by Alice Sharpe
“She just got married last weekend. One of those whirlwind courtships. She and her new husband started out on their honeymoon to Seattle right after the ceremony, but I guess they haven’t arrived yet. It’s a long drive. I suppose they decided to take a side trip or two.”
“It sounds as though you don’t approve of your mother’s spur-of-the-moment romance.”
She blinked a couple of times and looked down at her hands. “My mother allowed one man to just about ruin her life. Now she expects another man to salvage it.”
“And you don’t believe in love at first sight.”
She looked up at him, her eyes a summer blue, large in her small face. “No. Do you?”
He smiled. “No.”
“You have to solve your own problems. You have to rely on yourself,” she said. “Needing other people is tricky.”
As a philosophy of life, it sounded lonely.
“Okay, let’s get it over with,” she said with a deep breath. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
He folded his hands and adopted a serious expression, not hard to do since the topic was so grim. He said, “First, about your father—”
“Yes, my father,” she said, her face lighting up with an eagerness that touched him. “I want to know everything you can tell me about him. You said you were his partner. Tell me what he looked like, what he liked to do, start there, don’t start with his death.”
Matt Fields’s death had been exactly where Ryan had intended to start. Reining in the impulse to blurt out the worst, he said, “Let’s see. Your dad had graying brown hair and green eyes. About five-ten, 170 pounds. He was out of shape, didn’t take care of himself, especially toward…well, the last. He wore glasses to read. I’m not sure about his hobbies. He was private. He liked his work…”
Ryan’s voice trailed off. How well had he really known this woman’s father? A couple of months ago he would have answered that with a laugh; hell, a cop gets to know his partner pretty damn well in four and a half years.
But he hadn’t really known the guy at all. He knew that now. He suddenly recalled something he’d learned just recently. “Your dad liked to play the piano. He did it for charities, you know, in one of those little ensembles that perform at homes for the elderly or the disabled. Him and a couple of other guys. Nothing formal. It came out in the investigation afterward.”
This seemed to please her. She smiled into her coffee cup.
“And, well, he adored your sister.”
“But he never mentioned me?” she said, pinning him with that clear, blue gaze.
For a split second, Ryan thought of lying. He could make up a story and make her feel better and who would ever know? But he reached across the table and patted her hand. “I’m afraid not.”
“I used to fantasize about him, you know?” she said. “Mom absolutely refused to talk about him, called him a cad, said she didn’t even know his name, used him as a cautionary tale for premarital sex as I grew up. But I created stories about him anyway, larger-than-life-type fantasies. He was always searching for me in these daydreams, I was always just one day away from being found. And all the time, he knew more or less exactly where I was and didn’t give a damn.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, please, don’t be sorry.” Looking him square in the eye, she said, “Tell me how he died.”
At last. Ryan took a deep breath and met her gaze. “A couple of months ago there was a fire. The woman trapped in the house was an invalid. Your dad—”
“The woman lived?”
“Yes. Your dad—”
“My father died a hero? This is what you’ve been wanting to tell me? That’s wonderful. Oh, you know what I mean, not that he died, but that he died trying to save someone. Still, I imagine his unexpected death made Katie crazy.”
He couldn’t let her go on this way. He said, “No, Tess. Not a hero.” For a second Ryan flashed back to that terrible night. By the time he’d arrived, the woman had been in the ambulance, her small dog yapping endlessly in a neighbor’s arms. Matt was already dead; it was assumed he’d answered the fire call. That was before anyone realized he’d arrived before the call ever came.
“Ryan?”
“What I’m trying to tell you is that your dad shouldn’t have been in that house. It was outside our district. He didn’t know the family.”
Tess looked puzzled. “Then how did he end up there?”
“Nobody knows for sure, but everyone suspects. He sent me off on a wild-goose chase. By the time I found out about the fire, he was dead. What you need to understand is that the fire investigator found an accelerant on scene. That means arson.”
He could tell she was beginning to sense the direc tion this talk was taking, and he hated himself for having to continue. He folded his hands together and pinned her with his gaze. “When a fire is purposely started, everybody involved gets investigated, and that includes the cops. Your dad died with huge gambling debts, Tess. I didn’t even know he gambled, let alone on that scale. He’d lost almost everything he owned. Once the newspapers caught wind of his involvement, other stuff started surfacing. Kickbacks, extortions, bookies. I didn’t know about any of it. I just thought he was a quiet guy. I didn’t know he was addicted or crooked.”
She stared at him with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze, tears blurring her lashes. “Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“You think my father started the fire?” She asked it as if she couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. “Why would he do something like that?”
“Someone must have hired him.”
“Who would hire a cop to burn down a house?”
“Someone who knew the cop was bent.”
“Such as?”
“In this case, the logical suspect is the widow’s stepson, a guy by the name of Nelson Lingford. A valuable art collection was mostly destroyed in the fire. Just a few paintings survived. If the insurance company can’t link this back to Nelson, they will have to pay up, and the widow will collect a good chunk of change. Since she’s relatively elderly, the money will go to Nelson.”
