by Tracy Weber
Dale hesitated. “Probably.”
The nerve endings on the back of my neck prickled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we don’t know for sure, at least not yet. The body showed obvious signs of long-term drug abuse, so an accidental death by overdose wouldn’t be unexpected. But the body was moved postmortem.”
“Moved? To where?”
“To the crawl space of an abandoned house not far from where she lived. The investigators found evidence of squatters on the main floor. There were used needles and drug paraphernalia all over the place. Whoever they were, they’re gone now. April’s body could have remained hidden in that crawl space indefinitely, but a builder decided to check out the property. When he went inside, the smell, well … ” Dale didn’t complete the sentence.
I remembered the drawing taped above Rainbow’s bed. A two-story house mired in quicksand. Refuge. “Was the house dark green, by any chance?”
Dale tilted his head, perplexed. “I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
“Rene and I noticed an odd drawing of a dark green house in Rainbow’s bedroom. I think she may have known that her mother crashed in that house when she was using.”
“Are you insinuating that Rainbow killed her own mother?” Michael asked.
“No. Anyway, the timing’s off.” I flashed back to Rene’s and my road trip to Tacoma. According to Dean, April had temporarily returned home on Halloween, which meant she’d still been alive two weeks ago, long after Rainbow had run to Seattle. Dean, however, lived in Tacoma. He admitted that he’d searched Rainbow’s room. He must have seen her artwork. If he recognized the dark green house in the drawing, he might have made the same assumption I had: that April crashed there when she wanted to escape.
“Has Martinez spoken to the husband?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dale replied. “She pulls the not-in-my-jurisdiction card whenever I ask about the investigation into April’s death. I don’t buy it, though. April may have died in Pierce County, but Martinez is invested. She won’t let the case go unnoticed. Neither will I, for that matter. We owe it to Rainbow to find out the truth. But like I told the kid: suspicious circumstances or not, it’s likely that her mother OD’d, exactly like the tox screen indicates.”
“And she performed a Walking Dead stunt to get herself into the crawl space?”
“She may have been with someone—another addict or a dealer—when she died. They might have panicked and hid the body.” Dale shrugged. “We may never find out. Crimes this old are notoriously hard to solve.”
“This old?” Granted, the body had gone unidentified for a week, but that was hardly cold case material.
“According to the autopsy report, April’s been dead for well over two months.”
Electric surprise jolted my spine. “Wait a minute, did you say two months?”
My mind flew back to Tacoma again. Rainbow’s stepfather wasn’t just an abuser. Not just an alcoholic, either. He was a liar. April hadn’t returned home two weeks ago. She hadn’t prodded him to start looking for Rainbow. Her corpse had likely been stashed in that crawl space before Rainbow even ran away.
I leaped from my chair, startling Mouse. She dove from the refrigerator and tore off to hide in the office. “I’ll be right back. I need to make a phone call.”
I left the two puzzled-looking men behind and jogged upstairs to call Martinez. I had a new theory, and if it was right, it might get Rainbow out of juvie. I needed to talk it through with Martinez.
My logic went something like this:
Dean had told Rene and me that he’d seen his wife on Halloween. Unless she’d visited him from the afterlife, that story had been an obvious fabrication. The question was, why would Dean lie?
A few more questions and my mind jumped to the answer. Dean and his wife had been living off Rainbow’s trust fund for years, but he’d recently upped the ante by trying to extract an extra ten thousand dollars from it.
Why?
Because time was running out on his little charade.
Why?
Because his wife was dead.
Why?
Because he murdered her.
Killing April with a heroin overdose was pure genius. His one mistake was that he’d hidden the body, but he needed to do that to buy enough time to get his ten-thousand-dollar payoff before the trust administrator found out she was dead.
Why did he kill her?
