“A heavy red wool scarf?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Detective Lincoln’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen it?”
“No. I read about it in Storm Crossing. It was our club selection earlier this year.”
The detectives again exchanged looks.
“Another plot from one of your books?” Detective Faber asked.
My mind raced. This didn’t make any sense. Why were Fallen Angels being murdered? Who from the club would be crazy enough to use plots from our book list?
“Ms. Morgan, are you still with us?” Detective Faber asked.
I could only nod.
He pressed, “Where were you around nine thirty this morning?”
“Is that when … she died? Here. I was here at work.”
Lincoln nodded. “If those autopsy results come back today, we may want to question you and your fellow members at the station this evening, so stay close to your phone. One way or the other we’re going to get answers.”
Detective Faber moved to the door. “Oh, yeah, and bring me the book.”
After they left, I sat for a few minutes, numb. It was as if someone had shot a cannonball clear through my gut and left a giant hole. When I entered the lobby, I wasn’t surprised to see Ed lurking in the hallway. He waved me into his office.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
I put my shaking hand into my pocket. “A friend, a member of my book club, died in her office this morning. They’re not sure if it’s suicide or not. The police wanted to know what I knew.” I couldn’t bring myself to say “murder” out loud.
He was silent for a moment. “I see. I’m sorry about your friend. You have an alibi. You were here all morning. I saw you myself.”
“They’re checking with all book club members. I’m sure I’m not a suspect.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
“Hollis, I’ve worked in the DA’s office. There has to be a good reason why San Lucian’s finest shows up at our workplace. They don’t need two of their four homicide detectives to verify an alibi.” Ed was a thin, wiry man; his once-blond hair was now fringed with white. He had a deceptively warm smile that usually distracted from his cold eyes. He was smiling now, and the chilly stare from those eyes was unrelenting. He wasn’t pleased.
Before I could think of a plausible response—the truth not necessarily an option—there was a light knock on the door and Avery popped his head in. “My turn to interrupt. Is everything okay?”
Ed cocked his head toward me. “There’s no problem, but you may want to stay, since Hollis reports to you. I just asked her why the police were here to see her.”
Avery perched on the edge of the low bookcase that lined the length of the wall.
I had a couple of options. Only one made sense. “Ed, you know I’m an ex-felon. My fellow book club members are also ex-felons, as was the woman who … who died this morning.” To stop my hands from shaking, I tightly interlaced my fingers. “Last week another member was murdered. They think there’s a connection. I—they thought I might have some information.”
“Good grief. I don’t mean to be callous. You were hired based on Avery’s recommendation. We’ve been pleased with your work, but the firm can’t handle bad publicity.”
“There won’t be any bad publicity. I didn’t do it.”
Avery crossed his arms. “Hollis, can I assume the police were following up, since all the members are ex-felons?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t about to go into the manner of the deaths. “It was Abby Caldwell, my book club friend you met at the restaurant, who died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ed dropped all pretense of commiseration. “You realize, of course, that we have an obligation to protect our staff and clients.”
“Yes. I’m not going on a killing rampage, Ed.” I turned to Avery. “You trusted me once. I promise you, I’m not involved.”
Ed spoke to Avery as though he hadn’t heard me. “Perhaps we should allow Hollis to go on paid leave until this is all settled.”
Avery stood. “Now wait, Ed. I think we should talk this over with the personnel committee before we go down any particular path.”
I didn’t know how telepathy worked, but I looked at him with all the hope I could communicate.
Ed continued to regard me as if I were a hostile witness. “All right. That makes sense. After all, that’s why we have a process for handling these things. Hollis, go ahead and go home.” He looked up at Avery. “Call an emergency meeting of the personnel committee for tomorrow morning.”
“It’s just you, Lisa and me,” Avery said. “Lisa’s still here. Why don’t I see if she can meet this evening? Tomorrow morning’s bad for me. I’ve got to make a court appearance.”
I gave him a grateful look.
Ed nodded. “Okay, that works. I have to be gone by seven. I promised to take my wife to the theater in San Francisco.”
Avery opened the office door for me. “Oh, I don’t think this will take long.”
Saying nothing, I moved past him. I just wanted out of there.
At home, I hurriedly changed clothes before heading to the police station with Storm Crossing.
“I’m here to see Detective Faber or Detective Lincoln,” I said to the uniformed receptionist.
“They’re out in the field. Were they expecting you?” She assessed me with curiosity.
“Yes … well, no, it wasn’t decided for sure. I told them I’d bring this book.” I handed over the copy of Storm Crossing.
“I’ll make sure they get it.”
Back in the sunlight, I didn’t mind missing another opportunity to bond with the detectives. The autopsy results must have been delayed. There was little more I could do but wait for another verdict about my future.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sitting in my living room, I replayed my conversation with Ed and came up with a multitude of more effective responses that had escaped me at the time. I was a wreck. Each passing minute I waited for the phone to ring seemed like an hour. I knew I needed to finalize my court statement, but I couldn’t focus. My life was back on hold until I heard from Avery. I couldn’t do anything even if I had wanted to. Why bother with the statement? I needed to be employed to qualify for the pardon.