“But why wouldn’t he wait to inherit the collection itself?”
“Because it was about to be transferred to the museum to be assessed and catalogued. The widow was going to donate it—lock, stock and barrel. Once that had been completed, Nelson would have been out of luck. I don’t imagine anyone was supposed to know the fire was arson.”
“In other words, my father was supposed to make the fire look like an accident. So why not arrest this stepson?”
“There’s nothing linking him to the fire or your father. Look, Madeline Lingford’s late husband—Nelson’s father—was a longtime businessman in New Harbor. After he died, Nelson took over, but he doesn’t have his father’s scruples. Some of his dealings have teetered on the edge of the law. Let’s just say he’s made his share of enemies. From what I hear, a former friend of Nelson’s named Vince Desota lost his shirt on one of Nelson’s deals. Since it’s well known Nelson spent several evenings a week in residence at his stepmother’s house, speculation has it old Vince decided to instigate a little payback.”
“By destroying Nelson’s stepmother’s house?”
“And everything of value in the house, all of which would come to Nelson sooner or later, or so Vince probably thought. Like I said, it’s speculation.”
“So was Nelson Lingford at his stepmother’s house that night?”
“Nope. Begged off at the last minute to attend a concert. Interesting, huh?” He stared at her a second before continuing. “Tess, your father’s life was out of control. He apparently got caught in his own trap. They found receipts for a fuel can in his truck, the same kind found inside the house. They found a clerk down the coast who remembered him coming in and buying the damn thing. There was no fuel can at his apartment or in his truck or anywhere else except in that burned-out shell of a house. It was well known the widow was disabled and seldom left the place. A fi
re would kill her. Your dad would know that. I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else.”
“He tried to kill a woman?” Tess said, her eyes huge.
“I know it must come as a shock to you—”
“Oh, who cares about me? Poor Katie.”
At that moment, for Ryan, Tess Mays stopped being a novelty, stopped being a carbon copy of her sister and turned into an individual. He searched his mind for a few comforting words to offer and came up short. He couldn’t even reassure her about how Katie had taken it.
With a sigh he resolved to finish this. “That’s not the worst of it,” he mumbled at last, wishing the waitress would come back with the coffee and pour it over his head. He was suddenly freezing. Tess looked as though she was, too, and he fought an alarming desire to take her hands, to hold them close to his mouth and breath warm air on them.
“Tell me,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Just get it over with. My father—”
“It’s not about your father,” he said, interrupting. He took a deep breath. “It’s about your sister.”
“My God, what has she done?”
“It’s not like that,” he said quickly. He scanned the diner out of habit before lowering his voice and leaning over the table. “I don’t think her ‘accident’ was an accident,” he said with a knot in his throat. “I think someone purposely tried to run her down.”
Tess gasped softly. “What are you saying?”
“I think someone tried to kill her.”
Chapter Two
Tess ran her hands up and down her arms, aware for the first time that she wore a blouse so new there were probably tags still hanging down the back on the inside, attached to the label at the neck. She’d been in the process of dressing for work when the call from the Oregon police came. Dressing for work meant turtlenecks and lab coats. She didn’t know how she’d come to choose the red silk; no doubt it just happened to be the first thing her fingers came in contact with.
And now it draped her body in soft, vulnerable, fragile wisps, and she wished she’d chosen something substantial, something strong…like body armor.
At any rate here she was twelve hours later sitting in a diner with a stranger, learning things about her family—a family she hadn’t even known existed—that went from bad to startling and back again. The unmerciful overhead lights in the diner made the headache building behind her temples all the worse.
She got up abruptly, registering the startled look on Ryan Hill’s face as she did so. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. He’d been talking, but his words had morphed into Swahili. She knew she couldn’t sit still another moment. Digging in her shoulder bag—she’d left the duffel in her sister’s hospital room—she produced a ten-dollar bill and slapped it on the table, then hurried through the restaurant and out the door, pulling on her coat as she walked, aware that he was following, embarrassed to be acting like a drama queen, but doing so, anyway.
The night air was cold and wet and fresh, salty with the nearby sea, invigorating, just what she needed. She pulled her lightweight coat close about her body, shivering despite herself, head tilted down against the rain. It might be wetter than usual in San Francisco this year, but it wasn’t cold like this, the wind didn’t bite at you, the raindrops didn’t ricochet off the sidewalk and nip your skin.
Ryan Hill’s long-legged stride being twice hers, she’d known he’d catch up with her quickly if he wanted to. He didn’t grab her arm, for which she was grateful, just hunkered down and slowed his gait to match hers, staying right by her side. His presence was reassuring.
Eventually they reached the corner, and she had a decision to make. To the left lay the hospital and her sister, lost in a coma, unaware Tess had come to see if her existence could possibly be true. To the right lay the ocean, albeit some way off. She turned right, which meant she was walking more or less into the wind. Her hair whipped around her face and plastered her damp clothes against the front of her trembling body.
“You’re going to freeze to death,” Ryan finally said. “Hell, I’m going to freeze to death.”
