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

by Ann Simas

  “I’m not sure I should now, since you’re apparently under intense scrutiny by Crime-Solver Andi.”

  Andi took no offense from the LT’s words, especially since they were accurate.

  Denise tilted up her wine glass, draining it. “I’m not afraid of her.”

  “You know what I mean, Denise.”

  “I promise not to torture her,” Andi said, amused.

  The LT studied her for fully half a minute. “Okay, but if I hear you got out of line at all, you and I are going rumble.”

  Andi crossed her heart to reinforce the promise.

  Minutes later, she and Denise were alone in the kitchen, with bodyguards nearby in the living room. “I’ve had a couple more conversations with Clem, and today I also spoke with the Deacons and Davis MacLeary.”

  “You do get around,” Denise said, her tone dry as she reached for the wine bottle. “Especially since Davis has been dead for over a month now.”

  “I should have said, I revisited his conversation with me when he passed through after his cremation.”

  Denise’s eyes flickered.

  Bingo. Andi uttered a silent apology to Clem and repeated his version of his first romantic encounter with Davis. “Care to tell your side of the story?”

  Denise drained her glass and refilled it.

  Andi thought about encouraging her to go slow on the vino, but the woman was under a lot of stress. She decided to mind her own business, at least as it pertained to Denise’s wine consumption.

  “I knew something had happened,” Denise said, her voice was tight with emotion. “The kids had gone to the grands’ house for a sleepover and Clem came home all hot and bothered.” Her fingertips played against the stem of her glass and her face took on a dreamy expression. “I don’t think the sex had ever been that good between us before. Even now, I think about it and I get….” She shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “Sorry. I know you don’t want to hear the intimate details of my love life.”

  That much was true, but Denise deserved to hear that her husband had felt the same way. “Clem told me it was the best sex of his life.”

  Denise’s eyes widened with surprise. “He actually said that?”

  “He did, and for what it’s worth, that and the fact that he loved you helped make up his mind about pursuing anything with Davis.” She didn’t bother to mention that he also may have considered it his sex swansong, since he’d already hired The Liquidator by then.

  “Not so with Davis, though.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Clem’s widow barked out a humorless laugh. “That idiot came around mooning after my husband several times, though I’m sure he didn’t think he was obvious about it. The day after our great night of sex?”

  Andi nodded.

  “Davis came over to return Clem’s phone. He said Clem had left it at their house the day before. I almost didn’t believe him, but then my husband was constantly misplacing that phone of his. Knowing now that he made it to the MacLeary bedroom twice that day, I’m not surprised.” She made a small snorting noise. “Clem once told me he never lied to me. I guess that’s true, if you don’t count the fact that he omitted giving me vital pieces of information. What an dope he was! He should have told me what happened. I wouldn’t have thought less of him for it.”

  Andi didn’t know how Denise could be so certain of that, but to each her own.

  “Not long after, Davis brought Helen with him and they begged us to give the swapper group another try. In retrospect, I realize that look of hunger in Helen’s eyes was for my husband, not hers.” She puffed her cheeks, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Davis came back one more time after that, hoping to convince us to do a foursome with him and Helen. The man was nothing if not a diehard.”

  “Clem forgot to mention that.”

  “I’m sure Clem forgot to mention a lot of things to you.”

  “If there’s one thing I know about your husband by now, it’s that he takes a circuitous route to get to where he’s going,” Andi agreed, her tone dry.

  “That’s my Clem.” Denise stared across the kitchen to where she’d hung some framed kids’ art. “I can’t get used to going to bed at night without him. And every morning I wake up reaching for him, but he’s not there. I pick up the phone to call him to ask his opinion on something or to tell him something cute one of the kids did.” She turned her head toward Andi. Tears pooled in her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “I miss him so damned much, Andi. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.” She choked on a sob. “I don’t know how I’m going to live without him.”

  Andi was stunned at the depth of Denise’s emotion. Aside from the time she’d been told her husband had put a contract on her life, the only other true emotion she’d shown was the moment when she’d learned her children’s lives could be in danger.

  Andi couldn’t pretend to know what the other woman was going through, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t offer some words of comfort. “You’ll always grieve for him, Denise, but you’ll tackle each day as it comes. If for no other reason, you’ll do it for your kids, and you’ll get through it.”

  “Unless I die tonight.”

  There was that. “The Liquidator will play hell getting at you.”

  “Maybe for the immediate future, but how long will EPD keep officers here? And how long will I be able to afford private security? If the killer wants me, he’ll get me eventually.”

  Andi searched for an appropriate rebuttal, but how did you counter what was probably the truth?

  . . .

  Denise sent Andi off with a packet that contained a preliminary report of the forensic accountant’s initial findings from combing through the books at Giustina Benz and Naylor. She’d also included a few other things she’d unearthed during the day in Clem’s home office while trying to keep her mind otherwise occupied from thoughts of being murdered.

  Andi drove home listening to the Sixties-on-Six station on Sirius/XM, hoping for a fifteen-minute respite from her Smokie problems. “My Boy Lollipop” got her off to a good start, but the moment she pulled into her parking space and turned off the ignition, Clem’s situation surfaced with the viciousness of an unexpected volcanic eruption.

