by Ginny Aiken
“Looks like you’re having more right now.”
“You could say that.” I drew in another deep breath and came to a decision. “Please don’t give me grief about my curiosity, okay? This isn’t the time for a joke or one of your snide jabs.”
He reached over, placed a finger under my chin, and turned my face to his. “Torture’s not my thing, Haley. You’re down right now, and I’ve never lashed out at someone who’s down. I may kid around, but I don’t hurt people.”
Why I decided to trust him, I’ll never know. “It’s about Tedd. She was at the Weikerts’ with the sleazoid doc the afternoon Darlene died. Would you believe it?”
“Interesting . . . but I don’t think I’d call Dr. Díaz a sleaze. Unorthodox maybe, but not shifty or crooked.”
“Even if it looks like someone poisoned Darlene’s HGH? He’s the one who sold her the serum, and he’s bought the lab where it’s made—with a loan from Darlene, no less.” “And you can convict the guy on that?”
“I haven’t convicted him. But he doesn’t answer questions, and I bump into him everywhere I turn.”
“He has legitimate business in Seattle.”
“He could have the illegitimate kind too.”
“Hypothetically, that’s true.”
“He was at Darlene’s house the day she died. I have to wonder if he didn’t give her a little extra nudge to hurry the end even more.”
“Someone gave her something that day. She was poisoned.” “Not in the usual way. She took in the arsenic over a period of time. At least, that’s what the pathologist who ran her toxicology screen told Lila.”
“And she told you? My, my. Aren’t we chummy these days?”
“She didn’t share privileged info, if that’s what you mean. Cissy asked for the extra tests on Darlene’s body, and Lila stopped by to give her the results when I was there.”
“For tea and crumpets, I presume.”
I blushed. “I had questions for Cissy.”
He chuckled. “I figured as much.”
“You promised you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“Okay, okay. You’re right, I did.” He drew his brows together. “Didn’t you say you were upset over Tedd? How do you connect the dots here? Other than she counseled Darlene.”
“I told you. She was at the house that day with Dr. Dope.”
“You don’t mess around, do you? What a thing to call the guy.”
“I could call him Killer, but you’d like that less.”
“Can you blame me? You’re not just jumping to conclusions, you’re taking flights of fuzzy faith and crash-landing on mounds of quicksand.”
“Okay. I could be wrong. But things don’t look so good for the doctor right now. And Tedd’s in the thick of it.”
“Because she knows the guy? Because of her visit?”
“She doesn’t just know the guy, Dutch. She nearly married him. And she rivals the NFL’s best defensive end when it comes to the doc.”
He let out a low whistle. “She dated Dr. Díaz? Then you have to take whatever she says with a mountain of salt.”
“Now you’re getting it. And there’s more: she never said a thing about their romance. She didn’t even tell me she knew the guy.”
“Why would she share her personal life?”
“Because she’s my friend.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m not sure about anything anymore. But I thought better of her. I trusted her.”
“And you don’t trust me—even after I saved your hide a couple of times.”
“It’s different. Tedd’s my shrink.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “So you do need a shrink. For real.”
“Don’t laugh. That’s serious. Only that little tale’s not for tonight.” I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Don’t you get it? I can’t stand to think she might have had something to do with Darlene’s death.”
He laced his fingers through mine. “That’s rough. I don’t blame you for being upset. Remember though. Tedd would need a pretty good reason to want Darlene dead. Does she?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know how far she’d go to protect Dr. Dope. His research is like his whole life.”
“She must have been a big part of that life at some time.”
“Not so long ago either. She says she broke up with him the week before Darlene died.”
“I hear your skepticism—again. Why?”
“Didn’t you see them at the Thai restaurant the other night? They were together. What if she lied and didn’t break up with him after all?”
“Why would she lie?”
“She might want to stay out of the cops’ radar.”
“It didn’t help her dodge yours.”
“But why wouldn’t she tell me about her engagement? Why didn’t she talk about the upcoming wedding? Why wouldn’t she say a thing about the breakup? Why wouldn’t she trust me?”
