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

  “Was he here alone?” Nick asked.

  “Candace didn’t mention anyone else being here. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “What do you know about the family?” Nick hunkered down beside the medical examiner to get a closer look at the head wound.

  Angel told him about the domestic violence call, when she’d first met Phillip and Candace and their three children. “One of the kids called us. The oldest one, I think. By the time I got here, things were under control. Candace refused to press charges. She did go to the shelter for a while though, then went back to him.” Angel chewed on her lower lip.

  “Maybe if she had followed through and left him, he’d still be alive.” Nick straightened and met her gaze.

  Angel didn’t answer. It was far too soon to be making allegations against Candace, but she couldn’t fault Nick for doing the same thing she’d done herself.

  “Where are the kids now?” Nick glanced over at her, hands resting on his hips.

  “The two younger ones are in the barn. I don’t know about the oldest.”

  Angel watched Jill Stafford pick up something off the floor with tweezers and tuck it into an evidence bag.

  “You’re right about one thing, Angel,” Dr. Bennett said. “The guy didn’t commit suicide.”

  “How can you tell—other than the fact that it doesn’t make sense?”

  “His wound indicates that he was shot from about four to five feet away.”

  “So someone did kill him.” Though Angel had no authority here, she couldn’t help thinking about motive. Candace certainly had that, but somehow Angel couldn’t see the woman as a killer. Candace had other options and knew it. She could have gotten a restraining order or gone back to the shelter. And hadn’t Candace told her that Phillip had been doing better, that he hadn’t hurt her lately? Of course, she could have been lying.

  Angel hung around until Nick and the ME placed Jenkins in a body bag and onto a stretcher. Once they removed the body, she breathed a little easier. Terry photographed the empty and stained recliner. A remote control unit lay on its side against the right arm of the chair. That and the fact Jenkins had placed his snacks and drink to his right indicated that he might be right-handed. If that was true, why had the gun been placed in his left hand? If Candace had killed him, wouldn’t she have known to place it in his right hand? Maybe she was too frightened or distracted. Of course, it could mean nothing at all, since a lot of left-handed people are ambidextrous, and his food may have been on his right because that’s where the end table was located. Still, she made a mental note to ask Candace and to mention it to Nick later.

  Angel took another look around the tidy living room. Photos on the mantle depicted a happy family. One showed them posing together on a beach. They were all tan, with sun-bleached hair. There were other photos leaning against the wall, some professional, some from school, some not.

  No dust. The meticulous environment niggled at her. Had Candace and the children been forced to keep the house perfect for Jenkins? Had Candace snapped, unable or unwilling to accommodate him anymore? Had he pushed her too far?

  “You might as well go home, Angel.” Nick settled a hand on her shoulder. “We can take it from here.”

  Angel almost wished she was still working so she’d have a reason to be there other than curiosity and concern for the family. She didn’t want to go—didn’t want to be left out of the loop. Nick was right, she should leave, but his suggestion annoyed her.

  There’s nothing more you can do, she told herself. Nick and the others would gather and sort through the evidence. The medical examiner would perform an autopsy. They’d put all the pieces together and hopefully come up with a suspect.

  Angel made her way outside. Bo stood near his car, talking into his cell phone and looking toward the barn.

  “They’re going to need a place to stay while we’re processing the scene.” Jill came up behind Angel. “We won’t be able to let them in here for a day or two.”

  “I can take care of that,” Angel said, relieved she’d be able to hang around a bit longer.

  Jill nodded. “I’ll tell Nick. We’ll need to go over her car as well. If she shot him, it would have been before she left to pick up the kids—there may be evidence. So maybe you can drive them into town.”

  “Sure. I’ll get them into a hotel—or maybe the shelter.” Angel glanced at the wicker sofa where Candace had been sitting. It was empty.

  “She’s in the barn, with her kids,” Jill offered. “Said she needed to get them a snack and tell them about their dad.”

  “Thanks.” Angel removed the shoe coverings and placed them in a box by the door.

  Candace was sitting on a bale of hay just inside the double doors, her gaze directed toward the house. Her youngest child, a girl about five, huddled beside her. The second child, a boy, glanced over at Angel. He stood on a gate looking into a stall and jumped down when Angel entered the barn and joined his mother. Standing behind Candace, he placed what looked like a protective hand on her shoulder. Did they know yet? With his father gone, had he already slipped into the protector mode? Protector? Maybe the poor kid had been in that mode for a long time.

  Angel hunkered down in front of Candace. “How are you holding up?”

  Candace turned to look at her then, her eyes unfocused and confused. “Is he . . . is his body still in the house? The kids are getting hungry. I need to start dinner.”

  “He’s gone, but you can’t go in there for a while. The police are still gathering evidence. You’ll need a place to stay tonight. Do you have any family or friends you could stay with?”

  She stared off toward the house again. “No. No one. Our families are in California. We haven’t really made any friends—not people I could ask. We haven’t lived here very long, and we live so far out.”

