Death By A Dark Horse

Chapter Seventeen

  I burrowed deeper under the warm comforter the next morning and examined my mood. Not great, but also not awful. Best to put off thinking about it until I'd eaten and had coffee, just in case I was mistaken. While the coffee brewed, I padded down the hall to the living room and stole a look out the front window. The absence of the black Mercedes made me feel a little less tense, so I showered, washed my hair with a new shampoo that smelled like apples, and wondered about Randy and Melanie Rucker. Could either have killed Valerie? The motive was so classic it was a Hollywood staple. But however angry Melanie was, wouldn't she be going after Greg first? Wouldn't a mother's knee-jerk instinct be to protect her child? Still, it was a possibility. Perhaps she believed Greg cared for Jacquelyn. Perhaps Jacquelyn herself dissuaded her mother from taking her anger out on Greg. Of course, Melanie might have simply chosen the easier target.

  After a bowl of instant oatmeal and a quick cup of coffee, I dressed in my old jeans and a t-shirt that said, "If this shirt is clean, my horse is still dirty," slid my feet back into the pink bunnies, and plugged in my hairdryer. As I looked in the mirror, comb to my short brown hair, I stopped. The notion that barely surfaced at the grocery store wouldn't be held back any longer.

  Damn. I didn't want it to be Donna. She was a good person who cared about people, gave back to the community, and had been virtually robbed of her retirement.

  No, definitely not Donna.

  In five minutes my hair was dry, styled, and no longer smelled of apples. I went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee to go with my anxiety over my client and friend.

  It was obvious I needed information if I was going to put my worry to rest. I needed to tap into the gossip mill. There were other factors, other people I hadn't considered. I knew of one reliable source who would talk to me, too. Someone who wouldn't assume Donna had a motive.

  I turned on the computer and began downloading files from my clients. Time to multitask. I phoned Peggy, Donna's partner, hoping to catch her at home, confident I could learn something from her since she worked for the Everett Times. While the phone rang I peaked out the front window. Joey was back. Terrific. But before I had much opportunity to fret, Peggy answered. Being tactful required all my attention.

  "Can't say I ever thought of you as interested in gossip," Peggy said, when I asked what she knew about Valerie.

  "I'm not, normally." My face grew warmer, and I was glad she couldn't see. "This involves me, personally. Can this be 'off the record'? I mean, can what we say stay between us?"

  "Thea," Peggy said, laughing. "I'm not a reporter. I'm a copy editor. I wouldn't give a reporter a lead on a story to save my grandmother. I doubt they'd listen to me anyway. They do their best not to on a daily basis. I'll tell you what I can, but I'm not sure I can be much help. What do you want to know?"

  "I'm trying to find out who had reason to kill Valerie." I ran a damp palm down my blue-jeaned thigh.

  "Huh. Doesn't exactly sound like a job for 'super-accountant.' Call me crazy, but I think this is where the cops come in." She sounded cautious.

  "The police think I have a motive." My words rushed out like a confession.

  "You? So you turned to the dark side, huh? Do you think they'll let you do our taxes from your jail cell? It's so hard to find a good accountant these days."

  "Peggy, I'm serious!"

  "Sorry, girlfriend, but I can't imagine why the police think you killed her."

  "Me neither, but I'm afraid I look convenient to them. Donna told me about the Ruckers, but is there anyone else whose problems would have been solved with Valerie's death?" Had I worded that carefully enough to make it clear I wasn't asking about Donna?

  "Let me see. Besides Melanie, who might have taken more of a giant leap out of her long-suffering wife role than a weeping meltdown at the horseshow, and gone totally LEO -- oh, that's Low Earth Orbit --"

  "Huh?"

  "Ballistic, insane, quantum anger. Keep up, girl. Anyway, the thing is, I don't know. Valerie always played on the edge. But besides thinking she was all that plus a family sized bag of chips, she was careful, or calculating enough not to cross any line that would mess with her ambitions of Olympic gold."

  "Meaning?" Dirt, Peggy, give me dirt.

  "She wasn't into drugs, to the best of my knowledge, or things that could get her arrested. Her father hushed up all the nasty stuff about her, too."