“Maybe it’s not about trust. Maybe it’s about the kind of person she is. You know, the private kind.”
“But she didn’t say a thing, not even when I told her about you—”
I bit down on my tongue. I couldn’t believe I’d said that, what I’d almost confessed to him.
Get a grip, Haley.
He narrowed his gaze but didn’t mention my slip. “So if not Tedd or Cissy, and if we put the doctor aside for a while, who do you think killed Darlene?”
I was still shaken by my slip. “Ah . . . well . . . um, maybe the sons. They have lots of dollar-sign motives. Neither one’s your usual bean counter, lawyer, trash collector, builder, or cook.”
“Aren’t they both independent?”
I hooted. “Darlene still had to spring for Tommy’s clothes, for goodness’ sake. And that’s after she forked over his trust fund a few years ago.”
“What about his car dealership?”
“Darlene footed that bill too.”
“Hmm . . .”
“Yeah, pal. Hmm to the max. And the day you saw me there, he got a call from someone who put the squeeze on him for money. It sounded like he’d been sure he’d inherit Darlene’s dough with Larry, had gone out and rung up a whopper tab somewhere but then had to face the music with his usual empty pockets.”
“Now I see where you’re going with this.”
“That’s not all. Larry’s another piece of work. He’s the ultimate techno-nerd with a thing for the newest, spiffiest hardware that comes down the pike. He blew his trust fund on electronics of the outrageous-price kind.”
“But if that’s the case, then he should be set. Techo-nerds are the modern-day silver barons. Why would he kill his mother?”
“Shows how much you know. Cissy told me he feels the equipment’s obsolete the minute he hauls it out of the store. He’s always ‘investing’ in that stuff, and he’d hit up Darlene every time he got the itch to upgrade.”
Dutch whistled. “Electronics don’t come cheap. There is a reason for his wired state, isn’t there? I mean, he does use it in a business, doesn’t he? Or are you saying he sponged off Darlene too?”
“No one’s sure what he does. He does have a home. The deed’s in his name. I checked—that’s easy to do.”
“Maybe Darlene bought that too.”
“Sure. Why not? But if both mooched off her so much, would they really want her gone? She never seems to have said no.”
“Maybe she finally did. They must have been desperate. Maybe they gambled for the whole inheritance . . . and then lost.”
“That’s why I have to check out their finances. And I have to look into Dr. Dope’s—sorry, Dr. Díaz’s—business. We only know that Tommy’s a mess and Larry’s just strange.”
“Never thought I’d see the day, but you know? I think you’re right. We have to nose around these guys’ businesses.” A shimmer of hope made me smile. “So you’re with me?”
He squeezed my hand. “You do make a funky kind of sense.”
I shot him a glare. “Wa
tch it, buster!” Then I faced the single largest obstacle. “Have any brainstorms on how to do it? I’m fresh out of snooping ideas.”
“Actually, I do. You remember Ron Richardson?”
“How can you even ask? It’s not as if I stumble over people’s dead daughters every day.”
“He’s got more connections than the California power grid.”
“I hope his don’t black out as much as California’s do.”
“Let’s give him a chance, okay?”
“Count me in.”
We made plans to meet with Ron as soon as the busy man could spare the time. Then Dutch stood and gave me a hand up, but he didn’t release my hand. When I gave him a curious look, I had to catch my breath.
His eyes glowed with . . . tenderness? I wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it touched me somewhere deep inside. His mouth curved in a gentle smile unlike any I’d ever seen on him.
And then he really did it. He pulled me closer, wrapped his arms around me, and cradled my head against his chest. What totally blew me away was my response. Instead of backing up, all my danger alerts firing, panic multiplying like termites in damp wood, I shocked myself and leaned into his warmth.
We stood there for long minutes. I welcomed the strength of his arms. I felt the rise and fall of his breath. I heard the steady beat of his heart.
“You’re something else, you know?” Dutch whispered.
