Death Angel (29 page)

“Studies have shown that people don’t
eat healthy meals alone. They eat junk food.”

“I’ll thaw some pork chops and fix a
salad.”

“Perfect. I love pork chops. I’ll be there
about seven.”

Before Kate could respond, he had hung
up the phone. “Presumptuous bastard!” she muttered.

She supposed she owed him a dinner.
However, she was damned if she’d let him manipulate her. She opened the freezer
and purposely pushed the pork chops to the back. Taking out a package of
chicken breasts, she set them on the counter to thaw.

The storm had brought the humidity down,
but it was still in the upper eighties when she got back from the grocery
store. In the garden, she selected three yellow tea roses for the table. After
setting them in a vase, she fixed herself a glass of iced tea, and returned to
the deck.
 

A man was bending over the rose bushes.
Kate caught back a cry of alarm when she recognized Ed Bushnell, one of the
neighbors. She set her glass down on the glass-topped table. At the clink of
glass against glass, Ed jerked upright and spun around.
 

“Oh, Kate. Y . . . you’re home,” he
stammered. “My apologies for trespassing.”

His face was red with embarrassment. He
moved away from the rose bush as if he thought she might accuse him of trying
to steal the blossoms.
 

“I’m glad you came over to look at my
garden,” she said. “I just poured some iced tea. Would you like a glass?”

Ed cast a guilty glance in the direction
of his house and a flush pinked his cheeks. “Oh, please, don’t go to any
trouble.”

“I’d enjoy the company,” she called.

It was sad that people could live right
down the street and yet be strangers, Kate thought as she got out another glass
for tea. Marian had told her that Ed had once been the mayor of Pickard. It was
hard to believe that such a mousy little man could have been a political force
in the town. She doubted if she’d ever exchanged more than a word or two with
him. As she carried the cold glass outside, she was surprised to see him still
standing beside the roses. Picking up her own tea, she walked down the deck
stairs and crossed to him.
 

Up close he appeared older and more
frail than she remembered. He was stoop-shouldered with close-cropped white hair
and Germanic features. Only when he smiled did she detect a slight twinkle in
the quickly averted eyes. He reminded her of a henpecked Kris Kringle.
 

“Thank you,” he said, as he accepted the
glass. He took a slow sip and sighed. “It’s very good.”

“I made sun tea yesterday and added some
mint from the garden.”

“No wonder it tastes so refreshing.” He
took another drink then, without looking at her, turned his attention back to
the flowers. “I’ve seen your garden when Mrs. Bushnell and I are out walking. I
was curious about this white rose. I haven’t seen one like it before.”

“You know Marian Granger.” Kate
indicated the house next door and Ed nodded. “She gave it to us. It’s a very
old variety of cabbage rose. Would you like to take some home to Agnes?”

“No,” he said shaking his head
vigorously. If he had looked flustered earlier, he now appeared genuinely
alarmed. “Mrs. Bushnell wouldn’t approve.”

Kate wondered if his wife didn’t approve
of roses or of Ed wandering around to other gardens. Agnes must keep him on a
pretty short leash. Kate couldn’t recall seeing Ed alone. He was always with
Agnes. So much closeness must be claustrophobic. No wonder Ed had snuck off on
his own.

“I don’t know a lot about roses,” Kate
said, leaning over to smell one of the large blossoms. “I know this is the
Unique Blanche because Marian told me, but the rest of the names I’ve
forgotten. Do you have roses?”

“Only one or two. But mine don’t bloom
this early.”

“I’m not a patient gardener. I chose
these because I wanted flowers early in the spring and late into the fall.”

“I have always loved beautiful things.”
Moving along the row, he stopped to admire each bush but seemed especially
taken by the yellow roses. His hand tremors lessened as he cupped a dainty bud
in his palm. “Like sunshine. So beautiful. But soon it will die.”

His voice was pitched so low that Kate
could barely make out the words. She was uncomfortable with the note of sadness
in his voice and struggled to think of something to say.
 

“I’m glad you like them. You’re welcome
to stop by at any time to see the garden,” she said.

“Thank you. I’d like to if it wouldn’t
be a bother.”
 

“None at all.” Kate smiled as he bobbed
his head in response. “Would you like more tea?”

“No. No. I must be going. I shouldn’t be
here at all.” Abruptly he thrust the glass at her and, without another word,
hurried out of the garden.

What a strange man, she thought as she
stared after the departing figure. She was ashamed to admit she was glad he was
gone. His sudden appearance had thrown her off balance, and the longer she’d
talked to him the more uneasy she had felt. Something about Ed Bushnell wasn’t
right.
 

Glancing down at her watch, she realized
it was already five. The thought of a shower made her hurry into the house.
Afterwards, she put on a white blouse with a blue chambray skirt and white
sandals.

It had been a long time since she’d
fixed a real dinner.
 

All too often she made a salad or heated
soup, or skipped dinner entirely. The grief counselor had suggested having a
small glass of wine to help her relax during the lonely evening hours. When one
glass increased to two and then three, Kate decided it was time to go back to
iced tea.
 

Knowing Mike’s schedule, she had planned
a simple dinner that didn’t require split-second timing. He was almost always
late. He usually stopped off at the hospital for a last minute check on his
patients. It was this personalized care that made him such a good doctor. No
wonder he’d never been able to sustain a long relationship, she thought. Any
woman would resent coming second to his medical practice.
 

Kate suspected that Chessy was the
latest casualty.

