Murder Likes It Hot

by Tracy Weber

  The woman—whose name was obviously Janice—shook her head. “I don’t think any of them have caught wind of that, at least not yet. Right now, they’re freaked out by Gabriel’s murder. That was enough to send some of them packing. If the rest learn there’s another PR disaster waiting in the wings, they’ll be gone too. Most of them are on their way out already.”

  Greg’s upper lip twitched. “Frankly, I’m not so sure I want to be associated with this debacle anymore either.”

  The balding man adjusted his glasses. “You’re overreacting. Even if our suspicions were correct, that crisis is history now. The killer fixed our drug problem.”

  Sam wrinkled his forehead. “Exactly what are you insinuating?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m flat-out saying it. No more Gabriel, no more drugs at the center. Gabriel’s murder proves he was involved.”

  “With something, yes,” Chuck replied. “But not necessarily drugs. I can think of at least one other reason Gabriel would have been cavorting late at night with an underage female.”

  Janice frowned. “You think he was sleeping with that girl the police arrested?”

  “Well, he was obviously doing something hinky with the kids. Why else did he meet with them on site after hours?”

  Janice leaned forward. “Meeting with clients after hours is a clear violation of the center’s policies. If you knew Gabriel was doing so, why didn’t you tell us about it before?”

  “Because I didn’t figure it out until now,” he replied. “But in hindsight, it’s obvious. Do the math.” He held up an index finger and counted off the points one by one. “One: Gabriel’s wife was constantly calling and dropping by the site, complaining because Gabriel was never home. Two: He was always the last person to leave. Three: He was killed on site. I don’t know what time he was shot, but it was obviously after closing. And four: He was waaaay too chummy with those kids. Didn’t anyone but me think that having pets in his office was weird? He was grooming those kids. We all should have seen it.”

  “Come on, Chuck. They were rats.” Greg wiped at his nostrils as if the mere thought of fur made his nose run. “He wasn’t exactly using puppies to lure toddlers off playgrounds.”

  The exchanges continued, but for the next few moments, I was immersed in my own thoughts. Could Chuck be right? When Rainbow saw Gabriel, his hair was wet and his shirt was unbuttoned. She’d assumed that he’d been upstairs showering, and she might have been right. But what if he hadn’t been alone? Gabriel had told me the first day we met: These kids are vulnerable, and it’s easy for people to take advantage of them. Had Gabriel fooled all of us? Had he fooled me?

  Sam’s voice brought me back. “I knew Gabriel for almost two decades. He was a good man. He would never have done anything inappropriate with a teenager.”

  “Your friendship with Gabriel blinded you,” the balding man replied. “At best, he had poor boundaries. At worst, he was a criminal who took advantage of the youth he was supposed to be helping. Maybe he peddled drugs to them; maybe he used them for sex. Hell, maybe he did both. How would we know? We gave that man way too much power. I warned you that we needed to hire an executive director to provide oversight. Putting one of the counselors in charge of operations was asking for trouble.”

  “What money would we have used to hire one?” Janice asked. “The capital improvements we made to the kitchen drained the reserve funds.”

  Chuck stood, as if being taller would give him more power. “What good would an expensive bureaucrat have been? Every penny diverted to ‘directing’ would have been a penny not spent helping those kids. Look, we’re all avoiding the important issue here. Gabriel is dead. The kids who depend on Teen Path HOME aren’t. Let the cops deal with what happened to Gabriel. And if we find out that someone is dealing drugs at the center, we should report it and let the cops deal with that, too. Our job is to serve those kids, and to do that, we need to reopen.”

  Sam gestured for him to sit down. “Chuck is right,” he said. “No more talk about Gabriel.” He turned to the balding man. “How much money do we have left in unallocated operating funds?”

  The balding man looked pointedly at me, then wrote a figure on a piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Our current financials are confidential. Don’t say the number out loud.”

  Sam took the paper from him, frowned at it, then handed it to Janice, who stood and walked it to Greg. After they’d all had the chance to see it, Sam spoke. “It’s low but not abysmal. Here’s my proposal: I’ll personally throw in another fifty thousand.”

