by L. J. Parker
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wednesday morning Cassie was up before sunrise. Her head felt clear; the incident last night was a non-issue.
She still didn’t trust Inspector Fozzi, but nothing was out of place and Cassie was not going to let his harassment interfere with what she needed to do. She dug out a new steno book because the one she’d been using since she left Las Vegas was nearly used up, and then copied the list of phone numbers from the back of the old one before she dropped it in the nightstand drawer with the scanned AmEx receipts.
Before she left the apartment, she played Rob’s phone message again from last night.
And then played it again. Damn, it was a rush listening to his voice. After the third playback she allowed his phony excuse ‘you’re still not home’ to let him off for not bringing the report last night.
And that’s easy how her day started.
But it changed in a hurry when she arrived at Baylin House.
Harvey drove an old blue station wagon out of the driveway as Cassie pulled to the curb in front of the house. The expression on his face would have set an iceberg aflame. It wasn’t aimed at Cassie. He paid no attention to the shiny red Santa Fe.
Bea Morgan answered the door. She looked wretched, and didn’t even speak as she stood aside for Cassie to come in.
“Bea, is Rosalie okay?”
Bea’s eyes blinked behind her big round glasses. She shook her head and led Cassie into the kitchen where Rosalie sat at the table in her usual spot, smiling as brightly as any other morning.
Across from her sat Dorothy Kennelly, and at the end, in Harvey’s chair, was another man; younger than Dorothy; mid-fifties, heavy body and bloated features, but still strikingly similar to Dorothy. His haircut was fresh, showing a visible white line between tanned skin and brown hair. Under the bloat, his eyes were lidded so heavy Cassie couldn’t tell what color they were.
“Cassie, I’m glad you’re a little early this morning. Dorothy’s brother has come over from Florida to meet us.”
Rosalie maintained her beautiful smile as she spoke. There was nothing in her eyes or in her voice to indicate high stress. Cassie walked into the kitchen and stood at her place at the table.
She made eye contact with Dorothy, and held her breath while she nodded hello. She didn’t know what to expect, given their anger filled conversation a week ago.
“Henry,” Dorothy said to the man, “this is Helen’s daughter, Cassandra Crowley. She prefers to be called Cassie.” Then to Cassie she said, “My brother, Henry Wainsworth. He’ll be the publisher’s representative on Rosalie’s book, so you’ll be working closely with him through the publication process.”
Henry didn’t look overly interested; Cassie had the impression this trip was just another of Dorothy’s orchestrations. But that didn’t explain what made Harvey Richards pull out of here like a gator with his tail on fire, or make Bea Morgan look like someone had slugged her in the gut.
Cassie set up the laptop on the table and turned it on. All three chairs were occupied; Dorothy was sitting in the one usually behind the table for Cassie.
“Get the extra chair from my bedroom,” Rosalie suggested.
Cassie slipped back through the archway in search of the chair – and Bea.
She found her in the hall outside Rosalie’s room. “Bea, what’s wrong?” Cassie stood close enough to keep her voice low, which made it impossible to see into the shorter woman’s eyes. Worse, Bea only shook her head and looked down toward the floor.
“Rosalie sent me in here to get a chair,” Cassie explained. “Please talk to me. I saw how angry Harvey was. What’s wrong?”
Bea took a deep breath and wiped her face with her apron, then craned her head to peer around into the living room. Cassie glanced over her shoulder; there was no one there.
Bea motioned her to follow into Rosalie’s room. Then she pushed the door closed and opened the closet behind it to show the folding chair sitting inside. Cassie lifted it out, but she didn’t budge out of Bea’s way. “Talk to me.”
Finally, Bea leaned toward Cassie and said, “It’s Brady Irwin, Miss Cassandra. The police arrested him last night.”
“What?” Cassie whispered in shock. “Why?”
“They think he killed that man the newspaper’s been talking about. We can hide the paper from Miss Rosalie so she won’t see Brady’s name, but we can’t . . .” Bea sucked in a breath, shaking her head, and wiped her face with her apron again.
