“Nothing,” I muttered.
I turned around, stepped off the porch, and went to the left. I had to stand on tiptoe to check in another window, where I looked into a home office that had a desk with nothing on it but a lamp and some computer cables dangling down one side. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall held just a few books. Nothing like my office, stuffed with my first-edition detective novels, other mystery and suspense novels, and film noir DVD collection. I continued on around the house, peeking in windows. I got the sense that Hinton either had been cleaned out in his divorce and hadn’t bothered to redecorate, or that he and his ex hadn’t cared about the décor.
At the back of the house was a large covered redwood deck that had a beautiful view of the Rocky Mountains. I crossed the deck to double sliding-glass doors and looked inside. To the left was a TV room, with couches, oversized chairs, and a huge flat-screen TV on the wall opposite the door. Beyond that was a hallway that I presumed led to the garage, and possibly to other rooms. Directly in front of me were a dining table and chairs, and to the right, the kitchen. I checked the door locks. Again, they didn’t appear to have been tampered with in any way. I stepped over to a big kitchen window and tried to slide it open. Locked. I stared into the kitchen. It was big, like everything about the house, with lots of cherry cabinets and granite countertops, but little in the way of décor. I stepped back and let my eyes rove around the back of the house.
Something didn’t seem right. I went back over my conversation with Hinton. He’d said that after he’d seen an intruder by the back door, he’d run to the garage, but that he hadn’t passed by the back door. I moved up to the sliding doors again and peered inside. The hallway that led to the garage was to the left. I stepped back, put my hands on my hips, and stared at the door. Unless I was misunderstanding something, Hinton would’ve had to run past the sliding doors to get to the garage, and the intruder would’ve seen him. I pulled out my phone and called Hinton, but he didn’t answer. I left him a message to call me, and then made my way around the other side of the house.
I passed by the side of the garage and gazed into a small window. Inside was a red convertible BMW Z4 roadster, a black Lexus, and a silver Ford Edge. I eyed the Beemer enviously. I’d bet it was fun to drive. Then something occurred to me. The garage was full. Did that mean Hinton was not driving his own car now, or did he have yet another car? I’d have to ask him that as well. I hurried around to the front of the house and the front porch. I checked the door one last time to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. I hadn’t, but I had more questions now than when I arrived.
“Can I help you with something?”
The gravelly voice startled me. I whirled around to see a short, thin man with a gray stubble of beard squinting at me.
“Hello,” I said casually.
“You need something?” His eyes were narrow and beady.
“I was looking for Pete Hinton,” I said.
“He’s not here right now.”
I jerked a thumb back at the door. “Yes, I know.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Who’re you?”
“I’m a friend.”
“He didn’t tell you he was on vacation?”
I shrugged.
“He asked me to watch the house while he’s gone.” His lips bunched up in disdain.
“That’s always a good idea.” I frowned, trying to appear concerned. “He asked me to do the same thing. Has he had any problems around here?”
He nodded. “I told Pete right before he left that a strange car was parked on the road near his house for a couple of nights in a row.”
“What kind of car?”
He shrugged. “It was dark and I didn’t get a good look, but I think the car was black.”
“It was a car? Not an SUV or truck?”
“Right, but I don’t know what make or model.”
“Did you see who was in the car?” I asked.
He shook his head. “But another night I thought I saw somebody walking around through the trees there.” He gestured behind him at the evergreens in the yard.
“Was it two nights ago?”
“No, this was before Pete left on vacation.” His lips wrinkled up. “When I told him, that sure made him nervous. I told him I doubted it was anything to worry about, but he asked me to let him know if I saw anyone else.”
“Did you?”
He eyed me. “I thought I saw someone around here last night.”
“What’d he look like?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. For all I know, it could’ve been the neighbor kids playing around.”
“Did you see anyone today?”
He threw me a long gaze and the lips bunched up again. “Only you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I saw your car drive in and after you didn’t drive out right away, I thought I’d better come over and see who it was,” he crossed his arms, “and if there was a problem.”
He should get a neighborhood watch award for his nosiness. But I was getting some interesting information from him, so who was I to argue?
“There’s no problem,” I said. I started past him. “I’ll be going now.”
Then something occurred to me and I turned around. The guy was following so close he almost bumped into me.
“A couple nights ago, did you see a police car around here?” I asked. “About midnight?”
“No.”
“Were you awake at that time?”
He nodded. “I stay up for all the late-night television, and I watch movies on Sunday nights. Then I go to bed. And I looked out my bedroom window and watched Pete’s house for a while.”
Boy, he took his job seriously.
“Okay, thanks,” I said. I took out my wallet and handed him a card. “If you see anyone around, will you give me a call?”
He grabbed the card and his eyebrows shot up. “Private investigator? What’s going on?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
The eyes narrowed into slits. “You sure about that?”
“Yes. Just let me know if you see anyone around, if you don’t mind.”
He waited a long moment and then slowly agreed.
