by Janet Dailey
“No. We were hoping to find something,” Riley replied, deliberately sounding cryptic. “These bushes grow pretty thick, don’t they?”
“Thick and fast,” the man snorted. “Trimmed all this five weeks ago, but you’d never know it by looking at it now.”
“Are there any places where a person might be able to crawl through the hedge?” Delaney asked.
“There’s a couple, three places,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “A body could probably get through them. The coyotes do.”
“Would you show them to us?” Riley lifted his hand, inviting him to lead the way. The caretaker hesitated, then turned and followed the trail of hedge clippings.
In all there were four gaps in the dense hedge, three on the east property line and one along the north, rear boundary. Riley and Delaney inspected each in turn, looking for scuff marks on the ground, clothing threads on the branches, broken twigs, anything that might indicate recent passage.
Finished with the last one, Riley got to his feet and dusted off his hands. “Anything?” Delaney asked.
He shook his head. “The ground’s too hard. The branches are trimmed too close. There is no way to tell whether someone’s been through it recently.”
“What makes you think somebody would?” the caretaker asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
Delaney answered, “Because we think someone else might have been on the grounds the night of the shooting. You didn’t happen to see or hear anything unusual that night, did you, Mr. Walker?”
“Just the commotion in front of the house.”
“And you didn’t hear or see anything when you went to find out what that noise was all about?” Delaney suggested.
He thought about that a moment, then slowly shook his head. “No.”
“What about Toby?” Riley inserted. “Maybe he did.”
The caretaker shook his head again. “As scared as that boy is of the dark, he would’ve said something right then. If there was anybody else out there, we didn’t see him.”
Delaney briefly met Riley’s glance. “I guess that’s all, Mr. Walker. We appreciate your time.”
“No problem,” he said and moved off, armed with his pruning shears.
“No neighbors on either the north or the east side,” Riley observed. “All four openings are well away from the road. It’s possible someone could have crawled through unseen.”
“She would have needed a flashlight to find Lucas, though.” Delaney automatically thought in terms of Rina Cole.
“But as dense as these shrubs are, the light wouldn’t be seen from this side.”
“Probably not.” When she started toward the front of the house, Riley fell in step beside her.
“What next?”
She shrugged, not really sure herself. “While we’re here, I’d like to take another look at the scene. Whoever fired that shot must have been hiding behind the bush. I’m almost sure the muzzle flash came from the edge of it.”
“The police have trampled all over that area looking for the gun.”
“I know, but I want to see it just the same.” They linked up with one of the brick paths that wound to the front of the house. “It might help me remember something else—a movement, a sound, anything.”
The police barrier was down, giving them free access to the area. When Delaney stepped over the pink and white petunias that edged the walk, her foot came down on bark chips. “Cedar mulch,” she said to Riley. “We wouldn’t have found any footprints even if the police hadn’t walked back here.”
“You’re right, unfortunately.”
Delaney turned to face the deck and studied the rail, trying to determine approximately where she’d been standing that night. Shifting sideways, she moved behind the tall bush, visualizing in her mind the reverse angle.
“I think this is it. You stand here, Riley, while I go up on the deck and see.”
“Okay.” He took her place and Delaney maneuvered around him back onto the walk. She was halfway to the steps leading to the deck when she heard Riley say, “Bingo,” in a soft, discovering voice. “Hey, Delaney,” he called immediately. “Come look at this.”
She came quickly. “What is it?”
“Come around here and see.” He motioned for her to come behind the bush. When she did, he put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to crouch down. “I remember you said the muzzle flash was lower. See that.”
“See what?” She stared at the deck rail, scanning the wood face of it for a bullet hole.
“The leaves.” He touched the end of a twig. “What does that look like to you?”
She refocused her eyes on the twig’s green leaves, barely a foot from her face—green leaves that were peppered with black. “Powder burns,” she whispered, then looked at Riley.
He winked at her. “Thank God it hasn’t rained.” He pulled his radio from its holster and said into the mouthpiece, “Vance, get that cop up here on the double.”
She looked at the leaves again to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks with her, then straightened from her crouched position, and released a long, relieved breath.
“Maybe this will convince the prosecutor someone did shoot at Lucas.”
“I don’t see how they can accuse us of planting it.”
“Me either.” She glanced at the deck. “Wonder where the bullet went. With all that glass, I’m surprised it didn’t break a window.”
“I think the police will have another search on their hands,” Riley said.
“And I think it’s time we found out where Rina Cole was Saturday night between eight-thirty and nine.”
“I think you’re right.”
At that moment, Lucas Wayne walked out onto the deck. “Delaney.” He broke into a smile. “Toby said he saw you outside. When did you get here? Why didn’t you let me know?”
“We were busy.” She hesitated and threw a quick glance at Riley. “You can finish up here without me, can’t you?”
“Sure.”
“In that case, I think I’ll get a cup of coffee.”
He nodded, the light in his eyes letting her know that he guessed she wanted to sound Lucas out on a few things, like the gun. “Save some for me.”
