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

“Where will you take him?” Shirley asked.

“Sacred Heart, RiverBend. Are you his wife?”

“No, but I’m coming along.”

“Sorry, but you can’t ride in the ambulance, ma’am.”

Cate offered a quick prayer for Blakely as they carried him out on the stretcher. Shirley had to grab Clancy to keep him from running after them, but she looked ready to run and jump in the ambulance herself, no matter what the EMT said. Was there some relationship between them that Shirley hadn’t mentioned? She turned to Cate.

“Can I use your car?”

“Well, uh, sure, I guess so.” Cate dug in her pocket and fished out her keys.

“Hey, you can’t leave,” the younger officer objected. “We need to get your statement—”

Shirley snatched the keys out of Cate’s hand. She gave the officer a defiant try-and-stop-me glare and barreled past him to get to Cate’s car through the warehouse. He turned to look at Cate as if this were somehow her fault.

“And you are . . . ?”

“Cate Kinkaid. I’m just an, um, acquaintance.” Abandoned now, Clancy came over and thrust his nose into the hand of the only person remaining that he knew, Cate.

“We’ll get to you later,” the older officer interrupted. “Don’t leave before we get your statement.” He turned to the body on the floor again.

Two more officers arrived. They herded Halliday, Cate, and Clancy into the outer office and repeated the don’t-leave instructions. She had a chance to give the sales and reception area a more thorough inspection. A counter and cash register, shelves, and several spin-type display racks with fuses and miscellaneous small parts, a computer on a desk behind the counter. More posters of vintage cars. A long shelf held gleaming trophies. She caught a glimpse of her own car as it zipped by with Shirley at the wheel.

She turned back to the action in the other room. She couldn’t see all that was going on around the body on the floor, but she knew the general procedure. Photos, measurements, bagging of both guns, bloody jacket, money, and anything else that might be relevant. No moving the body until someone from the medical examiner’s office arrived.

There were a couple of plastic chairs in a corner of the outer room, apparently for waiting customers. Cate nudged a still-dazed Halliday toward one. More lights were on now,
and the fluorescent bulbs overhead emphasized hard angles and shiny surfaces. And lines in a face.

“Can I get you something?” she asked Halliday. Shooting and killing someone had obviously hit him hard, even if he’d done it in self-defense. “There’s coffee out in the warehouse.”

“I don’t want anything.” Halliday’s throat moved in a convulsive swallow. “I shot a man. I
killed
a man.”

“You didn’t have much choice.” Cate’s cell phone tinkled in her pocket. Mitch, no doubt wondering where she was for their pizza date. She let the call go to voice mail. “Not everyone could have reacted as quickly as you did in such a scary situation. Or had the courage to do it.”

“Matt Halliday, hero?” His voice went croaky again. He shook his head. “Maybe, instead of shooting him, I could have . . .”

Halliday apparently couldn’t think of anything else he could have done, and neither could Cate, but guilt obviously swamped him anyway.

“I wonder how the guy got here?” Cate said. “I don’t see a car or any other transportation out there.”

Halliday gave a powerless lift of shoulder, as if rational explanations in this situation didn’t exist. “I can’t believe it. That someone just . . . waltzed in here and started
shooting
.” He stood up. “I’m going to the hospital too.”

He started toward the door, but an officer intercepted him. After a brief but heated discussion, the officer led him back to the chair and pulled out a notebook. He waved Cate to the far side of the room.

She couldn’t hear the officer’s questions, but she caught some of Halliday’s agitated answers about the money, how the gunman had gotten in, why they were here after hours, and the identity of the woman who had left.

Cate’s interview was considerably shorter. The officer didn’t recognize Cate or her name, but he did recognize the name of Belmont Investigations. Cate explained that her presence here tonight had nothing to do with her position as an assistant private investigator. His last questions were about Shirley, but Cate had no information to give about her. The officer gave her the usual line about contacting them if she thought of anything else and then told her she could leave now.

Sure she could. How? Saddle up ol’ Clancy and ride off into the night? Shirley had her car.

With a certain feeling of déjà vu, she fished out her cell phone and hit the top number on her contact list.

3

Mitch answered on the first ring. “I have a bad feeling about this call,” he muttered without preliminaries.

Sometimes Mitch had way too much intuition for a six-foot male with enough computer skills to hack his way into secrets of the universe. Although that hacking thing was long in the past, he’d assured her. High-school stuff. He was strictly legitimate now.

“I’m sorry I’m so late calling,” Cate said. “I couldn’t answer when you called earlier. Things were a little hectic here.”

“Hectic,” he repeated in a tone that suggested he suspected the word was a euphemism for something more dire. “Where are you?”

