“No.” Jake held out his hand. “My name is Jake Del Vecchio. I promise I only need a few minutes of her time.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “It’s about one of the club’s employees.”
“Well, Ms. Xiong told me not to disturb her, but for you . . .” The woman dimpled up at him. “Let me check with her.” After murmuring into the phone, the receptionist pointed down a hallway and said, “Ms. Xiong’s office is the last door on your right.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” Jake smiled, touched the brim of his Stetson, and strode through the corridor and into an open doorway.
The Asian-American woman sitting behind a massive desk was on the phone, but she nodded Jake to a wingback chair as she concluded the call.
While she was occupied, Jake took the opportunity to study the manager. It was hard to gauge her age, but he’d put her in the late forties to early fifties range. The skin on her cheeks and forehead was smooth, but there were a few lines around her dark eyes. And some strands of silver in her short, shiny black hair.
Once the manager hung up the receiver, Jake rose, stepped forward, offered his hand, and said, “Ms. Xiong, my name is Jake Del Vecchio and I’m a private investigator.”
“Nice to meet you.” The woman’s handshake was firm, and when she nodded him back into his chair, her tone was businesslike. “The receptionist said you had a problem with one of our employees.”
“Not exactly.” Jake stretched out his long legs. There was no use beating around the bush. “I’m investigating the disappearance of one of your members, Gabriella Winston, and it’s come to my attention that she was having an affair with your golf pro.”
“I see.” The manager’s mouth tightened. “Mr. McGowan is no longer employed here.”
“Because he hasn’t shown up for work since Saturday?” Jake asked.
“I see you’re well informed.” Ms. Xiong raised a dark brow, evidently surprised at Jake’s statement. “But that is only one of the reasons.”
“And the other?”
“He also failed to show up for his monthly drug and alcohol screening on Monday.” Ms. Xiong tapped a red-tipped nail on her desktop.
“Are you at all concerned that something might have happened to McGowan?” Jake pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket.
“I sent his assistant to check on him.” Ms. Xiong crossed her arms. “He wasn’t at his apartment and his neighbor said there been no sign of him since Saturday night.”
“Did you report him missing?” Jake asked.
“I tried the emergency number on his application, but the woman who answered hung up on me.” Ms. Xiong’s lips twitched. “I suspect she was an old girlfriend, since he’s proven himself such a ladies’ man.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Mac lived over near the county seat, so I spoke to the sheriff’s department, not the Shadow Bend Police Department.” Ms. Xiong straightened a pile of folders on her desktop. “The deputy took my information, but my impression was that little would be done. As the officer pointed out, Mac is a grown man with a history of drug use and few community ties.”
“Did you know Gabriella Winston well?” Jake asked quickly, aware the manager’s patience was wearing thin. “I’ve been told she was friendly with Muffy Morgan. Is there anyone else here that you can think of who might have information about her habits or plans?”
“With the exception of Mac, Ms. Winston didn’t socialize with the help.” Ms. Xiong narrowed her dark brown eyes. “But my impression was of a very unhappy woman.”
“From my investigation, your impression seems to have been accurate.”
Ms. Xiong stood. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I have a meeting with the board in a few minutes. We need to discuss hiring a new golf pro.”
Jake rose to his feet and handed the manager his card. “If you hear from McGowan, please give me a call.”
“Certainly.” Ms. Xiong herded him into the hallway. “I’m sure you can find your own way out.” She gestured down the corridor. “Have a nice day.”
Jake exited the clubhouse, walked to his pickup, and slid behind the wheel. He stared out the windshield at the impossibly blue sky and considered his next step. He really should let Chief Kincaid know that Gabriella’s lover was also missing.
Jake wasn’t sure if, now that a ransom demand had been made, the chief still believed Elliot was behind his wife’s disappearance and faking everything else. But whatever Chief Kincaid felt, Winston had agreed that Jake could share whatever he found with the police, and it felt like the right thing to do.
