“Maybe you should’ve busted out and used sign language.” Laurie waved her hands in a lousy imitation of the hello gesture.
“Maybe if I’d used sign language in the first place, they’d have let me go home sooner,” Holly said. “The question that keeps running through my head is why? Marcy was so nice, and in so many ways, she’s just like us. She had a job, a family. She paid her bills. Went to church on Sunday.”
“I can’t imagine her mixed up in anything that could turn around and get her murdered.”
“Do you think maybe she stumbled into something? I saw this Aryan Nation guy out there who scared the crap out of me. The skinheads and the Mexican bandits grow dope around here. Maybe Marcy wandered into one of their ‘grows’ and they shot her.”
“Did you see any plants or signs someone was camping out?”
“There was a lot of trash—food wrappers and stuff.”
Laurie shook her head. “You probably found where people were fishing and too lazy to pack their trash out. And you know as well as I do that Marcy wouldn’t have been poking around out there.”
“I’m running out of possibilities. Could it have been someone else who screwed up? Someone she was involved with?”
Instead of brushing off the comment, Laurie pursed her lips, clearly thinking about it. “Marcy never talked about guys—anybody she was dating or guys in general. That’s not normal. Women talk about their men.”
Holly sidestepped the piles of poop the park geese had left on the paved path. The geese had ignored them when they didn’t offer food. “That bothered me, too. Friends talk about their love lives. Or lack of one.”
“I hate saying anything bad about Marcy, but it always felt like she was hiding something.”
Holly gave Laurie an incredulous look. “We all have things we don’t want to talk about. It doesn’t mean Marcy was doing anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just, at times, I wondered if she was seeing a married man.”
Her mouth fell open and she sputtered, “Really? Why’d you think that?”
Laurie shrugged. “Sometimes I got that happy, I-have-a-secret vibe from her.”
“A married man?”
“Sorry, it’s just a feeling. I guess that’s a sore subject for you, your dad and all.”
“Let’s don’t add my father to today’s disasters.” Holly waved a hand, dismissing the topic and the apology. “Did Marcy ever tell you where she got that diamond necklace?”
“I wondered if it was a gift. I don’t know how much Tim’s paying her, but it looked more expensive than any jewelry I can afford.”
A pair of seagulls swooped off the river. They hovered overhead, coarse voices screeching. Holly recoiled. Her hands flew out and covered her head. “Get away from me!”
Memory reran the scene from the clearing. The gulls. The body. The ravished face.
Holly’s whole body tightened. Adrenaline—and fear—spiked through her system. She yanked off her hat and swatted at the birds. “Go away.”
With a final cry of defiance, the gulls tilted their wings and headed upriver.
“Come on. They’re gone.” Laurie grabbed her arm and pulled.
Eyes averted from the river and the birds, Holly stumbled after her. They retreated to a bench where the trees protected them from the wind. “Sorry.”
“The hat dance was a riot, but what was that about?” Laurie pushed back Holly’s hair and lifted her chin. “Jeez, you’re shaking.”
Warmth crept up her cheeks. She swallowed the enormous lump in her throat. “I forgot there’d be seagulls here. Seeing Marcy’s body…those horrible birds. I’ll never be able to look at seagulls the same way.”
A shudder crawled across her shoulders and down her spine. She told Laurie about finding the body, ending with a quick description of Marcy’s face. “They ate her.”
“Oh my God. That’s horrible.” Laurie gave her a sympathetic hug. “I’d have totally freaked if I found her.”
“I pretty much did.” She looked at the concern in her friend’s eyes and again felt tears well.
Blinking back the tears, she concentrated on the residual foliage of the closest tree. The leaves danced in the breeze, shifting bands of color. By the time the first leaf floated away from the branch, she was fairly certain her voice would be level. “I keep hoping it’s a bad dream. That Marcy will show up, shouting, ‘Surprise!’”
“People our age are not supposed to die.” Laurie rubbed her chin. “It’s so weird that you and Alex found her. I mean, it’s spooky how connected you are. You and Alex knew Marcy. She worked for Tim. Tim’s your client.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “You sound like JC.”
“JC? You mean JC Dimitrak? I haven’t heard that name in a long time. What’s he got to do with anything?”
Holly rose and headed for the path. “On top of everything else in my screwed-up life, guess who’s the detective on the case?”
Laurie knew her too well. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. My. God. I know he’s a cop. But he was there? What did you do?”
“ ‘Awkward’ didn’t begin to describe it. I was already in shock. We found this horrible body and it was Marcy. Alex and I were being questioned by all these cops, and then JC showed up.”
She wanted to bang her head against the nearest tree. “All that crap from six years ago was like it happened six minutes ago. First words out of his mouth were a huge personal hit. Of course, Alex noticed. After that, he and JC did everything but pee on the ground, marking their territory.”
“Hmm.” Laurie lips curved in a three-pointed smile. “So is it pheromones or do you two still have things to resolve?”
Holly made a rude noise.
“What are you going to do about it?”
