Something Wicked (12 page)

“What did I say?” Declan asked.

“Leave him alone, Hale,” Kristina admonished, turning to Savannah, who was heading toward the door. “Are you finished?”

“When Ella brings me the photocopies,” Savvy responded.

Hale beat Savannah to the door and pulled it open again. Ella was just returning from the copy room, and Sylvie, back from her break, had reached the top step.

“Here you go,” Ella said as she handed Savvy the files with a challenging lift of her chin, clearly feeling Savvy's investigation was a heinous and traitorous act.

“Wha'd I miss?” Sylvie asked.

“A Bancroft family reunion,” Hale said dryly.

“Your mother isn't here,” Declan said.

“Janet lives in Philadelphia and probably wouldn't show, anyway,” Kristina answered for him.

Hale didn't feel like talking about his mother, who had divorced his father when Hale was eighteen, and had moved away. Preston St. Cloud's health had failed following the divorce, and he'd slowly declined until his death. End of story.

At the mezzanine Savannah suddenly stiffened and leaned forward a bit, dropping a hand to her belly.

“What is it?” Hale demanded.

“More Braxton Hicks. I've been having them on and off for weeks,” she said.

“False labor,” Kristina called from inside the office.

“Yes . . .” After a moment, Savannah collected herself and said, “I'm heading to Portland next to check with your office there. I understand some of your employees used to work here in Seaside.”

“A number of them,” Hale agreed.

“You can't go to Portland,” Kristina declared, coming to stand in the office doorway. “You're . . .”

“Pregnant. I know.” Savannah nodded. “It'll just be a day trip. Can you give me a list of the people who were working in Seaside at the time of the homicides?”

“Sure.” Hale didn't like the idea of Savannah heading to Portland, either, though there was no real reason to feel that way. Yes, the weather wasn't great, but a lot of storms swept through the mountains in the winter, and everyone who lived at the coast and had business in the valley learned to deal with it. “Clark Russo is the manager of the Portland office. Everything got kind of shaken up when the lawsuits started, and he moved over. Then, after the Donatellas were killed, we all kind of . . . made changes.”

Sylvie said, “I suggested Clark for Portland.”

“It was a good choice,” Hale added. “We needed someone who could really take the reins, and that was Clark. Besides, he wanted to go.”

“He got spooked,” Declan said, his tone disparaging.

“Anyone else?” Savannah asked.

Hale nodded. “The project manager. Neil Vledich. Russo's in the office, while Vledich is our on-site manager.” He thought about things and said, “Our bookkeeper quit and moved to Portland, Nadine Gretz. Ella took over her job here. Nadine's no longer with us, but she was integral to the company.”

Ella piped up. “We have some construction guys who move back and forth. They're like temporary employees.”

“I'd like their names, too,” Savvy said.

“And there's Sean Ingles. He's our architect,” Sylvie said. “He works out of his home, and he's not exclusive to Bancroft Development, but he designed most of the houses at the bluff.”

“Can you alert Mr. Russo that I'm coming tomorrow?” Savannah asked.

Kristina sighed. “Can't you put it off? Or let someone else go?”

Savvy met Hale's eyes, and though she was careful not to reveal her thoughts, he was pretty sure she was silently thinking,
See what I mean?

“You might as well talk to DeWitt, too,” Declan said with a snort. “He's the nincompoop who okayed building on the bluff in the first place. Cost us a fortune! Should be criminal charges against him.”

“DeWitt lives in the Portland area,” Hale allowed. “As I said, he was the project engineer. We let him go after the problems with Bancroft Bluff surfaced.”

“Fired his ass,” Declan said. Then his neck turned red with embarrassment. Hale knew his grandfather was old school enough not to want to swear in front of the women. Which just went to show you how deep-down furious he was with DeWitt. Not that Hale was happy with the man, but it was all water under the bridge now.

“Are we good here, then?” Hale asked Savannah, who nodded and thanked him again. Sylvie returned to her office, and Ella to her desk, and Declan, after a moment, said he was going to get his things from his office before heading toward the elevator.

When Savannah had gathered her jacket and was saying good-bye to Kristina, Hale retraced his steps to his office, lost in thought, and it was only when Kristina suddenly appeared in his office doorway again that he thought to ask her why she'd come.

“Can't I stop by and just visit my husband?” she asked, moving inside.

“You never have before.”

