by Nancy Bush
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mackenzie couldn’t decide whether to make her whereabouts known, wait for the officers to come back out, or drive away. If this was about Rayne the questions she would be asked would never end. Her ex-partner was a hard-ass. If Ricky had a new partner, she hadn’t heard who it was, but she knew his aspirations were to be a detective. How he’d hooked up with Haynes she didn’t know. She was pretty sure Ricky hadn’t been promoted to detective. Anyway, though Detective Haynes was known for being fair-minded, he would want to know about her involvement, too.
She hesitated, her hands on the wheel.
“Hello?” Bibi answered, her voice tinny.
Mac glanced down at the phone she’d tossed onto the passenger seat. She hadn’t managed to switch it off, apparently. Now she swept it up and pressed it to her ear. “Bibi. It’s Mackenzie. I was going to ask you about . . .”
Bibi waited, then snapped, “About?”
“Uh . . . Rayne. But I can’t talk now. I’ll have to call you back.”
“What—”
Mac clicked off, checked to make sure the phone was really dead this time, then pressed it into her iOttie holder. She needed to wait till the officers returned. She knew better than to intrude. Ricky and Haynes were there to deliver bad news, the worst news, she was pretty sure. The two of them wouldn’t be together if it was for anything else, as far as she could see.
What had happened to Rayne?
She switched on the engine and put the RAV in gear, driving to the end of the block. She turned the SUV around, thinking she would try to catch them on the way out. She and Ricky had been partners, and though they’d never quite gelled, that didn’t mean they hadn’t managed to work together. Maybe he would understand that she’d been looking into Rayne’s disappearance and it was merely a coincidence that she’d ended up at the Sealy home just when he and Haynes arrived.
But she hesitated. If the situation were reversed, how would she feel about it? She suspected she wouldn’t be all that welcoming to Ricky if he suddenly turned up asking questions.
She exhaled heavily. Time to call Taft and explain why she was going to be late. She picked up her phone and punched in his number.
“You on your way?” he answered before she could even utter a syllable.
“Not yet. Something came up. I’m outside Sharon Sealy’s house. Rayne’s mother and sister, Elise, live there together and I wanted to talk to them.”
“Ah. You’re going in now?”
“Actually, I’m just leaving. I should be at your place . . . in a while.” She still had time.
“Okay. Have you eaten?”
“Umm . . . yes. Earlier. Taft, Ricky Richards, and Cooper Haynes just went in the door. Bryan Ricky Richards,” she clarified.
“I know Richards,” he said slowly, waiting for her to continue.
“Yeah, well, he’s not usually with Haynes and they just went into the Sealy house together.”
“You think they’re there to tell Sharon her daughter’s dead.”
Taft had a way of jumping ahead of the conversation that sometimes threw her off her game. “Yes. To tell both of them, Sharon and Elise. They’re both there.”
“You spoke to them?”
“I did. I came here after I put Seth and Patti to bed. I figured I had enough time to interview them before I came to your place, but I ran over.”
“Richards and Haynes are going to learn you were there.”
“I know that,” she said patiently. “I thought maybe I’d talk to them—”
“No. Get out of there.”
“—and share information. What are you talking about? I can talk to them.”
“You’re on the wrong side of the law now, Laughlin. Get out. Now. Call me back when you’re miles away.” And he hung up.
Well.
She took a moment, half-inclined to ignore his advice just for the need to reassert some independence and control. Reluctantly, she put the car in gear and drove toward the main road that led away from the Sealys’. She stopped at the intersection. Taft’s insistence prickled. She’d worked with these people. Not so long ago. He was the one who’d gone to the dark side. All she’d done was quit the department.
But . . . he’d also infected her with an urgency to run that seemed out of sync with the circumstances. She didn’t want to race to his place like she was scared and it was some kind of haven.
