“Getting myself fired.”
Nathan grinned. “I told you not to take the case. Heather’s husband is not cheating on her; she’s just paranoid.”
“I know. I suspended my good judgment for the rent money.”
“I brought you a coffee.” Nathan leaned over and offered through the window the coffee he’d picked up at the hardware store, the owner determined to be known for the best and cheapest coffee in town. Nathan’s own cup of coffee came from the deli. He couldn’t afford to pick sides in the town’s coffee war.
“Thanks.”
“You could call her and quit.”
“I’ve tried that. She keeps ignoring my final report and suggests I don’t know how to do my job or I’d find the evidence. It’s time to make her decide she wants to end my services. I doubt Heather lasts another hour before she’s storming out the front door and down the street to fire me in person.”
Nathan put his car in drive. “Private investigators have such interesting jobs.”
“I notice you’re on patrol duty.”
“We were short a man for the evening shift,” Nathan replied. “You want a real job?”
“And miss out on the Heathers of the world?”
Nathan smiled. “See you later, Bruce. If you happen to see my grandfather, let him know I figured out what was wrong with his truck.”
“Will do.”
Nathan slowed as he passed Heather’s home, saw her at the window with the curtain half pulled back, and offered her a wave. The curtain dropped. He’d get a call from her before long and there were only so many times he could put her off before she called his father to complain. There were days belonging to the town’s founding family was not a blessing.
Nathan picked up the radio and called in to the dispatcher, then turned east. He would check in with the picket lines and listen to the conversations for a while. Someone getting antsy enough to cause trouble—maybe a friend would think it best to say a quiet word before the trouble actually started.
Sending guys coming off the line over to the diner for steak and fries on him might defuse some idle talk from turning into actions. If he had to buy the peace with cash from his own pocket today he’d do so.
Every day of quiet bought that much more time for the negotiators to find a way to settle the strike. It had to end before strikebreakers arrived and violence erupted around him between folks who had known each other for decades. He feared the town would never recover if that happened.
* * *
Bruce watched through half-closed eyes as Heather’s husband appeared through the fenced backyard gate and crossed the yard, reached the sidewalk, and turned toward Willow Street. His daughter lived the other direction so he wasn’t walking over to see his grandson, and if he was getting out of the house to get away from his wife it was odd he wasn’t heading downtown as was his custom.
Two weeks of following the man had convinced Bruce that the man was a creature of habit who just wanted some time away from his wife. He’d eat a piece of pie, walk down to the library, and read a book in peace.
Bruce watched the man walk away and debated with himself. Another few minutes and Heather was going to be out here firing him; the upstairs window curtain was twitching often now as she watched his car and worked up the words to say to him.
Where was Bob going?
Bruce sighed and tugged his keys from the ignition and shoved open the door. Curiosity was a bad character trait for a private investigator to have. It created work. He headed after Heather’s husband.
At the stop sign a blue truck pulled to the curb; Heather’s husband walked over to the passenger door and opened it. He got inside. The truck, driven by Nathan’s grandfather, turned east. In weeks of following Bob, Bruce hadn’t even realized the two men knew each other beyond a casual name recognition. And that blue truck looked new. Henry had bought himself yet another vehicle?
Bruce returned to his car. He followed the truck. Snowplows were current with their work and traffic was light for a Monday, making it an easy enough tail but ensuring he would also be spotted. Bruce caught a clear enough look at the back window to see a temporary license-plate tag taped in the corner. The truck did indeed look like a new purchase.
Nathan’s grandfather ran a stop sign. Bruce drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Henry wasn’t pleased with being followed. So much for doing this chase the easy way. Bruce followed for another mile and watched the truck turn into the cemetery where Henry’s wife was buried. Bruce had a feeling it wasn’t the two guys’ original intended destination. He drove past and continued on. Another time, Henry . . .
Bruce turned back toward his office. He wanted another look at what he had on the car dealer. If that truck was getting titled in Henry’s name, that made two substantial purchases in only a few months. Where was the money coming from? One way or another he was going to figure out what was going on.
10
Rae bit the tip of her tongue as she concentrated on painting around her office-door woodwork. This was going to be the place she talked with clients, managed case files, did her research, took a nap when the days were slow, read a novel when she didn’t want to leave for home yet . . . it was beginning to feel like her space and she liked that feeling. She’d chosen a great color for the walls.
“How was the day with your family?” Bruce asked, pouring more paint into his roller pan.
“Pleasant for catching up on news, not so pleasant for the job. I’d forgotten how physically hard the work is. How did your day go here?”
“I trailed Heather’s husband around some more.” Bruce started rolling a second coat of paint on the wall.
“I’ve heard that name several times. Who is she?”
“One of the town’s lifetime residents. Heather Teal is sixty-two, the owner of a card shop here in town. She thinks her husband is cheating on her.”
“Is he?”
“I very much doubt it. She’s got a suspicious perspective on everything in life.”
Rae leaned back to study her paint job. “You need to give me an update on the cases you are working on. I saw the list on your whiteboard.”
