Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (25 page)

“I don’t suppose you know where I can find them.”

“Not Jimmy, but Justin was in school today. His pickup was parked in the lot there this morning.”

Callen frowned. “And you know this because . . . ?”

Angel sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“Hmm.” He put down his fork, apparently not wanting to hear it. “That reminds me. I got a call from Nick tonight.”

“And?”

“And he’s worried about you.”

“Worried? About what? That I’ll find out who really murdered Jenkins? That I’ll make him look bad?”

Callen leaned back. “Okay, maybe worried isn’t the right word. Concerned, then. He said you were working as a PI for Rachael.”

Something in his tone raised her defenses. “So what if I am?” She hadn’t really given much thought to how Callen would feel about her new job. Did he share Nick’s animosity? Probably. Most cops didn’t think much of private investigators. Though he hadn’t said the words, she saw disapproval in his eyes.

“Nick tells me you’re investigating the Jenkins murder on your own.”

“And I’m finding all kinds of people with motive, whom Nick, at least as far as I know, hasn’t even talked to. All I’ve done is tell him he might want to look into a few things.”

“Such as?”

“People besides his wife who had a motive. Jenkins’s nephew for one. He was at the house that afternoon and admits to seeing his uncle’s body, but he didn’t call it in. He was hiding in the barn the entire time Nick and the CSI team were out there. No one bothered checking out the barn, Callen. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“Not necessarily. If the guy was killed in the house, and there was nothing to indicate the barn was used at all . . .”

“Don’t try to cover for Nick. At least be honest with me. You would have gone over the barn, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. And how do you know he was in there at the time?”

“I found evidence in the barn, and the timing is right. Nick was just leaving as I came to check over some things for Rachael. Darryl, the nephew, locked me in the basement—or tried to.”

Callen frowned. “Nick said you couldn’t identify him.”

“I saw him leave—at first I didn’t know who it was, but the kids helped me figure it out. I talked to him today, and he admitted—”

“You talked to him?” Callen’s voice rose at least an octave. “What do you mean, you talked to him? Alone?”

“Of course, alone. Well, not really. We were in a public place.”

“Are you telling me you went to interview a potential killer without backup?”

“Backup?” Angel’s angry tone matched his. “I’m on leave, remember? I couldn’t very well call in for backup.”

“You should’ve called Nick.”

“Oh, right, and have him blow me off.” Angel rolled her eyes. “Besides, I don’t think Darryl killed his uncle.”

“But he could have, right?”

“I haven’t completely ruled him out.”

Callen ran a hand down his face. “This is unbelievable. I want you to quit. You have no business interviewing potential suspects.”

“You think I should leave this to Nick? He’s made up his mind that Candace is the killer. I’m telling you, Callen, he’s wrong.”

“And I’m telling you it’s not safe.”

Angel threw her napkin down and stood, tipping her chair in the process. It clattered against the wooden deck. Not bothering to right it, she went around to the front of the house and got into her car. Callen stormed after her.

“Angel, wait!” Callen rounded the corner as she yanked open the car door and slipped inside.

“What for? So you can tell me how inept I am? That I’m not cut out for the job?”

“You’re not making sense. Angel, please—let’s talk about this.”

She slammed the door and jammed her keys into the ignition. Callen gripped the door handle, then jerked his hand out of the way as she started to back out.

“Angel, please!” Callen doubled his fist and struck his car.

More upset with himself than with Angel, Callen stood there holding his hand and watching her back out of his driveway. He wanted to go after her, but he wouldn’t. Best to let her cool down. He certainly needed to. He turned back and headed into the house.

“That went well.” He knelt down to scoop up his bewildered dog. Mutt wriggled down and ran around to the back of the house. By the time Callen got there, Mutt had devoured most of what was left on Angel’s plate. Callen shooed him down and put him inside.

He lowered himself into his chair and pushed the once-warm dinner around on his plate. Their argument had left him raw and empty inside. He should have known better than to try to mediate between Nick and Angel. Nick should have been covering his bases. He had a hunch some of this was the department’s doing. Callen could almost hear Joe Brady telling his people that the investigation was over, they had their killer, case closed.

He blew out a long, deep breath. Angel had said she’d found several people with motives. What if she was right and the wife was innocent? That would mean the killer was still out there. He wished now he’d heard her out and talked with her about the suspects she’d uncovered. It sounded as though she had more than the nephew. What had Angel called him? Darryl?

He should stay out of it. This wasn’t his investigation. He should never have told Nick he’d talk to Angel. Callen tipped his head back and was rewarded by pellet-sized raindrops.

He didn’t think he could feel much worse, but then the phone rang. It was for Angel. “Sorry, Tim, you just missed her.”

Tim sounded so dejected that Callen asked him what was wrong.

“I just called to ask about the funeral.”

“Funeral?”

“You mean she didn’t tell you?”

“I guess not.”

“Dad died last night,” Tim said. “Angel and Mom were both there.”

Angel drove straight home and let herself into her apartment. The encounter with Callen had left her shaken. She’d seen this side of him before—the anger flashing in his eyes when she’d been involved in another murder case. But this time was different. He’d been rude and obnoxious, and he was taking Nick’s side.

She locked the door behind her and sank onto the couch, pulling her feet up and hugging her knees. She was hurt that Callen
wouldn’t take her seriously. Hurt and angry. Obviously he wouldn’t be advising her about anything. How foolish of her to even hope he might. And she couldn’t count on help from Nick or the other officers either. Except for maybe Rosie.

