Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) Read online

“Hmm. What’s his last name?”

  “Jenkins, like us.”

  “So you guys like Darryl?”

  “He’s okay.” Brian shrugged. “Gracie hates him.”

  “She thinks he’s disgusting, but that’s because he smokes,” Dorothy put in.

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “No, but Gracie might.” Brian shrugged.

  “Did Darryl and your dad get along okay?”

  He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “I guess. Him and my dad were buds. Dad would drink beer with him and take him hunting. He even let Darryl shoot his guns.”

  Maybe he shot off one too many.

  Angel drove Brian and Dorothy straight back to her parents’ place and went in with them.

  The kids settled in to do their homework, and Angel wandered into the kitchen, where her mother put her to work. Side by side they butterflied chicken breasts and pounded them to one-fourth-inch thickness. “This is a great way to relieve stress,” Angel commented as she brought the flat mallet down on the thicker part of the chicken breast.

  “Maybe that’s why I like to cook.” Anna chuckled. “Banging pots and pans around can be therapeutic.”

  “Funny, I never thought of you as having much stress, but now that I think about it, you would. Raising five kids couldn’t have been easy. I’m glad you took your hostilities out on the food and not on us.”

  “My mama used to tell me all the time, ‘Children are for loving, not for hurting.’”

  Angel and her mother placed the chicken pieces in a large plastic bag with marinade so the chicken would absorb the spicy mixture for an hour or two. “Later we’ll dredge them in a flour mixture and fry them in olive oil.” She’d serve the chicken topped with a mixture of mushrooms, scallions, onions, garlic, and marsala and cream to make a sumptuous gravy. Angel’s mouth watered just thinking about it.

  After the brief cooking lesson, Angel poured them both a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

  “Anything new?” Anna asked. “With Candace, I mean.”

  “I talked to her this morning. Rachael is representing her.” Angel filled her mother in on the day’s events.

  “Sounds like you have several possible suspects.”

  “I’m curious about Jenkins’s partner. Do you know him?”

  “Of course. Everyone knows everyone in this town. Barry is nice enough. Goes to the Baptist church north of town. His wife volunteers at the shelter. A wonderful woman. Lorraine. Have you met her?”

  Angel shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen her around, though.”

  “I should talk to her. Or you could. You might get a lot more information from her than from her husband. Men can be close-mouthed. Barry Fitzgibbon does a lot of charity work as well. They have money, but they’re not snooty, if you know what I mean. Not like the Laffertys,” she sniffed. “That woman wouldn’t set foot in the shelter. Barely talks to me.”

  “We’re at least ten steps down on the social ladder, Ma. She doesn’t need to talk to us.”

  “Still, this is the beach—there shouldn’t be a class distinction.”

  “There isn’t. The Laffertys like to think there is. They’re delusional.” Angel smiled. “Brandon used to say that, usually just after telling me I was in a class by myself.”

  “He’s absolutely right.”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Fitzgibbon in the morning.”

  Anna nodded and sipped at her tea.

  Angel hauled in a deep breath. “Do we know when Gracie gets out of school today?”

  “Six, I think. Yes, I’m sure she said she had cheerleading practice until six. Can you pick her up?”

  “Sure.” Angel drained the last few swallows of her coffee and took the cup to the sink.

  “Good. I’ll have dinner ready when you get back. Will you want to eat with us?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re making one of my favorites.”

  “They’re all your favorites, Angel.”

  Dorothy ran into the kitchen and climbed into Anna’s lap. Wrapping her thin little arms around Anna’s neck, she turned to Angel and asked, “When are you going to bring my mommy home?”

  “I don’t know,” Angel replied. “Soon, I hope.” To Anna she said, “Rachael was going to see about getting her out on bail.”

  Dorothy pouted. “Brian says she’s in jail because the police think she killed my daddy.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Anna cooed. “The police have made a mistake, that’s all. And our Angel is going to find out who really did it.”

  “Today?”

  “Probably not today,” Angel said. “But soon.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Maybe.” Anna hugged her. “As soon as she can.”

