Something Wicked (11 page)

T
he rain slashed against his office window as the wind rattled the panes and whooshed around the corners of the building. Hale looked up and checked the clock. He'd done the same thing every minute for the last ten. It was almost two o'clock.

As if she'd heard the thoughts crossing his mind, he heard voices in the outside mezzanine and knew Savannah had arrived. Pushing back from his desk, he rose to his feet and smoothed an imaginary tie, as he wore an open-throated gray shirt and darker gray Dockers, decent enough for the office but sturdy enough when he went to the construction sites.

He opened his office door and saw Ella just finishing with his sister-in-law. Savvy was saying, “I'd like to talk to you later, if that's all right.”

Ella's face was ashen; her eyes were huge. “All right.”

“You're scaring my employees,” Hale told her.

Savvy sent him a faint smile as she came his way. She wore black pants and a tan shirt, and he saw that she'd hung her black jacket on an empty peg. “I'm dripping water all over your floor,” she said.

“You and everybody else. It's unavoidable. Come on in.”

As a detective, she wasn't required to wear the regulation uniform that the deputies sported, which, she'd told him, suited her just fine, because interviewees in the course of her work found it less intimidating—at least until she said something that gave her job away, as she apparently had with Ella.

He held the door and watched her walk across the expanse of his office floor and ease herself into one of the two visitor's chairs. Circling the desk, he retook his chair. He knew she was here to ask more questions about the Donatella murders, but he couldn't help just staring at her. It boggled the mind that she was carrying his child. His and Kristina's.

“How's it going?” he asked her.

“Good. Dinner last night was just what the doctor ordered. Wonderful stuff. Thank you.”

He waved that away. “What did you and Kristina talk about?” Then he heard himself and said, “Never mind. That's not why you're here.”

“No, it's fine. We talked about the baby a little. It's getting close now. Could be any time, really, and I think Kristina's feeling . . .” She hesitated a moment, then said, “Scared. A little.”

Scared a lot
, he thought but said, “What about you?”

“Oh, I'm fine.” A shadow crossed her eyes.

“What?”

“I'm being treated like a leper at work. No, that's not quite right. More like an alien. It's difficult.”

That faint smile again. Hale examined her smooth cheeks, blue eyes, the auburn hair pulled upward into a messy bun of sorts that looked, well, sexy.
A woman in a uniform, so to speak. Who knew?

“What?” she asked, noticing his expression, which he realized had grown a bit wistful.

“I was just thinking about Kristina.” Wishing, once again, that she was more certain of herself, more in control, he thought.

“You're going to make great parents,” she said, and he wondered if the words sounded as hollow to her ears as they did to his. With that she flipped open the small notepad, which he hadn't noticed she was carrying, and detached the pen she'd clipped on to it.

She started asking him the same questions as another member of the Tillamook County Sheriff's Department had asked him months earlier, at the time of the murders. Then, he'd been so stunned by the Donatellas' deaths that he couldn't recall his answers as soon as they were uttered; he didn't know what he'd said. He'd felt like a blathering idiot.

But he sure recognized the same questions now: Where were you at the time of their deaths? What was the tenor of your working relationship? Were you aware of any enemies they might have had?

He answered that he'd been home the night the murders took place. The lawsuits had been at full boil at the time, and there were people mad at both the Bancrofts and the Donatellas, but he did not believe they were mad enough to actually
execute
Marcus and Chandra. Personally, he and Kristina had been good friends with them.

“When was the last time you saw them?” Savvy asked.

“I saw Marcus that day . . . the day they were killed,” he said soberly. “Chandra the Saturday before. The four of us had gotten together for dinner at our house to bond, I guess you could say. Not just because of the lawsuits, but seeing all those properties condemned . . . We were going through hell. Our engineer, Owen DeWitt, was practically drinking himself to death, and Marcus and I were trying to figure out what to do next. Kristina didn't even want to talk about it. She was sick about the Donatellas' house in particular. She loved it.”

“I remember her mentioning it,” Savvy said.

“Chandra felt the same. We were all . . . glum.”

“On that last day, the next Friday, when you saw Marcus?” she prompted.

“We all met at their house. It wasn't in immediate danger of structural problems. It still isn't, actually. But the owners had abandoned the surrounding houses, which we hadn't purchased from them yet, so it was a ghost town.”

“Who's ‘we?' ”

“Declan and I met with Marcus. We tried to come up with a plan, but nothing concrete was decided upon. When Declan and I left, Marcus was still at the house.”

Hale wasn't telling Savannah anything new, but she was writing notes to herself, and he supposed it always helped to have a fresh look.

“He didn't mention anything about meeting his wife there later that night?”

“No.” He gazed at her directly. “I understand you rousted a vagrant out of one of the homes yesterday.”

She seemed surprised by his information. “Did Detective Clausen call you?”

“Stone. He wanted to know if we had any information on what happened to Marcus's office girl, Hillary, and he told me that you and Clausen got some guy out of the Pemberton house before he could start a fire.”

“Do the Pembertons still own the house?”

“It reverted to Bancroft Development. The Pembertons sold it to us, and they stayed out of the lawsuit. The dune's been temporarily stabilized, and we're looking for a long-term solution for the houses that remain.” He lifted his shoulders. “We'll see.”

“You think that's a serious possibility?”

“Maybe. Hopefully.” He hesitated, then admitted, “It's a long shot.”

“Do you have an updated list of home owners that are suing you?” She moved around in her seat a bit and said, “Braxton Hicks contractions,” to Hale's questioning look. “They're going away now.”

He turned to the filing cabinets that lined the east wall. “There's a ton of paperwork here. You want a copy of something, Ella will get it for you. What did you say to her that shook her up, by the way?”

