18 Deader Homes and Gardens (25 page)

While Jorgeson dutifully wrote down the statement, I studied Danny Delmond. He was a womanizer and a misogynist, I decided, but he was a shrewd businessman at heart. Developing property for houses was a risky business in the current economy. Many of his competitors had gone bankrupt over the previous five years. If he was struggling, he would be ruthless.

“Where’s this new development?” I asked.

He looked at Jorgeson. “Why is she here? Shouldn’t she be twiddling her thumbs in an interview room or a holding cell?”

“It’s hard to explain, Mr. Delmond,” Jorgeson replied. “Is there something about her question that bothers you?”

“No, it’s just none of her damn business. There is no new development until the deal comes together. It’s in the preliminary stages, and nothing’s been signed. I don’t want to talk about it because the negotiations are private. Get a subpoena if you want to know the details.”

Jorgeson tapped his pen on the notebook. “That’s all for the moment, Mr. Delmond. The medical examiner’s office will let you know when they’ll release the body so that you can make funeral arrangements.”

Danny stood up. “Put her back where you found her. I gave you her parents’ information. They can handle it.” He stormed out without so much as a word of farewell.

“I think a subpoena is a wonderful suggestion,” I said. “He was hiding something. Maybe he wants to develop Hollow Valley. He has a verbal agreement with Charles, who can coerce the others into selling. The only property—”

“I am very tired, Ms. Malloy, and you must be, too. Please go home and make yourself a nice supper. Read the Sunday paper, or watch TV. Have a pleasant night. We can resume in the morning when you’re … less enthusiastic.”

I opted to leave with dignity before he had me escorted out to my car. As I drove home, I worked on my inspired theory. Nattie had said something about a gated community, but I couldn’t remember the context. Hollow Valley could offer spacious, wooded lots with beautiful views—or quarter-acre lots with rows and rows of modest homes. The Old Tavern would be converted into condos, and the green space replaced with a community swimming pool. Danny Delmond would make millions of dollars. The thought appalled me. The only property, as I’d tried to tell Jorgeson, that was out of Charles’s control was that which had belonged to Winston. It now belonged to Terry Kennedy’s estate. Danny must have been hoping that either the family’s lawsuit would prevail or Terry would sell.

Angela had thrown the proverbial monkey wrench into his plan by contacting Terry, who’d given her permission to show me the house. She might have done so intentionally, if she knew about the proposed development. Someone in the Hollow family had seen us and called Danny. He panicked and then came up with a way to trick her into leaving. I needed to find out how he’d done it. That, and who’d helped him move her car, hide her body, and dig her grave. Danny would not have sullied his manicured fingernails by grubbing in the dirt.

I realized that I’d made it home and was parked in the garage. I went upstairs and opened the refrigerator. I found leftover pizza, which was less appealing than the sandwich at the PD. I stuck a slice in the microwave, ate it in the middle of the kitchen, and then took a hot shower.

I was toweling my hair when I heard Caron’s and Inez’s voices in the living room. I put on a bathrobe and walked down the hallway cluttered with boxes. I’d called Caron from the PD to let her know why I would be late, but I’d skimped on the details. I braced myself as I sat down.

“Did they arrest somebody?” demanded Caron. “Was it that despicable Charles guy? Why’d he do it?”

“He was having an affair with Angela, wasn’t he?” Inez inserted. “I knew he was the one. Do you remember that televangelist who got caught—”

“No one has confessed or been arrested,” I said, “and Charles didn’t murder his daughter. She lives on the hill past the football stadium.”

“The woman who fed Terry the nonpoisonous mushrooms?” Caron asked, looking confused. “I’d like to think you didn’t eat anything she made. It’s so disgusting when people throw up. You aren’t going to, are you?”

I massaged my neck as I ran through the story that I had repeated endlessly to Jorgeson. Having some knowledge of the players, they remained quiet until I finished.

“Okay,” Caron said, “then all we have to do is prove that Danny Delmond is conspiring with Charles to buy up all the property.”

Inez blinked solemnly. “We also have to prove Danny killed Terry and Angela, and maybe even Winston.” She glanced at her watch. “What time is Mr. Rosen getting home?”