I couldn’t answer that one—at least not yet—but Dean certainly wouldn’t be the first domestic abuser to escalate to murder. I couldn’t prove any of it, but I’d bet my IVF funds that Martinez could, provided I gave her all of the relevant information. If she ever picked up the phone, that was.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I whispered to the empty room.
Voicemail.
“Dammit!” I left a message saying I had urgent information and asking Martinez to call me. Immediately.
Bella trotted into the bedroom and jumped on the bed. I flopped down on the mattress next to her and continued mapping out motives. Not just for April’s murder, but also for Gabriel’s. April’s death could have been the result of a final, violent argument gone horribly wrong. But what if the motive was more pedestrian? Perhaps Dean beat April one time too many. Perhaps she’d decided to leave him, taking Rainbow and her trust fund money with her. Dean may have figured that if he killed April but pretended she was still alive, the money would keep pouring in.
And it had, for a while.
Then Rainbow ran away and Dean discovered that the trust fund payments were tied to her GPA. He was forced to start looking for her. When he found her, and Gabriel got in the way …
I made an imaginary gun with my thumb and forefinger. “Bang.”
Martinez had rejected my theory of Dean as Gabriel’s killer before. She thought the circumstances were iffy and the motive was weak. But Dad used to say that once a murderer makes his first kill, the second is easier. Maybe after you’ve murdered your wife, a weak motive is enough.
Michael’s voice came from the doorway. “Kate? Are you okay? Dale’s afraid he said something to upset you again.”
I ruffled Bella’s ears and stood. “Not at all. I needed to think through a theory. I was hoping to talk to Martinez about it, but she’s not picking up. Let’s go back downstairs and discuss it with Dale. I think I know who killed Gabriel.”
Dale wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about my theory as I’d hoped. “It’s an interesting idea, Kate, but nothing you’ve told me so far links this Dean character to Gabriel’s murder. It’s all wishful thinking on your part.”
“But he lied to me!”
“Yes, and that’s compelling evidence that he’s hiding something about April’s death. It says nothing about Gabriel’s.”
“But it’s worth looking into, right?”
“Yes, of course, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Frankly, I don’t see reason for hope in any of this,” Michael argued. “There’s no happily-ever-after here. Not for Rainbow. Her mother is dead. If we prove that her stepfather killed Gabriel, she’ll get released from juvie and immediately be placed into foster care. Avoiding the foster system was part of the reason she ran away in the first place.”
He was right. Now that her mother was dead, Rainbow had no safe harbor. Her biggest fears had been realized.
Every fiber of my being wanted to drive to the juvenile detention center, hug Rainbow, and promise her that everything would be okay, even if I had to lie to her. I couldn’t. The rules for visitation with incarcerated minors were strict. As her attorney, Dale could visit her. Other than that, visitors were limited to close family members. Rainbow’s stepfather—a man she loathed and who might have killed her mother—was her only family, and thus far she’d refused to see him. For the immediate future, Dale would be her single contact with t
he outside world.
I had to get her out of there.
I tried to call Martinez two more times that night and once the following morning, without success. I considered storming the precinct, but Dale convinced me to stop harassing the detective and let him handle it. I agreed, but I didn’t like it. If Dale couldn’t convince Martinez to interrogate Dean soon, acid would burn a hole in my stomach. I spent the day teaching two mindless yoga classes, bumbling my way through a misguided private session, and staring out the window, so distracted that I almost didn’t notice the long line of students waiting to get in for Some Like It Hot Yoga’s grand opening. Almost.
At six-thirty, Sam and I left for the Teen Path HOME board meeting in Medina, an East-side neighborhood populated by plastic surgeons, middle-aged trust funders, and Microsoft executives. The twins had chosen that afternoon to come down with the sniffles, so Rene—after making Sam and me pinky-swear to tell her everything that happened—reluctantly chose to stay home rather than saddle a sitter with two cranky toddlers.