“I asked her about Hillary Enders after Detective Stone already had. She and Hillary are apparently friends, and Detective Stone is following up on that angle, but when I saw the name Blessert on her desk nameplate, I mentioned Hillary and said I wanted to talk to her after our meeting. I think she feels double-teamed.”

“Maybe it'll give her something else to think about and get her to stop overcaring,” he said dryly. He told her the story of the lavender umbrella, and Savvy, who'd seemed awfully tense, relaxed a bit. “Shouldn't you be giving this up soon?” he asked, nodding toward her protruding belly.

“That's the song everyone's singing,” she said, expelling a breath.

“Don't like being the alien?”

“I just want to make some progress on this investigation before I go on maternity leave.”

She was being so formal with him. So official. A far cry from the Savvy of last night, even. “What's going to happen after the baby's here?” he asked her. “Have you and Kristina talked about it? Because I haven't got a clue. Are you . . . just turning the baby over at the hospital? Or are you . . . breast-feeding?” he asked, feeling uncomfortable even asking, but hell, Kristina wasn't telling him anything and he had a right to know.

“We haven't talked about it,” she admitted, dropping eye contact. “I'm not sure what Kristina wants.”

“What do you want?”

“I'm not sure about that, either.” She looked up briefly, then back down at her notes. “What do you want?”

“I guess none of us have a clue.”

A long silence passed; neither of them seemed to know what to say. Eventually, Savvy drew a breath and said, “I think I'll look through those files now. . . .”

Hale showed her which drawers held the files that pertained to Bancroft Bluff, and then he left the office, feeling slightly disturbed. He was going to have to pin Kristina down and soon. She clearly wasn't going to come to him, so he was going to have to go to her.

He returned a few moments later with two bottles of water. Savvy had several files spread out on the small conference table in the corner and was examining the newest papers on the lawsuit. Technically, without a court order, the company didn't have to show her anything more than what they'd already given, but Bancroft Development had nothing to hide, and Hale wanted to find Marcus and Chandra's killer as much as anyone, and, well, Savvy was his sister-in-law and was pregnant with his baby.

“Thanks,” she said when he handed her the water.

“Think any of this is going to really help?” he asked, gesturing to the spread-out papers.

“I hope so.”

“You want those photocopies?”

“That would be great, actually.”

He walked to the door and called, “Sylvie?”

“She's on a break,” Ella said.

“I actually wanted you, anyway. Can you start on some photocopies for me?”

“Sure, Mr. St. Cloud.”

“Hale.” He gestured for her to enter the office, and when she spied Savannah, she stopped in the doorway. “It's the Bancroft Bluff files.”

“All of them?” She looked taken aback.

“Just these last few months' worth,” Savvy told her.

“Okay . . . ,” Ella replied.

“I understand you talked to Detective Stone today,” Savvy added.

“He wanted information on Hillary, too,” Ella said quickly. “I gave him her address.” Ella grabbed up the files that Savannah handed to her and scurried out.

“I am really scary,” Savannah said.

“You are,” Hale agreed lazily.

She suddenly smiled at him. Really smiled. His breath caught for a moment, and then there was a rap on his door. Hale opened it to find his grandfather standing just outside, leaning on an ebony-handled cane.

“What's going on?” he asked, stepping into the office. His white hair had lifted in tufts, and he looked surprisingly disheveled, not his usual immaculate self.

“Savannah's here, working the Donatella murders. I told you.”

Declan's bushy gray eyebrows slammed together. “You're about to have my great-grandson, miss. What in God's name are you doing investigating Hale?”

“I'm not really investigating Hale—” she started to say, but he cut her off.

“You should be making plans to have this baby. That's what you should be doing.” Declan shuffled around and looked out the door, asking querulously, “Where's Sylvie?” Then, “Oh ho!”

Hale took two steps to the door. He peered out to see what had captured his grandfather's attention just as his wife's voice demanded, “Where is everybody?”

Kristina was just cresting the top step and was in the process of folding up an umbrella and shrugging out of her coat. She added them to the clothes tree by the reception area and gazed expectantly at Hale.

“Ella's in the copy room, and Sylvie's on break. Savvy's here,” Hale said.

Kristina was marching toward his door, but his words caused her to stop short. “Here?”

“I told her she should quit this nonsense,” Declan declared. “Time to start thinking about the baby.”

Kristina headed forward again. As she entered the office and moved past Declan, who stood just inside the door, she demanded, “What nonsense?”

“My job,” Savannah said.

Hale waited until everyone was inside before closing the door. Declan worked his way to one of the visitor's chairs, and Kristina moved to the table where Savannah was closing the files that Ella hadn't taken to the copy room.

Hale was wondering what in the hell had brought his wife to Bancroft Development. Once upon a time Kristina might have been interested in what he did for a living, but those days were long gone. Now he had no idea what she did with her time, and he almost didn't want to ask.

“Your job?” Kristina repeated.

“Working the Donatella homicides,” Savvy said. “Getting some background.”

“Didn't you already do that? Has something happened?” Kristina quizzed.

“We've been through this already.” Declan waved a dismissive hand.

“And yet the killer hasn't been found,” Hale said mildly. “We want to do everything we can to help the Tillamook County Sheriff's Department catch them,” he said for his grandfather's benefit.

“I don't even want to talk about it,” Kristina said with a shudder. “We're having a baby. That's what we should concentrate on.”

“You are right, honey,” Declan agreed. “That's what's important. My great-grandson and my grandsons. That's what matters. That's what counts.”

“Grandson,” Hale reminded. “I'm your only one.”