“That’s good to know,” I said, feeling somewhat better. I didn’t want to think the police could have had anything to do with Christine’s disappearance, because once you lost faith in those that were supposed to protect you, it was hard to get that faith back.
“I saw you talking to Detective Cavanaugh,” Reg said. “Was it about the investigation?”
“It was, but he seems pretty busy.”
“He has been.” Reg looked worried by the fact. “Too much is getting heaped onto his shoulders and it’s starting to show. I remember when Detective Hastings dealt with much the same thing. Nearly caused him to retire on the spot.”
I didn’t want to see Detective Cavanaugh retire. He and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was a good man. And as far as I could tell, he was good at his job—when he was allowed to do it.
“I don’t get why Mr. Wright is so involved,” I said. “He’s only getting in the way.”
“That’s politicians for you,” Reg said. “Just you wait and see, by Christmas, he’ll be using this to put restrictions on us somehow.”
“Or will use it to run for president.”
“Perish the thought.”
“Has the Travis McCoy situation been taken care of?” I asked, changing the subject to something a little less frustrating.
Reg grinned. “It has. Let’s just say some money got passed around and quite suddenly, no one wanted to press charges anymore. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Mocks planned the whole thing from the start.”
Why wasn’t I surprised? It seemed like anytime a celebrity got into trouble, they threw money at it and it went away. I might not know the Mocks, but it would not shock me to learn that they had planned the entire dustup, just to milk Travis McCoy for a few thousand bucks.
“Well, you keep yourself safe, Liz Denton,” Reg said. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“I think I should be the one telling you to be careful,” I said. “You’re the cop.”
“Always do,” he said with a wry chuckle. “But you’re the one risking her neck for a man she hardly knew.”
And with that, he turned and headed back to work, leaving me to wonder if I was doing the right thing, or if I was putting myself at risk for no good reason.
23
“Hi, Mom.”
I jerked to a stop, just inside the veterinary office doors. “Ben?”
He stood from where he sat behind the counter. “Last time I looked, yeah.”
“I mean, what are you doing here?” I closed my eyes, already anticipating his answer. “No, don’t say it. You’re working.”
“Last time I looked.” He grinned at me.
“Where’s Trinity?”
Ben shrugged, even as he got a dopey look on his face. He’d had a thing for the pretty veterinary assistant from the moment they’d met, though she’d never reciprocated his affections. I can’t say I was too upset about that, considering how Courtney-like she could be.
“Okay, then, where’s your father?”
Ben pointed to exam room 3. The door was, of course, closed. “He should be done soon.”
I wandered over to the exam room door and peeked inside. A woman who could be no more than four foot seven stood just inside, a miniature poodle in her arms. Manny handed her something, then, noting me, patted her on the arm, and together they left the room.
“Hi, Liz.” He turned to the short woman. “I’ll see you next week, Mrs. Tuttle.” He bent down so he could look the poodle in the eye. “And you too, Mr. Fluffkins.”
As soon as the woman and her dog were gone, I grinned. “Mr. Fluffkins?”
“I didn’t name him,” Manny said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure if that’s the dog’s actual name, or if it’s a nickname that stuck. You know how that sort of thing happens.”
I did. When I was a little girl, I had a cat named Marx, but everyone called him Whiskers because he had these long whiskers that looked two times too big for his body. The nickname suited him far better than his real name, and so, from then on, he’d become Whiskers.
“How’s everything going?” I asked with a pointed look. Manny appeared to be in a good mood, which made me hope that everything had worked out last night, but I couldn’t be sure since he was so good at hiding his emotions. “I was hoping you’d take the day off to decompress.”
Manny leaned against the doorframe. I was happy to note his smile didn’t slip. “The emergency turned out the best I could have hoped for. Everyone came out of it okay, though it was pretty sketchy for a little while.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s great.” Manny wouldn’t want to show it, but if something had happened during his emergency last night, he would have been torn up pretty badly. “And Ben?” I glanced back at our son, who was fiddling with his phone, much like Trinity would have been doing if she’d been there.
“I needed him today. Trinity never showed.”
“She skipped out on work?” I was shocked. As far as I knew, she had yet to even call in sick in all her time working for Manny.
“Apparently so,” Manny said, his face growing troubled. “I tried calling, but she didn’t answer.”
“I hope she’s all right.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Ben’s been asking for more time, so it all works out.” He crossed his arms and ankles. “So, what did I do to deserve your presence today, my angel?”
I playfully smacked him on the arm for calling me a pet name—which I normally hated—but couldn’t stop the smile. “I thought I’d check in to see how you were doing. You seemed pretty upset on the phone last night. I’m glad it all worked out.”
“That’s all?” Manny pouted. “I thought you were here to whisk me away to my favorite restaurant and feed me grapes while I bask in a sunlit pool.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said as the door opened and a man with six leashed dogs walked through the door. “It looks like you’re going to be too busy for pampering today.”
Manny straightened and sighed. “I suppose I can wait. I fully expect those grapes by tomorrow.”