Our destination was a gorgeous, red-brick Tudor sitting on a grassy half-acre lot. Its huge picture windows overlooked an ornate marble fountain, and its three-car garage had more square footage than the ground floor of Michael’s and my Ballard bungalow. A dark gray Mercedes, a red Toyota hatchback, and a metallic green SUV were parked in the three spaces in the driveway. Sam pulled his red Camaro next to the mailbox and turned off the ignition.
“Rene may have talked me into bringing you along, but tonight’s meeting is important, Kate. I can’t afford any scenes like the one at Gabriel’s memorial.”
“Is Cherie going to be here?”
“No, but I didn’t tell anyone I was bringing you, and I don’t expect it to go over well.”
“Why not?”
“We all agreed that except for Chuck, who’s the acting site manager, tonight’s meeting would be closed. We have important business, and there’s too much friction between us to behave well in front of strangers. Three of the seven board members have already quit since Sunday.”
“Quit? Why?”
Sam sighed. “Rats leaving a sinking ship. Gabriel had an amazing vision for Teen Path HOME, but it’s had its share of troubles. His murder was the final straw.”
“Gabriel and Rene both mentioned that the center was having issues, but Gabriel wouldn’t elaborate, and Rene says you’ve refused to give her any details. Now’s not a good time for secrecy, Sam. Whatever’s going on might be important.”
Sam turned off the engine and pushed open the door. “You’ll hear all about it during the meeting, I’m sure. If not, I’ll tell you on the way home. We need to get inside.”
I followed him down the sidewalk to an ornate wooden door, where he announced our arrival by banging a brass knocker shaped like a lion.
The door cracked open, revealing a fortyish blonde woman wearing dark red lipstick and a form-fitting black dress. “Yes?”
“We’re here for the board meeting,” Sam said.
She smiled and opened the door wider. “Sorry, Greg told me he was only expecting one more person. Please come in. Everyone’s waiting in the living room. Can I pour you each a glass of wine?”
We thanked her and followed her into a large, warm space with a mahogany leather sectional, two overstuffed chairs, and a brightly burning gas fireplace.
Four people were waiting. Greg sat in an arm chair at the room’s front. An Asian woman in a conservative blue suit and a balding white man wearing wire-rimmed glasses shared the couch. I recognized them. They were two of the five people who had been seated with Greg at Gabriel’s memorial. Chuck perched on the edge of a dining room chair that had obviously been pulled in for the occasion.
Chuck spied me and stood. “What’s the yoga teacher doing here? When I agreed to attend this meeting, I was under the impression that we were going to discuss reopening the center. I don’t have time to listen to some harebrained presentation about one of Gabriel’s pet projects.”
“Sit down, Chuck,” Greg said firmly.
The balding man peered at me through narrowed eyes. “I recognize you. Aren’t you the woman who created that scene with Cherie at the funeral?”
“It was a misunderstanding, I—”
Greg interrupted before I could finish. “Sam, who is this woman?”
“Actually, we’ve met before,” I replied. “It was a few weeks ago at Teen Path HOME. My name’s Kate.” I reached out my hand, but Greg didn’t take it.
Sam flashed me a forced smile that clearly said, Please let me handle this. In a move so uncharacteristic of me that I could scarcely believe I did it myself, I took a step back and faded into Sam’s shadow.
“Everyone, this is Kate Davidson. She’s a friend of my wife’s, and she’s very interested in the work we do at Teen Path HOME. I brought her here tonight hoping we could convince her to fill one of our new board vacancies.”
Chuck leaned back and crossed his arms. “That’s a bunch of rubbish. She’s a paid employee, exactly like I am. As you’ve informed me multiple times, according to the corporate bylaws no employees are allowed to join the board.”
Sam affected surprise. “You’re paid for teaching those yoga classes at Teen Path HOME? I thought you were a volunteer.” He shrugged. “Sorry. I probably should have checked about that before I invited her.”
“Yes, you should have,” Greg replied. “This is a closed meeting. She’ll have to leave.”
