Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (28 page)

Rob must have been waiting in the parking lot when Cassie
drove in.

She had barely gotten inside and turned on a couple lights when
she heard a knock at the door. She peeked through the curtains.

He stepped back a pace and waved at the sliver of opening. He
was carrying a large bag of something.

When Cassie opened the door he said, “You need to eat
tonight and I don’t want you going anywhere, so I brought dinner.”

She moved to make room for him to come in.

“You want a soda or anything? How about your ice tub . . .
I’ll refill it for you.”

It was a start. Cassie was determined not to let him off that
easy, but she didn’t want to tease the scorpion. She waited until they sat
calmly at the table with several open Chinese food containers between them.

She spoke while she dipped an egg roll in sweet and sour
sauce. “Will the Victoria authorities take the time to check Sydney’s wheel?”

“They did. They’re sending a sample to our CSI for
comparison.”

The confirmation almost ruined her appetite. She lay the egg
roll down and stared at it.

Rod reached across the table and touched her arm. “I’m
telling you this because I don’t know how else to convince you to stay where
you’re safe.”

Cassie gave a conciliatory nod. “Have you talked to Fozzi
about anything?”

“Gorduno’s looking for him. Fozzi clocked in at the city
yesterday morning, but didn’t come back to clock out. His wife said he didn’t
come home last night.”

Cassie twirled her fork in the well of noodles without
picking anything up. She could give him the photocopies from Skolnik’s office
right now, but instinct waved a parade of red flags against it. Fozzi’s payroll
connection didn’t prove anything by itself, and admitting to Rob that she had
been inside Skolnik’s office yesterday would probably land her in jail.

“Can I ask you about something else?”

Rob frowned. “What else?”

“Who decided to arrest Brady Irwin on a murder charge?”

“Brady Irwin was never under arrest for anything.”

Cassie put her fork down. “He called Bea Morgan from the jail.”

“I know he called from the jail, I was with him. But he was
not under arrest.”

“Then why did--?”

Rob’s cell phone chirped, interrupting Cassie’s question. He
tipped the thing up and read the text display. “I have to go,” he said, rising
to his feet quickly, already heading for the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back as
soon as I can.”

Seconds later she heard the Expedition’s engine rumble to
life, and then fade as he drove out of the parking area.

***

Cassie had no idea what time it was when she heard knocking and
opened her eyes. The lamp over the table and the TV were still on. The
bedspread was shoved to the floor between the bed and the wall; she was still
dressed and the computer was open beside her on the blanket. The screen was
black. She hadn’t plugged it in when she sat down; the battery must have
completely run out.

The digital clock on the TV glowed 12:57am. She peered
through the drapes to see who was at the door. Rob stepped back again to make
sure she could see him.

Cassie opened the door for him to come in, and then gathered
the computer and the few papers scattered next to it, moving them to the table
to attach the power cord.

“You need that now?” he asked.

“No, but I dozed off and the battery died. It takes hours to
recharge.” She leaned down behind the chair where he sat earlier, and shoved
the plug into the wall.

When she stood back up, he was standing so close she couldn’t
move. She felt his hand at the back of her head, long fingers inching downward
slowly to rest against the nape of her neck. The effect was dreamily sensual
until she realized it wasn’t a romantic caress; he was smoothing a knot of
bedhead hair.

“You need to sleep,” he said in a low voice, his hand still warm
on the back of her neck. “It’s the middle of the night, but I told you I’d come
back as soon as I could.” His breath smelled of wintergreen.

Cassie hated to think what her breath smelled like after
Chinese food and a couple hours nap; her mouth tasted like a garbage can. She
tilted her head down to avoid breathing in his face. “I need a minute in the
bathroom, okay?”

He stepped sideways to let her pass, but he didn’t remove
his hand from her neck until she walked out from under it.

“Don’t leave,” she commanded as she reached the bathroom
door.

“Not a chance,” he called back. “I can’t trust leaving you
alone unless you’re in handcuffs.”

She closed the bathroom door and hurried with what she
needed to do, ready to challenge a remark like that.

But when she came out, he was standing next to the table,
remote control in hand, frowning at something on TV.

“What?” she said, glancing toward the screen.

“It was a replay of the Eleven O’clock News.” He pushed the button
to turn the sound on mute, and pointed his chin toward the head of the bed.
“You need to scoot up there and go back to sleep.” Then he removed his notebook
and ballpoint from his pocket, shifted his gun holster under his jacket, and
sat down in the chair next to the wall.

Cassie was too wired to go back to sleep with him sitting
there. She sat on the edge of the bed. “How long are you going to sit there?”

“As long as it takes.”

For what
, she wanted to ask, but she was afraid the
answer would be for Cassie to go home to Las Vegas.