“And your name is?” I asked.
“John Mills.”
He eyed me as I got into the 4-Runner and backed out of the driveway, and was still watching when I turned onto the street.
Chapter Nine
It sounded like someone had been stalking Hinton, just as he feared. The question was who?
After my run-in with Hinton’s neighbor, I had even more questions than before, and I still didn’t have a good feeling about Hinton himself. I needed to find out more about him and decided that I could start by talking to his ex-wife, Denise Hinton, if she was at home. I stopped along Santa Fe, pulled out my phone and looked up her name in a White Pages directory. She lived a little farther west, in a newer subdivision south of Wadsworth Parkway and C-470, so I headed there.
Ten minutes later, just as I was driving toward Denise’s house, a large two-story, a gold Lexus backed out of the garage and onto the street. A woman with hair the color of almonds was at the wheel. I didn’t know what Denise Hinton looked like, but I was going to take a guess and say that was her. She sped past me, her eyes on the road. I flipped a U-turn and followed. She reached West Trailmark Parkway and turned onto Wadsworth. I let some cars get between her and me, and tailed her north until she turned onto West Parkhill Avenue. She parked on the north side of a Starbucks that was in a shopping complex near Wadsworth and Bowles. As I pulled into the lot, she was walking into the Starbucks. I found a parking spot near her Lexus, got out and strolled into the store.
Denise was standing in a long line, waiting to place her order. I took a place in line a few people behind her, and studied her. She was barely as tall as the display counter, but her artfully done makeup, white, skinny designer jeans that showed curvy legs, and a yellow silk blouse gave her a presence. I noticed more than a few men turn their heads to look a
t her.
While she waited, she pulled her phone out of a gold-colored purse slung over her shoulder and started swiping the screen. Then a taller woman in a sundress came up to Denise. They hugged and chatted, and when it was their turn, they both ordered venti lattes. By the time I reached the front of the line, their drinks had been prepared, and they sauntered between tables to overstuffed chairs near an unlit gas fireplace. They sat down and resumed their conversation.
I ordered a macchiato, and when it was ready, I sat at a table near them. I strained to listen in on their conversation, but the din of other conversations prevented that. I finally sat back, took out my phone and read a downloaded Rex Stout novel while I kept an occasional eye on them. After almost an hour, my macchiato was gone, I needed to use the restroom, and I was wondering if I was wasting my time. I glanced over at the ladies. They looked to be deep in conversation, so I dashed into the bathroom. When I returned, someone had taken my seat, but Denise and her friend were still visiting. I took a spot at another table, but I didn’t have to wait very long before Denise’s friend got up. She said something else, delicately waved at Denise, then meandered around tables and out the door. I watched as Denise pulled a tablet from her purse and began reading. The chair next to her remained empty, so I made my move.
“Are you Denise Hinton?” I asked as I sat down next to her.
She gazed up at me with a look that was part surprised, part curious. “Yes?” She searched my face, trying to decide whether she knew me or not.
“My name is Philip Marlowe,” I said, using the name of Raymond Chandler’s famous private eye. She cocked an eyebrow at me as I pulled out my wallet and flashed my private investigator license, quickly enough that she couldn’t see my name on it. The license wasn’t official – Colorado doesn’t require PIs to be licensed – but it made me seem more legit, and that usually made people more cooperative.
She put the Kindle in her lap, gave a small shake of her head, and let out a burdened sigh. “What has Pete gotten himself into now?”
That was not the response I was expecting. I leaned on the arm of the chair so I was closer to her, and played it cool. “He’s been in trouble in the past?”
“You’re the investigator,” she said with a sly smile.
Touché.
I returned her smile with what I hoped was a disarming one of my own. “I’m just getting started.”
“I see.” She took a sip from her cup, then noticed it was empty. She batted her eyes at me in a clichéd, but intentional, manner. “Buy me another?”
I wasn’t expecting that, either. “Sure,” I said. I eyed her carefully. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She laughed wickedly. “Darlin’, I won’t.”
I kept my eye on her, and she kept hers on me, as I hurried back to the counter and bought her another latte.
“Thank you,” she said when I returned with it. She gestured at me with the drink. “You’re some detective to have found me here.”
“I went by your house and saw you leaving, and followed you.”
“Ahhhh.”
“So…” I sat down. “What kind of trouble has your ex-husband been in?”
“All kinds.” She took the lid off her drink, blew into it in a way that seemed sultry, and took a sip. Then she focused on me. “He had financial trouble and spending issues, and I think he got himself into some bad business deals. He likes to party and bet on sports, and he cheated on me…multiple times.”
“He sounds charming.”
Her brown eyes grew dark and she subconsciously put a hand to her cheek, gingerly touching it. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“He hurt you?”
She nodded. “Part of his charm.”
“How long were you married to him?”
“Over twenty years.”
“Was he abusive the whole time?”
