I didn’t sleep well, not even after I checked the triple door locks several times. I had poked a hornet’s nest, but the problem was I didn’t know what or how. Was it about Vince Margoletti’s shady dealings? I didn’t have any information that wasn’t already published, and the president of Lynthorpe already knew about that. Was it something about the two lists? I couldn’t see how that could be because I only talked about it with Gabby. Not so, my inner voice reminded me. You brought it up in your meeting with Rory Brennan, the meeting you had just left when your car was rammed.
I tossed and turned with the implications of that for a few hours. When I finally fell asleep, I had unsettling dreams that left me more tired in the morning than when I closed my eyes at two a.m. After another hot shower at six, which only proved I was sore and achy, I got back in bed to watch it get light and to face up to the fact that I was in trouble. Whoever killed Gabby, and maybe Larry Saylor, was literally aiming at me now. Did I have to solve her murder in order to save myself?
Okay then, my inner voice said, we’re in this for Gabby and for us. Not that I planned to play cop, but from this moment on, it would be my highest priority to help Detective Kirby and the local police force find the bastard who killed her. The first thing would be to call Kirby and tell him what happened.
Of course, he wasn’t available. My forward momentum banged up against reality, but I left a message that it was urgent, called down for coffee and a big basket of pastries because I needed strength, and focused on polishing the parts of the report for Brennan that I could do easily. I’d deal with the two lists later, when I could call Margoletti’s accountant in California, assuming I could find his name and number in the bulging set of papers I now had. In the meantime, I called the car rental company. They didn’t like it, but agreed to deliver a replacement and pick up the damaged one. There was a lot of talk about insurance.
Finally, I pushed everything on the hotel room desk to one side, stacked up my notes and sat down at my laptop to write my final report in sections. My boss, Peter, was right. I would include enough of my concern so that no one could come back later and complain I hadn’t given them fair warning should this gift turn out to be less than it seemed. The consultant works at the pleasure of the person who hired her, though, and I’d heard Brennan loud and clear. He intended to run with Margoletti’s offer in the absence of a screaming red flag. I dug in and only came up for air when the last of the room service coffee was cold and the phone rang.
It was Detective Kirby returning my call. He listened to my tale about the hit and run drivers, and asked why I hadn’t filed an accident report. I told him I’d been too flustered and, anyway, the mystery car had long since disappeared.
“Traffic accidents didn’t usually get reported to me, even when I’m not on rotation as the lead officer in a murder investigation.” He sounded impatient, even annoyed.
“I know that, but there’s more.” When I added the information about the anonymous call, he was silent for a minute, then said he was going to send someone over to get a full report from me and see if they could find out about the call from the hotel switchboard. Maybe the recording was still available.
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“No more than I recognized the car, although I have to say the car, or at least the kind of car, seemed familiar.”
“Okay, you tell that to the officer I’m sending over. Any detail is worth giving us, seeing as how you’ve been threatened.”
“May I go home soon?” I said. “I can be easily reached there and I don’t feel safe. Whatever’s going on around me is a hell of a lot more complicated than my simple assignment was.”
“We’d prefer you stay in Bridgetown a little longer, Ms. O’Rourke. We’ve got a lot to sort out and you’re pretty much in the center of it.”
I started to protest, but he talked right through me. “I may need you to identify someone if we pick up the other driver, or to corroborate something a suspect tells us about the Flores shooting, and I know you don’t want to have to turn around and fly right back if that happens in the next twenty-four hours.”
He had a point. I hesitated, but realized I could stay locked in my room when I was alone and get the consulting recommendations done. I’d be relieved when I could hand the business over to Brennan and be done with the project.
When I got off the phone, I checked my email. Peter’s assistant, Dorie, had emailed an hour before to say Peter needed to talk to me. Teeni had sent me a heads up that Dickie had called late yesterday to ask if I was back at Lynthorpe. I looked at my watch. It was ten in the morning here, only seven in San Francisco, but Dorie and Teeni were already moving at top speed.
My cell rang as I was polishing off the last of the crumbly pastry, and when I checked the caller I.D., I did a double take. Teeni might be up and functioning at seven, but no way would my ex-husband be. Unless there was something catastrophic he had to tell me. “Dickie?”
“Ah, sunshine, there you are. Actually, where are you?”
“At the hotel in Bridgetown, working on the Lynthorpe job. Is something wrong?”