“Where did the police find him?”
“Brady said they came and got him at home. He was already asleep in bed when they knocked on his door.”
“Brady said . . .” Cassie echoed. “So you talked to him?”
“He called from the jail. Miss Rosalie was already asleep, thank God. I couldn’t believe it at first. Brady said he wanted us to know where he was. He didn’t sound scared or anything. I don’t think he understands how bad it is.”
“Maybe it’s not what you think . . .”
“Yes it is. I called right back down there after Brady hung up. The man I talked to said they could keep him in holding a couple days just for questioning and someone would let us know when formal charges are filed.”
“WHEN formal charges are filed? Not IF?”
“That’s what he said. And the other man who called here this morning said Brady needs a Criminal Defense Attorney to make sure the police don’t file charges. He said the Police could keep Brady the full 48-hours and trick him into saying he did something he didn’t do. He said we need to hire a lawyer before they can do that to him. But we need Miss Rosalie’s permission.”
“Who called this morning? Did he give you a name?”
“He said he’s from Strickland Legal Services. I wrote down the number and told him I’d call back when I can do something, but . . .”
“Did you tell him there’s no money to hire anybody?”
“Yes I did. He said they could put a lien on the Baylin House property for legal fees and we could pay it back a little every month.”
“A lien on the--?” Cassie struggled to keep her voice under control against the explosion going off in her head. “No way!”
Bea glanced at the bedroom door with eyes wide in panic, expecting Dorothy to burst in any minute. She whispered, “I’m already scared out of my wits about this, Miss Cassandra. I was waiting until the right time to call Dr. Baylin up in Austin, but then Miss Dorothy shows up and I don’t dare try to do anything. I’m worried about Brady. But I’m a lot more worried about Miss Rosalie.”
Cassie was too, now. She took a long breath, trying to think. “Was Harvey going down to the police station to check on Brady?”
“Oh, dear, no,” Bea gasped, “he won’t go anywhere near the Police. He said he wanted to talk to Brady’s boss at the grocery store. Brady can’t afford to lose his job over this and Harvey’s afraid that will happen when Brady doesn’t show up for work.”
Cassie didn’t agree with his priorities, but maybe Harvey thought it would make more trouble for Baylin House if he’d gone to the Police Department.
“It’s probably better if he stays clear of Mrs. Kennelly, too,” Cassie observed. “She would sense something wrong and have her nose in all of it.”
Bea shuddered and shook her head. “God help us if she does.”
Cassie’s insides were spinning as hard as the washing machine in the laundry room when she returned to the kitchen.
“ . . . so this isn’t the same publisher?” she heard Rosalie ask.
“Yes, it’s the same publisher,” Dorothy answered, “just not the same department. One of the VP’s already handles Henry’s work, so he’s the best one to get us through the corporate red tape and ready to ship on time. I want to take advantage of that.”
Cassie carried the chair to her regular space at the table and sat down.
Rosalie and Dorothy seemed to be in a standoff of some kind, glaring at each other. No one spoke.
Henry folded his
hands over his stomach, index fingers rising into a steeple, folding down . . . rising . . . folding . . . rising, all in a lazy rhythm that could have matched his resting heartbeat.
Rosalie took a breath. “I have absolute confidence in Cassie’s work, Dorothy. I don’t think--”
“Yes, I know all that, Rosalie,” Dorothy cut her off impatiently, “but I still want Henry to review everything before it is submitted.”
Henry’s eyes flicked. He took a loud impatient breath to show his annoyance, and then his eyes, dark chocolate brown surrounded by unhealthy yellowish whites, locked on Cassie.
“Cassie and I will take care of it,” he announced. “You ladies need to finish up your fussing so we can get to it.” His puffy expression turned smug. Cassie bit the inside of her cheek to hide a grin.
Rosalie looked to Cassie; eyebrows arched high enough to need an answer.
