The Return of the Fallen Angels Book Club (A Hollis Morgan Mystery 3)

by R. Franklin James

  “There may be another money motive. Brian wants us to make sure the trust isn’t fraudulent. I’m sure he plans on bringing this up with you.”

  “Who’s this ‘us’?”

  Hollis mentally kicked herself. “I have a couple of friends he knows.”

  He looked at her with skepticism. “Anything else?”

  “Are you aware that Frances Wallace’s first two husbands died? It appears from natural causes, but ….”

  It was Mosley’s turn to frown. “What law firm did you say you were with?”

  “Dodson Dodson and Doyle,” Hollis said. “The reason I’m here, Detective, is to find out if there’s anything you can tell me about Frances’ financial situation. I can’t subpoena her bank records, but I thought you might have.”

  “If I could, and I can’t, why would I share them with you?”

  “Because I’m an ace researcher, and I bet your departmental budget has been cut back and now you have few resources to do any deep research. And I would be willing to share anything I find with you—for instance, the name of Frances’ two former husbands.”

  Mosley chuckled. “How long have you known Faber? Word around the station is that he’s starting to date again.”

  Hollis paused at the switch in topics.

  “I’ve known John for a while.” Ignoring his question, she said, “So do we have an agreement?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you what I can. But I expect you to tell me any and everything you know that could influence this case.” He leaned in. “Faber, or no Faber, I will bring you up on obstructing justice and withholding information charges if you don’t.”

  Hollis bristled. She could feel a blush warming her cheeks. “You don’t have to warn me twice.”

  She handed him a sheet of paper with Frances’ information. It took all her restraint to keep from making a smart retort, but she needed Mosley to trust her.

  “Thank you, Ms. Morgan. Check back with me in a few days. We hope to have this wrapped up by then.” Mosley opened the door for her.

  Back in her office, Hollis tried to reach Shelby. No luck.

  Out of frustration she contacted the Sheriff’s office, and using the checklist from her friend, initiated the trespass action. The woman on the phone, who was clearly multitasking, eventually informed her that she could go forward and have the locks changed.

  A few minutes later, she briefed George on her progress. He wasn’t very encouraging.

  “There’s no backing out now,” George said. “She’s your client. You need help? Are you sure you’re ready to deal with domestic disputes?”

  “I won’t know until I try.” Hollis sighed. “Let me know if you think I’m missing a step, but it worries me that we can’t find her.”

  Her paralegal arranged for a locksmith.

  Hollis explained the situation to the locksmith and told him a process server would accompany him with the legal papers. Evidently used to such assignments, he seemed unfazed. He agreed to change the locks mid-morning on Monday, when it was less likely anyone would be home. Hollis should have her process server meet him there.

  Now she needed a process server.

  She called Mark. His law firm had a large real estate section. Attorneys usually had a list of reliable contractors, so hopefully he could refer her to someone.

  She left a message. “Mark, I need a huge favor. Give me a call back as soon as you can.”

  He rang back within a few minutes.

  Mark Haddon was a true friend. He had stood by her through the many dips and curves in the road to getting her life back. He’d helped her elimination as a murder suspect and saw her through her pardon. In return, Hollis had introduced him to Rena. Lately their contact had been infrequent because he was busy building a “legal eagle” reputation, and she was busy getting her career back on track. They hadn’t spoken since that evening when she’d convinced Rena to join her in finding Jeffrey’s killer.

  “Hey, Hollis, what’s going on?”

  After the social amenities and a brief explanation, she ended with, “And on top of it all, I’m missing my client. Mark, can you help me?”

  “Ugh. I hate evictions, so I know you’re in a tight spot.” He thought a moment. “Our firm keeps a process server on retainer. How about I contact her and give her your number?”

  She smiled. “I will be forever grateful. And a woman—that’s great. We’ve been giving contracts to non-traditional vendors to give everyone a chance. I’ll file the paperwork with the court. Our firm will reimburse you.”

  She gave him the locksmith details to pass on to the process server.

  “How are you and John doing? Rena tells me that you guys might be getting serious.”

  “Yeah, we’re doing real well. I’m not sure how you would define ‘serious,’ but we’re not seeing anyone else.”

  “For you, seeing anyone, let alone not seeing anyone else sounds serious. Let’s set up a lunch or dinner and catch up.”

  Hollis smiled at the confident tone in Mark’s voice. He was like a younger brother who was finally coming into his own. When she’d first met him he was an awkward, self-conscious and overly cautious associate attorney. Now he was a junior partner and on his way up the ladder in one of the largest law firms in the world.

  “How about next Friday for lunch? The door locks will have been changed by then and surely Shelby will have turned up.”

  “Great. No, wait, let me get back to you. I’m working on a corporate merger.”

  “Then it’s your treat.”

  Her next call was not as pleasurable.

  “Denise, have you heard from Shelby? She still hasn’t returned any of my calls.” Again, Hollis strove to keep the concern out of her voice. “I filed a missing persons report, but the police seem to think that Shelby may have gone off on her own.”

  She could hear a deep sigh on the other end.

