As Good as Dead (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #3) (Angel Delaney Mystery) Read online

  Anna nodded. “You had no way of knowing. I doubt either of us could have made a difference.” She sighed. “Guilt and self-blame are part of the grieving process, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but knowing that and believing it are two different things.” Angel gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We have to keep reminding ourselves that it was Pop’s time to go. And like Tim keeps telling us, he’s in a better place.”

  Anna dug into her pocket for a tissue. “I know. I’m just... having a hard time. I want the crying to stop, and I want to get on with my life. I’m tired of buying tissues.” She offered a wan smile, a pathetic laugh—just enough to break the somber mood.

  “Me too.” Angel needed a couple tissues of her own.

  “Why don’t we walk on the beach?” Anna sniffed. “And we can talk about my trip.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “And your point is?”

  Angel chuckled. She’d spent most of the days since her dad’s death with her mother. Holding her when she cried. Walking when she needed to walk. Talking when she needed to talk. After the funeral, a friend had given her a book on helping someone through grief, and one of the most important things the author stressed was just going through it together and being there for one another.

  Anna was still crying when they reached the packed sand. Angel knew it was going to be one of those days.

  The rain washed away their tears and stung their faces, but on they walked. After a while, Anna turned back. “I think I have it out of my system now, or at least it’s lessening.”

  “What?”

  “The anger. He had no business dying on me when he did. I’d wanted him to retire for more than a year, but he wouldn’t. We were going to travel. See some places I’d always wanted to see. The first place I wanted to go was California. I’ve always wanted to spend some time there.”

  “You can now.”

  “It’s not the same. He won’t be there with me.” She sighed. “Listen to me, rambling on. I’ve no right to be angry about anything. Frank is in heaven, healthy and happy and waiting for me to join him. We had a good life, your father and I. The Lord has blessed us.”

  Angel didn’t respond; it seemed right just to let her mother talk about death and life and unfulfilled dreams. More than once she wanted to tell Anna about Luke’s presence at the funeral. More than anything Angel wanted to let her know that her eldest son was still alive and that he had come home to say good-bye to Pop. But how could she, when she’d also have to tell her that Luke was gone again and they had no idea where he was.

  “Have you talked to Faith about the article?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I found her card. You can call her when we get back.”

  “Sure. I’ll make it a point to call her today.”

  “Good. I’d like to see the article before I go to California so I can bring a copy with me. Gabby will want to see it.”

  Once home, Angel showered and dressed in jeans and a lightweight ivory sweater with blue trim. Her hair curled in loose tendrils around her face, giving her that Shirley Temple look. Angel used combs on either side to pull it back. She didn’t bother with makeup, never really needed to. And with the way her tears came and went lately, it seemed a waste of time anyway.

  Before leaving the house, Angel called Faith Carlson’s number. Her answering machine said she’d be in around 11:00. She then called the newspaper office, but the editor and owner said Faith hadn’t been in for several days. Not unusual, apparently, since Faith worked mostly from her home.

  Because she didn’t want to wait around for an hour, and needing to run some errands, Angel decided to stop by the reporter’s home around noon. She dropped her mother off at the hospital so she could visit with Abby, who was doing well enough to go home. After a brief visit, Angel made arrangements for Tim to take Anna home later. She stopped to see Nick, but he was asleep.

  Angel then stopped by Joanie’s for a hot mocha before driving over to 12th Street, where Faith Carlson lived. It was an older home, built when Sunset Cove was in its infancy in the early 1900s. Faith had renovated the building, painted it a pale gray with alternating mauve and navy trim.

  Angel knocked, but there was no answer. She peered through the large front window and saw that the living room had been turned upside down. Her stomach knotted. Faith’s home looked like Angel’s apartment had after it had been vandalized. Angel forced her gaze to travel to the overturned sofa, the upended end tables and broken lamps, over the photos strewn about the floor. She stopped breathing when she saw what looked like a woman’s arm. Oh no. God, please. Don’t let this be what I think it is.

