifted positions and covered them. Holly glanced at him. Had she overstepped some boundary?

He dipped his head, a nod she interpreted as encouragement.

“I convinced her to leave with me. We went to the hospital.” Yessica’s lips trembled. She grasped Holly’s hand, as if she needed the anchor of a human connection.

Holly suspected Yessica was reliving that day, seeing it instead of the crowded reception hall.

“Lee broke her ribs—it hurt her so much to breathe.
Ay, Dios mio
, the bruises on her body. Maricella was so ashamed, like it was her fault. That hurt me the most. He broke her spirit.”

Yessica’s hand dropped to her side. “We got the protection order, but I couldn’t leave Maricella in Seattle. I brought her home with me.”

“Did it help? Did Lee stay away after that?”

“At first, he called. When he came to see her, Maricella was very angry.”

Holly could imagine what Marcy felt when her husband hunted her down. Fear. Fury. A sense of inevitability.

“Other than that,” Yessica continued, “she never mentioned his name. Did she say anything to you?”

Holly shook her head. “Not specifically. She started seeing someone this fall, but she wouldn’t tell anyone who.”

“
Mierda
,” Yessica cursed.

Mierda
indeed
.
Holly knew the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, the constant tension, the hyper-alertness that came with wondering when a man—a sick, twisted person—was going to appear next. The constant looking over her shoulder, worrying about what Frank would do next, was nothing compared to what Marcy had faced. Had Lee re-entered Marcy’s life? Refused to be forced out?

“I have a few questions.” JC drew out details of the protection order Holly hadn’t known to ask about.

Yessica leaned into his concerned attention. He’d been a good listener when they were in college. Police work—or maturity—had refined his skill.

While JC led Yessica through the ordeal, taking notes this time, Lee Alders’ name cycled through Holly’s head. She might not have the databases JC could access, but she knew people in Seattle. People who could find out about the bastard.

“Holly.” Yessica’s voice drew her back to the visitation hall. She moved close and pressed a cheek to Holly’s. “Thank you. For everything.”

And then Marcy’s sister was gone, which left Holly alone again with JC.

While he scribbled in a small notebook, she edged away. She should find Laurie and leave. Helping with the investigation intrigued her. It was being alone with JC that was the problem.

“Hold on.” JC caught her eye. He stuffed the notebook in his pocket. “That was nice.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Who, me?”

His dimples erupted and Holly caught her breath. She needed to learn to deal with those silly little indentations again.

“Really.” His face returned to serious mode. “Ms. Herrera needed to talk and you listened.”

“How much of that did you already know?”

One side of JC’s mouth quirked, as if he were making a decision. “Some of it. I found the protection order Sunday night when I ran Ms. Ramirez’s name.”

“Not before then?” JC must’ve run her name at the same time. Dammit, she’d have told him if she thought he needed to know.

She tamped down the anger. Part of her sympathized with Yessica’s desire to shield Marcy, but Lee’s violent behavior could drive the murder investigation in a new direction.

“Ms. Ramirez never notified us or filed a complaint.” JC rocked back on his heels. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Ms. Herrera mentioned Alders when we interviewed the family and Mama Ramirez shut her down hard. Now that Ms. Herrera’s opened up, if she remembers anything else, odds are she’ll call me.”

Holly gave JC a considering look. He was talking but he hadn’t really told her anything about the investigation. When they were together before, she’d known how to get him to talk. What was he like now? Was he a negotiator, willing to make a deal and trade information, or did he like to hold all the cards?

“I need to push the phone company to turn over their phone records,” he said. “See how often Alders contacted her.”

Most likely he wouldn’t share those phone records with her.

Holly thought about Tim’s angry rant on Monday morning. He knew about Lee Alders, so Marcy had talked to Tim, but not the local police. Why would Marcy do that? And why hadn’t Tim mentioned it to the police?

Tim’s knowing about the guy could be completely innocent. “Marcy might’ve talked to her husband on the office phone.”

“I oughtta ask for those records, too. If Stevens would quit canceling our interview, I could ask him about contact at the office.” JC opened his cell and mashed a speed dial.

Not that JC was paying any attention, but she shrugged. She eased one foot from her shoe and flexed her squashed toes. She’d love to go home and put her feet up. More people—in addition to Tim, Nicole, Alex, and his mother—had left while they were talking with Yessica, so it wasn’t as if she was being rude and bailing out early.

Contacting Tim was JC’s problem, but she kept seeing the devastated expression on Tim’s face and hearing the anger in his voice when he mentioned Marcy’s husband. Most good guys couldn’t stand the idea of a man hitting a woman. Abusers were down there with pond scum—perverts and child molesters. But was Tim’s reaction too much? If Tim and Marcy were that close, why had he canceled his meeting with JC, and why didn’t he tell the detective about Lee?

