When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5)

by Patricia H. Rushford

"Sure, no problem." Helen listened as Annie developed a well-rounded menu of salad, two kinds of quiche, one with ham, cheese, and broccoli, the other vegetarian, assorted breads, and dessert. Dessert would be light, consisting of fruit, some plain and some chocolate-dipped.

  Sitting there listening, eating, and drinking her coffee, Helen wished she hadn't taken on the responsibility. She'd never been one for serving on committees or heading up dinners. Though she could be as hospitable as the next person, it wasn't her thing.

  "That should do it," Annie said at last. "I'll bring some things the night before and put them in the refrigerator. The rest I'll bring in the morning."

  "Great."

  "Helen?" Annie turned serious. "May I ask you something?"

  "Sure."

  "It's probably nothing, but I couldn't help noticing." She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "You saw Brian this morning, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you notice anything different or strange about him?"

  "What do you mean?" Helen asked.

  "Last night he and Nancy got into a nasty argument at dinner. She accused him of being glad their father was dead. He didn't deny it. Just shook his head and said she was crazy."

  "She mentioned something like that to me as well. But men often keep their feelings hidden."

  "I know. It's just that. . . later. . . see, I stayed here last night and was up late putting together the ingredients for a couple of casseroles. I thought I'd do some ahead and freeze them. Anyway, everyone had gone to bed except for Brian and me. When I came out of the kitchen, I saw him going through Ethan's desk. Said he was straightening things up. Well, it didn't need straightening. Eleanor had already seen to that.

  "He muttered something about junk mail and tossed some papers in the fireplace. Now, why he had the fire going in Ethan's fireplace is a mystery, unless he started it specifically to burn the papers."

  "That does seem odd," Helen said. "It could have been junk mail. Or he could be trying to hide something."

  "My thoughts exactly. I was going to tell Joe this morning, but he got a call and we didn't have much time to talk."

  "I can mention it to him if you'd like." Helen ate the last bite of her dessert and set the napkin on the plate.

  "Thanks. I'm not sure when I'll get around to it." Annie leaned back and picked up her cup. In a strained voice, she added, "There's something about Brian that just isn't right.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Just what is it about Brian that upsets you?" Helen asked.

  Annie circled the rim of her cup with her finger. "It's not a big thing. He's just so different than he was in school."

  "I didn't realize you'd gone to school together"

  "Yes, Nancy was two years behind us. Joe was in our class too. Anyway, Brian seems hard and bitter. I know he went through a divorce a couple years ago, but. . She glanced in both directions as if someone might be listening. "Don't tell Joe this, but Brian got really pushy last night. After he burned the papers, he asked me to sit up and talk with him for a few minutes. I did because I figured he wanted to talk about his dad. Turns out that wasn't what he wanted at all."

  "He made a pass at you?" Helen guessed.

  "That's putting it mildly. He'd been drinking and. . ." She looked away. "I don't want to use the word rape, but he came awfully close. I managed to get away from him."

  "That's terrible. Did you talk to Eleanor?"

  Meeting Helen's gaze again, Annie said, "No. I think it was the alcohol. He was fine this morning. He even apologized. I don't think I need to say anything. Especially now."

  Helen sighed. "I'm glad you told me. If it happens again let me know, or tell Joe.”

  "I don't think it will. I shouldn't have mentioned it. It's so unlike him."

  She made Annie promise to tell her if there were further problems and then Helen left. It was time she located Rosie. Things were getting far too complicated, and she needed to pull in some of the loose ends. She'd find Rosie, then come back and talk to Joe. And later, if there was time, she'd call Nathan Young and glean whatever information she could about the corporation he represented.

  Minutes later she was back on Highway 101 in the northbound lane, appreciating the view. There was nothing quite like the Oregon coast on a clear day. Helen thought seriously of aborting her mission and hitting the beach instead, but she needed answers to her many questions. Why, for instance, would Rosie have a picture of a confessed murderer on her dresser?

