by Mary Birk
“Not for the delivery—that’s what I thought, you missed that?” He listened, tapped his pencil. “Right, I remember. That was in Santa Rosa?” The chief nodded and looked over at Shelton and Reid.
“We need to know if the Graingers were doing anything to help Marisol get pregnant.” McLendon shook his head like he knew how ridiculous that sounded, but he went on. “Anything like artificial insemination, I mean?”
There was a pause, and then, apparently answering a question from the doctor, the chief said, “I’m not free to talk about that right now, but I’d appreciate it if you could answer my question. You have the release Andrew gave us for any medical information about Lenore.” Another pause. The chief’s fingers moved the pencil around in circles on the paper in front of him.
“All right, thanks for the information. No, nothing new yet. Yes, we’re doing everything possible to find whoever did this. Talk to you later.” He hung up the telephone. “Nope, no artificial insemination.”
Shelton stood. “Now we talk to Grainger. See if he knows he wasn’t the girl’s father. We’re not going to tell him about the girl having been molested yet, though. First, I want to see what he says to this. Chief, why don’t you come with me to talk to him? You know the family better. He’s still over at his brother’s house, I think.” Shelton moved out of the room toward the front door, followed by the police chief, then he turned back around and looked at Reid.
“It goes without saying that you’ll keep your mouth shut about this.”
Reid nodded.
“You might want to go out the back way when you leave. There’s a bunch of reporters camped out in front. They’ve been asking a lot of questions about you and Lady Anne.” Shelton didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm in his reference to Anne.
“Right. I’ll stay here a while and make some calls till things settle down.”
He waited until he was alone, then, humiliation burning a black swathe through him, Reid took out his mobile and dialed Scotland.
Chapter 38
LUCY PLOPPED DOWN in one of the green plastic chairs that graced the otherwise colorless hospital employee break room. She had been too busy all morning to even go to the bathroom until now. They needed more nurses in this hospital. Hell, probably in every hospital. There were never enough of them to do everything that needed to get done. The money was good, but the job was hard. Well, she shouldn’t have to do this that much longer. She might still work after they got married, at least until they had kids, but not here. Lucy thought about what her engagement ring would look like. Or maybe they’d skip that and just do the wedding ring. She looked at her left hand critically. She’d have to quit biting her nails.
She wished they allowed smoking in here. Coffee without a cigarette just wasn’t the same. She poked at the copy of the San Francisco newspaper that sat on the middle of the table, rummaging through for the section on horoscopes. Someone had left the sports page on top. Had to have been Fred. He was the only male nurse on this shift. She shifted the sections and the front page came into view. Her mouth went dry.
Dead? The kid was dead? Her eyes raced through the article.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Oh my God, what had happened? She went through the article again, looking frantically for more details about what the police knew.
Shit. This could change things. Goddamn it. When he was finally going to marry her, this had to happen.
She had to talk to him. She would have to be clear with him that this didn’t change things. She took her cell out of her pocket and hit his number. She waited, but he didn’t pick up. He didn’t like her to text him, but if she didn’t hear back in a few minutes, she’d try calling his other number, even though he’d forbidden her to use that line. This was an emergency, and she needed to talk to him. But first she needed a cigarette. She looked around the room to make sure she was alone, then slid her cigarettes out of her pocket and quickly lit up. She looked at her watch, then punched in his other number and waited while she inhaled a deep lungful of soothing smoke. She waited again, then decided to take a chance and leave him a message.
When the beep sounded, she spoke. “Hey, it’s me. Call me. I’ll have my pager on.” She hung up, and drew another hit of nicotine.
Why hadn’t he called her already this morning? Surely he knew about Lenore’s body being found. Maybe he couldn’t do it safely. God, she shouldn’t have left that message. And she shouldn’t have called that line. He was going to be pissed. Her heart raced. How was she going to get through the rest of the day on her shift without going crazy? She wanted to leave, say she was sick, but they were short staffed today. Again.
Aunt Martha would know what was going on. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? Would she be at home or over at the big house? Aunt Martha didn’t carry a cell. She said she was too old to learn how to use one. Hell, she wasn’t even fifty years old, but being married to Gus probably made her feel old.
Lucy took a chance and dialed the house. When Violet answered, Lucy almost hung up. But she was desperate. “Violet, can I talk to Aunt Martha?” She cursed under her breath when the old twat said Martha had gone over to the Grainger house. Lucy knew she couldn’t call her there.
“Tell her to call me on my cell as soon as she can. I need to talk to her.”
She hung up, not hopeful about the chances the message would get through. Violet didn’t like her, and would be only too happy to forget she’d called. She’d try again later.
Just then, someone opened the door to the break room. One of the nurses from ER. The woman wrinkled up her nose and made a face. Lucy quickly dunked her cigarette in her coffee. Tossing the cup in the plastic trash bin, she left the room. She’d grab a pill from her purse to calm herself down until he called.
Thank God for her stash of Xanax.
Chapter 39
JACK SHELTON’S RENTAL CAR wound around the twisted roads of Bodega Bay toward Graham Grainger’s house. He was going well over the speed limit and pumping the police chief for more information. “What can you tell me about Marisol Grainger?”
