A View to a Kill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “I’m sure they’re just doing their best to find out what happened.”

  “I get the feeling they think I’m lying, like I’m a suspect, not a witness. I cared for the girl. Looked after her. Took food over on occasion. Even if I wouldn’t have taken to her like I did, I’m no murderer.”

  Quinn knew why the police suspected Mrs. Healy. Several years earlier, a rumor had gone around town that Mrs. Healy’s husband had died under mysterious circumstances after a deadly fall from a tractor, one he’d operated so many times he could have done it blindfolded. His brother suspected foul play. Whether true or untrue, Mrs. Healy had her husband’s body cremated before his brother’s allegations could be proven.

  Standing before her now, Quinn couldn’t imagine the wrinkly-faced, curly-haired Mrs. Healy capable of such a thing. Except for one small infraction. There was something about the way her eyes continually scampered around when she talked, never settling on any one thing. It was as if she was only indulging in a conversation with Quinn in order to achieve a higher purpose, to mask a hidden agenda.

  But she wasn’t masking anything.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Can I come in?” Quinn asked.

  Bo held the screen door open with one hand, gripped a can of Mountain Dew in the other. “It’s nice to see you too.”

  Quinn ducked under his outstretched arm, entered the living room, checked out the sparse surroundings. In terms of furniture, Bo was a minimalist. One distressed leather set of couches in a manly shade of rusty brown and a single end table containing a simple, black lamp. No flat-screen TV. No state-of-the-art stereo. Not in this room, at least. What the room did have was books. Shelves brimming with them. Hemingway, Doyle, Fleming. Most of the greats were there, all lined side by side according to the last name of the author.

  In high school, she thought Bo was just a highly organized person. Now she knew better. He had organizational OCD. A need for perfect symmetry.

  Quinn ran a finger across a few of the book jackets, wondered what he’d do if she pulled one out then put it back in a different section. She decided it wasn’t polite and resisted the temptation. “No television?”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Not really. I never remember us watching TV when we dated.”

  “We didn’t. We found far more productive ways to spend our time.”

  He grinned, his eyes glazing over, not really focused on any one thing. He’d gone inside, become sucked into a distant memory. She could see it. It was easy to tell. And it made her curious as to which one.

  She wanted to say, “Where are you right now? What are you thinking?” But she couldn’t. Helping find Evie’s killer would require sacrifice, a clear head. She couldn’t allow a mess of emotions to get in the way.

  “My dad said you’re a sergeant or something. You’re working Evie’s case, right?”

  “I work in the detective division. You ever think of calling first?”

  “Do you?” she asked.

  “I don’t have your number.”

  “I don’t have yours either. Why don’t you give it to me? I’ll leave, drive down the road, call you, ask if it’s a good time, and if it is, I’ll drive back, and we can do this entire meet-and-greet thing one more time.”

  He shook his head. “Still a smart ass.”

  “And you’re still not good with surprises.”

  “I like to know when someone’s coming. Nothing wrong with asking for a heads up.”

  “I didn’t say there was. Anyway, you’ve stopped by to see me every day since I’ve been back. I don’t recall you calling ahead. Not once.”

  “You can’t compare me to you. You’re different. You don’t care about those kinds of things.”

  It was a poor excuse.

  Quinn reached into the pocket of her sweater, pulled out a pint jar, set it down on the end table. She looked at Bo, stuck a hand out. It felt a lot more awkward than she’d imagined on the way over, but it was too late to take the hand back now. She’d already committed, and there it was, dangling in front of him. Alone. Unshaken.

  Bo stared at the jar, then at the outstretched hand, his face a combination of uneasiness and confusion. “What are you doing?”

  “Shaking.”

  “On what?”

  “Our friendship,” she said.

  “Our friendship? That’s what we are now? Friends?”

  “I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you want?”

  The longer her hand went unaccepted, the weirder the moment became. She pulled back, and he instinctively reached out and grabbed it, not shaking the hand, but not letting it go either. Instead he flattened it, enveloping the hand between both of his own. “What are you doing, Quinn?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You come over here, give me a jar of strawberry jam, offer to be friends. This isn’t like you.”

  “My mom made the jam. You used to like it. It was your favorite.”

  “Still is, that’s not the point. You want something. And don’t bother denying it.”

  Her discomfort accelerated. Being forthright was much harder than she anticipated.

  “All right, fine. I want to know more about what happened to Evie—the things you know that you haven’t shared with the people in this town.”

  He released her hand. “Nice try, but I can’t talk to you about it.”

  “Oh, come on, Bo.”

  “I know it’s frustrating. You have to be patient, trust in the system. We know what we’re doing. I don’t want you any more involved than you have to be.”

  “Too late, I already am. I stopped by her house before I came here.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone there.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What does it matter?”

  “You saw the police tape on the door, right?”

  Quinn nodded.

  “Did you tamper with it?”

  “Did I tamper with it? Are you interrogating me now?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yes. Well, no. Not really.”

  “Which is it—yes or no?”