“That’s why I’m calling you. I heard someone got killed at Lynthorpe last week and I got to worrying. You do have a way of getting in the middle of things. Tell me you were far away when it happened, please.”
“Actually, I was down the hall—”
“I knew it, I damn well knew it. Geez, Dani…are you okay?”
I wanted to say I was fine. I wanted to tell him I could handle this on my own and that he didn’t need to hover. But instead I heard myself saying, “It’s a mess and a tragedy. The police want me to stay here and…” My voice wobbled and I had to stop and swallow hard. I had been holding everything at bay, but yesterday’s drama increased the stress more than I realized until that moment.
“I’ll be right there,” Dickie said.
“I’m in New England, remember? But thanks.”
“And I’m at my school reunion. I arrived last night. Are you at the hotel right downtown? Stay put and I’ll be over in thirty minutes max. Don’t move.”
I sat motionless for a moment on the edge of the bed. Dickie here. A shoulder to lean on, an ally in a strange place. That was the soothing part. Dickie, though. Overly protective, pushy, untrustworthy, mercurial, as likely to complicate things as to help. I sighed. I would maybe have lunch with him, tell him part of what had happened, not so much he would get ideas about how to help, because that was when having him around was too much like letting an untrained puppy loose at a pool party.
The hotel phone rang and Coe Anderson’s assistant wondered if I could meet the dean of the liberal arts school for lunch. I told her I was already booked, and, after asking me to hold, she came on again to suggest a quick dinner tomorrow. “It will have to be early,” the assistant said. “The dean has a faculty meeting later in the evening. The recent incident on campus has everyone in overdrive.” I bet it did. I agreed, and she said he would meet me at my hotel.
I’d hardly hung up when there was a knock on the door. The distorted image of my ex through the peephole was almost enough to make me laugh. Dickie is a handsome man, but these weird, tiny windows do funny things to foreheads and noses, and it cheered me up to see him staring back at me looking like a particularly geeky character in a sitcom.
He knew better than to hug me. A squeeze of the arm was as close as he got these days, which was good since I was still sore. I was glad for the friendly contact and for the physical presence of someone who was in my corner, and I told him so. “It’s been awful,” I said as he took the room’s only chair and I plopped down on the edge of the bed. I filled him in on what I knew happened to Gabby, and explained the possible connection with her research on Lynthorpe’s big donor.
“Is that why you were asking about J.P.?” he said. “I wish you’d told me everything last Sunday.”
“No, actually that was entirely different. Peter’s trying to work a connection to a collector’s heir and thought the polo-playing Margoletti might do.”
I shared the concern all three college executives had expressed about finishing up my consulting work quickly.
“I can’t believe you’re mixed up in another suspicious death,” he said, having waited with uncharacteristic quiet while I ran through the details. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were bad luck. Ah, don’t cry, I was only kidding.” He handed me a tissue and started pacing. “Okay, so no more talking to the cops. I’ll call Jerry—you remember him, right? He’s so networked it’s crazy. He’ll know the best lawyer in the area. We’ll get him on the team right away.”
“Lawyer? Why do I need a lawyer?” I said, blowing my nose. “Or a team, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t do anything, Dickie.”
“You know how it is, cupcake. These small town cops want to close the investigation quickly and you’re an outsider. What’s simpler than to point at you?”
“Without a motive? Without a gun? Because she and I were meeting before it happened? I don’t buy it, and, Dickie, wouldn’t it make me look guilty to refuse to help and to hide behind a lawyer? I want them to catch the bastard.”
“Only if you were guilty. I’m going to call Jerry right now.” Which, being Dickie, a man well known for lack of impulse control, he promptly did.
While he was persuading his buddy’s assistant to drag her attorney boss out of a meeting, I debated with myself. Dickie’s perspective was a welcome dash of cold water. I had been muddling around in a daze, wanting to help but not thinking clearly about my own position. Charlie had warned me too. For once, I thought, I’m going to listen to their advice. I would call the police and explain my friends had advised me to lawyer up, not because I was guilty, but as a sensible precaution. I also needed to call the airline, to change my reservation again.
Dickie was talking, presumably to Jerry, when there was a sharp rap on the door. I went to the peephole again, but there weren’t any laughs this time. It was my new best friend, Officer Clayton McManus, mirrored shades and all. I groaned as I opened the door.
“Hi there, ma’am. How are you today?”