“Well, maybe I'm turning over a new leaf. We need to be together more now, Hale. You know?”

She gazed at him somewhat anxiously, and Hale shook his head. “Because of the baby?”

“Well, of course, because of the baby. And for us, too.” She actually came around his desk and sat herself on his lap. It was so unusual that Hale just stared at her in disbelief. “Don't look at me that way. Don't you want to get closer?”

“Can we talk about this at home?” He glanced at the pile of papers on his desk, though his mind was still on the meeting with Savannah.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

“Kristina . . .”

“You just don't know how to be romantic!” she declared, jumping up from his lap and stalking across the room. “I want you to sweep me off my feet. Make my knees go weak. Just
undo
me.”

He lifted his hands, palms up, at a complete loss. “Since when?”

“Fuck you, Hale,” she snapped, and to his shock, there were tears standing in her eyes. “I need help. We need help, and all you do is stand there and stare at me like I'm completely mad!”

“This isn't who we are, Kristina.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“If you want something different in our relationship, I'll sure as hell give it the old college try, but I can't go from zero to sixty that fast.”

She shot across the room, back to him, leaning over his desk urgently. “I can. I can get hot so fast, it's like . . . record-breaking.”

“Since when?” he wanted to ask, but said instead, “Okay . . .”

“Could you try to meet me halfway? Just try?”

“Well, tonight I've got a meeting with—”

“Break it. Come home. Make love to me, and let's put some heat back in this marriage.”

Hale slowly nodded. It was the last thing he wanted, he realized, and that made him feel guilty as hell.

“I need to have sex with my husband,” she said as if she could read his thoughts.

The elevator bell dinged, and Hale heard the doors whisper open. A moment later Declan stood in the office doorway, looking a bit confused. “Can't find my damn keys.”

Hale got up from his desk and hurried to help him. Anything to get away from Kristina and her strangely desperate need to put things “right” in their marriage.

A few moments later Declan declared, “In my pocket! I swear, I searched there.”

Hale said, “I'll head down with you,” and waited while Declan worked his way into the elevator car again. As the doors closed, he saw Kristina throw him a look as she grabbed her coat, and he couldn't decipher what was on her face. The closest emotion he could come up with was fear.

S
avannah drove away from Bancroft Development, shifting in her seat, as her Braxton Hicks contractions kept right on coming. She had lied about them going away and had done her best to ignore them through the rest of the interview. But maybe these contractions were something more, although every other time she'd felt that way, the contractions had disappeared, so she wasn't about to make that prediction yet. It was almost as if her eagerness to think they were real scared them away. Screw that. She wasn't going to think about them too hard unless they settled down into rhythmic waves.

She sighed. On her way to Hale's offices her mind had been full of thoughts of the women of Siren Song and what she'd learned from Herman Smythe's account,
A Short History of the Colony
. Mostly she'd focused on the “gifts” that had apparently been bestowed upon the young women who still resided there, the fact that they'd been passed down from generation to generation. She'd also gotten a further insight into Mary Rutledge Beeman's days of uninhibited sex and why Catherine Rutledge had drawn a halt to all of them. Savvy had concluded that she should learn more about the offspring—the girls and the boys—whom Mary had given birth to, find out their names at the very least. Since Catherine wasn't eager to pass out that information, she would contact Herman Smythe, and even though he'd been much younger when he'd written the account of the Colony, there was nothing like going to the source.

But after meeting with Hale and running up against Kristina, Declan, and everyone else at Bancroft Development—that was what it had felt like, a battle more than an interview—she'd dropped thoughts of Catherine and the Colony in favor of the department's ongoing investigation into the Donatellas' deaths.

The good thing about that meeting was that Hale St. Cloud had been easy to get along with and more than helpful. In fact, the whole staff had followed his lead and had bent over backward to give her anything she needed. In her experience, everyone—
everyone
—resented the police looking into their business, no matter if they had something to hide or not, so it was a pleasure being treated with respect and an eagerness to help. She'd never seen that side of Hale before. Was it because she was carrying Baby St. Cloud? Undoubtedly, that was a factor, but was there something else there, too? Maybe he thought he could dissuade her from delving deeper into his company books if he was extra nice?

“Cynical,” she said aloud, driving along the curving cliff-side highway.

Still, it seemed like he'd handed over everything she could have asked for. Was it really that he had nothing to hide, or was he merely killing her with kindness?