  Helen checked Rosie's sister's address again and turned up a narrow lane at the northern end of Lincoln City known as Road's End. The street went straight up the side of the hill, then curved around to the left. Adele's house was the second from the corner. Though Helen had seen Adele several times, she'd never been to her home. Like so many of the houses here, this one had an ocean view.

  There was a white pickup truck parked in the driveway, with the logo Feldman's Construction lettered on its tailgate. So Adele's husband was a contractor too. Interesting. No sign of Rosie's car, but then she hadn't expected there would be. If Rosie didn't want to be found, she'd park it in the garage or somewhere inconspicuous.

  On the drive up she'd thought about how best to approach Rosie and Adele. She'd decided on the straightforward method: Show up out of the blue and ask about Alex Jordan.

  On the other hand, suppose Alex really had killed Ethan, and Rosie was an accomplice?

  Rosie has nothing to do with Ethan's murder and you know it.

  Helen grabbed her backpack off the passenger seat and hurried to the front door before she could change her mind again.

  Adele shared Rosie's talent for decorating. Flowerpots with variegated purple-and-white kale lined the small aggregate entry. The door, nearly all window, allowed her to see into the hallway and living room. Helen had never seen a house with so many windows. She rang the doorbell twice before someone answered.

  A short, lean man with a beard and mustache opened it. "If you're selling, I'm not buying," he grumped before she could speak.

  "I'm here to see Rosie." Helen smiled and extended her hand. "Helen Bradley. You must be Adele's husband."

  His sky blue eyes lit up in recognition. He shook her hand. "Dave Feldman." Opening the door wider, he stepped aside to let her in. "I recognize your name. Rosie talks about you all the time."

  "We're good friends." Or were. Helen followed him into the huge room with a high angular ceiling that served as a kitchen, dining room, and living room. She loved the open feel of the place. With all the windows, it was as light and bright as being outside. Her eyes were automatically drawn to the surf. While the oceanfront houses blocked parts of the beach, she could still see the ocean and the cape to the north. A telescope stood near one of the living room windows. She turned to Dave and said, "Lovely house. Did you build it?"

  He nodded. "On spec. Once it was done, Adele wouldn't let me sell it. Might have to, though. Got too much money tied up in it.

  "That's too bad. If you do decide to sell, let me know."

  "Are you in the market? I could give you a good deal."

  Helen grinned. "I wasn't until I saw this place. Now, well,

  I guess I am interested."

  "Would you like a tour?"

  "That would be great." Then remembering her mission, Helen added, "But I would like to see Rosie first. Is she here?"

  "No. She and Adele went down to the factory outlet place." He shook his head. "Had some serious shopping to do." Glancing at his watch, he added, "They should be back pretty soon. Said they were only going to be a couple of hours. Guess Rosie had to pick up some clothes."

  "Yes, I suppose she would. She left in a pretty big hurry yesterday."

  "I wouldn't know about that. All I know is she's upset about Ethan Crane's death and seems to think the police are going to tie her to the crime." He went on without waiting for a response. "Told her the worst thing she could do was run from the police. Still not sure what happened. She showed up
here babbling about needing a place to hide out for a few days."

  "I tried to tell her the same thing. In fact, that's why I'm here. She didn't have to run at all. The police have a suspect in custody."

  "That quick?" His grin revealed a straight slightly yellowed set of teeth. "Glad to hear that. Rosie's been driving us crazy, well, Adele anyway. I've pretty much stayed out of it."

  Helen drew her heavy pack from her shoulders. Since Dave was being so helpful, she decided to question him about Alex. It might be easier to get answers from him than from Rosie. Before she could ask, the phone rang in another room.

  "That's my business line. I'd better get it." He disappeared into a room on the other side of the kitchen. Through the open door she could hear him talking to some guy named Al.

  "Yeah. Well, what did he say?" Dave didn't sound too happy. After several seconds, he swore. "All right. I'll be there in a few minutes." Mumbling expletives under his breath, he emerged from the room, pulling his jacket on.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bradley. Got some trouble at the construction site." He looked at his watch. "I'm sure Adele and Rosie will be back soon. You're welcome to stay. Just make yourself at home."