  Isolation. Another pattern of abuse. Angel thought about the soup in her mother’s inviting kitchen. “We’ll figure out something. In the meantime, you can come to my parents’ place for dinner.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t.”

  “Yes, you can. We have a huge pot of soup on the stove. My mom would be very unhappy if I didn’t bring you over.” Angel took out her cell phone and dialed her parents’ number. When Anna answered, Angel explained the situation.

  “Of course. Bring them, and tell Candace she and the children are welcome to spend the night.”

  “Uh, Ma, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Nonsense. They need a place to stay, and we have plenty of room.”

  “All right. We’ll see how things go.”

  After hanging up Angel relayed the message.

  “Your mother is so sweet. But we couldn’t stay. I wouldn’t want to put her out.”

  “Like she says, they have plenty of room. Besides, she’ll be upset with me if I don’t bring you.”

  “I don’t know. We have sleeping bags and camping equipment. We could sleep in the barn.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” Angel glanced at Bo, who had moved from his car to the porch and was having a conversation with Nick. Both officers looked their way.

  “The police are going to need to question all of you. You’ll need someone to watch the children when they do.” They may even arrest you.

  Candace stared at the hay-scattered floor and soothed her little girl’s golden curls. “Are you sure she won’t mind?”

  “Positive.”

  Pressing her hands to her knees, Angel straightened. She glanced from one child to the other. “Do they know?”

  Candace nodded.

  “I’m so sorry about your dad,” Angel said to them.

  “Don’t be sad.” The little girl slipped her hand into Angel’s. “Daddy’s in heaven with Jesus. Want to see our baby goat?”

  “It’s a kid,” the boy corrected.

  “Sure.” Angel allowed the little girl to pull her into the depths of the old barn. They led her back to the stable where the boy had been when she’d first come in.
He climbed on the wooden door and pointed into the corner of the stall.

  “He’s adorable.” Angel watched the kid take several wobbly steps. “When was he born?”

  “It’s a she,” the boy said. “Night before last.”

  “We named her Midnight,” the girl said, “’cause she’s so black and that’s the time she was borned.”

  “That’s a nice name. What are your names?”

  “Dorfy,” the little girl answered. “My brother’s name is Brian.”

  “She means Dorothy, after the girl in The Wizard of Oz. That’s our mom’s favorite movie. She’s got a tooth missing, so she can’t talk very good.”

  “Hmm.” Angel felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Kids shouldn’t have to suffer like this. Please, God, let their mother be innocent. They shouldn’t have to lose both parents.

  Dorothy clasped Angel’s hand even tighter than before. “Are you taking us to your house?”

  “To my parents, yes.”

  She frowned. “We can’t go until Sissy comes home. She won’t know where we are.”

  Brian jumped backward off the gate. “You don’t need to worry. Mom will pick her up.”

  Candace glanced at her watch. “Brian’s right. We need to go. Gracie will be waiting.” She nodded toward the officers. “They told me to stay here, but . . .”

  “Let me check with Officer Caldwell. Maybe they’ll let you go with me now and question you later.” She’d also need to borrow a vehicle, as hers was a two-seater. Maybe Nick would let her use his.

  Candace sighed. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage without Phillip.”

  “You will.” Angel told her the crime lab would be going over the van and that she’d have to drive them. “Wait here while I make arrangements.”

  “How will I get my van back?” Candace glanced worriedly at the groceries still sitting in the back. “Who will take care of the groceries? I put away the perishables, but . . .”

  “I’ll bring you out here tomorrow, or whenever the police are finished.” If you’re not in jail.

  “But our clothes. I don’t have anything for the children to wear tomorrow for school.”

  School? Your husband has just died and you’re worried about what the kids are going to wear to school? Angel kept her thoughts to herself. Candace apparently was still in shock. “They won’t let us in the house right now, but I’ll come back out later and pick up a few things.”

  Candace hesitated, a deep frown etched into her face. She clearly didn’t want to give her home over to strangers. Finally she nodded and stood in the driveway, an arm around each of the children, while Angel went back to the house. She found Nick still inside talking to the lab techs.

  “Hey, Nick, Mrs. Jenkins needs to pick up her daughter from school. How would you feel about my taking her and the kids into town? They’re going to need to eat, and I think it might be best if we get them out of here.”

  “I need to question them.” Nick walked over to her. “Besides, you can’t take them in the Vette.”

  “I know, I’ll need to borrow yours.”

  “No way. I can’t let you do that. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re technically a civilian. If something happened to the car, it would be my neck.”

  “Come on, Nick. We can’t let them stay out here. You’re not going to be done for hours yet. I’ll take them into town and bring the car back.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They’ll be at my parents’ place,” she assured him. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  He rubbed at the lines of indecision on his forehead and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Okay, but make sure she doesn’t go anywhere else. And give me your keys in case I have to leave . . . and put the out-of-service sign on the car door.”

  From the look on his face when she handed him her car keys, she suspected he didn’t mind exchanging vehicles as much as he wanted her to believe.

  Angel led them to Nick’s car and opened the doors. The children scrambled into the back, with Brian going on about how neat it was to ride in a police car. “Wow. This is so cool. Can you put the siren on?”

