A Dawn of Death (25 page)

"Maybe he just reached his limit." Josie added with obvious relish, "And he snapped and killed Sheryl in a blind rage. Her showing up with her bulldozer right across from his retirement community and rubbing it in his face could have been the last straw."

Betty's hands stilled. "You know, much as I don't want to think Sheryl was murdered, Josie does have a point. Wes Quattrone is not a nice person. We've heard some terrible stories about him from Daisy." Betty nodded in the direction of the puzzle lady, whose face was a bit contorted with the effort of trying to answer Geoff's questions. "Not the sort of uplifting things that Geoff is hoping she'll tell him about either. Wharton Meadows is lovely, but Wes is a jerk with a bad temper."

Josie peered around the room before leaning toward Helen and whispering, "And he's connected. Mob, you know. He didn't have to kill Sheryl himself. He could have hired someone."

"I don't know about that," Betty said, "but I do wonder if he might not be on the up-and-up. Annie mentioned having to deal with an IRS audit of the retirement community's returns last year. It struck me as odd because Annie's such a good bookkeeper. I would have expected any tax returns based on her work to be squeaky clean."

"It was probably just the luck of the draw." Helen had been through a few audits herself when she'd been married. Nothing had come of them, but it had been a stressful experience, triggering a brief but annoying lupus flare each time. Having a facial rash that made it look like she was constantly blushing didn't exactly present the right picture to the auditor. "Still, I'll ask about it when I talk to Lily to see what she can find out about the retirement community's finances."

"What about Paul Young?" Josie said. "Have you met him? He's in charge of the Park and Rec Department."

Helen nodded. "He gave me some pea plants."

"That sounds like Paul," Betty said. "A very generous man. No way he could have killed Sheryl."

"Hey, no fair," Josie said. "You can't keep information from Helen just so you can win our bet. Everyone knows that Paul killed someone once. It was an accident and all, but it's not like he's a saint."

Helen couldn't trust everything Josie said. She did tend to make up stories about people, although they were usually based on some germ of truth. Betty was less inventive. "Is that true?"

"No one knows exactly." Betty's hands stilled, and she paused for a moment. "He definitely hurt someone once. Badly, but I don't know if it was fatal. There weren't any official charges, but it happened on tribal land, so it's hard to get any solid information."

"Still," Josie said, "Helen's got to consider him a possibility."

"If Sheryl was killed," Betty said, "and I'm still not conceding that she was, it's more likely it was one of her competitors. If you look through the archives of the
Wharton Gazette
, you'll find a dozen other developers from here and the surrounding towns who've lost out on big projects to her. Some of them weren't happy about it either. Claimed she'd cheated and bribed her way to success."

"Did she?"

Betty and Josie exchanged a glance, and then both shrugged. Betty answered. "I think she was just good at her job, knowing how to make a development palatable to the review boards. But you should know that politicians aren't always as resistant to bribery and other illegal forms of persuasion as they should be."

"I'll see what I can find out about her business competitors then." Helen checked the clock on the wall, confirming that it was time to leave. "Including Wes Quattrone."

*   *   *

Jack pulled up next to the sidewalk in front of the entrance to Wharton Meadows, a few feet from that awful crosswalk sign. "I don't like leaving you here alone," he said. "Not after what happened when you crossed the road yesterday."

"I'll be fine," Helen said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "I really don't need you hovering over me."

"I never hover," Jack said, his voice reflecting just how much of an affront to his professional-driver's pride that would be. "I'll go find a parking spot, and you can text me when you're ready for me to pick you up."

Like he'd need her to do that, Helen thought. He'd be back here and waiting for her before she could even turn on her phone. "There's no need to wait for me. You'll be late to pick up Jay and Zee at the airport if you don't leave now."

"It wouldn't hurt them to have to wait a few minutes," Jack said. "Their flight will probably arrive late anyway. I don't really need to leave for another half hour or so. I'll text them to let them know I got delayed."

