by Rayna Morgan
By the time she resumed her seat, she had collected herself. Steepling her hands in front of her, she looked smug and in control as she responded.
"I'm not saying there are things I've done I'd rather not be made public, but I have nothing to hide that would be of interest to you."
"Oh, to the contrary. I think you’re at the heart of my entire investigation."
Her lips became thinner and the corners of her mouth turned down in an unattractive manner. "I beg to differ with you, Detective. It sounds to me like you're attributing more to my involvement with Neal Henderson than it warrants."
"Please feel free to enlighten me on the error of my assumptions." He let the sarcasm drip off his tongue in an effort to rattle her.
She sighed, leaned back in her chair and raised her hands in front of her, palms up. "So I had a fling with the egotistic heel. Why is it of interest to you?"
"Were you the reason he broke off his engagement?"
"I seriously doubt it. Neal had visions of who he wanted to be and where he wanted to go. His plans didn’t include being hampered by a high school sweetheart who wanted to start a family."
"And your reason for becoming involved with Neal?"
"Let me help you get a clearer picture, Detective," she sighed impatiently. "My husband and I have interests that have diverged in recent years. He's become consumed with his roses and his dogs. That's fine with me; I'm happy he's found hobbies which amuse him.”
Do I detect the same contempt she seems to have for everyone else?
"My interests lie in the public sector. I met Mr. Henderson in the course of my dealings with local businessmen. We found we had things in common which we shared over a few late night dinners."
Tom's pulse jumped a beat but he maintained a neutral expression. "Wouldn't that relationship be considered a conflict of interest considering your position and the developer he represented?"
For the first time, Tom detected a chink in her armor as she squirmed slightly. "We were discrete. I didn't let our relationship influence any of my actions on the Council."
Tom hoped his next punch would be a knockout blow. "I beg to differ with you, Councilwoman. We have information there was collusion between you, the Planning Director, and Neal Henderson."
"Stop right there, Detective,” she warned. Her voice was low pitched and threatening. "You're getting perilously close to exposing yourself to a defamation of character lawsuit."
How many times have I been the recipient of the same threat from suspects perilously close to discovery? Unabashed, he continued his verbal assault: "We found the first leg in the tripod when we accessed Neal's bank records. With that evidence, we'll be able to obtain warrants for the Director's financial records as well as your own. It shouldn't be too difficult to trace any pay-for-play exchanges."
The crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes became more pronounced as her brows furrowed. The corners of her mouth sagged. The high-handedness of her earlier demeanor was gradually being replaced by fear. Tom knew he was winning.
"My only involvement with Neal and Charles White was to arrange a meeting. Until then, Neal's only dealings with the Planning Department had been with staff members. I've known the Director for years. I simply arranged an introduction for the two of them over cocktails. We met at the hotel, had a rather inane conversation, and I left. They decided to have dinner at the hotel's restaurant."
She inspected her fingernails, trying to appear relaxed and bored. "I had no part in whatever the two of them may have cooked up between them."
"What reason did Neal give for wanting an introduction to the Director?"
"I assumed it was part of his relentless pursuit of success. He had grandiose notions of himself as the successor to Don Carson's empire. Frankly, I doubt it ever would have happened. Neal lacked Don's integrity, charisma, and people skills."
"Do you think he would have pursued illegal methods to ensure his success?"
"Of course." The bluntness of the reply caught Tom off guard.
She acknowledged his surprise with a dismissive wave of her hand. "The man lacked the moral barometer most of us have, the one that saves us from ourselves. He didn't know when to stop, where to draw the line."
"What about Charles White? Was he capable of complicity with Neal?"
Her eyebrows arched as she gave careful consideration before replying. "From what I've seen of Charles over the years, his moral barometer is intact but he has his weaknesses."
"Can you clarify?"
She picked a piece of lint from her sleeve. "He's married to a woman who is somewhat of a shrew. She can make his life miserable if he doesn't accommodate her every whim."
"Would it make him vulnerable to financial influences?"
"I can't say, Detective."
"Can't or won't?" Tom was losing patience with her cavalier attitude.
"Oh, I'm not refraining from throwing Charles White under the bus out any sense of loyalty. I simply don't know the answer to your question."
Her response might have seemed nonchalant were it not for the intensity of her eyes. "All I'm suggesting is he has his weaknesses if someone had an interest in exploiting them."
He finished the thought. “Someone like Neal Henderson."
"Those are your words, not mine."
Tom knew when it was fruitless to pursue a particular line of questioning. Besides, as he told Paul earlier, he wasn't interested in possible charges of bribery or collusion. It was time to stop pulling punches.
He shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "I don't want to take any more of your time than is necessary, Councilwoman. I know you're a busy woman."
Her shoulders rounded as the tension dissipated. The finger tapping stopped. "I appreciate your concern." She imitated his smile with a weak one of her own, realizing too late the direction the conversation was taking.
"Besides, bribery isn't my area of expertise. I'm sure if any allegations of misconduct arise, the District Attorney will be more than eager to bring charges, especially with an election year looming."
