PENITENCE: An Andi Comstock Supernatural Mystery, Book 2 (95,893 words) (20 page)

Shit, Andi, I don’t know! If I was as smart as you think I am, I wouldn’t have put out a contract on my wife for reasons that didn’t exist, now would I?

Like any good spirit who liked having the last word, Clem and his quintessence disappeared.

“Well, hell’s bells,” she muttered.

“He’s gone?”

“Yeah, but get this. He remembered that The Liquidator was busy on February third and couldn’t make the hit that day. Dumb ass! That should have been
easy
to remember.”

Jack pushed up out of his chair and moved around the desk. He leaned against it and reached for her hand. “What made you scream for me?”

“He says the hitman told him he had another hit close by and it was someone Clem knew. Intimately. Something in the way he said made Clem think
he
was the target.”

“And I gather from your side of the conversation that Clem thinks the partners might have put a hit on him so they could do what they wanted with the business?”

“Clem’s nuts. There’s no way in hell Gus and Vince went on a hitman website and chose the same guy Clem chose to kill Denise to kill Clem. That’s bad enough to be the plot of a B-grade movie!”

“If it’s true,” Jack said, “it’s beyond coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Neither do I, at least as it pertains to crime.”

“If you’d been the one God selected to hear the dead speak, you wouldn’t have caveats.”

“You have a point there, sweetheart. Did he say anything else?”

“Nope, he told me he wasn’t as smart as I thought he was, and vanished without another word.”

“As per usual, huh?”

She nodded, grimacing.

Jack brushed his finger against her cheek. “Let’s split this place and go home for some fun.”

Andi’s girl parts tingled in anticipation. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Jack’s LT wa
s
more than a little irked when he called to tell her Clem’s latest revelation about February 3
not
being the day of the hit.

Since the call was on speaker, she asked Andi, “Besides that delayed tidbit, did he happen say anything that might be relevant?”

“He repeated that the hitman told him he had another job close by. This time, however, he said he thought he might have been the target.”

Stacy paused for a moment. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jack said. “This guy is all over the place.”

“Well, shit,” the LT said with obvious irritation. “I scheduled patrols accordingly and since I don’t know what the hell to believe from Clem, I’ll leave them in place.” She disconnected without saying goodbye.

Andi looked at Jack, who shrugged. “Only five days left until February eighth.”

He nodded. “Let’s put work aside for the rest of the evening, okay?”

Andi agreed. It would be easy to put off thoughts of Clem Naylor while she and Jack were making whoopee.

. . .

The next morning, Andi asked Denise to call Clem’s assistant and see if she could get a copy of his work calendar for the contract time period. She’d been relying on Clem to provide accurate alibi information, but he hadn’t proven himself at all reliable.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t considered his business calendar before. The upside was, by dishing out one red herring too many, whether intentional or not, he’d forced Andi to explore alternate routes of discovery.

At noon, Denise emailed a PDF document that Clem’s assistant had scanned of his February calendar. On the fourth, a Rotary luncheon and BB practice in the evening. She took that to mean basketball. On the fifth, Deacon dinner. Nothing on the sixth. Super Bowl party at Jim’s on the seventh. And on the eighth, lunch meeting with Front Street Properties and BB practice again in the evening.

She dialed Denise. “Got it, but need some translation. BB is basketball?”

“Yes, for Christian’s team.”

“You don’t go to the Rotary lunches, do you?”

“No.”

“What about the deacon dinner?”

“No, thank God. Talk about a bunch of stuffed shirts.”

“How about the Super Bowl game. Who is Jim?”

“Jim Hanson. He’s a childhood friend. They’ve been watching the Super Bowl together since they were kids.”

“And you don’t go?”

“God, no! I hate football.”

“Do you know anything about Front Street Properties?”

“Only that Clem was looking to sell them that old rundown shopping mall near the Interstate. They’re interested in razing it and putting up one of the new-style outdoor malls. They want to pattern it after the Woodburn Company Stores. Apparently, it’s Oregon’s number one tourist destination.” Her voice caught. “They came out for a look-see last October.”

“Did he ever say he was having any problems with them over it?”

