Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (18 page)

Debra laughed. “I can see you’re not buying the joke bit.”

“Not entirely.” Angel smiled to ease the tension.

“I’ll go first,” Heather said. “I was at the casino. Spirit Mountain gives out coupon books on Tuesdays and . . .” She bit her lip and glanced around the room. “You can get a buffet for three dollars off.”

“Tuesday.” Janet pulled out her Daytimer and flipped back. “I would have been in the office all day.”

“I think that’s the day Claire and I went to Lincoln City to the factory outlet store,” Debra said.

“It was,” Claire agreed. “We were there from noon to around 3:00.”

Debra dug around in her purse and pulled out a wallet. “I should have a receipt in here somewhere.” After a moment she produced a receipt and handed it to Angel.

Angel studied it and handed it back. The receipt, from Coldwater Creek, put Debra Stanton there at 2:10. “Stanton?”

“That’s right.”

“As in Mrs. Douglas Stanton?” Angel asked. “Your husband is the president of the Sunset Cove Bank?”

“One and the same.” She offered an almost apologetic smile.

“I thought you looked familiar, but . . .” Angel had met Mrs. Stanton at a reception honoring a retiring police officer several months ago. This was not the same person.

“It’s the hair,” Debra admitted. “I used to be a mousy gray.”

“It’s . . . different. Very nice.”

“Thank you.” She brought her coffee mug to her lips and took a sip. “I changed my hair and I’m working on my lifestyle.”

What surprised Angel more than the woman’s appearance was learning that Doug Stanton was abusive. He didn’t seem at all like Phillip Jenkins or Jim Kelsey, or like Barry Fitzgibbon, for that matter. He was a soft-spoken man, a deacon in the church, and a member of the city council. Of course, all the trappings in the world didn’t mean much, but she’d always liked Mr. Stanton. Angel remembered meeting him as a kid when she first opened a savings account for the money she earned babysitting and running errands.

“Don’t look so surprised, Angel.” Debra raised an eyebrow, as though she knew what Angel was thinking.

“But your husband seems like such a nice man,” Angel blurted out.

“He is, to his customers. And to people who matter. He was nice to me too—the perfect gentleman until after I married him.”

“You’re saying you didn’t know he was abusive before?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t have a clue. Oh, I know better now. There were signs, but I was too young and inexperienced to read them.”

Janet set her glass on an end table. “Men who abuse often don’t show their true colors until after you’ve known them a while. Unfortunately, you can’t always tell if someone will turn out to be an abuser. There are signs, like Debra said, but they aren’t always easy to read. Especially when you’re hopelessly in love.”

“They say love is blind.” Lorraine shook her head. “That’s all too true.”

“My husband treated me like a queen before we got married, and even for a while after,” Debra said. “I guess I’m lucky that he doesn’t abuse me physically. But the things he says and does . . .” She closed her eyes, frowning at an apparently painful memory.

“It’s important to know a person well before you get married,” Janet said. “It’s easy to get caught in an abusive relationship.”

“How do you know?” Angel asked, thinking now of her own budding relationship with Callen. “What are the signs?”

“Background will tell you a lot.” Janet wrapped a napkin around her drink to absorb the condensation before picking it up. “How they handle anger. How they treat you. Sometimes the abuser will go out of his way to be kind.”

“Almost too nice,” Lorraine concurred.

Too nice?
That was how she’d classified Callen when she’d first met him. He’d come out of an unhappy childhood. His father had been an alcoholic. He and his sister, Katherine, had lived with their grandparents.

Angel’s stomach crunched into a tight knot. Callen had told her about an incident in which he’d almost lost his job. After his wife died, he’d had a hard time and turned to alcohol. He admitted to losing control while making an arrest, thankful that a fellow officer had restrained him. When she’d been attacked after Billy Dean Hartwell’s funeral, he’d nearly come unglued. Callen had said it was out of concern for her. At another time, he’d been furious with her for getting involved with the investigation.

Could Callen be a potential abuser? How well did she know him? In some ways he fit the pattern.