“We still need to talk about Brady Irwin,” she reminded him.

“Like I told you, he’s just helping us.”

“The Strickland & Yates lawyer who called Baylin House
said Brady needed legal help.”

Rob shrugged. “Ambulance chasers hang around the jail, we
can’t do anything about that, but I promise you Brady was just fine. You don’t
have anything to worry about.”

“Actually I do. They convinced Rosalie to sign a contract
for services, and filed a lien on her property for the fee.

Rob’s eyebrows lifted.

“I went to the County Recorder and got a copy after it was
filed. That’s also how I found out what happened to Sydney Owen, from a girl in
the Recorder’s office.”

Just from the look on his face, she expected another blowup.
She waited for it, watched his temples moving, the tendons in his neck flex, but
all he said was, “You need to roll over and go to sleep.”

He turned off the lamp and scooted down in the chair,
leaning his head against the wall, his face to the window. The only light in
the room came from the television with the sound on mute.

Cassie lay her head on the pillow and closed her eyes,
listening to him breathe, listening to her own heartbeats, waiting for the
steady cadence to lull her brain out of action.

It didn’t work.

“I can’t sleep with you sitting there, so you might as well
talk to me. How did Brady Irwin’s name land in your little notebook in the
first place?”

“We found his wallet on the body.”

“Skolnik had Brady’s wallet?”

“Brady thinks he lost it on the bus he rides home from work.
Skolnik probably got it from somebody who found it.”

Cassie kicked that around her imagination for a moment. From
what she knew about Skolnik now, she suspected he stole it from Brady and knew
exactly what he was doing.

“So from the wallet, Brady became a suspect, and that’s why
you came to Baylin House last week?”

“Close enough.”

“And then you needed his help night before last . . . you
got him out of bed and took him to the jail . . . and let him call Baylin House
from there?”

Rob grunted a short laugh, and nodded slowly. “We picked up
a homeless guy in the old neighborhood who admits to fighting with Skolnik
Sunday evening. We wanted to see if Brady knew him from anywhere. He just
wanted to call somebody and brag a little. That’s all there was to it.”

“Brady wanted to brag about being in the jail?”

“We gave him one of the plastic badges we hand out to school
kids that come on field trips.”

Cassie thought about how totally logical that sounded. Anticlimactic,
really. “That’s all?”

“Yeah, that’s all. An hour later I drove him home and made
sure he was safe inside before I left. End of story.”

Cassie lay still with her thoughts for a few beats. Of course,
that would have been exciting for Brady. And, it was just as logical that Bea
misunderstood the late night phone call from him.

“So you confirmed Brady didn’t know the homeless guy?”

“Yeah. Dozey’s an old Vietnam Vet who’s been off the grid
more years than he can count.”

“Dozey is the homeless man . . .?”

“That’s his neighborhood name. He’s known to drift in and
out of the past according to which way the breeze is blowing. Even if they didn’t
believe him, it would be hard for the DA’s office to prove he wasn’t provoked
into defending himself like he says.”

Rob shifted farther to stretch one long leg across the
floor, and prop the other foot on the empty chair. Cassie caught a glimpse of
something metallic under his shoe reflecting light from the TV, but her gaze returned
quickly to his face, listening to him.

“Word is, Skolnik was hanging around the neighborhood a
while, talking to different ones like he was a contractor looking to hire a
helper. When he got around to Dozey, he just wanted to trade the wallet for Dozey’s
dog tag.”

“Military ID dog tag? What could he want with that?”

“Hard to say. Dozey admits he doesn’t like to be touched, so
when Skolnik tried to grab at him, Dozey hit him, hard. Last he remembers is
Skolnik wandering off toward the QuickStop Market.”

“And then somebody else killed him?”

Rob shook his head. “Dozey showed us how he fought back, and
he definitely could have blown Skolnik’s spleen with that punch. If he was in
Special Forces like he says, that’s what he was trained to do, to guarantee a
kill. It would have been instinctive reaction for him. He didn’t have to do it
on purpose”

“But the body was in the trunk of the car . . .”

“All the evidence says he climbed in on his own. We know he
left the car unlocked when he parked it behind the store, probably because it
was hotwired and there were no keys--”

“So Skolnik actually stole the car in the first place,”
Cassie tested. It was a relief to have that in the open without her admitting
she visited Delona Zimmer.

“Yeah, he did.”

“So why climb into the trunk? You think he was afraid Dozey
would come looking for him?”

“More likely he came back to the car, found out somebody
locked it on him, and he smashed the trunk lock to lay down in there and wait
for morning.”

“And died in there before morning . . ?”

“Yeah, he did.” Rob leaned over and picked up the TV remote.
“Now you know as much as I do about it. Close your eyes and get some sleep.”

He flipped through a few channels and landed on an old
Bonanza rerun.

