For Love of Money (3 page)

“Why’d you move back to Richland?”

She wasn’t going to tell him her father had suffered a midlife brain fart and taken off with his yoga instructor, or that she’d made a deal with her mother to bail out the family accounting business, a decision she regretted on practically a daily basis. And at a deeper level, his question pissed her off because he knew damn well
exactly
why she was there. She’d seen the cop pow-wow information exchange out at Big Flats, where the deputies had brought JC up to speed. He was digging for personal information.

She crossed her arms and ignored the way her body heated up just because he was in the room. Stupid body. If it heated up, it was because she was mad. Period. “You know why I moved. And if you were really interested, it would take you about two seconds to find out when I changed the address on my driver’s license from Seattle to Richland.”

He smiled and two dimples appeared.

She caught her breath. Oh, man. How could she have forgotten about his dimples?

It didn’t matter how many times she told herself they were just a simple indentation of flesh. Dimples made serious, grown-up men look like they still had a mischievous little boy inside. The kind who sledded down the forbidden steepest slopes, dyed the dog green for St. Patty’s Day, or knew how to be especially devilish in bed.

And she personally knew every one of them applied to JC.

In spite of her irritation, she smiled at him and his grin widened. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes grew a shade warmer. “You never could pass up a chance to jerk my chain.”

“You set yourself up often enough.”

Why was he making nice? She did the mental head-slap.
What was she thinking?
JC stood for “Just Cool” as often as it did “Just Crazy.”

“Is this your loosen-up-the-idiot routine, so I’ll say something stupid like I killed Marcy?”

His face immediately closed off, but before he could make another comment, she pulled on the composed shell she used at the negotiating table. “Look. At least for tonight, let’s declare a truce. You quit taking jabs at me and I won’t take any swipes at you. I’ll tell you everything I know about Marcy.”

He pushed away from the wall and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“If we’re going to talk about her, I need coffee.” She headed toward the kitchen.

JC followed her into the large area beyond the vacant living room. “Nice.”

There was no snark in his tone this time.

She surveyed the renovated space with pride. A tile-topped peninsula—she’d set every one of those suckers—separated the kitchen from the dining area. Cherry cabinets lined the interior walls and surrounded the Bosch appliances. City lights sparkled through the oversized windows at night, but right now she could see eighty miles to the Blue Mountains.

“Have a seat.” She pulled out coffee and filled the machine. “With all that activity at Big Flats, I’m surprised you’re here. Shouldn’t you be following leads or something?”

From the safety of distance, she gave him a closer examination. His hair was shorter. No big surprise there, he
was
a policeman. His face was tanned; apparently he still spent time outdoors. The lines at the corners of his eyes were new. He’d filled out, not that he’d been a wimp when she knew him. She checked out the broad chest and shoulders tapering to slim hips and remembered why hormones had fried her brain when she was in college.

Good thing she was too smart for that now.

All his assets still didn’t outweigh the big ol’ blot in his liability column, a.k.a. infidelity.

He dropped his coat on a counter stool, but claimed the chair at the head of the table. “You looked like you were nearly out on your feet earlier, so I let you go home.” A lazy smile, the kind that used to set her heart racing, warmed his expression. “You still look good, though.”

“Hmm.” Telling her pulse and her traitorous hormones to go take another cold shower, she gave her ratty yoga pants and T-shirt an appraising glance. She didn’t have to see her hair to know it had already dried in the desert air without benefit of blow-dryer, styling gel, or flatiron. “What do you want, JC?”

He laughed.

It was the belly-deep, I’m-an-idiot-and-you-called-me-on-it combined with I-don’t-take-myself-too-seriously chuckle she remembered. One of the protective barriers holding in her anger and hurt creaked a little, as though it were rusty and maybe she didn’t need it anymore.

No, no, no
. He was
not
getting under her skin.

The coffee machine made steamy brewing noises behind her. Deliberately turning her back on him and his smile, she picked up his coat and headed toward the closet. As she draped the garment over a wooden hanger, her nose caught floral perfume wafting from the wool. Definitely not JC’s cologne.

