Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Janet nodded. “Sounds like some good first steps.”

  Angel left the office with resolve to work things out with her father. Soon. First, though, she had to check in with Rachael.

  “Sorry,” she said when Angel finally reached her. “I’ve been in court all morning, then I had to go talk to Candace.”

  “Yeah . . . I heard about her confession. What’s up with that?”

  “I could strangle the woman. Of course, she did it without my say-so. She’s protecting Gracie. She hasn’t been able to talk to the kids. When you talked about Gracie having been home, it really upset her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You were right. I’m sure Gracie’s footprints were part of what Candace cleaned up.”

  “So, she thinks confessing will protect her daughter?”

  “She’s convinced of it, and unless we can come up with a more compelling suspect than Gracie, I’m afraid Candace won’t budge.”

  Angel told her about her interviews with the women’s group, Fitzgibbon, and Darryl.

  “Wow, you’ve had a busy day. Interesting. So either Fitzgibbon or Darryl could have killed Phillip. Better see if Fitzgibbon has an alibi before we get too excited about him. There’s a small problem with Darryl in that you’re the only one who can testify to his being at the farm during the investigation. I’m surprised none of the officers checked out the barn—well, I’m not really. The guy was killed in the house, and the murder weapon was there.”

  “Are you telling me my say-so isn’t good enough?” Angel switched the cell phone to her other ear.

  “The DA would rip it apart on the stand. You didn’t actually see Darryl. You saw a guy on a cycle. You called Nick and told him you hadn’t gotten a good look at him.”

  “Right. A lot of good that did me.”

  “Basically, you can’t prove it was Darryl,” Rachael went on. “We could try to get the police to go back out to the farm and check out the barn.”

  “I’m not sure that will do any good. They might be able to prove he was there but probably couldn’t pinpoint a time.”

  “Right.”

  “I need to tell Nick about him, anyway.” Angel frowned. “I wish Callen were on the case. He, at least, might listen to me.”

  “I don’t know, Angel. He’d likely side with the Sunset PD on this. Especially since they’ve got a confession. They’re certain they have enough to make the arrest stick with the prints and gun residue and now the confession. In the hearing yesterday afternoon, the judge ruled against her getting out on bail. That’s not a good sign, especially since I stressed her spotless record and the fact that she had three children she needed to care for. He almost found me in contempt of court because I wouldn’t back down. I tried everything, but the DA convinced him that Candace is unstable enough to harm her children as well.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, maybe not. The children were interviewed at school yesterday, and they talked about how strict their mom was and how she made them keep the house spotless. She must have been terrified of what Jenkins would do to them if they were the least bit messy.”

  “They’re suggesting she was abusive?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. The children will be going back to the farm to stay with their grandparents for now.”

  “Mmm. Mom told me they were in town.”

  “They seem nice. They called me today, and I had a good talk with them. The kids will be well cared for. What we need to do is focus on clearing Candace.”

  “How do the grandparents feel about our investigation?”

  “They’re all for it. In fact, they urged us to keep going and even offered to pay part of the bill. They want answers.”

  “They may not be thrilled with the outcome. If Darryl is telling the truth, Gracie was out at the farm before he arrived. He says Jenkins was already dead when he got there and Gracie and some kid were driving away. He gave me a description of the pickup she was in. I’ll try to track it down at the school tomorrow.”

  “All right. Keep me posted.”

  On her way home, Angel wondered how Gracie would take the news about her mother’s confession. Her thoughts drifted from the case to her session with Janet and, consequently, her father. A glance at her watch told her it was dinnertime at the Delaney household. Maybe she’d stop by to see what wonderful dishes her mother had cooked up and invite herself to dinner.

  When she reached the house, Angel knocked and at the same time turned the doorknob. There were no familiar smells emanating from the kitchen. No sign of her mother or father. Had something happened?

  “Ma?” Angel called.

  A muffled sound came from the back of the house. Angel hurried through the living room and down the hall to her parents’ bedroom. “Angel, is that you?” her mother cried out.

  “Where are you?” Angel pushed open the door but didn’t see anyone. The bedcovers had been tossed back.

  Anna grunted. “Over here. Help me.”

  Angel crossed the carpeted floor to the other side of the bed. Anna lay on the floor, pinned down by Frank’s bulky form.

  “What happened?” Angel scrambled over the bed and knelt beside them.

  “Call an ambulance,” Anna gasped. “I was helping him get into bed, and he fell on top of me. I hurt my arm and I can’t move him.”

  Angel placed the call and at the same time dragged and rolled her father onto his back and away from Anna. She wasn’t certain who to attend to first.

  “He blacked out. I’m afraid he may have had another stroke. He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” Anna tried to sit up but cried out in pain.

  “Don’t try to move, Ma. Just lie still.”

  Anna whimpered. “I think I may have broken my arm.”

  Angel checked her father’s carotid artery for a pulse. Nothing. She pressed deeper, desperately feeling for the familiar beat, watching his chest and praying for it to rise. There was no movement. Angel leaned down, putting her ear to his chest. Nothing.

  No, God, no. Please. Angel rose up on her knees and started CPR, knowing as she did that her efforts were too late. Frank Delaney was dead.