“I’ll try.” She headed for the steps. “You do have some coffee made, don’t you, Lucas?”
“Wyatt just made some.” He met her at the top of the steps.
“Where is Wyatt?
“Taking a shower. I know—” He held up a hand to stave off any lecture. “I shouldn’t have come outside without him. The truth is—I tend to be a bad boy when you’re not around.” He flashed her another one of his wicked smiles and hooked a hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the glass door to the living room.
“Why am I not surprised?” she countered.
“Maybe because you know me.”
“You could be right.” She opened the door and waved him through ahead of her, then followed him inside. “Where is Arthur?”
“Still sleeping, I guess.” His hand found its former resting place on the ridge of her shoulder, guiding her across the white living room to the foyer and the kitchen beyond. “So—are you back to stay? Have they finally dropped the charges against you?”
“No. And I’m not sure they will anytime soon,” she replied, aware that finding the powder burns on the leaves only proved that someone had shot at Lucas.
Startled by her answer, Lucas faltered, his hand loosening on her shoulder. “What? Why? We found the gun—”
“There weren’t any fingerprints on it. It was wiped clean.” She stepped ahead of him into the kitchen. “More than that, the residue test showed that Susan hadn’t fired a gun.”
“Residue test. What are you talking about?” Frowning, he followed her to the counter where the coffee maker sat.
“Anytime someone fires a gun, an invisible residue is left on the hand. The police have a chemical test that will reveal whether there is any residue. In Susan’s case, there wasn’t
.”
Delaney said it all very matter-of-factly as she took a ceramic mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee, holding on to that emotional detachment that was so vital to maintain. “Want some coffee?” She held up the glass pot.
He stared at it blankly, then shook his head, his frown deepening. “No. But the gun Arthur found—doesn’t that mean something?”
“I think it was probably planted there”—Delaney hesitated deliberately and watched for his reaction—“by someone who thought it would help me.”
“Who? Do you know?” he asked. A little too quickly, she thought.
“No. But whoever did it, I wish they would admit it to the police. I’m already in enough trouble and the gun only adds to it.”
“My God, what a mess this is.” He turned at right angles and slumped against the counter, gripping the edge of it with his hands. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. Susan is dead and it’s my fault.”
“She was trying to blackmail you, wasn’t she?” She hadn’t meant to say that. It just popped out. She watched his head come up, saw the sudden stiffening of the muscles in his neck, as well as the convincing mask of surprised confusion on his face.
“What makes you think that?”
“I overheard some things she said to you, and read between the lines. I think she knew Toby was your brother. I also think she was threatening to make it public if you didn’t buy that painting she showed you.”
He stared at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads. “My God,” he whispered. “Is that why you killed her? To protect me? To protect Toby?”
Stung by his words, Delaney nearly retaliated by throwing the hot coffee in his face. Somehow she managed to push the mug from her hands onto the counter. “No, I did not. Like you, I thought she was Rina.”
“I’m sorry.” He shut his eyes and tipped his head toward the ceiling. “I don’t know why I said that. Of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t—you couldn’t have.”
She couldn’t stay angry with him, not when the same thought had crossed her own mind. But it made her sensitive—and testy. “It’s okay—”
“No, it isn’t okay,” he snapped and pushed away from the counter, taking two quick steps before stopping. “Don’t you see, Delaney, I’m the reason you’re in trouble. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? Then why the hell do I feel so guilty?” He turned back to her, his eyes dark and tortured. “Isn’t there something I can do? I want to help. Let me get you a lawyer.”
“I have one.”
“That local guy, Bannon? I’m talking about a criminal lawyer, one with a name.”
She couldn’t resist suggesting, “You mean like Matlock or Perry Mason?”
“Dammit, I’m serious, Delaney!”
“I know you are.” She smiled a little ruefully, regretting that she had made light of his offer. “Sometimes I need to find a reason to smile. It’s a way of coping, I suppose.”
“This whole thing has been rough on you.”
“It definitely hasn’t been easy,” was the most she wanted to admit.
Hearing footsteps, she glanced at the doorway as Riley came into view. “There’s still some coffee, I hope.”
In answer, Delaney took another mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. “All done outside?” she asked when she handed it to him.
“All done, at least for now.” He sipped at the coffee, then glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“Right here.” The tall and lanky John Wyatt walked into the kitchen, his sandy hair still wet from the shower. “Wouldn’t you know, I leave Lucas alone for ten minutes and the boss shows up.”
“Consider yourself lucky it wasn’t Rina Cole,” Riley replied, only half in jest. “By the way, I might as well warn you that you’ll have more company out here later today.”
“Who?” Lucas frowned.
“The police.”
“What for?” Wyatt finished tucking the tail of his blue sportshirt inside his slacks.
“Susan didn’t take a shot at you, Lucas, but someone did Saturday night. The police will be going over the deck and the front of the house to see if they can find any bullets.”