“Probably not for a few days,” I said. “He was diverted to St. Louis for another case. It doesn’t matter. Hollow Valley has been effectively sealed off by the police. I am not going to buy a camouflage jumpsuit and crawl through the woods. I’ve had more than enough nature to hold me for several years. Jorgeson will sort it out. I’m going to make a cup of tea and read in bed. Good night.”

I was doing just that when I heard the back door close softly. I closed the book, switched off the reading light, and promptly fell asleep.

12

The telephone woke me from an uncomfortable dream that involved a firing squad, Fidel Castro, and Winston, who had golden hair and was smoking a cigar while he awaited my execution. A string quartet performed while Loretta passed a plate of canapés. I pulled a pillow over my head until the ringing stopped. I had no desire to face the day. I knew Jorgeson would request the honor of my presence at the PD so that I could reiterate my activities at Hollow Valley ad nauseam. I’d wanted Peter to put yellow tape around the house. Now the entire valley was off-limits.

I crawled out of bed, avoiding the hazards on the floor, and rummaged through the crammed closet for jeans and a blouse suitable for interrogation. Caron and Inez were sound asleep. I was relieved to know they had done nothing that ended with a request for bail. I tidied myself for the day and started a pot of coffee. The light on the answering machine was blinking, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, including my irate husband.

I went downstairs and picked up the local paper. The discovery of Angela’s body was not mentioned, since it had happened late in the day. With the majority of Farber College students gone for the summer, the newspapers and local TV coverage were stuck with burglaries, missing geriatric patients, and fender-benders. Bad news was better than no news. Bad news was even better than good news, as far as the media were concerned.

After I’d had ample caffeine, I pushed the button on the answering machine. Jorgeson’s hoarse voice informed me that I was welcome to return to his office early in the afternoon, since he would be in a meeting with the chief and unspecified others most of the morning. I debated calling Peter, but he was likely to be in a meeting as well—or conducting interviews at truck stops. I was not eager to talk to him until he’d simmered down.

Caron and Inez came into the living room, both of them yawning. Caron ran her fingers through her mussed hair as she said, “So what are you going to do now? Read the newspaper while a murderer escapes?”

“That was not my plan,” I said mildly.

Inez sat down and looked at me, although her lenses were so smudged that I could barely see her eyes. “You said that Danny Delmond killed his wife, but you don’t have any evidence. We need to find some.”

“That’s a better plan, but how are you going to do that?”

“Search Angela’s house,” Caron said. “Is there anything to eat before we go? I’m starving.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “We can’t search her house because we don’t have permission. That’s the gist of breaking and entering. The police take a very dim view of that, as do judges. Then again, prison doesn’t charge tuition every semester, and you won’t have to buy books for classes. It’ll be a challenge to find meaningful careers with only a GED degree and a record.”

“We’re not going to Break Anything, Mother. You’re the one who wants to paw through her papers.”

I reminded myself that I was a role model. “I might have said something about her files, but I did not imply that I was willing to commit a felony to satisfy my curiosity. Besides, the police have the house under surveillance.”

“No, they don’t,” Inez murmured as she went into the kitchen. “Can I make some toast?”

Caron’s lower lip was out. “What about the house? Don’t you want it anymore?”

“Yes, I do, but it’s not going to happen,” I said. “Even if I figure out who’s behind this dreadful mess, the house is in Terry’s estate. Probate can take years. And don’t forget the Hollow family’s lawsuit. That may take years, too.” I paused. “Inez, how do you know the house isn’t under surveillance?”

Inez appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Well, I don’t know for sure if it is now. It wasn’t three hours ago.”

I turned back to Caron, who was curled up on the chair in an attempt to make herself invisible. “Three hours ago?”

“Close enough. We sort of went over there after you went to bed. We didn’t break in, if that’s what you’re getting freaked over. There was a darling little dog in the backyard. He was so happy to see us. I guess a neighbor was feeding him and giving him fresh water.”

“Her name is Flopsy,” I said. “Please continue.”

“I told you so,” Inez called from the kitchen.

