Nowhere to Hide (34 page)

“Uh . . .” September waited till the agents were gone, and as they left, she heard George’s heft creak in his chair. He was off the phone, but he got up and moved slowly toward the hall, probably heading toward the break room. As soon as they were alone, September told Gretchen everything she could recall from the moment yesterday had started until Phil Merit called her, though she left his phone message out. She needed to talk to Jake first, and she didn’t want to send the investigation down what she figured was a blind alley, unless she had to.

When she was finished, she sat back and let Gretchen digest everything. She was still processing when George came back and eased his bulk into his protesting chair.

“Well,” Gretchen said, leaning back in her own chair and speaking in a normal voice. “I went to The Lariat and Gulliver’s again, this time with
George
, and we didn’t learn jack shit.”

George said, his gaze on his computer screen, “Don’t blame me. You’re the one who pisses people off.”

“No niceness?” September asked. She felt the best she’d felt all day.

“They didn’t deserve niceness. Suffice it to say, nobody knows nothin’.” But there was no real heat in her words, and a few moments later, she said casually to September, “I could use a break and you look like you need an iced coffee.”

September glanced at the clock and asked, “How’d you know?”

“Sometimes, I’m just clairvoyant.”

Fifteen minutes later they were at the nearest Starbucks. They got their coffees, iced for September, hot and black for Gretchen, and as they took their seats, Gretchen said, “So, you have a new brother. That’s wild.”

“Wild,” September agreed.

“And your stepmother shoved all your stuff in a storage unit that got ripped off, probably by our doer. When Frick and Frack learn that, maybe they’ll ease off your family.”

“Don’t count on it.”

She squinted her eyes thoughtfully. “But even so, the most interesting part of what you told me is that Hague Dugan mentioned Wart, and that his fuck-buddy called you and warned you that you were on the wrong track.”

“Caretaker,” September corrected. “Della Larson. Yes.”

“Why bother?”

“I don’t know,” September said. “I’m going to call her back and try to figure it out.”

“How much are you telling the feds?”

“I’m telling you,” September said firmly. “You can decide how much you want them to know.”

“I don’t want them to know nothin’.” She pressed her lips together and thought hard. “I think you should go see Dugan again. Forget the caretaker. Go see him in person. He’s the source.”

“But I’m not on the case.”

“Not officially.”

“I could call Hague’s sister, Liv Dugan,” September said slowly, waiting to see if Gretchen was going to go with this, like she was indicating.

“Yeah. And if you learn something, just call me. I can’t know what you’re doing, so if this is your choice, I didn’t know about it until it was over.”

“Gotcha.”

“For what? We didn’t decide anything, did we?” Her smile was a faint smirk.

Back at the station, September placed a second call to U-Store and More. She’d phoned as soon as she’d gotten to the station and was connected to a recorded message that gave their hours as ten to six. As it was long after ten, she hoped to actually talk to someone this time, but again she had no luck. She left her name and cell number and hoped for the best.

Jake called in the afternoon, sounding diffident as he asked her if she would like to get together that evening. When she immediately agreed she could tell he was glad, if a bit confused.

What the hell. She needed to talk this out, and she was feeling stronger now that Gretchen had given her tacit okay to forge ahead. Sure, she had no real authority but it was nice to think her partner had her back.

For the rest of the afternoon September tried to keep her attention on the homicide of the man tied to the pole, but it was nearly impossible. She was plagued by other thoughts that ranged from the highly charged scene at the Rafferty house the night before, to the rather cryptic message from Hague’s caretaker, Della, to thoughts of Jake and how she was going to approach the information Phil Merit had dropped on her.

Just before five, she walked outside to place a call on her cell that she didn’t want overheard. She could feel sweat form on her scalp and she looked for some shade in the heat of the afternoon. Fat chance. The Laurelton Police Department was surrounded by low-growing plants and one spindly white dogwood tree that offered no respite.

Walking to her car, she slipped inside and blasted the air conditioning. Gretchen was right. She should bypass Della and try for another face-to-face with Hague, as Della would likely be a roadblock. She briefly thought about calling Auggie before Liv; Della had clearly liked him. A lot. But that was problematic, too. Auggie knew she was off the case and wouldn’t be as understanding as Gretchen.

But Liv might go along with her, if she played it right.

What the hell. It was worth a shot.

She put in a call to Auggie’s home where she hoped Liv would answer the phone as she and Auggie had moved in together. Liv didn’t own a cell phone. She was almost as much of a technophobe as Hague himself. A Luddite, she called herself, referring to the term coined by a group during the Industrial Revolution of the nineteenth century who banded together and protested industrial automation. In Liv’s case, she’d never really been against technological advancements. She’d just been afraid that the insta-speed of today’s communications would help bring a killer to her door.

Now, September pulled the phone from her ear to look at it and thought,
If those Luddites could only see us now.