  “Maybe later,” Angel told him. She opened the trunk and retrieved the magnetic sign, placing it squarely on the driver’s side door.

  To Brian and Dorothy’s delight, she turned on the siren once they reached the main road, letting it run for a full minute before suppressing it again. Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of Sunset Cove High School.

  Gracie was waiting on a bench in front of the school, arms folded and mouth set in a grim line. She eyed Angel suspiciously and frowned when her mother stepped out of the car. Something told Angel that Gracie didn’t share her brother’s enthusiasm for riding in an official vehicle. Candace took three steps toward Gracie and stopped.

  “You’re half an hour late.” Gracie stood and picked up her book bag.

  “I’m sorry.” Candace just stood there, arms stiff at her sides.

  “What’s wrong?” Gracie demanded. “Where’s the van? Who is she? Why are you riding in a . . . a police car?” Gracie was a tall, slender girl with her mother’s silky blonde hair and blue eyes. She glanced around, a panicky look in her eyes. Angel half expected her to bolt.

  “I . . . honey, it’s your father. He’s . . .”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Gracie’s eyes narrowed as she assessed her mother. The girl said nothing, but Angel noticed the strange, almost conspiratorial, look that passed between them.

  Candace wrapped an arm around Gracie’s shoulder. “Come on.” She introduced Angel before opening the back door to let Gracie climb into the backseat with her siblings.

  Minutes later they pulled into the driveway of the Delaney home. The single-story rambler had a warm brick exterior and was surrounded by lush plants, with rhododendrons four to six feet in height, all in bloom.

  “Oh, the rhodies are gorgeous,” Candace commented as they exited the car.

  “My mother’s pride and joy.” Angel ushered Candace and the children inside and stood aside while her mother hugged them all, murmuring words of comfort and assuring Candace that she and the children were more than welcome to stay as long as they needed to.

  Before showing them to their rooms, Anna took Angel aside. “Don’t look so worried. You’ve done the right thing bringing them here. Now run to the market and get some romaine and tomatoes so we can have salad with your soup.”

  “Should I get the seafood too?”

  Anna pursed her lips. “Better not. The children may not like it. I’ll just toss in some sautéed chicken.”

  On the way to the market, Angel thought again about Candace cleaning up the crime scene. She thought too about the look that had passed between Gracie and her mother at the school. Did Gracie know something? Did she suspect her mother?

  Concern shivered through her. What have you done, Angel? At the time, bringing Candace and her children home to her parents had seemed the logical solution. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  EIGHT

  Angel picked up the groceries, adding strawberries, angel food cake, and whipping cream to her list, along with some snacks for the kids, then went back to the house. She still hadn’t heard from Callen and decided that if he didn’t call by 9:00, she’d call him.

  Anna met her at the door, taking one of the bags and heading into the kitchen. Angel hurried behind her, noting that the children were lounging on the sofa, Gracie writing in a notebook, Brian and Dorothy reading. “You guys look studious.”

  “We are.” Dorothy gave her a toothless grin. “We’re doing our homework. We hafta, or we can’t watch TV after dinner.”

  Gracie glanced up and rolled her eyes. “Right, like you really have to study.”

  “I do. Mom says.”

  Gracie moved her head from side to side and continued writing. They seemed oddly unaffected by their father’s death. Candace apparently believed in maintaining no
rmalcy at all cost.

  Angel ducked into the kitchen and set the groceries on the counter. Candace stood at the sink, folding a dishcloth. The table had already been set.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy,” Angel said.

  “Everything’s ready except the salad,” Anna told her. “I’ll let you put that together while I check on your father.”

  “Is he eating with us?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Minutes later, Candace, the children, and Anna gathered around the table. Anna asked that they hold hands for grace. Her brief prayer offered thanks for the food and blessings for family and friends. She omitted any mention of Phillip Jenkins’s death, most likely for the children’s sake. She concluded with an amen, and they all raised their heads. All, that is, except Dorothy.

  With her eyes tightly shut, she added a petition of her own. “And bless my daddy and Jesus in heaven. Amen.”

  “Thank you, Dorothy.” Candace, eyes filled with tears, ran a hand over her small daughter’s hair and kissed her cheek.

  “Who sits there?” Brian pointed to Angel’s father’s place at the head of the table.

  “My husband, Frank,” Anna answered. “He’s not feeling well.”

  The place had been set as it usually was but remained conspicuously empty. Eating was a chore for Frank. He had to wear a bib to catch the drool that flowed out of his drooping mouth and down his chin.

  “When are the police going to talk to me?” Candace asked, bringing Angel out of her reverie.

  “I’m not sure. Tonight, maybe tomorrow.”

  “You said you would go back out to the farm and get what we’ll need to stay overnight. I probably should go with you, but I hate to leave the kids.” Candace still wore a confused expression. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she dabbed them away with a tissue. She stirred her soup and took a tentative sip.

  “You don’t need to come with me. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll go as soon as we’ve finished eating.”