Digging out his cell, Jake punched in the nonemergency number for the police department and, once Chief Kincaid was on the line, said, “I’ve got an update for you on the Winston case.”
“Did the kidnapper make contact regarding the drop-off spot for the money?”
“I spoke to Winston at approximately eight a.m. this morning, and he still hadn’t heard anything,” Jake reported. “But my investigation has turned up a couple of interesting leads. First, Gabriella was having an affair with a man named Donald ‘Mac’ McGowan. He’s the golf pro at the country club. He’s been involved with other female members and has a substance abuse problem.”
“I’ll send an officer to talk to him.” The chief’s voice was clipped.
“That’s the second interesting detail,” Jake said. “McGowan is missing, too.” He flipped open his notebook and read the chief the transcript of his conversation with the country club manager. He concluded, “Which makes me wonder if the golf pro is our kidnapper.”
“Or Elliot Winston caught McGowan in bed with his wife, killed them both, and made up this cock-and-bull story about her being abducted,” Chief Kincaid snapped, then added, “And before you say it, Winston could have paid someone to slip the ransom note under his door. Either he lucked out that you were there when it arrived, or he sent the accomplice a message without you noticing.”
“Then I take it the police are still investigating Gabriella’s disappearance as a murder,” Jake said slowly.
The chief’s theory was entirely possible. Winston could have sent a text while he was dishing out the chili or grabbing the beers from the fridge.
“I have the forensic team rechecking everything they got from the scene,” Chief Kincaid confirmed. Then, his tone a notch friendlier, he added, “I appreciate that you’re looking into the other angle. With vacations and the flu, the PD’s resources are even thinner than usual. It’s helpful that I can pick the most likely theory of the crime and concentrate on it.”
Jake blew out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was good that he and the chief could cooperate. Not every case would allow him that luxury. Still, it was nice starting his private investigator career out on the right foot with the local authorities.
“Next on my list of suspects is the animal rights guy that’s opposing the opening of Winston’s wildlife park,” Jake said. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find the man, would you?”
“Peregrine Pierce, president of the Animal Safety Alliance, has set up an office in Sparkville,” the chief drawled, then chuckled. “It’s at the intersection of Haven and Cyprus streets.”
“Thanks.” Jake ended the call, put his truck in gear, and headed for Sparkville.
Fifteen minutes later, Jake pulled his truck in front of a storefront with a faded sign reading: YOU PLUG ’EM, WE STUFF ’EM TAXIDERMY. A drooping banner that must have originally been covering the other sign read: ANIMAL SAFETY ALLIANCE.
Snickering, Jake exited his pickup, walked up to the door, and pushed it open.
A buzzer sounded and a few seconds later a voiced yelled, “Be right out.”
While he waited, Jake rested a hip against the counter. He inhaled and caught the faint sent of what smelled like vinegar. He sniffed again and realized the odor must be from the ta
xidermy’s pickling process. Probably acetic or formic acid.
Jake’s uncle had tried his hand at mounting the heads of his trophy bucks, but Aunt Sabina had quickly put the kibosh on her husband’s hobby when she saw, and smelled, all the chemicals involved. As a rancher’s wife, she was okay with the hunting, just not the preserving.
A few minutes later, a tall, thin man with slicked-back black hair, a hooded brow, and a beaklike nose rushed out from the back. Jake glanced at the yellow tennis shoes on his feet. This had to be Peregrine Pierce. All the man needed were feathers and wings to look like his namesake falcon.
His dark eyes were full of anticipation, and he said, “Are you here to volunteer?”
“Sorry, no. Are you Peregrine Pierce?”
“Yes. I’m the founder of the Animal Safety Alliance.”
Jake stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Jake Del Vecchio, a private investigator looking into the disappearance of Gabriella Winston.”
“Winston as in Elliot Winston, the sicko trying to cage wild creatures who deserve to be free?” Peregrine stepped away as if Jake were contagious.