“At a place that restores old cars out on Maxwell.”

“Are you okay?”

“Nobody tried to kill or kidnap me, if that’s what you mean.”

“Given your past record, I’m glad to hear that. Although I think I hear a
but
, don’t I?”

“But I need one of your famous knight-on-a-white-horse rescue missions. Can you come get me?”

Dependable Mitch might occasionally be a little snarky
about her propensity for getting into difficult situations, but he didn’t demand explanations or even sigh before he now said, “I’m a little short on white horses, but I’m always available to aid a beautiful damsel in distress. Should I bring a weapon? Fire-fighting equipment? Maybe a safety net?”

“Do you own any of those?”

“No, but it’s a situation I should probably correct. I could acquire a gun. Or maybe I should have something with more firepower? A grenade launcher, perhaps?”

“Your snarkiness is showing.” Although Cate had to admit all the items on his list could have come in handy on past occasions.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Sorry.” He sounded at least semi-contrite. “But I know you, Cate. And I worry. I wouldn’t say you go looking for trouble, but it does seem to find you. An occupational hazard, I suppose.”

“This didn’t have anything to do with my being a PI,” Cate protested. “I just came to pick up a woman to take to the Fit and Fabulous meeting at church. But then there were some gunshots and the police and an ambulance came and then Shirley needed to use my car—”

“In other words, just an average day in the life of Cate Kinkaid, spunky assistant private investigator.”

“Soon to be Cate Kinkaid, fully licensed private investigator,” she reminded him tartly. Hopefully.

The state required a test of investigator competency from the Department of Public Safety Standards and Training, plus a certain amount of time working for a licensed private investigator. Cate had now successfully completed both, and the application for her own license had been submitted. Along with fingerprints, a surety bond, recommendations, photos, and a hefty fee.

Mitch didn’t comment on her coming change of status. He just asked again, “Where are you?”

Cate gave him the address on Maxwell. “It’s out past the residential area, a place called H&B Vintage Auto Restorations. You’ll know it when you see the police vehicles out front.”

“Police vehicles, plural. Why doesn’t that surprise me? How
many
police vehicles?”

Cate peered through the window. “Five, I think. Oh, wait, there’s another one turning into the driveway now.”

“Six! Impressive.”

“I just happened to be here. This isn’t a case.”

“Keep reminding yourself of that,” he grumbled, but he also added, “See you in a few minutes.”

Cate felt the weight of 120 or so pounds of dog leaning against her hip as she slipped the phone back in her pocket. She dropped a hand to Clancy’s big head. He looked up at her with those amazing blue eyes, now obviously confused and anxious with his master gone. What about Clancy for tonight?

“You can probably sleep out in the warehouse,” Cate comforted him.

She went back out to the warehouse to retrieve her purse, Clancy following like a shaggy shadow. Then she waited by the front door for Mitch, Clancy at her feet. Halliday came over and stood beside her, hands jammed in the pockets of his coveralls. Another vehicle arrived, unmarked this time.

“I’m sorry, I know we talked earlier, but I’m a little vague on who you are,” Halliday said.

Cate gave him her name and explained about being there to give Shirley a ride. She didn’t mention being a private investigator. Halliday’s skin was so gray and washed out that
she said, “You look as if you need to get out of here. Do you have to stay?”

“I don’t think so. Apparently they’re through questioning me. At least for now. But I think I should be here to make sure everything is locked up when they’re through.”

“I’d guess they’ll be here most of the night.”

Halliday groaned. “I don’t understand what they’re doing.” He glanced back at the office now crowded with officers and crime scene people. “They don’t have some big crime to solve here. The dead guy shot Kane, and I shot him to keep from getting shot myself. And Shirley too. No big mystery about any of it.”

“I think the police have to investigate any not-natural death, even in circumstances such as this, and it takes a while.”

“I’ll go over to the hospital, then. As soon as I think I can drive without running off the road.” Halliday held out a hand that was noticeably unsteady, then touched his stomach as if it too were in an uncertain condition. “I’ve never shot at anything but a target on a shooting range before. Hitting a man is different. Even someone who just shot your best friend. And some of the police questions were . . . disturbing.”

“Disturbing?”

“They almost sounded like accusations.”

“Accusations about what?”

“So many questions about the money. It feels like they think I shot the guy to protect the
money
more than in self-defense. I didn’t even
think
about the money. I just saw the gun turning toward me. And Shirley.” He hesitated a moment. “They had a lot of questions about Shirley too. How long she’s worked here, what her relationship with Kane is, all kinds of stuff.”

Cate remembered that the officer had asked her about Shirley too. Of course they were interested in Shirley. She was
a prime witness. And yet, looking at it from a police viewpoint, Cate saw a different possibility. Were they considering a conspiracy here, that Shirley could have told the gunman about the money, with a deal to split it? But Halliday’s quick action had thwarted that.

