Dying to Know (12 page)

tective, let me set you straight. Dr. Tucker is an honest and hard-working woman. She’s admired on campus. She is, er was, crazy

about Tuck. He was a good man, too. She’s devastated. Anyone

who …”

“Please understand,” Clemens interjected, “we’re trying to

find his killer. We have to run down every lead.”

“Yeah, every lead.” Spence made more notes. Then he pulled

his cell phone out of his pocket. To Carmen, he quipped, “Listen,

we have to know if there was anything going on with Angela. You

know, any foolin’ around or any juicy gossip. Seems like her secre-tary …”

101

“Department Office Manager,” Carmen corrected. “No. There

was nothing Dr. Tucker was doing that should interest you.”

“What about Braddock?” Spence asked. “You know him well?”

The question seemed to startle Carmen and she flushed.

“You’re not suggesting …”

“Miss Delgado, please,” Clemens said. “You know Braddock,

right?”

“Bear and Tuck were partners—best friends.” Carmen folded

her arms. “Bear is a great guy. Everyone loves him.”

“Oh, real y? Everyone?”

She flashed him her death-eyes.

Spence wasn’t fazed. “Bear ever come around
without
Tuck?”

She didn’t answer.

“Come on, you know what I mean.” Spence took a long sip of

coffee and watched her over the rim of the cup. “Has Angela ever

met him elsewhere?”

“Wel ,” Carmen’s face flushed ever so slightly. “Email here and

there—we all do. And, yes, I think they met sometimes for coffee

and such. But that doesn’t mean …”

“Where—here or somewhere else?” Clemens asked. “When?”

“I’m sure it’s innocent. Angela always tel s me how wonderful

Bear is and what a good man he is. They were best friends, they

would never …”

“Did they ever meet for lunch or dinner?” Spence pressed. “I

mean, you know, as friends?”

“Sure. Lunch a few times—I joined them quite often. I’m

going through a painful divorce and they’re my good friends.”

“Oh? How good?”

102

She ignored him. “Sometimes Bear would come by late if An-

gela were working evenings. We both worked late hours at the

end of semesters. Bear sometimes came by—so did Tuck.”

“How cozy.” Spence didn’t look up as he jotted on his pad.

“Everyone is such pals around here.”

The little twerp was irritating me and I wanted to see his note-

pad. When I did, I couldn’t make out his handwriting, but I didn’t have to. Spence was digging away at his favorite motive—Angel or

Bear killed me. Now, Carmen fell into his trap and gave him

enough to chase his theory. Angel was now his prime suspect.

Clemens asked, “How close were they?”

“Wel …”

“How close?” Spence demanded.

She shrugged. “Ask her.”

“I wil ,” Spence said. “Anyone else ever hang around Angela—

a lot I mean?”

“Wel , maybe.” Carmen was hedging and doing a bad job of it.

“Professor Stuart, but he’s her boss. And Tyler Byrd’s cal ed sev-

eral times. A few times Angela went out afterwards. You need to

talk with her. She asked me not to discuss it with anyone—espe-

cial y Professor Stuart.”

Oh, really? Angel never mentioned that to me. Spence was

scribbling again and when I looked over at Carmen, she was

watching him too, anxious that he was taking so long making

notes. As much as I hated to admit it, Spence was learning things

I never knew.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” she added.

“Interesting,” Spence said, “another suitor?”

103

“No, Detective. You have it all wrong.”

Clemens held up a hand. “Now, Miss Delgado, let’s get back to

Bear. Did you ever know him and Angela to do anything un-

usual? You know, secretive or anything?”

“You’re saying they’re having an affair?” Carmen wagged a

finger at him. “They aren’t.”

“Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t.”

Spence’s cell phone rang. He took the call and announced

where he and Clemens were. Then he added, “And Miss Belgada

suggested that Bear may have been involved with Dr. Tucker. In-

teresting, huh, Cap?”

“You bastard.” I grabbed the cell phone in his hand and tried

to wrench it free.