"That's really not necessary," Helen said. "I may be here for a while, and when I'm done talking to Quattrone, I'm going across the street to check on my garden, even if I have to do it from outside the barricades. I'll ask Tate to pick me up. He's away from the studio already, so he shouldn't mind swinging by here on his way back there for lunch."

"What if he's busy and doesn't answer his phone?"

"Then I'll call Barry." He was the only cab driver in Wharton who met Jack's stringent requirements for driving Helen. "I haven't talked to him in ages."

"Not since Vic Rezendes was killed, and Barry bailed on you."

"He wouldn't have left if I was in any danger," Helen said. "I'm perfectly safe with him."

Jack grumbled something unintelligible before his professional-chauffeur demeanor reasserted itself. "Whatever you say, Ms. Binney."

Jack had barely left when a dark SUV pulled up next to Helen.

The window rolled down to reveal Detective Almeida behind the wheel. "I thought you were going to keep a low profile."

"I am," Helen said. "I thought you were looking for Sheryl's killer."

"I am." Almeida made an annoyed face. "Or at least I was, until Peterson sent me here to make sure everyone was observing the police line. I'd consider it a big favor if you'd refrain from confessing to me if you just left your garden plot."

"Don't worry. I know better than to cross the police line."

Almeida snorted. "What you know is the legal thing to do and what you actually do are often two completely different things. I can understand your choices, but it's my job to warn you to stay out of trouble."

"I consider myself duly warned. Not that I'm doing anything wrong. I'm just here to have a quick chat with the owner of Wharton Meadows." She realized that might not sound good if the police also considered Wes Quattrone a suspect, making it obvious that she was looking into who might have wanted to kill Sheryl. Helen stretched the truth a little, adding, "Quattrone has a scale model of the expansion plans, and Annie wanted me to consider what good things could be done with the land if the garden was moved to a different location. I didn't have the heart to turn her down."

"I don't see why not," Almeida said with a grin. "You've got a reputation for telling people to leave you alone."

"I'm only blunt with people who can handle it or who won't listen when I try being nicer. But Annie, well, I think she gets bullied by her husband, and that makes her susceptible to other people doing it to her. Dale certainly does, although I doubt she means to. In any event, I don't want to take advantage of Annie's susceptibility."

"Fair enough."

"Actually, I meant to ask you about Annie and her husband," Helen said. "I know he's verbally abusive toward her, but I was wondering if he'd ever gotten physical. Has anyone ever reported him to the police?"

Almeida shook her head. "Not that I know of. But I've only been DVO a short while. I haven't combed through the old records."

"Thanks anyway."

"Be careful," Almeida said. "I've got specialized training, and I still take backup with me when I'm dealing with a potential abuser. No matter what anyone tells you, it's almost impossible to predict who will get violent and who won't. Oh sure, there are always warning signs that make sense in retrospect, after someone's been beaten. But before that? Things could go either way. People who think nothing of displaying their tempers in public aren't necessarily the ones who get violent in private. And vice versa. The ones who are pleasant in public may be vicious in private. You can get hurt if you convince yourself you can predict whether someone's dangerous."

"I'll keep that in mind." Helen hadn't intended to provoke Quattrone, just take a look at the model of his expansion, which he'd wanted her to see. "My own immune system causes me enough pain. I never go looking for more."

*   *   *

Considering that Wharton Meadows catered to an older demographic that included a significant number of people who had arthritis and bad hips, the straight-backed wooden visitors' chairs outside Quattrone's office were extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps intentionally so. He'd seemed far more interested in Helen's political connections than in the possibility that she'd be a resident someday.

Quattrone's mousy administrative assistant had explained that her boss wasn't in his office yet but would probably be back in the next half hour or so. It was obvious the assistant didn't have authority to let anyone into the office while he was gone, and Helen didn't want to make the woman's job any more unpleasant than it undoubtedly already was, so she didn't ask.

