“She’ll be ready for the academy by the time you have the money.”
“Then I’ll cross my fingers the fundraiser is enough.”
“You need to be more optimistic. Tickets will sell out.” Next to Matt’s leg, Greta wiggled, bored. “Do you want to pet her?”
“Not really,” Bree said. “I wish I did, though.”
“She’s not vicious, just excitable.” Matt glanced down at Greta. Her attention hadn’t left his face. “And focused. Very focused.”
“Honestly, her size and intensity are intimidating.” Bree had been mauled as a child and had a lifelong fear of dogs. “Ladybug is about all I can handle at this time.”
“How is she?”
“Pretty good.” Bree smiled. “I know I was mad at you for tricking me into adopting her, but now I’m really glad. I never thought I’d say it, but she’s good company. Kayla has been sad with Mother’s Day coming up, and Ladybug won’t leave her side.”
“Dogs know.” Matt commanded Greta to heel and headed for the house. “Let me put the dogs away, and we can go.”
Bree stepped backward as Greta passed. Her response seemed automatic. Bree might have adjusted to having the completely unintimidating chubby rescue dog in her life, and she was even warming up to Brody. But a hardwired, energetic young German shepherd was clearly a totally different animal. Matt put the dogs in the kitchen and closed the metal gate he’d bolted into the wall.
“Will that hold her?” Bree eyed the gate doubtfully.
“Not if she wanted to get out, but she’ll stay with Brody. And he can’t jump over anymore.” The thought of his dog aging saddened Matt. He and Brody had been through so much together. There were only a handful of people he was closer to than his dog. Bree was on that short list. In the brief time he’d known her, they’d faced multiple crises. She’d always had his back. Maybe she also had his heart.
Brody stretched out on his orthopedic bed. Greta stretched out next to him and licked his face. He sighed.
“I’ll see you later,” Matt said to the dogs. “Cady will come at lunchtime to let you out. Be good.”
He and Bree went outside and climbed into the SUV.
Behind the wheel, she chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I used to think the way you talk to the dogs like they’re children was weird. Now I’m doing it.”
“Don’t you talk to your cat?”
“Yes, but like he’s my equal—or superior.”
Matt laughed. “Your cat is an asshat.”
“Yeah. But he’s my asshat.”
They rode in silence for a few miles. Then Bree turned toward town. “Todd did a little research on the company last night. Beckett Construction has been in business for more than thirty years. The business was started by Paul’s father, who died years ago. Considering the nature of their business, they’ve only had a few minor lawsuits over the years, and they have an excellent reputation.”
“What type of construction do they do?”
“High-end kitchens, including new construction, renovations, and additions,” Bree said. “Paul Beckett is married to Angela Beckett. They have twin nineteen-year-old boys.”
A short time later, she pulled into an industrial complex. Beckett Construction occupied a small office building and an adjoining warehouse. Bree parked and they went inside. The office was bare bones, with drop-ceiling tiles and flat, commercial-grade carpet. Beckett Construction clearly didn’t waste money on overhead.
The secretary had obviously just arrived. She was a tall, robust woman in her late fifties with short, ash-blonde hair. She was stowing her purse and brown-bag lunch in her desk drawers as the pair approached.
Bree introduced them. “We’re here to see Paul Beckett.”
The secretary glanced at the closed door behind her and frowned. “Mr. Beckett isn’t in yet. Did you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Bree said.
“Then he’ll be here.” The secretary typed on her phone with both thumbs. “Usually, he stops at our current jobs first thing. I texted him to let him know you were here. This is about Holly, isn’t it?” Her eyes misted.
“Yes,” Bree said.
“I can’t believe she killed herself. I worked with her every day, and I didn’t see that coming.” She plucked a tissue from a box on her desk and blotted her eyes.
Bree’s statement about the murder had gone out to the press, but the secretary clearly hadn’t seen it.
“She didn’t die by suicide,” Bree said. “She was murdered.”
“Oh.” The secretary froze. “That’s horrible.” She inhaled a few times and, with effort, composed herself.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Bree said.
Paul’s lateness for their meeting was annoying, but it was also an opportunity to question his employees without the boss’s presence.
The secretary gave Bree a wary look. “All right.”
Bree began. “Was there any animosity between Holly and the other employees?”
“Not that I’m aware,” she said.
“What about with the boss?” Bree asked.
“Animosity?” the secretary asked. “No.”
“No one was mad at her?” Matt asked. “Most offices have their share of personal drama.”
“I didn’t say we had no drama.” The secretary gave him a wry smile. “But there’s nothing serious. Our part-time help is young. One of them is always late, and she dresses very inappropriately for a place of business.” She sighed with disapproval. “The other one is pretty reliable, but she has an attitude.” The secretary rolled her eyes. “But all we have is typical office drama, mostly petty squabbles over who ate whose yogurt, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Bree said. “Did you and Holly ever spend time together outside of work?”
The secretary picked up a pair of readers on her desk and toyed with them. “No, but Holly is more than twenty years younger than me. We got along fine here. She did her job. I do mine. Holly was usually on time and fairly conscientious about her work. Sometimes she liked to go out for happy-hour drinks. I’m tired at the end of the day. I go home.”
