Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Everybody who knew him will. Even me. See, I’m the one Candace called to come out to the farm. When I got there he was dead, so I called the cops.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and Angel felt certain he remembered seeing her there. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m just glad my mother can vouch for me. I was at her place making soup when he was killed.”

  He took another swallow of whatever he was drinking. “I was on the road.”

  She sighed. “I don’t think so, Darryl. I think you were in the barn when Candace came home that day. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, since you were there.”

  “I wasn’t there. What makes you think that?”

  “I think you went inside the house to say hi when you came to pick up your Harley. Maybe you even saw your uncle. Was he alive when you got there?”

  “No way, man. Who are you, anyway? You a cop or something?”

  “Or something.” She leaned back, hoping the gesture would lessen his anxiety. “Look. I’m a friend, and I’m just trying to figure out what went down so we can get Candace off the hook and out of jail. Candace and the kids told me about you. She said she hadn’t seen you for a few days. But you had to have been in the barn when she came home. You couldn’t possibly have left there without someone seeing you.”

  He glanced toward the exit, his fist gripping a paper napkin.

  “I was just out there yesterday, and you locked me in the basement,” Angel went on. “See, Darryl, I saw you take off on your bike. Brian told me you sometimes leave your Harley in the barn. My theory is that you went out to the farm the day Phillip was killed to get your bike. I’m thinking you hitched a ride with somebody. You saw your uncle, and maybe you killed him and maybe you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t kill him.” He sucked in his bottom lip. “He was dead when I got there.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police? An innocent person would have called the cops.”

  “I couldn’t.” His breathing escalated, and Angel thought he was going to run. “Okay, you’re right. I did go out to the farm to pick up my bike, but I didn’t kill him. He was dead when I got there. After I saw him, I went out to the barn to get the Harley. I was gonna leave when Candace drove up, but I was afraid she’d think I killed him and would tell the police, so I just hid out in the barn. Only then you came and then the cops. Don’t you see? I couldn’t leave. Figured nobody would find me out there in the loft, so I just camped out there.”

  “Must have been rough hiding out there all that time.”

  “Not really. I’ve stayed out there before. I got kind of hungry, but I had my backpack and a couple granola bars in it, so I did okay. I was just waiting for a chance to leave. Darn cops had somebody out there all night.”

  “And this afternoon I showed up again.”

  He ducked his head. “I saw you snooping around, and when you went into the cellar, I figured that was my chance. Sorry about locking you in.” He cast her a furtive grin. “How did you get out?”

  Angel told him about the doorknob.

  “Smart thinking. You’re not gonna tell the cops about me, are you?”

  Angel skirted the issue. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d already talked to Nick. “Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  Darryl picked up a French fry and examined it. “No, except that I didn’t kill Uncle Phil. He was always real good to me.”

  Angel rested her arms on the table again. “Tell you what. I won’t press charges against you, but I’m going to have to tell the cops what I know. If you tell them first, they might not charge you with anything. They seem bound and determined to believe Candace killed him, especially now that she’s confessed. If you’re telling the truth and he was dead before you got there, that means she must have killed him before she left to pick up the kids, which is what they’re thinking anyway. Personally, I think someone else killed him.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “Okay. I’ll take your word for it. By the way, how did you get out to the farm to pick up your bike?”

  “I hitched a ride with some guy. He let me off on the highway, and I walked in.”

  “What time did you get there?”

  “A little before 2:00.”

  “Did you notice anyone coming or going?”

  He frowned. “Yeah, actually I did. I didn’t think much about it, but I saw a truck pull out onto the highway and head into town. I thought I saw Gracie in the front seat. I waved, but she ducked out of sight.”

  Angel held her feelings in check. “What kind of vehicle was it?”

  “A Toyota pickup—gray primer all over it.”

  “You think it might have been Gracie?” Angel asked.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. That girl is one coldhearted—”

  “Did you notice who was driving?”

  “A guy. Blond hair . . . well, not blond; actually, he had dark roots. He had a tan—like he’d been to California or Florida or something.”

  Angel nodded. “Thanks, Darryl. I appreciate your talking to me. Like I said, I’m going to give you a chance to tell the police what you know. You could end up being the witness they need to solve the case.”

  “You think so?” His expression held a hint of something she couldn’t quite read. She had a feeling he wasn’t about to turn himself in, that he’d probably skip town the first chance he had.

  “Well, I’m glad that mystery is solved.” She gave him another smile. “Now, if we could just figure out who killed your uncle. We know it wasn’t Candace or you . . .” Angel knew nothing of the sort, but she wanted this guy’s cooperation and she definitely didn’t want him to run.

  “Gracie didn’t much like him or me, but I never figured her for a killer.”

  Angel took a sip of the lukewarm, bland, greasy soup, wondering for a moment if gamblers lost their sense of taste like smokers did. Of course, a lot of people who gambled also smoked. There you go. She crumbled up a package of crackers and dumped them in, hoping to add a little flavor.