Helen fidgeted in her seat, trying to ease the pain in her hip. She would not let the discomfort keep her from being here when Quattrone returned from lunch. She was determined to get another look at the scale model of the Wharton Meadows' expansion plans. Unfortunately, it was beginning to look like that meant she wasn't going to get back to the cottage by 1:00 for lunch with Tate.

She texted Tate to let him know she'd been unavoidably detained, but perhaps they could do dinner together if he could pick her up at the garden.

Helen fidgeted some more and considered whether the door to Quattrone's office was locked or if he relied on the assistant to keep everyone away. The woman was certainly well trained—in a less charitable mood, Helen might have said, "well indoctrinated"—to carry out what appeared to be very limited duties. She answered the phone by way of a headset, took messages, and typed intermittently on her keyboard. Cory's young intern probably had more responsibilities than this woman did.

It wouldn't really help Helen if the door were unlocked. Despite her improved health, there was no way she could win a race to get inside Quattrone's office. Not even with a substantial head start.

Helen considered postponing her viewing of the scale model just long enough to stretch a bit by walking across the street to the garden. She'd like to know if the remaining pea plants were still alive. She could take a quick peek and then come right back. If Quattrone still wasn't here then, she'd settle in to wait until he did come back.

She was just about to push herself to her feet when she heard a siren-like wail. At first, she thought it was the little black sports car again, but then she realized there were several competing wails, and they appeared to be getting louder, coming toward the retirement community.

After just a few seconds, Quattrone's assistant spoke into her headset. "Hi, Diane. What's happening out there?"

The sirens cut off suddenly. It sounded like they'd stopped just outside the entrance to the Meadows. There weren't any windows in the reception area, leaving Helen even more eager to get inside Quattrone's office where she'd have a panoramic view of Lee Street.

"The boss is going to have a fit," the assistant said into her headset. "He said he'd have Dale arrested the next time she staged a protest here."

There was a pause, and then the assistant glanced at Helen before saying, "I can't leave my desk. Someone's waiting to see the boss."

This was her chance, Helen thought. If she could convince the assistant to abandon her post and go watch whatever was happening outside, then Helen could find out if Quattrone's door was locked.

"I was just about to leave," Helen said. "I'll come back later when things calm down. You don't need to miss out on the excitement just to babysit me."

The assistant hesitated briefly and then told the person at the other end of the line, "I'll be right there."

Helen made a show of struggling to her feet and then flopped back into the chair. It was only partially an act. Helen grunted and waved her hands at the assistant in a shooing motion. "Don't mind me. It just takes me a moment to get my feet under me. You go on ahead. I'll be right behind you. Well, not
right
behind you but as close as I can manage. You'll miss all the excitement if you wait for me."

"Are you sure you can stand without help?"

Helen realized she'd overplayed her hand. "Oh yes." She stood slowly, taking long enough that she'd barely made it to her feet by the time the assistant had locked her computer and desk. Helen took a tiny, tentative step in the direction of the exit. "I just need time to build up some momentum." She took another painstakingly slow step.

"If you're sure you're all right…" The assistant trailed off, looking longingly in the direction of the exit.

"I'm sure," Helen said. "Trust me—I'm used to moving slowly and carefully. You go on now. And let your boss know I'll be back later to see him."

The assistant hesitated, so Helen took another slow step and gave an exaggerated sigh as if she were relieved she'd managed to move that far, that quickly.

"Just be careful," the assistant said. "And I'll see you later."

As soon as the assistant had gone around the corner, Helen spun, not as fast as she might have done just a couple of days ago, but considerably faster than the steps she'd taken for the assistant's benefit. She jogged over to Quattrone's door and tried the handle.

Eureka!
It was unlocked.

Helen glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being watched, but there was no one in sight. She pushed the door open and slipped inside.

 The lights were off, but the windows let in more than enough light to illuminate the office. It only took an instant for Helen to confirm that there were no wetlands whatsoever on the model, not where they'd been in Cory's replica and not replicated anywhere else on the property.