My stomach growled and I remembered my skimpy lunch. There was a frozen dinner in the freezer, but after reading what was in it, I put it back. My appetite just wasn’t cooperating. My emotions always affected my belly.
I was debating making a PB & J sandwich when the phone rang, flashing Avery’s office number on caller ID. I made an effort to adjust my breathing to an even pace before I answered.
“Hey, you okay?” Avery asked.
“You tell me.”
“You’re okay.” I heard his smile. “Ed brought the personnel policy handbook and quoted chapter and verse on the ability of the firm to suspend or place you on unpaid leave for cause. I didn’t even have to speak up for you. Lisa jumped in and said your work spoke for your character. She also reminded Ed that there’s this legal premise about being innocent until proven guilty.”
“I can see why she’s a defense attorney.”
“Anyway, we both convinced him that, as a law firm, we owed you the benefit of the doubt to stand by you. Just try to keep our name out of the media, okay?”
Hearing his last words, I let out the breath I’d been holding. My eyes welled up and I started to cough.
“Hollis, are you okay? Do you want me to come over?”
If I did, it wouldn’t be under these circumstances.
“No, no. I’m going to be all right.” It took me a moment to gain control. “I was afraid that if Triple D knew I was a possible murder suspect, I wouldn’t have anyone in my corner. I really appreciate what you and Lisa said on my behalf.”
“You could have told me. You didn’t have to spend these past days looking over your shoulder.”
“Maybe not, but thank you for making it right for me now.
” I meant it more than he knew.
“You sure you don’t need me to come over?”
A red warning sign started blinking inside my head. My resistance was too low. “No, I need time by myself. I’ll see you tomorrow after court.”
I jumped up and down and danced around my living room without missing a beat. Energy depleted, I poured a glass of wine and put a steak in the microwave to defrost. I tried to compartmentalize the day’s events. Abby was gone. The thought slowed me down. Poor Abby; I hated to imagine her dying that way. I didn’t care what she’d said about being greedy and selfish; she was kind and warm to me. Besides, I liked Abby and, but for the hand of fate, we might have been good friends.
I was okay … for now, but for how long? Unless I figured out who murdered Rory and Abby and revealed which of my club members was an undercover psychopath, I could be not okay very soon. I poured myself another glass of wine, sat down and looked at the Inquiry First printout on Gene. He had been convicted as a co-conspirator under a bribery penal code when he went in. There was a cross-reference to another case number. It wouldn’t take long to run a locator search.
At work the next day I waited until lunchtime, when it was less likely I’d be interrupted. “Hello, my name is Hollis Morgan. Is Patrick Brennan there?”
The male voice on the other end took a long time to reply. “What do you want with him?”
The voice had a bit of a southern twang and suspicion came through the line loud and clear.
I pushed ahead. “I’d like to talk to him about Gene Donovan. We’re in the same book club together.”
“Book club. What has that got to do with me?”
Got him.
“Mr. Brennan, I know you and he spent some time together in prison. I just want to know if—”
“Look, lady, I don’t know you, and I haven’t spoken to Gene in over a year. We didn’t end on the best of terms.” He sniffed. “Besides, I heard that if you want to talk about Gene, you should talk to the Reverend Campbell.”
“Where can I find—”
The click in my ear was my answer.
I felt stupid for not having a better story ready, but it wasn’t a complete loss. I could follow up on the name he gave me. Still, I needed another pitch.
I punched Gene’s number into my cellphone.
“Hi, Hollis.”
“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but I’d like to get together and go over the events of the past few days.” I paused. “Maybe we could brainstorm about the Fallen Angels and who might have killed Rory and Abby.”
“Uh-huh. What are you up to?”
Good question. I was glad he couldn’t see that my bravado was faked. “For my own reasons, I need to get these murders solved as quickly as possible. If I … if we could find the killer, then we’d both be left alone.”
“What’s your reason?”
“My reason? How about dealing with Abby’s death and just plain survival. I’m trying to figure this out before anyone else gets killed—me, for instance. You seem to have a line on everybody. It looks like all of us, well, except for one, are targets for a killer. There have been two murders based on our book selections. We could be next.”
He took an extra moment to answer. “Right. Okay, I’m game. Are you available this evening? I’ll come over to your house so we can talk.”
I didn’t like telling people where I lived, but I knew Gene was testing me.
“Sure, that’d be fine, but wouldn’t you rather meet at a restaurant? I could eat a little something. How about you?”
Gene snorted a small laugh. “I’m not that hungry. We can meet at Barnes and Noble. They’re open until eleven. They don’t rush you and there’s a small sandwich and beverage bar. Meet me at seven. It’s not too far from you.”
How did Gene know that?
For the rest of the day, I focused on clearing my desk. I left a little before five to beat the traffic. At home I dressed hurriedly so that I could arrive before Gene. When he pulled up, I wanted to be able to jot down his license plate. I didn’t have to wait long. He drove up in his dark green Honda. I took down his plate number and followed him into the store. Intuition told me I could probably take Gene off my suspect list, but I had to make sure before I asked him for help.