  “Hmm,” Angel began, “we do know that Gracie was at the house that afternoon. I wonder why. I’ll have to talk to her again.” She looked Darryl straight in the eye. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone else when you drove out there? Did your uncle like to invite friends over to watch the games with him?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did he talk about having problems with anyone? People he didn’t get along with or who might have had some gripe with him?”

  Darryl dipped a fry into some catsup and seemed more relaxed and even friendly. “Yeah, his partner. I never could figure out why they got together. Except that Fitz—whatever his name is—had a lot of money. Uncle Phil told me he had a plan to get more of it. One time when we’d been drinking, he said he knew something about Fitz . . .”

  “Fitzgibbon,” Angel offered.

  “Yeah. Something big that the guy would pay bucks for.”

  “Blackmail?” Now she was getting somewhere.

  “No.” His tone was adamant. “He wouldn’t do nothing illegal.”

  I’ll bet. “Then what?”

  “Uh, I shouldn’t be telling you this. Phil was just talking. He wouldn’t have done anything.”

  “Maybe his talking is what got him into trouble, Darryl. Maybe Fitzgibbon didn’t like the idea of your uncle having something against him.”

  “You think?”

  Angel pushed her soup aside and finished off the last bite of buttery fry bread. “It’s possible. You have a lot of good information that the police are going to need if we want to clear Candace.”

  “Guess you’re right about that, but still. I’m not too crazy about talking to the cops.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked, leaning toward him and talking low.

  A flash of uncertainty swept across his face and lingered in his eyes. “Why would you say that?”

  Because you look guilty. She shrugged. “M
ost people would have come forward with that kind of information, unless they had something to hide.”

  “Well, I don’t.” He crumpled another napkin and tossed it on his tray. “I’ll talk to them.” His lips formed a hard line. “They won’t arrest me, will they?”

  “Darryl, coming forward is the smartest thing you can do.” She reached into her bag for a notepad and scribbled her name and number on it. “They’ll know you’re innocent. But if they find out you were there . . . and if Gracie saw you, she could tell them. They’ll be wondering why you didn’t come forward.”

  He gave that some thought. “Okay, then.”

  “If you think of anything else, give me a call.” She handed him the note. She wasn’t sure she’d convinced him, but it didn’t matter. She would tell Nick about him herself. Darryl being out at the farm and saying Gracie had been there opened the door to all kinds of possibilities. And that business about Fitzgibbon being a blackmail victim upped the suspect list significantly. Rachael would have no problem at all proving that there were others with motive, means, and opportunity, including Darryl.

  Angel glanced at her watch. “Wow, look at the time. I have an appointment at 4:30. It was nice meeting you, Darryl.”

  “Real nice meeting you. Sorry about locking you in the basement.”

  “I’ll forgive you this time. You’re just lucky I got out as quickly as I did, or I might not be so magnanimous. I appreciate you taking time to talk to me.” She stood up, pushed the chair in, and grabbed her bag.

  Angel glanced back as she hit the set of doors. Darryl eased into a chair at one of the machines and slipped in a card along with a bill. So much for going straight to the police.

  She shook her head, wondering where he got the gambling money when, from all appearances, the guy barely had enough to feed himself and keep a roof over his head. Especially since he’d lost his job. Maybe he won a jackpot. Could be blackmail. Maybe Darryl was taking over where his uncle had left off with Fitzgibbon. Something to think about.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Angel called Rachael to let her know she would be in a counseling session. The session was one Angel had scheduled last week, and although she did want to talk to Janet about some personal concerns, she would use some of her time to ask more questions. When Rachael didn’t answer her phone, Angel left a message. She thought about calling Nick as well, but decided to wait until she had more time. She doubted Nick would do anything about Darryl, anyway.

  Janet’s office was in an upscale office building near the waterfront that housed Maxwell’s, Sunset Cove’s most elegant restaurant. Stepping into the reception area, Angel greeted Claire. The receptionist let her glasses drop, her beaded holder catching them.

  “Hi, Angel, Janet will be out in a few minutes.” She put a check beside Angel’s name.

  The door opened, and Janet ushered one of her clients out with a reminder about next week’s appointment. She turned to Angel. “Hi, sorry I ran a little over. Come on back.” Angel followed her to her office and sank into the easy chair.

  Angel remembered the first time she’d come and how she’d perched on the edge of the seat like a rebellious teenager planning to stay through her one required visit, then quit. She’d resented having to go, but Janet, who was an old friend, seemed like a safe person to talk with. Angel had done her six sessions and decided to stay on. These forty-five minutes provided Angel with a place to say whatever was on her mind. And, if she were completely honest with herself, she still had a lot of issues to deal with, her father being one of them.

  “How is everything?” Janet asked.

  “Depends.” She smiled. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the support group, but I’m keeping busy.” She gave her the details of her work with Rachael.

  Janet raised an eyebrow. “How do you feel about working as a private investigator?”

  “Good, I think. Though I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. I’m asking questions, digging up whatever information I can.”

  Janet smiled. “Let me guess, you want to interrogate me in private.”

