Killer Run (9 page)

Michael squirmed in his chair and Adam nodded. “Well, yes, we acknowledge that the communication between us got a little lost. But we've talked to Michael, and he assures us that this lapse will not happen again.”

“Sandra dropped the ball. She said she had talked to you and sent you the packet months ago.” Michael finally looked up at us, his eyes bloodshot. His hand shook as he picked up his coffee cup. “I'm sorry. I trusted her.”

Darla fluttered next to me. “Oh, please, don't worry about that now. It's all water under the bridge. I'm sure maybe she thought she'd done her job.”

Yeah, blame the dead for all the problems. I couldn't help it, I was skeptical of Michael's claim. The only time I'd met the woman, she'd seemed on top of things, controlling, and in charge. If anyone had forgotten to send us the packet, I was sure it was the male partner of Promote Your Event. But I kept my mouth shut.

Adam continued, “So we're willing to give South Cove another shot with a race next year as long as you assure us that the rules will be followed.” He handed out three-inch notebooks, one for each of us. “I'd like you to study the sections on fund-raising and race enrollment practices. This way, every racer is in our system days before the walk happens and can get updates from the Society on upcoming events they may be interested in attending.”

Now I knew why they wanted only online registrations. It gave them a private mailing list for runners all over California. And I bet they didn't feel bad about selling their lists to companies who catered to the running crowd.

“So, that's it? We study the rules, promise to be good sponsors next year, and we're guaranteed an annual race?” I wanted to be clear on what they were offering. And we'd have to clear the pros and cons with the Business-to-Business group before we agreed to another race. Mary Sullivan would be able to quantify the additional business the race brought to the town.

“Almost. We want to make sure that the sponsor party isn't pulled together last-minute, like it was this year. We have a lot of prominent people who enjoy attending our race kickoffs who weren't even invited this year.” The other man leaned forward. “I hope that won't happen next year.”

Darla nodded, but I'd had enough. “Look, we didn't even know that we were supposed to set up an opening party. Remember? We didn't get the book until today. I'm sure your friends can understand missing out on one party in a year.”

“Miss Gardner, there's no need to be rude. We've apologized for the lack of communication, and Michael has assured us this won't be an issue going forward.” Adam glanced at the other man and he leaned back.

Now I got it. They'd brought Michael along to be their fall guy.
So sorry the dead girl screwed up your race. Just promise to be better next year.
I felt sorry for him. First, he lost his wife, and now these jerks were making him pander for his company's future. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before I responded. “We have the book, and we'll get back to you soon about dates for next year's race. I have to clear this with the business council and evaluate the advantages to the South Cove community. Is there anything else you wanted to say?”

Three heads shook across the table, and I realized our meeting was over. They'd tried to strong-arm us into feeling bad about the missteps for this year's race, but the only one I saw who got hurt was their list of possible customers who'd signed up the day of the race and weren't in their promotional machine now. They needed us, no matter what the notebook said.

“We'll be back in touch.” I didn't stand as I watched the three men load up their briefcases and leave the conference room. After I was sure they were in the parking lot, I turned toward Darla. She was staring at me like I'd grown a third head.

“Look, you did an amazing job with the race. I'm sorry they didn't say that.” I patted the notebook in front of me. “We need to look this over and see if we want to play by their rules for next year. Is it worth jumping through the Society's hoops to sponsor this race? Besides, Mary needs time to summarize the numbers for the town. Then we'll present our findings to the committee.”

“You'd walk away from sponsoring the Mission Walk? Even though our participation might help with the final decision from the historical commission?” Darla shook her head. “We need to support your wall.”

“Not if it means working with jerks like that.” I shook my head. “Can you believe they brought in the grieving widower to apologize for their screwup?”

“Classy, right?” Darla sipped her coffee. “But it does tell us one thing.”

I stood, my notebook in hand. “What's that?”

“Promote Your Event wasn't in the best shape as a company when Sandra was alive. Who knows what will happen to their business now that she's dead.”

I thought about Darla's statement as I drove in to Bakerstown to pick up paint. Knowing the part-time reporter's nose for a good scandal, I wondered how someone would find out about the health of a privately held company.

