Death Takes a Ride (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #3): A Novel (24 page)

“You’re still thinking about going down to Nevada or Arizona with him?”

Lily shifted in the car seat and ignored the question. “Look, I want to thank you for telling me about the restraining order and how to do it and everything. I think it got through to Dirk. That’s what his sister said when I talked to her, anyway. So I really appreciate it. I tried to call and thank you.”

“I’m glad I could help.” But . . . “How did you get my phone number?”

“Andy got it somewhere. I don’t know where.”

Great. Now she was on a killer’s friend’s speed dial? Not that her number would be all that difficult to locate, but why had Andy bothered to do it?

“I guess I’m surprised you and Andy are still together,” Cate said.

“He doesn’t have any place else to go.” Lily sounded mildly frustrated, as if Andy were a stray creature that had wandered in and she hadn’t the heart to shoo him away. “But he keeps saying he’ll have all this money coming in soon. I guess that stupid old motorcycle really is worth more than it looks like.”

“He’s talked to Mr. Halliday at H&B about buying it?”

“They’re haggling over price or something. I keep telling Andy he should just do it, but he says the longer he holds out, the more the guy will pay.”

Cate tapped the 7UP can against the steering wheel. None
of this corresponded to what Halliday had said, which was that he hadn’t talked to Andy Timmons at all. Was Andy stringing Lily along by telling her some pie-in-the-sky story about a big chunk of money coming in soon?

Cate didn’t reveal that Halliday had said he’d had no contact with Andy, but she asked, “Do you suppose it could be someone other than Mr. Halliday who’s interested in the bike now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Who knows? Andy likes to play games with his little secrets. Or maybe it’s the truth he plays with. If he ever does get any money, I’m going to tell him, ‘Great! Now take it and get your sorry butt out of here.’”

Cate blinked at the wording, but she figured the meaning was definitely a good idea.

“What I wanted to talk to you about is something to do with Andy. Actually, a friend of his,” Cate said carefully. Lily, for all her snarky remarks about Andy, might reverse directions and get defensive if she thought he was threatened.

“You said before you’re not police.” Lily made a suspicious question out of the statement.

“I’m not. But in this situation I’m working on, I came across the fact that Andy knew Mace Jackson, the guy who shot the man at Mr. Halliday’s place of business.”

Lily straightened her slouch on the car seat. “Who says Andy knew him?”

Yes, definitely a hint of challenge or even hostility. Cate knew she had to maneuver carefully here.

“I talked with someone who saw Andy and Mace together at a bicycle shop here in town.”

“Why would they be at a bicycle shop?” Lily scoffed. “Andy wouldn’t ride a bicycle if you gave it to him.”

“Mace Jackson was into bicycle racing,” Cate said. “Apparently he also used a bicycle as his main transportation.”

“Weird. I haven’t ridden a bicycle since I was, oh, like twelve.”

“I’m wondering if you knew him too?”

“You said his name was Mace something? Like in that stuff the police use in riots? Is that his real name?”

“It’s what he was using.”

“Why would anyone name a baby Mace?” Lily wrinkled her nose. “If I’m ever a mother, I’m going to name my baby something nice. Darcy if it’s a girl. Shawn if it’s a boy.”

Cate gave a moment’s thought to baby names. She rather liked Jacob. Or Mark. Maybe Eli. Definitely not Mace. Had Mitch ever thought about baby names?

Mental whack. How did they get off on this rabbit trail? Was Lily deliberately sidetracking her? Cate yanked the subject back to where she wanted it.

“Did you know Mace Jackson? Or hear Andy mention him?”

Lily shook her head negatively to both questions, but when Cate added the description, Lily’s eyes widened within their framework of black eyeliner and sooty eye shadow.

“Hey, yeah, I remember
him
. I never heard his name, but I remember those awful skulls on his hand.” Lily flexed her fingers. “He was at the trailer with Andy one time when I got home from work. We used to live in a trailer my brother owned. But I guess you knew that, didn’t you?” She spoke as if knowing too much was a definite flaw in Cate’s character makeup.

“What was Andy’s connection with him?”

“They’d been smoking pot in the trailer. I could smell it. I was really mad. Andy had promised he wasn’t into dealing or
even using anymore. I kicked ’em all out of the trailer right then and there. But Andy had money the next day, and I was pretty sure he’d gotten it from selling pot to that Mace guy.”