“Physically? Only near the end.” She glanced away for a moment. “Once he set up his practice and the money started rolling in, so did the pressures. And the drinking, betting, and carousing grew worse. We drifted apart and kind of did our own things a lot, and the sex was about the only thing we had.” The crafty smile returned. “He was great in the sack.”
“I’m puzzled,” I said. “Why’d you marry him in the first place? I mean, there must’ve been some good qualities, right? Or was it just sex?”
Or you were a gold digger, I neglected to say out loud.
“Sure, he had some good qualities.” She glanced out the window, sipped her latte and thought. “Pete was smart, charming, and sweet when we were dating. He spent money on me and I liked it.”
“Kids?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“A daughter. She went to school at Cornell and lives on the East Coast.” Sadness flashed across her face. “With her out of the house, it was Pete and me.”
“Why’d you stay with him for so long?”
She smiled that dangerous smile again, not the least bit ashamed. “I liked the money. I still do.”
“Why’d you finally divorce him?”
“He gave me a…well…an STD, and that was the last straw.”
I decided not to pursue that issue.
“He wasn’t happy when I said I wanted a divorce. He thought it would ruin his wholesome reputation,” she snorted. “Darlin’, does he have everyone fooled. What they don’t know…” She sighed, and then continued. “A friend hooked me up with an awesome attorney who got me a lot of money in the divorce.”
“He pays you alimony?”
“They call it maintenance now, and yes, he does. And there’s a good-sized insurance policy on him, just in case he croaks before I reach retirement age.”
“You did get a good attorney,” I said.
She raised her eyebrows and nodded with amusement.
I thought back to what Hinton had said to me, that his ex-wife might want to kill him because he wasn’t paying her.
“Does he ever miss payments?” I asked.
She snickered. “Once in a while, but a threatening letter from my attorney gets him back in line.”
“He hasn’t stopped paying you altogether?”
She smiled again, but this time there were daggers in her eyes. “Oh, honey, he wouldn’t dare. After what he put me through, he’ll be paying me until he dies.”
Two quick thoughts ran through my mind. One, I found myself hoping I never became her enemy. And two, Hinton said he wasn’t paying her any more maintenance, but she said he was. What was that about?
“So people think he’s a wholesome guy?” I asked.
“Yes.” She laughed. “Everyone at the office thinks he’s this great guy. And in all fairness, he is, to his patients and the staff. Marshall and Bernie like him, as far as I can tell. You’ve talked to them, right?”
“Not yet. What are they like?”
“I never got to know Bernie, but Pete liked to socialize with Marshall, so I got to know him and his wife a bit, at parties and golfing, that kind of thing.”
“What’d you think of Vanderkamp?”
“He’s bright, but arrogant.”
Short and to the point. And it fit with Hinton’s assessment of Vanderkamp.
“Did you like Vanderkamp’s wife?”
“Peggy? She’s okay. She used to complain a lot about how tight money was, with some kids in private school and others in college.” She waved a hand around. “She was a nurse, and worked part-time. I would’ve thought they’d have more money, but they liked to spend. Although the last few years, they seemed to be doing better. Nicer cars, trips overseas. Peggy even quit her job.”
“What caused the change?”
“She said the clinic was doing really well, and the money was rolling in.”
There was something in her tone. “You don’t buy that?” I asked.
“Well…” she paused. “I didn’t get the sense that Pete was doing that well. I didn’t know if it was because he was seeing fewer patients, or if he was betting all th
e money away, or spending it on other women.” She twisted her lips and shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe it was my imagination.”
“Huh.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Isn’t a lot of the clinic’s business Medicare patients?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I thought it was hard to make money billing Medicare.”
“Maybe. I never paid any attention to that kind of stuff, and Pete never shared anything.”
She paused and drank some coffee, and I quickly reviewed our conversation in my head.
“You’ve had other private investigators talk to you?” I said.
“Once, last year, and another when we were married.”
“What about?”
“The one last year was about a woman he was sleeping with. I think she was married.” She snickered again. “The guy asking the questions was willing to tell all. The time before was something about some computer software that he’d invested in, but that investigator wouldn’t say any more.”
I pointed at her. “You seem awfully willing to talk to me.”
She emitted a very unladylike laugh. “Honey, first of all, I’m not married to Pete anymore. And second, he deserves everything that comes his way.”
I pictured Willie in my mind, with her kindness and helpfulness that melted my heart. It wasn’t the first time I found myself grateful she wasn’t like the people I frequently came into contact with. I was indeed lucky she was my wife.
“Just out of curiosity, where were you Sunday night?”
She let out a small laugh. “Really? You suspect me of something? I was with my boyfriend for the entire evening. We went to a movie and then stopped at The Corner Bar for a drink.”
“Your boyfriend’s name?”
“Glenn LeBlanc. He lives in Congress Park, on Tenth and Steele Street. We met at the Denver Country Club, at a benefit. I’ll let him know you’ll be stopping by to talk to him.”
Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5 Page 6