Her stomach knotted. She should’ve known there’d be a woman in his life.

Anger knifed through any remaining illusions. She knew better than to trust anything he said or did. And what did he think he was doing, giving her that
c’mon
look?

She slapped the hanger onto the closet rod. He wasn’t wearing a ring. Was he still married to what’s-her-face? Like being married stopped anybody. Look at Dad. If he fell off the rails, why should she expect JC to be different?

She already
knew
JC wasn’t different.

She returned to the kitchen and slammed around a few coffee mugs. She wasn’t sure if she was mad at her father, JC, or herself for still being even the tiniest little bit attracted to him.

Damn
him.

He had a notepad open on the table. “I have some questions.”

“Well, we can keep this short and I’ll get started painting. Here are all the answers.” She ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke. “I thought we were going hiking. I had no idea it was opening weekend for pheasant hunting. I had no idea Marcy’s body was in that swampy area. And no, I didn’t kill her. Would you like your coffee in a to-go cup?”

All business now, he leveled a stare at her she figured was supposed to be intimidating, but the assorted investment bankers, venture capitalists, and arrogant attorneys she’d dealt with in Seattle had made her immune to that kind of nonsense. JC was an amateur compared to them.

“Don’t be a bitch, Holly. It doesn’t suit you.”

She pressed her hands onto the counter and managed to keep her expression neutral. She wished she could control the warmth climbing her cheeks. She’d known those dimpled “come on” signals were just a crappy ploy. Nobody turned it off and on like that if it was real. “Dammit JC, quit jerking me around. I’ll do whatever I can to help you find Marcy’s killer, but I don’t know what I can say that’ll make any difference.”

“You knew Ms. Ramirez. What can you tell me about her? What was she like?”

Holly pulled in a deep breath.
Do it for Marcy
.

“So the body is definitely Marcy’s?”

He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

“Damn. I’d hoped…” The tiny spark of hope she’d harbored vanished and left the world a little darker.

With a sigh, she leaned against the counter and thought about the woman who’d become her friend. “Marcy works—worked—across the hall at Stevens Ventures. She was fun, outgoing. We did lunch, happy hour at Bookwalter, that kind of thing. We had different backgrounds, but we just clicked, you know?”

The coffeemaker sputtered behind her.

“I liked her. I wish I’d gotten a chance to know her better.” She stared at the floor before raising her gaze to meet his. “I can’t believe she’s dead. Who would want to kill her? Why?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Do you know who Ms. Ramirez was dating?”

“I wish I could be more help, but I don’t know much about her personal life.”

“I thought you were friends.”

“We are…were. She never talked about a boyfriend. I think she was seeing someone, but like I said… ” Holly lifted a shoulder.

“Do you know anybody who’d want to hurt her?”

“I can’t think of anybody. She was so…nice.” Holly chewed her lower lip, frustrated with her explanation. “I’m not doing a very good job telling you about her. What she was like, as a person. Marcy…loved pretty clothes. And she loved to dance. You should’ve seen her. She could move like the music came from inside her, and if she was dancing with somebody—”

“She dance with anybody in particular?”

Holly blinked. The memory of the dance floor where she’d admired Marcy’s footwork vanished, and she returned to a grim-faced cop who wanted to know if one of her friends had killed the woman. No way was she going to say Alex and Marcy should’ve auditioned for that dance show together. Alex had been her date when they went dancing, not Marcy’s. “Nobody in particular.”

“So no known enemies?”

“Not that I know of.” She removed a spoon from a drawer. “Do you think this was a random violence thing? You know, wrong time, wrong place?”

“It’s possible.”

“How’d she end up out at the Snake River?”

“We seem to have this backward—I ask the questions and you answer them.”

“Then ask a question I know the answer to.” She thought about Marcy’s body ending up at Big Flats while she returned to the coffeemaker and filled the mugs. “If she knew her killer, she might’ve gone out to the river to meet him. Or maybe the bad guy took her there.”

“And you don’t know anybody she’d meet out there.”