“No, but then Clem usually didn’t go into the minute details of his business deals when he came home. He liked his family time and he managed to compartmentalize home and job pretty successfully. The only reason I know more about this deal is because Gus and Vince were opposed to it and I overheard him arguing with them on a conference call one Saturday afternoon when I came home from Christmas shopping.”

“So, it was in the works for at least two months.”

“Actually, since last summer, I think. He mentioned over Thanksgiving dinner to his dad that the deal was looking good. He said if they got the contract signed, and several big-name stores committed, they’d break ground right away and be open for business by next Christmas.”

“That sounds pretty aggressive for such a large project. I take it that didn’t happen.”

“Since it’s on his calendar, I guess not.” She made a sound of self-disgust. “I can’t believe I wasn’t paying more attention to that deal. It was so important to Clem.”

“Did you see anything else between now and Monday that you found odd?”

“Since you mention it, yes. The deacon dinner. Clem told me he was done with the deacons last time he went.”

“When was that?”

“Last summer.”

Andi mulled that over. “Any contacts you can make at the church to inquire about it?”

“Sure. I’ve known the church secretary since forever. She used to babysit me and she loves to gossip. I’ll see what I can find out.”

They said goodbye and Andi went back to work. She planned to give Bunnicula to Brent by end-of-day on Friday. In order to meet her schedule, she’d have to haul ass.

. . .

Andi’s phone rang just before five. It was Denise.

“I just talked to Clara. She’s the secretary at our church. She said there isn’t any deacon dinner scheduled for tomorrow night, and if there was, Clem wouldn’t be going because he’s not a deacon any longer.”

“Which agrees with what you told me. Do you have his iPhone handy?”

“In my hand. I’m pulling up his calendar now.” A minute later, she said, “Hmm.”

“Is that a good
hmm
, or a bad
hmm
?”

“Depends. His personal calendar also says Deacon dinner.”

Andi’s brain whirred with possibilities. “Is Deacon capitalized there, as well?”

“Yes.”

“Do know anyone with the last name of Deacon? Or do you know if Clem did?”

“No, I…wait a minute!” She dropped the phone and Andi could hear her shuffling papers, opening and closing drawers. “Got it!”

“Got what?”

“The church membership directory. Deacon, Seth and Marianne.”

“Do you know them?”

“Only in passing. We see them at church and occasionally at a social function. Once in a while, I run into Marianne at the hair salon. Their kids are much older, although I think one is still in college, so we don’t have a lot in common with them.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, God, Andi, how long is it going to take me to stop saying
we
and start saying
I
?”

“I wish I could tell you, Denise,” Andi said gently, “but I don’t know. They say time heals everything.” She felt foolish for the rather inane utterance, but she didn’t know how else to respond.

Denise laughed with no humor. “Guess I’m shit out of luck in the time department.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Andi shot back.

“You’d feel the same way if you were in my shoes.”

Andi almost told her about the reticle photo on her door, but held back. Denise didn’t need to know her troubles.

“You know, Andi, now that I think about it, this is really peculiar. Why would Clem be having dinner with the Deacons without telling me?”

“That I don’t know, but I’m going to do some research on them as soon as I get home. I’m headed there now. I’ll call you when and if I find something.”

After she hung up, she texted Jack and asked if he could do a CHC—criminal history check—on someone who might be related to the Naylor case.

Andi’s cupboards were almost bare and she couldn’t face another scrambled egg or bowl of cereal for dinner. She took a short detour and veered into a fast food drive-thru to pick up a hamburger, fries, and cookies on her way home.

While she waited at the window for her order, Jack’s reply came back,
sure.
She responded with the Deacons’ names and added
explain later
at the end of her message. Before she had a chance to hit
SEND,
the kid at the window handed over her soda and a sack. The impatient jerk behind her in his raised-body Tacoma honked immediately, earning Andi’s middle finger in response. He probably couldn’t see it, but it made her feel better. She inched ahead slowly, just to be perverse.

Back on the road, she munched on fries as she drove, which was why she didn’t have both hands on the steering wheel when the car behind her rammed the rear of her vehicle. The wheel jerked from Andi’s grasp and her VW Touareg went barreling off the side of the road, up over the curb, and into the brick face of the Wells Fargo Bank building.