“I’ll need the names and contact information for the part-time employees,” Bree said.
The secretary wrote the information on a piece of paper. She tapped the point of her pen next to one of the names. “Deb has a second job as a waitress at the diner. If she’s not home, try there.”
The door opened and a college-age woman entered. She wore jeans with holes in the thighs, a cropped sweater that showed off a belly ring, and Converse sneakers. The secretary’s irritated glance at the clock pegged the newcomer as the always late and inappropriately dressed employee. As much as he didn’t want to, Matt had to agree with the secretary, which made him feel really old. The girl looked like a hot mess.
Her eyes opened wide as she took in Bree’s uniform. “You’re here about Holly.” She burst into tears, her whole chest heaving.
The secretary picked up the box of tissues and carried it to the girl. She made some soothing there, there noises.
When the girl had calmed down, the secretary introduced Bree and Matt. “This is Connie, one of our part-timers.”
Not Deb, then. Matt was disappointed. He wanted to question the part-timer Owen had claimed hung out with Holly after work.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions about Holly.” Bree glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
“Sure.” The girl gave a nervous shrug. “I guess we could go in there.” She walked toward a doorway. They went into a larger room. A long table occupied the middle, and a computer station was set up at each end. Connie set her bag on a filing cabinet.
Bree asked Connie the same questions about Holly, but the interview yielded no new information. She’d had drinks with Holly once or twice after work, but said, “She’s kind of old, ya know? I’d rather hang out with my friends, but I didn’t want to
hurt her feelings.”
Matt had never heard of pity drinks.
By the time they’d finished with Connie, it was eight thirty, and Paul still hadn’t arrived. They returned to the outer office. While the secretary called Paul again, Matt walked the office perimeter, stopping to look at framed photos of gleaming new kitchens that hung on the walls.
The secretary lowered the phone. “He’s not answering.”
“Is that normal?” Matt asked.
Seemingly unconcerned, the secretary set down her phone. “He’s not very good about returning calls, and I don’t usually call him this early in the morning. He visits whatever jobsites he wants, then stops in the office when he can. Some days, he doesn’t even make it here at all. It can be frustrating.”
Bree stopped in front of the desk. “Do you know where he was going this morning?”
The secretary wrote a list of addresses on a sticky note. “We have three crews. These are the jobs they’re scheduled to work on today. We also have additional jobs in various stages of completion. Some are waiting on materials. Others need inspections before the work can proceed. Paul is most likely at the first address, the one on Bleeker Street. They uncovered major structural issues this week.” She handed the note to Bree. “Paul has been in this business most of his life. He can do the job of every man under him, from laying tile to carpentry. If there’s a problem, he’ll get it fixed. But sometimes he ignores the administrative side of the business. He might have forgotten about your meeting. His brain tends to be highly focused.”
“Thank you.” Bree accepted the slip of paper. She gave the secretary her card. “If you think of anything that might help us in our investigation, please call me.”
“I will.” The secretary opened an old-fashioned Rolodex and filed Bree’s card under the letter S, presumably for Sheriff.
The door banged open, and a tall, heavyset man stalked through the door. He turned angry eyes on Bree and Matt. “You have ten minutes.” He continued into his office, leaving the door open.
Some greeting.
Bree lifted a brow at Matt. He shrugged and followed her into the office.
Sifting through a stack of papers on his old metal desk, Paul nodded at the two plastic chairs facing it. “Don’t get too comfortable. I don’t have much time for bullshit this morning.”
Bree sat. “Mr. Beckett, we’re here to ask you some questions about your employee Holly Thorpe. You’re aware that Ms. Thorpe was murdered.”
Paul froze for a split second before setting down the stack of papers. “I heard she committed suicide.”
“You heard wrong.” Matt eased into a chair without taking his eyes off Paul’s face. “Holly was murdered.”
Paul scowled, but he’d reset his poker face. “I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“Holly worked for you.” Bree pulled out her tiny notepad and a pen. “When was the last time you saw her?”
Paul scanned a paper and set it aside. “Friday. She was working on the computer when I went in to grab something off the printer.”
Bree clicked her pen. “What time was that?”
“Around nine in the morning, I think. I can’t swear to the time. I only stopped in for a few minutes before heading out to check on jobs.” He picked up another paper.
Bree cleared her throat. “This is a serious matter, Mr. Beckett. I’d appreciate your full attention.”
He glowered. “I don’t have to talk to you at all.”
Irritation rose in Matt’s throat like heartburn. Arrogant prick. This was why he preferred his dogs to most humans.
But Bree had better people skills. “Mr. Beckett, we’re talking about the murder of your employee.” Her tone was serious and just mildly chastising.
Paul threw down the papers on the desk, leaned back, and crossed his arms. Oh, yeah. Much better. Matt fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“Are you aware of any problems Holly was having?” Bree asked.
Paul frowned. “Like what kind of problems?”
Bree rolled a hand in the air. “Did she get along with her coworkers? Was she dealing with personal issues?”
