For Love of Money (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Tuesday evening

Holly powered through the yellow light at Leslie and Gage Boulevard and hooked a right onto Keene. She glanced at her watch—only a few minutes behind schedule.

She did a quick personal inventory—dark suit, subtle makeup, Kate Spade purse.
Good to go
.

Ten minutes later, she hustled Laurie out her front door. Bentley, the psycho-beagle, hysterically threw himself against the barrier, distraught at being left alone.

“Are you sure leaving him loose is a good idea?” she asked.

Laurie patted an errant strand of hair into place. Her hair streak was still bright blue, but in deference to the solemn occasion, she’d slicked her hair into a bob instead of the spiky fringe she usually wore. “He’ll settle down. I have to drug him if I put him in a crate.”

“Maybe rescue dogs—”

Her friend gave her the evil eye. “He’s just misunderstood.”

“He misunderstood your sofa,” Holly muttered. “And your shoes. And…”

The dog drove her nuts, but talking about the crazy animal beat obsessing about the wake. The thought of being trapped in a room with Marcy’s crying relatives made her skin crawl.

Holly pulled up behind two cars waiting at the subdivision exit.

“Given the death grip you have on the steering wheel, I take it you’re more than your usual end-of-the-day, wound-tight, stressed-out self,” Laurie said.

“I’m not wound tight.” Holly powered through a lull in traffic and headed for the Interstate.

“Right.” Laurie readjusted her seatbelt. “So rather than talk about what’s bothering you, let’s discuss something mindless, like that lame book we’re reading for the book club.”

“I used it as an insomnia cure.” Except the book hadn’t helped the last two nights.

“The heroine spent so much time navel-gazing, I thought, jeez, no wonder your husband killed himself.” Laurie’s words trailed off as she seemed to remember they were headed to a wake for a woman who
hadn’t
killed herself.

Holly had to quit worrying about the wake, but the alternative was even less appealing. Stress about work. Get upset about Marcy. Think about running into JC again. She didn’t need the emotional whipsaw. With everything going on in her life, she was already arguing with herself on a daily basis. She glanced at Laurie. “Do you ever feel schizophrenic?”

“I assume there was a progression through that labyrinth you call your brain—you know, traffic to work to books to mental illness—but what are you talking about?” Laurie tugged her seatbelt and turned toward her. “And it better not involve my dog.”

Holly moved into the right lane, letting the SUV crowding her bumper pass. “My life was already complicated. I have my screwed-up family, nine million clients, my house, pressure to bring in work. But all this stuff with Marcy, I can’t get it out of my head. One minute, I’m trying to explain cost averaging to one of the staff and the next, I’m back in that clearing. Seeing Marcy’s body…those horrible birds.” A shudder crawled across her shoulders and down her spine.

“It must have been awful.” Laurie reached across the center console and touched her arm.

Holly blinked back tears, concentrated on the turn at Queensgate.

“I haven’t gotten very far with looking into Marcy’s death. JC showed up at the office again yesterday with more questions.”

“Oh, really?” Laurie raised an eyebrow.

“Do not start with me. The man’s ruining my business.”

“What do you mean?” Concern replaced the smartass expression.

Grimacing, Holly drove across the Yakima River bridge. “You saw the newspaper, the Person of Interest thing?”

Laurie nodded.

“That’s bad enough—it’s worried a few clients. But the way JC keeps coming around, pushing me, he suspects something. Not necessarily me, but…something. He had the nerve to ask for Tim and Alex’s financial statements—without a warrant.”

“Can you do that? At the hospital we have all kinds of rules about not handing out medical records.”

“Same privacy issue. JC didn’t offer specifics, but if something
is
going on with Alex, Tim, and indirectly, Marcy, JC thinks I’m the link.”

“You
are
sort of in the middle of the triangle.”

She made a noise of frustration. “Alex is hell-bent on drawing a triangle that includes him, JC, and me. When Alex showed up today, he really and truly pissed me off.”