We settled in at the table farthest from the front door. Except for a couple other tables, we had almost the entire lounge area to ourselves.
“Understand me,” I said. “I didn’t kill Rory or Abby. Assuming we give you the benefit of doubt, too, that leaves Richard, Rena and Miller.”
“Thanks for the insta-trial acquittal.” He shook his head. “So, now what?”
I leaned forward. “I think we should look at each member one at a time. Go through their backgrounds and find out who has the most on the line.”
He looked skeptical. “It’s doable, I guess. I have my doubts about our ability to uncover any secrets.”
“We have to start somewhere.”
He shook his head and smiled again. “Okay. I’ll show good faith and share first. I have nothing to lose. I’m a columnist for the Herald. I worked there before I went in. My brother is one of the owners, so I didn’t have to lie about my past.”
I was mildly impressed. I was a Herald subscriber, but I never paid attention to bylines. “They always say hiding in plain sight is the best disguise.”
Gene suddenly sat straight up. “I am not in disguise. I have never changed my name or tried to hide my conviction. You might be, but I’m certainly not material for a blackmailer. I got caught up in a … in a bribery sting. I was stupid, but I learned.”
“Okay, okay.” My curiosity took over. “So, what do you think you know about me?”
He put two fingers against his forehead. “Let’s see. Rebecca Hollis Morgan Lynley, born in Alameda, California. Married William Lynley. No children. Divorced after three years. It coincided with a prison term for insurance fraud. Current residence is Montclair.”
I clenched my teeth in anger. “How dare you violate my privacy.”
Gene raised his eyebrows. “It’s not private information. It’s all public. I didn’t say I knew where you shopped for clothes. Although, you should consider going a little more upscale.”
I looked at him in disbelief. After a moment, a smile creased my face. “I’m not a clothes hound like you. How do you know these things?”
He relaxed. “The stitching on your clothes is a real giveaway—”
“Not my clothes. How do you know about my background?”
“I never join anything without knowing who the members are.”
A wise idea.
I took my notepad from my purse.
“Hey, what’s with the paper and pen?”
No more answers. I had a few questions of my own. “How do you know where I live?”
He smiled down at the bottle of water he’d brought with him. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been to your house. I only know your address. Why don’t you tell me what you’re up to and maybe I can help you.”
“Maybe.”
Gene stood. “I think we better get something to munch on. This may take a while.”
I didn’t have an appetite, so I ordered an iced tea. Gene bought a turkey sandwich, four cookies and a bag of chips.
Unwrapping the sandwich, he said, “Miller’s real name is Marshall Sloane. I found out he served four years in Corona for embezzling bonds from his clients’ stock portfolios. Appears our boy had a brother with quite a cocaine habit. Which I would venture to say was why he didn’t get more time. He tried to save his brother. I couldn’t find out anything more on his family, but he used to live in Marin County … in Cliffside Shores.”
“Interesting. It’s not a lot, but having a real name gives me a little more to go on. Miller’s quiet and can be defensive. Maybe he couldn’t take Rory’s pressure anymore.”
“He had to have a better reason than that.”
“Maybe we could follow—”
�
��Hollis, I’ll try to help you, but I don’t want to join you in the crusade.”
“Okay, because—”
“No, wait. I’ll help you because if you pull this off before the police do, I want your story for the Herald.”
“You’ve got it.” My promise to Ed to avoid the media came back to me, but surely once this was over, if I found the killer, our firm would be even more sought after.
“Cliffside Shores is expensive real estate. Miller always gets us free books. Do you think he manages a bookstore?”
He shrugged. “More likely he owns a bookstore. All I know is he tried to get us to think he worked for a newspaper. I checked. He doesn’t. For obvious reasons, I’d know if he did.”
“He says the books are from a distribution house.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Tell me about Rena.”
A smile crept to his lips. “Ah, the lady in black.”
“Yeah, what’s with that?”
Gene cut his eyes to look at the ceiling. “Hollis, I can’t believe you sometimes. Haven’t you noticed Rena is always in DKNY? She hasn’t worn the same thing twice, and she knows what looks good on her. It’s her style. Black is her color. She always wears it.”
“Do you write a fashion column for the paper? Could we move past her wardrobe for a moment? What did she go up for?”
“Don’t paralegals read the newspaper? Do you remember the story involving a budding local fashion designer paying her bills with bad checks and writing other bad checks to cover them?”
“That was Rena?”
“It was Marilyn Shana Reynolds. Her picture was in the Herald, but I didn’t recognize her until later. It was lousy photography. She only spent one year inside. She got out because she had to take care of her mother. She was under house arrest for another year. She has a little boy from her marriage to a political consultant. He left when she went in. Sound familiar? I think she must work as a fashion buyer. That’s how she gets her clothes. I bet she has a great employee discount. I wonder if she could get me a pair of—”
The Fallen Angels Book Club Page 8