Holly pursed her lips and shifted her weight to her other hip, grimacing at the protest from her sore feet. Alex had jumped all over her after his interview with the cops. Why was Tim ducking the police?

And why had Alex hedged his remarks to them?

Or…was JC lying to her about what he knew and when he knew it?

There was also the too convenient to be coincidental fact JC had been directly behind her—without announcing his presence—when she’d tried to talk with Mrs. Ramirez.

She gave a disgusted snort. All this paranoia was giving her a headache.

“If I wasn’t afraid you’d tell me, I’d ask what you were thinking about.”

“What?” She looked into JC’s amused eyes.

“Don’t ever play poker. You can’t hide a thing.”

“You don’t think I can do the expressionless face thing?”

He leaned closer, trailed a finger down her cheek, and slowly slid it across her lower lip. Instantly, her heart rate picked up and her nipples stood at attention.

A satisfied gleam lit his eyes. “I rest my case.” His voice was husky, bedroom soft.

A blush warmed her cheeks. She took a step backward and crossed her arms over her traitorous chest. “Were you born a jerk or did you take special classes at cop school?”

He laughed.

The sound was so unexpected, so out of place at a wake, heads turned, and once again they were the focus of too many pairs of eyes.

“You seem to like being part of my investigation. You’ve got the toughness to be an officer. And the curiosity. Let’s see how you do with tenacity.” He winked and sauntered away.

Holly gritted her teeth.

Payback would come.
Oh, yeah.
Somehow, she’d get him back for that.

And payback would come before JC Dimitrak did.

Chapter Eighteen

Holly pushed through the funeral parlor’s front door. She’d spent the last twenty minutes wandering through the rapidly dwindling crowd, looking for Laurie. The odds were slim Laurie had decided to wait at the car, but she was running out of places to look.

Her cell phone chirped its “new message” tone. She fished the phone from her jacket pocket and Laurie’s voice came from the speaker. “My cell’s about to die, so I’ll make this quick. My neighbor is here. You look like you’re,
ahem
, busy, so she’s giving me a ride home. I’ll—”

Silence.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Holly glared at her phone as if it were deliberately withholding information, although obviously Laurie’s phone had died. “Damn cell phone company.” If it would post messages more reliably, she might’ve caught Laurie before she left.

Well, at least she knew where her MIA friend was.

She stuffed the phone back into her pocket and limped toward the parking lot. She was never wearing heels again. She didn’t care how good they made her legs look or if her suits looked stupid with flats. After wearing them all day and standing around on the tile floor at the mortuary for hours, she just wanted to get home, take off these instruments of torture, and pour a glass of wine.

A
big
glass of wine.

Naturally, she’d had to park in the back corner of the lot. She angled across the asphalt and squinted at her car. It looked like something had spilled over the hood, leaving random stripes on the paint. She moved closer and realized the streaks were huge scratches.

For several seconds, shock nailed her in place. Then anger spiked through her like Mount St. Helens blowing its top. She stalked around her vandalized car. Deep gouges marred the paint.

Her beautiful car. She
knew
she shouldn’t have parked next to the graffiti-tagged building. The ripped-up fence and rubble had warned her she was asking for trouble.

She scowled at the damaged car. One more crappy thing at the end of a totally crappy day.

Damn, she didn’t have time for this. Finding someone to repaint it. Dealing with the insurance company—which would probably triple her premium. Double damn. And she’d need a police report for her insurance company. A keyed car would be so low on the Pasco cops’ priority list, she’d end up waiting forever—in her stupid high heels—for an officer to arrive.

With a muttered curse, she opened her cell, ready to call in Pasco’s finest, when the
Duh. JC’s already here
light flashed on. Surely, he would write up the report.

She returned to the mortuary visitation room. JC stood at one side, talking to an unhappy-looking Hispanic man. The older man turned when she approached, but JC didn’t even glance in her direction.

She waited at a discreet distance, shifting from one sore foot to the other, and listened to the detective’s questions and the man’s reluctant replies. Finally, it sounded like JC was finished. She stepped forward and touched his elbow. “When you have a minute, I need you outside.”

The Hispanic man nodded once and walked away. JC’s eyebrow twitched and his eyes turned a warm shade of brown. The corner of his mouth lifted toward a smile.

“My car,” she said pointedly.

The smile reached grin proportions. His dimples appeared in full glory.

She fought the urge to stamp her foot. He was misunderstanding her on purpose, just to watch her squirm. Which she refused to do.

“What are you, twelve?” She enunciated the words precisely, as if that would keep JC from turning them around on her. “Someone keyed my car. It’s sorta dark in the back corner of the parking lot, but you can still see it. I’d appreciate it if you’d write up the incident report.”

