It was a little early to meet Nick, but I drove to the McDonalds, backed into a spot near the entrance and waited. He pulled in ten minutes later driving a Chevy that obviously belonged to the police department, and got out of it looking as if he’d just stepped off of a magazine cover.
I sat there for a moment just watching. I wished seeing Nick didn’t make my stomach feel squishy.
I wished seeing Nick didn’t make me think of what he’d done to Katie Jo.
Stepping out of my car, I met him at the front fender. The sun shone in the cloudless sky but there was a little breeze, making the day cool.
Nick smiled. I didn’t want to smile back, but I did.
“Hungry?” he asked, and nodded toward the restaurant.
I shook my head. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
He didn’t say anything, just waited.
“Have you gotten anywhere on the Sullivan murder?” I asked. “A suspect? A motive? Anything?”
Nick didn’t answer, just continued to look at me. I saw the wheels turning in his mind, saw his cop X-ray vision switch on. On the drive over, I’d vowed not to tell Nick any more than I had to. I swore again not to crumble.
“What’s up, Dana?” he asked.
I crumbled. The tone of his voice, the look on his face. Something. Something they taught at cop school. Something that demanded I spill my guts.
“I was … approached … the other night by someone connected with Mr. Sullivan’s murder,” I said.
Nick tensed. He shifted his weight, coming closer.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Saturday night at Club Vibe I was in the parking lot alone and a guy … a guy grabbed me and told me to stay away from Mr. Sullivan’s murder.”
Nick crumbled. His cool-cop demeanor vanished. His face flushed and his breathing picked up, like a bull ready to charge.
“You went into the parking lot of that club alone?” he demanded. “At night? What the hell is wrong with you, Dana? What the hell were you thinking?”
Now I got angry too.
“Did you miss the part where I said this was in connection to Mr. Sullivan’s murder?” I asked. “The murder you’re supposed to be solving.”
“The murder you’ve involved yourself in?” Nick shot back. “Damnit, Dana, I told you to stay out of this.”
I wasn’t going to let his anger top mine. I was the injured party here.
“Never mind!” I shouted. “Forget I came here!”
Nick touched my arm. “Listen, Dana, don’t you—”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” I jerked away from him. “I should have known better than to get involved with you—after what you did to Katie Jo Miller.”
That took the color out of his face. And I was glad.
I jumped in my car and took off. I didn’t know where I was going, but I was headed there in a hurry. I hit the freeway taking my anger out on the traffic, then came to my senses and slowed down after only a couple of miles.
But I was still mad. Mad at Nick. Mad at the guy who’d scared me in the parking lot. Mad at Gerald Mayhew for having an alibi, Kirk Redmond for not needing one, and Leonard Sullivan for being missing. I was mad at Mr. Sullivan for dying and leaving Mrs. Sullivan alone. I was mad at myself for not watching Slade through my peephole, and mad at Nick—again—because I’d watched him twice.
My world was a mess. I don’t like messes. I decided to go back to work, back to the part of my life that was under control.
I swung by Janet Teague’s house again. No change from when I was there earlier. I hoped that meant she’d found a job and was at the moment, working. Or maybe she was at the Mid-America office right now bringing her account current.
When I walked inside, Carmen sprang out of her chair.
“Guess what happened,” she said. “Jarrod Parker was here.”
Thank goodness. A shot of good news, for a change. He’d paid off his account to get his Mustang back thereby removing him from my life forever.
“Are you two dating?” Carmen asked.
“What?”
“He said you two were out together Saturday night,” Carmen said.
“That creep,” I muttered. “Did he pay off his account?”
Carmen shook her head. “He wouldn’t talk to anybody but you. He said he’ll come back later.”
No way did I want the prospect of dealing with Jarrod Parker hanging over me all day, so I decided to take it out on Leonard Sullivan.
I pulled every file folder of every loan Leonard, his grandparents, his aunts, uncles and cousins had ever had with us and went through them with a fine-toothed comb. I phoned every previous job, every relative, every friend listed. No one, absolutely no one, had seen or heard from Leonard. I pulled a new credit report on him hoping I’d discover his new address or employer. Nada. Leonard was not to be found.
I sat at my desk with my telephone up to my ear, staring at the computer screen so it would look as if I were working. Nick popped into my head and I recalled how, back in high school, he’d seemed genuinely interested in Katie Jo—so much so that I’d actually been a bit jealous of their relationship. She was crazy about him. They’d seemed perfect for each other. Then, everything had turned out so badly—for Katie Jo, anyway.
My mom and dad floated into my head. All of those years of marriage, of problems, of dealing with money matters, kids, holidays, relatives, only to have it all threatened by a television sports package. Unlike Nick and Katie Jo, things between my folks seemed to have deteriorated slowly until one day—boom—Mom had taken all she was going to take.
I guess the outcome of any relationship couldn’t be predicted. Arthur and Gladys Sullivan had probably worked extremely hard when Leonard had been growing up. They’d taken him in, given in a home, taken care of him when he was sick, helped with homework, gone to school plays, and done everything they knew to do to give him a good life.