Mike hadn’t mentioned her name at all
for several weeks. Kate heard from Mike almost daily. He stopped by a couple
times a week. When she commented that she was able to stand on her own two
feet, he replied that Richard would want him to look after her. She hoped his
preoccupation with her situation hadn’t been responsible for the breakup.

Kate had to admit she’d missed Mike
while he was in L.A. She hoped she wasn’t getting too used to having him
around. Since Richard’s disappearance, she’d done her best to get on with her
life. And Mike was just a temporary part of it.

Opening the package of rice, she checked
the directions and set everything in readiness on the counter. She looked
around the room, checking to see if there was anything else she could do before
Mike arrived. She washed off the counter, picked up the empty rice box, and
dropped it into the wastebasket.
 

ButterSkots. The plaid logo from the
candy wrappers caught her eye.
 

What a bizarre coincidence that Joseph
Garvey had the same candy that was found in Jenny’s pocket after she died.
Staring down at the wrappers, goose bumps broke out on her arms and she hugged
herself as a chill rippled through her. She pictured Garvey as she had last
seen him during the horrible confrontation at his office. The fury on his face
was imprinted on her mind, and it frightened her. He had looked as if he wanted
to kill her.

The idea was ludicrous. She might
dislike Garvey on a personal level, but that hardly made him a killer. The man
might be an overbearing control freak, but he was a respected lawyer, and an
active member of the community. He was the assistant mayor of Pickard, a member
of the school board, and a generous sponsor of several charity events.
 

Leidecker’s words came back to her as if
he were in the room. “Good people can do bad things.”

What about the ButterSkots?

Could she possibly be thinking that
Garvey was somehow involved in Jenny’s murder on the basis of a handful of
candy wrappers? She could imagine Leidecker’s expression. He’d think she was
crazy.
 

Maybe she was. She had to get a grip on
herself.

Aside from the candy wrappers, was there
a shred of evidence that tied Garvey to the crime?

It was inconceivable that Jenny would
have gone anywhere with Garvey. She would have had absolutely no reason to
trust him.
 

Kate rubbed her forehead trying to
remember what else Carl had reported from the witness who had seen Jenny on the
day she was killed. He’d given Richard a copy of the interview. She supposed it
was still in the studio where Richard kept everything concerning Jenny’s death.

Before she could reconsider, Kate left
the kitchen, walking purposely through the living room to Richard’s studio. The
hinges of the door squeaked as she opened the door and stepped into the room.
The draperies were drawn and in the early evening light the room was filled
with shadows. And memories.

The easel still held the covered canvas
that was going to be Kate’s anniversary present. She wondered if Richard had
finished the picture, and if she’d ever be brave enough to look beneath the
shrouding cloth. She had seen the original sketches. It was a portrait of Kate
sitting beneath the flowering crabapple in the backyard. Beside her, Jenny was
sleeping, head resting against Kate’s knee.
 

She turned away from the easel and
looked around the room, searching for the box where Richard kept all the papers
concerning the investigation. She spotted it beneath the drafting table. With
only a momentary hesitation, she lifted it and carried it back to the family
room.

Opening the top, she sat motionless on
the couch, staring into the box. It was only half full of papers. How could
such a small amount of paperwork represent the death of a child? It was such an
enormous crime that it seemed to Kate there should be boxes that would reach to
the ceiling.
 

Gritting her teeth, she picked up the
first piece of paper.

It was the list she and Richard had
drawn up, giving the names of friends, neighbors, business associates, and
anyone else they came into contact with regularly. She started to look through
the list, then realized she’d never get to the eyewitness report if she read
everything. Taking out each packet of papers, she noted the contents and set it
aside. About halfway down, she found the interview with Mrs. Doutt.

Now that she’d found what she was
looking for, she felt foolish. The whole idea seemed even more ridiculous than
before. She reached down to replace everything then stopped. She might as well
look at the interview with Mrs. Doutt. If she didn’t, she’d always wonder about
Garvey.
 

She scanned the information, but
couldn’t find anything that might point to Garvey specifically. Dark hair, suit
or sport coat, dark two-door car. The description was so vague, it could fit
anyone. Reading to the end, she was disappointed. There was nothing new, except
she’d forgotten the car had Pickard Federal license plates.

The police had run a computer printout
of every car in the state with PF on the license plate. She remembered Richard
saying the list read like the Pickard phone book. He’d been angry because even
with this list, the police had not come up with a likely suspect.

Looking down into the box she could see
the long computer sheets. She reached in and pulled out the thick stack of
papers. There were five columns on the top of each page: license number, make
and color of car, owner’s address, and owner’s name.
 

Kate fanned the pages. It would have
been a monumental task to check everyone on the list. She began to read the
entries. Page after page of numbers and names.

In the middle of the fifth page, she
stopped. Her finger traced the black letters on the white page: PF 7831. Lexus.
Black. 419 Shell Lane, Pickard, Illinois. Joseph Edward Garvey.

Twenty-one

“
PF 7831. Joseph Edward Garvey
.” Kate read
the words aloud, her voice just above a whisper.
 

She had been hoping to disprove her
irrational fixation on Garvey. Instead, she’d found another piece of evidence
that led to him. She ran the tips of her fingers along the computer entry,
hoping her tactile sense would pick up some extrasensory vibrations.

The ring of the doorbell startled her
back to the present. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting with the
computer sheets spread across her knees. Quickly she folded the pages in half
and dropped them into the open box. Her hands felt gritty, and she brushed them
against her skirt as she hurried into the front hall just as the doorbell rang
again.