JC’s smile vanished. He wrapped his hand around her arm and guided her toward the door. She started to point out she could find the parking lot and her car all by herself, but the warm fingers distracted her. Little sparks kept jolting her brain and female parts, making her far too aware of his body during the trek across the lot.

“Should’ve known you’d drive a Beemer.”

JC’s comment shook her from her daze. It was his cop tone, not the guy voice. He released her arm and circled the car, inspecting the long scratches on the doors, fender, and hood.

“Who’ve you pissed off lately?” He folded his arms over his chest.

“Other than you?”

“Come on, Holly. I can think of at least one person. Your boyfriend looked unhappy earlier tonight, and I notice he isn’t out here with you now.”

“Why would you even go there? Like I would date some asshole who’d do this.”

“Passive aggressive. All he had to do was walk by the car and extend a hand.” JC waved his hand in a zigzag pattern that mimicked a cut in the Beemer’s fender. He turned and made a show of scanning the parking area. “People were wandering in and out of the visitation room, but somehow nobody noticed a pissed-off boyfriend.”

“One, he’s not my boyfriend. Two, he doesn’t have any reason to be pissed off, and three, his mother would give him an alibi anyway.”

“If I saw my girlfriend flirting with another guy, I wouldn’t put up with it. Not many men would.”

“I told you I’m not his girlfriend. And I
wasn’t
flirting with you.”

His face said,
Liar, liar.

Yeah, yeah, pants on fire. “There’s no way Alex would mess up my car.”

“What makes you so sure?” JC’s face turned expressionless. “He led you to a dead body. Keying a car would be a no-brainer.”

She forced her hands to stay still so she wouldn’t slap him. “You know damned well the dog found Marcy. If you’d do your job instead of—”

Using our personal connection to
—

She wasn’t giving JC any more ammunition in the weird war they were waging. “Never mind.”

He moved, and suddenly he was standing much too close to her. “What were you going to say?”

She retreated a step and smacked into the car. “Nothing. Just write up the report. I want to go home.”

He followed her and practically pinned her against the fender. “You can’t use our past to push me away forever.”

“This has nothing to do with our past. And I’m really not interested in discussing that right now.”

“I think you know something. About the car. Maybe about Marcy.”

She shoved a palm against JC’s chest, but that was as effective as budging five-o’clock traffic in downtown Seattle. “I don’t know anything about Marcy. And how could I possibly know who messed up my car? I was inside—helping you.”

Going to him had been a huge mistake. “Just forget it. Sorry I asked.”

She slid sideways, but his hand again locked around her arm. “Why would your boyfriend damage your car?”

“He didn’t. It was probably one of the guys who tagged that building.” She gestured at the graffiti-covered wall. “Let go of me.”

“Answer my question.”

She stared fixedly at his hand around her arm. “Or what? You’ll beat it out of me?”

He froze and she knew she’d landed a punch behind his armor.

He released her but didn’t move out of her way. His voice and expression were equally cool. “I have never hit a woman. Never. Or hurt a witness or a suspect. I thought you’d remembered at least that much about me.”

It had been a low blow. Guilt and regret painted a new blush over her cheeks. “JC,” she began.

“You came looking for me. Then you had to turn it into a battle of wills. If you don’t want my help, I’ll be happy to call the Pasco PD.”

She shouldn’t have said it. She’d lashed out because he kept pushing. “Look, I—”

He jerked his chin toward the car. “Trust me. Alex had something to do with this. Either directly or indirectly.”

Damn it, if he did, they were done for sure. She stared at the gouges on her car. “Why would he? Drawing attention to himself would be stupid if he has something to hide. Not that he does.” She pulled in a deep breath. What a mess. “But everyone at the wake could see he was ticked I was talking to you.”

JC absorbed her reluctant admission. Mr. Efficient Police Officer, he stepped over to the mobile office in his car and whipped out the report, but it was obvious his already low opinion of Alex had slipped another notch.

She wasn’t far behind him on that score. Defending Alex was the right thing to do—JC had stepped over the line with the personal attack. Still, after Alex’s quasi-seduction attempt on Sunday, the yelling match at her office, and tonight’s non-encounter with Alejandro and his mother, she wondered why she hadn’t seen this unattractive side of Alex before.

JC handed her the signed report. He glared and used his stern, police officer voice. “From now on, stay out of my investigation.”

Her chin lifted and
Where do you get off telling me what to do?
nearly came out of her mouth. “You said Yessica’s information helped.”

Holly couldn’t resist adding, “And might I point out, she talked to
me
, not you. It looks to me like you need my help.”

A muscle flexed in his cheek. “I appreciate your help. But what if your car took a hit because of it?”

“Don’t be—”

“And what if
you’re
the next target?”