She split the difference, giving herself time to think, texting him that she would be delayed. Then she headed to her mom’s house. She let herself through the back door and luckily didn’t run into Dan the Man as she turned down the hallway toward her bedroom, the spare bedroom. She could hear the television tuned to some game show as she sneaked into the room. As soon as she shut the door behind her, she determined she had to move out and soon. There was no need for her to be here any longer.
Her belongings were in storage. A couch, two chairs, a bed, and bins of household and personal items. She decided she was going to move to Laurelton; it was where she’d been living before and there were a lot more apartments available within its city limits. River Glen was an older city and had been laid out in treelined blocks, although the newer housing developments and infill had added a few multi-family housing units.
She changed her clothes and combed her hair, checked her makeup. She surfaced as if from a dream and snorted at herself. What did she think, this was a date? She was dawdling and primping as if it mattered. Berating herself, she tiptoed out of the house and drove away. Passing beneath streetlights, she caught a glimpse of her image in the rearview. Too much lipstick. She grabbed a tissue from her console and rubbed at her lips.
She’d almost reached the address Taft had given her when she pulled over to the side of the road, fingers clenched around the wheel. It had been about forty minutes since she’d seen Ricky and Haynes enter the Sealy house. Were they still there?
Setting her jaw, she turned the RAV around and headed back toward the Sealy house. She arrived in time to see that the two men were now standing outside their respective vehicles, Haynes on the phone, Ricky hovering nearby. Immediately she realized Taft had been right. She was the interloper here and her intervention wouldn’t be appreciated.
Too late. Ricky saw her and practically jumped in front of her RAV, causing her to slam on the brakes. Her temper fizzed. She’d had her problems with him while they’d been partners but she’d swallowed all objections as he was her senior officer. That might have been a mistake.
“What the hell, Laughlin?” he demanded as she rolled down her window. “They said you were here asking questions. What are you doing? In case you forgot, you’re no longer with the department.”
She was stopped in the middle of the street, her engine idling. “I’m helping someone who said Rayne Sealy was missing.”
“Who?”
“Is she dead?”
“You can’t ask me that!” he practically exploded.
“Hey.” Cooper had ended his call and now frowned at Ricky.
“I was just explaining things to Ms. Laughlin,” Ricky said coolly.
Mackenzie watched as Cooper walked closer to her window. He flicked Mac a look that she couldn’t read. She repeated her question to him. “Is she dead?”
Ricky started to object again, but Cooper said, “Yes,” and explained about finding the body along the East Glen River below the overlook to Percy’s Peak. The police had then discovered Rayne’s car in the parking lot next to the trail. He turned to Ricky, who was clearly disturbed that he was giving out so much information, and pointed out, “It’ll be on the news.”
Ricky’s mouth was a thin line of obstinance, but he gave Haynes a curt nod. His anger was directed entirely at Mackenzie.
Mac asked, “So, it’s definitely her?”
“She had a small wallet in her back pocket with her driver’s license,” Haynes added as Ricky sucked in his breath.
Mackenzie hardly knew how to feel. She was definitely discombob
ulated. She’d half believed all the talk of Rayne running off with a boyfriend. Seth had been an unlikely candidate, given his tight schedule with Patti, but she’d taken the job of watching them from Taft so she hadn’t really ventured any further. Now the police would take over, which made her feel like she’d let both Bibi and Rayne down.
“How well did you know Rayne?” Ricky demanded.
“Not at all. I was hoping to learn more about her from her mother and sister.”
A car turned onto the Sealys’ street, so Ricky and Haynes moved away from Mackenzie’s vehicle allowing her to pull forward and park, which she did as the misting rain began to turn into serious precipitation. Haynes bent his head against the wet deluge as Ricky ran for the prowler that he’d apparently arrived in. Haynes was in his favorite city ride, a navy blue Trailblazer with a tow hitch that had come in handy for him more than once. It had been well-known around the squad room and everyone mostly left it for him if they could.
Mackenzie’s window was still rolled down and she called to Haynes, “If you want me to come in and talk about it, I’d be happy to.”