I doubted either of them would have predicted that Leonard would turn his back on the family at a time when Mrs. Sullivan needed him the most. And all because of that argument she’d said Leonard had with his grandfather. Could their relationship have ended in the blink of an eye? Or had it been crumbling for years?
Either way, I was going to find Leonard. I’d see to it that he visited his grandmother, that he did the right thing by Mr. Sullivan—no matter what it took. And I wasn’t listening to any excuses Leonard might have. Under the circumstances, I couldn’t imagine an explanation he could have for his actions.
A chill rushed through me as other possibilities flashed in my head.
Maybe Leonard wasn’t simply ignoring his grandmother.
Maybe he was hiding.
Or, maybe, he was dead.
Chapter 13
Manny and I worked late. It was kind of nice with just the two of us in the office—no customers, no Inez, no hair flipping. We walked to the darkened parking lot together, then parted ways. There were a lot of things I could have done with what was left of the evening, lots more that I should have done. Instead, I did something I shouldn’t.
I accessed the address of the Stanford Medical Clinic on my cell phone, punched it into my GPS, and headed for Dayton Avenue. I found the clinic easily and pulled into a parking space at the rear of the building.
Gerald Mayhew had told me he was working here the night Mr. Sullivan was murdered. I’d verified with his employer that he did, in fact, work here. Still, I wanted to see for myself.
It was after seven now and Mayhew should be on duty, unless this happened to be his night off. I sat in my car for about fifteen minutes before I saw a uniformed guard come around the corner of the building on foot. The security lighting wasn’t great but I could see right away that this wasn’t Mayhew. This guy looked about 23 years old, thin, white, and bored.
It must be tough for security firms to get people willing to spend an eight-hour shift pacing the perimeter of a building, especially on the evening and night shifts. I suppose that wa
s how they ended up with old men like Gerald Mayhew and this young guy on their payroll.
Scrounging through my purse, I found my pepper spray and slipped it into the pocket of my jacket. I scanned the parking lot looking for anything suspicious—not that I knew what suspicious looked like, really, but I checked anyway.
I headed toward the guard. He saw me and walked over.
“Where’s Gerald?” I asked, craning my neck as if I expected him to walk up and join us.
The guy rested his hands on his big leather belt. “Just me on duty.”
I frowned, hoping I looked puzzled, and said, “Doesn’t Gerald work evenings?”
He didn’t seem surprised that I’d asked. I suppose he was glad to have somebody to talk to.
“It’s his regular shift, but he called off again tonight,” he said. “More hours for me.”
“We all need the work when we can get it,” I agreed. “But it must tick you off, sometimes. I mean, you’ve got a life too. You can’t just drop everything and cover someone else’s shift.”
“Yeah, like last week,” the guard said. “I had Lakers tickets and I couldn’t go because of Mayhew.”
I remembered that a basketball game had been on television the evening a week ago when I’d walked into the Sullivan living room.
“You missed the Lakers?” I asked. “Last Monday night’s game?”
“Yeah,” the guy grumbled. “I had to give the tickets to my brother-in-law.”
“That’s criminal,” I told him.
“Tell me about it.”
I glanced around for no particular reason, then said, “I’ll catch Gerald another time.”
His expression showed a little suspicion. “What do you want Mayhew for?”
Good question. Luckily, I had a good answer.
“My mom is having one of those home decorating parties,” I said, “and she wants Gerald’s wife to come, but she can’t come, so I was supposed to leave a sales brochure with Gerald to give to Ida so she can look it over and order something.”
As I’d hoped, the guy had tuned out halfway through my explanation.
“Can I leave the brochure with you?” I asked, pointing to my car.
He shook his head. “I don’t know when I’ll see Mayhew again.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, good night.”
I got into my car and left.
So much for Gerald Mayhew’s alibi.
I mentally kicked myself for not thinking sooner about checking his alibi at his actual work site. A detective, a trained professional, would have. But I was neither, and at least I’d thought of it—finally.
I’m a quick study, so I decided that digging a little deeper into some other aspects of Mr. Sullivan’s murder would be a good idea.
I whipped into a parking lot and accessed the Internet for Kirk Redmond’s building contractor Web site. I loaded the address of his business into my GPS and started driving again.
A short fifteen minutes later, I reached his location. It was housed in an industrial strip mall sandwiched between an auto parts store and an electronics repair shop. Each unit had an office attached to a small warehouse with a roll-up door. Some of the units had no business name printed on the door, yet they looked occupied. I wondered what sort of business went on there.
Kirk Redmond’s name was printed prominently on the front of the unit his business occupied, along with his contractor’s license number and hours of operation. Through the glass door a feeble security light burned, and I saw a stack of paint cans and a couple of ladders. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
I sat in my car for a couple of minutes, staring at Redmond’s business and thinking.
He had no known motive for murdering Mr. Sullivan. Plus, he had a legitimate reason for being at the house, even if it was a bit odd that the Sullivans wanted their house painted when they couldn’t pay their bills.
I was forced to mark Kirk Redmond’s name off of my mental list of suspects. That left me with Gerald Mayhew, whose alibi had been blown, and Leonard Sullivan, who may have a great alibi, for all I knew.
