Redemption (A Joe Burgess Mystery, Book 3) (28 page)

She laughed. "Nick's version of normal is kind of what them artists like to have—what are they called? A muse? Somebody who supposedly inspires 'em? Only it's really someone who does the cooking and the cleaning and brings home the groceries and a paycheck and supplies freshly ironed shirts. He wasn't getting that from Cindy. She thought he oughta be ironing
her
shirts. He walked a fine line, though, trying to have that and not have Cindy stab him in the back or put poison in his food while he wasn't looking."

He knew way too much about Star Goodall and her poisons. His gut ached just thinking about it.

"Hold on a sec, would you?" He heard her set down the phone, and a door opened and shut. "Had to let Tucker out," she said. "Nick gave her the house, though he keeps the use of the barn for his studio. And he pretty much supports her, since I don't guess witches make a whole lot of money. I've always kind of wondered how his muse feels about that, since she works. He'd give a lot, I think, to be out from under his obligations to Cindy. Funny thing, isn't it, that he's a famous artist who doesn't make much money?"

"He's got a boat."

"Nice boat," she agreed. "He took it in exchange for a piece of sculpture he did. Then he found out how expensive boats could be. And how hard the darned thing was to sell. Smart, you know, but maybe not wise? Or practical."

"Sounds like you stay in touch with him."

"A little. We always liked him. He could be a bit grandiose, I guess, and kinda self-indulgent. He's been a real wimp about Cindy and makin' her let go, and I don't get that stuff he builds at all, but mostly he's just a regular guy trying to figure out how he ended up married to a nutcase. He tried to make it work with Cindy, I'll give him that. Sometimes, when things were bad, he'd call Clay for advice. Clay did his best. I guess we all did, even Reggie, but Cindy's like a snapping turtle. Once her mind closes on something, there's no budging her."

There was a sudden grunt, a crash, the sound of something heavy settling. He leaned forward, tensing, as though he could do anything from fifty miles away.

"Basket of shellbeans," she said. "Slipped off the table and knocked over a chair. Gotta get these things shelled and canned. I'm sick of seeing them sitting around my kitchen. Usually, Clay and I do them together. Sit and watch some TV and shell the beans. But he's too distracted to sit. Why are you asking about Nick?"

"Just trying to figure Star out, I guess. You got a number or an address for him?"

"Got both. Don't know if they're current. It's been a while." She paused. "You think she's mixed up in this?"

"Have to check every angle." Annoyed with himself for giving so much away, he wrote down the numbers. "One last thing, Mary. Do you know if Reggie was working last spring, before he came to you for the summer?"

"For a few weeks he was, I think," she said. "Covering for some other guy while he was out sick, maybe? He didn't say much about it."

"He never said where it was or anything? No check came for him, maybe?"

"Sorry, Joe. I don't remember him saying anything. Maybe he told Clay. Is it important?"

"Probably not. I'm just trying to figure out these last weeks and I'm having a hard time getting a good time line."

"His last weeks," she said, a catch in her voice. "All I know is that he was keen to get back to Portland on account of that job. Otherwise he'd of stayed longer with us."

Better let her get on with shelling the beans. Fall on a farm. A lot to do before frost and winter. He had plenty to do, too. Like visit Charlie Hazen. He hadn't made an appointment. Hazen was likely to regard a police visit as inconvenient, and isolate himself behind a wall while extremely polite people declared that sadly, Mr. Hazen was unavailable. He had checked to see if Hazen was in.

He sat a moment beside Hazen's fancy truck, then fished in the glove compartment for his digital camera. He snapped the truck and a close-up of the logo, and tucked the camera in his pocket. Instinct born of decades on the job made him restart his car and park it behind Hazen's, like a man in a hurry who's just paused a moment to ask a quick question. Then he went inside.

The woman behind the reception desk must have had no mirrors at home. Her brassy Dolly Parton hair needed a touch-up, her chipped red nails needed repainting, and her billowing midriff needed a slenderizing undergarment or a billowing overgarment. Her breasts didn't need anything except covering. They oozed up out of her too-small black tank top like twin mounds of rising dough, flecked with freckles and moles, jiggling gently with every inhalation. A tank top in late October. The office wasn't that warm. Without makeup, she would have had a pleasant face. With it, she was zombie-movie scary. Behind her, the wall was lined with framed photos of Hazen, country-club dapper with a wide, white shark's grin.

She blinked brittle lashes at him and tapped a nail on the glass desktop. "Can I help you?"

He showed his badge. "Detective Sergeant Burgess to see Mr. Hazen."

"Oh." For about three beats, that was all. Then her hand went to her chest, squashed the pillows, and drifted toward her phone. "I don't think he's... I mean he's... that is he said he..."

"Urgent police business," Burgess said.

She blinked a few more times, picked up the phone, and punched in some numbers, waiting tensely for a response. After what must have been the space of twenty rings, she cradled it, unsuccessfully suppressing her smirk. "Must be away from his desk."

Burgess was already moving. He jerked the door open just as Hazen backed away from his blocked truck, heading across the parking lot toward a muddy Jeep. Burgess went after him.

Chapter 21

By the time Burgess reached him, Hazen had the key in the lock. Burgess blocked the door with his body and held out his badge. "Detective Sergeant Burgess, Portland police, Mr. Hazen. I need to ask you a few questions." This wasn't Simon Says. He didn't say "may I."