Rage overflowed from me. My fingers tingled and I felt them

grip his cell phone. I wrenched Spence’s hand and phone away

from his ear. Energy surged through me. The rush felt like I’d

mainlined a hundred cups of coffee with a five-pound sugar

chaser.

Spence’s face flashed surprise and he twisted toward me, un-

seeing, at the same instant I let go of his hand. For that instant, our eyes met but he recovered and returned to his cal .

His voice was edgy and uncertain. “Yeah, yeah, Captain. I’l

get back to you.” He put the cell on the table.

“You bastard.” Carmen was on her feet. “I never said that. You

twisted my words.”

“Did I?” he said. “We never said ‘affair.’ You did.”

Clemens frowned. “Come on, let it go, Mike.”

104

“Go to hel , the two of you.” Carmen was done. “Leave or I’l

call security.”

Spence laughed. “We’re the cops, sweetie. Security can kiss

my ass. I’m not through with you yet.”

“Yes you are.” Carmen nearly ran out the door.

“Fine, Miss Delgado,” Spence called after her. “Have it your

way. We’ll be back.”

“You better lighten up, Mike,” Clemens said. “She’s pissed.”

“Mark my words, partner. She’s hiding something. She’s cov-

ering for Angela—or Bear—I’ll bet you anything.”

“I think you’re out of your mind, Mikey. You better hope Del-

gado doesn’t tell Bear about this.”

“Screw him.” Spence winked at Clemens and started dialing his

cell phone again. “Let’s see if Professor Stuart can spill on Angela, too. She seems to be a real popular girl around here. Real popular.”

Enough.

I grabbed his cell phone with one hand and swatted his coffee

cup sitting on the table with the other. The cup flipped forward

and dumped its steaming contents into Spence’s lap.

“Son of a bitch.” He jumped up, swatting at his crotch. “What

the …”

“How did you do that?” Clemens roared.

I went to the doorway and watched Carmen throwing office

supplies around her desk. Her answers to Spence’s questions

bothered me. Her body language suggested something I didn’t

like—deception. I didn’t want to admit it, but Spence was right

about one thing.

Carmen Delgado was hiding something.

105

eig hteen

Woof.

Hercule? When I turned around to see what Spence and Cle-

mens were doing, Hercule barked again. Instead of the confer-

ence room, I was back in my den. Herc was sitting in the center

of the room; head cocked and tail wagging.

He moaned and lay down. My popping in and out was unset-

tling him. It was unsettling me, too.

“Sorry, pal. I’m trying to get the hang of all this.”

Woof.

He followed me into the kitchen where I sat at the table and

considered Carmen Delgado’s interrogation. She had worked for

Angel for years and her loyalty was unquestionable. Stil , she was concealing something. That bothered me. After all, this was a

murder investigation. What was so secret that she felt compelled

to hide it now?

I went to the kitchen sink and gazed out the window. It was

sunny outside and a faint breeze was blowing through the half-

106

open window. The air smelled crisp and fragrant with the musty,

almost sweet smell that came with fal . It was my favorite time of year. The curtain fluttered and I noticed a pair of Angel’s earrings on the windowsill. She was forever leaving her jewelry lying

about. Twice her wedding ring fell from the sill into the sink

drain and I had to pay a plumber for an emergency job. Not to

retrieve the ring, but to repair my retrieving the ring; I’m terrible with tools.

The earrings now on the sill were gold hoops with two garnet

stones affixed at the base. Each had a small diamond set between

them. I didn’t recognize them. While not unusual, Carmen’s re-

cent interview sent a tickle of doubt into me. The earrings were

strangely al uring as the sun glinted off the diamonds and sent

strobes of glitter into my eyes. When I reached out and touched

them, they seized me.

The room began to close as the diamond’s glitter flowed over

me like a river of light.

