PENITENCE: An Andi Comstock Supernatural Mystery, Book 2 (95,893 words) (27 page)

After several minutes, Andi shook off her mental stupor and picked up her phone. With a vague hope that she could deter any interruptions or impromptu visits, she texted Jack and Father Riley that she planned to turn in early. No one else needed to be notified of her bogus plans. She’d seen her mom and sister the night before, her dad never called anyone in the evenings, and Dell, who made it a point not to make personal calls on the job, was working.

Just in case Jack decided to come by anyway, she turned off all the lights before she snuggled under a blanket on the sofa. A niggle of guilt ate at her for her deception, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

The room was illuminated by the gas fireplace, casting eerie shadows on the walls that seemed in keeping with her dark mood.

The witness names on the police report played through her mind, repeating like one of those silly GIF graphic images so popular on Facebook these days. None of those names meant anything to her except for one.

It was difficult, if not impossible, to deny that there was a connection, however vague, between her and Helen MacLeary.

. . .

Andi could barely read the face of the wall clock by firelight. Once the big hand had progressed to fifteen minutes past midnight, she unfurled from the safe haven of her blanket and headed for bed.

She had intended her evening to be a silent, solitary vigil, awaiting word of Denise’s demise.

For whatever reason, Denise, thank God, would live to see another day.

Maybe Clem’s widow had called out to
her
guardian angel for help. Maybe the killer had taken a hike out of Edgerton, never to return. Maybe…enough of the maybes!

Start worrying all over again tomorrow.

Once in bed, Andi fell instantly asleep, but her subconscious dream state remained active for what was left of the night, painting scenarios that featured Clem and Denise, Seth and Marianne Deacon, and everyone else whose name she’d encountered since Clem had first spoken to her.

By morning, she awoke more exhausted than when she’d crawled into bed. Feeling sluggish, out of sorts, and a little achy, she stepped into the shower, which helped revive her somewhat. A double-espresso latté from Starbucks perked her up a little more on the way to the police station. Once inside EPD at the reception window, she asked to speak to the officer who had written her crash report.

“You’re in luck,” said the receptionist through the speaker in the bullet-proof enclosure, “he’s in the building, just getting ready to go out on his patrol shift.”

Officer Stark appeared about five minutes later. “Hi, Andi. What can I do for you?”

“I was curious about one of the witnesses whose name is included on the report you wrote up on my crash.”

“Which one?”

“Helen MacLeary. There was a Post-It over her name that said she hadn’t been interviewed yet. Why is that?”

He reached for the report and scanned it, his eyebrows bunched together in thought. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. She said she’d come in and give a statement the next day. Hunh, I guess she never did that, did she? I’m sorry, Andi, I’m afraid I let it slide. I guess my thinking was that everyone else had corroborated each other’s accounts.” He handed the report back to her. “Do you know her?”

“No, we’ve never met personally, but she’s indirectly embroiled in….” She faltered, wondering how much she could reveal to a patrol officer whose only involvement in the current situation was that he’d responded to both her crash and the call on the reticle photo plastered to her door.

“Embroiled in what?” Officer Stark asked.

“Andi! What are you doing here?”

Andi swung around to face Stacy. Saved by Jack’s LT! “Stacy, hi. I was just looking at my crash report and I came across Helen MacLeary’s name as one of the witnesses. There was a note on it that said she hadn’t been interviewed yet and I was just asking Officer Stark if that had changed.”

Stacy’s eyes flickered with understanding. “Has it?” she asked the patrol officer.

“No, ma’am.”

The LT sucked in her cheeks. “This may be related to a murder-for-hire case, so I’m going to assign follow-up to Detective Harmon. No need for you to pursue it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He redirected his gaze to Andi. “I’m sorry this got past me, Andi.”

“It’s not a problem, honestly,” Andi said, glad Stacy had resisted the urge to lambaste the poor guy. She could tell by the LT’s expression she’d considered it.

“Got a minute?” Stacy asked of Andi once the patrol officer had disappeared.

“Sure.”

The LT punched in her entry code and took Andi through to her office, were she closed the door for privacy. “Denise is still alive.”

“So I gathered, since no one called to tell me otherwise last night, but I’m relieved to hear it confirmed.” Stacy shrugged out of her coat and hung it the rack affixed to the wall. “Our people will remain there for two more days. After that, my captain says I have to pull them.”

“Two days. I’m guessing that will be enough time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don’t think it’s The Liquidator
after her.”