He moved her way again, letting the rain wash over him. “That might work. I’ll let you know. Who asked you to look into Rayne’s disappearance?”
“Bibi Engstrom. A friend of Rayne’s.”
He nodded. Mac was pretty sure he’d gotten that much from Sharon and/or Elise already and was just verifying. “How long have you been on the case?” he asked.
“A week, almost two and no, I haven’t really learned anything. That’s why I wanted to talk to her mother and sister.”
Ricky yelled from the prowler’s open driver’s window. “You a PI now?”
“Something like that,” she answered coolly.
It might not be true, but she was pretty sick of her ex-partner. He’d made a fool of himself over Prudence Mangella, and she didn’t think he was scoring any points with Cooper Haynes, though it sure as hell looked like he wanted to.
A few minutes later, Haynes returned to his SUV and Mackenzie made another U-turn back to the highway toward Jesse Taft’s.
It took her a lot longer than she’d expected through Friday night traffic and by the time she arrived she was abysmally late. She found the one-story condominium complex fairly easily, then had to circle around a few times before she discovered a parking spot three blocks away.
She hurried back to his end unit, spying his black Rubicon parked in the carport. As she drew near, she rubbed at her lips again, making sure she wouldn’t blast him with neon pink. Pink Promise. Jesus. She hadn’t been sure what kind of impression she wanted to make and had gone for the girly stuff because well, Taft was attractive. But after the way Ricky had sneered, “You a PI now?” she now wanted to make sure Taft took her seriously because maybe she did want to be one. Something she’d hardly thought of until she’d taken on Bibi’s request. Whatever the case, she was walking into a business meeting, nothing more, nothing less, and she had an image to project that did not include Pink Promise.
* * *
After Taft hung up from Mackenzie he’d turned back to the hamburger patty he’d been about to fry on the stove. He’d learned she’d already eaten so he went about fixing his own dinner. He piled a tomato, lettuce, onion, pickles, mayo, mustard, and ketchup on the bun, and a few slices of avocado for good measure, then cooked up the patty and sat down at his kitchen bar to eat the burger. He’d barely taken a bite when there was a knock on his door. He hadn’t expected her to get here that fast. Swallowing, he went to answer and found there was no one there. Senses on high alert, he looked around the carport.
Hmmm.
Taft thought about it a minute, then noticed that Tommy Carnoff’s door was slightly ajar. He stepped over to the next unit and pushed the door in a bit farther with one finger. Tommy was bustling around in the kitchen and the pugs were snorting and milling around his feet. The black one looked over at him and started yapping. The fawn one recognized Taft and came running over, his clown-like face pulled back in a pug smile.
Tommy turned around. “Oh. Taft. Yeah, I knocked. Sorry. Had to get these guys fed. I wonder if you can take care of them for a few days? Got a late weekend trip to Palm Desert.”
“Sure.”
“Good. Good. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I’m having a burger and expecting company.”
Tommy looked interested, his blue eyes twinkling beneath white brows. “Anyone I’ve met before.”
“Nope. Not like that. This one’s a . . . coworker.”
“You hesitated on that, man.”
“I was going to say protégée, but she’s an ex-cop, too.”
“Interesting.” Tommy looked like he wanted to say more, but Taft sketched him a goodbye and returned to his condo. He ate the rest of his burger and thought about Tommy, who was more than likely taking a female guest along for the trip.
His phone bleeped out a text. He looked at it and saw that Mackenzie was going to be later still. He hoped to hell she hadn’t tried to get information out of Richards and Haynes. Richards would play games with her for the information and never come through anyway. Haynes was a straight shooter, but he would be tight-lipped as well.
Finishing the last bite, he cleaned up, reflecting on that last troublesome call with Mitch Mangella. Taft had worked for the man off and on since leaving Portland PD and had found himself navigating the line between permissible and illegal. Mangella wasn’t a full-on crook, but he was “fluid” with the law. While Taft felt the letter of the law was sometimes too restrictive—one of the many reasons he didn’t fit into the quasi-military structure of the police department—he had nevertheless worked hard to keep Mangella from outright criminal choices.
