Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) Page 6

  “He’s not a suspect—at least not at this point. He reported his car stolen last week.”

  “If he said it was stolen, then I’m sure it was. Mitch is a solid guy.” On the other hand, how well did she know him?

  “Hmm. Like I said, I’ll be questioning him.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you up here?” Angel said, then wondered if she should have.

  After a moment’s silence Callen asked, “You applying for a job? Maybe as crime lab tech?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Let me guess. You’re wishing you hadn’t extended your leave and had gone back to work at the PD.”

  “No. I need more time away, but . . .” Angel hesitated. “I was thinking today about finding a different type of job. As strange as it may seem, law enforcement is the only thing that sounds appealing.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’re a good cop. I know you have some decisions to make, but going into police work to please your father isn’t such a bad thing. Besides, knowing you, I really doubt that’s the case. You don’t strike me as the submissive type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that your father may have influenced you, but I doubt you’d have gone into law enforcement unless you really wanted to.”

  “Maybe.” Angel chewed on her lower lip. “But what about my aversion to guns?”

  “Normal reaction considering what you’ve been through.”

  “Are you saying I should go back to work for the PD?”

  “Not yet. It’s too soon.”

  “Yeah,” Angel agreed. “It is.”

  Out on the main road, Angel turned south toward Callen’s beach house. “Hey, I’m on my way to your place right now to take care of Mutt.”

  “I feel terrible having to leave him alone so long. Should have brought him with me.” He sighed. “But then he’d have been cooped up in the hotel room.”

  “You could always come back and get him tonight.” Angel was surprised at the longing she heard in her tone. “And you could see me at the same time. I could try making that soup again.”

  “You have no idea how good that sounds. But I can’t.”

  “It was just a thought. Anyway, don’t worry about Mutt. I’m taking good care of him. It’s you I’m worried about.” She thought again about driving down to Florence to see him, but she couldn’t leave now—not with Candace and the kids staying at her parents’ house.

  “Angel, are you still there?”

  “Yeah. Just thinking. I’m pulling into your driveway. If you want to hang on a minute, you can say hello to your dog.”

  Mutt looked longingly at her through the picture window, wiggling and bouncing from the window to the door. When Angel finally got the door open, the white fluff ball pounced on her, licking and barking in delight. Angel laughed and leaned down to pick up the wriggling pup. “Hey, Mutt. Are you glad to see me? I have a surprise for you. Callen is on the phone. Want to say hi to him?”

  She could have sworn Mutt nodded.

  Chuckling, she put the phone to the dog’s ear. Mutt squirmed and whimpered at the sound of Callen’s voice, then barked his own greeting as if to chew his master out for not being there.

  Angel put the phone back to her own ear. “I think he’s telling you to come home.”

  Callen groaned. “I have a call coming in. I have to go. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Angel pressed the button to end the reception and slipped the phone into her pocket.

  I love you too. Had she really said I love you? The words had slipped out so naturally, as if they’d been saying them for a long time. Maybe in her heart she had. Sudden tears dripped onto Mutt’s silky white fur. The dog whined in sympathy and licked the tears away. Angel shook her head. “I know. I’m being ridiculous.” She pulled a slightly used tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose.

  “Come on, dog. Let’s get you something to eat.” She set the wiggle worm on the floor and headed for the kitchen.

  Minutes later, Angel sat on the couch watching Mutt devour his special blend. The dog eyed her warily as if he were afraid she’d leave him. When he’d gobbled up the food, he ran toward her and leaped into her lap. After thoroughly kissing her hands and face, he settled into a ball beside her and heaved an enormous sigh.

  “You silly little thing. You’re lonesome, aren’t you? If I could have pets at my apartment, I’d take you home with me.” She stroked his head and back, feeling like an ogre at the thought of leaving him again. “Tell you what. How would you like it if I stayed here tonight?”