Her abdominal muscles suddenly seized, and she sucked air between her teeth.
That
was a particularly hard contraction. Could this be it? Could it? Nope . . . nope . . . she wasn't going to be fooled this time. She would just wait.

Fleetingly she wondered if she should change her plans about driving to Portland in the morning. Maybe it was a foolish decision to go, but could she just stand by, waiting and waiting and waiting, while Stone and Clausen and everyone else kept moving forward on the case? Was her interest in being involved less about results and more about her just being obsessive, anxious, and competitive?

She growled in her throat, annoyed at herself. She should probably stay on this side of the mountains and make some phone calls. It wasn't the same as in person, but it was still just follow-up information. On the other hand, it was all she had.

Her cell phone rang, and she recognized the ring tone she'd assigned to her sister. She answered through Bluetooth. “Hey, there.”

“Savvy, what the hell? Don't go all ‘Just the facts, ma'am' on us. You don't know Hale as well as you think you do. He's really, really volatile, and the Donatellas' murders have nothing to do with the Bancrofts, anyway.”

“Hale was nothing but nice.”

“I'm telling you, that's an act. Don't mix up the Bancrofts with the Donatellas. I don't know what the hell that was about, but you're all wrong.”

“I'm looking for the killer of your friends.”

“Of course. And I want you to find the sick bastard, but just . . . give it up. Go on maternity leave. Please, please, please. For me. Take a break until after the baby gets here.”

Savannah stared through the windshield at the driving rain. Maybe Kristina was right. She gritted her teeth, unable to explain to her sister all the reasons why she wanted to keep going.

“And it sounds like it was a lovers' quarrel that went bad, anyway. It has nothing to do with us,” Kristina noted.

“What did you say? How'd you know that?”

“I heard on the news that Marcus was having an affair with Hillary Enders and her boyfriend was the one who shot them. It was on at noon. Channel Seven, with that Kirby bitch.”

“Pauline Kirby
said
that they were killed by Kyle Furstenberg?” Savannah asked as she braked for a hairpin curve, the SUV sliding a bit before straightening out.

“That sounds like the name. She said it was the prevailing theory,” Kristina added, “but then he got on and said he didn't shoot them, but, of course, they all say that.”

“You mean
Furstenberg
was actually interviewed on television?”

“That's what I said.” Kristina was getting perturbed. “But did
you
hear
me
? About giving up the investigation?”

“Pauline Kirby asked Kyle Furstenberg whether he shot Marcus and Chandra Donatella on the Channel Seven noon news,” Savannah said, clarifying everything.

“Yes. That's right,” her sister said with barely controlled patience.

“And he denied the crime.”

“Again. Yes.”

“Was Hillary Enders part of the interview?”

“God, Savannah! I already told you everything I know. You've gotta stop this.”

“Was there anyone else in the interview besides Furstenberg?”

“I'll call you later.” Savannah was terse.

“No, no! God damn it. Don't get further involved, if that's what you're trying to do. Let it go.”

Savvy clicked off without another word, then put a call in to Lang's cell, wondering if he'd gone home already.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Savvy.”

“Did you know Kyle Furstenberg gave an interview with Channel Seven today?”

“I heard.” He sounded disgusted.

“What's the deal with Hillary Enders? I saw Ella Blessert at Bancroft and asked for Hillary's address, but you'd already talked to her, and she thought you'd probably already talked to Hillary, too.”

“Hillary Enders is here.”

“Here? You mean at TCSD? Now?”

“In the interview room. She wanted to meet with us, and so I said, ‘Come on down.'”

“What about Furstenberg?”

“He
doesn't
want to meet with us. I got through to him, but when I said I was with the sheriff's department, he got off fast.”

“So, he talks to the media but not to us.” She was disgusted as well.

“Par for the course. I'm hoping Hillary can shed some light on her relationship with Marcus Donatella, and we'll go from there. I've gotta go. We're all set up.”

“Wait! I'm on my way.”

“Look, Savvy. Hillary's ready to talk. She
wants
to talk. I'm not going to put this off and have her get cold feet,” he responded. “She's one scared chicken, although I'm not sure she really knows anything, anyway.”

“I'm twenty minutes out.”

“I'm not waiting,” he said, exasperated. “You don't even have to come.”

“Don't piss me off, Lang. Really. Don't piss me off.”