  Angel cleared her throat. “Listen, Ma, I need to run over to Callen’s to check on Mutt. I’ll feed him then go pick up Gracie.”

  “Who’s Mutt?” Dorothy asked.

  “Callen’s dog.”

  “Who’s Callen?”

  “My friend.”

  “Can I go see Mutt?” Dorothy slid off Anna’s lap.

  Angel glanced at her mother. “Can she?”

  “Of course you can. Take Brian too. They’d enjoy it. Let them run on the beach for a while.”

  “Okay, guys.” Angel didn’t especially want the company, but her mother had her hands full. It was the least she could do.

  They took Mutt for a walk, with Brian handling the leash. After an hour of running and playing, it was time to head over to pick up Gracie. As promised, dinner was ready when they got back to the house.

  Despite pleas from her mother and the younger kids to stay, Angel went home after dinner. Her answering machine was blinking. Four messages—one from Callen saying he missed her and would call back later, one from Lorraine Fitzgibbon wanting to talk with her. Angel expected a disconnect, but the woman hesitated then added, “I just got off the phone with your mother, and she said to call. Several of the women at the shelter are worried their husbands might be next. Do you think there’s a pattern? Well, it was a thought. Please call when you can.”

  The next message was from Rachael, who wanted a report and would come by after her dinner date with Paul.

  The last message was from Tim telling her he’d been to the jail to see Candace. “The funeral will be next Monday. Hopefully Candace will be released by then.”

  Opting to make her phone calls later, Angel kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her clothes, and stepped into the shower. By the time she’d gotten dressed again, the day’s activities had caught up with her. She stretched out on the bed, thinking to rest a few minutes, but she ended up falling asleep until 9:00. She’d have slept longer if someone hadn’t been persistently ringing her doorbell.

  She dragged herself to the door, swinging it open after looking through the peephole and seeing her new partner. “Whoa. You look gorgeous.” Angel stepped back to let her in. “My poor brother doesn’t have a chance.”

  Rachael’s cheeks brightened. “Thanks. I hope you’re right.” She squeezed in past Angel. “You look . . . tired. Cute, but definitely rumpled.”

  Angel ran a hand through her tousled curls and caught several snags. “I fell asleep.”

  “Well, wake up and tell me what happened. Would you like me to make you some coffee?”

  “No, but you can pour me a diet Coke. There’s a bottle in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, but I’m stuffed. Paul took me out to the resort. That is some posh place.”

  “You’re telling me.” Peter and Paul—their mother was into biblical names big time—were twins. They’d done well for themselves and owned several resorts in some of the hottest vacation spots in the world. They’d recently built a five-star resort on the Oregon coast.

  “Paul is so sweet. You know what he did?”

  “Proposed?”

  Rachael rolled her eyes. “We’ve only been going out for two months.” She cleared her throat and fished around in t
he freezer for some ice. “He offered to let me use an office in their complex. Rent free.”

  “Wow. Are you going to take him up on it?”

  She smiled. Ice clinked into the empty glass, and the Coke foamed and fizzed as she poured it. “I’d have to give up my conference room. I kind of like operating out of the church. It suits me. Besides, if I had a nicer office with the use of their fancy conference room, I might attract a more sophisticated clientele.”

  “And that’s a problem?” Angel took the drink when Rachael finished topping it off.

  Rachael reached into the cupboard for another glass. “You probably think I’m nuts, but I’ve been there. I’ve had the big bucks and the palatial office with legal secretaries.” She shook her head. “I want to be free to defend people who don’t have the big bucks.”

  “Ouch. Don’t remind me.” Angel figured she still owed at least three thousand dollars in legal fees. Fees that her brothers had paid for and fees that she had every intention of paying back.

  Rachael chuckled. “Call me quirky, but I actually enjoy working at the church. Maybe I feel like I’m closer to doing what God wants me to do. Helping people.”

  “So what did you tell Paul?”

  “I said no.” She filled her glass with water from the tap and took a sip. “I don’t think he was too happy. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the impression not too many women turn him or Peter down.”