  Mutt peered up at her, his tail whipping back and forth.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Mutt jumped off her lap and went to stand at the patio door. Good thing he was trained. She’d forgotten about taking him outside. She took his leash off a peg by the door and slipped it onto his collar. Mutt charged ahead, leading the way over the dunes.

  While Mutt did his job, Angel stood with her head tipped back, watching the stars overhead. The half-moon shone like a beacon, lighting up the waves with silver highlights.

  The night was crisp and cool. She watched the whitecaps roll in, thinking of the times she and Callen had walked along this stretch of beach, and how much she wanted him beside her right now.

  Once inside, Angel removed her jacket and hung it in the closet, then scoured the refrigerator for something to feed her own growling stomach. Callen, being the efficient chef that he was, had cleaned out everything perishable. The cupboards yielded a wide array of snacks, from roasted soybeans to rock-hard peas with a hot wasabi coating. Angel settled on a bag of microwave popcorn.

  While it popped she borrowed a T-shirt from Callen’s dresser that would double as pajamas. Tomorrow she’d pack a bag. Maybe she’d stay until Callen came back. Mutt would love that.

  The microwave beeped, and Angel padded barefoot to the kitchen to retrieve her snack. Once she’d poured herself a ginger ale, she settled into Callen’s recliner and used the remote to turn on the television set. The action brought back the image of Phillip Jenkins settling in with his popcorn and beer.

  Had he known his killer? She suspected he must have, since there had been no sign of a struggle. Still, how could they know that for sure, since Candace had cleaned up the place? Had Jenkins invited someone over? Had he known what was coming? She thought again about the footprints that might have been tracked into the house. The prints Candace had mopped up.

  Angel surmised that from where Phillip Jenkins had been sitting, he would have seen anyone coming into the room either from the kitchen or from the front door. Of course, all that was speculation. She’d have to take a closer look at the house to know for certain.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. Had Candace removed a gun from his collection at an earlier time, hidden it upstairs, and waited for the right moment? Had she crept into the room while Phillip was absorbed in the game, shot him, placed the gun in his left hand, cleaned up the mess, then gone to pick up the kids?

  Angel still had a hard time seeing the small, soft-spoken woman as a killer, but she’d been wrong before.

  She thought again about the remote control and the snacks being on the right side of the chair and the gun being in his left hand. If Candace had killed him and if he was right-handed, wouldn’t she have placed the gun in his right hand? Not necessarily, but it was worth noting. She’d forgotten to mention her observation to Nick and promised herself she’d do so the next day. Not that he’d appreciate her opinion.

  And what about Gracie? Where did she fit into all of this?

  Why are you even thinking about it? Nick was right; dating a detective doesn’t make you one.

  Detective or not, Angel felt a part of it. She had to know one way or another and planned to talk to both Candace and Gracie in the morning. Allegedly, neither had been home when Jenkins was shot. Candace had been shopping, Gracie at school. Sh
e’d have to check out their alibis.

  Angel finally drifted off sometime around midnight, with Mutt curled up beside her. His occasional shifting and moaning along with thoughts of Jenkins and his killer kept Angel on the verge of sleep most of the night.

  Morning came far too soon with Mutt barking and insisting she let him out and feed him. Angel dressed hurriedly in the clothes she’d worn the day before. At the patio door, she attached the leash to Mutt’s collar and slipped outside.

  She was not in the mood to run or play, and told the dog so. Mutt seemed to understand, doing his business then heading back to the house. Of course, his lack of ambition may have been due to the relentless mist. After feeding him, Angel collected her jacket and left Mutt to fend for himself. “I’ll be back later. Try to stay out of trouble.”

  Mutt barked and ran to the window to watch her go. Nose against the pane, he whined, his big liquid eyes pleading with her not to leave him. “I’m sorry, Mutt, but I can’t hang around here all morning.” She felt guilty leaving him, but what could she do?