As I left Manny and Ben to the army of dogs, a weight lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how stressed I’d become over Manny’s late-night emergency. I practically skipped to my van, all thoughts of Courtney and murder a distant memory.
That was, at least, until I started up the engine and debated where to go next.
Home was the obvious choice. I was struggling finding Sheamus a home on my own, but I could always take him to Pets on Main, the pet store I frequented. The owner, Jamison Crowley, wouldn’t mind if I left the cat there to show off for adoption. I’d used him before, but preferred not to if I could help it. I hated putting a cat in a cage, even if it was for his own good.
No, Liz. You can do this.
But is the cat what’s most important this very second?
I frowned as I realized that something else was tugging at the back of my mind, something I couldn’t simply ignore and go on with my day.
I didn’t have Martin Castor’s personal number, but I did know where he worked.
It took only a quick search to find the number online. I dialed, heart hammering. This was the man who very well might have chased a pregnant Christine Danvers from town, who might have murdered Joe Danvers because he was getting too close to the truth. And here I was, making a nuisance of myself.
It’s not like Detective Cavanaugh is doing much at the moment.
While I couldn’t blame him for his slow progress, it was still frustrating. A killer was out there, and the detective who was supposed to be finding him was likely sitting in an office somewhere, being lectured by a politician who cared more about his career than keeping the town safe.
“Doctor Castor’s office, this is Uma. How may I be of assistance?”
“Hi, I’d like to speak to Doctor Castor.”
“What is this regarding?”
I considered lying. I
could say I had a personal problem that I couldn’t bring myself to discuss with his nurse. Or I could say I was his girlfriend or wife, not that I knew if he had either.
But would that get me what I wanted? The moment he picked up the phone and realized I wasn’t who I said I was, the conversation would be over.
“Tell him it’s Liz Denton,” I said, settling on honesty. “I’m calling to discuss private matters.”
“Mrs. Denton, if you’d care to set up an appointment, I—”
“Just tell him that, please. I bet he’ll want to talk to me.”
Uma sighed audibly into the phone. “One moment.” There was a click, and then soothing music played over the line.
A car pulled up next to me. A woman got out, carrying a fat tabby. She glanced into my van, and then startled back when she saw I was sitting in it. I gave her a finger wave, even as she scurried off.
There was a click in my ear. “What makes you think I’d want to talk to you?”
“Doctor Martin Castor?” I asked to be sure.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said. “Don’t think Harry and I haven’t done our research. Anyone who works for that poor excuse of a private investigator will know retribution before this whole thing is over.”
“Retribution for what?” I asked, anger simmering just under the surface. The guy had no idea what I wanted, yet he was already threatening me. It made me wonder if he was the reason Harry kept showing up.
“I see your watching eyes out there. You think you know something, but there’s nothing there. If you haven’t figured it out by now, we don’t use the cops here when we have a problem. We take care of things on our own.”
“I’m not sure what you’re so worked up about,” I said, all while thinking that this sure didn’t sound like an innocent man. “I was just calling to ask you about your car.”
“My what?”
“Your car. If you want to meet, I’d happily do so. We could discuss it then.”
“I’m not meeting with you,” he snapped. Then his voice lowered to a near whisper. “I know who you are, who your family is. I know where they work, where you live.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked. The anger was now a roaring inferno. How dare he?
“Take it as you like. I’m not telling you anything, and I’m sure as hell not going to contaminate the air I breathe by meeting with you. The people you associate with . . .” I could almost visualize his disgusted shudder. “You’re all a plague.”
I sat there, stunned. I thought I knew what he was talking about, and while my encounters with Harry Davis reminded me that these kinds of people still existed in this day and age, a part of me held out hope that Harry was an outlier, a relic.
Martin proved me wrong.
“Don’t call me again.” A click told me Martin had hung up on me.
It was probably good that he did. I doubted the next words out of my mouth would have been very ladylike.
If I questioned whether or not I thought Martin Castor capable of murder, I had my answer now. Just because he was a doctor, a man sworn to heal the sick, the infirm, didn’t mean he was a good person. It made me wonder how many people who’d gone to him for help left in worse shape than when they’d gone in. He wouldn’t be the first doctor to overprescribe drugs or misdiagnose someone.
And I wouldn’t put it past him to do so on purpose.
Now, Liz, don’t prejudge. I took a few calming breaths before I put my van in gear and started driving. Just because Martin was a jerk of the highest order, didn’t mean he was bad at his job. It didn’t mean he was a killer either, but it sure helped me believe he could be.
I pulled up out front of Chester’s office for the second time in the span of a couple hours. When I went inside, I found Amelia waiting.
“Is Chester in?” I asked her.
“He’s busy right now. New client.” She rolled her eyes, as if the new client might not be entirely legit. The tittering laugh from behind the closest door told me that might be right. “Is there something I can do?” She sounded eager.
“I’m not sure.” I debated on waiting for Chester to be done with his new client—or whatever she really was—because I wasn’t so sure I wanted to involve Amelia in anything that involved Martin.