Callen is not an abuser.
Denial coursed through her. Angel pictured his kind smile, the way he’d treated her when she’d given her statement after the shooting of the twelve-year-old boy. She imagined his kisses and how sweet they were.

Too nice.

She’d have to be very careful not to let love blind her as it had apparently blinded these women.

“Abusers aren’t all bad,” Janet went on, drawing Angel’s errant thoughts back into the conversation. “They often have some good traits, which is why their spouses stay with them for years. Abuse also takes many forms. While our group and the shelter focus on abused women, there are a growing number of men whose wives abuse them.”

Angel noted the time and announced that she had to leave
for an appointment but wanted to get a statement from each of the women regarding their whereabouts during the time Phillip had been murdered. To save time she had each of them write the information down and hand them to her. She thanked them for their help and insights and tucked the notes into the side pocket of her bag.

Janet walked her to the door. “Are we still on for 4:30?”

“Today?” Angel grimaced. “I’d forgotten.”

“We can change it if you want,” Janet said.

“Um, no. I’ll be there. I want to talk to you about something.”

“Good. See you this afternoon then.” Janet waited until Angel got into her car before closing the door.

Angel had just enough time to get to Coast Contracting and her appointment with Lorraine’s abusive husband, Barry Fitzgibbon. In a way she was glad to have the information, but she also felt more wariness about meeting him again.

Angel walked into the office three minutes early and was greeted by the secretary, who stared at her for several seconds.

“Hi,” Angel said. “I’m here to see Mr. Fitzgibbon.”

“Right. I’m sorry, it’s just . . . um . . . you must be Angel Delaney. I thought I recognized your name. I just didn’t make the connection until this minute. You’re the police officer who got into all that trouble for shooting that kid. I saw you on television. Mr. Fitzgibbon said you’d be coming in. I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I’m Becky Reed.” She held out a hand, and Angel shook it. Her hand felt cool, clammy, and limp.

The tall, slender blonde wore her shiny long hair straight. She kept tucking the strands behind her ears.

“Mr. Fitzgibbon is in his office—said to send you in as soon as you came.”

“Thanks.” Angel eased open the door to the office.

Barry Fitzgibbon stood as she walked in, then came around his desk to shake her hand. Polite, posed, but not glad to see her. His eyes told her that—cool as they had been the day before, calculating. Hazel, she decided, neither brown or blue. They fit his personality—at least what she could see of it so far. She could see no indication of his abusive tendencies. Maybe he saved that for his wife. From what she’d heard, Jenkins was nice around other people too.

Fitzgibbon went back behind his desk. “Now, what can I do for you?” His leather chair made a swishing sound as he settled into it.

She eased into the straight-back chair across from him.

“As I said yesterday,” Fitzgibbon continued, “I’m not sure I have much to offer.”

Angel pulled a notepad out of her bag along with a pen. “I appreciate your willingness to talk to me. As to what helps and what doesn’t—well, you never know.” She hadn’t given a lot of thought to what she would ask the man. Primarily because she hadn’t had much time to prepare. Maybe that was just as well. She’d begin with the obvious and work up. “How long had you and Jenkins worked together?”

“He built some condos for me in the San Francisco area. I liked his work and asked him if he wanted to move up this way.”

“How was he to work with?”

“Good. Excellent. We got along great.”

Angel noted a slight hesitation and told him so.

He frowned and worked his jaw back and forth. “Sometimes Phillip wanted to get more involved with the financial aspect of the business. We had a few arguments, but nothing serious. I occasionally had to remind him that our partnership worked because of our distinct and separate responsibilities and that we both needed to remember that.”

“So you’re saying he wasn’t much of an expert on finances.”

“Humph. That’s putting it mildly. Jenkins was a spender. He liked expensive things and tended to . . . well, let’s just say that Candace had to manage their finances at home or they’d have been bankrupt.”

“I’ll bet he liked that,” she said with a sarcastic tone.

Fitzgibbon gave her a condescending look. “Actually, he preferred it. He knew his limitations. It’s one of the things I liked about him.”