  "Oh no, I couldn't. Don't worry about me. I can just wait in my car."

  "Hey, it's not a problem. A friend of Rosie's is a friend of ours. Stay. Look around." He grinned again. "Who knows? Maybe you'll decide to buy the place."

  "Thank you, Dave. I appreciate that." She nodded toward the kitchen. "Do you mind if I make myself some tea?"

  "Help yourself. You don't even have to heat the water. I installed a hot-water tap." With another good-bye, he was out the door.

  What a trusting man.

  Helen rummaged around in the kitchen cupboard for a cup and tea. She found both in short order, and after dunking the peppermint tea bag into the water, she took her cup to the living room and settled into the thick cushions of a swivel rocker.

  Helen waited for a while, then decided she could make better use of her time by visiting the lawyer who represented those wanting to build a mall and condos next to the wildlife refuge. After checking the phone book for Nathan Young, Helen left the house and headed south to downtown Lincoln City. The law office was sandwiched between a Realtor and a deli in one of the many strip malls that lined the main highway.

  Helen noted that Nathan was the only lawyer working out of the office. "Can I help you?" An attractive brunette moved away from the computer she'd been working on and peered over the top of a curved oak counter. Helen suppressed a smile. The desk made her look like a child playing office.

  She read the nameplate on the counter. Gretchen Young. "I hope so. Are you Gretchen?" Helen leaned on the counter, look­ing down at the second tier of the desk, which was surprisingly free of clutter.

  A warm light glinted in the young woman's eyes. "Nathan is my husband." She flashed an expensive-looking diamond. "We've only been married a month. Of course, we went together for two years, but with Nathan still in law school, we decided to wait. He graduated this last June."

  Helen quickly surveyed the small but nicely decorated room. "From the looks of things, he must be doing very well."

  "Oh, he is. He landed a really big account. . . ." Her voice faded as if she'd been caught talking out of turn.

  Helen introduced herself and then asked, "Is Mr. Young in?"

  "Did you have an appointment?" Gretchen ran her fingers over the open spiral notebook.

  "No. I was in town and thought I'd take a chance. You see, I've recently come into a large sum of money and was thinking of investing some of it in a project a friend told me about."

  "Really?" Her smile faded. "You wouldn't be talking about Riverside Mall at Bay Village, would you?"

  "Yes, that's the one. I'm hoping the developers will be inter­ested in another partner."

  Gretchen bounced to her feet. Though she had small fea­tures, she stood at about five-ten. "Tell you what. You wait here a minute and I'll ask Nathan—Mr. Young—if he can see you."

  "Thanks." Helen retreated to one of four straight-backed cushioned chairs. She felt a twinge of guilt for leading them to believe she wanted to be a backer. But when seeking privileged information, one occasionally had to stretch the truth. And for her it wasn't that much of a stretch. She did have a great deal of money and was indeed looking for some investments.

  Nathan Young emerged from his office. Helen, on the tall side herself, had to look up to meet his hazel eyes. A man in his late twenties, he was about J.B.'s height, only fifty pounds lighter. He appeared too thin for his over-six-foot frame that wore a gray suit and pale olive shirt with a speckled olive, gray, and pink tie. The result was an overall chic look. He shook her hand and invited her into his office. He'd spared no expense, it seemed, with the plush aqua carpeting and furnishings found in the most successful corporate offices. She sat in one of two chairs, identical to those in the waiting room.

  Helen set her bag on the floor. "I understand you haven't been practicing law for long."

  "Since June. I've been very fortunate in developing a strong clientele." He met her gaze and turned the conversation to her reason for coming. "I understand you're looking for an invest­ment. Gretchen said you were asking about the Riverside mall complex."

  'Yes. I've heard about the project and was wondering if there might be room for another backer."

  He frowned. "I can't speak for them, but I can certainly in­quire. How much are we talking about here?"