  “I was praying that you would have good news. No one here knows where she might be.” Another deep sigh from Denise. “Hollis, do you think they have her in that house?”

  Hollis grimaced. “I really don’t know. Do you have any family members who can talk with Darol? Or, anyone who has a relationship with Joy or Sonny?”

  “Of course. It’s just that we don’t have anyone in Northern California. I suppose I could get one of the family members to fly up but ….” Her voice trailed off.

  Hollis cleared her throat. “I arranged to have the locks changed on Monday. If we need to, we’ll file a trespassing complaint. Meantime the agent will do a complete walk-through. If Shelby is there, he’ll know.”

  For some reason that possibility cheered Denise. Hollis began to think it was because someone was taking action—and responsibility. Or, closer to the truth, she was beginning to sense that they were all afraid of Darol.

  Denise said, “What exactly are you getting ready to do? I’ll pass the word on to the family.”

  Hollis explained the strategy and gave her the contact numbers for the locksmith and process server. She agreed to contact Denise as soon as she got word that the locks had been changed.

  Hollis was in a pensive mood, sitting and sipping a glass of white wine in John’s kitchen at his insistence she limit her role to that of guest. He moved about efficiently, if not hurriedly. He refused to disclose the menu, but she had a pretty good idea. He only had one complete meal in his cooking repertoire.

  For once she didn’t mind not being part of the process. She was tired. It had been a crazy week. If it took this much energy to carry just two cases, she was going to be drained in no time. This must be why some lawyers burned out so quickly.

  For the second time she offered to help with dinner.

  He rushed to rinse the salad greens. “No. I invited you to my place. I’m in control here.”

  Hollis put her chin in her hand and took another sip of white wine. “Er … okay. But just answer me this one question: why are steaks sitting in the microwave?”

  “They were stil
l partially frozen when I put them in the broiler.” He paused, and his shoulders slumped. “I didn’t take them out in time to thaw. I didn’t expect them to brown so fast, and they were really raw in the middle. So, I thought right before we were ready to eat I’d—”

  “Oh, I see.”

  She poured herself another glass of wine and smothered a smile.

  Twenty minutes later, dinner—although less than stellar—was edible. Once the steaks had finished cooking in the microwave, she’d showed John how to prepare microwaved baked potatoes. Either that or they weren’t going to eat that night.

  John shook his head. “How can a restaurant customer order a baked potato if it takes over an hour to cook? They’d be there forever.”

  “I think they bake their potatoes ahead of time and just keep them warm.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  Afterwards, as they sat on the couch, Hollis, curled up with her cup of green tea and his head in her lap, was tempted to tease him about dinner. But once she sensed his anxious mood, she held back.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I talked to Mosley.” He sat up. “And before you start to complain, it was for a completely different case. But … he told me about your visit.”

  Hollis pushed away. “It didn’t involve police business.”

  “I know, I know,” he said hurriedly. “But it did sound dangerous.”

  “It did not.” She stood. “I helped him out. Did he tell you that? I gave him more information than he offered me.”

  “Yeah, but a missing person and a potential domestic dispute … either one can get out of hand real fast.” He held her hands. “Listen to me,” he said. “I can’t change who you are. I don’t want to. But—”

  “But … but ….”

  He motioned to the kitchen with his head. “The main reason I wanted to cook you dinner was to show you that I can be domesticated … eventually. I think, if we were under the same roof, I would know what you were up to, and I wouldn’t worry as much.”

  Hollis kept her expression neutral. “You said you’d give me more time.”

  “It’s been four days.”

  She chuckled, then slowly her smile vanished.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m not ready yet. I care for you. I love you, but ….”

  “But.”

  Chapter 13

  Hollis wanted to have more information to take to the Fallen Angels, but the weekend was over too quickly, and in deference to John, they’d spent some solid quiet time together. On Monday morning there were no messages from Shelby or Mosley. She was tempted to call him, but it was too soon. She’d picked up the phone several times, only to click it off in each instance. He wouldn’t appreciate being hounded.

  She was going for a second cup of tea when the phone rang.

  “Ms. Morgan, Detective Mosley. Sorry to bother you, but I knew you would want to know that we’ve arrested the killer in the Wallace murder.”

  Hollis sat back down in her chair. “What? Who did it?”

  “We arrested Brian Wallace yesterday evening. He was arraigned this morning.”

  “Brian,” Hollis said in disbelief. “Why would he kill his father?”

  “I don’t have the time to go into it with you now.”

  “Can I see him? He’s my client too.”

  “Yeah, you can go to his home. He made bail an hour ago.”

  Hollis was silent, trying to grasp the recent events.

  Mosley’s voice was brusque and papers rustled in the background. “I’m on my way to an attempted homicide,” he said. “You were good enough to share what you knew, so I’ll make time for you. I’m available tomorrow around this hour. You can come and see me then.”

  Hollis held her head in her hands. While she was talking with Mosley she had gotten two more calls on her message machine. She knew there was trouble.

  “Hollis, this is Brian, where are you? Give me a call as soon as you can.”