  “Angel?”

  She leaned back on her heels. “He’s gone, Ma. He’s gone.”

  A strangled cry escaped her mother’s lips, mingling with the screaming sirens of the emergency vehicles. Anna closed her eyes, and Angel crawled over to her side, placed a pillow under her head, and grasped her hand. The sirens increased in intensity as the strobing lights flashed across the bedroom walls. Anna gripped her hand.

  “I need to let them in, Ma. I’ll be right back.”

  How she managed to survive the next few hours, Angel would never know. She moved robotlike through the house to let in the EMTs and explain what had happened. She watched silently as they loaded her mother onto the stretcher and wheeled her out to the waiting ambulance. At her mother’s insistence, Angel stayed behind. “See to your father,” she’d said. “Call Tim.”

  “I will, Ma. I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can.” She called Tim, arranging to meet him at the hospital. He would call their brothers and the funeral home. “Go be with Mom, Angel,” he said. “She needs you.”

  Numb, Angel followed in her car as EMTs transported her father’s body to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead on arrival.

  You do what you have to do. Anna’s oft-spoken words drifted over her. Angel stayed at the hospital while her mother was examined and x-rayed and told she had a fractured radius and ulna in her right arm.

  It was 10:00 p.m. when Angel and Tim finally left the hospital. The doctor opted to admit Anna for observation, more because of her age and what she had been through than the extent of her injury. She’d been pinned under Frank for two hours. If Angel hadn’t come by when she had, Anna might have been trapped all night.

  Pain medication dulled the pain and Anna’s senses, acting as a sedative and allowing her to sleep. Tomorrow she’d awake to find she was a
widow.

  Angel sat in the darkened room for a long time, watching over her mother’s sleeping form. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as reality dawned. Frank Delaney was gone, and she would never have an opportunity to make her peace with him. She would never know how he really felt about her, because she had never asked. Now it was too late.

  Couldn’t you have waited, Dad? Not even for a day?

  TWENTY-TWO

  The next morning, as students were settling into their classes, Angel drove over to the high school and up and down the rows of cars in the parking lot, looking for the pickup Darryl had reportedly seen.

  She had awakened at 6:00 a.m., dazed and disoriented. She’d talked to Anna at 7:00 and arranged to come to the hospital around 10:00 to take her home. Neither spoke of their loss.

  Perhaps because her emotions were too raw, Angel kept thoughts of her father at bay. When thoughts of him came to mind, she shoved them aside. She could not bear to think of his passing, or face the reality of his death or the fact that the troubles that had divided them would never be resolved.

  You should call Callen. The thought came unbidden and settled in among the others. Angel knew very well what would happen. He’d rush back to Sunset Cove to be with her, to comfort her. Angel didn’t want comfort. She didn’t want tears. She’d have to tell him eventually, but not now and not over the phone.

  Her only escape was to focus on work. So here she was, scanning the parking lot for the gray, primer-coated pickup that Darryl claimed to have seen Gracie in shortly before he had supposedly found his uncle’s body.

  She found the pickup parked in an end space under a maple tree and wrote down the license plate number. With students in class and no one around, she parked behind the vehicle and walked around it. On a whim, she tried the driver’s side door, surprised to find it unlocked. She found the registration form and insurance card in the glove box. The owner’s name was Justin Bailey, the auto repairman’s son.

  Small world. Too small.

  Callen would be questioning Mitch Bailey about the cheerleader from Florence. The mechanic’s car had apparently been stolen, but maybe it hadn’t been stolen after all. Maybe his son had taken it? The thought churned around in her stomach like spoiled milk. Angel didn’t like drawing a correlation between the two cases. Didn’t like that Gracie had been out at the farm with this kid. Her stomach knotted and her heart tripped along a little faster.

  She was going to have to talk with Justin and Gracie soon. Maybe she’d try to catch them after school.

  Angel got into her car and headed for the Jenkins place to interview the neighbors. As she drove, she ruminated over her progress so far. The information she’d gathered jumbled around in an incoherent mess—like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together to make a picture. Which meant she was nowhere near finished with her so-called investigation. How did Callen manage to keep all the details of his cases straight in his head?

  Guilt gnawed at her as she drove. Who do you think you are, playing detective? You should be at the hospital, sitting with your mother. She brushed the negative thoughts away, but they kept coming back and lighting in her mind like pesky flies on rotting fruit.

  Dad had a massive stroke, she told herself. There was nothing you could do.

  Several times she thought about turning around and going back into town but didn’t. Part of her wanted to give up, to go straight home and crawl into bed. Part of her resisted the urge, determined to stay on task as her father had taught her.

  When the going gets tough, the tough get going. She could almost hear her father’s voice reciting the old saying. He had a lot of them. He wasn’t a quitter and never allowed his children to quit either, not even his little girl.

  She hauled in a deep, determined breath and turned onto Cayman Road.

  Officers usually interviewed neighbors when a crime took place, and she felt certain Nick had done that. She doubted, however, that he’d share his findings with her. Which meant she’d have to talk to them on her own.