  Dragging her feet like she was some kind of automaton, she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She half-dreaded the thought of an evening alone, but on the other hand, she didn’t relish having company, either. She got into her pajamas before exploring the fridge for possible dinner offerings. Two minutes of staring at the assorted, if sparse contents netted nothing that appealed to her. She slammed the door shut and stood in the middle of her kitchen, debating her options.

  Ignoring her hunger pangs, Andi spread a collection of printed materials out across the countertops and the dining table. All of it pertained to Clem Naylor and his stupid-ass plan to have his wife killed. Methodically, she reread every piece of paper, jotting down a new note here and there.

  It wasn’t until she came to her copy of the police report on the hit-and-run crash that she lurched to a metaphorical halt. At the bottom of the first page, a Post-It had been affixed over the witness names. The notation said wit #5 left b/f IV. Andi interpreted that to be witness number five left before being interviewed.

  She pulled off the Post-It and stared in shock at the names. Why had she not read all the way through the report before?

  Stunned by the implications of what she was seeing, she found herself frozen with indecisiveness. If Father Riley hadn’t mentioned that the hit-and-run didn’t seem like something a hitman would do, her mind might not now be traveling down that exact path.

  Reticle photos aside, she was faced with concrete proof that the contract on Denise and the hit-and-run shared a commonality. She had little choice but to accept the obvious and pursue the possibility that whoever wanted Denise dead was also after her.

  After several minutes, Andi shook off her mental stupor and picked up her phone. With a vague hope that she
could deter any interruptions or impromptu visits, she texted Jack and Father Riley that she planned to turn in early. No one else needed to be notified of her bogus plans. She’d seen her mom and sister the night before, her dad never called anyone in the evenings, and Dell, who made it a point not to make personal calls on the job, was working.

  Just in case Jack decided to come by anyway, she turned off all the lights before she snuggled under a blanket on the sofa. A niggle of guilt ate at her for her deception, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

  The room was illuminated by the gas fireplace, casting eerie shadows on the walls that seemed in keeping with her dark mood.

  The witness names on the police report played through her mind, repeating like one of those silly GIF graphic images so popular on Facebook these days. None of those names meant anything to her except for one.

  It was difficult, if not impossible, to deny that there was a connection, however vague, between her and Helen MacLeary.

  . . .

  Andi could barely read the face of the wall clock by firelight. Once the big hand had progressed to fifteen minutes past midnight, she unfurled from the safe haven of her blanket and headed for bed.

  She had intended her evening to be a silent, solitary vigil, awaiting word of Denise’s demise.

  For whatever reason, Denise, thank God, would live to see another day.

  Maybe Clem’s widow had called out to her guardian angel for help. Maybe the killer had taken a hike out of Edgerton, never to return. Maybe…enough of the maybes!

  Start worrying all over again tomorrow.

  Once in bed, Andi fell instantly asleep, but her subconscious dream state remained active for what was left of the night, painting scenarios that featured Clem and Denise, Seth and Marianne Deacon, and everyone else whose name she’d encountered since Clem had first spoken to her.

  By morning, she awoke more exhausted than when she’d crawled into bed. Feeling sluggish, out of sorts, and a little achy, she stepped into the shower, which helped revive her somewhat. A double-espresso latté from Starbucks perked her up a little more on the way to the police station. Once inside EPD at the reception window, she asked to speak to the officer who had written her crash report.

  “You’re in luck,” said the receptionist through the speaker in the bullet-proof enclosure, “he’s in the building, just getting ready to go out on his patrol shift.”

  Officer Stark appeared about five minutes later. “Hi, Andi. What can I do for you?”

  “I was curious about one of the witnesses whose name is included on the report you wrote up on my crash.”

  “Which one?”

  “Helen MacLeary. There was a Post-It over her name that said she hadn’t been interviewed yet. Why is that?”

  He reached for the report and scanned it, his eyebrows bunched together in thought. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. She said she’d come in and give a statement the next day. Hunh, I guess she never did that, did she? I’m sorry, Andi, I’m afraid I let it slide. I guess my thinking was that everyone else had corroborated each other’s accounts.” He handed the report back to her. “Do you know her?”

  “No, we’ve never met personally, but she’s indirectly embroiled in….” She faltered, wondering how much she could reveal to a patrol officer whose only involvement in the current situation was that he’d responded to both her crash and the call on the reticle photo plastered to her door.

  “Embroiled in what?” Officer Stark asked.

  “Andi! What are you doing here?”

  Andi swung around to face Stacy. Saved by Jack’s LT! “Stacy, hi. I was just looking at my crash report and I came across Helen MacLeary’s name as one of the witnesses. There was a note on it that said she hadn’t been interviewed yet and I was just asking Officer Stark if that had changed.”

  Stacy’s eyes flickered with understanding. “Has it?” she asked the patrol officer.

  “No, ma’am.”