But then again, this was what she wanted to do, and she was already involved, whether I liked it or not. Besides, I’d vowed to support her in her work, and darn it, holding back on her wasn’t supporting her.
“What more can you tell me about Doctor Martin Castor?” I asked her.
“Martin?” She rounded her desk, sat down, and typed briefly on her laptop. “There’s not much. I found some complaints about him that were buried beneath glowing reviews. If these complaints are to be believed, Martin tends to treat only a certain portion of Grey Falls’s population.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning straight white males. Young, pretty women. If you’re a woman over the age of forty, don’t bother trying to get an appointment. Most of the complaints I found are from women who’d been dropped by him after they reached a certain age. Guy’s a creep.”
Why wasn’t I surprised? “What about his car?”
Amelia raised an eyebrow at me.
“Jack—you remember Jack Castle, right?”
She nodded.
“He’s had some . . . troubles recently.” It was the nicest way I could put it. “He was near Joe’s house when Joe was killed, and claims he saw a dark car, possibly a Mercedes, driving slowly down the road around the same time. All he knows for sure is it was a nice, fancy car, and that it looked out of place. I’m wondering if it could have been Martin.”
Amelia focused on her laptop for a few minutes before she shook her head. “There’s nothing here.”
“Nothing?” I asked, surprised. I’d figured it would be easy enough for her to find out what Martin drove, especially since she was working as a PI. It was the sort of thing investigators did.
Her brow furrowed as she continued to type. After a few moments, she sat back. “Nothing at all.”
“I take it that’s not normal?”
“No, it’s not. It might explain why I had trouble finding much else on him too. It’s like someone scrubbed his online data as clean as they dared without making it too obvious it was happening.”
“But his car? Why remove a record of that?”
She shrugged. “Could be he doesn’t own one. Or he’d obtained it in some way that wouldn’t pop up here. Or I’m just looking in the wrong spot.” She blushed. “I’m still pretty new at this.”
“I called Martin to ask him about it, but he wasn’t in a talking mood.”
“You called him?” Amelia sounded incredulous.
“It’s better than not knowing,” I said. “If he was the one who killed Joe, then maybe his car will be the evidence we need that will put him away.”
“It’s shaky,” Amelia said, but her tone had turned thoughtful. “The police couldn’t use the car to arrest him for Joe’s murder.”
“But it might give them probable cause to investigate him further.” That was, if Detective Cavanaugh found time to look into him between meetings.
“One sec.” Amelia popped up and hurried across the room. She knocked on Chester’s office door, and then slid inside when he answered. She was gone for a good five minutes before she returned with a wide grin on her face.
“I’m not sure I like that look,” I said.
She didn’t say anything. She went to her desk, shut down her laptop, and grabbed her purse. She fished around until she found her keys and then held them up to me as if victorious.
I watched her, my stomach tightening. What did I just do?
“Let’s go,” she said, marching toward the door.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “What are we going to do?”
She glanced back over her shoulder. The excitement in her eyes was both infectious and terrifying.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I have a plan.”
24
“I don’t know what to say.”
Amelia grinned at me as she sorted through the various wigs and outfits in the trunk of her car. “I figured it would be a good idea to have a stock of this stuff, just in case. Maya has a trunk-load as well.” She plucked out a blond wig, a pair of thin, stylish glasses, and a box of makeup.
“This is my fault, isn’t it?” I asked as she continued to sort through the wigs. She found a black one and handed it to me.
“Put that on,” she said. “You gave me the idea when Ben was in trouble. Once I started working with Chester regularly, I realized it would be prudent to have a few disguises in case I ever needed to confront an enraged husband or something. I wouldn’t want them recognizing me on the street later, you know?”
It was a good idea, but I had a hard time believing that anyone would be fooled by a wig and a pair of glasses. Of course, these weren’t like the cheap ones I’d bought her before. The wig she’d handed me felt like real hair, and the glasses looked like glasses you’d get at an optometrist’s office.
“How much did all of this cost?” I asked.
Amelia tied her purple-tipped hair up so that it didn’t touch her neck, and then pulled on her blond wig. “Enough.”
We used the bathroom in Chester’s office building to put on our disguises. It took us nearly twenty minutes to get ready. Amelia helped me with my wig, and while I didn’t get a pair of glasses, I did get a fake mole at the corner of my eye. She found herself a pretty cotton-candy-pink dress, while I ended up with a pantsuit over a size too small. The makeup took the longest to apply, and I let Amelia handle it. By the time she was done, neither of us looked like ourselves.
“I’m impressed,” I said, checking myself out in the mirror. “I didn’t think you knew how to put on makeup other than black eyeliner.”
“Ha. Ha.” Deadpan. Her lips were bubblegum pink. Made up as she was, Amelia kind of reminded me of Courtney, which was terrifying.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked. We were in Amelia’s car, with her in the driver’s seat. “I don’t see how disguises are going to help us discover what kind of car Martin drives.”
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