  "What nasty stuff?"

  "Gossip, affairs with married men, and at least a couple of miraculously dismissed civil law suits. You ever wonder how she happened to get that primo piece of real estate over on Carpenter Road? If that was totally above board, then I'm Tina Turner."

  I jumped out of my chair and walked to the window with the cell phone pressed hard against my ear. Now we were getting somewhere. "How did he manage to silence all that?"

  "He owns the paper. When he tells us to jump, we all say, 'yessir, how high?'"

  'Oh, I didn't realize you worked for him. I thought he was in some kind of real estate development."

  "Yeah, that too. He owns several business interests, and a few well-placed individuals."

  "Do you know who? Do you think Valerie was caught up in any of his shadier deals and someone got carried away trying to get even?"

  "Hard to say. Verifiable information like that is difficult to come by. I would think he'd keep his daughter out of those things, but we know she could get a little ambitious on her own."

  "Hmm." I fisted my hand in my hair as I paced. I needed more.

  "I got something to say to you, Thea. Donna didn't kill Valerie." Her words stopped my feet. My jaw sagged. "I don't want to find out you're trying to get out of something by pushing it off on her. You'll lose our business and anyone else's I can talk to. And you're going to have to deal with me."

  "No, Peggy. That's not what I meant to imply --"

  "I'm just saying." Her tone made me flinch.

  Crap. I'd alienated a client and friend. "I'm really sor --"

  "And something else you should know. Your sister was the one who tipped off Melanie about Randy and Valerie. She must have some serious grudge if she'd stoop that low."

  That little piece of news all but knocked the air out of my lungs. "I didn't have any idea," I choked out.

  "Thought you'd want to cover all your bases." Her voice held a hard edge.

  I groveled, to excess. By the time I'd hung up, I'd mollified my client but wasn't sure about the friend. I slumped in my chair, feeling battered, spent, and humiliated. And clueless. However, I knew as insensitive and thoughtless as Juliet could be at times, there was no way she could have killed anyone or deliberately goaded someone else into it. How had Peggy gotten hold of that information about my sister? It had to be rumor. On the chance there was some truth to it, I'd make a point to chat with Juliet later about her lack of quality decision-making skills.

  In the interest of "covering all my bases," I dragged my thoughts back to Frederick Parsons's less than legal inclinations. Unfortunately, it occurred to me if Valerie's death was connected in some way to her father's business dealings he would have figured that out by now, and in all likelihood acted decisively. The fact that he continued to have Joey watch me offered proof enough he was no closer than me to discovering who killed his daughter.

  I sighed and turned back to my computer. There was work to do, and if I wanted to get away for dinner this evening with Andrea I needed to get to it or spend the weekend catching up.

  But my own work was disappointing me as well. The second client I worked on showed the same lack of return on an investment. The situation was becoming too familiar. I was tired of seeing intelligent people make unintelligent mistakes.

  This one included excess paperwork, as he always did, so I sifted through it to find out what had gone wrong. Sure enough, the prospectus was there. High yield investment described to make it sound like a slam-dunk. It was Greg's company, but it was Sarah Fuller's business card stapled to the inside of the cover
.

  Sarah's clients were losing money.

  At least some of them were. It wasn't a crime for your clients to lose money or make bad investments unless you intentionally steered them in that direction. Could that be happening here? I was willing to bet that the client whose taxes I had done on Tuesday, and who also showed evidence of a loss, invested in the same fund. Why didn't people do their homework before handing over large amounts of money to a stranger? Sure, Snohomish is a small town, and people tended to be trusting -- a fact that could tempt nefarious individuals -- but people also tended to talk. Bad enough for any business to make mistakes, but to deliberately pursue what was not in one's client's best interest was idiotic. I needed to schedule some official chit-chat with the feds very soon. Jeez. More problems. Just what I needed.

  With the weary feeling of déjà vu, I called my client, got his voice mail, and left a message that sounded, perhaps, a wee bit more like a lecture than necessary. I did promise to help him out, but really, he should know better. I returned, once again, to my computer and spreadsheets.