Of course, it was possible the police had already solved the murder, arrested a suspect and closed the case.
That thought caused Nick Travis to pop into my head.
I pushed him out, and drove to my parents’ house.
They were both watching television when I arrived. Dad managed to wave without taking his eyes off the screen as Mom and I went into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and gave me her mom-look. “Something’s wrong, Dana. What is it?”
I hadn’t told her about my involvement with the Sullivan case, so I sure as heck wasn’t going to mention what I’d been doing tonight.
“I’m concerned about you and Dad,” I said, which was the truth—part of it, anyway. “How are things going with you two?”
“Just fine,” Mom said. “Are you hungry? I’ve got roast beef, potatoes and carrots.”
“Crock Pot week, huh?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Sounds good,” I said. “Has Dad told you any more about your plans for this weekend?”
Mom grinned as she placed my dinner in the microwave.
“It’s still a big mystery,” she said. “I’m getting excited.”
And I was getting anxious. Dad better have something big up his sleeve that was worthy of all this buildup.
Mom and I sat at the kitchen table while I ate, and she filled me in on her day.
“Something else is bothering you,” Mom said, as I got up to rinse my plate.
I realized then that the knot I’d had in my belly for hours was from the look on Nick’s face standing outside McDonald’s when I’d brought up Katie Jo Miller. I’d shocked him and, at the time, I’d been glad. Now, looking back, I didn’t feel so great about it.
“I was thinking about Katie Jo Miller,” I said. “You remember, from high school?”
“Of course I remember,” Mom said. “What a terrible ordeal she went through.”
“Do you remember much about Nick Travis?” I asked.
“A little,” she said. “I remember you had a crush on him.”
“I did,” I admitted. “But not after what he did to Katie Jo.”
“Yes, there was that rumor,” Mom said. She rose from the table and opened the dishwasher. “You know, there was something odd about that family.”
“I didn’t know Nick’s family,” I said.
“No, not Nick’s family,” Mom said. “Katie Jo’s family.”
“Katie Jo’s family?” I echoed. “Mom, she was my best friend.”
“I know, and I always liked her.” She shook her head. “But that family of hers. Something wasn’t right about them. That’s why I never let you sleep over there.”
I’d forgotten that. Back in high school, I’d never slept at Katie Joe’s house but she’d been to our home many times. I hadn’t given it any thought back then.
“What was wrong with them?” I asked.
“I don’t know, exactly,” Mom said. “It was just a feeling I had.”
On that note, I left. I drove home thinking about my pepper spray and watching my rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following me. In the parking lot of my complex, I saw no suspicious characters.
Seven Eleven greeted me as I flipped on lights, threw the dead bolt, and dropped my purse on the table. I gave her a can of cat food, then changed into sweats and called Jillian; my day hadn’t been the greatest and talking to my best friend seemed comforting. Her voice mail picked up. I left a message.
I wasn’t tired enough to sleep and TV didn’t seem appealing. I fetched the yellow legal pad I’d left beside my computer and dropped onto the sofa in my living room.
I looked at the circles and the names I’d written in them. I scratched out Kirk Redmond’s name, then drew another circle around Gerald Mayhew’s name. Not only did Mayhew have a motive, but he’d lied about having an alibi. Why would he do that?
; A few thoughts ran through my head and I realized there were several reasons he might lie about being at work. Maybe he was cheating on his wife, or maybe he was out scoring weed—or maybe he really had murdered Mr. Sullivan.
I looked at Leonard Sullivan’s name and wished I could mark through it. I couldn’t because I hadn’t found him. I’d made no progress whatsoever in locating him.
Irritated, I tossed the tablet aside and got ready for bed.
I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom and realized that something more than murder suspects and alibis had been bugging me all afternoon.
Nick hadn’t called.
After blasting him in the McDonald’s parking lot with his and Katie Jo’s past, I’d expected him to call and explain. Explain what, I didn’t know, exactly. An apology? An admission that he was, and still is, the biggest jerk who ever walked upright? Offer a defense of what had happened back in high school?
Lying there in the dark, my heart got a little heavier.
Not only had Nick not called to explain, he hadn’t called at all.
* * *
When I arrived at work the next morning, Carmen wasn’t at the front counter.
“Her daughter is sick,” Inez explained. “She’ll be in later.”
I didn’t want to wait for Carmen to show up to get the payments from the post office. I needed to know which customers had paid so I could get down to work. Still, I wasn’t anxious to venture out on my own.
Manny wasn’t in yet. I considered taking Lucas along but couldn’t picture him having my back in a fight. That left Inez and Jade.
While I had absolutely no compunction about pushing either of them out in front of me if something went down, I decided to take Jade simply because she had the widest butt and would offer the best cover.
I grabbed my keys from my purse, waited until Inez picked up the telephone, then rushed to Jade’s desk.
“Come on,” I said. “You’re going to the post office with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why would I want to go to the post office with you?”
“Because it’s a good excuse to get out of the office,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Fatal Debt Page 11