“Not your monkey, not your circus,” I muttered as I turned into Home Heaven's parking lot. I was pretty sure I could hear laughter coming from my conscience.

A
fter unloading the paint and supplies, I left them in my laundry room and headed upstairs to start clearing out the boxes and crap that had taken over the room I now called Project Guest Room.

I'd almost gotten all the boxes sorted into three piles: trash, give away, and attic. Glancing at the piles, I wondered if my attic pile was too large. I still had boxes from high school and from when I'd cleaned out my mother's house after her death seven years ago. I still hadn't heard from Greg, and it was beginning to worry me. Even on big cases, he tended to check in either by stopping by the house or by a quick text.

Instead of dealing with the pile, I sat on a step stool and pulled out my phone. I dialed Greg's cell, and it rang three times, then went to voice mail. “Hey, if you want to eat dinner together tonight, text me and I'll either grill something or drop something off at the station. I miss you.”

I put away the phone and concentrated on hauling the trash boxes down to the kitchen and out the back door to the garage. Typically, my garbage can was pretty empty most weeks, but I estimated I had enough trash and recycling to fill both of the ultra-large receptacles for a month or more. I set aside a few copies of the more recent magazines so I could drop them off at the police station. Last time I had to sit and wait for Greg, I'd read a copy of
Guns & Ammo
that was over ten years old. At least this way, some of the magazines wouldn't go to recycling unread.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I read the text aloud. “Fire up the grill, I'll be there around six.” Emma looked up at me from her kitchen bed and thumped her tail on the floor. “Yep, girl, we're having company tonight.”

I dug through the freezer for some sort of meat—anything—but I came up short. I glanced at the contents of the fridge for a side. I'd forgotten to stop at the grocery store in Bakerstown, and since I hadn't bought much last week, expecting to be off on our cruise, the pickings were sparse. I still had enough for a quick pasta salad, though. I set a pan on the stove to boil the pasta and another for boiled eggs and went back upstairs to bring down a load of giveaway boxes.

These I set on the other side of the garage. I'd drop them off at the Youth Ranch thrift store sometime next week. Halfway through that project, I started the eggs and took a break to fix a quick lunch. Opening a can of tuna, I heard a knock on the door. Emma ran to the door and sat at attention. I wiped my hands off and went to let my aunt in.

“What are you doing here? I figured you'd be visiting Josh.” I kissed my aunt on the cheek as she buzzed past me, bags in hand. The smell of fresh baked bread filled the room.

“They let him out.” Aunt Jackie unpacked the bags that were filled with groceries. Fresh vegetables were piled on the counter along with the bread and what looked like fresh seafood from the local fishmonger. There was also a packet that appeared to be New York strips. I bet she'd hit three to four different stores on the way home from Bakerstown.

“Uh-oh,” I started putting away the food, eyeing the wrapped package labeled
scallops
and then my opened can of tuna. “What happened that has you all shopping therapy crazed?”

Aunt Jackie took a can of seltzer water out of the fridge and settled into one of the kitchen chairs. She set her purse on the table and seemed to collapse into herself. Opening the can, she took a drink.

“You don't want a glass for that?” I'd never seen my aunt drink out of a can before, not even when we'd taken a lunch to the beach last week.

She stared at the can like it had just appeared in her hand. “I'm fine. I just can't believe they let Josh go home already.”

“He's been released?” I grabbed the celery and green onions out of the fridge and started chopping. “Can I make you a sandwich?”

She nodded. “I haven't eaten today. Put it on that seven-grain bread and slice a few peaches to go along.”

Should have known she'd have a menu planned around my offer. “So, tell me about Josh. When we visited, I thought they were trying to get his diabetes under control.”

“He doesn't have diabetes. He's just fine.” Aunt Jackie sighed. “Well, as fine as a massively obese man in his seventies can be.”

“Then why did they keep him?” I stirred mayonnaise and sour cream into the bowl with the tuna and chopped veggies. I grabbed a few thyme stems off one of my herb plants that lined the kitchen window and rinsed them, then pulled the leaves off and chopped them. Finally, I added a bit of salt and pepper and the salad was done.