  The LT sucked in her cheeks. “This may be related to a murder-for-hire case, so I’m going to assign follow-up to Detective Harmon. No need for you to pursue it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He redirected his gaze to Andi. “I’m sorry this got past me, Andi.”

  “It’s not a problem, honestly,” Andi said, glad Stacy had resisted the urge to lambaste the poor guy. She could tell by the LT’s expression she’d considered it.

  “Got a minute?” Stacy asked of Andi once the patrol officer had disappeared.

  “Sure.”

  The LT punched in her entry code and took Andi through to her office, were she closed the door for privacy. “Denise is still alive.”

  “So I gathered, since no one called to tell me otherwise last night, but I’m relieved to hear it confirmed.” Stacy shrugged out of her coat and hung it the rack affixed to the wall. “Our people will remain there for two more days. After that, my captain says I have to pull them.”

  “Two days. I’m guessing that will be enough time.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I don’t think it’s The Liquidator after her.”

  “You have some proof of that?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

  “Andi—”

  “I’m not going to go out looking for trouble, Stacy, and there’s nothing tangible I can give you as proof. It’s more like….”

  “Like a feeling you have?” The LT asked dryly.

  Andi shrugged. “Exactly.”

  “I don’t want you out in the field doing surveillance or shadowing possible killers like you did before.” She nodded toward the chairs facing her desk. “Have a seat and tell me what your thoughts are about Helen MacLeary.” She eased into the swivel chair on the other side.

  “I don’t have any thoughts that are coalescing at the moment, except that everyone is in agreement that the driver of the car that hit me was a man, so it wasn’t Helen MacLeary, but she’s related, however indirectly, to the Naylor case, so for me, it’s beyond happenstance that she shows up as a witness to my car crash.”

  “Okay, I can get from point A to point B on that, but what possible connection could there possibly be between Clem’s hired killer and Helen MacLeary?”

  “If I’m on the right track, and The Liquidator’s out of the picture now, maybe none, but I have to consider this from every angle.” Andi paused, debating the request she wanted to make. Before she could decide, Stacy went on.

  “It’s not inconceivable that, in a town the size of Edgerton, you’d know, or possibly recognize one of the people who witnessed your crash,” the LT said.

  “If I believed in coincidence, I’d agree with you.”

  Stacy’s eyebrows went up and she blew out a resigned sigh. “Therein lies the rub, doesn’t it?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” She hesitated again, then jumped in with both feet. “Look, would you agree to let me accompany Jack to the interview with Helen MacLeary?” She decided to withhold the fact that Jack’s response had been negatory when she’d asked him virtually the same question the day before.

  “Why would I okay something like that?” Stacy demanded.

  “Because, I’ve just spent hours reviewing every aspect of the information we’ve been gathering. If I’m there, I might pick up on something that Jack doesn’t. Something he might never get, since he’s not the one who’s been getting an earful from Clem and the Deacons, and belatedly, Davis MacLeary.”

  The LT pushed back in her chair and crossed her arms over her midriff. “Dammit, Andi. I hate it when you make sense.”

  Chapter 27

  Sitting in hercar outside the police station, Andi decided to call in sick. It wasn’t really a lie, because she did still feel achy and if she wasn’t mistaken, she had a fever.

  Brent wished her a speedy recovery and asked if there was anything he could do for her.

  Aside from helping her track down a killer, there wasn’t, so Andi thanked him and said she hoped to see him the follow
ing day.

  She had over two hours to herself before she met Jack at Helen MacLeary’s house. Given Stacy’s side of the conversation with him, he wasn’t at all happy that she’d be with him for the interview. He’d confirmed his displeasure a few minutes earlier by sending her a brief, snarky text.

  Next time, don’t go over my head when you want something. Be at 2910 Primrose at 10:30 sharp and keep your mouth shut.

  Andi immediately discerned that he’d texted instead of phoning because he was royally ticked off. Knowing Jack, he was probably afraid he’d say something he’d be sorry for later. She texted back what, in her mind, was a meek sorry, to which he immediately replied, you should be.

  He’d get over his anger eventually. Or at least, she hoped he would. In retrospect, she realized she should have asked him again if she could tag along. He might have said no initially, but she could have worn him down. It was a trait she’d learned from her mother. A trait her father called nattering and her mom called tenacity. Andi preferred to think of it as perseverance. Jack apparently considered it a character flaw, which resulted in her being a pain in the ass for him at times.

  Back at home, she reread all the paperwork she’d left out the night before. After that, she pulled out her journal and went to her computer to transcribe everything Clem, the Deacons, and Davis MacLeary had said to her, hoping that some heretofore ungleaned clue would jump out at her. She printed out the transcripts and used a yellow highlighter to mark a few things that might be more important than she’d originally considered.

  She set those aside and created another new document, calendaring all the texts, emails, and phone calls between The Liquidator and Clem. She included the communiqués that she’d initiated and the date Clem had hired the hitman, then printed that out, as well. She retrieved the document from the printer, grabbed the Smokie transcripts, and returned to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea.

  While the water boiled, she studied the communication timeline between Clem and the killer he’d hired. Once situated at the table, she used various colored highlighters to differentiate the texts, emails, and phone dates.