The seatbelt tightened painfully against her chest and every airbag in the vehicle deployed. Dazed and knocked breathless, Andi couldn’t think for a moment. The airbags began to deflate instantly. Her breath returned, though it wasn’t anything nice and steady like she was used to. For a moment, she couldn’t even tell exactly where she hurt, or if she even did.

Traffic in the roadway came to a complete standstill. Drivers poured out of other vehicles, rushing to her aid. Some had their cell phones out, probably calling 911. Andi noticed it all peripherally, thankful that the airbags had shrunk, easing the pressure against her chest. She sucked in a deep breath, which seemed to rattle her lungs.

Someone wrenched open her door. “You need to get out,” the man shouted. “Your gas tank is leaking.”

Still shaken and slightly muzzy, she didn’t quite register his words.

“Lady, your gas tank ruptured. You need to get out of the vehicle.” He reached over her to undo the seatbelt. “Shit, stuck!”

“Anybody got a knife?” someone else yelled. “We need to cut the seatbelt.”

“Here,” another voice said.

The first man reached across her and a moment later, Andi felt herself being released from the restrictive constraint of the seatbelt.

“Be careful, she may have injuries,” another man said as two people helped her from her vehicle.

“Purse,” she managed to get out.

“Got it,” a woman’s voice assured her.

They moved Andi quickly away from the crash site and settled her on the lawn. She registered that the ground was damp, but at the moment, all she cared about was that she was alive.

“Thank you,” she said to the two men and one woman who had stopped to help her.

“Not a problem,” said the older gentleman. “I hear a siren now. The EMTs will get you fixed up in no time.”

The first emergency responder to arrive was a fire truck. Once the firefighters determined Andi was alive and not critically injured, they handed her over to the EMTs, who pulled up in the ambulance, and turned their focus on the gasoline leak.

The EMTs almost seemed baffled that Andi didn’t have any visible injuries. She wasn’t bleeding anywhere, had no visible bumps, and didn’t appear to have any broken bones. They asked her name and she gave it to them. “You should go to the ER for a more comprehensive exam, ma’am. You may have internal injuries that we can’t see.”

Andi could barely think straight, let alone make a decision about going or not going to the ER. She gave the EMT a puzzled look, trying to sort things out. In the distance, more sirens wailed their approach. Cops. She needed to tell the cops someone had hit her!

“It’s for your own well-being,” the other EMT went on, misinterpreting her silence for refusal. “Just because you’re not bleeding, doesn’t mean you’re not injured.”

Andi nodded her agreement. She wasn’t opposed to having a doctor check her over, even though she didn’t hurt, but she was still somewhat confused. Someone
had
hit her. “Okay, but can you call Jack Harmon? He’s a detective at EPD. Ask him to meet me at the hospital?”

A patrol officer leaned over the EMT’s shoulder. “I know him. I’ll get hold of him.”

Andi stared at her vehicle, still having difficulty comprehending everything that was going on. The Touareg wasn’t even a year old yet and now look at it. Still more than four years left to pay on the loan and it was completely smashed in, front and back. It looked like an over-sized accordion.

“Jesus, Andi! What the hell happened?”

She refocused her attention on the firefighter looming over her. “Dell?”

Her brother dropped down to his knees.

“You know her?” the EMT asked.

“Hell, yes. She’s my sister.”

The older gentleman who’d helped her put his hand on Dell’s shoulder. “Son, someone deliberately rammed the back of your sister’s vehicle. We all saw it. The other car deliberately ran her off the road and then it took off like a bat out of hell.”

Everything became crystal clear in that moment. The crash had not been just a little fender-bender attributable to a tail-gaiting driver’s inattention. Whoever had been driving the other car had hit her with enough force to crumple the entire rear end of her VW.

Someone had just tried to kill her.

. . .

Andi got a thorough going-over in the ER. She even saw some familiar faces, having been a patient there the day she’d brought down Sherry Hemmer’s killer.

The doctor sent her for X-rays and a CAT scan and afterward, he pushed and poked and prodded and listened and studied, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with her. “You may have a large bruise on your chest tomorrow from the seatbelt.” He had a slight frown on his face. “You can go ahead and get out of the gown and back into your clothes. Do you want some assistance from the nurse?”