“He kept telling them he felt weak. They did all kinds of tests, and when the results finally came back, he's healthy as a horse. Except for his weight.” Aunt Jackie reached down and stroked Emma's head. “I was so worried about him, and he was just being Josh.”

I finished up the plates and set them on the table. “So, why did he collapse on Saturday?”

Aunt Jackie stood and let Emma out the back door, then washed her hands in the sink. “The doctor said he probably was dehydrated. All of this and he just needed to drink the water the volunteers had been offering the entire walk.”

“Well, it's good that he's okay.” I took a bite of my sandwich and watched my aunt cut her sandwich into bite-size portions. “But that doesn't explain the shopping frenzy.”

Aunt Jackie leaned back into her chair. “I guess I was so worried about him that knowing he's okay, well, I just kept thinking about what could have happened.”

“You're upset that he's not sick?” I took another bite. “I bet he took that well.”

She took a bite of the sandwich and then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He doesn't know I'm upset. I dropped him off at his apartment, then went driving.”

“Sasha said you were visiting a doctor. What's going on with you?” I decided to push the issue, not sure if I really wanted the answer. “Is this about you?”

“Sasha should keep her mouth shut.” She focused on the sandwich. Finally, she pushed the half-eaten lunch aside. “Maybe I am a little worried about my own mortality.”

“Aunt Jackie, what's wrong?” My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest.

She held up a hand. “Calm down, dear. I've got a touch of arthritis. I'm just feeling my age I guess.”

“And Josh made you worry about the future.” I pushed her plate toward her. “Finish your lunch.”

“I'm too upset to eat.” My aunt looked around the room. “Why do you have boxes all over?”

“I'm redoing the guest room upstairs.” I put my hand on my aunt's. “Are you sure you're okay? There's not something you want to tell me?”

My aunt tossed most of her uneaten meal and then put her plate in the sink. “Thank you for lunch, dear. I'm perfectly fine. Thank you for listening to an old lady's worries.”

“We aren't done talking about this, you know.”

“Yes, dear, we are.” My aunt kissed me and disappeared to the front door. “Make sure you replace the curtains in that room, as well. They're hideous.”

I followed her to the door and watched as she drove away. She was such a strong woman, I worried she was hiding something more from me. But until she wanted to tell me, there wasn't anything I could do except worry.

I went back to clearing out the upstairs room. By three, I'd stripped the room bare, including getting rid of curtains that I had thought were kind of quaint. I looked around, happy with my progress for the day. Tomorrow I'd start the transformation.

Now I needed to get ready for date night. Greg would be here at six, and I wanted dinner ready to go in case he only had a short break. I could do this supportive-girlfriend thing. And I wouldn't even react to the cancelled vacation. On the outside.

When Greg showed up, he handed me a small bag as he came through the front door. He leaned down to wrestle with Emma, and I closed the door. “What's this?”

“Open it and find out.” Greg had Emma plastered against his chest and was rubbing her belly. He gave her a kiss on the head. “Who's a good girl?”

Emma barked and melted further into the belly rub. My dog was predictable and could be bought for very little attention. At least from her favorite guy, Greg. I went to the couch with my bag and sat. I could feel Greg's gaze on me as I pulled out the little blue box. My gut gripped, and for a second, fear slowed my movements. It was too soon for this, too soon for
that
question. Taking a deep breath, I flipped open the box and found a pair of dolphin earrings with what appeared to be diamonds in the middle. I felt my lips curve into a smile, and all of a sudden Greg was by my side.

“Do you like them?” He touched one of the silver earrings with a finger. “I had planned on giving them to you on board, you know, for that dress-up night?”

“They are beautiful.” I set the bag down and took out the earrings, putting them on and making sure the backs were securely fastened before I turned toward him. I held my hair away from my face and turned my head back and forth. “How do they look?”

“They would be better with that black dress you have with the slit up the leg.” He grinned. “Sorry about cancelling the cruise.”