“I know,” she said. And then after a few more steps, head still down, added, “Go on, talk.”
“Let me know if you can’t make sense of what I’m saying through my chattering teeth,” he said.
She smiled down at the glistening sidewalk. “Okay.”
“I was talking about your sister. How much did you hear me say?”
“Not much.”
“Then I’ll start over, but this time you’re getting the abbreviated version for obvious reasons.” He paused, she guessed to organize his thoughts, then proceeded. “Katie came to see me after Matt died. She thought the department was making him a scapegoat or maybe that he’d been framed. She was in complete denial, unwilling or unable to see the facts. Her dad couldn’t have done something so awful. He just wouldn’t. She was adamant.”
Tess’s lips twisted into a wry smile as her sister took on dimensions as a human being, evolving from an injured figure to a real live woman. She liked knowing this about Katie—that she was loyal and true. “Go on,” Tess said.
“I refused to help her,” Ryan said, his voice ragged. “I refused. My career was on the line. I was Matt’s partner and Matt was crooked, ergo, I was suspect, an internal investigation was probing into both of us. I think Matt sent me off chasing phantoms that night not only to get me out of the way but to make sure I had an alibi. Anyway, the department told me to stay far away from this case. The Lingfords are a prominent family in the community despite the rumors of shady dealings, and the D.A. is unwilling to point a finger in their direction until there’s proof. Vince Desota hasn’t made a single move to indicate guilt, but sooner or later—if he’s guilty—he’s bound to let something slip to someone, and the detective on this case has his ear close to the ground. Plus there are other people connected with the family. Or it could have been an attempted art heist, the fire a diversion that went awry. I told Katie to be patient and trust the system.”
He stopped talking as he touched her elbow and guided her around another corner. The wind hit with renewed ferocity, blowing open Tess’s coat, biting through the silk blouse. A hotel lobby opening to the street lay a few steps ahead. Ryan pushed open the door. She paused only a second before sidling past him.
The steamy heat of the lobby hit her with a bang. She stopped and took a deep breath.
“There’s a bar over in the corner,” he said, taking her elbow and steering her toward the lounge as he spoke. “We’ll get something hot to drink.”
He chose a small, round table and as she took off her wet coat, longing for a towel to pat dry her hair, he went to the bar and came back with two stemmed glass mugs of Irish coffee, the cream floating on top like melted clouds.
They both wrapped their hands around the hot glasses and breathed in the fragrant brew.
“What happened next?” she asked.
He picked up the conversation as though it hadn’t been interrupted for several minutes and said, “Your sister said she understood.”
“Just like that?” The thought flashed across Tess’s mind that Katie wouldn’t have given up that easily. Tess knew she wouldn’t have.
“Just like that. I was relieved. But when I tried to call her the next week, her number had been disconnected and there was no new listing. I went by her place and found that she’d moved out the week before. Ditto at the latest place she told me she’d been working, a lounge out at the city limits.”
“A lounge?”
“She tends bar. Hell, she does lots of different things. Your dad said she couldn’t make up her mind what she wanted.”
Tess sat there and tried to absorb this. She’d spent her entire life knowing exactly what she wanted to do. The idea that someone who looked just like her could be so different was startling.
“Anyway, they said she left their employ the same day she left her apartment. Still, there didn’t seem to be any cause for alarm. She’d just lost h
er dad in a terrible way, so I figured she needed to go off by herself for a while.”
Tess took a sip of whiskey-laced coffee, licked the cream off her upper lip and wrapped her hands back around the glass mug. The alcohol spread through her body, melting icy niches with heady warmth. “I don’t understand why you think you’re to blame for her accident. I mean, obviously she went away to think and then came back to New Harbor—”
“I should have known she gave in too easy. Katie was passionate about your father’s innocence.”
“Ryan, I’m still not understanding—”
“The investigating traffic officer didn’t like the scene of Katie’s accident. For one thing, there were no skid marks, for another the driver went up on the curb but missed a telephone pole he or she should have hit. Then there’s the fact that the driver got out of the van and didn’t run away until the dog walker yelled.”
Tess closed her eyes for a moment. The whiskey had moved to her head. She tried to imagine her sister walking down the sidewalk as a white van barreled toward her. Katie wouldn’t have just stood there waiting to be hit. She must have been distracted. Had she realized what was coming in the split second before metal hit skin and bone?
“I told you they checked her purse and found the letter your father left her but no identification. The traffic officer recognized Matt’s name on the letter. It took a few hours for someone to get ahold of me. By that time Katie was as you see her now, comatose, unreachable.”
Tess still wasn’t sure what Ryan was saying. Her expression must have betrayed her confusion because without waiting for her to think of the right question to ask, he added, “I think she’d been poking around. My guess is she came across something someone was hiding.”
“And so they tried to kill her?”
“Exactly. If I hadn’t fallen for the way she blew me off that day, if I hadn’t been worried about my own future and been so angry with Matt for betraying me and everything I thought he stood for, I might have been able to talk some real sense into her. I might have been able to prevent this.”