  Angel ran to the car for her cell phone and called 911.

  EIGHTEEN

  Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Angel repeated the litany as she went back up on the porch and tried the door. On the line to the 911 operator, Angel said, “The front door is locked; I’m going around back.”

  She tried the back door. “It’s locked too.” Angel began circling the house, looking for an open window but finding none. By the time she’d come back to the front of the house, a patrol car had pulled up. Brandy Owens, currently the only woman police officer in Sunset Cove. The paramedics drove up behind her.

  “Hey, Angel, what’s up?” Brandy exited her car and started up the walk. Brandy had a sweet smile and large blue eyes. She kept her tan even after a long winter, probably the result of spending twenty minutes a week lounging in a tanning bed. She was tall, around five-nine, and well proportioned. Her newly cut blonde hair hugged her head like a cap.

  They both greeted the paramedics, and Angel said, “I came by to see about some photos, and when no one answered, I looked in the front window. The place looks like it’s been ransacked. I can see someone lying on the floor in there, but the doors are locked.”

  “Great.” Brandy and the medics cupped their hands and looked inside. Straightening, Brandy said, “I hate stuff like this. We have to get in there to see if she’s okay. Think we’ll have to kick in the door?”

  The EMTs set their equipment on the porch, ready to comply.

  “The back door has a window, so we can get in that way.” Angel led them toward the back of the house.

  Brandy cleared her throat. “Right. Lead the way.” The four of them gathered on the back porch. Using her jacket as a sheath to protect her arm, Brandy broke the glass and reached in to unlock the door.

  The smell that accosted them left no doubt as to the victim’s condition. Brandy and the EMTs went ahead to verify. They came back out seconds later. “She’s gone,” Brandy said. “Been dead at least a couple of days, maybe more. I’d better call the medical examiner.”

  Angel guessed it had been longer.

  The older of the EMTs, a woman in her forties, spoke into her radio. “Right. Nothing we can do here. Okay. We’re on it.” She clipped the phone to her belt. “We have a traffic accident just north of town. Sorry, but the live ones take precedence.”

  “Thanks, guys.” Brandy waved.

  Angel pulled out her cell phone. “I’d better let Detective Riley know.”

  “Why?” Brandy asked. “He’s OSP, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but I think this might have something to do with whoever shot Nick.”

  “No kidding.” She glanced back at the now-open door. “How’s that?”

  Angel told her about the funeral and the photos Faith had taken there. “It’s possible she inadvertently got a picture of the shooter. At any rate, that’s why I came over. I wanted to see if Nick could make a positive ID and compare it with one...” She sighed. “It’s a very long and complicated story. Trust me, Callen needs to be in on this.”

  “Whatever you say. I need to get this scene taped off.”

  Angel had only seen Brandy a few times since the officer-involved shooting incident, and every time she’d treated Angel as though she were still on active duty.

  While walking around to the front of the house, Angel called Callen
’s cell and gave him the information. “It may not be a related incident. For all I know, the woman had a fallout with her boyfriend or something.”

  “You’re right to connect the two,” Callen said. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

  Angel helped Brandy string up the crime scene tape. “I like your hair,” she said, eyeing the boyish cut. Brandy’s blonde hair was about an inch long all over and still had some wave in it.

  “Thanks.” Brandy shrugged. “I’m still trying to get used to it. I wanted serviceable. Got what I asked for.” After wrapping the tape around the last post, she said, “So when are you coming back to work?”

  Angel smiled. “Not sure.”

  “So you are coming back.” Brandy took the roll of tape to her car and set it neatly in one of the two plastic boxes she kept there. From another box she pulled out a clipboard on which she’d record the details of the crime scene and log in who had come and gone at what time.

  “I’ve been thinking about it. I have some business to take care of first, though.” Angel didn’t go into details.