“Was Mace from around here? Or how did Andy know him?”

“The guy wasn’t living here in Eugene when he was at the trailer. I remember because I asked. I wasn’t about to have him hanging around all the time. I think he’d come down from Corvallis or somewhere up there.”

“Salem?”

“Could be. Andy and him knew each other from somewhere before. Maybe when Andy was growing up down in California. But I don’t think they were really good friends. He even got Andy’s name wrong and called him Artie once. And I don’t know why he was here in town when he was at the trailer.”

“Mace Jackson’s name was in the news after he shot Mr. Blakely in the robbery attempt, and was then shot himself by Matt Halliday. Did Andy have any reaction to that?”

“I don’t remember any.”

So Andy wasn’t shedding tears or stomping around in outrage about his friend’s demise at Matt Halliday’s hand. But maybe he was even then working on the old theory of “don’t get mad, get even.”

“It seems odd, when the shooting at H&B happened, that Andy didn’t even mention he knew the guy or that you’d met him too,” Cate said.

“Andy doesn’t tell me things he figures I don’t want to hear.” Lily’s eyes narrowed, but then, with her usual ambivalence about Andy, she added, “He says it’s because he doesn’t want to worry me unnecessarily.”

Right. Andy the noble-hearted protector of the weaker sex.

“Why are you asking all these questions anyway?” Lily demanded. “What difference does it make if Andy knew this Mace guy?”

Cate pulled a copy of the threatening note out of her purse and handed it to Lily. “This is a copy, of course. The original, using words cut out of a newspaper, was sent to Mr. Halliday at H&B.”

Lily studied the copy of the note as if it were a lengthy treatise, not just seven words. “And you think that just because Andy knew this guy, maybe
he
sent the note?”

“I don’t necessarily think that. But I am investigating the situation.” For the very first time, Cate pulled out her brand-new official identification card and held it up for Lily to see.

“You mean you
are
with the police?” Lily asked, her voice both shocked and accusing.

“No, we’re a private investigative agency. No connection with the police.”

Lily grabbed the identification card. “So I don’t have to answer your questions if I don’t want to.” Lily flipped the official identification card back to her, apparently unimpressed, and Cate felt mildly deflated.

Lily picked up the copy of the note again. “What does it mean in here, ‘con man’? Is this Halliday a crook or something?”

“Customers sometimes think they’re getting ripped off even if a business is entirely honest and ethical.”

“Yeah, I guess. Last weekend some woman was screaming about our charging way more for some cereal than they do at Safeway.”

Cate nodded. “Exactly.”

Although she had to admit it was possible H&B had pulled some shady deals. She remembered Uncle Joe telling
her that just because someone hired you didn’t mean the client was necessarily a good guy. Bad guys could hire an investigator too. She couldn’t think, given Matt Halliday’s pickiness and work ethic, that he’d take any shortcuts on a car restoration. Kane Blakely she wasn’t so sure about, however. Big gray area there about the company’s ethics and workmanship.

“So has anything happened to Mr. Halliday?” Lily’s question sounded more like challenge than concern.

“Someone tried to run over him in a parking lot.”

Lily shrugged. “Big deal. Andy practically got run over a couple of nights ago too, just crossing the street near our apartment. The world is full of idiot drivers.”

“Whoever tried to run Mr. Halliday down was driving a light-colored pickup,” Cate said.

The implication wasn’t lost on Lily. She squirmed in the seat and pulled the tight tank top away from her body as if she’d been hit with a sudden heat wave.

“That doesn’t prove anything! There’s a zillion light-colored pickups. There’s one right over there.” Lily jabbed a finger in the direction of a battered tan pickup on the far side of the parking lot.

Given Lily’s now hostile attitude, Cate figured this interview was over, but she dropped in a final all-purpose question. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Something I may have forgotten to ask about?”

“No.” Hesitation. Lily eyed the building, as if she’d like to jump out of the car and run back to work. “Well, maybe. There was another guy at the trailer that day with Andy and Mace. Biker guy.”

“A friend of Andy’s?”

“He was there with Mace. Zig somebody. Right after my
brother moved his trailer into town for me, before I met Andy, I ran around with a biker guy. He and Zig were friends.”

Although Cate’s first thought was that Lily could possibly use some counseling on boyfriend selection, she didn’t say anything. Being involved with motorcycles and motorcycle people was not a character flaw, as Mitch had pointed out to her.

