Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Tim went on to preach his prepared sermon—the second in a series on marriage. The sermon was on relationships. He began with the verse that talked about wives being obedient to their husbands. That verse had always given Angel trouble. Probably because she’d seen too many men use it as a reason to abuse their wives. Jenkins had done that.

  Her brother surprised her by turning the tables and making obedience the responsibility of both partners. Husbands were to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Husbands and wives were to obey one another, but in order to achieve that obedience, there had to be sacrificial love on both sides. Both partners were to undergird one another and offer support in a way that each would become the best at whatever he or she was meant to do. Tim gave an example in his own life in which he wanted Susan to quit working after their first child was born.

  “I thought she should do what I wanted because I, after all, was the head of the house. I made the rules. I wanted a traditional pastor’s wife who would head up the women’s ministry team and hostess our get-togethers. Susan came to me one day and told me that if I really wanted her to be a homemaker, she would. She loved staying home with the baby. But she also wanted me to understand that the choice would be costly. She loved nursing, and by taking it away I would be diminishing her as well as our relationship.

  “You see, nursing is Susan’s ministry,” he went on. “It’s part of who she is.” Tim glanced at Susan, his eyes tearing. With difficulty he managed to end his sermon, saying, “God showed me that day that what Susan chose to do was between him and Susan. My job was not to tell her what to do but to support her in whatever God wanted for her.”

  Angel’s admiration for her brother went up several notches that morning, and at family dinner she told him so.

  Callen came to the house after the funeral, insisting on taking over the kitchen so Anna could rest. Surprisingly she didn’t argue. Angel made her mother comfortable on the sofa and helped Callen prepare a simple meal of oven-fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh green beans, and a tossed salad. Callen was strangely quiet during the meal preparation and through dinner.

  After the meal, the women cleaned the kitchen while the guys set up the volleyball net on the beach. Guys against the girls. Angel played hard, but her competitive spirit was missing. She guessed they all felt that way, because they gave it up after forty-five minutes.

  Callen went home after offering his condolences again. He hadn’t asked Angel over, and she hadn’t asked him to stay. She couldn’t say why and didn’t really want to know. Had Tim’s message on marriage scared him off? He hadn’t commented on it. Had she shown him too much of her own temper, her own stubbornness? Maybe it was for the best. No need to break things off. Just let whatever it was they felt for each other fade into oblivion. That suits me.

  Liar.

  Angel offered to spend the night, but her mother said she didn’t want to stay in the house just yet. She’d be staying with Tim for a few more days. Angel didn’t blame her. Besides, Susan would do a much better job of taking care of her than Angel could. That settled, Angel said her good-byes and went back to her empty apartment.

  Feeling restless and lonely, she did her run that evening an hour before sunset. She ran past Callen’s home, thinking to at least say hello to Mutt. She cleared the dune enough to see Callen’s porch and stopped. A woman stood at the railing, smiling into the wind as she watched the setting sun.

  Getting up on Monday morning was always hard, but today the task seemed monumental. Amid the aching muscles from the volleyball game was the heartache of seeing a woman standing on Callen’s deck as though she belonged there. She might have been a model, sleek and trim, all dressed in white, with a red mane tossing in the wind. No wonder Callen hadn’t invited her over. He’d apparently had other plans.

  Angel didn’t know what to make of it. Didn’t really want to think about it. They hadn’t made any kind of commitment. Still, it hurt far more than it should have that he would be seeing someone else.

  She got up and made coffee, showered while it perked, and tried to keep the woman’s image out of her mind. Hurt melded into anger. He could have at least told her he was seeing someone else.

  You’re beyond all that, she tried to tell herself. Jealousy is for those who care.

  Okay. She cared, and she was jealous and angry and hurt.

  And you don’t have time for it.

  Angel swept the turmoil under a rug in the corner of her mind, determined to concentrate on her job. Once dressed in her PI uniform—jeans, a light blue V-neck T-shirt, and a plaid wool blazer—she fixed herself a piece of whole grain toast with crunchy peanut butter, drank her second cup of coffee, and picked up the phone. It was 9:30.

  “Rachael,” she said when the attorney answered. “We need to talk.”

  “Right. I was hoping you’d call. I just had the most interesting conversation with a new client.” She cleared her throat with deliberation and disapproval. “Why didn’t you tell me about this email business yesterday? You’re supposed to keep me informed.”

  “When did I have time? You were hanging on to my brother all day. And you two took off right after the game. Besides, no one seemed very talkative yesterday.”

  “I know. Paul was having a hard time—all of you are. Um, I don’t mean to be insensitive, Angel. If you need some time . . .”

  “No. I need to keep busy.”

  “I wish I’d known about Janet before you told Callen.”

  “Sorry, my priorities were a little out of line. The point is, what do we do now? Will the emails make a difference for Candace?”

  “I’m not sure. It hasn’t so far. Listen, I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Pick me up at my office, and we’ll go to Joanie’s.”

  Once they’d ordered and received their coffee and bagels, Angel filled Rachael in on what she’d discovered so far. “Do you think they’ll drop the charges and let Candace out?” Angel bit a piece off her cinnamon raisin bagel. “Phillip’s funeral is today.”

