Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (16 page)

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.

Angel took several slow, deep breaths, willing the scenes to fade out. She concentrated on her hands, forcing them to relax, flexing, then straightening her fingers.

Oh, God, when will it stop? When will I stop thinking about it?
The flashbacks ended as quickly as they’d begun, but her body took a bit longer to adjust. Heart still hammering, she continued the drive out to Camper’s Hideaway, a trailer resort that had been past its prime twenty years ago.

She passed by Darryl’s place. His Harley, a fairly new model, was parked in the driveway. The bike was similar to one she’d ridden on patrol in Florida. The rundown trailer looked to be about a 1960 vintage, eight feet wide and maybe fifteen long.

The flashbacks she’d just suffered had quickened her senses and knocked her trust level to a minus ten. Even so, she forced herself to drive back around and pull up in front of the place, then exit the car and walk up the wooden steps. After knocking several times Angel gave up, deciding she’d wait for a while and try again. Maybe Darryl had been out late.
Maybe he’s hiding inside with a gun.

You really shouldn’t be out here alone.
Angel chided herself for being a coward as she retraced her steps to the car and folded herself in. She sat there a moment trying to decide what to do next. She still had that appointment with Barry Fitzgibbon. Unfortunately, she had two hours to kill before then.

Angel drove over to her parents’ place. When she walked in, she almost wished she hadn’t. Her father was up and sitting in his chair, napkin around his neck, and her mother was helping him guide his left hand. Angel forced herself to greet them with a cheerful hello, forced herself to kiss his cheek and act like everything was normal and right.

But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all.
How could this happen? He’s always been so healthy and strong.

Angel avoided his watery eyes and glanced down the hallway. “Where are the kids?”

“In school. Tim came by, and I asked him to take them.”

Angel nodded. “You should have called.”

“It worked out fine.”

Noting the eggs and waffle on her father’s plate, Angel asked if there was more.

“I can make you some. The waffle batter is in the fridge.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just get some coffee.”

“You should eat.” Anna dabbed at a dribble of syrup as it escaped the corner of her husband’s mouth.

Frank dropped his fork and leaned back.

“You need to eat too,” she chided. “You need your strength.”

Frank pulled the bib off and banged it on the tray.

“All right. I get the point.” Anna picked up the dishes. After taking them to the kitchen, she grabbed a washcloth and took it back to him, waiting while he took it from her and clumsily washed his face.

“Where is Tom?” Angel asked when her mother came back into the kitchen.
How are you going to manage him by yourself?
Frank was still in his pajamas. Her petite mother had somehow gotten him into his wheelchair.

“He’s off the rest of today and tomorrow. Another aide is supposed to come, but he’s not here yet.”

“You’re not lifting him, are you?”

“Not too much. Tom has worked wonders with your father. He’s learning how to use his left hand more. He managed to get himself into the wheelchair. All I had to do was stand there and help guide him.”

“Good.” Angel smiled, hopeful that her father might regain some of what he had lost.

Anna poured a cup of coffee for herself and set it on the counter while she plugged in the waffle maker and settled a frying pan on the stove. “How do you want your eggs?”

“Mom, you don’t have to . . .” Angel shook her head, knowing the objection wouldn’t wash. “Over easy.”

Anna pulled the carton of eggs out of the refrigerator and cracked two in a bowl. “I got an interesting phone call this morning.”

“Oh?” Angel set her cup down and went to the cupboard to retrieve two place settings.

“Candace’s parents called. They flew into Portland yesterday. They’re renting a car and should be here around noon.”

“Why did they call you?”

“Actually, they called Candace first, and she told them we had the children.”

“Hmm.” Angel wasn’t certain what to say.

“Ester and George Michaels—they seem very nice. They, well, Ester, actually, thanked me for taking care of the children for them. She and George plan to take them out to the farm and care for them until Candace is released.”

“That could be a while.”

“They’re aware of all that.” She glanced at Angel.

“How do you feel about the kids leaving? You seemed to be getting kind of attached.”

“Oh, honey, relieved. Thankful. The children are wonderful, but they need to be with family.”

“But you’re disappointed too. I can see it in your face.”

Anna dropped batter onto the waffle iron. It sizzled briefly before she closed it. “Well, I have to admit it was nice having them here. Seemed like old times. But . . .” She shrugged and turned on the burner under the pan, then lowered the gas flame. “When you get to be my age, there are limitations. I’m not near as agile as I used to be. And your father . . .”

I know how it is.
“Taking care of kids is a big responsibility. I’m not even thirty yet, but I couldn’t begin to take care of three of them.”