He glanced over at the chief.
McLendon was gripping the side of the car, his lips pressed together, eyes on the road.
“Slow down, Jack. I’d hate to have to arrest you for speeding. Especially when I’m in the car.”
Obediently, Jack eased off the gas, and McLendon nodded in thanks.
“Before they got married, she was a ballet dancer, ballerina, I guess you’d say. Her dad is a Spanish diplomat, as I remember, but lives in San Francisco. Last name Echeverria, I think. I think he works at the consulate there. Marisol was younger than Andrew—maybe ten years.”
“Like Anne Michaels.” Jack said.
“I guess. Anyway, Andrew was painting some of the dancers in the San Francisco ballet. That’s where he met Marisol. They got married and had Lenore. And she died. That’s pretty much it.”
“What was she like? Flashy? Show business type?”
“Actually, she was kind of a quiet woman. Like Anne, I’d say. Beautiful but quiet.”
Jack harrumphed. “Neither one too quiet to screw around on her husband.”
The chief didn’t respond, but Jack noticed the other man’s mouth set in obvious disapproval. Enough on that subject. The chief liked Anne Michaels and didn’t seem to care that she was married to one man and sleeping with another. Just wait till it happened to him; then he wouldn’t be so understanding.
Jack pulled up and parked in front of the house the police chief pointed out. Not bad. Modern. Real modern. He wouldn’t have guessed Graham and Meg Grainger would have this type of house. Nothing like the Colony—or the Mermaids for that matter. If he had money, this is the kind of house he’d want. Sparse, clean lines, lots of glass. Must have cost a bundle.
No press vans here yet. He guessed they were still focused on the Colony house and the police station. They probably hadn’t figured out that Andrew Grainger wasn’t staying at the Colony right no
w. He followed McLendon, carefully stepping on the distinct concrete squares surrounded by colored river pebbles that formed the path to the front door.
The door was answered by a somber Meg Grainger. Her eyes looked as if they had done a lot of crying and she wore no make-up to disguise the damage. Following her through the house, Shelton was struck by the incongruity of the innate warmth of the woman with the starkness of the modern home she shared with her husband. Although she moved easily in her environment, she didn’t seem to fit here. Her tousled short red hair and delicate face made her look about fifteen years old, but her body’s curves were obviously those of a grown woman. He tried to assess whether he liked Meg’s looks as much as Jeanne’s, but couldn’t decide. And all of the Michaels girls had great asses.
She led them into a large open room with a kitchen on one side. The rest of the room was divided into various living areas only by groupings of furniture. Sitting at a contemporary glass kitchen table, was Andrew Grainger. He was surrounded by family members and, wouldn’t you know it, the lovely Anne, who was tenderly ministering to him. Grainger looked as bad as, if not worse than, he had looked yesterday. Grief or guilt?
Chief McLendon stood back, letting Jack have center stage. Jack nodded in greeting to the group.
Graham Grainger spoke. “Agent Shelton, I don’t think you’ve met my father Nathaniel or my Aunt Charlotte. They just flew in today from New Mexico.”
Nathaniel Grainger resembled a lion, not just in his manner, but also in his appearance. His head was overly large and he had a mane of thick white hair. Although he was not as tall as either one of his sons, his shoulders were broader and his chest wider. Not fat, not muscular. More like he was a mass of solid energy and strength. A natural leader and, Jack could see, a man who did not brook opposition. He could be trouble for Jack’s interrogation plan.
Charlotte Grainger looked eerily like her brother, but the features that made Nathaniel Grainger formidably attractive, made her formidably unattractive.
Jack put out his hand to shake the older man’s hand. “Special Agent Jack Shelton. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Nathaniel Grainger spoke, clearly still the head of this family. “Do you have any news for us? Have you found who did this?”
“Not yet. But we’re working hard on it. My people and the local police.” He turned to include the other man. “You know Chief McLendon?”
Nathaniel Grainger and his sister both nodded.
Jack continued, “We’ve moved our base of operations out of the Colony and released it as a crime scene. We’ve set up over at the police station for now.”
Andrew looked at the visitors dully, but said nothing. Obviously the mundane details of where the investigation was set up were too trivial for any concern on his part.
Graham stepped into the conversational void. “We’ve called Marisol’s parents, the Echeverrias, Lenore’s other grandparents—and Marisol’s sisters, as well as mine. They were all close to Lenore. They’ll be arriving in the next couple of days. We need to arrange the services for Lenore.”
Chief McLendon spoke, his voice gentle and sympathetic. “We should be able to release Lenore by Thursday. Graham, if you give me a call later, we can talk about what the family wants done.”
Graham nodded.
The chief cleared his throat. “Andrew, can we have a word with you in private? It shouldn’t take long.”
Andrew Grainger nodded and got up wearily from the table. Instantly, the other family members tensed, as if they were ready to run interference if Andrew Grainger indicated he needed it, or if they thought it would be welcome.
But Grainger didn’t seem threatened. He lifted a hand in a staying gesture, and everyone seemed to relax, apparently sensing no need yet to circle the wagons around their wounded member. Good, no reason to put them on their guard. Time enough for that later.