  “Not interrogate, but I did want to ask you more questions.”

  “Are you sure you want to use your time for that?”

  “Part of it.”

  Janet shrugged. “It’s your dime, but I’m not sure I can add anything to what you already have.”

  “I know Candace saw you in group, but did you counsel her individually too?”

  “Angel, I can’t talk about my clients. You know that.”

  “So she is a client.”

  Janet sighed, crossed her arms, and leaned back in the chair.

  “Do you think she killed her husband?”

  “No. I already indicated that.”

  “Any idea who might have?”

  “I wish I did, Angel. I hate to see Candace suffer like this. She’s a good person.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about anyone Phillip might have had a problem with?”

  Janet picked up a pen and tapped it against her left hand. “There just isn’t anything I can tell you. What has Candace told you?”

  “Not much. She and Gracie both mentioned Darryl, Phillip’s nephew. I’m working that angle too. I just thought you might know something that could help.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What about Michelle Kelsey? I know she hasn’t been coming to group lately, but are you seeing her privately?”

  Janet pinched her lips together. “Angel, please don’t ask me about these people. Whatever clients say is confidential, and unless they are a danger to themselves or others, I won’t break that confidence. You of all people should respect that.”

  “I do.” Angel frowned.

  “Then go to the source. Talk to Michelle and Candace yourself.”

  “Guess I’ll have to.”

  “Now, how about we get back on track?” Janet asked. “What do you want to work on today?”

  “My father,” Angel said without hesitation.

  Janet made a note on her pad. Rather than ask about it, she settled back in her chair and waited for Angel to continue.

  Angel wasn’t sure where to start. Just envisioning her father brought tears to her eyes. “He looks so frail and . . . old. I guess I never really thought of him as getting older. He’s always been my dad—the guy who could do anything. Now someone has to do everything for him.”

  Janet nodded. “Must be hard.”

  “I can hardly stand to be around him. He looks at me as though it’s all my fault.”

  “Your fault? You mean the stroke?”

  “That and the heart attack. I can’t blame him for thinking that. If I hadn’t argued with him that day my place was broken into . . . He wanted me to go home, and I refused.” Angel used the tissue Janet handed her to dry her eyes and blow her nose, then tipped her head back against the chair. “I should’ve listened to him and just gone along. Maybe things would have been different.”

  “Do you really think his medical condition is a result of what you did or didn’t do?”

  “No, not in my head. The doctor told us he had coronary artery disease and that he’d had a heart condition for years.”

  “You say he’s angry with you. Has he told you that?”

  “Not in so many words. He can’t talk, but the way he looks at me . . . I feel so guilty and he treats me differently than he treats everyone else.”

  “Maybe you’ve been treating him differently.”

  “Well, yeah. He is different.” Angel picked up a throw pillow and hugged it.

  “We’ve talked before about putting your feelings on the table. What kind of feelings does being around your father evoke?”

  “Guilt, mostly. My mother says I don’t visit with him enough.”

  “Do you agree with that?”

  “No.” She sighed. “Yes. I don’t want to be around him. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel angry and resentful.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And that makes me feel even more guilt
y.”

  “Angel, some of what you’re describing is grief.”

  Angel considered that for a moment. She had and was still experiencing grief over Dani’s death, and Billy’s. That grief she understood. “But he didn’t die.”

  “No, but part of him has. He’s not the same now as he used to be. He’s lost his health, his job, his strength. You lost the father you knew. It’s not at all unusual to feel guilty and angry. That’s a big part of grief. Maybe your father’s anger isn’t directed at you. Maybe it’s directed at himself.”

  “What about his disappointment in me? I mean, that’s pretty clear. I took time off my job, and he hates me for it.”

  “Are you sure? Have you asked him?”

  “No, I haven’t asked him. He can’t talk, he . . .” Angel blinked away tears and bit on her lower lip. She hadn’t asked him because she was afraid of the answer. Shaking her head she added, “I can’t talk to him.”

  “I could be wrong, but it seems to me you are projecting your own feelings onto him. And you’re not giving him a chance to let you know how he really feels.”

  “So you think I’m imagining those looks?”

  “I didn’t say that. But it’s important for you to know what he’s really thinking.”

  “I know you’re right, I just don’t know how to start.”

  “I think you do.” Janet’s gaze met Angel’s.

  “Tom seems to understand him. I suppose I could talk to Tom and get some pointers. I could talk to my dad more when I’m at the house. I haven’t made much of an effort to communicate.”

  Janet smiled. “Good start.”

  “You think it will work?”

  “Getting at the truth will help.”

  “Yeah, but what if I’m right, and he is disappointed in me?”

  “Then it’ll be his problem, not yours. You may not find the answer you’re hoping for, but you’ll know the truth . . .”

  “And the truth shall set you free,” Angel finished.

  “That’s true, but it’s not what I had intended to say. Knowing will allow you to stop beating yourself up over it.”

  “Okay, if you say so.” Angel folded her arms. “I’ll work on it.”