“She’s his wife.” Jake stared at the guy. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“No.” Holding up his palms, Peregrine edged away. “I never met the woman.”
Jake followed until the guy was backed up against the rear wall, then leaned forward and said, “But you are protesting the opening of her husband’s wildlife park.”
“Yes.” Peregrine crossed his arms. “But that doesn’t mean I hurt his wife.”
“It doesn’t mean you didn’t, either.” Jake quirked a brow. “What better way to get revenge for all the suffering animals than to snatch the woman Winston loves?”
“I respect all life-forms,” Peregrine squawked. “You have no right to accuse me of anything.”
“Which I haven’t done.” Jake pursed his lips. “You flew to that conclusion.”
“Why else would you be here asking about a missing woman who is married to a man with whom I’m at war?” Peregrine demanded, jabbing a clawlike finger at Jake’s face.
“Just gathering information.” Jake’s tone was cool.
“Well, think about this.” Peregrine’s voice oozed contempt. “Maybe Mrs. Winston left on her own accord. Maybe she was tired of living with a man who had no respect for the freedom of others.”
“Something to consider,” Jake agreed. “When did she tell you that?”
“Saturday,” Peregrine said, then covered his mouth.
“I thought you said you never met her.” Jake narrowed his eyes.
“I called Saturday evening to talk to Elliot Winston, but he wasn’t home.” Peregrine swallowed. “I thought if I could sway Mrs. Winston to my point of view, she could talk Mr. Winston out of opening the park. But she told me she had already tried that and was damn tired of her husband ignoring her.” He hurriedly added, “We only talked for a few minutes.”
“The police can check the Winstons’ phone records,” Jake warned.
“Then you’ll see that I’m telling the truth,” Peregrine chirped. “Someone knocked while we were chatting, and Mrs. Winston hung up to answer the door.”
“When was that?” Jake asked.
“Around nine thirty.”
“Thank you for your time.” Jake nodded and left the building.
He sat in his truck and ran his hands through his hair. Had Peregrine Pierce heard Gabriella’s kidnapper arrive?
CHAPTER 16
My workbench, an old kitchen table that I’d rescued from the trash, held everything I needed to create a fantastic gift basket. As I organized my materials, I watched Dad charm a trio of middle-aged women seated at the soda fountain. They were eating our October special—apple cider ice cream tarts—and flirting with my father.
While some Shadow Benders felt my dad should still be in prison, the single ladies between forty-five and sixty-five were glad he was out and available to pursue. I’d noticed that whenever my father was behind the soda fountain, a lot more middle-aged women developed a taste for sundaes.
Contemplating the two baskets that I was working on, I tuned out the feminine voices vying for my dad’s attention. The baskets each appealed to a different demographic. The one on my left was aimed at encouraging a child’s imagination, while the one on my right was intended to inflame adult desires.
I examined the Halloween basket, the one for Clark Garrison’s tenth birthday party. The green treat pail that I had chosen to use for the container had a decal of a cartoonish zombie, and I had painted the boy’s name on the front below that sticker. The bucket’s lining was a child-size black T-shirt with ZOMBIE HUNTER printed on the front in red.
Clark’s mother had assured me that her son was a huge Walking Dead fan, but she wanted the basket to reflect the more innocent side of Halloween as well. Endeavoring to please her, I’d found lighthearted toys to tuck inside the pail. Zombie finger puppets, temporary tattoos, and, of course, gummy zombies.
Now I was ready to place my trademark—the one perfect book—in the center. Steve Mockus’s How to Speak Zombie had been the clear choice.
Happy with the Garrison basket, I turned my attention to the one for my friend Veronica Ksiazak. Ronni and her hot boyfriend, Fire Chief Cooper McCall, were spending the weekend in St. Louis.
At first it didn’t look as if there was much chemistry between them, but after a couple of months of dating, things were heating up. For the first time since I met her, Ronni was closing her bed-and-breakfast. And Coop had arranged for three days off work. Things were definitely getting more serious, and I wanted my basket to be the match that ultimately started the fire.