“Did Zig recognize you at the trailer too?”

“I don’t think so.”

Cate found that hard to believe. Lily’s looks weren’t traffic-stopping, but her bleached-blonde hair, nightclub makeup, and curvy figure did not fade into the woodwork.

As if hearing that unspoken thought, Lily said, “I had brown hair and weighed a lot more then. Anyway, I never told Andy I’d met Zig before.” She wrinkled her pert nose again. “He’d make a federal case out of it for sure.”

“Do you have any idea how I could get in touch with Zig?”

“Why?”

“Because it seems likely some friend or business associate of Mace Jackson is out to get Matt Halliday. If this Zig was a good friend of Mace’s—”

Lily jumped on that possibility like Octavia on a morsel of tuna. “Maybe
he
sent the threatening note!”

“I’d like to investigate that.”

“Bunch of biker guys used to hang out on Saturday nights at a place called the Midnight Logger out in the sticks down near Lorane. I was there a few times.” Lily sounded eager to supply information now, anything to divert suspicion away from Andy. “Somebody there would probably know if Zig was still around.”

Cate wasn’t familiar with the town, but Mitch probably was. “What kind of place is this where they hang out?”

“Bar. Live music. Restaurant. Little grocery store. Gas station. Lots of testosterone and ego and black leather. Fights in the parking lot.”

Maybe not a five-star rating.

“Could you give me a description of Zig?”

“Short, but heavy built. Tattoos all over both arms. Bald. I don’t know if that was natural or he shaved it. Usually he wore a bandana tied over it, you know, like bikers do. Heavy beard, kind of grayish. He usually wore a fancy black vest, with about a mile of fringe. And a heavy gold chain with a coiled snake engraved on the pendant.” With an unexpected smile, she added, “You know, your average biker guy.”

Lily went silent then, and Cate wondered if she was reconsidering the wisdom of supplying this information.

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

Cate drained the last of her 7UP and handed the empty can back to Lily. Oregon had a nickel deposit on cans. “I really appreciate your taking the time to talk to me today. I hope everything works out fine with the restraining order on your ex.” She reached for her seat belt.

Lily held the two cans on her bare thighs, as if it were important the tops lined up exactly even. She made no move to get out of the car.

“Andy’s been acting . . . funny lately. I’ve been kind of worried.”

“Oh? Funny how?”

“Like he can’t sit still. Jumpy. Like a little kid who can’t wait for Christmas to come. Or cranky-jumpy. Like my ex when he was trying to quit smoking. But sometimes the opposite of cranky. I don’t know what you call it—”

“Euphoric?”

“Yeah. Like he’s high on something.”

“Maybe he is,” Cate suggested. The possibility seemed logical to her, but Lily slammed the cans down on her thighs as if Cate had made an outrageous accusation.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she snapped. “You’ve had an easy life. Andy hasn’t. The chance to sell the bike and have a little money for a change really means something to him.”

Lily had a final parting shot when she slid out of the car.

“Maybe I
will
go to Nevada or Arizona or wherever with him when he gets that money!”

“Lily, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll send you a postcard.”

The door slam rocked the Honda like twenty big bikers hitting it all at once.

26

Cate drove by the garden center at Fred Meyer on her way home, but it was hard to focus on the comparative assets of Early Girl and Big Boy tomato plants. Or whether she wanted regular or burpless cucumbers.

Questions from her conversation with Lily kept interrupting. Were Andy Timmons and Mace Jackson good enough friends that Andy was planning vengeance for Mace’s death? Perhaps had already tried it once in the parking lot? Or was Zig, or maybe some other shady buddy of Mace’s, the note sender? Or did Zig even exist? Maybe quick-thinking Lily had invented him on the spot to divert Cate’s attention away from Andy.

Cate didn’t really make a decision about plants. She grabbed a half dozen Early Girls, another half dozen Big Boys, zucchini, and both kinds of cucumbers. On the way to the cash register she also tossed in green pepper plants.

At home, she changed clothes and impulsively picked up the phone before going out to the garden. This call didn’t have anything to do with Andy Timmons, but then, this was how PI work went. You peered through various keyholes until you found something helpful.

A woman answered.