  A knock at my front door diverted my concentration from taxes. Irritated, I pushed away from my desk, went to the hallway, and jerked the front door open.

  Greg.

  With speed born from shock, I flung myself into reverse, attempted to do the same to the door, and ran.

  He caught the door with lightning reflexes. It rebounded off his hand and crashed into the wall.

  "Wait, Thea! Sorry. Wait. Sorry."

  I stopped in my office doorway, my heart crashing into my ribcage, and face him, hand on the knob, knowing I could slam my office door in his face and lock it before he even thought about putting a foot into my house.

  "Please. Sorry. I only came by to apologize for my behavior on Monday."

  I eyed him, not believing his words. But, he didn't look crazed. He looked like he'd come from his office. His well-cut dark gray suit and maroon silk tie would have made Jonathan envious. Still ….

  "Apology accepted. You can go now."

  "I don't suppose you'd invite me in?"

  "You suppose right."

  He scratched the back of his head and moved his gaze to the doormat he seemed rooted on. "I guess I deserved that."

  I didn't answer.

  "Listen." He looked at me again. "I also meant to ask if you wanted Blackie back."

  "What?" I blinked.

  "Blackie. I don't want him. Valerie's parents are letting me have a lot of her things because we were engaged, but I really don't want another horse."

  "You -- what?" If he'd strung a bunch of random words together he would have made more sense.

  "I'm willing to sell him back to you. Fifty thousand. It's half of what you got for him."

  My jaw dropped. Now I understood, and I quaked with rage. "That bill of sale was fake, and you know it."

  Greg shook his head. "No. It's quite real."

  "You bastard, you son-of-a-bitch. You took that to the sheriff. You made it up and took it to the sheriff." The small amount of my remaining sanity kept me from running at him and beating him senseless.

  He shook his head and tsked. And he smiled, cold and small. "Such language. Do the math. Count the beans. There are other people who'd pay four times that for him. You're getting a deal, BC."

  "Fuck you. He's not yours."

  "Watch your mouth, little lady."

  The phone rang.

  "Get out of my house."

  "Think about it."

  My fingers curled into a fist. The phone rang, again.

  "I'm a patient man, but even I have my limits. You'll see it my way." His gaze held mine in an unmistakable threat.

  "Out."

  His lip curved in a mean twist and he gave me a little salute as the phone rang for the third time. Then he turned and strode off my porch. I dashed to the front door, slammed it shut, and locked it. I answered the phone with a shaky "hello" after the fourth ring, recognized Uncle Henry's voice, and burst into hiccupping sobs.

  "Thea, what's wrong? What's happened?"

  "Greg was here!"

  "I'm on my way." Anger clipped his words. From the shuffling sounds coming over the line I knew he was putting on his coat.

  "No, no, I'm fine. Greg's gone. It's Blackie." I continued to cry, barely able to choke out words, desperate to protect my horse. "Greg -- he thinks he owns him. He's trying to sell him to me. He might try and take him!"

  "I'm coming to get you."

  "No," I sniffed. "I'm okay. Keep Greg away from Blackie."

  In the background a door slammed then Aunt Vi spoke. "He's calmed down now, Henry. Thea's safe, isn't she?"

  "Blackie!" I yelped. "He's hurt Blackie --"

  "No, no one's hurt your horse -- yes, Vi, she's fine." He addressed me again. "He was just acting a little strange and Vi was sure there was a problem --"

  "Like last time?"

  "Not quite. More whinnying than running. Are you quite sure you're okay?"

  "Yes."

  "All right then, don't worry about Blackie. We'll lock the gate and keep an eye out. Paul said he was going to be staying in Seattle through the weekend, so we'll know to be suspicious if we hear any vehicles. If I were you, though, I'd call Mr. Green. Can you do that?"

  "Yes." I sniffed again.

  "Good. I expect he'll tell you to call the sheriff, but you'd best talk to him first. I can come over if you want."

  "No, don't. I'm okay now." I took a shaky breath. "I'll call Mr. Green and then I need to go over to Copper Creek."