  “That’s a great start,” the balding man said, “but—”

  Sam held up his palm. “I’m not done. We’ll hold off reopening until Monday, to give Cherie a chance to grieve and to allow the negative press to die down some. For the next two months, we’ll maintain reduced hours, say from eleven to five on weekdays.”

  “And after that?” Chuck asked.

  “After that, we’ll see. Janice can start canvassing for new donors. People are twitchy right now, but the news is fickle and memories are short. I’m betting that if we can get through the next couple of months, we’ll make it. If I’m wrong, well, we’ll deal with that then. In the meantime, those kids need us.”

  In the end, Sam made a motion to reopen Teen Path HOME the following Monday, as he’d suggested. Greg’s eyes were clouded and Chuck wasn’t happy about the reduced hours, but the motion passed unanimously.

  I felt simultaneously satisfied and frustrated. Satisfied because the kids I’d grown to care about would be receiving services again soon. Frustrated because Monday was six days away. If my theory about Rainbow’s stepfather being the killer didn’t pan out, Rainbow would spend six more days in juvenile detention before I could talk to anyone else at the center.

  Fortunately, I had a new theory. If Rainbow’s anonymous phone call hadn’t been a ruse, Jace wasn’t the only person involved in peddling illegal drugs at Teen Path HOME. He’d had an adult overseer. Every atom of my psyche resisted the idea that Gabriel was involved, but it was still a distinct possibility. If so, I might be out of luck. His killer could be an anonymous drug cartel member, already back over the border.

  But if he wasn’t …

  If Gabriel had been killed because he’d uncovered the drug operation, I had multiple possibilities. Jace, for example. Killing Gabriel with Rainbow’s gun would have been poetic justice. He’d get rid of a witness and implicate his “narc” of an ex-girlfriend at the same time.

  And how about Chuck? He was awfully eager to see Teen Path HOME reopen. Was that because he cared about the kids, because he wanted to prove that he deserved Gabriel’s job, or because he had an entirely different empire he wanted to resume building?

  Vonnie had found Gabriel’s body. She’d supposedly stumbled upon it when she opened Teen Path HOME the morning after his death. What if she’d known it was there all along? I’d assumed she was upset at Gabriel’s funeral because she was his mistress. What if it was because she felt guilty for pulling the trigger?

  There were dozens of other possibilities, of course. Anyone associated with Teen Path HOME could have been involved. The drug angle wasn’t my favorite theory so far, but it was one I could act on. The first step was convincing Dale and Martinez.

  twenty-one

  When I got home, I filled Dale and Michael in on everything I’d heard at the board meeting. Dale agreed that the drug angle was worth pursuing. And why not? He’d spent the entire day working on Rainbow’s case without discovering anything else promising. Martinez continued her strange silence on the subject of Rainbow’s stepfather and the lies he’d told about April’s reappearance. Each time Dale had asked her about April, she’d claimed ignorance, sticking with her out-of-my-jurisdiction mantra. Dale didn’t believe her, but he couldn’t get her to budge from her story.

  I wasn’t pleased.

  Neither w
as Michael. “If Martinez doesn’t get off her butt soon, I’m going to storm the juvenile detention center and break Rainbow out of there myself.”

  I pointed to Michael but spoke directly to Dale. “What he said.”

  Dale sighed. “Believe me, guys, I’m doing everything I can. I don’t want that kid locked up any more than you do. But be careful what you wish for.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Once she’s out of juvenile detention, where will she go? If your suspicions are correct—if Rainbow’s stepfather killed her mother, or if he even covered up her death—he may end up doing serious prison time of his own. She has no other family.”

  “What about the trust?” Michael asked.

  “That’s the good news,” Dale replied. “Rainbow has money. Not enough to make her rich, but enough to keep her housed for a few more years and pay college tuition.”

  “So she’s sixteen and she can support herself,” I said. “Can’t she get emancipated?”