  Though Candace and Phillip had no close neighbors, maybe one of them had heard or seen something. Plus, Angel wanted to verify Darryl’s story and find out if anyone else had been out at the farm. She drove into the driveway opposite the one leading to the Jenkins’s farm. And after a short drive along a tree-lined paved lane, she found herself parked in front of a beautiful home with a horse barn and several well-cared-for thoroughbreds.

  Angel pulled up to the house and started up the walk. A German shepherd bounded around the corner of the house, barking and snarling. Angel started back to her car when she heard someone ordering the dog to stop. “Sit!” The dog backed off immediately and obeyed the order. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat, coveralls, and a long, loose overshirt came around the corner of the house. In her hand she carried a weed puller.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Possibly. I’m Angel Delaney.”

  “Oh, of course. I thought I recognized you.”

  Everyone seems to these days. “You look familiar too.”

  The woman tipped back her head and laughed. “Well, I should think so. I’m Elsie Moore, Brandon’s aunt—Beverly’s sister? We met at a Christmas party at the Lafferty’s last year.”

  Oops. The party Angel couldn’t wait to leave so she could get back to the Christmas Eve celebration at her parents’ home. Beverly, Brandon’s mother, clearly hadn’t wanted her there. “I’m sorry. I met so many people . . .”

  “No apology needed. I couldn’t wait to get out of there myself. My husband can’t stand her. Don’t get me wrong. I love my sister.” She sighed. “Beverly seems rather haughty, but it’s just a facade. Inside she’s an insecure woman desperately trying to maintain the lifestyle she married into.”

  “Beverly insecure? Are we talking about the same person?”

  “Hard to believe, I know. We came from a very poor family. In fact, our father spent ten years in prison for embezzling funds from the company he worked for. Our mother divorced him, and we moved here to escape the embarrassment he caused us, but the damage was done. Beverly was mortified by it. She suffered much more than I did.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She was still in grade school, and the kids teased her unmercifully.”

  “And they didn’t tease you?”

  “They did, but I have a more resilient personality. I was five years older and able to understand that what my father did was not a reflection on my character.” A deep, throaty chuckle escaped Elsie’s lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Beverly would be mortified. She tries so hard to keep all those sordid details a secret and keep up appearances.” She tilted her head, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you. Guess I just wanted to apologize for any grief she may have caused you.”

  Angel didn’t know what to do with this new information. “Well, it doesn’t matter much anymore, because Brandon and I broke up.”

  “I know, and I’m terribly disappointed.” She smiled. “You were good for Brandon. I’m not certain about Michelle. Do you know her at all?”

  “Um . . . not really.” Angel didn’t feel it appropriate to go into Michelle’s history with her abusive husband. “She seems nice, though.”

  “Hmm. I’m worried that Brandon’s infatuation for her is misguided.”

  “Meaning that he feels sorry for her?”

  She nodded and brushed a sleeve across her brow. “Time will tell, I suppose. But you didn’t come all the way out here to talk about Brandon, did you?”

  “Actually, no. I’m checking in with the Jenkins’s neighbors.”

  “Does this have something to do with Phillip’s death? That poor man. I understand his wife killed him.” She shook her head. “Hard to believe. She seemed so sweet.”

  “She’s been arrested, but that doesn’t mean she did it. I’m investigating for her lawyer. How well did you know them?”

  “I spoke with Candace once or twice and the children a few times—love
ly children. We knew Phillip quite well. He built our house, and we couldn’t be happier. He actually took over for the man we fired . . .”

  Fired? “Who would that be?”

  “Jack Savage.” Elsie clucked. “The man was impossible. He refused to change his building plans to accommodate us. I had specific measurements for my kitchen and pantry along with some changes in the master bath. Come on in and I’ll show you.”

  Angel walked into a high-ceilinged entryway that opened into an elegant open area containing a kitchen, dining area, and family room.

  “I wanted all of my cupboards done with pull-out drawers that were custom made to fit my various appliances.”

  The kitchen was huge with a long bar—a little too austere for her tastes, but nice.

  “We entertain a lot, and I needed shelves and cupboards to accommodate our lifestyle. After arguing with Jack for about a week, with him telling me why what I wanted couldn’t be done and treating me as if I didn’t have a brain in my head, I fired him. I heard about Phillip through a friend—do you know the Fitzgibbons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lorraine and Barry recommended him. I invited Phillip over, and he seemed genuinely impressed with my design skills and was happy to incorporate the changes I wanted. He even came up with some ideas I hadn’t thought of. He suggested the private patio off the bathroom. It made the bathroom seem twice as large and gives us a private Jacuzzi. We love it.”

  It was Angel’s turn to be impressed. Fitzgibbon had said Phillip was talented, and this house proved him right. “How did Jack Savage handle the rejection?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid. He threatened us with a lawsuit. Our lawyers are still battling it out.”

  “Is Savage the kind of guy who might want revenge?”

  “You’re not suggesting . . .” She placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, dear. I hope not.”

  “Did you notice anyone coming or going the day Phillip was killed?”

  “I’m afraid not. I was here all day.” She waved her arm. “As you can see, we’re rather remote. I can’t see the road from the house, which is the way we like it.”