She jammed her hands in her pockets and blew out a frustrated breath. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“What would be the point? I’m going back to Seattle. Living there was never in the Life Rules According To JC Dimitrak.” She flashed a wry smile at her friend. “No offense. I know you like it here.”
Laurie was quiet for so long, Holly turned to stare at her. “What?”
“Is that really fair? You don’t know what JC’s like now.”
“Excuse me? We’re supposed to be talking about Marcy. Besides, whose side are you on?”
“Why does there have to be sides? Look, I know what JC did was despicable—”
“Ya think?”
Laurie ignored the sarcasm. “Did you ever consider maybe it wasn’t completely black and white?”
Holly gave a fallen limb a savage kick. “I was there. There were no shades of gray.”
“I’ve changed since college. You’ve changed. Why do you think he hasn’t? It sounds to me like you’re still attracted to each other. Why not see where it goes?”
They’d almost reached the parking lot before Holly heaved a long sigh and said, “JC and I want different things. Fundamentally different. He never accepted that I want a career, much less that my career is as important as what he does. I don’t see that changing.”
“He’s taken his lumps like the rest of us. Did you know he’s divorced?”
Part of her wanted to snark, Oh, the little woman at home, ironing his shirts and minding the babies didn’t work out? But the rest of her didn’t want to be immature. Laurie had a point. JC had lived his own life while she was gone. Holly didn’t know anything about him except he still made her knees weak and other parts melt. She shook her head, rejecting those thoughts.
“The marriage didn’t last long.”
Laurie had apparently interpreted her headshake as an answer to her question about JC’s divorce. Holly wasn’t interested in talking about JC and she sure wasn’t interested in discussing the woman he’d married mere months after they broke up. From the corner of her eye, she saw her friend studying her and wondered what was behind all the comments. “Now what?”
&nbs
p; Laurie turned away. “Well, if JC’s out of the picture, want to run across the river to Alex’s and let him feed us?”
“Not just no, but hell, no.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“His family will be there and after the day I’ve had, I don’t want to put up with his mother.”
“Too bad,” Laurie said. ”The boy can cook.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen with Alex. I thought we were just having fun, but can you believe he tried to use Marcy’s death as an excuse to jump into bed? Talk about bad timing.”
Laurie burst out laughing. “Gotta give him points for trying.”
“It did not earn him any points. It just made him pissier when JC showed up at my house to ask another million questions.”
“JC came by your house? I thought you meant he was at the game refuge, place, thing.”
“That wasn’t enough for him. He had to come take a few digs at my house.”
“That seems weird. Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor by not making you go to the police station.”
“If we’d gone to the station, it would’ve been more professional. Or official. Instead, there were some seriously strange vibes. He’d make a personal remark and then slam me with, Did you kill Marcy? It felt like…” Holly hesitated, wondering if she should say this, even to Laurie.
“Like what?”
“Revenge. That he’s treating me like a suspect so he can harass me. Coming by my house—he can’t actually believe I’d hurt Marcy.”
“JC’s playing it by the book, questioning anyone who was there. The cops can’t really think you were involved.”
“You should’ve heard the questions they asked. Seen the way they looked at Alex and me.”
“Huh.” A twitch of concern flitted across Laurie’s face.
“Seriously. With them looking at me as a suspect, I guess I better figure out what’s really going on.”
Chapter Six
MONDAY MORNING
Holly strode through the office building’s atrium. She glanced at the Stevens Ventures office as she passed it. She’d have to look at the place every time she entered or left Desert Accounting, one more reminder that Marcy was dead.
Juggling her briefcase, purse and a bag of Spudnuts, she crossed the lobby into Desert Accounting and made her way to the corner office she’d inherited along with her father’s traditional furniture and his role as the accounting practice rainmaker.
She dropped the Spudnut bag on the massive wooden desk as she passed it and licked maple nut glaze off her thumb. The desk divided the office in two. Behind the desk were her swivel chair, file cabinets, and a window overlooking the road, while visitor chairs stood on the side closest to the door.
Right now, she’d love to exchange all of it for her sleek modern desk in downtown Seattle.
She dipped into the greasy bag and fished out another puffed potato doughnut. She would miss the Spudnuts when she moved back to Seattle, though.
Her packed calendar and the mountain of file folders on the credenza beside the desk mocked her. Slouching into her chair, she chewed the pastry and studied the pile. The clients would understand if she rescheduled, but when could she squeeze them in?
She was supposed to bring in new business so her mother could sell the practice to a larger firm. Talk about a vicious cycle—success meant more work for everybody, including her.
Especially her.
Lately, her mother expected her to also manage the projects—and use the foot-in-the-door opportunity to up-sell more of their services.
Get with the program, the pragmatist in her head ordered. You have work to do.
Instead of opening a client folder, she drummed her fingers against the armrest and stared through the window at the traffic on Grandridge. Her brain was stuck in a disbelieving loop—Marcy was dead. Life was short and unpredictable.
Occasionally, another thought slipped in. Was she focusing hers on the right things?