  “Her grandparents wrapped that money up tight. She doesn’t get a dime unless she stays in school and maintains a GPA over 3.5. I met with the trust administrator today. He’s a stodgy old fart, about as flexible as the steel rod shoved up his fanny. Until Rainbow proves that she meets the scholastic requirements again, he won’t give her a cent. He even expects her to pay back the monthly stipends that creepy stepfather of hers embezzled after she ran away. Besides, Rainbow’s not ready to be on her own. She needs a responsible adult to guide her. Even if I can get her declared an emancipated minor, I don’t think I should.”

  “Which leaves what? The foster system?” I asked.

  Dale didn’t reply.

  “She’ll run away again, Dale. I know it.”

  Dale’s expression was grim. “I suspect you’re right.”

  I turned to face Michael. He stared at the table, studiously avoiding my gaze. Not a word passed between us, but Michael’s nonverbal communication was crystal. He was a good man. A solid man. Even a great man. But he didn’t know Rainbow. Neither did I, for that matter, and we were getting ready to start our own family. Our only spare bedroom was currently our office, and hopefully it would soon become a nursery. Housing Rainbow for a few weeks—even a few months—that we could do. But Rainbow needed stability, at least until she graduated from high school. How could we commit to raising a troubled teen for the next two years? Answer? We couldn’t.

  Fortunately, I had another idea.

  I nodded to let Michael know that I understood, then squared my shoulders with pretend confidence and faced Dale. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to convince Dharma that Rainbow belongs with the two of you on Orcas.”

  Dale’s expression remained impassive. “I’d been wondering how long it would take you to volunteer us.”

  “So you’ve thought about it?”

  He avoided the question. “I left behind a lucrative law practice to start over, you know. And I was happy. No stress; no responsibilities. Just me, the goats, and a whole lot of land out in the country. Then I met you and all hell broke loose. I ended up with Satan’s own Jack Russell Terrier and your mother’s herd of stubborn, unadoptable donkeys. Now you expect me to branch out into Dale’s Goats, Dharma’s Asses, and the Orcas Home for Wayward Teens?”

  I suppressed a grin. “Maybe you can call it D & D’s Happy Menagerie.”

  Dale’s white whiskers trembled, but not in ill humor. “You are exactly like your mother, you know. And that’s not always a good thing. Dharma’s been bugging me about Rainbow since that first night you told us about her.”

  The grin I’d been suppressing blossomed on Michael’s face. “So Dharma thinks Rainbow should live with you?”

  I knew why Michael was grinning. Generally speaking, what Dharma wanted, Dharma got. In this case, though, Dharma’s desires weren’t enough. If she and Dale were going to foster Rainbow, Dale needed to want it too.

  “What do you think, Dale?” I asked.

  “I think we’re too old.” He leaned back and laced his fingers together across his belly. “Before Rainbow would be allowed to stay with us, Dharma and I would have to get approved as foster parents. That would be a heck of a lot easier if we were twenty-five years younger and married. Second, Rainbow may not want to live out in the boonies with a couple of old farts like us.”

  “Buuuut … ” I drew out the word, hoping Dale would come up with an acceptable answer.

  He sighed. “But Dharma and I talked it over, and if Rainbow wants to live with us and the state will allow it—and those are two big ifs—we’ll take her in.” He shook his finger at me and smirked. “I’m warning you, though, this is the last orphaned anything I’m going to let you or your mother saddle me with. Rainbow told me all about those two rats you’ve got stashed at Michael’s pet store. Don’t even think about trying to unload them on me.”

  I considered pressing my luck, but I smiled and reached out my hand instead. “Deal.”

  I left our conversation feeling cautiously optimistic but still surprisingly uneasy. Even if Rainbow agreed to live with Dale—and frankly, I agreed with Dale that it might be a hard sell—the point would be moot unless we got her out of juvenile detention.

