The Missing Piece (The Jigsaw Files)

by Sharon Sala

  “What? No! Why? Did she say why?”

  “Something about him being mean to her all the time and she was sick of it and tried to kill him.”

  “Well, that’s not true. I can state that for a fact. Uncle Carter handpicks the people who work here. We appreciate the staff and they’re treated with consideration, respect and kindness.”

  “Okay, but I’ve talked to Detective Cristobal, who handled the missing person report, and everyone agrees with your uncle’s belief that the attacks on his life had to be partly an inside job. Maybe Wilma was part of it, and someone was unhappy she hadn’t succeeded, so he got rid of her to protect his identity.”

  “I just can’t believe that,” Jason said. “I’ll be contacting Charlie Dodge to give him this information, too. Uncle Carter hired him to find out who was behind it all.”

  “Cristobal mentioned him,” Bruner said.

  “So, what do we do?” Jason asked. “And what about Wilma’s body?”

  “It’ll be in the ME’s office undergoing an autopsy. All of this is early days, but because of the note, we needed to let you know. I do not believe the danger to your uncle has, in any way, been neutralized.”

  “Thank you for informing us,” Jason said. “And please keep us updated. Uncle Carter’s life depends on what we learn.”

  “Yes, that’s understood,” Bruner said. “We’ll stay in touch.”

  Jason disconnected, then sat staring at the floor in disbelief. What did they really know about Wilma, other than that she was an only child with a mother in a nursing home and that she’d been a good member of the staff?

  Shaking his head, he pocketed his phone and went down to breakfast. The family had to be told, and the staff also needed to know what the police believed. This day was steadily getting worse and he still hadn’t had a cup of coffee.

  * * *

  Kenneth and Dina were the first ones into the breakfast room, but neither one of them paid any attention to Ruth’s quiet demeanor or red-rimmed eyes. She was staff and of no importance.

  Edward entered next, his white cane tapping the way, and as he did, Ruth hurried toward him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Edward. May I escort you to your seat?”

  Instead of saying yes, as he usually would, he paused.

  “Ruth, I hear sadness in your voice.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ruth said. “This way, sir.” And she led him to his chair. “Would you prefer eggs or pancakes this morning?” she asked.

  Edward sat, but he wasn’t satisfied to let it pass.

  “Pancakes with Peter’s blueberry syrup, please, and a strip of bacon.” Then he added, “I’m sorry for whatever has troubled you.”

  “What troubled Ruth is going to be troubling all of us,” Jason said, as he entered the breakfast room in hurried strides. “Good morning, everyone. Ruth received sad news this morning. One of our staff passed away last night.”

  Dina gasped. “Oh, dear! Who?”

  “It was Wilma,” Jason said. “And I received a message from the detective who notified Ruth. He asked me to call him, which I just did.”

  Ruth carried the food to Edward. “Your pancake is in the center of the plate. It’s buttered and has blueberry syrup as you requested and it’s cut into squares. I put two pieces of bacon on the plate. They’re at nine o’clock. You need to eat both of them.”

  Edward smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said and carefully felt for the plate to verify its placement and took a deep breath as he smelled the fresh coffee Ruth was pouring.

  Kenneth got up to fix a plate for Dina while Jason stood, waiting for a moment to speak.

  “What’s the big mystery about Wilma’s passing?” Kenneth asked.

  “She didn’t just pass away. They’re thinking she was murdered,” Jason said. “And according to the detective, there was a supposed suicide note left on the bed, but they’re not buying it.”

  Dina frowned. “Really, Jason! We’re eating here.”

  Jason slapped the table, rattling the crystal. “Fuck breakfast! A woman we know was murdered, and Detective Bruner thinks Wilma was involved in what happened to Uncle Carter. Like I said, there was a suicide note, but the police dismissed that theory. Bruner suspects the person paying her to dispose of Uncle Carter was displeased that none of those incidents killed him, so she was killed to shut her up.”

  Ruth grabbed at her heart in disbelief and fainted at the end of the breakfast-laden sideboard.

  Jason groaned. He shouldn’t have blurted that out so callously. He picked her up and carried her out of the breakfast room and down to the staff lounge.

  Peter turned to see who was entering, then ran toward them.

  “Ruth! Oh, no! What happened, Mr. Jason?”

  “She fainted. I’m afraid there’s more bad news regarding Wilma’s passing. She may have been the one responsible for the attacks on my uncle here in the house and was killed to shut her up. At least that’s their working theory.”

  Peter was obviously stunned, but before he could comment, Ruth moaned. She was coming to.

  “She needs a place to lie down,” Jason said.

  “There’s a daybed in our lounge,” Peter offered.

  “Right!” Jason carried her there.

  Louise walked into the lounge just as Jason laid her down. She rushed to the bed.

  “What happened to Ruth?”

  “She fainted,” Peter said. “Mr. Jason, we’ve got this now. Thank you for bringing her to us.”

  Jason backed off as they circled the bed to tend to Ruth. It felt weird to walk away, but he could tell they were uncomfortable with him in the capacity of helping them, instead of the other way around.

  “This has been a terrible morning. Let me know if we need to call an ambulance,” Jason said and returned to the breakfast room to get his phone.