“Jesus H—” He cut himself off. “O'Halloran wants to talk to
you
,” he said meaningfully after a pause, “and you know what that's about.”

“Yeah. He wants me to start my maternity leave. Well, stand in line. If he wants me to quit early, then he can tell me in person. I'm almost there, so save me a seat.”

He muttered a few words under his breath.

“What's that?” she demanded. “Got something to say?”

“Just hurry up,” he ordered, then clicked off.

Savvy wasn't near as bold as she'd been on the phone by the time she wheeled into the back parking lot of the TCSD. The rain had turned to a blowing wind, which shivered and bent the firs and caused the overhead wires to swing to and fro. The mud puddles were full of cold water, and Savvy skirted them as she made her way to the rear entry, hurrying up the few steps and then stalking down the hallway to the interview room without bothering to drop her jacket on one of the pegs by the door. As predicted, her Braxton Hicks contractions had disappeared, and she entered the room feeling more in control of her body than she had all day.

Hillary Enders sat at a table, a Styrofoam cup of coffee cradled in her hands, her head bent, long dark hair falling forward, screening her face. She was thin, almost waiflike, shivering and pale.

Lang was seated opposite her and was saying quietly, “I believe you. I don't want you to feel interrogated. If you say there's no truth to what we heard, I believe you.”

She nodded jerkily, her whole body rocking.

“It's just that we really need to talk to Kyle, too, and he's avoiding us,” Lang went on after shooting Savannah a look that warned her not to disturb him. Message received, Savvy stayed back by the wall, trying to blend into the surroundings.

“Kyle wouldn't hurt anybody,” Hillary said.

“He told a reporter that you were having an affair with Marcus Donatella. Now, he may have been lying, or he may have really believed it.”

“He knows I would never.” She gulped at the coffee, spilling a little.

“So he was lying, then?”

“I don't know. I didn't see the interview.”

“We can sure get you a copy of it, but in the meantime, let me tell you what he said.” He looked down at the file in front of him. “‘She dumped me for her boss, but I didn't kill him, and anybody who says I did is a lying piece of . . .' The last word was bleeped out for all the viewers' delicate ears.”

She shot him an upward glance to see if he was joking. “Sounds like him.”

“Well, it is like him. He said those things.”

“I wasn't cheating on him. We broke up after what happened to Marcus and Chandra. . . . I was a mess. It was just awful.” She slowly shook her head, staring into the middle distance. “But Kyle . . . he didn't get it.”

“Didn't get . . . ?”

“Why I was so upset. I mean . . . really? He couldn't understand?” She took a hand from the Styrofoam cup and placed trembling fingers to her temple. “It didn't affect him like it did me, so he was just the same. It didn't work between us anymore. Maybe he did think I was seeing Marcus. I don't know. I haven't talked to him in months.”

Lang considered. “Let's assume he did believe you were in a relationship with Marcus Donatella, since that's what he said on the news.”

She didn't respond.

“Maybe he killed Marcus and Chandra Donatella as a means to get back at you.”

“No. Oh, no.” She was positive. “He's not like that.”

“Was he over you? The relationship?” Lang asked.

She shook her head, whether in answer to his questions or just because she didn't even want to consider them, Savvy couldn't tell. “Where did Channel Seven get the idea that he killed the Donatellas?” she demanded. “It's ludicrous. You don't understand what Kyle's like.”

“Maybe you could fill us in.”

“He's a big doofus,” she declared. “We've known each other for years. Were we dating? Yeah. But it wasn't going anywhere. He's not marriage material, if you know what I mean.”

“Is that what you're looking for?”

She turned her gaze from Lang to Savvy and then over to O'Halloran and Deputy Burghsmith, who were sitting at a back table, listening. Hillary had clearly allowed them to be there, but now she looked like she was changing her mind.

“You think I had designs on Marcus Donatella? That's what Ella told you, isn't it? Ella Blessert. Because I told her I thought he was good-looking and successful.
Marriage material.
Except, well, he was
already
married, and in my book, that counts for something. Ella's a doofus, too.” She pressed her lips together and scowled at Lang. “I wasn't having an affair with Marcus Donatella, and I'm not in love with Kyle and never have been. Maybe Kyle thought I wanted Marcus, but he never said so when Marcus was alive, so I don't see how you people even got his name.” A moment later she said, “Ella. This all comes back to Ella, doesn't it?”