“What did he do this time?”

If she hadn’t been driving, she’d have closed her eyes and groaned. She recounted the ridiculous argument.

A thoughtful expression twisted Laurie’s lips. “Alex could be one of those guys who thinks the only way to communicate is to yell, fight, and then make up.”

“That is
so
not me.” The car tires hummed over the Columbia River bridge. The three cities—Richland, Kennewick, and Pasco—climbed the barren hills where the Columbia, Snake, and Yakima rivers flowed together. The rivers created lovely vistas but made getting from place to place a challenge. “I don’t know if there even
is
a relationship at this point. I’m seeing a side of Alex I don’t like.”

“If you’re going to kick him to the curb, at least you have JC waiting in the wings.”

“Laurie.” Holly scowled at her friend.

“Just sayin’.” Laurie raised her hands in surrender. “Beats sleeping alone.”

“Well…I never slept with Alex.”

Laurie stared at her for a long moment. “You mean, you haven’t…? What is
wrong
with you?”

Holly shifted her shoulders defensively. “Casual sex… Not happening. Learned that early on from the crew I run with in Seattle.”

“I thought you love Seattle and your job there.”

“I do. The M&A work’s exciting. I work with smart people. But that’s the downside, too.”

“Why?”

“They know they’re smart. Some of them are complete assholes. They think they’re more important than the rest of the world.” She shrugged. “They’re my crowd—accountants, attorneys, investment bankers, venture capitalists—but you can’t get close to them. Not and survive.”

“So you never hooked up?”

“No way. First of all, you never know whose corner they’re going to be in on the next deal. And these guys are serious about only one thing—money. Well, two things—money and themselves. They wouldn’t put ‘woman’ and ‘responsibility’ in the same sentence. If I want to get laid, it won’t be with someone who’ll try to embarrass or manipulate me later.”

“Sounds…lonely.”

Holly studied the lights of Pasco and thought about Laurie’s comment. “Lonely is probably why I started dating Alex in the first place.”

“If it doesn’t connect, it doesn’t connect.”

“That about covers it. We might’ve had a chance if it wasn’t for his family.”

“People come with baggage.”

Didn’t she know it.

The Road 66 off-ramp—the exit for Alex’s restaurant—appeared on the side of the Interstate. “His family is so involved with the restaurant, I’ve spent more time with them than you normally would at this stage. His mother’s made it real clear she hates me. The rest seem to be either in her camp or ready to plan the wedding next week.”

Laurie nodded. “That’s a lot of pressure when you’re getting to know someone.”

The next exit sign—downtown Pasco—reminded Holly of Monday’s bombshell. She filled Laurie in on what Yessica had told her. “I had no idea Marcy’s marriage was such a disaster. Now I feel like a bitch because I was always talking about going back to Seattle. At the same time, I understand, at least a little, what she went through. I could’ve helped. Or at least been there for her.”

“Yet another thing Marcy was hiding,” Laurie said.

Holly’s defensive hackles rose. “I’m hurt she didn’t trust me, but I understand why she didn’t tell us. I didn’t want everyone to know about the crap I went through with Frank.”

Laurie was quiet for so long, Holly turned to stare at her. “What?”

“You do realize, if you go back to Seattle, Frank will still be there.”

Holly digested the comment. She’d managed to effectively ignore that detail in her “Get back to Seattle” campaign.

From the corner of her eye, she saw her friend studying her and wondered what was behind all the comments.

She had a sinking feeling its initials were “J” and “C.”

Chapter Fourteen

“There it is.” Laurie pointed to a low-slung, red brick building. They’d gotten lost twice and cruised Lewis and Court Streets four times before they found the right cross street.

Neither ventured into downtown Pasco very often. Their usual hangouts—wineries near their houses, a few music places, a couple of favorite restaurants—were across the Columbia River in Richland.

Holly peered at the discreet, nearly impossible to read from the street, placard. “Are you sure? I sorta expected a Gothic manor.”