“Sure,” Cassie confirmed, “we’ll do fine.”
Dorothy blew out an impatient gust. “Good. Now that’s settled, maybe Cassandra can explain the charge for deductible fees on an insurance claim?”
Cassie held her ground. “The Explorer was hit from behind during a rain storm. I can make you a copy of the Police Report if you want it.”
“Hit from behind?” Rosalie gasped in alarm. “Cassie, were you hurt?”
“No. And neither was the car, really, but it cracked the bumper and I knew the charge would be higher if I didn’t report it for an insurance claim.”
Dorothy almost smiled for a half-second. It changed quickly. “Cassandra also seems to have expensive taste while she’s here in Texas,” she said to no one in particular. “The charges on your AmEx card are so far off budget right now I wonder if I should let you keep it.”
Rosalie flinched. Henry grinned and rolled his eyes.
“I’m well under the budget, actually,” Cassie stated, making sure there was no defensiveness or apology in her voice. “The charges include my apartment rent for 3 full weeks plus a damage deposit that is refundable when I move out. That’s considerably less than the hotel cost for the same length of stay. I wasn’t aware the budget had any kind of week to week limit.”
“Dorothy, I encouraged Cassie to take that apartment. I can allocate a full refund to you if needed,” Rosalie offered. Cassie was more concerned with the color draining from Rosalie’s face.
Dorothy recognized it and reached for Rosalie’s hand, massaging it tenderly. “Please don’t let my impatience upset you, Rosalie. I just wanted to point out to Cassandra that the expense numbers for this first week are a long way ahead of her work progress.”
Turning to Cassie, Dorothy said, “The balance I heard when I called for an update was enough for me to question what you’re doing.”
Cassie acknowledged with a nod. The total shook hell out of her, too, when she looked at it last night, but she wasn’t about to show it. Dorothy Kennelly would pounce on that like a snake with a cornered mouse.
To Rosalie, Cassie said, “Do you need more time before we begin this morning?”
Rosalie sighed. “I don’t think we’re going to get any work done today, Cassie. Dorothy and I do have some business to take care of. But I have papers for you in an envelope on top of my dresser -- maybe you could take that and work at home just for today?”
“Sure.” Cassie closed the laptop and slid it back into the satchel.
Henry cleared his throat. “Cassie, could you give me a ride back to the hotel on your way? I don’t need to be here while Dorothy and Rosalie visit.”
Dorothy cast him a warning glance, which he ignored.
“No problem,” Cassie said.
Rosalie touched her arm. “Let Bea know you’re leaving, and pick up that envelope from my dresser. It has your name on it.”
Bea was in the laundry when Cassie found her. “Rosalie and Dorothy want some time together, so I’m taking Dorothy’s brother back to his hotel, and I’ll work at home today.”
Bea frowned.
“You have my new phone number if you need anything.”
“Can you call the Police Department and ask about Brady?”
Cassie confirmed she would do that as soon as she was free of Henry.
She returned to the kitchen and shoved the envelope into the satchel. Henry rose from his chair and followed her out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cassie motioned to the bright red Santa Fe at the curb.
Henry’s reaction was a deep-throated chuckle that sounded like he was gargling. “If that’s the car you picked out she must be pissing her pants over it!”
“This is what they brought to exchange for the silver Explorer with a cracked bumper,” she told him. “I like it. Sporty, I think.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, and opened the passenger door. “It’s a lot cuter than the Limo that brought us out here from the airport.”
Cassie walked to the rear hatch and tucked the satchel under the security cover. When she climbed in behind the steering wheel, her apprehension was palpable. “You came out here by Limo? Is she expecting me to be everybody’s taxi while you’re here?”
“Nuh-uh,” he said, still choking, “the rental agency’s supposed to bring her an Explorer after lunch.”
Henry leaned back in the passenger seat and spread out, draping a heavy arm through the opening between the seats, resting his meaty hand on the back of Cassie’s headrest. It was not an ‘arm around you’ so much as just a way to stretch inside the confines of the car. She ignored it and started the engine, made a U-turn in front of the house, and drove toward the boulevard.
