Before I Wake (12 page)

“Call him. Nathan can always say no.” Bruce gathered up the stack of paint-sample strips and returned them to some kind of order.

“I’m surprised the two of you get along so well.”

“I’m a bit surprised that it developed as it did too.” Bruce shrugged. “We’re friends. Since his election as sheriff, Nathan’s friends who are cops now work for him. There’s no way around the fact that creates some tension for him.”

“You’re a former cop who is also an impartial outsider.”

“Something like that. When our interests on cases overlap, we work together. When they don’t, we make accommodations.” Bruce looked up from the paint strips. “With Nathan it’s best to tell him not only the facts as you know them, but also what you suspect.”

“I’ve noticed that.” Rae stepped down from the ladder and began putting away her paint supplies. “Are you ready for me to wash that roller?”

“Yes, I’m done. You’ve got your keys? I’ll head over to the lumberyard and buy what we’ll need to build the bookshelves. If they can deliver the wood tomorrow afternoon, this paint should be dry.”

“I’ve got my keys,” Rae confirmed. “I hate to blow a hole in our plans for tonight, but could we move dinner at your place to tomorrow night instead? At this point I’m looking for a long shower and some sleep. I thought I’d copy the active-case files to read and then head over to the hotel.”

Bruce smiled. “It’s no problem, Rae. I figured that might be the case; you were dragging like a dishrag when you got back from your uncle’s. I remember what that business does to your appetite too. I’ll burn you a hamburger another night. I plan to be feeding you often in the next month; you’ll get tired of hotel food pretty fast.”

“I admit, it’s kind of strange thinking of you as a homeowner. I look at your office here, and that’s what I remember about you—that couch and the neat files, the music. You could be living here and you’d be right in line with my memories.”

Bruce laughed. “Eleven years changes a few things. You’ll see. I’m actually kind of enjoying this phase of life, being house tied with a driveway to shovel and a yard to mow.”

He paused beside her and gently wiped paint off her cheek. “You’re freckling in colors now. Try to sleep in tomorrow. I’ll find you midmorning and we can talk through the cases and what makes sense as the next move on them.”

She blinked at the shift in the man toward a beat in time much more personal and then let herself relax. “It works for me.”

Bruce smiled. “Good.”

He left to head to the lumberyard.

Rae closed up the paint cans. She smiled. She’d forgotten a few things about the man and why she’d been so very tempted to stay in Chicago years before.

It was casual on the surface with Bruce, friendship and work. The deeper current rarely showed its eddies, but it was there. Strong, deep, dependable. Their relationship years before had begun to touch that depth. She’d been too young then to appreciate all that meant; she’d just enjoyed it. Now—if she let them, they’d flow this relationship along at the deeper level as well as the surface.

It wasn’t something she was ready to grasp yet, but the knowledge it was out there for the future—Bruce was helping her recover more than he could realize. Just the hope felt good. She was going to enjoy being grounded somewhere again. Maybe grounded again with him.

* * *

Rae stopped by Bruce’s office to retrieve the active files. The files he had described were neatly arranged in the credenza in alphabetic order. Rae pulled out the first handful, one of them thick enough it bulged out a two-inch folder. She carried them to the front reception desk and turned on the copier.

The forms Bruce used, how he documented his work, there was a familiar and comforting similarity to it. Rae read his notes as she undid the clasp and removed pages. In many ways they were now a two-person, private police agency. She set the copier to make two copies so she could leave one set in her office and take the other with her to mark up.

Rae looked up Nathan’s work phone number and dialed on her cordless phone as she walked back to the break room to retrieve a cold soda. “Nathan, it’s Rae Gabriella. Do you have a moment?”

“One sec, Rae.” The phone was covered. “Will, see if there’s a number for Zachary in there. I need to see him tonight. Tell him to stay put; I’ll come to him.” The phone shifted. “Yes, sorry about that, Rae. I’m glad you called.”

“You’re busy. I won’t take your time.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s always like this of an evening after my assistant has gone home.”

“There’s news about Peggy Worth?”