  “I doubt she’ll be able to go. The police aren’t buying it. I have a call in to the DA, but I don’t expect him to change his mind. They’re saying Janet may have written the notes to protect her client and that she’s somehow all involved in this diabolical plan to free Candace.”

  “The DA told you that?”

  “Joe told me. Janet has an alibi for the afternoon Jenkins was killed. According to her assistant, she was in the office all afternoon.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Angel licked cream cheese off her knuckle. Something Rachael had said clung to her mind like a magnet. “Diabolical plan,” she said aloud. “This may sound really far-fetched, but what if several women devised a plot to kill off their husbands? Maybe they establish an alibi for themselves while another woman from their group kills the husband. Candace has her alibi, but the timing didn’t work out the way it was supposed to.”

  “Whoa. That’s some imagination you’ve got there.” Rachael was quiet for a moment. “It sounds pretty crazy, like all those government conspiracy theories, but . . . it’s possible, and that scares me.”

  “What’s really scary is that they aren’t finished yet.” Angel sighed. “At least that’s what the last email indicated.”

  “Or the police might be right. Maybe Janet did manufacture this Dragonslayer to take the attention off Candace.” Rachael picked red onion strings off her bagel and set them on her plate. “Might have worked too, if she hadn’t confessed.”

  “Hmm. It does seem a bit contrived that someone would come forward now, especially with the letters appearing on Janet’s computer and Dragonslayer using her account.”

  They continued eating and after a few bites, Angel asked, “Have you talked to Candace about her confession?”

  “She’s sticking by it. Says she still wants me to defend her. Guilty by reason of insanity.” Rachael picked up her lox and cream cheese bagel and looked at it, opened her mouth, and closed it again.

  “She�
��s lying,” Angel said. “I know it and you know it, but she won’t back down.”

  “Thanks to your little confrontation. I wish you hadn’t told her Gracie had been there. But like you said, she already knew.”

  “Like I said before, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, it’s not really your fault. I’m working up a good defense, but it won’t be easy.”

  Angel stared into her drink before taking a sip. “If the emails are bogus, what about the threat against me? Was that bogus as well?”

  Rachael frowned. “What threat?”

  “Dragonslayer wants me out of the way.”

  Angel’s cell phone rang. It was her mother. “Where are you?”

  “At Joanie’s, why? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need me to come over to Tim’s?”

  “I’m at home.” She sighed. “Where I belong.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, Susan brought me. At any rate, Debra Stanton just called. She’s frantic. Her husband is missing.”

  Angel dropped what was left of her bagel and rummaged in her bag for a pen. “Has she called the police?” Her heart picked up tempo. Was Douglas Stanton Dragonslayer’s next victim?

  “Yes, but they’re not really doing much at this point. You know that twenty-four-hours thing. She’s afraid he’s been murdered like the others. She called me hoping I could talk you into looking for him. I gave her your number.”

  “All right, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

  Angel rang off, and her phone rang again. This time it was Debra, and she sounded far more distressed than her mother had indicated.

  “Calm down,” Angel told the woman. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Doug didn’t show up at the office this morning. I called and he wasn’t there and no one knows where he is. I’ve called the nursing home where his mother lives and he wasn’t there. This isn’t like him. The police are giving me the runaround. Please, your mother said you’d help.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Angel covered the mouthpiece and turned to Rachael to explain the situation.

  “Debra is in the support group, right?”

  Angel nodded.

  She whistled. “Tell her we’ll check it out.”

  “Debra, I’m with Rachael, and we’re going to look for him.”

  “Thank you,” she sobbed. “I know I’ve said some hateful things about Doug, but I love him.”

  “I need to ask you a few questions.” Angel pulled out a pad and began writing. “I imagine you checked, but is anything missing, like an overnight case, any of his clothes . . . ?”

  “No, nothing. He left at 8:00 like he usually does to open the bank, and apparently never got there. Laura Ostrander, the vice president, called me at 8:30 asking if he was okay. Fortunately she has keys, but he wasn’t there and there was no note or anything.”

  “What kind of car was he driving?” Angel began making notes to herself.

  “The Mercedes. Black with black leather interior.”

  Angel asked for the license plate number and got a description of what he was wearing. She had met the bank president and knew him by sight. He was around fifty with dishwater blond hair graying at the temples. About five-ten to his wife’s five-six. Thin but muscular and in good shape. Angel had often seen him running on the beach when she did her own runs, and he went to the same gym. Of course, everyone in Sunset Cove went to the same gym, since it was the only one they had.

  Angel dropped off Rachael at the church and headed toward the bank. She was just getting out when she heard a gunshot. It thunked into the flower box above her head. She dove to the sidewalk as another shot bit into her arm.

  In utter disbelief, Angel rolled to her side and grabbed for her arm, pressing against the searing pain. Someone nearby revved up an engine and sped away. An eerie silence followed the gunshots. Angel fought off the all-too-familiar images and ensuing panic and struggled to her knees.