  “Whoever stuck the tape to the door did a terrible job. The way it was wrapped around the knob was sloppy. I had to move it in order to get inside.”

  Bo set the soda can down. “You should have left it alone.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I stuck it back up when I left.”

  “Did it occur to you we left the tape up for a reason?”

  “What reason? Several of Evie’s personal belongings were missing. Haven’t you gathered all the evidence you need?”

  “You don’t understand. We leave the tape up in order to tell if anyone has been there since we left. Sometimes a killer returns to the scene of the crime.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Several reasons. It allows them to relive the experience. Or because their own paranoia convinces them they left something behind—hair, prints, anything. So they go there to double check.”

  It was something she’d never considered. “I’m, sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “How did you get in?”

  Quinn dug into her front pocket, fished out a silver piece of metal, dangled it in front of him.

  “You have a key to her house?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Why did you go over there?”

  She sat down on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other. He sat in a chair next to her. “I’m looking for answers, just like you. Don’t ask me to leave it alone, Bo. I can’t. I need to know she didn’t die for nothing. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I do ... I mean, I want to. It’s just ... I can’t give you the answers you came here for, Quinn. Maybe one day, just not today.”

  She stood. “Then we’re done. There’s nothing more to say.”

  “Don’t leave. You just got here. I thought you wanted to be friends.”

  She reached the door, turned the knob, looked back. “I must have misunderstood the mean
ing of friendship. My mistake.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Nice to see you, Quinn. I was planning on calling you today.”

  The man rose from the chair he’d been sitting on, and this time when Quinn offered her hand to the second McCallister of the day, it wasn’t refused.

  “Good to see you too, Mr. McCallister. It’s been a long time.”

  “Harvey,” he winked. “And yes, far too long.”

  Harvey McCallister was Bo’s father. His midsection had plumped up a fair amount since the last time she saw him. He’d aged a great deal too. And considering the current shade of his skin, it was obvious he’d been spending some quality time somewhere far away from the often gelid air of Cody.

  He was dressed in a charcoal suit. Nothing flashy or fancy. Scuffed, unpolished shoes. A bulky, striped tie that hadn’t been trendy since the eighties. It wasn’t because he couldn’t afford it—he could afford just about anything. Aside from his practice, he’d inherited a vast amount of land from his own father, which he subdivided and sold. He just didn’t spend the money he made. Not much of it. He stashed it, choosing to invest, make money with money. And he had. But even with monetary security, he still maintained his business.

  “I was glad to see you’re still practicing,” Quinn said.

  “I’ve scaled back a fair amount. Only work three or four months out of the year now. I gave some thought to the idea of closing, but nothing will come of it. Work suits me. Always has, I suppose. I’m married to it. In a lot of ways, a job is like a wife, like that old Led Zeppelin song, ’I Can’t Quit You Baby.’”

  She was vaguely familiar with the band, but not the tune. She nodded anyway.

  “At any rate,” he continued, “I find playtime is a lot easier after a hard day’s work.”

  A lesson that had also been passed down from father to son. Work wasn’t just Bo’s job, it was his duty. Quinn had been raised a different way. Work and play weren’t just essential, they were equal partners.

  Aside from Bo, Harvey and his wife Aileen had three other children. All boys. All in their upper thirties. All except Bo, the baby of the family who’d come along almost a decade later. A welcome, but unexpected surprise.

  Harvey gestured to a pair of black, padded chairs aligned in front of the desk he was standing behind. “Have a seat. I figure you’re here so we can talk about Evie’s will, her wishes for Jacob.”

  “I’d like to talk about Jacob, but I also want to discuss something else.”

  “Excellent, I have an additional item to go over with you as well.”

  “Aside from Jacob?”

  He nodded. “Evie’s landscaping business. She left it to you.”

  Quinn tipped her head forward, laced her fingers together around the back of her neck. Evie’s business. She knew almost nothing about landscaping or lawn maintenance. Or running a business.

  “I take it she never mentioned her wishes about the business to you,” he said.

  “Not a word. To say I’m inexperienced would be a gross understatement.”

  “She has staff. I’m sure they can update you on everything. Then you’ll need to decide what you want to do.”

  “What do you mean? What are my options?”

  “Keep it or sell it,” he said.

  “She left it to me. It wouldn’t be right to let it go to someone else. I just ... why me?”

  Harvey reached inside a cream-colored folder on the right side of the desk, pulled out an envelope, handed it to Quinn. “I was asked to give this to you if anything ever happened to her. When she wrote it, she thought nothing would ever come of it. Most times, they never do.”

  Quinn stared at the plain white envelope, at her name written on the top in large, cursive letters in Evie’s handwriting. “Have you read it? Do you know what it says?”

  “It was sealed when she brought it to me. We did not discuss the contents. I tucked it away in her file, hoping I’d never have to hand it to you one day. She left one for Roman too. Shame.”

  “When was it written?”

  “Last year. Right after her divorce from Roman was finalized. She said she knew she wouldn’t ever marry again and wanted to make sure things were taken care of in the event of her ... well, if something ever happened to her.”