“No.”

She left her coffee black, but reached into the refrigerator for milk. She added some to JC’s mug along with a healthy scoop of sugar.

“Sorry, no cream.” She placed the drink in front of him.

JC stared at the mug, then cocked his head to look at her. “You remember how I like my coffee.” His eyes were warm and friendly. Gold flecks lightened the brown depths.

He had beautiful eyes. She’d gotten lost in them once.

Her breathing hitched. There was more in his eyes than warmth.

Longing.

Regret.

A shiny sphere swelled, as delicate and gossamer as a child’s blown bubble. Hope? Happiness?

Love?

Time rewound and they were six years younger, madly in love, and spending every possible minute together. Memories of times and places she’d brought him coffee surged through her. Seattle’s Best, study breaks. Her dorm, his apartment, tangled sheets. Hot coffee, hotter kisses.

She slammed the gate on memory lane. He’d made his choice. “It’s only coffee. I thought all cops like coffee.”

He blinked at her flat tone. His gaze dropped to the notebook. “You stated you went to lunch with Ms. Ramirez. Who else went with you? What did you talk about?”

It was his official voice, cool and impersonal.
Good
. Let’s keep this purely professional.

She pulled out a chair and sat down. “Marcy’s sister, Yessica, went with us. Occasionally, someone else from the office came.”

Sipping coffee for fortification, she told him the basics, the people they ran around with, the places they went. “One thing I
do
know. Marcy hated the Great Outdoors. She would never, ever have been near Big Flats by her own choice.”

JC scribbled notes. “Where were you last Tuesday?”

She nearly spewed coffee. “Do you actually think I killed my friend?”

His face was expressionless. “Answer the question.”

Stunned he’d even
remotely
consider her a possible murderer, her hands rose and fell in an incredulous gesture. “At work. At meetings.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but it’ll be on my work calendar.”

“I’ll need a copy of your schedule. Ms. Ramirez disappeared on Tuesday, according to her sister. The ME estimated time of death as Tuesday evening. I need to know where you were during that time period.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re serious.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t.”

“Do I need an attorney?”

He jotted a note on his paper. “Anything different happen last week? Before her sisters reported her missing?”

Holly stalled by taking another sip of coffee.
Should she call a lawyer?
She eyed JC over the rim of her mug. In spite of the way things ended between them, she still believed he’d play fair. And she hadn’t said anything he could twist around—except some innuendo he couldn’t use against her.

With a sigh, she placed her mug on a coaster and hoped she was being helpful and not naïve. “At first, we thought Yessica was overreacting. Marcy hadn’t been gone a day and her sister was acting like Bigfoot had stomped out of the Cascades and dragged her home to his cave.”

Warmth again flooded her face. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Obviously, she was right to be worried. It’s just that Marcy had taken off before, so the rest of us weren’t really concerned.”

“When? Any idea where she went?”

“She took off earlier this fall, said she wanted to be by herself. She made it real clear she didn’t want to talk about it.” Holly shrugged. “When she took off this time, our receptionist talked to the Stevens Ventures receptionist. Marcy had told her she was going away with her boyfriend. And no, I don’t know who she meant.”

“Nothing like firsthand information.” JC lifted a derisive eyebrow. “I never knew you to listen to gossip.”

“Hey, you asked. You’re the frikkin’ detective. You go figure out who killed her. Just be damned sure you put in your report it wasn’t me.”

For a long moment, JC stared at her. Then he closed the folio, laid his pen on the table, and folded his arms across his chest. Eyes narrowed, his expression reflected a mental debate. Knowing him, mostly likely it was whether to treat her like a suspect, a witness, or an ex-girlfriend. “I expected more cooperation from you.”

She mimicked his body language—stiff back, squared shoulders, minus the glare. “I
am
cooperating. I answered every one of your questions.”

“The whole time I’ve been here, you’ve said a lot of words, but everything you’ve told me adds up to a big fat zero.” His tone was level, coolly devoid of emotion. “I have to ask myself, why is she being so evasive?”