Before Another Dies (18 page)

“Already? That seems fast.”

“Like I said, we had a late night. Fritzy said she was eager to get on with the funeral.”

“I'll let her know—”

“I already have. I called while I was waiting on you.”

I said that was good and waited for the third item on West's mental list. He stared at me. I stared at him. Finally, I said, “And the third thing is?”

He didn't answer right away and when he started to speak, his cell phone sounded. He frowned, said, “Excuse me,” and then answered it. His face darkened, his brow furrowed, and his lips drew into a tight line. “I'm on my way.” He stood.

“That didn't look good.”

He gazed down at me, looking both sad and angry. “There's been another murder. I'm afraid I'm going to have cut short our meeting.” He started for the door.

“Wait a minute. Who? Where?”

He stopped and redirected his attention to me. I stood behind the desk. “I don't have the details yet. A security guard at the marina. He was found dead in his guard shack. That's all I know.”

I slowly lowered myself back into my chair. “Same cause of death?”

“Unofficially? Yes. I'll know more when I get there.”

“You know what this means.”

He closed the door to my office and took a step closer. “It means we have a serial killer. It means we've had a year's worth of murders in less than a week.”

That was what I was thinking, and it made me sick.

He glanced back to the door, then to me. “This is lousy timing, but the third thing on my list was personal business, not professional.”

I looked up. My heart did a somersault. “Personal?”

“I think it's time we started dating. I was going to be a whole lot smoother than that but . . . Anyway, we'll talk later.”

For some reason I had goose bumps. Maybe it was the news of the third murder, maybe it was my weariness, or maybe it was the man standing in front of me. I started to speak when my phone buzzed. I hit the speaker button. “Yes, Floyd.”

“Doug Turner is on line one. He says it's important. Councilwoman Lawrence is on line two.”

West smiled. “Life is never dull for you, is it?”

“Only in my dreams.”

chapter 23

D
oug Turner was insistent that I see him. He could be pushy—after all, he was a reporter—but I detected something in his voice that made me yield. When I asked what the urgency was, he demurred. I don't like someone keeping me in the dark, but I knew Doug well enough to know he didn't play games. I agreed to meet.

“I have an editorial meeting in a few minutes, but I can be at your office within the hour. How's that?”

“I've got a few things to do, too.” I looked at the light on my phone that seemed to flash Morse code: “I'm waiting. I'm waiting.” Tess would have to wait a few more moments. The light blinked out. She had hung up. She was an impatient woman. “I'll be here.”

“Okay. I'll be there when I can.” He paused. “This is going to be off the record, and I prefer that it happen behind closed doors.”

Off the record?

“Doug, you're starting to freak me out—”

“I just got paged for the meeting. Gotta go.” He hung up. Everyone was hanging up on me. I set the receiver back in the cradle and leaned back in my chair. A slight headache was making threats from the area around my temples. I hadn't slept well in several nights; I had a reporter acting like Woodward and Bernstein; and the night before, a man simultaneously offered me a bribe and threatened my campaign as easily as he might order an ice cream cone at a Baskin-Robbins. Add to that, I needed to confront a council member about behind-the-scenes deal making, the same woman who could turn a birthday greeting into an argument. Then there was Titus facing surgery, Fritzy planning the funeral of her dead husband, a murderer who—if West's call was accurate—had taken his third life.

Then there was West's bombshell. “I think it's time we started dating.” That brought on a whole new set of feelings. My innards tingled when he said the words. The logical part of my mind shouted, “Not possible. I'm mayor, and you work on the police force.” To which my heart—at least, I think it was my heart—replied, “So what?” Before West had finished crossing my threshold, the image of Jerry Thomas popped into my mind. That image was trailed by a larger picture of my deceased husband.

I was growing old just sitting in my chair thinking about these things. So I did what I always do. I got busy.

Someplace in his life my father picked up a saying, “Custer would have been a better general if he could have gotten the Indians to come over the hill one at a time.” It was folksy, quaint, and historically inaccurate but it made a point: Take one problem at a time.

It was time for Indian number one: Tess Lawrence. I punched the intercom button on my phone. “Floyd, please call Councilwoman Lawrence and tell her that I'm coming over for a visit.”

I rose, straightened my clothing—a peach cardigan-style coat, matching skirt, white shell top, and spectator pumps with a low heel (my feet still hurt from trotting the boards of the pier last night)—and marched out. Floyd was just hanging up the phone.

“She said she could come down here.” Normally, I preferred to meet in my office. Sitting behind my large desk gave me a psycho logical advantage, but I'd had too much disrupting, even disturbing, news in there. I wanted a change of scenery, even if that scenery was just a few yards down the hall. Besides, I hated putting off confrontation. I waved him off.

I moved through the common area—several desks for secretaries, part-time help, and aides to the other members of the council. My office was the only one with two compartments and my aide the only one with an office to himself. It was one of the perks of being mayor. I walked into the corridor that led to the offices of council members. The offices bracket the hallway, two on either side. Titus and Larry were to my left, Tess and Jon to my right. The corridor had become our equivalent of the Mason-Dixon Line. I glanced to my left and was surprised to see Titus at his desk. I leaned in.

“Shouldn't you be home or something?”

He smiled at me but the grin lacked some of the brilliance I associated with Titus. No doubt the burden of tomorrow was weighing on him today. “Just cleaning up a few things. I don't want to come back to a messy desk. Besides . . .” He trailed off.

“Things are a little depressing at home?”

He nodded. “Yeah, my wife is a little worried. I keep telling her that everything is going to be fine, that they caught the cancer early, but she insists on worrying.”

“Wives are that way. It's part of the contract. Wives who don't worry get kicked out of the union.”

He laughed. “You speak to Tess yet?”

“I'm going there now, but I have different fish to fry.”