“You’ve watched too many
Six Feet Under
reruns.”

“Like I have time to watch TV.” She entered the crowded parking lot. “It must be packed inside.”

She cruised through the lanes, looking for an open slot. She paused beside a Dumpster and sized up the possibilities. “Think I’ll get towed if I block it?”

Laurie eyed the big green box instead of the open space. “What do you think they throw in there?”

“Thanks for that image.” Holly drove to the far side of the lot and tucked the BMW into a nonexistent space, close to a graffiti-covered building.

They studied the tags, then exchanged a glance. “The lot’s pretty well lit,” Holly ventured.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Laurie slid out into the twelve inches between the BMW and the adjacent car. “Can you imagine working in a funeral parlor?”

They both shuddered.

“I’d always halfway expect something to jump out of a coffin,” Holly said.

Laurie hitched her purse over her shoulder. “Or creepy music to play, and this guy who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in twenty years to appear out of nowhere.”

Holly stopped on the walkway leading to the narrow porch and stared at the funeral home. The place looked like an office building.

Ordinary. Well lit. Crowded.

“We have to go in now, don’t we?”

Laurie sighed. “Yeah.”

“Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to do?”

They moved toward the entrance, shoes clicking against the concrete walkway. “My grandmother died a couple of years ago,” Laurie said. “Everybody signed a book.”

“You mean, like at a wedding? That’s disturbing.”

“That way, the family knows who was there. There’s usually a line of relatives near the casket you’re supposed to talk to.” Laurie’s mouth twisted in an uncertain frown. “Although I wonder if the police released her body yet.”

“Maybe there won’t be a casket.” Holly fervently hoped if the casket was there, it would be closed, and that some mortician hadn’t tried to put Marcy’s face back together.

Laurie readjusted her purse strap. “Anyway, after you talk to the relatives, you hang around a while. Pray. Meditate.”

Holly’s heart sank to somewhere around her toes. She was so not ready for this. What was she supposed to say to a bunch of people she didn’t know?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, God, but I’m so sorry
?

She followed Laurie up the stairs, wishing she hadn’t worn high heels. Apparently, she was going to spend the next few hours both physically
and
emotionally uncomfortable.

Laurie opened the door and they entered the crowded foyer. People Holly didn’t recognize clustered in tight knots, talking in low voices. She didn’t see the book Laurie mentioned, the Ramirez family, or anybody who might tell them what they were supposed to do next.

Holly searched the crowd and spotted Rick near the door to an interior room. He caught her eye and tilted his head. The women eased through the crowd toward him.

“Is that Rick Stewert? When you said he was working at DA, you didn’t tell me he’d gotten so cute.” Laurie smoothed her skirt and tucked her hair behind her ear. “How do I look?”

“You can’t go out with him. He works for me. It’ll be messy when you break up.”

“What do you care? You’ll be long gone before we get to that stage.”

As soon as they reached Rick, he said, “Laurie Gordon? I thought you moved to Portland.”

“I’ve been back a while. I can’t believe we haven’t run into each other.”

Laurie gave her a look that said,
Why didn’t you tell him I was back?

Before Laurie and Rick could start flirting, Holly asked, “Have you seen Marcy’s family?”

“In there.” Rick hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the doorway behind him.

“Where?” She craned her neck and looked past him at the throng.

“Far side of the room. Most of them are sitting down. Tim and Nicole are here somewhere.”

Holly looked around the crowded room but didn’t see the couple.

“Good luck finding them.” Rick smiled at Laurie. “We need to get together and catch up. It was great seeing you again, but I am outta here.”

He turned to Holly. “For the record”—he checked the crowd, the expression on his face somewhere between horrified and overwhelmed—“I want to be cremated when I die. And no funeral service. Just say nice things when you dump my ashes in the Columbia River.”

“O-kay,” Laurie said to his departing back. “That was definitely more information than I wanted to know.”