“Marilee?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but your name came up in connection with some work I’m doing, and I thought perhaps you’d want to know that Kane Blakely passed away a few days ago.” The response was total silence, and lamely she added, “Or maybe you already knew?”

“No, I-I didn’t know. Who is this?”

“My name is Cate Kinkaid. I’m a private investigator in Eugene.” In spite of everything, Cate took satisfaction in being able to say it that way. Private investigator, without any qualifying “assistant.”

“What happened to Kane?”

Cate explained about the shooting during the attempted robbery at H&B. “Mr. Blakely was in a coma after he was shot, and he never came out of it.” She added the details of his burial and non-service.

“I—thanks for letting me know. This is such a shock. It’s hard to believe someone would just shoot him—” She broke off and hastily added, “I mean, I do believe you, of course. It’s just that we don’t think of something like this ever happening to someone we know.”

“When did you last talk to him?” Cate asked.

“I’m not sure . . . maybe six weeks ago.”

“There’s something I’d like to ask if you have a moment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“As I said, the man who shot Kane was immediately shot to death by the other H&B owner, Matt Halliday. Your ex-husband, I believe?”

“Yes. I went back to my maiden name Hardee after the divorce. We don’t have children and don’t keep in touch.”

“The thing is, Kane’s shooting was first taken to be a rob
bery gone bad, not an intentional thing. But now there’s been a threat against Mr. Halliday. So what I’m wondering is, do you know anyone who might harbor a grudge against both men, personal or professional?”

“I don’t know anything about any grudges. I didn’t know much about the business even when Matt and I were married, and I’ve never talked to him since the divorce.”

“Did Kane ever mention problems, business or personal?”

“No. Kane helped me when I decided to leave Matt. He didn’t
encourage
me to do it,” she emphasized. “He just helped me. Emotionally and financially. Finding a lawyer too. Since then, he’s called occasionally to make sure I’m okay, and we have . . .
had
dinner once in a while when he was here in Portland. But it was never anything more than friendship, if you’re wondering.”

“I guess maybe I was wondering,” Cate admitted. “And are you ‘okay’?”

“I’m doing fine. I work with an interior decorator, creating one-of-a-kind items for her clients. Kane connected me with her too. Matt thought my interest in arts and crafts was on the level of . . . oh, kids finger painting with mustard on a kitchen wall.” She managed a small laugh.

“So you don’t know anything about any problems in the company, unhappy clients or employees, anything like that?”

“I know Kane and Matt had troubles within the company,” Marilee said. “That was the biggest reason they decided to split the business into two locations.”

Cate hadn’t heard that before. Her impression was that the men had simply wanted to expand the business. “What kind of troubles?”

“You name it, they disagreed about it. They were just so different. Kane was—did you know him?”

“No.”

“Flamboyant. Very outgoing. He liked the limelight. Liked showing off the cars they restored. Liked—what’s that word? Schmoozing with people. Everybody was his friend. Matt is much more . . .”

“Stodgy?”

“I was going to say reserved, but stodgy is probably more accurate.” Marilee started to laugh but broke it off as if remembering the serious nature of this call. “Where did you say you got my name and number?”

“From Candy, Kane’s ex-wife. It was in some of Kane’s things.” Cate didn’t elaborate on how Candy got into those “things.”

“I’ve been remiss in not being in touch with Candy. She was always friendly and nice. How is she taking Kane’s death?”

“Harder than she lets on, I think. You knew they were divorced, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Kane told me. Relationships are complicated, aren’t they? I’ve been blessed with a good life since Matt and I divorced.”

“Would you mind if I tell Candy that?” Cate asked.

“Not at all. I should have contacted her myself a long time ago. But, to be honest, I’ve wanted to put that whole era of my life with Matt behind me.”

“This is kind of a personal question, but was there abuse in the marriage?”

A quick intake of breath, then big dead silence. “You mean physical abuse?”

“Physical. Mental. Emotional. Any of it can be abuse.”

“What makes you ask about abuse?”

PI intuition? Lucky guess? Stab in the dark? “Sometimes it’s my job to ask unpleasant questions.”

Another long moment of silence, as if this might be a door Marilee would rather not open. Finally she said, “Whatever happened back then is over and done with. I’ve wound up feeling sorry for Matt, actually. He’s not a happy man.”

“Have you hidden out from him because you think he might retaliate against you in some way for leaving him?”