He studied me. “Have you changed your mind about what Larry and I suggested?”

What they had suggested made sense, but having Tess as deputy mayor grated on my nerves, especially now. “I'll fill you in later.” I turned away but not before seeing Titus's black face darken. This was important to him, and I felt the cold tide of guilt rising up to remind me that Titus didn't need more to worry about.

Tess's door was closed. She knew I was coming. The least she could do was have the door open for me. I knocked.

“Come in.” It sounded more like an order than an invitation. I took a deep breath, suppressed my anger, reminded myself that I was a political professional, and charged.

Tess stood when I entered. I closed the door behind me. “Mayor,” she said with a dip of her head. As usual, she looked impeccable. Prone to dark colors that contrasted with her very short, mousse-laden, bleached-white hair, she wore a charcoal gray pinstripe, very business-looking pantsuit. “Please have a—” I was already seated.

She sat in her chair. Her office, like all council member offices, was two-thirds the size of mine. In the years we had served together I had only been in her cave a handful of times. The desk was a custom- made affair with an Asian feel, made of some dark wood I couldn't identify. It was neat, orderly, and completely free of personal memorabilia. A few pictures of her with other officeholders adorned the walls, but they were small and not prominently placed. One large piece of art hung on the wall. It was a landscape of Santa Rita as seen from a boat at sea. It caught my eye.

“Is that new?” I asked.

“Three months.”

Perhaps I was avoiding the inevitable but I rose and approached the painting. It was exquisitely done in oils. The colors were vibrant, the detail crisp enough to recognize but not so crisp as to distract from the art. “This is . . . lovely. Who's the artist?”

“Me.”

I snapped my head around. “Really? I didn't know you painted.”

She looked wounded. “I imagine there are many things about me you don't know.”

That stung—twice. Once because she was right and again because I had it coming. I tried a diversionary tactic. “How did you get this perspective? I've seen many photos and paintings of the city but never one from sea. Did you work from a photo?”

“I went out on a half-day boat. My husband fished, I painted.” Tess's husband was an architect, which occasionally required that she recuse herself when any of his projects came before council. “How can I help you, Mayor?” The words were chilly.

I took my seat again. “Two things. Let's get the nasty business out of the way first. After my fund-raiser last night I was approached by a man who first offered to bend the campaign contribution laws, then suggested that I help him declare eminent domain to obtain a piece of property so his firm can build a restaurant. He said he already had support on the council. I assume that's you and maybe Jon.”

“Dean Wentworth?”

“So you do know him.” My jaw tightened.

“I met him two days ago—”

I've been working on my temper, exercising my patience. All exercise is hard and uphill. This was no different. My tight jaw came loose. “Do you really think I would allow some hotshot executive to come into my city and start snagging people's property with my help? I will not do that, and I will fight you tooth and nail. How dare you work behind my back?”

“Mayor—”

“You know the council has leaned in the direction of the small business owner—”

“Mayor, please.”

“No. You are out of line. Your actions are unethical. If he offered you money for your next campaign, and you took it—”

That must have struck a cord. She slammed her hand on the desk, filling the room with a pop that sounded like gunfire.

“That is enough! You're the one out of line.” She stood and leaned over the desk and stabbed the air with a manicured finger. “I tried to tell you about it. I phoned your office to set up a meeting but you blew me off. If you made a little time for every member of the council and not just your favorites you could have saved yourself this meeting and been prepared for Wentworth. But no. Not you. It's your way or no way.”

“My door is always open,” I started, but she had more steam to vent.

“No, it's not. My access to you is limited, and it's limited by you. You've been pushing me away for years, acting as if I'm going to sneak up and stab you in the back.”

“That's exactly what I think.”

“Well, you're wrong.” She sat down again. “We don't agree on many things. Truth is, I think you're a poor mayor, but you are the mayor. And I'm not pretending to be the good gal here. I'm acerbic, quick tempered, and driven. Yes, I know that. I do live with myself, you know. You're no peach either. I'll grant you that you're the darling of city hall, at least for most people, and I'm not, nor will I ever be. I've never been popular. I've always been on the fringe. Frankly, I don't care. I am who I am. But one thing I am not is crooked. How dare you suggest that I'd take inappropriate money.”

I felt wounded and like an injured she-bear I felt compelled to fight back. “Oh, please. Lie to me if you wish, but don't lie to yourself. You're opportunistic and you know it. You're always looking for the next step up.”

“I'm not the one running for congress.”

That stabbed like an ice dagger. “No, but you were thinking about it.”

“Yes, I was, and pulled out once you made known your decision to run.”

“What?”

“I had been working a plan to run for the seat for two years.” She took several deep breaths. “I put it on hold.”

“Why?” It was the best response I could come up with. My blood was pumping so hard I was finding it difficult to think.

“Because I can't beat you. Is that what you want to hear? I can't beat you, Maddy. I never could. Your image is better, your people skills are better, your speaking is better, everything you do is better. You're even prettier. My running against you would be a waste of time and money.”

I didn't know what to say. I knew she had wanted to run for the seat, but she never announced. I had assumed I had just beaten her to the punch.

She lowered her voice. She seemed to melt into the chair. “And for your information, I sent Wentworth packing. If he has someone on the council, it isn't me.”

I sat there in silence trying to figure out if she was lying to me or telling the truth. “You didn't promise to help him?”

“Of course not. Have you ever known me to do something like that?”

Of course I did. There was that time . . . well, surely the time she
. . .
A light of understanding dawned in my brain. I was an idiot. Titus and Larry had said that Tess had never done anything to hurt the city. “I thought that maybe you and Jon . . .”

“I can't speak for Jon,” Tess grumbled. “You'll have to talk to him yourself, although you might try getting some facts before you do.”