  When he started to leave, his mother cried out.

  “Jason! Wait! What about your breakfast?”

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” he said and went into the office to call Charlie Dodge. Uncle Carter needed to know this, and Charlie was the link who could make that happen.

  Thirteen

  Charlie was making ham-and-cheese omelets for breakfast when the doorbell rang. He slid the pan off the burner for a moment and went to answer.

  It was Wyrick. The cut on her head had scabbed over, and the bruise on her cheek was darker. But her eyes were flashing, and the jut of her chin was a mute warning not to mention the other issues. She needed a hug, but she sure as hell didn’t want one, so he felt obliged to insult her instead.

  “Use your damn key,” he said and ran back to tend to the omelet before it overcooked.

  Carter walked into the kitchen, saw the stony expressions on both Charlie’s and Wyrick’s faces, and wondered how on earth they managed to work so well together.

  “Good morning, Wyrick,” Carter said.

  “Morning,” she said, then turned her back and took off her turquoise bolero jacket with the black soutache braid, and hung it on the back of her chair. The turquoise eyeshadow with gold eyeliner was a definite statement, and the gold lipstick she was wearing sparkled. Her knee-length pants matched the jacket, with the same black braid running down the outside seam of each leg. Her black knee-high boots had three-inch heels. All she needed was a red cape and the kind of sword bullfighters used for the killing blow. The blouse she’d worn under the jacket was white and semi-sheer. She’d probably chosen it because the dragon tattoo on the entire front of her body was visible enough through the fabric for shock value. Charlie suspected Wyrick needed to unsettle them so they’d leave her the hell alone.

  She saw a note from Charlie on top of her keyboard and picked it up.

  “Who’s Miranda Deutsch?” she asked.

  Charlie slid an omelet onto a plate, then looked up. “Jason’s girlfriend. She’s been out of the country for several months, but since I didn’t know about her before, I don’t want anyone attached to the family in any way to be overlooked. Just r
un a basic background search.”

  Wyrick wanted a cup of coffee before she went to work, but given the small amount of work space in the kitchen, she waited for Carter and Charlie to exit.

  The men took their plates to the other end of the dining table to eat, and as soon as they were out of the way, she filled her cup.

  Charlie already knew she had a tattoo on the front of her body because he saw bits and pieces of it now and then, depending on what she wore. But this was a full-on view, and he was stunned. The colors of the dragon were startlingly beautiful, but the image was of danger, power and rage.

  Like war.

  He knew war.

  He sat down without looking at her again.

  Carter saw it and was intrigued, but he hadn’t forgotten the dressing-down she’d given him when he’d complimented her before, and decided silence was the better choice. He picked up his fork and gave his omelet an appreciative sniff.

  “This smells as good as it looks,” Carter said.

  Charlie shrugged. “I have basic kitchen skills. I’m better at grilling. I used to grill at least twice a week when Annie and I were still together, but I don’t do it anymore. Apartment living and all that.”

  Carter took a bite, and nodded as he chewed. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

  “No problem,” Charlie said.

  Wyrick filled a coffee cup, then got to work.

  For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the rapid click of the keyboard, and the occasional clink of flatware against a plate.

  Charlie finished his omelet and got up to refill their cups.

  “Hey, Wyrick. Need a refill?” he asked.

  “I’m good,” she said shortly.

  Charlie put the carafe back on the stand and was going to get their empty plates when his phone rang. He glanced at it.

  “It’s Jason,” he said. “Carter, remember, no talking.”

  Carter gave him a thumbs-up as Charlie answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Charlie, this is Jason Dunleavy. Do you have a moment? We’ve had something happen that adds to the situation with Uncle Carter.”

  “Wait, I’m going to put this on speaker so my assistant will be able to hear, as well.”

  Wyrick stopped typing to listen as he switched it over.

  “Okay, we’re ready. What happened?”

  “Do you remember the staff you interviewed the day you first came to the house?”

  “Yes, Ruth, your housekeeper, Peter the chef, and three maids, Louise, Arnetta and Wanda...no, Wilma,” Charlie said.

  “Right. We received a call this morning that Wilma was found dead in her apartment. The police believe it was meant to appear as a suicide, but something changed during the attack, so the evidence left behind no longer supported the message on the note.”

  Carter was stunned and it showed.

  Again, Charlie reminded him to stay silent, and Carter nodded.

  “What about the note?” Charlie asked.

  “Basically, it’s written as a confession, stating that Wilma was the one who’d been making all the attempts on Uncle Carter’s life. There was some half-ass excuse about how Carter was always mean and mistreating her, and she’d finally had enough. We all knew immediately that was a lie, and there were other factors about the crime scene that must not have played into that story,” Jason said.

  “Sounds like whoever’s behind it was unhappy that Carter got away alive and silenced the only person who could finger him,” Charlie said.

  “That’s the theory the cops are working on, too. I need you to tell Uncle Carter about this update in the case. Now the cops have a new lead to work from. Wilma has an elderly mother in a nursing home. Her mother no longer knows anyone and requires around-the-clock care. It’s my personal belief that if this scenario is true, then it was likely the cost of her mother’s care that led Wilma to agree to this. Everyone is upset here, as you can imagine.”