  Back in her apartment, Angel took a long, hot shower. As she stepped out of the bathroom her phone rang. She ignored it until the answering machine beeped and she heard her mother’s frantic voice. “Angel, are you there? You are not going to believe what happened. Nick came by this morning and took Candace into custody. He read her her rights and cuffed her right in front of the children.”

  “I want my mommy!” Dorothy wailed in the background.

  “Angel.” The distress rose in Anna’s voice. “You have to do something.”

  Angel picked up the phone. “I’m here, Ma. Calm down.” Angel figured Candace would be taken in, but not this soon or quite so dramatically. “He probably just wants to question her.”

  “Angel Delaney. Your father was a police officer for thirty years. Don’t you think I know the difference? She’s been arrested like a common criminal.”

  ELEVEN

  The children are upset,” Anna said, “and I don’t blame them. Gracie insists she has to go to school. Brian and Dorothy are . . . well, Brian is just sitting there trying to take it all in. And poor little Dorothy. That’s her you hear crying.”

  While her mother lamented, Angel padded to the walk-in closet. She grabbed clean jeans, a white turtleneck, and a burgundy sweater from the shelf.

  “Calm down, Ma. It’s going to be okay.” Angel felt odd comforting her mother. Anna was usually calm and collected. Angel wished she’d taken Candace and the children to the shelter instead of her parents’ home. “Take a deep breath. We’ll handle this together, okay? I’ll come over and take the kids to school. We’ll have to find a place for them to stay.”

  “They can stay here. I told Candace I’d take care of them until she got out.”

  “Ma, you can’t. You sound totally frazzled. And what about Dad?”

  “I can manage. I don’t want them in foster care. They’d probably be split up. They’re darling children and . . . I want to do this, Angel. I need to.”

  “A day or two, maybe, but Candace could be in jail for a while.”

  “That woman is innocent. I can feel it in my bones. You’ve got to get her out of there.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Which isn’t much, I’m afraid.”

  “We can at least get her a lawyer.”

  “Good thinking,” Angel agreed. “Maybe Rachael will represent her.”

  “That’s exactly who I had in mind.”

  Angel struggled into her jeans, not an easy task with one shoulder supporting the phone against her ear. “Okay, I’ll take Gracie to school, then go down to the station to see what I can find out.”

  Anna released a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Angel finished getting ready while she mulled over the conversation. Taking the children on wasn’t a very good idea, but she wouldn’t argue the point. At least not today. When Anna Delaney made up her mind, nothing could change it. But maybe after a day or two, Anna would reconsider. Even the best-behaved children could be a handful. She was sixty-two and already had more than she could handle with her invalid husband.

  Angel pulled on socks and shoved her feet into her loafers, then ran a brush through her hair, trying to rearrange the curls into some sort of order. Her hair would have to air-dry this morning.

  The minute Angel stepped inside her parents’ house, Dorothy squealed. Holding her teddy bear in a death grip, she scrambled off the sofa and threw her arms around Angel’s legs. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.”

  Angel picked her up and hugged girl and bear. When she let go, Dorothy looked up at her. “Mrs. Delaney said you were a real Angel.”

  Angel laughed. “That’s my name, but I’m not—”

  “That means you can help my mommy, right? Mrs. Delaney said you would take care of everything.”

  Angel blinked back tears. “I’ll try.” What was her mother thinking, telling the kids she’d take care of everything?

  “Breakfast is ready,” Anna called from the kitchen.

  Angel set Dorothy down. “Better go eat.”

  “Are you coming too?”

  “In a minute.” She turned her attention to the other side of the room, where Tom was bringing Frank out to his chair.

  “Hey, Angel. Haven’t seen you for a while.” Tom nodded at her.

  “That’s because I’m usually sleeping at this hour.”

  Tom’s comment pushed a guilt button. The half-teasing, half-accusing look in his eyes told her he thought she should come around more often. Angel shed her coat at the hall closet and waited until her father was seated before leaning over to drop a quick kiss on his cheek. “Morning, Dad. You’re looking good.”