Hazen, pink with irritation under his tan, put his hands up in mock surrender, then produced his signature realtor's grin. Neon-bright teeth in a lined face were more jarring than attractive. "Okay, Chief," he said. "You got me."

If he were "Chief," he wouldn't have to put up with crap like this. Burgess produced an equally false smile and gestured toward the building. "Shall we go inside?"

"Here is fine."

"Then we'll use my office, so we don't have to stand in the rain." He herded a reluctant Hazen toward the passenger side and opened the door. He'd prefer better lighting and face-to-face but this would have to do. He'd hardly gotten his notebook open when his phone rang.

"Good thought about that boat," Kyle said. "Guy down here at the marina says Joey's been living on a boat the last six or eight weeks. Came tearing in last night, though, packed up his stuff and took off in one hell of a hurry. Didn't say where he was going." Kyle paused. "Actually, when the guy asked, 'cuz he's a nice, friendly sort who's done some favors for the kid, Joey told him to fuck off, suggested an anatomically impossible act, then left a strip of rubber as he departed."

Burgess didn't want Hazen to hear this. He said, "Excuse me," and got out of the car. "In the red Audi?"

"Yup."

"You'll want to search the boat," he said. "See if you can save us a little time, get the owner's permission. I got Nick Goodall's address and phone number from Mary Libby. You ready?"

Kyle was always ready. Burgess read off the information. "Got it," Kyle said. "You know if Claire Libby has another place? Summer place? Ski condo? Somewhere Joey might go to get out of town until things cool down?"

He tried to remember if Reggie or Joey had ever mentioned a place. Couldn't come up with anything. "Not that I remember, but it wouldn't surprise me."

"I'll see what I can find out," Kyle said, and was gone.

Something else Clay might know. Burgess would call him later.

He flipped to a blank page and got back in the car. Hazen wasn't waiting patiently. His feet danced on the floor and his fingers danced on his knees. "What's this about?" he demanded, before Burgess had even shut the door.

"Real estate. Reggie Libby's property." Agitation had heated up Hazen's aftershave or cologne or whatever the hell it was, filling the car with reeking man perfume that would linger long after Hazen was gone. It was better than vomit, he supposed. That also lingered. "You were out at the property a few weeks ago with Joey, having a survey done, weren't you?"

Hazen shrugged. "I'm a developer. Waterfront is hot and it's a big piece of land."

"How did you learn about the property?"

The realtor's feet shuffled on the carpet. His fingers danced until he willed them to be still. "I'm not sure," he said. "I don't know if it was from Claire or from Joey. It just came up casually in conversation that Joey had some land and—"

"That was how you understood it," Burgess interrupted. "That it was Joey's land?"

"Going to be Joey's," Hazen corrected. "That there was some land in trust for Joey."

"So you knew the land was in trust?" Hazen nodded. "Go on."

"Joey said he had no use for some piece of land out at the back ass of beyond... those are his words, Chief, not mine. He wasn't ever going to be a farmer and they didn't need another place on the water, so Claire... I'm pretty sure it was Claire's idea... reminded him that I was a developer and suggested maybe he should bring me out there to have a look."

When he didn't continue, Burgess said, "When did this conversation take place?"

Hazen shrugged. "I dunno. Eight weeks ago, maybe? Could be longer." A hand flutter suggested vagueness. "End of summer, early fall, we can be pretty busy."

"You went out with Joey to see the place?" Hazen nodded. "When was that?"

"A couple weeks later. Joey wasn't too clear about where the land was, that back ass of beyond remark was all the information he had, but Claire knew, so she came along. Pretty piece of land."

"Who suggested the surveyor?"

"I did. It was the natural next step. You need to know what you're dealing with. All these old deeds and surveys, so many times they're way off and there's actually less land than people think they own. Obviously, you can't even think about doing a development plan until you're sure of the lot size and configuration. I wasn't going to make an offer until I had a clear picture of what was there."

"Make an offer to whom?"

"Well, Joey, of course. Claire was very clear she didn't have any interest in the land."

"By interest, you mean legal interest?" Hazen nodded. "But the land was in trust."

"A formality," Hazen said dismissively. "As I understood it, the trust was just a dodge to keep owning property from affecting the father's disability payments. Joey said that wouldn't be a problem. His father would sign it over to him whenever he wanted."

"Who told you about the trust? Claire or Joey?"

Hazen hesitated, his hands doing a tap dance on his knees again. Then he said, "I'm not sure. I guess... I think... it was probably Claire. Joey was interested in money but he wasn't big on details."

"Any particular reason Joey was eager for money?"

Hazen shrugged. "Wanted to get a place of his own. Kid's kinda old to be living with his mother."

"You ever talk with Reggie? Confirm that what Joey said was true?"

Hazen looked right. Looked left. And lied. "That's right. When I talked with Reggie, he assured me that he was behind whatever Joey wanted to do."

"But Reggie wasn't the trustee, was he?"

Hazen's vigorous shrug threw off another blast of scent. Guy must buy the stuff by the gallon. "That's the uncle... Reggie's brother... he's the trustee. But he's supposed to do what Reggie wants... uh... wanted, right? So if Reggie had no problem, his brother shouldn't, either. That's how I understood it. That's why I was a little surprised when the surveyor's out there and the brother shows up all huffy, even after he's told it's okay with Reggie. But he's a farmer, you know. They're always reluctant to have anything to do with using land for development."

He frowned and looked at his watch. "I've got a lot to do, Chief, like to wrap things up. What's this all about, anyway?"