Henry was quiet until they were a full block away from Baylin House.
Then he exploded. “I love it!” he whooshed at full volume as though he’d been holding his breath all this time. “Woman, you have stolen my heart!”
Cassie laughed nervously, but she didn’t say anything until they reached the intersection at West Bend.
“Would you mind if I make one quick stop before I take you back to the hotel? I need to run an errand while I’m on this side of town.”
“No prob. I’ll go anywhere you want to go as long as it’s away from back there.”
“Away from Baylin House? Really?”
He shrugged.
“Will you be uncomfortable working there?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing against the house, Cassie.”
She waited.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I’m just glad to be out of Dorothy’s range for a while. She’s been riding me like a boogie board since she came home last week.”
“Oh.” Cassie remembered it was ‘personal business’ that caused Dorothy to rush home the morning after they checked into The Marlin. After what Cassie went through that first day, she felt a soft spot for Henry suffering a whole week of it.
Neither of them said anything for the next two miles. At the intersection of West Bend and Alamo Cassie stopped for the light, and checked the map again, counting streets. As indicated, she found Tenderfoot Lane three blocks later and turned left.
Six blocks after that she found the address that was in the phone book.
“This won’t take a minute,” she told Henry when she parked at the curb. She didn’t even turn off the engine, hoping that would be hint enough for him to stay in the car. He did. She walked alone up the flower-bordered walk to ring the doorbell.
“Yes?” A woman’s voice spoke through the screen door. Cassie couldn’t see anything beyond the heavy mesh.
“Yes ma’am, is this the Fred Zimmer residence? I work for Baylin House and I was hoping this is the correct Fred Zimmer that would know them?”
Through the door Cassie heard, “Like I told the police the other day, Sugar, Fred’s been dead almost ten years and I don’t remember all the jobs he worked on. His old car hasn’t been moved since he died and I don’t have no reason to check anything in his garage. I didn’t know the damned thing was missing until the cops came looking for it.”
Cassie wasn’t expecting all that, but the woman rolled it out like someone who already answered every possible question and didn’t have to think before spitting it out again.
“You haven’t looked in your own garage in ten years?”
“Yeaahhhh,” the faceless voice drawled, “that’s mostly right. I was in there a few times the first year clearing out some of the tools and such. Like I told the other policeman, Sugar, I don’t drive. Never learned how. So I don’t have a reason to mess with the car or the garage where he kept it.”
Cassie was lost for words.
Mrs. Zimmer was not. Cassie heard a faint hissing sound, and heard the woman take a deep breath behind the screen. “With Harry gone, there’s nothing else in that garage but a lot of dust, and I gotta stay out of that. I showed it to the first Detective. And he showed me how there wasn’t much dust in the tire tracks where the car used to be, so he didn’t think it’d been gone too long. I already signed all the reports and everything, so what is it you want here, Miss . . ?”
The question didn’t register in Cassie’s head. She was busy thinking about Detective Baxter asking if Fred Zimmer was connected with Baylin House. It had to be Zimmer’s car where the body was found . . . but Brady Irwin couldn’t have stolen a car, he doesn’t know how to drive!
“You’re not with the police, Sugar,” Mrs. Zimmer injected, breaking into Cassie’s careening thoughts, “and I don’t know anything about any Bayside House, or whatever you said that name was. So what is it you want?”
Cassie collected herself. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Zimmer, I should explain . . . I’ve been hired to help Ms. Baylin write her autobiography. She’s the founder of Baylin House, and I thought Mr. Zimmer might have worked on the house when it was remodeled several years ago. I’m a writer, and part of my job is to research names and dates. I’m sorry to hear Mr. Zimmer’s car was stolen; I didn’t know about that. But I would like to make an appointment to talk to you about the book I’m working on.”
Not the best job of thinking on her feet, but the best Cassie could do at that moment.