“But you said he wanted to get involved in the financial aspect of the company.”

“Yes, and when I reminded him of our deal, he would always back down.”

Angel wasn’t sure she believed that. “Jenkins had a temper. Did he ever threaten you?”

“No. And I never threatened him, either. Although I did tell him a while back that if he didn’t go into treatment for his alcohol problem, I’d be forced to dissolve the partnership.”

“Really. Seems like a threat on your part.”

“I suppose so. More of an intervention, actually. I prefer to think of it as a confrontation designed to make him a better person.”

Okay, I guess I could buy that.
“Was Phillip doing a good job?”

“Yes. He was a very talented man. You can go to any of the people he built homes for.”

“What about the cliff house?”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. “How did you know about that?”

“My mother, actually. Candace told her about it.”

“That has nothing to do with Phillip’s work. There are several lawsuits pending on it, but the owners were certainly not of a mind to kill him over it. Most people settle these things in court, and these people are doing just that. Besides, if anyone is to blame, it’s the original property owners. We think there may be fraud involved.”

“You mean the owners knew about the fault before selling it?”

“We’re looking into the possibility, but as I said, that’s not going to help Candace, and I’d just as soon not discuss it.”

Angel nodded. “What happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that your partner is dead. Kind of leaves you high and dry, doesn’t it?”

“Not really. I still have the crew. Our site supervisor is excellent. Despite all that’s happened, we’re still on schedule.”

“Are you planning to replace Phillip?” Angel leaned forward in her chair.

“Eventually, but for now we’ll just keep doing what we were doing.”

“The show must go on, huh?”

“Something like that.” Fitzgibbon slipped a paper clip off a stack of papers and began twisting it.

Her line of questioning seemed to be making him nervous. “Did Phillip have any enemies? Someone who might want him dead?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Other than the cliff house situation, did he talk to you about any trouble he was having with clients or family?”

“He mentioned a nephew. The kid was in some trouble, and Phillip wanted to help him out by giving him a job. Trouble was, the kid worked for about two weeks, collected a paycheck, and split. We had to fire him.” He pursed his lips. “You might want to look there. I haven’t heard anything about the kid for a while, but I don’t suppose he was too happy about being let go.”

“Do you know where I can find him? Where he hangs out?” Angel didn’t tell him she knew where he lived. She was having second thoughts about confronting Darryl at his place. Maybe a neutral location would be best.

“My guess would be the casino.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a photo of him, would you? I could get one at the farm, but since he was an employee . . .”

Fitzgibbon seemed much more congenial now that they were talking about someone other than him and the company. “We might, at that. We get photos for security badges. At some of the construction sites, no one is allowed in without clearance. We should have a photo in his personnel file.”

He got up and went to the door, asking Becky to pull Darryl’s file. By the time he got back into his chair, Becky had placed the file in front of him.

Every movement sent the secretary’s shimmering hair into motion. She looked Swedish, Angel decided. Her deep tan indicated that she’d recently been on vacation in some hot spot or that she frequented a tanning salon.

“Thanks.” Barry’s eyes warmed as he watched her leave. His cheeks flushed when he caught Angel’s assessing gaze.

“She’s very attractive,” Angel said.

“Yes, she is.”

He opened the folder and pushed it across the desk to Angel. “Take whatever you need out of it. Becky can make copies for you.”

“I appreciate that.” Angel perused the contents of the file. Inside was a photo of the quality you’d get on a passport or a driver’s license. A half-page form caught her attention. A red “terminated” stamp had been placed diagonally across the page. Absenteeism was sited as the reason for dismissal.

Fitzgibbon folded his hands on the desk. “Is there anything else?”

“Um, I do have one question. If you were handling the finances, why was Phillip giving Becky instructions to pay the bills?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Out at the house I found some invoices and a note telling your secretary to pay Johansson Electric.”

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did Angel detected more than a trace of anger. “That might have been something Johansson did for him out at the farm. They’d been remodeling out there.”

Angel got the impression Phillip had committed some sort of snafu. “So, Phillip was using company money to pay for his private remodel?”