He pulled a rag from his pocket to wipe a paint splatter off the light fixture. “Tretton Insurance is a possible insurance-fraud case. Several items reported on a robbery report may not have actually been taken. The couple moves a lot—different cities, different states—and there is a string of insurance claims with different companies in their wake. I’m going after their former friends to see if one of them will give me a lead on what is really happening with the items being reported stolen.
“Next item on the whiteboard—Larry Broderick. That is a real robbery case. Someone broke into his hardware store and stole several thousand dollars’ worth of inventory, including six handguns. Nathan has that case well in hand, so I’m trying hard not to step on his investigation. We both want the guns found, so it’s been a cooperative arrangement so far.
“The last cases on the whiteboard are smaller—Karen Elan is looking for a half sister she recently learned exists, Laura’s ex-husband is the one who gave me this shiner, and I’m working on a private item for Nathan.”
“They all sound much smaller than what I worked on recently.”
Bruce glanced over at her and laughed. “Did you work on anything less than a task force and a case that took a year of your efforts?”
She conceded that point with a good-natured shrug. “I had one case that we wrapped up in six months,” she offered.
“A record for the FBI. The cases on the whiteboard are big to the people involved. Remembering that helps.”
“How do you get cases? Do people come by the agency? Do you make inquiry calls on businesses that might have work?”
“You’ll find in a small town it’s not so formal. People will stop you at the hardware store, the diner, at the post office to mention a problem and ask for advice. Some will call and ask that you stop by. I’m content to sit back and let wo
rk come in at its own pace. I don’t want this to be a large and growing agency, Rae. I had my run at being decorated and famous when I was a cop, and I want something different.
“I keep the files for the active cases in the top drawer of my credenza. Feel free to read through them and make copies for yourself,” Bruce offered. “You’re welcome to help me with any of the cases that catch your interest.”
“I’d like that.”
* * *
Bruce closed up his paint can and pulled over a chair to take a break. “I’ve been thinking some more about Peggy Worth. What would you do if you were getting ready for a date?”
Rae didn’t have to think about it long. “Buy a new dress, shoes, visit my hairdresser, take time on my makeup, maybe get a manicure. Basically spend money and look great so if the date was a dud I would still feel like the time had been worth it.”
Bruce smiled. “I remember the time you took getting ready for a date, but I always appreciated the results. So which of those did Peggy do? If her date was cancelled, she would not have gone through the preparations. There should be something to indicate she actually went on a date—what the coroner says she had for dinner if nothing else.”
“Thanks for that image. And you have to figure Nathan has already asked those questions.”
Bruce shook his head. “His first question is more simple—does he need to pursue those questions? Unless the coroner says it’s a suspicious death, the case will be closed despite the open questions. It’s a fact of life when it’s the public paying for how the police spend their time.”
“Nathan thought he’d hear from the coroner on the toxicology results today. Do you think he would mind if I called him to ask the results?”
“Call him. Nathan can always say no.” Bruce gathered up the stack of paint-sample strips and returned them to some kind of order.
“I’m surprised the two of you get along so well.”
“I’m a bit surprised that it developed as it did too.” Bruce shrugged. “We’re friends. Since his election as sheriff, Nathan’s friends who are cops now work for him. There’s no way around the fact that creates some tension for him.”
“You’re a former cop who is also an impartial outsider.”
“Something like that. When our interests on cases overlap, we work together. When they don’t, we make accommodations.” Bruce looked up from the paint strips. “With Nathan it’s best to tell him not only the facts as you know them, but also what you suspect.”
“I’ve noticed that.” Rae stepped down from the ladder and began putting away her paint supplies. “Are you ready for me to wash that roller?”
“Yes, I’m done. You’ve got your keys? I’ll head over to the lumberyard and buy what we’ll need to build the bookshelves. If they can deliver the wood tomorrow afternoon, this paint should be dry.”
“I’ve got my keys,” Rae confirmed. “I hate to blow a hole in our plans for tonight, but could we move dinner at your place to tomorrow night instead? At this point I’m looking for a long shower and some sleep. I thought I’d copy the active-case files to read and then head over to the hotel.”
Bruce smiled. “It’s no problem, Rae. I figured that might be the case; you were dragging like a dishrag when you got back from your uncle’s. I remember what that business does to your appetite too. I’ll burn you a hamburger another night. I plan to be feeding you often in the next month; you’ll get tired of hotel food pretty fast.”
“I admit, it’s kind of strange thinking of you as a homeowner. I look at your office here, and that’s what I remember about you—that couch and the neat files, the music. You could be living here and you’d be right in line with my memories.”
Bruce laughed. “Eleven years changes a few things. You’ll see. I’m actually kind of enjoying this phase of life, being house tied with a driveway to shovel and a yard to mow.”
He paused beside her and gently wiped paint off her cheek. “You’re freckling in colors now. Try to sleep in tomorrow. I’ll find you midmorning and we can talk through the cases and what makes sense as the next move on them.”