Her look changed instantly to one of venom.
"So let's get to the real reason for my visit."
The finger tapping started again accompanied by a clicking of her shoe against the desk.
"Uncovering the reason for Neal Henderson's brutal murder, and ultimately, of course, the identity of the murderer."
Her reaction was one of outrage though whether it was real or feigned, Tom couldn't be sure.
"You aren't seriously suggesting I killed Neal Henderson?" Her eyes bore into his as the color in her face darkened.
"You had sufficient motive. Whether or not you were complicit in his dealings with the Planning Department, he was becoming a threat to your elected position as well as a threat to your marriage. Unless, of course, you and your husband have an open marriage arrangement."
"We most certainly do not and I deeply resent the implication."
Her pretense of indignation amused Tom. "Or was it anger and humiliation over being used by a social climbing status seeker that finally brought you to a boiling point and got the best of you?"
She put a hand to her mouth, pinching her lower lip. The silence in the room was palpable. After what seemed moments but was probably mere seconds, she clutched both hands in front of her.
"You're right about one thing. I did end up despising the bastard." She moved her head from side to side as if shaking off painful memories. "If he wouldn't have ended it, I would have. It was like watching an out of control train racing down the track. You knew at some point, it was going to derail. Once I came to my senses, I realized how much I had to lose. I didn't want to crash with him."
For the first time in their conversation, he felt she was being honest, willing to expose her vulnerability at great expense to her pride. He waited for the other shoe to fall.
"But I didn't kill him."
"Where were you Monday night between seven and nine o'clock?" Tom pressed, hoping his
prime suspect didn't have an alibi for the time of the murder.
"You can check with my assistant. I was a hundred and twenty miles away at a seminar on government affairs."
The irony of the subject matter escaped neither of them.
Still, Tom was accepting nothing at face value from this woman. "You may have made plans to attend a seminar but can anyone confirm you were actually in attendance?"
"Approximately two hundred people, Detective," she answered, tilting her head arrogantly, lips parted in a tight, thin line. "I was the main speaker."
Chapter Eighteen
Scott drove through Seagate to Maddy’s house. Calling on the premise of retrieving his kerchief, he had received an invitation to dinner.
Designated parking spots were narrow, leaving little room for cars to pass his four-by-four. Lot setbacks were minimal and yards were small. How do people live so close to each other? I need to be surrounded by wide open space.
The splash of color he met walking through the picket fence gate stopped him in his tracks: red and yellow roses, blue lily-of-the-Nile, and purplish fuchsia. Irises, sunflowers, and daisies bloomed on the path leading to the porch. Potted plants flanking the entry were warm and welcoming.
The front door was ajar. Scot followed the instruction of a wood carved sign hanging on the screen. ‘Come in and give a holler.’
“Maddy?” The aroma of meat sizzling on a grill filled his nostrils, making his mouth water.
“I’m in the kitchen, Scott. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out.”
Looking around, he was relieved and pleasantly surprised. With her skill and expertise in design, he had expected chic modern furnishings which he considered uncomfortable and dysfunctional. Instead, the room was furnished in a cheerful, relaxing nautical style. A sand colored sofa and side chairs were set off with blue and tan striped pillows. Candles and seashells in clear jars accented a built-in bookcase. The focal point of the room was an eye-catching painting of sailboats covering the large wall. A series of framed navigational maps were artfully arranged on the smaller walls.
Maddy whisked into the room pulling an apron over her head and brushing her hair back with a forearm. Small beads of perspiration showed on her upper lip.
“Okay. Everything’s prepared. Now, we can relax while the ribs cook themselves to perfection. I use a marinade that’s my own special concoction. I think you’ll like it.”
“If it ends up tasting anything like it smells, it’ll be amazing.”
“We can walk down to the park while the meat’s cooking if you like. Our timing should be right to see a beautiful sunset.”
* * *
Scott stole glances of Maddy as they walked. The sleeveless short dress she wore accented her flawless skin and shapely long legs. Her smile was gentle and sweet. Her hair was smooth and silky making him want to reach out and touch it to see how it felt in his hand.
But it was more than her beauty that affected him. It was how comfortable she seemed. He couldn’t imagine her being in a situation where she felt awkward or out of place. A sense of self radiated from her whatever setting she was in. Even in Roberto’s clutches, she had displayed her own brand of sauciness.
The field in the center of the park was crowded with lawn chairs, makeshift volleyball nets, and mini soccer posts. They followed the walking path along the shore onto the jetty. Sitting on flat rocks at the end, they gazed across the endless ocean to the outline of islands on the horizon.
They sat in silence, listening to waves lapping against the shore, seagulls squawking, and children laughing. Scott filled his lungs with the clean, fresh air and ran his hands through his hair, made curly by the saltwater spray.
The sun was beginning to set. Oranges, pinks, reds, and yellows overpowered the blue sky. The reflection of the glowing ball expanded in the water as the sun dropped toward the horizon.