“I don’t care about any of that.” He exhaled loudly through his nose, like an irritated bull.
“Holly worked for you for seven years,” Bree pointed out.
“In the office,” he emphasized. “I spend most of my time at jobsites.”
Matt felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “But seven years is a long time.”
“What’s your point?” Paul’s tone sharpened.
“There’s no point, Mr. Beckett.” A muscle in Bree’s jaw tightened. Normally, she had great patience, but Beckett’s attitude was clearly frustrating her. “Was Holly late to work recently? Did you have any problems with her work lately? Was she making unusual mistakes, or did she seem distracted?”
“If she was fucking up on the job, I would have fired her.” Paul shifted forward, dropping his hands to his desktop. “I don’t put up with a lot of bullshit. People do their damned jobs, or they find another place to work.”
“So, you don’t know if Holly was late or was having work issues?”
“Ask my secretary.” Paul waved an angry hand toward his door. “She keeps track of employee records.”
Bree leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees. “Did you have any issues with Holly?”
“Her work seemed the same as usual.” He enunciated each word.
Bree didn’t break eye contact. “Where were you on Friday evening?”
He hesitated for only a second before biting off the words. “I don’t remember. Let me check my calendar.” He picked up his phone and tapped the screen. “There’s nothing scheduled. I probably went home.”
“But you don’t remember?” Matt asked. “It’s not like we’re asking where you were six months ago. Last Friday doesn’t seem that unreasonable.”
Paul ignored him, but a muscle in the side of his face twitched. He was hiding something.
“Were you here alone?” Bree asked.
Paul’s nostrils flared. “My wife and I are separated.”
Interesting. He’d managed to not answer yet another question.
“When did you separate?” Bree asked.
Paul didn’t blink. “She moved out a couple of months ago,” he continued, his face tight enough to crack. “If I had known I would need an alibi, I would have made plans. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. My carpenter didn’t show today. I have to go cut molding.”
Bree leaned forward. “You spoke to Holly last Thursday on the phone.”
“Did I?” Paul’s eyes narrowed.
Bree’s head tilted. “What was the nature of that conversation?”
“I don’t recall exactly.” His face went blank. “She was my bookkeeper. Sometimes she had a question or two about the accounts.” Paul pushed up from his desk. Opening his top drawer, he brushed through a loose pile of business cards. Selecting one, he tossed it on the desk in front of Bree. “If you want to ask me any more questions, call and make an appointment with my lawyer.” He straightened, then folded his arms across his chest.
Bree collected the attorney’s business card. “Thank you.”
Her tone wasn’t even sarcastic. Matt was impressed.
“You can show yourselves out,” Paul said in a don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out tone. He dropped back into his chair and stared at them with angry eyes.
Bree led the way out of the office. She gave the secretary a thanks and a wave on their way to the door.
Outside, they climbed into the SUV.
“That was interesting.” She started the engine.
Matt fastened his seat belt, shoving the buckle together harder than necessary. “What a jerk. Did he answer a single question?”
“No. He did not.” Bree thumped a finger on the steering wheel. “Now the big question is why not? Is he just a jerk, or was he purposefully evading our questions for a reason?”
She grabbed her phone, called Todd, and asked him to do a deep background dive on Paul Beckett and Beckett Construction.
“Now what?” Matt asked.
“We need to track down the other part-time employee, Deb, and we need to find out what Paul Beckett is hiding.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bree led the way up the concrete ramp in front of the diner. Matt held the door for her, and they went inside. The diner was split into two sections: a counter area with two rows of booths overlooked the front parking lot, and a dining room with tables and chairs stretched along the back of the restaurant. Between the breakfast and lunch rushes, the diner was quiet. A few customers sat on stools at the counter, but most of the booths were empty. The dining room was blocked off with a sign on a metal stand.
She spotted the manager, a white-haired man carrying an armload of menus. He looked like Colonel Sanders without the goatee. She caught his eye, and he hurried over and slipped behind the counter, tucking the menus into a slot. “How can I help you, Sheriff?”
Bree introduced Matt. “We need to speak with Deb Munchin.”
The manager’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “I hope she’s not in trouble.”
“No,” Bree assured him. “But we’re hoping she can help us with a case.”
“Of course.” He turned toward a waitress in black slacks and a white blouse. “Would you ask Deb to come to the front? She’s in the stockroom.”
The waitress eyed Bree’s uniform with interest, but she nodded and walked away. She went behind the counter and disappeared through a set of swinging doors.
“I’m Roger.” He leaned both hands on the counter. “Can I bring you coffee or something to eat while you wait?”
“No, thank you.” Bree never accepted free food or any other service from local businesses. The sheriff shouldn’t owe anyone a favor.
A minute later, a young woman with long dark hair tied up in a neat bun approached them. She was in her late twenties. Like the other waitresses, she wore black slacks and black athletic shoes. Just below the short, hemmed sleeve of her white blouse was a tattoo of a unicorn.
Roger bowed and turned away. “Take your time, Sheriff.”
Bree stepped into the empty lobby. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
Drown Her Sorrows (Bree Taggert) Page 11