  “Do you have personal information on Wilma, like a Social Security number and a birth date? I’ll get my assistant right on this, and see what we can find out from this end.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll call my accountant now and have him text the info to you.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie said.

  The moment the phone call ended, Carter erupted. “I cannot fucking believe this!” Then he turned to Wyrick. “Forgive my language. It’s a shock.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Wyrick said. “Do I continue the search on Miranda, or do you want me to concentrate on the murder victim, instead?”

  “On Wilma, for sure,” Charlie said, and when the info came through, he gave it to her. She flexed her fingers, and began a whole new file on Wilma Short.

  * * *

  Miranda Deutsch was still cursing and screaming when she realized Jason hung up on her. Her anger turned to shock, then to disbelief, then to raging disappointment. She stared at herself in a mirror, wondering what it was about her that no man wanted. She knew she was pretty. Her strawberry blond hair and features were like her mother’s, but she was taller. She had a fit and shapely body, and the intelligence to carry on in any social gathering.

  She’d been reasonably happy until she’d found her mother’s old journal up in the attic, and then got depressed reading about her mother’s social life, the girlfriends she’d had, the daring escapades she’d pulled off without ever getting caught. She’d even been engaged once, then ended it.

  A few months later, Johannes had proposed. Miranda sighed, wondering what it was about the quiet, raw-boned butcher that had attracted a vivacious woman like her mother. She’d died young, but hadn’t wasted one day of her life. Miranda didn’t have a close circle of women friends. She didn’t have old boyfriends, and now she didn’t even have the new one. She didn’t belong to anyone except her father, and she wanted so much more.

  In a fit of pique, she grabbed her purse and car keys and stormed out of the house without a word to anyone. She couldn’t believe this had happened. Everything between her and Jason had been so perfect, or so she’d thought. It was a slap in the face to find out she was the only one in love.

  Her cell rang. It was her father. She let it go to voicemail as she took an on-ramp onto the freeway. The urge to keep on driving was strong, but that would be running away, and Father didn’t believe in running away, so neither did Miranda. He’d fought for what he wanted, and she was going to fight for what she wanted, too. Even though her plans and dreams were gone now... Feeling rebellious, she rolled down all the windows, scanned Sirius XM for an oldies playlist and floored the accelerator. “Highway to Hell” was blasting from the speakers as she hit a hundred miles an hour.

  * * *

  Rey Garza was in the kitchen of his apartment, eating Pop-Tarts with his morning coffee and watching a news program when his cell phone rang. He glanced down at the caller ID. His eyebrows rose, and then he answered.

  “Hello?”

  “What would you do for a hundred thousand dollars?”

  He frowned. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. You mean you need someone,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, for a hundred thousand dollars, I’d probably shoot my own mother—except she’s already dead. Is that what you want to know?”

  “Yes. I want Jason Dunleavy dead. Get to the estate immediately. Catch him as he’s leaving for work and follow. When you find an opportune time, take him out and get lost in the traffic. We meet at Cherry Creek Reservoir directly afterward and I pay you in cash.”

  “What does he drive?” Rey asked.

  “A red Fiat.”

  “I always get my money up front,” Rey said.

  “There’s no time. I’ll make it two hundred thousand.”

  “Done,” Rey said. “But if you don’t pay up, I’ll find you. Understand?”

  The line went dead.

  Rey took one last drink of coffee, ran into his bedroom to get his gun and took off
out of the house with it tucked in the waistband of his jeans. He peeled out of the apartment complex, heading toward Greenwood Village. He’d driven past that castle more than once, so he knew where it was. Hell, everyone in Denver had probably driven past it just to look.

  He reached the area in record time, but without knowing whether or not Jason had already left for work. However, all he could do was sit and wait, so he parked down the street, still giving himself a clear view of the driveway.

  To his surprise, his wait was brief. Within a few minutes, a red Fiat came out of the drive and turned left.

  Rey started his car and followed, staying far enough behind that he didn’t call attention to himself. He followed him on the freeway, and then took the same exit toward downtown where the Dunleavy Building was located. Time was running out and traffic sucked. But now that Rey knew where he was going, he played a hunch and turned off a few blocks early, took a side street, then turned again, hoping to come out at the same light, but on the intersecting street.

  After that, he would play it by ear.

  * * *

  Four hours later, Miranda walked back into the house. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen from crying, and her hair was wild and windblown.

  Johannes caught her in the hall and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Where have you been? I was so worried. I called and called but you never answered. I thought something had happened to you.”

  “Something did happen to me, Father. Jason dumped me. Evidently I’m great in bed, but not good enough to marry.”

  Her father was horrified and then angry. No matter how rich he got, there was always someone richer who looked down on a man selling sausages.

  Johannes wasn’t good at showing his emotions—Johannes was obviously out of his element, hearing his daughter talking so casually about sex—but Miranda knew he was heartbroken over her grief. He took her in his arms, patting her on the back like he’d done when she was a baby. But back then a few pats, a burp, and she was all better. He didn’t know what to do with a grown female’s tears.