It wasn’t easy, but eventually Cassie did nod off.

Cassie opened her eyes to flashing primary colors; a Sunday
Morning Cartoon was on TV.

Rob must have taken the extra pillow sometime after she fell
asleep; it was stuffed behind his head where he slid down in the chair, still with
one long leg across the floor, the other foot in the empty chair. He looked so
uncomfortable she was tempted to wake him.

Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the
dresser and thought better of it. Moving as quietly as she could, she slid
toward the other side of the bed where she could get to the bathroom easily.

Her feet had barely hit the floor when there was a loud knock
on the door. Cassie spun around, but Rob was already on his feet. He grimaced
when he took a step, but he was at the door with his gun in his hand before she
knew what to do next.

He bent to look through the peephole. Then he calmly put the
gun away and opened the door.

Cassie stood with her mouth agape watching Detective Gorduno
step over the threshold carrying a large box clearly labeled
The Baileys
.
Then she hurriedly backed into the bathroom and closed the door.

She really wanted a shower and a change of clothes, but
settled for quick attention with a washrag, toothbrush, and wet fingers to push
her hair into something less frightening.

When she came out of the bathroom, Gorduno and Rob were at
the table with three giant coffees from The Baileys coffee shop, and an open
box of pastries.

“She’s awake!” Rob teased. Cassie could tell his smile was
forced. Gorduno did not look so happy about it.

She sat on the side of the bed next to the table, and
accepted the oversize coffee Rob pushed toward her. “Thanks,” she said, making
eye contact with Gorduno. The older man nodded, and looked to Rob.

“You need to hear this,” Rob told her. Then he urged Gorduno
with a look.

“I’ve got Fozzi’s background info,” Detective Gorduno said.
“It still leaves questions about how he landed the job here in Cordell Bay, but
it’s clear he was connected as a minor thug in a couple different rackets in
the northern states. Scuttlebutt has him picked up running numbers before he
was out of junior high school. Later he did a stint in Federal lockup – that’s
where he celebrated his 21
^st
birthday. He was still on parole when
he found a job with a construction company, and for a few years they thought he
kept himself clean.”

“Construction would be where he learned enough to think he
could handle explosives,” Rob offered.

“Could be,” Gorduno agreed. “A couple years ago he was
picked up with a group running small time cons on Atlantic City tourists. They
couldn’t make a case on him so they let him go. He was off the radar again until
he came after you and Sydney Owen last week.”

Cassie took all that in without interruption. When it was
clear Gorduno had nothing else to add, she said, “It would be interesting to
know if Atlantic City is where he met his wife.”

Then she told them about Sydney Owen’s suspicion, that Fozzi
was married to a Thornton-slash-Cozier, which got him the job at the Health
Department, and he used that badge to help drive Baylin House into the ground
for his in-laws to get the land cheap. “Sydney thinks they want to clear the
whole block and build another apartment complex like Bayside View.”

She didn’t mention her suspicion that Margaret Goodman and
her CPA Thornton were working together to drain Baylin House funds for the same
purpose. She was afraid it would look like a witch-hunt. She already had more
to tell, and they weren’t going to like it.

“Your dead guy Skolnik was probably involved too,” she
suggested.

Rob’s gaze flitted sideways at Gorduno. His expression said he
wasn’t comfortable with her revealing what he told her last night.

“What about Skolnik?” Gorduno asked.

Cassie dug the folded photocopy of Fozzi’s paychecks from
her purse and opened the paper on the table. “Please don’t ask me where I got
this.”

Gorduno glanced at Rob, and then inspected the photocopy
while Cassie attempted to lay out a theory.

“Thornton wants the Baylin House property, so Thornton’s
son-in-law Fozzi, who works for Skolnik, steals the wallet from Brady Irwin and
somehow plants it on Skolnik, and--”

She stopped and took a sip of coffee to stall. She was about
to say ‘
and Skolnik tried to unload it on the homeless man
, but that
didn’t make sense when she thought it out that far.

“Anyway,” she said, needing to back up a few steps, “what we
know is that Thornton wants the land. Thornton’s son-in-law Fozzi worked for
Skolnik, Skolnik worked for Strickland & Yates, and right now Strickland
& Yates has a fraudulent lien on the Baylin House property that will let
them take it away from Rosalie without even paying for it.”

Gorduno frowned. “Strickland has a lien?”

Cassie nodded. “They claimed Brady Irwin was about to be
charged for Skolnik’s murder, and got Rosalie to sign a contract so they could
lien the property.”

“Ho-ly-shit,” he gasped, and quickly got to his feet.

“What?” Rob looked as surprised as Cassie.

But Gorduno only snatched up his coffee and headed for the
door. “I gotta check on something.”

Then he left.