“It’s been ruled a death by natural causes. Franklin called an hour ago and said the toxicology reports were all clean. He confirmed she had a seizure, which apparently triggered a heart attack. He’s not very satisfied with that answer and wants to talk with her personal physician, but he’s found nothing suspicious to question the natural-causes ruling.”

“She was so young.”

“I know.” The paperwork she could hear him working on stilled. “You okay?”

Rae sighed. “It’s almost harder to hear natural causes than it is to hear it was suspicious.” Rae tugged out a chair with her foot and sat down.

“It happens.”

“It’s just sad. Was there any progress on who her date might have been on Saturday?”

“Not when I last talked to Sillman. Hold on; let me get Sillman’s closing report.” She heard him moving folders.

“There were a couple calls to the station after the article appeared in the newspaper, but nothing that helps resolve the 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. window or who her date was with. It looks like you remain the last person we’ve found to have seen her. I’ll have a courier drop off your notepad tonight; I’ve got copies for the file. I noticed you had a to-do list on one of the back pages.”

“Since I didn’t even remember writing the list, I bet nothing on it was critical, but thanks for the delivery. I appreciate the news, Nathan.”

“Anytime. Caller ID tells me you’re still at the agency. How’s your office coming along?”

“We finished the painting. I’m copying files at the moment. Tomorrow Bruce and I will build the bookshelves.”

“If you need an extra hand, give me a call. I can get an hour free.”

“If the lumber starts to overwhelm us, I’ll do that.”

“Talk to you tomorrow, Rae.”

“Night, Nathan.” She hung up the phone, still smiling. The man went out of his way to be helpful, either because it was his personality or because he wanted reasons to stop by. Either way, she appreciated it. She could use all the friends in this town she could make, and the sheriff was a nice place to start. She walked back to the receptionist area to start copying the next file.

* * *

Rae shut off the copier and took the last stack of pages over to the desk. She handwrote the tags for her files in a neat print and sorted out the pages.

The front door of the agency opened as she packed the insurance-company file. Rae looked up.

The couple looked to be in their midsixties. The lady wore a long blue coat and darker scarf, her hair beginning to gray and she moved with the slowness that suggested arthritis. The door was held open by a man wearing a hat and gloves but with only a suit jacket to protect against the cold evening.

As the lady came toward her without waiting for the man Rae assumed was her husband, Rae moved around the desk to greet her. “Good evening. I’m Rae Gabriella. How may I help you, Mrs . . . ?”

“Worth, Lucy Worth, and this is my husband, Richard.”

Peggy’s parents—Rae had met the family of the dead many times in her life but it never got easier to know what to say. The lady’s fingers remained bent and stiff at the joints as she shook hands, and her grip had no strength. Rae lowered her guess at the lady’s age to her fifties for she looked remarkably young. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Rae offered her hand to Richard and got a solid handshake in return. His eyes were gray and below them a darkness to the skin suggested he had had very little sleep the last forty-eight hours. The suit jacket creases suggested hours of driving.

“Our daughter Peggy . . . she died at the hotel Saturday night, and the sheriff said you were one of the last people to talk with her.”

“I spent a few minutes with her about seven o’clock,” Rae confirmed, wondering exactly what Nathan had told them.

Richard looked around the office and then back at her. His jaw firmed. “We’d like to hire you to find out who killed our daughter.”

11

Rae pushed open the door to Bruce’s office and turned on the lights. A conference room didn’t fit the conversation she needed to have with this couple. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. May I get you coffee or a soft drink?”

“Coffee, please,” Mrs. Worth said.

Richard helped his wife slip off her coat. “It would be welcome.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

In the break room she started coffee and then walked back to the reception area to get her briefcase. She retrieved her notepad, glad Nathan had thought it important enough to have couriered over.

She pulled blank forms from the office manager’s supplies, not sure which she would need so she took a few of everything. She wished Bruce would swing back by the office and join her for this conversation, but she didn’t want to call him and convey the fact she couldn’t handle this.

This wasn’t a case she wanted.