  He teared up as he so often did since his stroke. Once again expressing his disappointment. He glanced away as if he wanted nothing to do with her. Angel straightened and headed for the kitchen, determined not to feel the sharp barbs of his dismissal.

  “Did you make enough for me?” She headed straight for the cupboard and extracted her favorite coffee mug, one from a local artist, with clusters of grapes painted on a pale yellow background speckled with purple.

  “Don’t I always?”

  Angel kissed her mother’s cheek and helped herself to a cup, then dished up a portion of the eggs that had been scrambled with mushrooms, onions, broccoli, and yellow pepper then topped with cheese. “The kids have settled down.”

  “Yes,” Anna whispered. “I told them their mother would be home soon.”

  “Right,” Angel said, “and that I’d take care of everything. Ma . . .”

  “Shush. We’ll talk about that later.”

  Once they were seated around the table, Anna offered the blessing.

  Dorothy peered at her eggs and wrinkled her nose. “Mommy never puts green stuff and shrooms in our eggs.”

  “Pick them out, then,” Gracie told her.

  “You’re lucky Dad isn’t here,” Brian said, “or he’d make you eat it for a week.” He paused, giving Anna a stricken look. “I guess he can’t do that anymore, huh?”

  Anna smiled. “Would you like me to make some plain eggs for you, Dorothy?”

  “Yes, please.” She handed her plate up.

  Brian lifted a bite of the eggs to his mouth and grimaced. He swallowed without chewing and washed it down with milk.

  “Broccoli isn’t your favorite, either?” Angel grinned.

  He glowered. “I eat whatever’s on my plate.”

  “Better make some plain eggs for Brian too.” Angel reached over and patted his arm. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “My mom used to have to leave stuff out of my omelettes when I was your age.”

  “I’m sorry, kids. I wasn’t thinking—it’s been a busy morning,” Anna said. “How about you, Gracie?”

  “It’s good.” She was halfway through. “I like my eggs this way.”

  Anna good-naturedly scrambled more eggs and put the untouched portions of the o
riginal omelettes into a container for the refrigerator. Serving the untarnished eggs, she asked, “Is this more to your liking, Signor Brian? Signorina Dorothy?”

  They giggled at her Italian accent and thanked her with a unique version of their own accents.

  While they ate, Angel made a point of watching each of the children. They were already dressed and ready for school, eating greedily, now that they had eggs with no gross stuff, and acting as if yesterday had never happened and that their mother hadn’t been arrested. What were they thinking? Their actions gave little indication of the trauma they had to be going through.

  “Are you sure you want to go to school today?” Anna asked, apparently picking up the thread of a previous conversation.

  “I have to,” Gracie said. “I have a test in language arts and after school I have cheerleading practice.” She bit her bottom lip. “I mean . . . it’s not like we could do anything except sit around if we stayed here.”

  “It’s better if we go.” Brian propped his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands.

  “Yeah, better.” Dorothy mimicked his pose.

  “All right,” Anna relented. “But if you change your mind, you can come back. One of us will come get you. Now, elbows off the table,” she admonished. “Use your manners.”

  The children quickly complied.

  “We’ll be fine,” Gracie said. Her anger from the night before seemed to have dissipated, though she seemed thoughtful and subdued. “As long as we don’t have to talk to the cops anymore.”

  “Officer Caldwell questioned all of you?”

  “Yeah, before he took our mom away.” Brian frowned. “We told him she didn’t do it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Angel was determined to talk to Nick about his actions, but she had some questions of her own. “Gracie, were you in school all day yesterday?”

  Gracie’s head snapped up. “Yeah. Where else would I be? I don’t have a car.”

  Angel shrugged her shoulders. “I just wondered. A lot of kids go home for lunch, and I wondered if you had and if you might have seen or heard anything unusual if you’d been there.”

  “No. I didn’t.” She picked up her orange juice and started drinking.