Anna laughed. “Motherhood is something you grow into. And besides, you do—”

“What you have to do,” Angel finished the well-worn phrase.

“And don’t forget it.”

Minutes later Angel and her mother sat at the table enjoying breakfast together for the second time in two days. Angel took a sip of the fresh coffee her mother had poured, wondering what her next step should be regarding Candace.

“What are you thinking, Angel?”

“About my new job. I think I’m in over my head. I’m getting all sorts of information, but I’m not sure what to do with it. I haven’t found anything to prove she didn’t do it.”

“Maybe you need to keep digging.” Anna cut her waffle in half and reached for the blackberry freezer jam. “Have you talked to the women at the shelter? If nothing else, they’d be good character witnesses. They’ve all called to see how they can help. One of them, Debra, even said that of all the women there, Candace was the least likely to resort to violence.”

Angel smashed up her eggs and sprinkled on salt and pepper before taking a bite. “When Candace stayed here Tuesday night, did she say anything to you? Did she have any ideas about who might have killed her husband?”

“I asked her if Phillip had any enemies—someone who’d want him dead.”

Angel paused, her fork in midair. “You did?”

Her mother gave Angel a knowing smile. “I haven’t been married to a police officer for forty years without having picked up something.”

“What did she say?”

“She couldn’t think of anyone but said he owed a lot of people money—the usual stuff that goes on with contractors. One couple was threatening to sue because Phillip didn’t tell them the cliff he’d built their house on was in danger of falling into the ocean. Apparently he didn’t know it either, so he was suing the previous owner and the realtor.”

“Funny she didn’t mention that to Rachael and me. Losing a cliff house might be motive enough for murder. Those homes go for around half a million and up.”

“I thought so too. I told her to come up with a list of people to check out. And to give it to you.”

Angel took a sip of her now lukewarm coffee. “Well, she didn’t give us a list of any kind and said she couldn’t think of anyone. Of course, getting arrested may have thrown her off a little.”

“You think so?” Anna’s voice held a light hint of sarcasm.

Angel smiled and glanced at her watch. “I have some time before I meet Fitzgibbon. Do you have the names of the women from the shelter? I could start calling them.”

Eyeing the kitchen clock, Anna nodded. “I think they have a support group from 9:00 to 10:00 today. If you head over there now, you might be able to sit in on the meeting. Do you want me to call and ask?”

“Sure.” Angel took her empty cup and plate to the sink and rinsed them off. “Do you think they’ll let me come even if I’m not being abused by anyone?”

“They let me come.”

“Well, you work there.”

“Go. I’ll call them. They’ll welcome you with open arms—especially when I tell them you’re there to help Candace.”

Angel tiptoed past her sleeping father and several minutes later pulled into the gravel parking lot adjacent to the women’s shelter. There were only three cars there, and one belonged to Janet Campbell. Angel’s watch indicated she was three minutes late.

The shelter was a large older boardinghouse that had been remodeled. The grounds weren’t immaculate but adequate, seeing as how the women themselves did most of the work. Various churches and businesses in town donated funds that allowed the shelter to house women who needed to take advantage of the temporary respite. The shelter was clean and neat with lots of space. There were ten bedrooms, a super-sized kitchen, a dining room, and a
large living room in which they held their meetings. The building housed up to ten women and their children, and each room held three or four bunk beds. The home had the kind of eclectic decor you’d expect to find in a place furnished with donations.

Angel went in the side door and was directed down the hall into the living room. The living room held two sofas and three armchairs, all in mismatched fabrics. Three faux fur beanbag chairs lay in misshapen pods. She recognized three of the five women.

Janet stood when she came in and greeted her with a friendly smile. “Hi, Angel. Your mother called, and we’ve already voted to let you stay. Ordinarily we don’t let people just walk in without some preliminary counseling, but for you, we’ll make an exception. All we ask is that you keep what we say confidential.”

“Sure—unless someone confesses to a murder or something.”

The women laughed. “Like that’s going to happen,” one of them said.

Janet turned back to the group. “Everybody, this is Angel.” Pointing to the woman closest, she said, “This is Lorraine.”

“Hi.” Angel offered her hand. “Lorraine and I have met. Sorry I didn’t call you back last night.” Angel was surprised to see Lorraine in the group. Her mother hadn’t said anything about Barry Fitzgibbon being an abuser.

“No problem. I wasn’t really looking for a call back, just wanted to let you know what I was thinking.”

“I appreciate that.”

She glanced down at her hands. “I’m really not a member of the support group,” she said, answering Angel’s question. “I’m a volunteer, but . . . well, since you’re here about Candace, I asked Janet if I could sit in.”