Holly stifled a laugh at Laurie’s appalled expression. “I don’t think any of us handles death very well.”

“Amen to that. Let’s get this done and go home.”

“Do you see where the reception line starts?” The crowd parted for a moment and Holly saw someone else she knew. Alex—with his mother.

Naturally.

Alex’s full name was Alejandro Qunito Arroyo Montoya, but Holly could never remember if the woman went by Montoya or Arroyo. Given that she was normally good with names, Holly figured it was a mental block based on the old battle-axe not liking her. The
bruja
had never wanted her precious Alejandro to date a
gringa—
especially a non-Catholic blond
gringa
.

Mrs. Montoya noticed Holly at the same moment Alex did. He took a step in her direction, but his mother deftly intervened. With just a touch of her finger to his forearm, Alex turned into Alejandro. He curved a solicitous arm around his mother’s shoulders and leaned closer to hear whatever she was whispering. Only Holly saw the tilt of the woman’s head, the triumphant movement of her mouth, and the sideways look she tossed at her rival when Alex moved, not toward Holly, but to a table set against the far wall.

So that’s how it was going to be.
Mama’s boy
.

Not for the first time, Holly wondered if the putdowns were aimed at all women who had the audacity to date Alex or if it was her, specifically, who drew his mother’s wrath.

She leaned to the right, ready to share her observation with Laurie, only to discover her friend had vanished into the crowd. She swiveled her attention back to the drama across the room in time to see Alex return to his mother. He threaded past people, balancing a glass of punch. He made no move to leave his mother’s side and Holly was damned if she was going to crawl over there.

Fine
.

She stepped into the inner room. Begin phase one of Who Killed Marcy.

“You look so much like Marcy,” she told the first person she met.

The woman offered a closed-mouth smile. “I’m her aunt.”

“You’re young enough to be a cousin. Were you…close?”

The woman tilted her head. Something that might’ve been quizzical, but could’ve been suspicious, narrowed her eyes. “How did you know Maricella?”

Holly froze, panic draining the blood from her head. Argh. Bad move.

The woman’s lips tightened.

Answer, answer, say something
. “We both lived in Seattle…”

Holly knew immediately she’d made a mistake. The look in the woman’s eyes was pure suspicion now.

“Were you friends when you lived there?” she asked.

The aunt wouldn’t tell her anything if she thought Holly was friends with Marcy and Lee while they were together. “I met Marcy here. She told me about Lee. He was a real…” She caught herself before she said
dick
.

The woman shifted uncomfortably. She glanced away, her eyes focused on something over Holly’s shoulder. “Don’t bring him up. Nobody wants to talk about him.”

“Do you know where he is?”

An arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against a male body.

Frank
. Adrenaline spiked her system. She twisted, trying to break free. “Let go.”

But the odor wasn’t Frank’s.

Warm lips pressed her cheek.
Tim
.

“Thank God. A familiar face,” he said.

Damn. All this talk about murder and stalking had her overreacting to everything.

Marcy’s aunt eased away.

Tim’s eyes tracked the woman as she faded into the crowd. “What are you doing, talking to her about Marcy like that? Trying to play amateur detective? Jesus, Holly, give it up. Let the police handle it before you make things worse.”

What was it with him? A flush colored his face, but she didn’t smell liquor on his breath. “Worse than what?”

“I never know what to say at these things.” He spoke as if he hadn’t just totally dissed her. “But I sure wouldn’t pester the dead woman’s relatives.”

Okay. She’d pester him instead. The throng shifted and pressed them closer together. At this rate, she’d be intimately acquainted with him before the night was over. She pulled as far away as the crowd permitted, and said, “I wanted to ask you yesterday—”

Tim shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, about that.”

She waved off his embarrassment. “You were upset and had too much to drink.” She shrugged. “Actually, you were probably one of Marcy’s closer friends. Did she tell you who she was seeing?”

He stepped back, pushing the couple behind him aside. “We weren’t that close. Why would you think we were?”