Well, fine. She’d do it without them.

The phone rang, and Angel let the answering machine pick up.

“Angel, it’s me, Callen. I’m sorry about what happened. I need to talk to you. Please call me.”

She could hear the sadness in his voice and wanted more than anything to make things right. Remembering what the women in the support group had said, she resisted the urge to answer the phone. She didn’t want to talk to him. What would be the point?

Someone else had left a message as well. Angel listened as her brother’s voice filled the room, telling her he’d tried to call and asking why hadn’t she told Callen about their father. The funeral was set for Sunday after church.

Funerals. Death. It all seemed surreal, like something in a strange and terrible dream.

Angel showered and got ready for bed. It was only 9:00, far too early to sleep—not that she could, anyway. She curled up on the couch with a copy of
Physical Evidence
, a manual for detectives. She sighed and started reading, determined not to think about her father’s death, determined not to think about Callen, determined not to think at all.

At 10:00, the phone rang again. This time it was Janet Campbell. She sounded strained and frightened. Angel picked up before Janet finished her message.

“Hi, Janet. What’s wrong?”

“I—I need to talk to you.”

“Sure. Want to come over?” Angel got up and headed toward her bedroom. She’d need to get dressed.

“No, not there. You’ll have to come to my apartment.”

“Tonight?”

“Please. I was just going online and . . . Phillip Jenkins’s killer just sent me an email.”

TWENTY-FIVE

J
anet lived in one of the upscale condominiums on the bay. Angel had never been in them but heard they were now selling for around a quarter to half a million dollars depending on the size. Angel maneuvered the curves on Bayside Drive, then wound down toward the waterfront. Curiosity caused her to drive a little faster than she should have, but fortunately Sunset Cove’s few officers on duty were somewhere else.

Why had Janet called her? Why not the police? This could be the break they were looking for. Angel thought about calling Nick and decided against it. It was too soon to go running to the police, and she couldn’t tell Callen. Her bridge with the PD may not be burned, but she could sure smell the smoke. Besides, she wanted to talk to Janet first.

Angel’s mind spun with possibilities. How had Janet known it was the killer? Why had the killer contacted her? Angel settled her thoughts into some kind of order as she paused at the security gate and punched in the numbers Janet had given her. The gate slid open, and Angel drove through, then made a left, winding through the individual homes, finally reaching the condos. She parked in the driveway and took a deep breath to settle her jangled nerves.

Janet looked terrible. Bags drooped under her red, watery eyes as she opened the door to let Angel in.

“Thanks so much for coming. I’m sorry to bother you so late at night, but . . .”

“I’m glad you called me.” Angel stepped inside, hesitating in the entry. “Why did you call me and not the police?”

“Several reasons. I’ll get to those in a minute, but you need to read these emails.”

Seeing the champagne carpet and Janet’s bare feet, Angel slipped her own shoes off at the door. “Lead the way.”

Angel followed Janet into a nicely decorated living room with a vaulted ceiling. The house had double sliding glass doors on the side overlooking the water. It was dark beyond the doors now, but Angel could imagine the view. Her feet glided over the cool slate tiles in the entry and kitchen.

Janet paused at the kitchen island. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water, juice, wine?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I indulge. This thing has me creeped out.”

“Go ahead.”

Janet grabbed a glass of wine she’d already poured for herself and ascended the carpeted stairs to a roomy loft with its own small bathroom. A daybed sat against one wall and against the other was a desk and computer. “Nice office,” Angel commented as she looked over the railing toward the open living area.

“Thanks.” She sat down in her leather ergonomic office chair and moved the mouse to eliminate the scenic screen saver—a sunset. Janet clicked Outlook Express and got into her mailbox and waited for the new mail to come in.

“I had probably twenty emails. Most of them I deleted. Like I need Viagra and a new line of credit. I get so tired of all this stuff.”

“I know what you mean.” Angel moved impatiently from one foot to the other.

Janet groaned. “That jerk.”

“Who?”

“My ex-husband.”

Angel read the note over Janet’s shoulder. The email from
C. Campbell read:
“It’s that time again. I hear things have been going well for you. Lucky me.”

“What does he mean, lucky him?”

Janet sighed. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you about this. You’re still my client and . . .”

“Come on, Janet. We’re friends first. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll fire you as my counselor. So talk to me. Is there a problem?”

“Oh yes.” She turned back to the computer. “I do know why I told you. I keep hoping he’ll go away. Um . . . I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to hear about my woes.”

As much as Angel wanted to see the emails in question, she felt the dread in Janet’s demeanor. “No, but you might as well tell me about it. I have plenty of time. The only thing I was planning to do tonight was sleep.” And there wasn’t much chance of that.

Janet smiled. “In that case, you’d better sit down. This could take a few minutes. I’ll print out the emails, and we can talk while they’re printing.”

Angel dropped onto the bed.

“My ex,” Janet said as she continued to type in commands, “is blackmailing me.”

Angel wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. “Did I hear you right?”

Janet nodded and turned her chair around to face her. The printer began making noises as it readied itself for the task Janet had given it.

“Why don’t you go to the police?”

“What good would it do?” She ran both hands through her hair. It was down now and fell in large, soft curls on her shoulders. “He’s very subtle. He’s never threatened me with anything more than coming to Sunset Cove. I don’t want him coming here. I don’t want him back in my life.”

“I don’t understand. Why would his coming here be a threat?”

“He’d come here for one reason. To ruin my life.”

Janet wasn’t making sense. “Can’t you get a restraining order?”