“It’s easy to see why you like living close to the ocean.”
“I can’t imagine not being able to see it every day. I feel like it’s a source of energy.” She picked up a handful of sand, letting it trail through her fingers. “I love the neighborhood because of its sense of community and relaxed, resort style of living.”
“I like the painting on your living room wall. Do you sail?”
“Lea and I grew up in San Diego. Our dad was a cop. When he got time off, which wasn’t often, he took us sailing. His dream was to sail to South America when he retired. Unfortunately, he had a stroke before he could make that voyage. His activities are limited now. He still insists on being taken out on his boat from time to time but he no longer mans the helm.”
“Are you close to your father?”
“Very. Both Maddy and I adore him. Paul teases me and my sister that we inherited his sleuthing instinct but not his skill.”
“What kind of father was he growing up?”
“Strict, but fair. He was tougher on me as the first born, and because I caused more problems. Lea was the good daughter. Grades, behavior, everything she did was good, except sports. I was more of a rebel. I’m afraid you were right in pegging me as a handful. That reputation goes way back. School bored me. Without sports, I probably would have played hooky most of the time. I was adventurous, lived outside the box. Mom always told me I was the daughter more like Dad but he wouldn’t admit it.”
“You and I have that in common.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was the same in our family. My sister was the level-headed one who did everything our father asked of her. I had my own ideas about how things should be done and how I should live my life.”
“Is that why you left?”
“So you heard my story.”
“Paul learned about your family when a client tried to buy some land from your grandfather.”
“I’m sure Granddad didn’t sell.”
“You’re right. He told Paul he was keeping the Ranch intact for his grandson.”
“I was never planning to return. Paul’s client may have eventually ended up with that land except for what happened.”
Maddy waited, not wanting to intrude if Scott chose not to discuss the tragedy. He rubbed his hands together forming a steeple with his fingers where he rested his chin.
“A major life event can turn a person inside out. Who you were disappears. You become a different person. What happened that night in Colorado is a piece of who I am now. It’s a piece of who my daughter is.”
“It must have been terrible for your little girl.”
“Yeah.” He turned away, looking at the sunset. “I was almost incapable of coping myself. Trying to help a five-year-old understand what had happened was the worst experience of my life.
Until then, I hadn’t thought much about death. My father had passed, but I was miles away when it happened; I wasn’t surrounded with the grief of his dying. With the invincibility of youth, I considered my own demise an event so far in the future it didn’t bear thinking about.
But I had to come to grips with my notion of what death is all about in order to give my daughter the comfort she needed. To do that, I tried to see things through her eyes. In a mysterious way, I found my own comfort by using a child’s perspective.
I remembered losing my dog when I was in grade school. Knowing how attached I was to that dog, my parents worried about how to help me through the pain. But I knew the dog loved me too much to let my heart break by leaving me. He communicated with me in a way I can’t explain to let me know I hadn’t lost him; he’d just taken on a different form. Somehow, I knew his spirit was inside me; he was part of who I am. I let my daughter know her mom was in her the same way; part of who she is and always will be.
He picked up some stones and skipped them across the water. “When you go through a transformative event like that, you feel like you’re walking in somebody else’s shoes; like the life you worked so hard to create doesn’t fit anymore. You try to find meaning in life; try to make sense of your experience. It ca
n completely change the direction of the path you’ve chosen.”
“For the better?”
“I don’t know that there’s a better or a worse to how our lives turn out. It’s all part of something much bigger than us at work. I think a person’s journey is designed to teach things we’re sent here to learn. Life teaches us those things in the end, one way or another.”
“Is that why you decided to move back home to the Ranch?”
“When I saw how short our time here can be, I realized what a waste it was to be separated from loved ones over differences of opinion.”
A shiver ran up Maddy’s spine.
“I don’t know why I told you all this. It’s something I don’t much talk about.”
She smiled gently as he stood up, pulling her to her feet.
“Let’s get you home. It’s getting chilly. I can already taste those ribs.”
* * *
Scott enjoyed the leisurely pace of the dinner, savoring each tasty bite. Their conversation was the comfortable kind of people who have known each other a long time.
Pushing back from the picnic table, he ran his hands over his belly. “I feel like I’m bursting at the seams. Your homemade apple pie finished me off. Let me work some of this off by helping with the dishes.”
Once again, he surprised her, not only carrying the dishes into the kitchen but rolling up his sleeves and washing as she dried.
He moved to the living room while she blew out candles in the back yard. He eased himself into a side chair putting his hands behind his head. Visions of how the night might end crowded his thoughts. Were his feelings running deeper than he had anticipated?
Immediately following his wife’s death, he’d run the gamut of emotions: denial, anger, depression, guilt. He eventually shut down emotionally, not allowing himself to have any feelings.
In the months following his return to the Ranch, his grandfather had helped him heal by telling him to honor his wife’s life, not her death. He reminded his grandson that when his wife was alive, they had shared laughter, joy, and life. She would want Scott and their daughter to live that way now.