“How? Like a mold and mildew plague?”
He gave me a squeeze. “No, more like a daring two-year-old.”
I pulled away as far as his iron-bar arms let me go. “That’s not nice, Merrill. I don’t do tantrums.”
Usually.
“It’s not about tantrums. You’re innocent and bold, and it just gets me.”
“So I’m naive and reckless?”
This time he treated me to a gentle shake. “Quit twisting my words, will ya? Let me pay you a compliment. You step out with a brand of courage most people can’t imagine. I get the feeling you’ll do whatever it takes to see justice done.”
“Chalk one up for the smart cookie! I could never stand to see a rotten slug get away with murder or theft or . . . whatever.”
“Yep. You’re a one-woman crusade, all right.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but if there’s something I can do, I have a responsibility to do it.”
“I don’t get that responsibility thing, but you wear your gutsy spirit on your sleeve. Sometimes I think you don’t know fear and have no clue what self-preservation means. I can’t decide whether to buy you a leash for your own sake or beg you to let me in on your secret for bravery.”
I shuddered. “Trust me, Dutch. I know fear better than most. I faced the worst humanity can dish out and, by the grace of God, lived. I do have a healthy sense of self-preservation. It’s just that I’ve come to realize I’m not in control. The best decision I ever made was to turn everything over to God.”
“So you use faith as a reason to indulge your snoopier side.”
That topic would keep for another time, so I jabbed a finger into his hard chest. “Face it, Builder Boy. You’re just jealous. I’ve been right way more times than you.”
“Let’s see how right you are this time.”
“Set up a date with Ron, and I’ll sniff out our perp.”
He chuckled. “Ron was pretty impressed with you. Let’s see how he feels about your dog-with-a-juicy-bone ways when he’s on the receiving end of your need to know.”
“I’m not going after him, so he’ll be fine. I only want him to help me figure out what’s the deal with all these people.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a feather at his next stunt. With a smile as wide as Puget Sound, Dutch leaned down and pressed a kiss onto my forehead. Then he let go, tapped the tip of my nose with a finger, and added, “Come on. I’m going to follow you home—to make sure you stay out of trouble.”
I went into warp drive: packed up, locked the office, flipped the alarm back on, hurried to my car, turned the key, threw it in gear, and drove home with the radio blaring into the night. I didn’t want to think about what had just happened.
I exhaled my relief when I parked in my driveway. But Dutch again shocked the socks off me. He parked on the street and ran to the driver-side door.
“What’s the deal?” I asked, my voice less shaky than I felt. “Don’t you have a home?”
He shrugged. “It’s a lonely place.”
I got out of the car and shot him a grin. “Get a dog.”
“Like you told Lila, huh?”
“Guilty as charged.” I went to the porch, my six-foot-plus shadow still attached. “And it worked. Rookie’s urgent toilet needs have put a dent in her cop shop obsession.”
He laughed loud and hard. “I can’t see the cover-model cop doing the poop-scoop thing.”
“That was Dr. Farrell’s exact prescription for her. Picking up your pet’s doggy doo puts life into perspective.”
When I opened the door, the sounds of Armageddon sucker punched me. Bella and Dad were going at it pretty good.
Dutch laid a hand on my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Beats me. They rarely see eye to eye, but they don’t usually fight. It sure sounds like they need a referee this time. Let’s go.”
We marched into the kitchen, from whence the verbal cannon fire sallied forth.
“How could you?” Bella bellowed.
“I forgot.” Dad’s voice rang louder than I remember ever hearing it. “It just slipped my mind.”
“That’s the thing, Hale. It’s not as if church board meetings pop up in the pumpkin patch. They happen every month. What’d you do instead?”
He frowned, rubbed his forehead, then shrugged. “I don’t think I did much of anything. How did you know I missed the meeting?”