Through all of this, Anne hadn’t so as much as glanced in Jack’s direction. She was probably still pissed at him from yesterday’s interview. He watched as she gently leaned over to Grainger and kissed him on the cheek.
“I hate that I have to leave, but I’d forgotten all about the excavators being scheduled for today. I’ll call later, okay?”
Grainger nodded. “Do what you need to do. There’s nothing you can do here. We’ll talk later.” He turned her face toward him and gave her a brief kiss on her lips. “I love you, babe.”
Jack watched, trying to get a better sense of this relationship. This woman was good. He remembered seeing Reid kissing her yesterday. Who could figure out what the hell she was up to? Covering all the bases, that was for sure.
After Anne left, Andrew Grainger led the two men out into the living room, away from the others in the kitchen. He sat down and motioned for them to do the same. “Have you found out anything?” His eyes searched their faces.
Chief McLendon said, his voice kind, “Andrew, we got some of the preliminary DNA tests results back. We were a little surprised to find out that Lenore’s DNA doesn’t match up with yours. You weren’t Lenore’s biological father, were you?”
“What do you mean? Of course I am.”
Jack decided it was time to wade in, and he had no intention of being as diplomatic as the police chief. “Andrew, the tests were conclusive. There’s no connection between your DNA and Lenore’s.”
The man looked at them blankly, looking like he didn’t understand what Jack was saying. If he wasn’t actually stunned, he was giving a good impression of it.
“The tests must be wrong. You said they were preliminary.”
“Not as to that aspect.”
“They have to be wrong. Run them again.”
“We’ve already done that. It’s been confirmed.”
Andrew looked at the chief for support. “Dougal, you know I’m Lenore’s father.”
McLendon kept quiet as Jack had instructed when he’d let the chief know how they were going to play this. Jack had a feeling that McLendon didn’t agree with his strategy, but was smart enough not to interfere.
Andrew got on his feet, his voice rising in indignant anger. “You’re lying. This is ridiculous. Why are you saying this?”
The noise brought the rest of the family rushing over. Nathaniel Grainger steamed forward, command in his every movement. Yep, trouble, Jack thought.
Nathaniel Grainger narrowed his eyes at Jack and the chief. “What’s going on? What are you doing to my son? Isn’t this family going through enough without the police bullying us?”
“Calm down, Mr. Grainger.” The chief stepped in. “No one is bullying anyone.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Andrew Grainger looked up, shook his head. “Dad, they’re saying Lenore isn’t my child. That our DNA doesn’t match.”
The older man looked confused. “What? Of course Lenore is Andrew’s daughter. Who else’s daughter could she be?”
Jack didn’t bother answering. “We need to ask your son some more questions about Lenore and about her death. Preferably alone.”
Nathaniel Grainger eyes burned with cold fury. “Does he look like he is in any condition to answer more questions? Do you have any answers, any information about who did this?”
“We’re still working on it.”
“I didn’t think so. It’s time we called our lawyers. Enough is enough.”
“Dad, that isn’t necessary.” Andrew’s voice was tired but there was an underlying strength in his manner. “I don’t need a lawyer. I want them to find out what happened to Lenore. I don’t understand how those tests can say she’s not my daughter. This just doesn’t make sense.”
“There are a lot of things here that don’t make sense,” Jack said. “The house alarm not being set, the kidnappers never calling, the child not being yours, and your married girlfriend finding the body, for a few. We have a lot of questions to ask, and a lot of answers to find. Cooperation is generally the best way to get it done. Andrew, I’d like you to take a polygrap
h test.”
Nathaniel Grainger pointed to the front door, his face reddened in outrage.
“Get out.”
Chapter 40
REID DIDN’T HAVE any trouble getting an appointment to see Dr. Kempton. The FBI may have marginalized Reid in the investigation, but Andrew Grainger’s endorsement of Reid’s involvement had never been withdrawn. With Anne still undeniably under scrutiny because of her relationship with Grainger, and also possibly in danger, Reid had no intention of sitting around doing nothing.
Talking to Will Kempton was a logical place to start. What the doctor knew about Grainger and about Lenore’s health situation could be key to understanding what was going on.
Reid vaguely remembered meeting the doctor and his wife at the party in Bodega Bay after he and Anne got married, and although Reid was fuzzy about everything and everyone except Anne at that party, it was enough to make a visit now less awkward.
He knew from talking to Grainger that the artist considered Will Kempton to be his best friend. Grainger had told him that Will and Rita Kempton had come to Bodega Bay about ten years ago, at a time when the town hadn’t had its own doctor for years. Rita Kempton, a patron of the arts, had been a wealthy widow when she met her husband, who’d been, at that time, a young doctor in San Diego.
Reid found the little red brick office building with the doctor’s sign out front without any difficulty. A sleek Mercedes convertible, spanking clean, was parked in front. On the other side of the small lot sat an old, dirty blue Toyota. He didn’t have to guess which car was the doctor’s. Keeping the black sports car clean out here with all the saltwater in the air had to be a pain in the arse, Reid thought, peering in the convertible’s tinted windows to see the inside. Spotlessly clean interior, as well.