“You have some proof of that?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

“Andi—”

“I’m not going to go out looking for trouble, Stacy, and there’s nothing tangible I can give you as proof. It’s more like….”

“Like a feeling you have?” The LT asked dryly.

Andi shrugged. “Exactly.”

“I don’t want you out in the field doing surveillance or shadowing possible killers like you did before.” She nodded toward the chairs facing her desk. “Have a seat and tell me what your thoughts are about Helen MacLeary.” She eased into the swivel chair on the other side.

“I don’t have any thoughts that are coalescing at the moment, except that everyone is in agreement that the driver of the car that hit me was a man, so it wasn’t Helen MacLeary, but she’s related, however indirectly, to the Naylor case, so for me, it’s beyond happenstance that she shows up as a witness to my car crash.”

“Okay, I can get from point A to point B on that, but what possible connection could there possibly be between Clem’s hired killer and Helen MacLeary?”

“If I’m on the right track, and The Liquidator’s out of the picture now, maybe none, but I have to consider this from every angle.” Andi paused, debating the request she wanted to make. Before she could decide, Stacy went on.

“It’s not inconceivable that, in a town the size of Edgerton, you’d know, or possibly recognize one of the people who witnessed your crash,” the LT said.

“If I believed in coincidence, I’d agree with you.”

Stacy’s eyebrows went up and she blew out a resigned sigh. “Therein lies the rub, doesn’t it?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know.” She hesitated again, then jumped in with both feet. “Look, would you agree to let me accompany Jack to the interview with Helen MacLeary?” She decided to withhold the fact that Jack’s response had been negatory when she’d asked him virtually the same question the day before.

“Why would I okay something like that?” Stacy demanded.

“Because, I’ve just spent hours reviewing every aspect of the information we’ve been gathering. If I’m there, I might pick up on something that Jack doesn’t. Something he might never get, since he’s not the one who’s been getting an earful from Clem and the Deacons, and belatedly, Davis MacLeary.”

The LT pushed back in her chair and crossed her arms over her midriff. “Dammit, Andi. I hate it when you make sense.”

Sitting in he
r
car outside the police station, Andi decided to call in sick. It wasn’t really a lie, because she did still feel achy and if she wasn’t mistaken, she had a fever.

Brent wished her a speedy recovery and asked if there was anything he could do for her.

Aside from helping her track down a killer, there wasn’t, so Andi thanked him and said she hoped to see him the following day.

She had over two hours to herself before she met Jack at Helen MacLeary’s house. Given Stacy’s side of the conversation with him, he wasn’t at all happy that she’d be with him for the interview. He’d confirmed his displeasure a few minutes earlier by sending her a brief, snarky text.

Next time, don’t go over my head when you want something. Be at 2910 Primrose at 10:30 sharp and keep your mouth shut.

Andi immediately discerned that he’d texted instead of phoning because he was royally ticked off. Knowing Jack, he was probably afraid he’d say something he’d be sorry for later. She texted back what, in her mind, was a meek
sorry
, to which he immediately replied,
you should be.

He’d get over his anger eventually. Or at least, she hoped he would. In retrospect, she realized she should have asked
him
again if she could tag along. He might have said no initially, but she could have worn him down. It was a trait she’d learned from her mother. A trait her father called nattering and her mom called tenacity. Andi preferred to think of it as perseverance. Jack apparently considered it a character flaw, which resulted in her being a pain in the ass for him at times.

Back at home, she reread all the paperwork she’d left out the night before. After that, she pulled out her journal and went to her computer to transcribe everything Clem, the Deacons, and Davis MacLeary had said to her, hoping that some heretofore ungleaned clue would jump out at her. She printed out the transcripts and used a yellow highlighter to mark a few things that might be more important than she’d originally considered.

She set those aside and created another new document, calendaring all the texts, emails, and phone calls between The Liquidator and Clem. She included the communiqués that she’d initiated and the date Clem had hired the hitman, then printed that out, as well. She retrieved the document from the printer, grabbed the Smokie transcripts, and returned to the kitchen to brew a cup of tea.

While the water boiled, she studied the communication timeline between Clem and the killer he’d hired. Once situated at the table, she used various colored highlighters to differentiate the texts, emails, and phone dates.

By the time she’d finished her tea, no great revelation had occurred to her, but she intuited that she was missing something. Something big. Something important.

Frustrated by her lack of comprehension over what the calendar could provide, she took a break and seized the opportunity to splash her face with cold water.