“I’m not hiding out,” Marilee protested. “Matt could find me if he really wanted to.” After a moment’s thought she added, “I’m not the doormat person I was then. I could stand up to him now. But I don’t see any point in making myself readily available for an unpleasant confrontation.”

“That’s probably wise.”

“Or maybe it’s a convenient rationalization,” Marilee admitted. “Anyway, I have a good life now. I’m even . . . seeing someone.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m just so sorry about what happened to Kane. Why would anyone try to rob H&B? I don’t think they ever kept much cash there.”

“I think that’s true, but there happened to be a considerable amount of cash there that particular night.”

“I wonder why?”

Cate hesitated, briefly wondering about the ethics of giving the ex-wife a detail that hadn’t been released to the public. Cautiously she said, “I believe it was intended as a loan to Kane.”

“So Kane did decide he had to ask Matt for money!”

“You knew about a loan?” Cate asked.

“Kane told me he’d had some ‘business reversals’ and might have to borrow some money.” She paused. “No, he phrased it differently. He said get ‘
another
loan.’ Then he laughed and said something about trading one loan shark for another.
And I can imagine, if he was borrowing from Matt, he’d pay a loan shark interest rate.”

Perhaps the loan wasn’t such an all-out generous gesture on Halliday’s part, then?

“Did Kane ever mention a gambling problem?”

“Gambling? No. But I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if he did have one. Kane was always a big risk taker.” After a reflective pause, she added, “A gambler with life, you might say. I remember him driving in a demolition derby once. And skydiving.”

“It seems possible that gambling debts were the reason Kane was borrowing money from Halliday.”

“And someone outside the company knew the loan money would be there at H&B that night?”

“That seems to be a big possibility,” Cate said.

“It seems odd either of them would have told anyone about the loan or the cash being there that night.”

Exactly. “Well, thanks for talking to me. If you should happen to think of something that might be helpful in my investigation—”

“Exactly what
are
you investigating? The man who killed Kane is dead, and Matt shot him in self-defense, so . . . ?”

“There’s been a threat, a written threat, on Matt Halliday’s life too. It could be just a crank thing. Crackpots come out of the woodwork when sensational crimes happen. But it may be for real,” Cate said. “I’m trying to find out who made the threat before the person makes good on it.”

“And you suspect me?”

“It crossed my mind,” Cate admitted. “My mentor in the PI business occasionally reminds me that you have to be suspicious of everyone.”

“Interesting occupation.”

“Anyway, if you think of anything, I’d appreciate a call.” Cate added her landline number.

“I’ll do that.” Unexpectedly Marilee added, “You be careful too.”

“Me? I don’t think anyone’s out to get me.”

“It’s Matt you’re working for, isn’t it? Trying to find out who’s out to get him?”

“Yes.”

“If someone thinks you’re getting close to finding out who that person is, you could be a target too,” Marilee said.

Yeah. Right. That thought had slithered around in Cate’s head too, though she hadn’t let it burst right out in the open. Someone might want her out of the way before she identified him. And that someone might be Andy Timmons.

“As you said, be suspicious of everyone,” Marilee added.

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

Cate and Mitch got the plants tucked in the ground. While they worked, she filled him in on her conversations with both Lily and Marilee. Clancy proudly produced his “buried treasure” when they were picking up their tools for the day.

“Hey, it’s a shoe,” Mitch said.

Clancy gave up his treasure willingly enough, and Mitch dangled it from a finger. A hint of glamour remained. Ragged leather that had once been gold colored, remnant of an ankle strap, a stiletto heel of some apparently indestructible clear plastic material with a gold cloverleaf embedded inside.

Mitch laughed. “Not yours, right? I can’t imagine you ever wearing something like this.”

Right. Definitely not Cate’s style. Although, for a moment, it was a little depressing to think that such a fanciful shoe
would never be mistaken for hers. But suddenly Cate realized who
would
have worn such a shoe. Amelia. The woman who had once owned both Octavia and this property was older, four times married, but determinedly hanging on to her long-gone youth with glamour clothes, sexy shoes, and a younger man.

A woman who was also dead. Murdered. Right here. The shoe had nothing to do with that, and yet . . .

Cate didn’t believe in dark omens, but there was something about this buried treasure coming to light just now, so soon after Marilee’s warning, that shot a shiver up her back. Would someone someday find one of her shoes buried somewhere, find it long after she was dead? Murdered?