  “Hope it’s soon.” For the next few minutes they talked about how the dynamics of the Sunset Police department had changed. And they talked about Nick. Brandy had been up to see him that morning. “He’s still shook up after yesterday, but he’ll be okay. Nick’s tough.”

  “Getting shot is a pretty scary thing, and then having another attempt made in the hospital. That’s freaky. I imagine it will take him a while to get over it—emotionally, I mean.”

  “You’re probably right. Which means he’ll be on administrative leave for at least six weeks. Joe is already looking for two officers to fill the empty slots. He’s hoping he can draw someone from Newport or Lincoln City.” She grinned at Angel. “He’d take you back in a heartbeat, Angel.”

  Angel almost wished she could say yes. But she couldn’t, not now. Like she’d told Joe, she had to find Luke.

  Callen and the ME got to the house at about the same time. Dr. Bennett, a tall, thin, silver-haired man, grabbed his bag from the trunk of his car. Callen greeted him, and the two came up the walk together.

  Brandy pushed open the front door, which she’d unlocked earlier. “She’s in there, doc. And she’s all yours.”

  After donning booties and gloves, Callen followed him in, his dark eyes taking in every detail. Angel wished she could have been in there with them. She’d become a cop to please her father, but lately she’d been thinking she needed to go back to being a cop to please herself.

  The CSI team came as Dr. Bennett and Callen finished their initial walk-through and stepped out onto the porch.

  “I’d say she’s been dead for several days,” Dr. Bennett said. “We won’t know for sure until I do the post. There were ligature marks around her neck, so she may have been strangled, but there’s also trauma to the head.”

  “It’ll take a while to sort through all of this.” Callen snapped off his latex gloves. “There are tons of photos in there. We’ll separate the pictures out. See if the photos she took at the funeral are there.”

  “Did she do her own developing?” Angel asked.

  Callen nodded. “There’s a darkroom down in the basement. It’s a disaster too. I’d say the killer was definitely looking for something.”

  “Yeah.” Angel stared past him to the woman on the floor. “An incriminating picture of himself.”

  When Angel got back to the house, she had two phone messages. One from her mother saying she’d be having dinner at Tim and Susan’s and, of course, Angel was invited. The second was from Callen saying he’d be by at 6:30 and would cook dinner unless she had other plans. She called Tim to let him know she wouldn’t be there. After making the call she ran on the beach and worked out at the club, then came home to shower and dress.

  Callen showed up at 6:30 as promised. “I thought we’d eat at my place tonight if you don’t mind. Your mom can come too if she wants.”

  “Sounds good. Ma’s at Tim and Susan’s, so we’re on our own.”

  Callen smiled and pulled her into his arms. “You mean we’ll actually be alone for a change?”

  “I take it you approve.” Angel kissed him, then backed away, pulling her jacket off the closet door knob. She locked the door, and Callen escorted her to his SUV. It almost seemed like a date, something they hadn’t had in a while.

  “How is the investigation going?” Angel snapped the seat belt.

  “Our CSI crew is still there and will be for several more hours. They’ll call me if they need me for anything. I thought I’d go home for a while and relax with my favorite PI.”

  “I’m glad you called. I didn’t really want to have dinner at Tim’s, but I didn’t want to be alone either.”

  Callen reached over to take her hand, then brought it to his lips, and Angel’s heart melted. It took only a few minutes to reach Callen’s place, which was just a half mile from her home.

  As they turned into the driveway, Angel could see Callen’s bichon frise attacking the window. The ball of fluff bounced off the door and ran around in circles. By the time Callen got the door open, the dog had worn himself out. “Hey, little guy.” Angel scooped him up and rubbed her cheek against his soft hair as he licked her face and hands.

  “Easy, Mutt.” Callen chuckled as he set a bag of groceries on the counter. “It’s only been a few hours.”