Bella mimicked a phone to the ear. “Hello, Hale. It’s me, Bella Cahill. I’m the one who writes your church newspaper. Every month. Have for four years. No one’s ever told me I’m that easy to forget. Who d’you think puts the meeting schedule in that very same newspaper?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“No buts, then. I know when the meetings are supposed to happen, and I know when I see your bedroom light from across the street right around when you’re supposed to be Robber Ruling at the church that you missed the dumb meeting. Did you forget my new career? Did you forget who I am? Huh?”
I sputtered, then laughed.
“You, Bella?” Dad asked. “I couldn’t forget you no matter how hard I tried. If I tried.”
She preened. “Aw, Hale. How sweet.”
Dad gave a totally un-Dad snort. “You might be nutty, unpredictable, sassy, and a brazen imp, but the one thing you’re not is plain old sweet.”
Outrageous. I’d never heard Dad and Bella do this.
She whooped. “You sure know how to flatter a girl, you silver-tongued charmer you. How did your late wife put up with you all those years? Especially if that’s the kind of sweet nothings you whispered to her.”
“Different woman, different personality.”
Enough of the weirdness. “Hey! Time-out, guys. Dad, call the board members. Tell them you forgot, that aliens sucked your brain out, whatever. Bella, back in your corner. Better yet, go check on your beasts. Both of you, take a break, rest up, prepare your ammunition for the next fight.”
“We weren’t fighting.” Bella stuck her pugnacious chin out to the max. “Hale messed up, and I had to tell him.”
Dad snorted—again!
I glared. “It doesn’t matter if you call it break dancing to wails and howls courtesy of your cats. It’s late and I’m shot. I need peace, quiet, and sleep, so Bella, get back to the Balis, and Dad, go . . . ah . . . well, go do whatever you were doing before Hurricane Bella dervished in.”
The hurricane—a roly-poly vision in skintight black leggings and matching turtleneck top—doled out good-night hugs, then marched on home. Dad began his usual pat down, on the hunt for his re
ading glasses.
“Dad. Check your nose.”
His forgetfulness wasn’t funny anymore. Every time I came smack up against it, unease kinked my gut.
He pushed the half-moons up higher on the bridge of his nose, turned to leave the kitchen, paused, and said, “Good night, Haley. And you too, young man.”
“Dad! It’s Dutch, for goodness’ sake. You know, the builder in the paper for the slippery-slope house—”
“Give me a break!” Dutch griped. “That’s not all he knows me for. I’m sure you remember me, Reverend. I’m the guy Haley barfed on at the Stokers’ home.”
“I did not barf on you—”
“Oh.” Recognition brightened Dad’s eyes. “The one who rowed out to help with Haley’s diving instructor that one time. Well, good night, anyway.”
Once Dad had left, Dutch turned to me. “Is he all right?”
I shrugged. “You saw what I saw.”
“You might want to talk him into a checkup.”
“Dad’s not the talk-him-into-anything kind, but we’ll see.” I sighed. “I’d planned to call Doc Cowan to schedule an appointment not so long ago, but I just forgot. I can make the call, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk him into going.”
He chuckled. “If you get nowhere, just ask Bella. I’ll bet she gets whatever she wants from him. Did you see the sparks fly between them? Phew!”
“Yeah. Gunfire. It’s a miracle neither one’s full of holes.”
“Are you blind, deaf, dumb, and kidding me? That’s some hot and heavy chemistry between them.”
“Huh? Bella and Dad? Not in this lifetime.”
Not even the next.
Dutch made a megaphone of his hands. “Wee-ooh, wee-ooh! Earth to Haley. Wake up and smell the romance.”
I went into free fall. My whole world shifted. Dad and Bella? “That’s just too bizarre.”
Really, really scary.
“I don’t think it’s weird. But there’s lots of funny here.” His grin turned wicked. “Gotta love it, Farrell. Your future’s bright as . . . oh, let’s see. What would Wilmont’s favorite designer say?” He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Sure! Your future’s bright as halogen pot lights in the ceiling of life. Picture this: you and the reverend; Bella, your stepmom; and the Balis, stepcats.”