  “It’s all right. You can say it. If she died.”

  Quinn felt odd. Anxious. She wasn’t just stepping into Evie’s life, she was assuming it. Her job. Her son. Taking it over, molding and shaping them like they were her own. She folded the envelope in half, slipped it inside her purse. “Let’s talk about Jacob.”

  “All right. I hear he’s at Ruby’s today.”

  News traveled fast.

  “He is.”

  “Are you aware of Evie’s wishes for the boy?”

  She nodded. “Evie gave me a copy of the letter of consent when she wrote it. The letter stated if anything ever happened to both her and Roman, I’d been chosen as Jacob’s guardian.”

  “Is this something you want and are prepared to accept?”

  “I’d do anything for Evie, and for Jacob. I just never thought it would come to this. It’s one of those things you agree to, thinking it’s nothing but a formality. I’m trying to accept it, but it doesn’t seem real. Even now. It just doesn’t.”

  “The death of a loved one is a long process sometimes, Quinn. There’s no rush, or right way. No time limit on grieving. It requires patience. You’ll get through this in your own way, and in your own time.”

  What about Jacob? Would he? Would the child she was now tasked to raise be stunted somehow because of what he may have seen? She wanted more than anything to believe she possessed the ability to shelter him, to raise him happy and healthy.

  “What needs to happen before I’m granted custody?” she asked.

  He opened the top drawer of his desk, slid the folder in, closed it. “The process isn’t hard, and it shouldn’t take long. We’ll need to file a petition with the court stating your interest in becoming Jacob’s legal guardian. We’ll also present the letter of consent. The judge will take it all into consideration and then rule in the best interest of the child and approve the guardianship petition. I’ll stay in touch so you know how it’s going. In the meantime, what else can I do for you?”

  “I need some legal advice, and I wasn’t sure who to ask.”

  “Go on.”

  “Last week I left my husband, Marcus.”

  He raised a brow. He didn’t know.

  “Are you needing some time apart for a while? Are we talking legal separation, or is there more to it?”

  “It’s over between us,” she said. “And I don’t want to leave things open-ended, not even for a short time. I’d like to file for divorce.”

  Harvey leaned forward in his chair, tapped a finger on the edge of the desk. “Are you sure about this?”

  His concern was genuine, but that wasn’t all his face expressed. Hope. It wasn’t hard to fathom why. She’d spent a lot of time at Harvey’s when she was in high school. He’d given her advice, taught her how to shoot a bow at a circular target in his backyard. In ways, he’d been like a second father.

  “You’ve had a tough week,” he continued. “You sure you don’t need a moment to let it all settle in first?”

  “I don’t need a moment. I need my life back. And this is the first step. All I want now is to get out of the marriage. I’m just not sure how to do it.”

  “It’s easy to get the ball rolling. What concerns do you have?”

  “Marcus is also a lawyer. He works for a prestigious law firm famous for crushing anyone they go up against. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about what schemes he has planned.”

  “What is it you think he’ll do?”

  “Find a way to stop the divorce from happening, drag it out just to cause me pain, stop me from ever truly being released from him. I don’t want anything. He can have it all. I just want out.”

  “Have you told him the relationship is
over?” he asked.

  “I have.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He didn’t want to accept it at first. He didn’t take me seriously.”

  “And now?”

  “I honestly don’t know. He hasn’t spoken to me in several days. Not since I left.”

  He mulled it over, his eyes wandering. “Not to worry, Quinn. I have a friend, a fellow colleague I’ve worked with on occasion. He lives in Utah, so he’ll be able to represent you there. I’ll get in touch with him and arrange a meeting over the phone between the two of you.”

  Quinn stood, feeling relief from his words. “Thank you. I appreciate your help. I look back on some of the decisions I’ve made, and I can see the mistakes, things I’d do differently now.”

  He offered his hand again, said, “I have lived on this earth a lot longer than you, and let me tell you something—you’ll continue to make mistakes, even when you get to my age. There’s no need to beat yourself up over the past. Think of it this way—your past taught you a valuable lesson. Learn from it and move on. That’s what matters most. The person you are today. Right here, right now.”

  Quinn twisted the handle on the door then turned back. She knew what she wanted to ask. The same nagging question that had plagued her since she stepped foot in Harvey’s office, festering around inside her until it practically pushed itself out. “If you don’t mind me asking, why hasn’t Bo ever married?”

  Harvey let the question marinate a moment. He was stalling, trying to form not just any answer, but the right one. “You’re here now. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “I don’t think I can. After what happened between us, I feel like I don’t have the right.”

  “Why let your previous actions stop you from the opportunity to change things now?”

  “I almost didn’t come here today. I don’t know why. I guess I thought you and Aileen were aggravated with me.”

  Harvey walked over, squeezed Quinn’s hand. “We never understood what happened, and yes, we were hopeful things would work out between the two of you, but we were never angry. The break-up was hard on Bo, I’ll admit. He wouldn’t talk about it, and we didn’t push. We just let it be. We knew he’d eventually find his way.”