  I lay awake the rest of the night listening to Michael’s deep breathing, Bella’s soft snores, and Mouse’s rumbled purring from across the room. Michael left for the pet store the next morning at eight; Dale for the courthouse ten minutes later. I tried—unsuccessfully—to cover the purple-blue smudges under my eyes with concealer and burned a month’s worth of calories pacing a bald spot in the living room carpet. Bella paced beside me, as if we were practicing an odd form of indoor off-leash healing.

  At nine, I abandoned Dale’s mandate to leave Martinez alone and picked up the phone. My number must have flashed across her caller ID, because when she answered two rings later, her voice sounded resigned. “For goodness sake, Kate. Dale called a half hour ago and told me about the supposed drug dealer operating out of Teen Path HOME. I’ll look into it, but you need to give me more than thirty minutes.”

  “Great, but that’s not why I’m calling. Rainbow’s mother is dead.”

  Silence. Then, “I know that.”

  “You’re looking into the stepfather, right?”

  “I already told Dale—”

  Insomnia-fueled frustration made me irritable. “I know, I know. Not your jurisdiction.” I started pacing again. Bella ignored me, attention focused on devouring her chew. “How can you not get how important the timing of April’s death is? Dean claimed that he saw his wife two weeks ago. Why would he lie, unless he was covering up that he killed her?”

  I spoke faster, as if getting the words out quickly would make them more compelling. “And Dale told me there was evidence that April’s body had been moved, which means that she didn’t die a natural death.”

  “We don’t know that, Kate. The coroner—”

  I didn’t let her finish. “I get that April’s death and Gabriel’s murder aren’t necessarily connected, but can’t you at least look into it?” I paused, finally waiting for a response.

  “Are you finished yet?” Martinez asked. Her voice didn’t sound friendly.

  I waited a beat. “Yes.”

  “Good. Because if you’d let me get out a full sentence, you might actually learn something.”

  Oops.

  “Kate, I know I haven’t paid enough attention to your ideas in the past, but that’s not completely one-sided. You don’t listen to me either. Do you think I’m completely incompetent?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Good. Because I’m not. Contrary to what you seem to think, I’m actually pretty good at my job. I didn’t tell Dale anything yesterday afternoon because I didn’t want to tip my hand. Besides, I didn’t have anything definitive yet to tell him. I interrogated Rainbow’s stepfather until almost midni
ght last night before I got him to confess.”

  “Wait a minute. Dean confessed? To Gabriel’s murder or to his wife’s?”

  “Neither. To hiding the body. He knew all about that abandoned house. His wife usually stayed there when she took off.”

  “How did he know that?”

  “He figured it out from some drawing.”

  I’d been right. Rainbow’s art had revealed more about her life than she’d intended.

  Martinez continued. “The husband said April usually left home for a few days at a time. When she didn’t come back after a week this last time, he went to the house to drag her back himself. He broke inside and found his wife’s body slumped next to the fireplace, needle still stuck in her arm.”

  “Why hide the body?” I asked. “Why not call the police?”

  “The trust fund. He figured if he hid the body, he could milk the fund for another six months or a year. If Rainbow hadn’t been on the run and the developer hadn’t come by the drug house, he might have been right.”

  “Disgusting.”

  “Yep. But it’s far from the worst I’ve heard. And his story matches what the coroner found. Rainbow’s stepfather is no Prince Charming, but I don’t think he killed his wife. He for sure didn’t kill Gabriel.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “He has an alibi. Mister Wonderful was arrested on a drunk and disorderly the night of Gabriel’s death. He was locked in a Tacoma jail cell from eight p.m. that evening until noon the next day. Sorry, Kate. He’s not our killer.”

  My heart deflated. “I swear Rainbow isn’t the killer either.”

  Martinez sighed. “I hope you’re right. I like the kid too. But for now, the evidence disagrees. I’m still investigating Gabriel’s wife and I’ll look into the potential drug angle, but I’m not optimistic about either. If it makes you feel any better, you got Rainbow a great attorney and a jury will be sympathetic. The poor kid never stood much of a chance. The DA will be hungry to make a deal, so Dale will likely get her a light sentence. He might even be able to plead her down to manslaughter. She’ll get out in time to restart her life.”