Caron made a face. “So he’s a she. No big deal. While we were there, we happened to notice there was an alarm system. When I touched the patio door, it started whooping. We didn’t know what to do, so we hid behind the doghouse. Ten minutes later, a cop and this other guy, maybe from the security company, came in the backyard and tested all the doors and windows. They went on around the house. All the while, the alarm kept whooping. Then a light came on inside, and the alarm stopped. The cop and the other guy left, and the neighbors turned off their lights.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” I said. “It was a mistake, and thank goodness you left without getting caught. Prowling is against the law, too.”

“We didn’t exactly leave,” Inez said as she came into the room and handed Caron a piece of limp toast. “We waited half an hour and then did it again, just to see what would happen. The second time, the cop was surly and the security guy was on his cell phone with some technician. They opened and closed the patio door a bunch of times. They went inside, set the alarm, and left.”

“So we did it again,” Caron said through a mouthful of crumbs. “You should have heard the cop. He made such a fuss that the dog ran over and nipped him. It was so incredibly funny. This big old cop, trying to defend himself without kicking the dog, was hopping around the patio like a drunken kangaroo. He finally yelled at the security guy to deactivate the alarm. The security guy said he couldn’t without the owner’s permission, and the cop threatened to arrest him for some trumped-up charge, and then the dog bit the security guy and they both left.”

I struggled to maintain my maternal steeliness. “Don’t ever do anything like that again—and I mean it.”

Caron smiled smugly. “Why would we? The alarm is off and the patio door is unlocked. Are you coming with us or not?”

I went into the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I lacked Fagin’s scraggly hair and poor posture, but I was as guilty as he’d been. He’d recruited orphans to become thieves and pickpockets. I’d reared one. If she made it through college, her only hope was to become a politician. I splashed water on my face, squared my shapely shoulders, and mentally rehearsed my lecture as I went back to the living room.

They were gone. I ran through my list of Anglo-Saxon profanities as I hurried down to my car and drove to the neighborhood of faux Tudors, contemporary antebellums, and stately pleasure domes. Caron’s car was parked a block away from Angela’s house. I parked nearby and walked along the sidewalk, feeling so far out of my comfort zone that I needed a passport. I went to the front door and knocked, waited for a moment, and then dodged around the corner of the house to a gate. I let myself in and was immediately greeted by a hysterical dog that believed I was Anubis incarnate.

“Down, Flopsy,” I said sternly as I closed the gate behind me. Caron and Inez were nowhere in sight, which was not good. The patio door was slightly open. Flopsy continued to jump on me and splatter my ankles with slobber as I went inside. “Caron! Inez! I’m going to call the police myself if you two don’t get in here right now!”

I hurried through the sunroom, the kitchen, and was in the foyer when Inez came bounding downstairs. “You’ve got to see her shoes, Ms. Malloy! There must be two hundred pairs of them on special shelves in her closet.”

“I have no desire to look at shoes. Where’s Caron?”

“In the office upstairs.”

I continued to the second floor. The master bedroom was royal purple, violet, lavender, and all shades in between. The four-poster bed had a canopy of tapestry with dribbly fringe and mounds of carefully coordinated throw pillows and shams. The next bedroom was decidedly green, and the next pink and pinker. Winston and Terry had not solicited her decorating advice. The last room had been converted into an office with a large desk, filing cabinets, shelves of supplies, an array of computer equipment, a printer, and arcane wonders.

Caron was sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of papers and manila folders. “About time,” she said with a sniff. “I have no idea what I’m looking for. This real estate stuff is stupid. I can’t believe they use paper. Do you realize how many trees died just because she didn’t keep all these records on her computer? We’re talking entire national forests.”

“Put it all back where you found it so we can leave,” I said with impressive self-control. “If you’re so concerned about trees, volunteer on Arbor Day. Let’s go—now!”

“Yeah, we’re not going to find anything.” She began to cram papers back into folders. “I didn’t see anything marked ‘Hollow Valley’ or ‘love letters.’”

Inez came into the room, holding Flopsy in her arms. “Nobody writes letters. Let’s check her old e-mail.”

I looked out the window at the street, where a white van was backing out of a driveway. Cars cruised sedately by, and children on bicycles ventured into the street. “We are not going to do anything to her computer. The security company may be sending over an electrician to search for a faulty breaker. It will be hard to explain why we’re in the house, ransacking Angela’s office.”