  She hated it when someone asked a question in a message. What sense did it make? They wouldn’t be able to hear her answer. She wasn’t in any rush to call. She needed to think about what she would say.

  She pushed for the next message.

  “Mrs. Morgan, this is Top Notch Locksmith. Sorry to have to tell you this. I’ve left several messages. I turned your contact information over to the police. I went to the Patterson house this morning to change the locks with the lady process server you sent. We were both shot at from outside the house ….”

  His voice droned on, but Hollis wasn’t listening as she tried to absorb what he’d said. She hit replay.

  “She was standing next to me while I changed the locks. I finished, but then as we were leaving, I was just tellin’ her it was good nobody was home. Then bang, bang. We weren’t hit. Anyway, the cops still sent for an ambulance. They took a report and that’s all I know. I’ll send you the bill.”

  Numb, she went to the beginning and replayed the messages. She knew she should call the police, but she needed to fully absorb what was going on.

  Finally, she punched her phone keypad.

  “Detective Mosley, this is Hollis Morgan. Was that attempted homicide you were working on this morning in San Lucian hills?”

  “I’m glad you called. I was getting ready to send a car out to your office,” he said. It sounded like he was on his cellphone. “Right after you left, an officer brought me your name as a contact person for one of the victims. When can you come in?”

  “I’m wiped out. Can I come in later today?”

  “Make it tomorrow. No one was hurt. The two victims are making their statements now. I’ve got one school play and a soccer game to attend.” She heard papers shuffling. “Say hello to Faber for me.”

  Before leaving the office, Hollis listed the calls she had to make. First, Mark. He was still at his desk and she rushed to explain what had happened at the Patterson house.

  “Mark, I am so sorry. I had no idea it could put someone in danger,” she said. “I feel terrible.”

  “Did the locks get changed?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “You have to know Clarice. She just wants to get the job done. She’s been shot at before. In fact, I think she’s actually been shot before.”

  Hollis was surprised. “Really?”

  “Yeah, that’s why we keep her on retainer. She’s the best.” He paused. “Rena tells me that things are also moving pretty fast with Jeffrey Wallace’s murder.”

  “Yes and no. The police have arrested his son. But I don’t think he did it.”

  “Be careful, Hollis. You’ve been down this road before. Just let the police do their job.”

  “If one more person tells me that, I think I’ll scream.”

  “Scream, I don’t care,” he said. “I just want you to listen to me.”

  She grunted.

  They said their goodbyes and she picked up the phone again. Brian wasn’t home and Shelby didn’t answer. She slammed the phone down.

  Detective Mosley was running late.

  Hollis had fortunately brought a book and tried not to become impatient. Brian wasn’t home, so she left him a message. Then she tried to reach Shelby. Still no answer. She went back to her book, but she couldn’t concentrate.

  “Ms. Morgan, I apologize for keeping you waiting.” Mosley rushed forward with an outstretched hand. “We were following up on that attempted homicide this morning. Come on back to my office.”

  “It seems you’re destined to deal with me, Detective.” She sat down. “First, Jeffrey Wallace, and now my client, Shelby Patterson. It was her house where the shooting took place.”

  “Yeah, so I found out.” He offered her a bottle of water. “Tell me what you know about the process server, Clarice Adams. What was she doing for you?”

  “I don’t know her at all. She was a referral from a friend. I needed someone to go with a locksmith to change locks on the door of the home of a client who was under a trespassing actio
n and possibly, domestic violence.”

  “Top Notch Locksmiths?”

  “That’s right. I got their name from the Internet. It was the firm’s first time using them. My client’s name is Shelby Patterson. She inherited a house full of disinherited relatives who refuse to leave.”

  “Did you get the sense they were violent?”

  Hollis thought back to her visitors. “I got the sense they could be. They’re definitely intimidating. Is Miss Adams still upset?”

  “No, not at all. She’s back at home.” Mosley smiled. “Our division is very familiar with Clarice Adams. She’s been around a long time and very good at what she does. She has a license to carry a concealed weapon, which she’d already drawn when the locksmith got the door open. But they were shot at by someone outside the house—maybe even someone returning to the house.”

  Hollis frowned. “Let me tell you what I know about the Pattersons.”

  She proceeded to give Mosley the details of the past week and a half. He wrote down the names of the family members. He also wanted their descriptions.

  She resisted pointing out that she had already given the same information to an officer when she filed the missing persons report. She glanced over at his wall clock, but Mosley didn’t appear to be in a hurry.

  He caught her glance.

  “Do you need to be somewhere?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine. It was important that we meet. Now, what can you tell me about the Jeffrey Wallace murder and Brian’s arrest?”

  He reached down to a small refrigerator under his credenza and made another offer of bottled water.

  She declined.

  “Okay, here’s what I can tell you.” He reached for another pad of paper covered in notes. “Co-workers heard Brian and his father arguing the afternoon of the killing. Apparently Brian came to his father’s office to get him to sign some papers. Brian admits being there. His version is that his father originally agreed to sign but later changed his mind. Brian was heard threatening to make him regret it, and then he left.” Mosley paused.