“It looked as if Mr. Blakely had way more hundred-dollar bills than people usually carry around in a pocket.”

“He did. Thirty-thousand-dollars’ worth. We got together tonight mainly to talk about closing down the Salem branch, but a few days ago he said he needed money, cash money, so I got it for him.”

Halliday spoke as if there was nothing unusual in this. You had a friend and partner, he needed money, you didn’t ask questions, you just supplied it for him.

“Company money?” she asked.

“No, it was a loan from my personal funds.”

They both moved farther away from the door as two more people in plainclothes arrived. One a detective, Cate guessed. The other probably someone from the medical examiner’s office. The media would no doubt show up soon to add their bells and whistles to the scene.

“Did he say what he needed it for?”

Another question that was definitely none of her business, although Halliday didn’t seem to notice. He shook his head.

“I didn’t ask. I figured it must be important, or he wouldn’t have needed it.” His gray face twisted in a grimace. “Though it probably has something to do with Candy. She’s a real leech.”

“And you have no idea how this guy in the ski mask could have known about the money?”

“All I can think is maybe Kane told whoever he owed money to that he was getting it here tonight. And then that person
blabbed it to someone else. Still sounds like Candy to me. She’s a big mouth, and no telling what kind of scumbag friends she has.”

No lost love between Halliday and Blakely’s ex-wife, obviously.

As if he’d heard Cate’s unspoken thoughts, he made a rueful lift of shoulder. “Sorry. I get a little hot under the collar about Candy. She did everything she could to alienate Kane’s kids and break up his relationship with them. And grabbed every asset she could get hold of in the divorce. She works for some politician there in Salem. Though she’s probably trying to snag him as a husband. But he’d better watch out. Candy may look like a trophy wife, but she’s more like a poison pill in spike heels.”

“Have you and Mr. Blakely been partners for a long time?” Cate asked.

“About five years. We’re not much alike, but we’ve been friends since way back in high school, when we were both running our old cars in the local drag races.”

Cate saw the gleam of the Corvette under the outside lights that had now been turned on, the workaday SUV a dull hulk beside it. “He’s a little more on the flashy side?” she guessed.

Halliday smiled at the way she phrased it. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But it makes for a good balance in our business. Me on the stodgy side. Kane flashy. He’s great at the promotion part of the business, meeting people and getting publicity. Last month he led a parade over on the coast in a ’57 Thunderbird we restored, and he’s won a lot of prizes with our restorations at car shows.” He waved a hand toward the shelf of trophies. “Me, I’d rather hide under the hood and work on an old engine than get out in public.”

A motorcycle turned from the street into the parking area. Cate recognized it immediately. She was momentarily surprised. She’d assumed Mitch would bring his SUV. She should have asked him to. But she knew she shouldn’t be surprised that he was on the Purple Rocket. He loved roaring around on that big two-wheeled machine. Sometimes it was hard to know where Mitch fit on a stodgy-to-flashy scale.

“It looks as if my ride’s here,” Cate said.

Then she hesitated. Her murder cases had slipped under Uncle Joe’s radar a couple of times, but he was still adamant that Belmont Investigations did not do murders. Yet this wasn’t murder, she rationalized. Blakely wasn’t dead, and Halliday had acted in self-defense when he shot the gunman.

“If I could be of any help . . .” She fished a business card out of her purse and handed it to him.

“You’re a private investigator?” Halliday said the words in that same astonished tone most people used when they discovered 30-year-old, 5'4", redheaded Cate was a PI.

“Assistant private investigator,” Cate corrected, as honesty always made her do. The thought occurred to her that once she was fully licensed, she could carry a gun. Did she want to? Sometimes carrying a weapon sounded like a good idea, but right now she suspected she’d be even more of a basket case than Halliday if she actually had to shoot someone.

“So if I can be of any assistance, give me a call,” Cate said. She saw Mitch dismounting the motorcycle and opening the trunk behind the seats to get her helmet. “I’ll put Clancy out in the warehouse for the night.”

“No! I don’t want him out there getting into everything and leaving smelly dog piles all over the place.” Halliday spoke with a vehemence that suggested he put Clancy in the same undesirable category as Blakely’s ex-wife Candy. “I don’t
know why Kane hauls that animal everywhere with him. Put him out in the Corvette.”

“Well, uh, okay.”

Clancy looked up at her—although he didn’t have to look all that far up—as if he knew he was about to be further abandoned. But what else could she do with him?

She grabbed his studded collar and opened the door.

And immediately wished she hadn’t gotten such a good grip.