“Whoa, I’m not implying anything.” Talk about protesting too much. “I just hoped you might know where Marcy was before she disappeared.”

He leaned forward, his voice a whispered hiss. “The police are already making assumptions. Don’t add to them.”

“I’m not.” The small hairs on the back of her neck suddenly lifted. She peered over her shoulder, half-expecting Alex’s scowl. Instead, she met Nicole’s narrow-eyed gaze. The woman’s expression moved to
considering
, as if working out the angles on something. Something she was rather unhappy about.

Surely Nicole wasn’t still mad about the stupid sofa incident.

Holly turned her head, hoping the glare was directed at someone else. She swung back again, but Nicole’s gaze had drifted. The stocky man standing next to Nicole chattered away, seemingly unaware she no longer listened. Maybe the stocky guy said something that upset her. Maybe Tim’s drinking had upset her and her glare had been aimed at him.

The crowd shuffled and hid the pair from sight, but Holly was far more interested in putting some space between Tim and herself. “Awkward” didn’t begin to describe feeling caught between Tim and his wife. “Look, another client’s here. I need to speak to him. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure.” Tim looked rather lost and forlorn as she moved away.

She spoke to several people she knew while she worked up her nerve to approach the Ramirez family. She’d almost made it to the reception line when a hand grabbed her arm. She jumped and turned. “Jeez, Tim, will you quit doing that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to clear the air. It’s been a couple of rough days. Sorry I took it out on you.”

She couldn’t help but wonder which Tim was the real one—the one who’d unloaded on her, or the likeable guy she usually saw. “It’s been tough on all of us.”

She still intended to find out what he knew—exactly how well he knew Marcy—but she’d ask in a less public venue.

Tim’s vaguely anxious expression altered to one of pleasure. “Hello, sweetheart. I wondered where you disappeared to.”

Nicole emerged from the crowd. Holly could see her dress now—a bright blue sheath.

How inappropriate. Holly frowned. The dress choice surprised her, given how socially savvy Nicole usually appeared.

“I’m just making the rounds. There are so many lovely people here.” Nicole’s tone was sweetness and light.

For half a second, Holly wondered if she’d imagined the woman’s earlier unhappiness.

A tiny frown creased Nicole’s forehead. “Some people are blaming Marcy.”

Holly caught the flinch that spasmed across Tim’s face. Even if he wasn’t having an affair with Marcy, it must be hard for him to express his grief around Nicole.

“That’s really not fair,” Nicole continued.

For once Holly agreed with the woman. The stocky man must have said something rude, been one of those blame-the-victim idiots.

“I spoke with Alex.” Nicole turned her baby blues on Holly. “I’m surprised you’re not with him. Things are so difficult for him right now.”

And the détente went out the window.

What did
with him
mean? Still dating him? Supporting him?
What difficulties?
Before Holly could sort out the multiple messages in Nicole’s statement, Tim smoothed a hand over his wife’s shining hair. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Nicole snuggled against him, melting into the circle of his arm. “I’m tired, honey. So much has happened.”

Wow, Nicole had Tim’s number wired—
Be the big man and protect me
. Holly felt uncomfortably like a chaperone at a teenaged party—unwelcome and ignored.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim said. “Should we call the doctor?”

The couple turned. Sheltering his wife under a protective arm, Tim pushed through the crowd.

Relief at escaping the couple slammed into the realization that Holly couldn’t keep avoiding the reason she was there—Marcy’s family.

Alrighty.

She squeezed past groups of people and found what had to be the extended Ramirez family. Assorted people who looked like Marcy stood in ranks between the visiting crowd and what Holly could only call a shrine. Photos and mementoes competed for attention with dozens of flickering candles. All of it was smothered in flowers.

At least there wasn’t a casket.

She approached, more nervous than she was before presenting an analysis of a multimillion-dollar acquisition. She wished she hadn’t lost Laurie in the crowd. Most likely, her friend bailed or found somebody she knew to talk to.