“What happens if they don’t find it?” Lucas wanted to know.
“That’s what I like—positive thinking.” Wryly, Riley lifted his coffee mug in a mock salute.
“Sorry, but the way Delaney’s luck has been running—” Lucas began.
“Then she’s due for a change.” Riley downed another swallow of his coffee, then glanced at Delaney. “Are you ready? Your dad’s probably pacing the floor, wondering why we’re not back yet.”
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
He took another quick drink of his coffee and set the mug on the counter. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t forget what we talked about, Delaney,” Lucas said, making no attempt to persuade her to stay longer.
“I won’t.”
Once they were outside, Riley glanced at her curiously. “What is it you’re not supposed to forget?”
“He offered to hire me a big-name criminal lawyer.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to take him up on the offer.” He dug the car keys out of his pocket as they approached the rented Lincoln.
“Amen.”
“Did you say anything to him about the gun being planted?”
“I did.” Delaney headed for the passenger door as Riley split away from her to walk around to the driver’s side.
“And?” he prompted the instant he slid behind the wheel.
“And—I would be willing to bet he knows how the gun got in that bush.” She buckled her seatbelt.
“In that case, let’s keep our fingers crossed his conscience works on him and he ends up telling the police.” He started the car and reversed it to head out the drive, then waited for the workmen to move out of the way.
“In the meantime, I want to find out where Rina Cole was Saturday night. We might as well start at her hotel.”
“First we have to stop at the condo.” Riley raised a hand in Vance’s direction as they drove past him onto the winding street.
“What for?” Delaney frowned in sudden suspicion. “I’m going with you, Riley.”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to convince you to stay with your father,” he said with a faint smile.
“Then why do we have to stop at the condo?”
“To change, so that when we ask our questions, we look official and intimidating.” He skimmed her with a quick side glance. “The newspapers have been carrying that photograph of you with your hair down. Better wear it up.”
An hour later they were back in the car, Riley in a dark business suit and an ultraconservative tie and Delaney in a crisply tailored navy suit with a shawl collar, her dark hair swept up in a french twist, and a pair of smoke-tinted sunglasses on her nose. They dropped her father off near the Jerome to explore his old haunts, promised to meet up with him later at the J-Bar, then went straight to Rina Cole’s hotel at the very base of Aspen Mountain, mere yards from the high-speed gondola that whisked passengers to the top.
Riley walked directly to the registration desk. “We need to speak with your manager.” He took a slim leather identification case from his wallet and flipped it open for the clerk. Taken by surprise, Delaney stared at the case, catching only a gleam of a badge and a glimpse of a very official-looking ID complete with a photograph.
The clerk took one look at it and backed away. “He’s in his office. I’ll get him for you.”
“Thank you.” He lowered the case, keeping a forefinger between the leather folds.
As soon as the young brunette was out of sight, Delaney murmured softly, not letting her lips move, “It’s illegal to impersonate an officer, Riley.”
“I’m legal,” he assured her, his eyes twinkling as he turned the ID case toward her, opening it slightly and shifting his
finger off the line that read Special Deputy, Los Angeles County. A title that was more honorary than official. Delaney nearly choked on a laugh.
“Don’t knock it,” Riley murmured. “It worked.”
“You better hope the manager doesn’t take a good look at it.”
“He won’t. People only get suspicious when you jerk it away,” he replied and proceeded to demonstrate the technique when the manager came, flipping it open and holding it chest-high but tilted down, making it difficult to read. “We understand Rina Cole is staying with you. Is that correct?” he asked, at the same instant distracting the manager’s attention from the ID.
“She is, yes,” he replied somewhat hesitantly.
“How long has she been here?” Riley continued to hold it up.
“Approximately a week. I can look up the exact date of arrival if—”
“That won’t be necessary.” He waved aside the offer, using the gesture to slip the case back in his pocket. “We’re interested in her whereabouts Saturday night.”
“Shouldn’t you be asking Miss Cole?”
“It’s standard procedure to verify all information we receive. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Of course. Unfortunately I can’t be of much help to you. I’m rarely here in the evenings—”
“Who is your night manager?”
Armed with his name and address, they went to the man’s apartment and got him out of bed. Still groggy with sleep, he barely glanced at Riley’s badge. Claiming he couldn’t remember whether Rina Cole had gone out any night, let alone Saturday night, he directed them to the concierge on duty that evening, Todd Blackwell.
After two hours of chasing around Aspen, they finally tracked Todd Blackwell down at the tennis courts at the Aspen Club. Delaney stood behind the low chain wire fence and watched a sun-bronzed blond in tennis whites poised on the back line of the near court waiting for his opponent’s serve. Tobacco smoke from Riley’s cigarette drifted to her on the afternoon breeze, warm with summer’s heat.
As she turned to ask Riley the score, the yellow ball streaked across the net. An ace. With a smiling shake of his head in defeat, the off-duty concierge, Todd Blackwell, jogged to the net to congratulate his opponent. The game was over.