Back at the table again, she stared down at the sheet of paper as if she could will it to speak.

As if it had a willingness to oblige, though not in a neon-light sort of way, the information transmitted to Andi’s brain and she saw what she had completely missed before.

. . .

Jack leaned against his EPD-issued sedan, looking a little
GQ
-ish in his immaculate suit and tie. He had his arms crossed over his wide chest and his foot tapped impatiently against the asphalt. His usual welcoming smile was absent and in its place was a frown topped off by an unpleasant glare.

Andi tried not to let it rattle her, but it was obvious he was beyond pissed. Consumed with regret for the way she’d handled getting herself inserted into the Helen MacLeary interview, she considered driving right on by. Not that she wanted to, but apparently, it would lighten Jack’s mood.

She took a deep breath, unhooked her seatbelt, and climbed out of the rental car.

Jack pushed away from his vehicle as she approached and moved toward the house without waiting for her to join him.

Andi said, “Hi,” and got a grunt in reply.

So, it was going to be like that. Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t deserve it, but this was a new side of Jack she hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but she did know it left her with an unsettling buzz deep inside her. She sent a little prayer toward Heaven, asking for a nugget from Helen that would abate Jack’s displeasure and bring back that sexy smile of his.

Usually, he matched her shorter stride, but today, she had to quicken her step to catch up with him. He rang the doorbell and they waited in silence for the door to open. When they heard the lock click, he said, without looking at her, “Remember what I said about keeping your mouth shut.”

“I’ll try,” Andi said, unwilling to make any promises.

He spared her a dark glance that would have frozen chestnuts roasting on an open fire, but he had no chance to follow up with an acerbic comment. Andi thanked God for small favors.

“Mrs. MacLeary?” he asked of the woman in the doorway.

“Yes. You must be Detective Harmon.” Her eyes slid toward Andi, widening momentarily before she looked back at Jack. “Please, come in.”

Davis, according to everything Andi had read about him, and the pictures she’d seen of him, was a good-looking man of forty-five. He was buff, but without being a well-oiled muscle man. He’d made a lot of money in the surveying business, which was something he had in common with Clem and his real estate investments. He’d married Helen eighteen years earlier.

Based on the one grainy photo she’d found of Helen online, Andi had formed a picture in her mind of a youngish-looking granny. Instead, Helen stood about Andi’s height, with silver hair and blue eyes, a lush figure shown off to perfection in the silk blouse and tailored trousers she wore, and nary a wrinkle in sight. Helen MacLeary had a innate sexiness about her that Andi suspected would be attractive to any male she encountered. Even Jack seemed to be tongue-tied.

Andi’s curious mind got to wondering. Since Helen and Davis were into wife-swapping, did they have kids, and if so, where did they go when it was their parents’ turn to host a sexual liberation party? With the obvious age difference between them, it was possible they hadn’t had any children, so maybe it hadn’t been an issue.

Helen gave Jack a blatant once-over, her gaze lingering too long, Andi thought, on a certain part of his anatomy. Nothing like a woman on the prowl letting a guy know it. She turned those blue eyes on Andi and studied her for a moment after that, as if assessing her in the same sexual way.

Andi managed to keep her expression neutral, even though Helen’s blatant perusal disturbed her.

With a knowing smirk and a slight shrug, Helen slid her arm through Jack’s and urged him forward. “Let’s go into the drawing room,”

Left in their dust, Andi closed the door and followed behind, taking in her surroundings with interest. The home, which was relatively new, had been furnished with Mid-Century Modern décor. It would have done a Frank Lloyd Wright house proud, but seemed out of place in a Colonial. Every piece was sleek and beautiful, including the furnishings in the home office in what Helen, again, referred to as the drawing room. Who the heck called any room in their house a drawing room these days?

Still, Andi couldn’t help admiring the gorgeous L-shaped walnut desk with the floating drawer stacks, exoskeleton legs, and brass hardware. “The desk is amazing,” she said, earning another sour look from Jack.

“If you’re interested in buying it, I’ll give it to you for a steal,” Helen said.

“I might be,” Andi said, “but that’s a conversation for another day.”

Helen nodded. “I know you, don’t I?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know I’ve seen you somewhere before.” She glanced at Jack and snapped her fingers. “You’re the woman who crashed her car.”

Not exactly the way Andi would have described it. “Yes.”

Helen put her full attention on Jack. “Do you always bring—what is she, a culprit?—with you when you’re interviewing witnesses?”