  "I don't care for this, Thea."

  "Just protect Blackie. Please? I can take care of myself."

  After fielding more protests from my uncle I called Mr. Green. As luck would have it, he'd just arrived at his office and was free. Back in command of myself, more or less, I explained what Greg had said about the bill of sale and his implied threat.

  "I think it's time we took a restraining order out against Mr. Marshall," he said. "Don't worry about your horse. He'd have to prove the bill of sale is real and I doubt he can do that. I'm mostly concerned about his harassment of you. He seems to have it in for you for some reason. Were you two lovers or anything?"

  "Absolutely not. You don't understand, we have to protect Blackie. You may not think he's at risk, but --"

  "I'll take care of the restraining order. If you see Mr. Marshall around town, go the other way."

  "Well, of course. But Blackie --"

  "Oh, and if you see him around your house call the police. And tell your uncle to do the same if he shows up at his place."

  "Okay." Finally, he understood.

  It was nearly noon, so I made a quick sandwich and left for Copper Creek to pick up the weekly receipts. Juliet had gone out to eat with Eric, so Delores was alone in the office having lunch. I sat in Juliet's chair and gave her the news about Greg's latest visit while she wrote out the deposit slip.

  "That moron," she said, picking up the cup of soup and spoon she'd set aside. "What does he want your horse for?"

  Duh. "Money would be my guess."

  "He must be dumber than I gave him credit for if he thinks you'd pay for your own horse. I think he's trying to torment you."

  "What did I ever do to him?" I whined.

  Delores put down her cup of soup and looked at me over the top of her glasses.

  "He still seems to think you had something to do with Valerie's death. He was a wreck at the funeral."

  "You'd think he'd want the real killer caught instead of going for the most convenient person. Did you hear about that mess with Melanie, Randy and Jacquelyn?"

  "Oh, that's old news." She shrugged and began double checking the deposit slip.

  "Well, not that old. I didn't know about it until I talked to Donna."

  Without looking up from her tally sheet she said, "Thea, you're the only person I know who can be unconscious and still have her eyes open."

  I shot her a useless scowl. I noticed things. Lots of things. I pushed the "c
rime of passion" theory I'd formulated. "I think there's a chance the Rucker family is involved. If Greg had any brains, he'd think so, too."

  "Oh pish. You think Greg would deliberately walk in front of a train? He'd give all his information to the police. Greg wouldn't take on Randy. I doubt he's got a death wish. Randy's what, six-four? He's easily two-hundred pounds of solid cowboy."

  "Well, maybe there was such a blow-up after my sister broke the news that one of them lost what little sense they had left."

  Delores pursed her lips and regarded me for a long moment before answering. "Found out about that, did you?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't think Juliet got that ball rolling, Thea, despite the yelling it reportedly started. This wouldn't be the first time he's been caught out, and I doubt he'd have felt too inconvenienced promising to give up Valerie. He wasn't wearing her like tight jeans because he couldn't find another pair. Melanie's full-time job is beating off the bitches in heat."

  "She didn't manage to beat off Valerie. Or maybe she did."

  "Let's get back to Greg and this bill of sale." She pushed the deposit slip and checks at me to double check. "I don't like all this business with Blackie. Let the police deal with who may have killed Valerie. You're the one I'm concerned with. You're getting dragged into something that should have nothing to do with you, and I don't know why. How about I have Jorge stay with you until things get sorted out?"

  "I don't think he needs to. My house is pretty secure. Besides, I don't have anywhere for him to sleep."

  She grumbled something about me being overconfident while I finished reviewing the deposit slip. As usual she'd made no errors. Huh. Money. Barn. An idea popped to the surface of my mind. "Where do you suppose Randy got the money for the improvements on his place?"

  "A bank."

  "But would a bank lend him money if his business was going down hill and the buildings were falling apart? What if he went to Valerie for the money? Kind of convenient of her to die -- no one to pay back."

  "Now just how would you go about proving that theory, Thea?"

  "Well, I'd ask --"

  "No, you wouldn't. The police will handle it. You're a small dog in tall weeds, girl. I'm going to send Jorge over tonight. He won't mind sleeping on the couch."