“Busy, actually,” I said without opening the door too far.
“Detective Kirby instructed me to escort you down to the police station so you can file a report on that hit and run.”
“I’m not sure—” I began.
“Hold it, hold it,” Dickie shouted, jumping up and waving with his free hand. “Not you, Jerry. There’s a cop here. Don’t move, Dani. No Jerry, she’s not being forced. Wait a minute, you.”
This last to McManus, who had transferred his mirrors to my ex and moved his hand to his utility belt, a maneuver I didn’t like.
“Sir, who exactly are you?” Macho Cop said, taking a step into the room.
“I can explain,” I said, but was drowned out by Dickie talking to all of us at once.
“He’s in the room, Jerry, he’s in the room. Dani, sit down. You, you, what do you think you’re doing? My wife isn’t going anywhere.”
“Ex-wife,” I said, but I wasn’t sure anyone heard me.
“I’ll ask the questions,” Macho Cop said, dropping his voice half an octave as he went into what I assumed he picked up from TV as the role of the manly policeman. Or, maybe he was still channeling Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Ma’am, if you’ll come with me—”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Dickie said, dancing over to stand between me and McManus. I was thinking that this room wasn’t really large enough for three people to walk around in when a new head poked around the doorframe.
“Pardon me, but should I make up the room now?” said a thin, middle-aged woman with steel gray hair and a vacuum cleaner hose in one hand. She glanced curiously at the tall cop and Dickie.
“It’s probably not the best time,” I said from my position behind Dickie. She nodded sagely and backed away. The door swung shut behind her with a click.
Dickie was still on the phone with Jerry, explaining the situation in overly dramatic terms that made it sound as if the policeman had handcuffs and pepper spray out and ready. I did a double take. Actually, he was now holding a can of something and was trying to speak loud enough to be heard over Dickie.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you one more time to put the phone down and tell me who you are. You are interfering with police business, sir. Put the phone down.” Macho Cop had a booming voice when he chose, and he had used it on Dickie, who stopped moving all of a sudden.
“Um, okay, Jerry. I will, but only if…okay. But…okay.” A sudden quiet descended on the small space. Dickie looked from the pepper spray to Macho Cop and back to the can. “Okay, officer, no need to shout,” he said.
I cleared my throat into the silence. “I can explain, officer. My friend was on the phone with a lawyer and…” I ran out of explanation.
“He says he’s your husband,” Macho Cop said, holstering the pepper spray carefully.
“Ex-husband,” Dickie and I said at the same time.
“Uh huh. And he needs a lawyer?”
“Of course not, but Dani does,” Dickie said. We were both sitting on the bed and I kicked his leg. “Well, she doesn’t need one, really. She didn’t do anything, but she should have one, just in case.”
“In case? For a hit and run report?”
“What?” Dickie turned to me with a look of such horror that I couldn’t help myself. I began to laugh and once I started I couldn’t stop. Both of them stared at me in what I assumed, through my tears of laughter, was complete confusion. Twice, I started to say something, only to dissolve in involuntary giggles again.
When the fit had passed, I took a deep breath and let it out into a completely silent room. “Look, this has gotten far too complicated. Dickie, my rental car was hit at an intersection in town yesterday and this officer came to take an accident report.”
Dickie opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “It was a minor accident, I’m fine. Officer, are you sure Detective Kirby wants me to go to the station? That’s not what he said when we talked.”
“Yes, ma’am. He gave me the command personally.”
I wondered if Kirby already had information about the anonymous caller, but thought I’d keep that whole part of the incident to myself, at least until I heard what he had to say.
“I’m happy to speak with the detective. After that, we’ll see what legal help I do or don’t need. Dickie, I promise I’ll be careful, but the sooner I talk to him, the sooner I can clear this up once and for all.”
I stood up. Dickie protested, saying Jerry would call back right away with the name of a local attorney. I said that would be great and that I’d be the first to holler for one if the circumstances merited it. I told Dickie to come looking for me if I wasn’t back in an hour, grabbed my bag, and marched out without looking at Officer McManus, whose attempts to be important were beginning to get on my nerves. A great body was not enough compensation for his movie-cop dramatics. “Order me a cobb salad,” I called over my shoulder. “Iced tea, no sugar. See you downstairs in an hour.” There are times when action is called for, and I had reached the snapping point somewhere around the moment the pepper spray appeared. I was pissed, and Kirby was about to hear me roar.