  Then voices. And in the distance, sirens. A young man ran out of the bank and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Angel ran a shaking hand through her hair. “I think so.”

  The man had dark hair and kind blue eyes. He wore a denim shirt and jeans and cowboy boots. “You’re bleeding.”

  Angel glanced at her hand still pressed against the wound. She held the hand out in front of her, watching the blood drip to her jeans. She lifted her blurred gaze to the stranger. “I guess I am.”

  “Don’t try to get up. The police are on the way; so is an ambulance.”

  The last thing Angel remembered before losing consciousness was Nick’s concerned face. “Why couldn’t you have listened to me? You just had to go and get yourself shot, didn’t you?”

  As if getting shot was her idea. “Thanks, Nick. I love you too,” she murmured as the EMTs strapped her onto the stretcher.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  She awoke in the emergency room, smelling anesthetic and seeing bright lights that hurt her eyes.

  “Welcome back.” The same man from in front of the bank stood over her, only he was wearing a white coat and smiling. A stethoscope hung around his neck. His hands were hidden by a green paper. “I hear you’re an Angel. I’ve never stitched up an Angel before.”

  “Just my name.” She must have already gotten something for pain, as her words slurred and her mouth didn’t seem capable of following orders.

  He chuckled. “I’m Doctor McMahon. Thought I’d finish what I started.”

  “So I really got hit?” She couldn’t feel the pain any longer, only a slight tug.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “The bullet took a nice little chunk out of your deltoid. Skimmed off some muscle, but it looks clean. You lost a fair amount of blood—nicked an artery, but you’ll live.”

  His bloodied, gloved hand rose up over the green paper, along with the curved needle he was holding.

  “How many stitches?”

  “Oh, a dozen or so.”

  “Did you see who shot me?”

  “Sorry. I was in the bank. Thought for a while we were being held up. The first shot had everybody on the floor. I don’t think anybody actually saw anything, but the police are questioning people up and down the street. I heard a car take off, and when I got up I saw you. Told everyone else to stay put, and I ran out to check on you.”

  Angel closed her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” He held up the needle again and snipped the thread. Looking past her he said, “A couple four-by-fours and some cling wrap should do it.”

  Angel tipped her head back. A woman in green scrubs tore open the bandages and held the package open so he could take them. She gave Angel a smile.

  “So tell me, who’d want to shoot a nice girl like you?” the doctor asked.

  “Humph. I wish I knew.”

  After dressing the wound, Dr. McMahon stripped off his gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands. Looking over his shoulder, he told the nurse, “Go ahead and get her cleaned up.”

  To Angel he said, “You can go home, but no pull-ups for a few days. I want to see you in my office in a week to ten days to take out the stitches. You can shower if you cover the dressing with cling wrap and promise not to get it wet. You’ll get an instruction sheet and a prescription for pain pills if you need them. Take it easy today. Rest.” He smiled. “Of course, I doubt that will be a problem. Your boyfriend told me he wasn’t letting you out of his sight.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Detective Riley. At least I assumed he was your boyfriend. He’s waiting outside.”

  Angel didn’t comment one way or the other. She thanked the doctor and nurse and let them assist her into the wheelchair. When the nurse wheeled her through the automatic doors into the waiting room, Callen stopped pacing.

  “I’m taking you home,” he said. “To my place.”

  The look on Callen’s face told Angel he wasn’t taking no for an answer, and Angel had no energy to argue
.

  Callen blamed himself for not taking the threat more seriously. Blamed himself for leaving it to the shorthanded Sunset Cove police to deal with the mysterious Dragonslayer. He’d been interviewing the mechanics at Mitch’s Auto Body regarding the supposed stolen car when he got the call from Nick. “Angel’s been shot,” Caldwell had said. “Thought you’d want to know.”

  He’d practically flown to the hospital, even after Nick had told him it wasn’t life threatening. “A few stitches and she’ll be fine.”

  Thank God for that. What upset him most was that the shots could have been fatal. He’d beaten himself up over and over again, but the moment the doors opened and the nurse pushed Angel through, Callen’s heart turned to mush. He had no time for ruminations and self-loathing. He had to focus on one thing—keeping Angel safe. On the drive to the hospital and in the waiting room, he’d made all the arrangements. He’d reassured Anna that Angel was fine and he’d be taking her home. Anna blessed him and said she’d let the others know. They’d be over later in the afternoon to see her.

  It was all settled, and he was more than pleased with his efficiency until he saw Angel’s face. Something had changed. Her obvious displeasure at seeing him may have just been the pain medication and loss of blood, but he didn’t think so. Of course there was the argument, but he thought they’d resolved that.

  She was in his car now, and still she hadn’t said anything. She’d tilted the seat back and had fallen asleep. Maybe that was best for now. He drove her home and parked beside a Lexus.

  “New car?” Angel asked as they pulled in the driveway.

  “My sister’s. She’s here for a few days.”

  “Oh.” Angel reached for the car door and winced. The pain medication must have been wearing off.

  “Hold on.” Callen jumped out and ran around to the passenger side of his SUV and pulled open the door. “You’re supposed to be resting that arm.”