  Angel rubbed her eyes and yawned. “They can be pretty convincing.” She recalled the conversation they’d had about loaning her money for legal fees, insisting that it wouldn’t be fair to make Rachael wait until Angel was able to pay her. They certainly didn’t feel that Rachael should take the case pro bono.

  “I think the real reason he offered was so I’d be closer and he could keep an eye on me.” She frowned. “I thought that was being manipulative and controlling, and I told him so.”

  “So you two had a fight?”

  “Sort of. But we made up when he apologized. He insisted he hadn’t meant to sound manipulative but could understand how I felt that way. I believed him. I think he was just being kind.”

  “I think so too. Peter and Paul are like that. They see a need and try to meet it. Maybe that’s why their resorts do so well. They cater to people’s needs.”

  “Hmm.” Rachael sipped thoughtfully as she took her drink to the living room and lowered herself onto the couch. “So, tell me what your day was like.”

  Angel joined her, settling in the chair and stretching her legs out on the ottoman. She told Rachael about her afternoon, from her brief contact with Jenkins’s partner to being locked in the basement. “You wanted suspects, I’m looking at three, and I’m just getting started. They’re slithering out of every rock I turn over.”

  “Good. The more the merrier.”

  “My money is on the creep who locked me in the basement. That’s where I’ll start tomorrow. Maybe Rosie will get me an address through the DMV. If the kids are right and the motorcycle belonged to their cousin, we may be able to put him at the scene.”

  Rachael slipped off her black heels. “That may or may not work for Candace.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He may turn out to be the killer or he may end up being a witness against her. Did you tell the police about him?”

  “I told Nick someone had locked me in the basement and that I thought the guy must have been there the whole time. Of course, that went over well. Nick insisted that he’d have known if someone was there. He told me it served me right and that it was probably a neighbor who saw that the cellar was open and took it upon himself to close it. Since I’m not dead or injured, I doubt he’ll bother with it. I haven’t told him that it might be Phillip’s nephew, and I’m not sure that I will.”

  “You wouldn’t have to unless you find something incriminating. We don’t want to be accused of withholding evidence.”

  Angel smiled. “Not to worry. I’ll keep them informed every step of the way. I don’t need them any more upset with me than they already are.”

  “They’re giving you a bad time about the leave?”

  Angel nodded. “On one hand they are all really supportive, but I get the feeling they’re mad at me. Nick seems to be blaming me for his long hours. He’s not too happy with my becoming a PI, either.”

  “I think I can understand where they’re coming from. I’m not a psychologist, but what happened to you hit a little too close to home. I doubt they’re angry with you. They’re upset about the system and how vulnerable they are. It’s easier to be mad at you than to face their fears.”

  “Maybe you should have been a psychologist instead of an attorney.”

  Rachael tucked her stocking feet up under her. “There are a lot of similarities between the jobs. In both, you have to learn how to read people.”

  “Easier than it sounds. Some people are tough to read, while others, like Nick, let you know exactly what they’re thinking. You should have seen his face when I told him about working for you. Sheesh. You’d have thought I told him I was a spy for Saddam Hussein.”

  “That bad?”

  “Nearly.”

  They talked until 10:00 about life in general and their lives in particular. Rachael had Angel fill out the necessary forms for making her a bonafide detective and handed her a small silver gift bag.

  “What’s this?” Angel pulled out the tissue paper and a box. “Business cards?”

  “Just a little present to congratulate you and welcome you to the firm. I didn’t think you’d have made up your own yet.”

  ANGEL DELANEY, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. The cards listed her cell phone number and the name and phone number of the attorney’s office.

  Angel took out several cards and placed them in the leather holder that had come with them. “Thanks. That was really thoughtful of you.”

  After Rachael left, Angel slipped on a sweater and stepped outside onto her patio. The wind rushed in from the north and left her shivering. Still, she stood there looking into the inky darkness past the lighted waves of high tide.