I studied my handiwork. It needed something to be truly amazing. Ronni had asked for flames and passion, so, which would sizzle more, a French maid’s costume or a pair of black thigh-high fishnets?
Already nestled in the folds of red satin lounge pants for Coop were a bottle of vanilla musk oil, a box of cream-center cocoa truffles, and a copy of Tantric Massage for Beginners.
Closing my eyes, I thought about the couple receiving the gift. A firefighter and a B & B owner. What else might appeal to them?
My deliberation was interrupted by the sound of Mariah Carey’s “Anytime You Need a Friend” playing. I snatched up my cell phone. Hoping Poppy and the chief hadn’t had a reversal of their ceasefire once I left the police station, I crossed my fingers and swept my thumb over the screen.
“I can never thank you enough for helping me talk to my dad.” Poppy’s voice sounded rough, like she’d had a good long cry. “How did you know exactly what I needed to happen?”
“You’ve been my best friend since kindergarten.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “How could I not know the tune that was in your heart? Even if you forgot the words, I knew the song you needed to sing.”
“That almost put me into a diabetic coma. Did you read that off some greeting card?” Poppy sniffed, then said, “But seriously, thanks. If you ever need me to do something like that . . .”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I warned. “However, right now, I’m good.”
We chatted a few more minutes, and as I hung up I noticed that the trio of women from the soda fountain was now in front of the candy case. They had their heads together and were pondering the selection.
When one of the threesome giggled, my father looked up from clearing the dirty dishes off the soda fountain counter and asked, “Can I help you ladies with anything?”
“No, Kern,” the ringleader answered. “We’re just admiring your nuts.”
There was a dead silence, then the women’s cheeks turned as red as the fake Halloween blood that I’d put in the zombie basket. Finally, among titters and snorts, Dad’s admirers waved their good-byes and fled. Glancing at my father, I saw that his ears were pink, but there was an amused expression
on his face. I smiled fondly and checked the time.
Shoot! According to the Ingraham schoolhouse regulator hanging on the wall behind the cash register, it was already a few minutes after two. Dad’s shift was over, and only one basket was completed.
Where had the hours gone? As if coming out of a fog, I gazed around. The store was spotless, the shelves were fully stocked, and Dad had set up the craft alcove for the sewing group. Thank goodness I wouldn’t have to wrestle the four long tables and the folding chairs out of the back. The only thing he’d forgotten to put out was the serger that the club president had dropped off earlier in the week, which would take me less than five minutes to retrieve from the storeroom.
Dad came over to where I was standing and said, “Unless you want me to stick around to help with the after-school crowd, I’m going to take off.”
“Thanks, Dad. Taryn is coming over after his last class to staff the teen lounge, so we’re all set.” I kissed his cheek, then teased, “Are you seeing Catherine again tonight? Or one of those other women?”
“What other ladies?” Dad wrinkled his brow. “Catherine’s making me dinner.” Red creeped up his neck and he explained, “As a thank-you for the other night.”
“Have fun.” I wondered if the fried chicken was all she was thanking him for. Wiggling my brows, I suggested, “You might want to bring her some flowers.”
“I’ve got it covered.” Dad winked back at me and strolled out the door.
Jesus arrived at two thirty. He performed a miracle worthy of his namesake on the electrical issue in the employee bathroom and departed twenty minutes later with a check and my thanks.
As the handyman left, I hastily popped the last bite of my boiled ham, cheese, and mustard on rye into my mouth and tucked Ronni’s and Coop’s baskets out of sight. I stationed myself behind the soda fountain a few seconds before a torrent of adolescents cascaded through the front door.
The kids who wanted ice cream crowded the counter while the others, led by Taryn, headed upstairs to the lounge. I had already set up the drink and snack bar, along with a portable cash register, so my clerk should have everything he needed until the kids departed for home around five.
Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My Page 15