  "Well, that depends on how secure it is. Two to three mil­lion perhaps."

  His Adam's apple shifted up and down, though otherwise he appeared unruffled. "What did you mean by secure?"

  "I heard they were having some problems getting permits because part of it will be built on what is currently a wildlife refuge. The city council and mayor seemed adamantly against it, and it's not very popular with the current nearby retailers."

  "My sources tell me they're having a 'change of heart.' And I

  think when I present it to them again, they'll see the advantage."

  Helen sat higher in her chair. "Does this change of heart have anything to do with Ethan Crane's death?"

  He picked up a pen and rolled it between his hands. "I'd hate to think so. Ethan was coming around. The environmen­talists opposed to the project haven't been completely honest and have exaggerated the problem. You see, the original owner wasn't interested in developing the land, so he just let it go. He encouraged the wildlife population, and people got used to see­ing it as part of the wetlands area. When he died, his son inher­ited it and put it up for sale. The investment group I represent bought the land in good faith. They never anticipated any prob­lems, since it was privately owned. Because the development takes out only ten acres of the refuge . . ." He paused and opened the top right-hand drawer. "It's easier to show you."

  He pulled out a file and, after thumbing through it, laid a sketch on the desk between them. "The wildlife refuge covers about fifty acres." He ran his finger along the perimeter. "The land along this side is slotted for development. There's plenty of room left for the birds and animals. There will be some dis­placement, but the owners plan to leave a big hunk of the prop­erty in its natural state. There'll be trails and overlooks. Several ponds and a golf course."

  "Sounds lovely. I heard the argument wasn't only about the land. There's the matter of disrupting the wildlife. The environ­mental groups have a strong voice. What happens if the govern­ment steps in and disallows the project?"

  He bit his lower lip. "Then the backers lose their invest­ment. But," he was quick to say, "that probably isn't going to happen."

  "How much is tied up in the project so far?"

  "About fifty million." He leaned back in his leather chair. "Like I said, the deal should go through. The development will provide hundreds of jobs and make Bay Village a destination resort. It'll bring in more revenue."

  "Yes—and more tourists." Helen didn't mention that she preferred Bay Village
just as it was, small and quaint.

  "It may cause a few problems for the wildlife initially, but I

  believe pushing the development through will be beneficial to all of us."

  Helen thanked him for the information and stood to leave. "I trust you'll talk to your clients and get back to me?"

  "Of course. As I said, I can't speak for them, but I think they might welcome another investor."

  With her hand on the door, she turned back around. "You know, I would feel more comfortable knowing who the inves­tors are—maybe talk to a few. How many are there?"

  He hedged. "I'm not at liberty to say."

  "Well, could you at least give me a couple of names?"

  "Not without talking with them first." He then shrugged.

  "Why so secretive? The information on the buyers should be available through the courthouse."

  'You're welcome to check, but I can save you the trouble."

  "All right. Who signed the papers closing the real-estate deal?"

  "I did. I'm acting as power of attorney." His pale cheeks flushed a deep rose. "The truth is, Mrs. Bradley, Riverside De­velopment is a group of private individuals who want to re­main anonymous."

  "Why? Are they hiding something?"

  "No. They're protecting their interests. Maybe they're afraid of what the opposition might do. I've heard some of these en­vironmentalists will stop at nothing to protect the wildlife out there."

  "Have you been representing this group all along? Are you the one who presented the proposal to the mayor and city council?"

  'Yes."

  "I'm curious about something, Mr. Young. How did you react when the council turned you down? How much do you stand to lose if the deal doesn't go through?"

  He frowned. "I don't think that's any of your—"

  "My business? That may be. But I'm wondering if the loss would be substantial enough that you'd do just about anything to push it through, despite Ethan's attempts to stop it."

  The deep rose in his cheeks extended to his neck. "I don't know what you're getting at."

  "Don't you?" Helen stood her ground. "Ethan Crane was murdered. I have a hunch it was because of his political stand on the Riverside project. That would make you a primary sus­pect."