  Tomorrow she’d track down Darryl Jenkins. Wouldn’t it be interesting if he turned out to be Phillip’s killer? She imagined the satisfaction she’d get from confronting him, or better, getting a confession and turning him over to the police.

  It’s not going to be that easy.

  She remembered the call from Lorraine Fitzgibbon. Suppose they weren’t looking for someone with a grudge against Phillip Jenkins. Supposing, as Lorraine had suggested, they were looking for a serial killer seeking to rid the world of abusive men?

  SEVENTEEN

  Before going to bed, Angel turned on her laptop and clicked on the icon taking her to her home page. There she located the white pages and typed in Darryl Jenkins, Sunset Cove. No luck there. She’d have to call Rosie in the morning and hope she’d be willing to access the information for her.

  The following morning Angel turned off the alarm at 6:00, threw on her sweats, and dragged her tired body outside, down the back steps, and out onto the beach. Within a few minutes her brain began to clear. She jogged to Callen’s place, took care of Mutt, and ran back. This time she didn’t linger. She felt bad about not spending the night with the dog, but even with the nap, she’d been too tired after Rachael left to pack a bag and drive over.

  By 8:00 she’d had two cups of coffee, eaten a power bar, showered, and dressed. Then she called the PD. Her efforts were rewarded with a voice mail saying, “If this is an emergency, call 911. If you need to speak with an officer, call . . .”

  Angel hung up, cutting off Rosie’s recorded voice. She tried the number again a few minutes later and got a temp who was filling in for Rosie and had no idea how to access the files. “I can check with Chief Brady,” she offered.

  “No, thanks.” Joe was the last person she’d ask.

  After much deliberation, she called Nick. “Remember that guy with the motorcycle I told you about yesterday?”

  “Yeah.�
�

  “I have his name. I’ll trade you that for his address.”

  “You want me to check DMV records for you?”

  “I’d do it myself, but the computer isn’t available to me right now. Rosie is off today, and Joe would blow a gasket, which leaves you. Please.”

  “Why do I need his name?”

  “Because he’s Phillip Jenkins’s nephew and he was at the farm before Candace got there.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “He was there the entire time you were. I’m sure of it.” When Nick didn’t respond, she said, “Look, you don’t have to believe me. The guy may not have done anything, but you need his name in the case file. He’s a potential witness.”

  “I can get his name from Candace. If you want to get hold of this guy so bad, why don’t you call her?”

  “I asked, but she didn’t have an address.”

  “Humph. Phone book?”

  “No luck there either.” Angel sighed. “Look, I already know he lives in an old trailer. I could probably find him, but it would take me all day.”

  “So do it.”

  “Come on, Nick, I just want to talk to him. I’d be doing you a favor, all right? If he’s clean, you won’t need to interview him. If he’s dirty, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. I’ll get the address and call you back in a few minutes.” His tone indicated that he still didn’t think much of the idea, but that he appreciated being able to pad his files with more information on Jenkins.

  True to his word, Nick called back a few minutes later. The DMV records revealed an address, which Angel jotted down on a Post-it. She’d pay Darryl a visit before her appointment with Fitzgibbon—providing Darryl still lived at his last known address. She knew exactly where it was—a dilapidated trailer park northeast of town.

  “I owe you one, Nick. Thanks.”

  “Right, just don’t tell anyone where you got the info, okay?”

  “Promise.” Angel rang off and tossed the phone into her bag, then headed out.

  Driving through town, Angel passed the pharmacy and the old cannery. While her mind tried to speed past the place and the memories, her body had other ideas. She gripped the steering wheel as panic seeped into her veins. Her breathing quickened along with her pulse. Scenes flashed across her mind like a bad movie. She and her partner getting the call, a burglary in progress. Pulling up in front of the pharmacy. Automatic weapons hitting the plate glass window from the inside, spraying glass shards all over the sidewalk. All over her. Bergman lying on the floor in a pool of blood, hanging on to life only to have it slip away later in the hospital. Billy stepping into the aisle, pretending to give himself up. Two gunmen jumping out, waving their weapons back and forth as bullets sprayed the place she’d been standing.