“She can’t. We came together in my car,” Sam replied.
The blue-suited woman let out a resigned sigh. “I don’t see the harm in letting her stay. I strongly suspect tonight will be our last meeting, anyway.”
The woman who I assumed was Greg’s wife reentered the room, carefully balancing two glasses of golden Chardonnay in one hand and carrying a second dining room chair in the other. She handed a glass to each of us and set down the chair.
Greg sneezed.
She gave him a veiled look. “Allergies bugging you again?”
Greg wiped at his nostrils. “Yes. Someone in here must own a cat. Such foul creatures.”
I didn’t inform him that someone was me. I’d already lost enough brownie points for one evening. Frankly, I was surprised that I’d brought in enough cat dander to matter. Mouse wasn’t exactly a lap cat.
“Do you need anything else?” his wife asked.
Greg shook his head.
A minute later, all of us—except for Greg’s wife, who had disappeared upstairs—were seated in a crude semicircle. “I call this meeting to order,” Greg said.
They began with the procedural formalities: roll call, reading of the prior minutes, and a discussion of old business. After about five minutes, Chuck grumbled, “Is all of this parliamentary procedure nonsense necessary?”
The woman set down her glass. “I agree. Let’s dispense with the formalities.” She ignored me and spoke directly to the men. “Gentlemen, we have a problem. My job as fundraising chair has never been easy, but Gabriel’s death has made it next to impossible. As you know, half of the board has already quit. We’ve also lost three of our major donors, and four more are threatening to cut funding substantially. Having a murder on site is simply too controversial.”
Sam groaned. “I was afraid of that.”
“Imagine how many more would have jumped ship if they’d heard that one of our staff members was peddling illegal drugs out of the center,” Greg said.
One of the staff members? I tried not to show it, but the skin on my arms tingled.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Chuck growled. “Would you please let this drug nonsense go already? You have absolutely no proof that anyone is selling drugs out of Teen Path HOME. None. Many of our clients are drug addicts, sure. Those backpacks they carry are probably filled with marijuana, prescription narcotics, and lord knows what else. Some of the kids are und
oubtedly dealers. They have to earn money somehow.”
The woman frowned. “Are you condoning criminal behavior?”
“Of course not, but it’s hardly surprising. What’s preposterous is thinking that one of our staff members is involved.” He stared Greg down without blinking. “How many surprise inspections did you perform, anyway?”
“Three,” Greg replied.
“And you found nothing.” Chuck made a circle with his right thumb and fingers. “Zippo. Nada. You received one anonymous call claiming that an adult involved with Teen Path HOME was supplying the kids with drugs and you went totally off the deep end. If the donors get wind of this nonsense, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
In a moment of bell-ringing clarity, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Of course. The anonymous caller they were referring to was Rainbow. She’d hated Jace’s drug dealing, especially when he did it at the center. She’d tried to stop him by, in her own words, “amping up the pressure.” Saying a staff member was dealing drugs at Teen Path HOME would definitely make everyone in charge pay attention, which would make it harder for Jace to operate on site without getting caught. I suspected Rainbow had made up the part about adult involvement in order to deflect attention from Jace. She’d just wanted him stopped, after all, not caught.
Unless …
What if she hadn’t made it up? The theory made a lot of sense, actually. According to Rainbow, Jace hadn’t dealt drugs until they’d run away to Seattle. Jace had obviously gotten connected with a supplier somewhere, and awfully quickly for a kid who had no history of drug use. His connection had to have been someone he trusted. What if it was an adult he’d met at Teen Path HOME?
I remained silent, but my mind was far from inactive. It whirled, scouring my memory for every adult I’d met who was involved with Teen Path HOME. Could one of them be a criminal? Could he or she even be in this room?
Sam’s voice jolted me back to the conversation. “Settle down, everyone. I understand your point, Chuck, but the board had no choice but to investigate. Janice, do you think the donors are backing out because of the drug rumors?”