Lord, I’m not equipped for this coming conversation. Denial is natural in cases of sudden death, and they’ve had very little time to absorb this loss. If they pursue the idea their daughter was murdered in the face of information that it was a natural death, they will cut off the grieving and mourning they need to pass through in order to go on with their lives. Somehow, please, help me know how to help them turn that corner and accept what happened.

Rae collected the coffee and added cookies to the tray. She very much doubted if they had taken the time to eat, not if they had spent the day making arrangements with the coroner after the release of their daughter’s body and had sought out the sheriff.

They had taken seats, Lucy Worth on the couch, Richard Worth in one of the chairs alongside. Rae slid the tray on the table and handed out the coffees, then took a seat near Richard, staying on their side of the desk. Lucy looked near the end of what she could handle today, her hands had a fine tremor as she lifted the cup to drink and her eyes were rimmed red from tears.

“I am so sorry for your loss.”

“The police department called to pass on the fact she had been identified. We drove down and the coroner let us see her before the autopsy. Today we made arrangements for her burial plot. . . .” Lucy tried to say it without her voice breaking but her words trailed off.

Rae sipped her own coffee and just listened.

“We want to know what happened to our daughter,” Mrs. Worth said. “It makes no sense that this was a seizure that killed her, when there is no history of epilepsy in either of our families; she never had a head injury or anything else which might contribute.

“This case is being closed as natural causes and we don’t believe that’s the full story. She was young, in good health, wasn’t one to abuse her body with drugs or alcohol, and we don’t think she drove to this community to sightsee. She was a freelance reporter, a good careful writer, and we think whatever story she was investigating in this town is related to her death.”

Rae watched Richard from the corner of her eye while she listened to Lucy. Despite Richard’s initial statement, she wasn’t sure if he agreed with his wife’s conclusions. “When did you last speak with your daughter?” Rae asked Mrs. Worth.

“Peggy called Saturday morning about nine. We made arrangements to see a play tomorrow night; she was going to buy the tickets from a friend who wasn’t able to use them. We talked about her ongoing plans to redecorate her living room. She had found two table lamps she thought would be perfect. Peggy sounded fine.”

Suicide didn’t fit with what Rae already knew, and Mrs. Worth’s words reinforced that. No one who initiated a call to her mom, arranged an evening out, would take her life before that day. She’d want one last opportunity to say good-bye.

Foul play . . . it was hard to get past the coroner’s report. She hadn’t seen the details but the conclusion of natural death had a legal implication and it wouldn’t have been made had the coroner not been satisfied he had established both cause of death and the absence of contributing factors. “Do you know why your daughter was in Justice?”

“She often worked freelance on stories that interested her. What she was currently working on—she never said. We haven’t found her notes at her apartment or in the belongings at the hotel which were returned to us this evening.”

“I spoke with her Saturday evening and she mentioned she was going out on a late movie date. Do you know who she might have been meeting? A friend who lives in this area? A fellow reporter?”

“She didn’t say. I have her address book; there might be something there which would suggest a name.”

“Did she have a cell phone?”

“Yes. It was with her purse.” Mrs. Worth leaned forward. “Please, you were the last person to talk with her that we know of. Don’t you wonder?”

Rae studied her notes. Stalling for time wasn’t going to work; they wanted an answer tonight on whether she would help them. Rae knew as much as anyone did about what had happened Saturday night, and it was precious little. She looked at Mrs. Worth. “What would set your mind at rest that Peggy’s death was natural causes?”

Mrs. Worth reached for a tissue.

“We have questions,” Mr. Worth replied. “What she was doing in town, where she went, who she saw. We’d like you to answer those questions for us.”

“I would need to see her things from the hotel, and I’ll need your permission to visit her home and copy items I might find helpful—phone bills, e-mails, even a diary.”

“You have it.”

“Mrs. Worth? I don’t want to add to the grief you now feel. If my work confirms what the police have already told you, will that be helpful or will it just be more painful? I’ll have to ask questions of her friends and coworkers and they may wonder why you asked me to investigate your own daughter. I don’t want you to feel like you betrayed Peggy when that happens.”