“Culprit!” Andi burst out, incensed.

“Ms. Comstock, please!” Jack said, his voice stern. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. MacLeary, I need to get a statement from you on what you saw the night of Ms. Comstock’s crash.”

Andi narrowed her eyes on him, but he didn’t look her way again. Ms. Comstock, my ass, Andi fumed silently.

“Can I offer you a coffee, Detective?”

“No, thanks. Do you mind if we sit?”

“Please do.” She took his arm and guided him to a two-seater, floating-frame settee with three legs.

Andi watched with some amusement as Jack reluctantly settled himself beside Helen. Served him right.

He took out his detective notebook and said, “Where were you in relation to Ms. Comstock’s vehicle?”

Helen put a beautifully manicured fingertip to her lips. “Hmm, let me think. I was in the next lane and two cars behind.”

“When did you first notice that something wasn’t right?”

Helen’s gaze slid sideways, in Andi’s direction. “Almost as soon as I pulled into the traffic lane. She was driving rather erratically, and the roads were wet. I thought her speed was too fast for the conditions.”

Andi opened her mouth to protest, caught Jack’s eye and read something there that made her keep quiet.

“Then what?”

“Well, she apparently jerked the wheel and veered off the roadway before she jumped the curb and rammed the bank building.” She cast a rather sneering glance in Andi’s direction. “Quite truthfully, I thought she must have been either drinking or doing drugs to drive like that.”

Jack flexed his jaw, but didn’t respond with a contradictory comment. “Backing up just a minute, do you remember what the vehicle behind Ms. Comstock’s looked like?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Do you know what kind of vehicle Ms. Comstock was driving?”

“Certainly. It was a VW SUV. Gray.”

Andi noticed Jack’s hand pause a moment on his notebook. “What about the car in front of you?”

“It was an SUV, too. I don’t remember what kind.”

“What about the vehicle in the inside lane next to you?”

She shrugged. “A truck, I think. I’m not sure.”

Jack tapped his pen against his notebook. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is it you remember the make of Ms. Comstock’s vehicle, but not of any of the others immediately adjacent to you?”

Helen puckered her lips, her displeasure in being challenged obvious.

“Mrs. MacLeary?” Jack prodded.

Her eyes tracked to Andi again, those blue orbs of hers radiating more than just dislike. Andi felt like she was being eyeballed by a chunk of kryptonite.

The seconds passed with laborious slowness and still Helen didn’t respond. Jack’s glance slid from Davis’s widow to Andi and back. His jaw flexed again as he waited the woman out.

Andi decided to take the initiative and break new ground. She’d have to deal with some major fallout later, but for now, she was determined to get something useful out of Helen. “What did Davis do to you that infuriated Clem Naylor so much?”

Jack made a choking sound. “Ms. Comstock, please!”

Helen MacLeary’s hand flew to her chest in harmony with her startled gasp. “What?” she whispered hoarsely.

Andi could play Helen’s game. “What did Davis—?”

“Never mind, I heard you the first time! What makes you think Davis did anything to me?”

“Clem said—”

“Clem couldn’t have said a damned thing. He’s dead!” The scathing tone of her voice didn’t give away the depth of her agitation, but her body language spoke volumes.

Andi adroitly avoided the issue of Clem being dead. “Regardless, Clem did tell me he hated your husband for what he’d done to you.”

Her face colored to a pallor nearly the shade of her silvery hair. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Andi, still standing because she hadn’t been invited to sit, leaned forward a couple of inches. “Oh, don’t I? I know you and Davis couples’ swapped. I know you and Davis tried to get Clem and Denise to participate. I know you suggested to them that maybe you could do a four-way.” She paused for effect before her final bomb. “I know Davis wanted to get it on with Clem.”

Andi had heard the term “bulging eyes” before, but had never seen it. Poor Helen. If she wasn’t apoplectic, the bear didn’t you-know-what in the woods.

“
Andi—
”

“Clem?” Helen managed, sounding strangled. “No, you’re wrong. It was Denise that Davis was salivating over. He couldn’t stop talking about her and what a good fuck she’d be.” She pushed herself up off the sofa heading toward Andi, abandoning her ladylike persona.

“Ms. Comstock, I really don’t think this is the appropriate time for this,” Jack said, his tone stern.

So much for the sexy-siren facade, Andi thought, ignoring him as she tracked the approach of the woman with the I-could-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands look in her eyes.