  Angel set the dog down, taking in the warm and comfortable feel of Callen’s house. It had been an old rundown beach hut, and Callen had transformed it into something suitable for review in Coastal Living magazine. She loved the Italian villa feel of the immaculate kitchen with its tiles and pottery. Angel could almost taste Callen’s succulent salmon dish with capers and hollandaise over rice.

  She must have looked pensive as Callen wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just admiring your house. We’ll have to bring Ma over to inspect your kitchen. She’ll love it.”

  “It’s not as nice as hers, but I couldn’t help notice we have similar tastes.”

  Callen turned her around in his arms and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through all of this. It’s bad enough that you’ve just buried your dad, and now to almost lose Nick and to find Faith’s body. I wish I could do something to lighten the load.”

  “You’re here.” Angel slid her arms around Callen’s waist, holding him close and resting her cheek against his blue dress shirt. She loved the gentle scent of his cologne and the secure feeling she had when he held her. At times like this Angel wanted nothing more than a lifetime with this man. She pulled away, breaking the intimacy. “So what are we having for dinner?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He kissed her again and moved away. “Give me a minute to change and check my messages, and I’ll get dinner started.”

  Angel nodded and made her way to the couch, where Mutt joined her, circling until he found the perfect position against her thigh. Absently petting him, she leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Thoughts of Luke invaded her mind once more as she considered the bearded man she’d seen at the cemetery. It was hard to imagine that anyone could change that much in six years. Even though Nick had assured her that the man was Luke, she couldn’t fathom the Luke she knew walking away. Her Luke would have talked to them, hugged them, and acted like family.

  Not if he was running from the law, and not if he was trying to protect his family.

  Callen came out and started pulling out pots and pans. He unloaded the grocery bag, pulling out makings for salad and something else, which he sneakily set in the sink.

  “Want some help?”

  “Not right now.”

  Callen looked at home in his kitchen. He’d told her he often cooked to relieve tension. She could almost see his shoulders relax as he halved two lemons and squeeze the juice into a measuring cup.

  She wanted to talk about the investigation but didn’t want to raise his stress level. He
surprised her by bringing it up himself. “I can’t believe no one reported Faith missing.”

  “I talked to her boss at the paper earlier today and he said she was a freelancer. He didn’t seem concerned.” Angel stroked Mutt’s head.

  “She had a ton of messages on her machine, though; you’d have thought someone would get suspicious.” Callen had his back to her. He brandished a cutting board and a butcher knife and brought the knife down on something hard. From the sound of the crack, it had to be crab or lobster. Angel loved them both. “I did find out that she’d gone into Portland on the Monday after the funeral to visit family and a boyfriend for a few days. One of our guys delivered the death notification. She apparently left for the beach again on Thursday.”

  “Did you get a cause of death or a time?”

  Callen shook his head. “Ligature marks on her neck, a blow to the head. The ME says either one could have done the job. As to time, it’s hard to tell. Her phone messages ran from Monday on through to today.”

  Angel shuddered. “Maybe he was waiting for her to come home Thursday.”

  “Why didn’t he just break into the house? Why wait for Faith to get back so he could kill her? It doesn’t make sense.” Callen had put whatever he’d been working on into a bowl and set it aside. He pulled out another knife and cutting board and began peeling an onion.

  “Unless he didn’t find what he wanted the first time, but how would he know when she was coming home?”

  “That’s easy enough.” Callen set a garlic clove on the cutting board and whacked it with the broad side of the chef knife. “We found a note on the porch from her to someone letting them know she’d be back Thursday night.”

  Angel watched him demolish another clove and peel the skins off. “An invitation to murder.”

  “Not a smart thing to do.” He concentrated on dicing the garlic and after a moment asked, “How about some music?”

  Angel got up and began looking through Callen’s CD collection. A minute or so later, an easy-listening Kenny G album filled the house with soft jazz. Callen worked quietly in the kitchen for the next half hour, while Angel set the table on the patio and made a salad. Whatever Callen was making, it smelled fantastic.