And if she was being honest, at least with herself, she’d wasted more than a little time last night tossing and turning, trying not to think about JC.
Add the “I’m-a-suspect” angle and the loop was complete.
The desk phone rang.
She caught herself before automatically answering. News of her involvement had her cell and landline ringing nonstop. A reporter from the Tri-City Courier had called repeatedly—murders were big news, he’d said at one point. The stories were carrying his byline, he’d added, so she should talk only to him.
Translation—the coverage could get him noticed by a larger newspaper.
Marcy was not a package to sell for his personal promotion.
His article this morning had stated she and Alex were “Persons of Interest,” a.k.a. the prime suspects. That combination had earned him a place on her personal Do Not Call list. But between dodging the press, updating clients, and reassuring her friends, she hadn’t accomplished a thing this morning.
Instead of answering the phone, she closed the Spudnut bag, wiped her hands, and grabbed the uppermost folder on the pile. Silverstone Dairies. Ugh.
Her mother had to pass the frickin’ CPA exam and get licensed. When her father bailed on them, he’d screwed over his wife professionally as well as personally. Without Holly’s CPA license—if she hadn’t agreed to come back to Richland—her mother would’ve been forced to close the accounting practice.
Which meant Holly had to take crash courses in things like cow accounting.
She opened the file. For one long, rebellious moment she wondered if her mother was putting off taking the exam so Holly would have to stick around.
She stared at the spreadsheet, but the numbers and notes refused to tell their story. Her mind was stuck in the Marcy gear. She’d told Laurie she wanted to figure out why Marcy died, but she didn’t have a clue where to begin.
Her gaze drifted over the files and landed on the Steven Ventures folder. Tim Stevens. She should start her investigation by questioning Marcy’s boss. He’d know about her daily routine and whether there’d been any recent changes.
Holly picked up the phone.
“Where’re the Spudnuts?” JC asked.
Stifling a shriek, she dropped the phone. “Jeez. Don’t sneak up on me.”
Detective JC Dimitrak, who clearly wasn’t there to inquire about her feelings, ideas, or business success, leaned against the doorframe.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to take the Lord’s name in vain?” He ran a hand over his already smooth hair. “’Course, being that jumpy could be interpreted as feeling guilty.”
She gave him an Oh, please look, and didn’t dignify his commit with a response. Instead, she returned his assessing gaze with one of her own. His clean-shaven skin seemed tight, the strain around his eyes more pronounced than it had been the previous day. Whatever he normally did on the job, he wasn’t immune to the stress of brutal crime. She caught herself before she could feel sorry for him, but she did like him a little better for caring what happened to Marcy.
“Didn’t we do this already?” she asked.
“I’m being thorough.” JC stepped into her office like he owned the place.
“ ‘Bulldog’ is a better description.”
He picked up the bakery bag and inspected the contents. “Maple nut are my favorite.”
She thought about grabbing the bag away from him, just because he was JC. “You can have one,” she said grudgingly.
Much as she wanted Marcy’s killer caught, she didn’t have time for round two—or was it three?—with him that morning. “You thoroughly interrogated me yesterday. Today, you’re just being a pain.”
“Yesterday was my warm-up.” Without asking permission, JC claimed a seat in the visitor chair. He crossed an ankle over his knee, spreading out, taking up too much room. He popped a Spudnut in his mouth. A blissful expression crossed his face.
She scowled. “Don’t get too comfortable. You keep showing up h
ere”—and that reporter keeps implying I’m dirty—“and I won’t have a business left to run.”
She turned her back on him and selected the files she’d need for her meeting later that morning. She stacked them in the center of her desk. Flashing subliminal—I’m busy.
With a cool look over her shoulder, she reached for her briefcase. “You can’t possibly have more questions.”
“I always have questions.” His eyes gleamed. “The subject is what varies.”
She froze mid-reach and did a double-take. Last night he’d sorta played with the we-used-to-be-intimate card. Apparently, today it was going to be we’re-best-buds. She straightened, the briefcase clasped loosely in her hand. “I assume your subject is still Marcy.”
“Of course. And you hold the Most Helpful Witness slot.”
“I’m not your prime suspect anymore?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, like he really wanted to make a smartass remark. “I had to grill you yesterday. You found the body in the middle of a swamp, in the middle of nowhere.”
“Technically, the dog found the body. Since when is getting lost a crime?”
“You know I had to question everybody at the scene.”
“You did that already. So let me rephrase it for you. Why are you here?”
What was happening here? JC kept throwing off mixed signals, but hadn’t she made it infinitely clear she wasn’t interested in him?
Says who? Her inner teenager checked out the hunk sitting on the other side of the desk.
“Occasionally you have some useful insights,” he said.
“Newsflash. I worked about thirty acquisitions last year. People pay big bucks for my insights.”
“For corporate stuff.” His derisive tone said exactly what he thought of her job, which pissed her off all over again. He’d never made any effort to understand what she did or why she enjoyed the challenge. “Not exactly the same as police work,” he added.
For Love of Money Page 5