“Your job is part of the package, big guy.” I leaned into him, smelling his cologne mixed with the scent I'd come to define as Greg. Irish Spring soap, a no-name shampoo, and, right now, a little bit of Emma slobber. “I knew things might come up. Like a murder.”

“Yeah, but seriously? Five days later, and we would have been gone and Bakerstown's sheriff would have taken lead. Sometimes I think my luck is nothing but bad.” He leaned against the back of the couch, bringing me with him.

“So, Sandra was murdered? You're sure?” I ran my hand over his button-down shirt, loving the feel of the pressed cotton over what I knew were rock-hard abs.

Greg chuckled. “I'm not that easy, you know.” He took my hand in his and held it still over his heart. “But you'll probably be reading about the whole thing in this week's paper if I know Darla, so yeah, Sandra was murdered. Doc Ames says she was hit by a vehicle, then her body dumped on the greenbelt. Thing is, I'm not sure the killer really wanted to hide her.”

I tipped my head upward, looking at his expression. “You think they wanted the body found?”

Greg nodded. “Of course that's only a theory, and right now, I'm the only one going down that path. The DA thinks her husband is just a bad planner. He'd have to be totally stupid to kill his wife then put her where he knew, what, a thousand people would be the next day?”

“We had six hundred sign up for the race, so with friends and family, about that.”

“Doesn't make any sense at all.” Greg rolled his shoulders, then looked at Emma. “Want to play ball for a while?”

“How much time do you have?” I sat up and Greg pulled me to my feet.

He put his arm around me, and we walked to the kitchen. “About two hours before I need to be back and going through all the security tape we have from Main Street. Of course, the mayor bought the cheaper system, so I have to look at each site one at a time. And it's not motion-activated, so it just films every minute of the day. I have ten files left, which means I'll be watching nothing else until Wednesday.”

I took out the scallops and the steaks. I seasoned the meat and put everything on a tray. “You go play with Emma, I've got dinner.”

“Looks good.” He kissed my neck. “You must have gone shopping.”

“Actually Aunt Jackie brought some stuff over after she took Josh home from the hospital. She's upset about his prognosis.” I waited for the water to boil, then added the pasta.

“Wait, is something really wrong with Josh?” Greg picked up the tray and held open the back door for me.

Following him out onto the deck, a pair of tongs in my hand, I opened the grill. “No. He's fine. She was just scared, and when she's scared, she shops.” I told him about my conversation with my aunt that afternoon as I let the grill heat.

Greg threw the ball for Emma, then stood watching her run. “Sometimes I just don't get women.”

I put my arms around him and squeezed. “You're not supposed to get us, just hold on for the ride.”

As I finished cooking dinner, I told him about my meeting with Darla and the Mission Society. “Apparently Michael is blaming the lack of communication on Sandra, and the society is supporting him. Honestly, I was surprised he was even at the meeting. I mean, there has to be stuff you need to do when your wife dies.”

“He's been at the station for interviews several times. Jack wants me to arrest him, but I know there's not enough evidence, not yet, at least.” Greg had stopped playing ball with Emma and now stood at the sink washing his hands. “I don't like rushing, and I've told him that.”

“Sasha says Michael was drinking shots at the winery Friday night after Sandra left. Do you have a time of death? That could exclude him if he was still sitting at the bar then.” I mixed the pasta with chopped vegetables, a little olive oil, and some balsamic vinegar, tossing the mixture together into a warm salad.

Greg tasted the dish, then sprinkled some salt and pepper over the mix and stirred. He tasted again before he answered. “Thanks for the tip. I mean, as a trained investigator I would never have thought of checking time of death against the murder suspect's alibi.”

“Fine, I get the point. Not my monkey.” I took the bowl and set it on the table and gave him a platter and tongs. “Go get the steak and let's get this dinner started. I'm starving.”

He kissed me on the forehead and headed outside. I finished setting the table as I thought about the way Sandra had died. And what the discovery site really said about the murderer. I was sure Greg was right. The killer had wanted Sandra to be found. And not only that, he or she had wanted Sandra found during the race.