  "No --" A knock on the door interrupted me.

  Miguel came in without waiting for Delores's holler. "I need to talk to you. Both of you."

  "What's up?" Delores asked.

  "I have been thinking about this -- trying to decide if it is important. It might be. Last night, about ten, me and a couple of the chicos from Green Gate Farm went for a beer over at the tavern up from the Texaco station on Birch Street. You know the one I mean?"

  Delores and I nodded.

  "There was a man, a middle-aged white guy, waving bills around and buying drinks for everybody. He was pretty drunk and bragging about how he was getting rich driving a horse rig around." He looked at us meaningfully.

  "You're thinking he was the one who drove Valerie's rig?" Delores asked.

  Miguel nodded. "I think it is possible."

  I could barely contain my excitement. "Do you think he'll be there tonight?"

  "Maybe. I never saw him before, but I do not go to that bar too often. Maria does not approve."

  I didn't imagine she did, since the bar he was referring to, The Broken Axle, had a reputation for hosting a rough crowd. The bar was a regular feature in the Police Blotter section of the local paper. I chewed my lip, thinking.

  Delores looked at me suspiciously. "What are you planning?"

  "I don't know. Maybe if we find out who hired the guy we might have an idea about who killed Valerie. They have to be connected."

  "Interesting idea for the police to look into," Delores said.

  Miguel frowned. "No. I cannot allow you to go, if that is what you are planning. It is too dangerous for a woman alone. You should tell the police."

  "You should go with me," I said, ignoring his suggestion. The police would surely think his was flimsy evidence, at best. "Can you remember what the guy looked like?"

  "Yes, I think I would recognize him again. And no, I will not take you."

  I gave him my best wide-eyed innocent look.

  "Oh no you don't, missy." Delores tipped her head at me.

  I put my hand on Miguel's arm, disregarding Delores. "What if we go over about ten. Is that too late for you?"

  "No, ten is not too late," he said, although his expression looked uncertain.

  "It certainly is," Delores commented.

  "Well, you're not going."

  "You're obviously planning on going. Miguel obviously won't let you do this alone, and if I don't go there obviously will be trouble. Besides, Maria will have a fit. We'll go earlier."

  "Can't. I'm meeting Andrea for dinner. Anyway, if he didn't show up until late last night I think our best bet would be the same time frame. He might have a job that keeps him busy until then. But you don't need to go."

  Delores snorted. "Yes, I do."

  I grinned at her. Miguel's moustache twitched and the corners of his dark eyes crinkled. Delores gave us both a resigned look. This felt right. I knew we were on to something.

  I stopped at the bank to make Copper Creek's deposit before going home. Once back in my neighborhood I drove around the block twice, checking my rear-view mirror constantly and examining all parked cars. Satisfied neither Greg nor Joey were hanging around, I parked at the curb, waved to my neighbor, who'd been watching me from her living room window, and made a dash for my house. I lost my momentum on the last step to the porch. A light breeze lifted the single sheet of newsprint taped to my front door, then allowed it to settle back. I snatched the thing off my door and searched for the circled words. This time there were three. "You're not listening," it said. The name of one person came to mind. Sarah Fuller. The little twit. She didn't scare me, although she was starting to annoy me. Disgusted, I crumpled the paper into a ball and nearly tossed it into my yard before realizing I'd be the one picking it out of the bushes later. I unlocked the door and went inside.

  Just to make sure Sarah wasn't planning something terribly Hollywood, like popping out of a closet with an ax in her hand, I checked the rest of my rooms. Convinced no one was there but me, I returned to my office. I had work to do. I would not waste my time with people who couldn't find more mature ways to express themselves than having temper tantrums and leaving stupid notes.

  I worked steadily until five, then called my uncle to check on Blackie's well-being. At five-fifteen, satisfied my horse was safe and secure, I was in my car and headed for Bellevue and The Cheesecake Factory. I didn't bother to check for company. If Greg or Randy showed up I'd call the police. If Joey joined me, he could pay for dinner. And Sarah? Well, she could write me another note.