She blinked at the shift in the man toward a beat in time much more personal and then let herself relax. “It works for me.”
Bruce smiled. “Good.”
He left to head to the lumberyard.
Rae closed up the paint cans. She smiled. She’d forgotten a few things about the man and why she’d been so very tempted to stay in Chicago years before.
It was casual on the surface with Bruce, friendship and work. The deeper current rarely showed its eddies, but it was there. Strong, deep, dependable. Their relationship years before had begun to touch that depth. She’d been too young then to appreciate all that meant; she’d just enjoyed it. Now—if she let them, they’d flow this relationship along at the deeper level as well as the surface.
It wasn’t something she was ready to grasp yet, but the knowledge it was out there for the future—Bruce was helping her recover more than he could realize. Just the hope felt good. She was going to enjoy being grounded somewhere again. Maybe grounded again with him.
* * *
Rae stopped by Bruce’s office to retrieve the active files. The files he had described were neatly arranged in the credenza in alphabetic order. Rae pulled out the first handful, one of them thick enough it bulged out a two-inch folder. She carried them to the front reception desk and turned on the copier.
The forms Bruce used, how he documented his work, there was a familiar and comforting similarity to it. Rae read his notes as she undid the clasp and removed pages. In many ways they were now a two-person, private police agency. She set the copier to make two copies so she could leave one set in her office and take the other with her to mark up.
Rae looked up Nathan’s work phone number and dialed on her cordless phone as she walked back to the break room to retrieve a cold soda. “Nathan, it’s Rae Gabriella. Do you have a moment?”
“One sec, Rae.” The phone was covered. “Will, see if there’s a number for Zachary in there. I need to see him tonight. Tell him to stay put; I’ll come to him.” The phone shifted. “Yes, sorry about that, Rae. I’m glad you called.”
“You’re busy. I won’t take your time.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s always like this of an evening after my assistant has gone home.”
“There’s news about Peggy Worth?”
“It’s been ruled a death by natural causes. Franklin called an hour ago and said the toxicology reports were all clean. He confirmed she had a seizure, which apparently triggered a heart attack. He’s not very satisfied with that answer and wants to talk with her personal physician, but he’s found nothing suspicious to question the natural-causes ruling.”
“She was so young.”
“I know.” The paperwork she could hear him working on stilled. “You okay?”
Rae sighed. “It’s almost harder to hear natural causes than it is to hear it was suspicious.” Rae tugged out a chair with her foot and sat down.
“It happens.”
“It’s just sad. Was there any progress on who her date might have been on Saturday?”
“Not when I last talked to Sillman. Hold on; let me get Sillman’s closing report.” She heard him moving folders.
“There were a couple calls to the station after the article appeared in the newspaper, but nothing that helps resolve the 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. window or who her date was with. It looks like you remain the last person we’ve found to have seen her. I’ll have a courier drop off your notepad tonight; I’ve got copies for the file. I noticed you had a to-do list on one of the back pages.”
“Since I didn’t even remember writing the list, I bet nothing on it was critical, but thanks for the delivery. I appreciate the news, Nathan.”
“Anytime. Caller ID tells me you’re still at the agency. How’s your office coming along?”
“We finished the painting. I’m copying files at the moment. Tomorrow Bruce and I will build the book
shelves.”
“If you need an extra hand, give me a call. I can get an hour free.”
“If the lumber starts to overwhelm us, I’ll do that.”
“Talk to you tomorrow, Rae.”
“Night, Nathan.” She hung up the phone, still smiling. The man went out of his way to be helpful, either because it was his personality or because he wanted reasons to stop by. Either way, she appreciated it. She could use all the friends in this town she could make, and the sheriff was a nice place to start. She walked back to the receptionist area to start copying the next file.
* * *
Rae shut off the copier and took the last stack of pages over to the desk. She handwrote the tags for her files in a neat print and sorted out the pages.
The front door of the agency opened as she packed the insurance-company file. Rae looked up.
The couple looked to be in their midsixties. The lady wore a long blue coat and darker scarf, her hair beginning to gray and she moved with the slowness that suggested arthritis. The door was held open by a man wearing a hat and gloves but with only a suit jacket to protect against the cold evening.
As the lady came toward her without waiting for the man Rae assumed was her husband, Rae moved around the desk to greet her. “Good evening. I’m Rae Gabriella. How may I help you, Mrs . . . ?”
“Worth, Lucy Worth, and this is my husband, Richard.”
Peggy’s parents—Rae had met the family of the dead many times in her life but it never got easier to know what to say. The lady’s fingers remained bent and stiff at the joints as she shook hands, and her grip had no strength. Rae lowered her guess at the lady’s age to her fifties for she looked remarkably young. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
Rae offered her hand to Richard and got a solid handshake in return. His eyes were gray and below them a darkness to the skin suggested he had had very little sleep the last forty-eight hours. The suit jacket creases suggested hours of driving.
“Our daughter Peggy . . . she died at the hotel Saturday night, and the sheriff said you were one of the last people to talk with her.”
Before I Wake Page 9