But . . . they’d maybe reached a bridge too far.
There was a case with the River Glen PD that involved Keith Silva, a River Glen cop whose disregard for the rule of law was legendary. Silva had shot and killed a fellow officer while attempting to chase down a robber. The suspect got away during the melee, but was captured later trying to hit up another convenience store. Silva had been asked to leave the department, according to those who were in the know. He’d initially resisted and appealed to the union, but had eventually given in and had managed to walk away with his pension. Just recently it had come to Taft’s attention that the cop’s widow, who’d purportedly raked in a multimillion-dollar government settlement, was a friend of Mitch and Prudence Mangella. But it was that the Mangellas had an acquaintanceship with Silva that had really spoken to Taft. How did the Mangellas balance their relationship with both the widow and Silva?
The suspect in the robbery had contacted Taft and told him the widow was in on it and had used Silva to get rid of her pesky husband. Taft would’ve gone straight to the River Glen PD except for the fact the guy was a lying scumbag looking for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Taft had taken the information with a grain of salt and had been quietly looking into it. It was possible that River Glen’s Chief Bennihof had made Silva’s case go away rather than have the stain of a premeditated cop murderer within his ranks on his record. Nothing was certain yet.
But it all sat hard on Taft’s conscience because if the robber was telling the truth and Mangella had lied to him and/or worked with Silva to cover up a murder . . .
He shook his head at the thought. Recently he’d made a point of looking up Silva, asking about his relationship with Mangella. Silva had smiled with his teeth and said, “Checking on your buddy Mitch? He’s a very, very smart guy, you know. Like you’re smart, right? You know when to ask questions and when not to, right?”
“I agree that Mitch is a smart guy,” Taft had answered, not wanting to derail the man if he was offering up unsolicited information. He’d refrained from pointing out that Mangella wasn’t really his “buddy.”
“Smart enough to see the future. Are you smart enough for that?” Silva had laughed then and shrugged. He was finished saying anything further about Mangella. The meeting had incr
eased Taft’s unease, leaving him with a gnawing worry. He liked Mangella; Mangella was likeable. But thoroughly trusting the man was a mistake. He’d blown off a meeting with him the week before to meet Mackenzie, and though Mitch had said it was no big deal, when he’d asked Taft later about where he’d been, and Taft had explained about having pizza with a female ex-cop—he’d purposely left out that it was more business than pleasure—Mangella had wanted to know every detail.
In fact, he’d really poured on the pressure.
“It was just a date,” Taft had answered.
“Was it? With an ex-cop?”
“Since when are you interested in my life?” he’d rejoined. The more Mangella pushed, the less he wanted to say.
Mangella spread his hands. “I’m always interested in your life. Like you’re interested in mine. And yes, I know Keith Silva.”
Taft had expected Silva to talk to Mangella, but it did put a cold hand around his heart. There was just the tinge of Mafia Don about the man. So welcoming, so much bonhomie . . . but so much power. Taft was leery of power even though he worked with and for powerful men.
“The next time you take out your ex-cop lady friend, you let me know.” Mangella smiled.
That’s when the decision to keep Mackenzie Laughlin far, far away from Mitch Mangella had solidified into a hard stone of determination. As long as Mangella’s needs were legitimate, Taft could work for the man, but that’s as far as it went. Mangella might be River Glen’s most successful native son and generous philanthropist, but he was a cagey and powerful man who didn’t allow others to get in his way . . . and that included Jesse James Taft.
He heard a car pull up and came out of his thoughts on Mangella. It parked outside the carport, so he figured it was Mackenzie. He next listened as her quick footsteps came to his door. He waited, somewhat amused at her hesitation as there were several long seconds before she actually rapped lightly on the panels. He opened the door and looked into her eyes. Her hair was down and brushed the shoulders of a light blue shirt that she wore with jeans and black sneakers. He noticed a bit more makeup.