The familiar tingle of electricity grew inside me. Before I

could warn Hercule, the room spiraled into darkness and was

gone. The journey was not the comforting one I was growing ac-

customed to. Where the strange, flowing euphoria had filled me

before, dread did now. As the room disappeared, a vacuum

drained my energy—weakening me, drinking every drop of

strength. The glitter exploded and was gone, leaving me swal-

lowed in darkness. Ahead of me—at least I think it was ahead of

me—was a round, brilliant beacon. It grew from a pinprick in the

black veil to a blinding aurora. The light was driving straight at 107

me like a freight train. Then, just as it reached me, it burst in a brilliant flash.

It was gone—extinguished. Blackness returned.



I sensed the rain first—musty dampness of evening showers. I

looked around but couldn’t get my bearings. Cars and trucks

surrounded me—rows of all makes and models. Not far away

was a streetlamp that bathed the vehicles in cones of opaque,

rain-streaked light. Farther away, silhouettes of buildings and tall trees looked like a strange, evil skyline. The panorama was

dreamlike—faint, hazy images surrounded by nothing but the

feeling that I didn’t belong.

I was standing in a parking lot. A dark, rainy, unrecognizable

parking lot. It was night and I had no idea which day or place.

Something told me it was not the “when” I left moments before

either. The only thing that was certain was that I was alone. Not

just alone, but isolated and vulnerable. That unnerved me—un-

nerved me as it hadn’t since my demise.

My limbs wouldn’t respond. They were frozen in place. Un-

able to break free and find a familiar landmark, doom washed

over me. An eerie, penetrating cold touched me. I looked around

as a faint, almost benign sense of familiarity ebbed in. Terror followed it.

I saw him.

A figure, obscured in the trees beside the far edge of the park-

ing lot, edged toward the buildings a hundred yards away. The

figure was tall with broad shoulders, but I couldn’t see more than 108

an outline. The movements were a man’s stride and boldness. As

he passed near a street lamp, he pressed back into the trees and

hid from discovery. He emerged near the building’s courtyard

where it emptied into the parking lot. He stopped and melted

into the trees again. I lost him just beyond the fringes of light.

I knew he was there. I could feel him. I could feel his danger.

Fear tightened its grip and I felt sick, helpless, and weak. I

tried to move but my roots seemed more firmly planted than

ever. When the second figure appeared out of the courtyard, I

knew my role.

A witness.

The second figure came from somewhere in the courtyard

and walked into the parking lot with short, quick steps. For an

instant, I saw the dim outline of a woman’s face before she pulled her raincoat hood tighter over her head. She stopped for a second and studied the parking lot, then hurried into the first lane

of cars. She hesitated under a streetlamp, perhaps believing the

light was safety. My senses burned and recognition singed my

nerves, sending alarm bel s raging in my head. Her coat was a

tan, double-breasted English trench coat. I knew the coat. I knew

the shop in Old Town where I’d bought it just a year ago. It was

Angel’s coat.

The earrings brought me to her. But, brought me where?

When? No—
why
?

“No. Angel, go back. Go back inside.”

Her pace quickened along the front row of cars. At the fourth

car, she stopped, looked down, and fidgeted inside her coat. She

was digging for her keys. I’d told her a million times to have them 109

ready—ready to get into safety. A key protruding from the fist

can stop an attacker if thrust and slashed into his face. Angel

didn’t have her keys ready. She never did.

She shifted her raincoat and leaned forward. Her hand

pointed to the door to activate the electronic lock.

That’s when he struck.

He lurched from the darkness before she knew he was there.

He struck from behind, driving her into the car door. She stag-

gered back. He pounced again, gripped her neck and hair, and

slammed her into the doorframe—once, twice. Her body

slumped.

“Angel, no. Stop, you bastard. Stop!”

It was no use. Rage vibrated through me—arching and churn-

ing to escape my shackles. “No, please, no. Leave her alone.”

It was over.

He stuffed her into the car and followed. A second later, the

engine started and the car disappeared into the drizzle and dark-

ness.

No one saw. No one helped. No one witnessed her abduction.

No one but me.

“No. Please … no. Doc, help me!”

The aurora of light swal owed me again. This time, the jour-