Liv’s voice answered and she quickly placed the phone back and said, “Liv?” only to realize that her voice was in a recording on Auggie’s voice mail. September waited to leave a message, and when she heard the prolonged beep, she asked Liv to call her back on her cell phone as soon as she could.

Now she was waiting for Liv’s call and Rosamund’s.

Peachy.

She walked back into the station and headed to her locker. Gretchen was already there when September entered the room. She said, “I’m going to Xavier’s and plan to get mildly drunk. Maybe medium drunk. And then I’m going home with Dom.” She slammed her locker shut. “What about you?”

“I’m . . . meeting Jake Westerly.”

“Ahh. Good luck with that.”

September was climbing in her Pilot, heading home, when her cell phone rang. She scrabbled for it, knocking her messenger bag into the footwell in the process, swearing as she grabbed for it. She managed to get to the cell just in time. “Hello? Hello?”

“Nine . . .” Rosamund’s angry voice answered.

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you about the storage unit. The lock’s broken and—”

“I’m getting the boxes back! I’ve already got them coming back! Everybody’s on me. You didn’t have to sic the FBI on us! What do you think we are?”

“I didn’t sic them on you.”

“Yeah? Then, how come they’re here. Talking to Braden. Oh, he’s
really
pissed at you and Auggie. How could you?”

“Rosamund, an investigation goes, where an investigation goes,” September said tightly. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Well, isn’t that just such a convenient excuse!”

“Who knew about the storage unit?” September asked, trying to get to the point of her call. “Besides you.”

“Your father. I did tell him, no matter what he says. He just doesn’t remember.”

“Anyone else?”

“Suma’s husband, Jorah, did the moving.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I remember because we were finishing the remodel and I didn’t want to leave the house while the workmen were here. Suma and Jorah were taking the boxes out then. I gave Jorah the lock and he set it up, came back, and gave me the keys.”

September knew Jorah, a big man with a huge smile who radiated nothing but good feelings. She didn’t believe he had anything to do with the theft. “Okay, thanks.”

Rosamund made a sound of exasperation. “Yeah, whatever.” She hung up.

September called the storage unit office again and was surprised when someone, a woman, finally answered. “This is Detective Rafferty. I left a message this morning,” she said, irked.

“Ah . . . yeah . . . Burton got the message but he had to leave. He didn’t know what you were talking about.”

“Burton’s the manager?”

“Yeah, he’s the man. Been here for a hundred years. No one works here but him and me and I’ve been here for the last couple of years. He said you can come on over anytime and talk to him or me. Except for lunch. We’re out from noon to one, or thereabouts.”

“I might do that.”

“Sure thing.”

That didn’t sound promising, September thought. She didn’t believe the doer was a woman, and if Burton had worked there for “a hundred years” she got the sense that he might not be in the right age range. For the moment she set that aside.

Her cell rang just as she reached her apartment. Putting the vehicle in park, she pulled her phone from her bag and saw that it was Auggie’s home number. “Hello,” she answered.

“Hi, September. It’s Liv. You left a message asking to see Hague again?”

In the back of her mind she registered that Liv Dugan was one of the only people she knew who called her by her true name. “I have a few more questions, but I have the feeling that if I go through Della it just might not happen.”

Liv snorted her agreement. “You got that right. Is this still for the Do Unto Others case? I thought you were off that one.”

“I am. Reluctantly. This is more for my own edification than for the case.”

“Meaning?” she asked.

“I’d really rather have Auggie find out after the fact,” September admitted. “He’ll try to stop me, but I just feel I might shake something loose if I go by myself, er, with you.”

“If we go tomorrow morning before ten, they’ll still be there,” she said slowly. “If I call and give them too much of a heads up, Della will come up with some excuse.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“How about I pick you up a little after nine tomorrow, and I’ll call on the way.”

“Great. What about Auggie?”

“He’s been working late nights. I’ll just sneak out for a bit. No big deal.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble with my brother,” September said.

“The one he’s going to be mad at is you,” she pointed out.

“That, I can handle.”

With her plans set, September gathered up her messenger bag and climbed the stairs to her unit. She heard a car motor start up in the lot below as she threaded her key in her lock. She’d just opened her door, when she had a sudden prickling of her scalp, a sense of being watched, and she carefully glanced around. A vehicle was just exiting the lot; she caught the tail end of it as it passed the side of the building. A van of some kind, she thought. Her eye traveled carefully all around her, and apart from a maple leaf drifting down from one of the trees that lined the back edge of the complex, she didn’t see anything out of place.

Her cell rang again, causing her to jump. This time she recognized the ringtone as the one she’d assigned to Jake. She closed the door and locked it behind her, then answered the call. “Hey, there.”

“Where are you? You home?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“We’re okay, right? I meant what I said about Loni being in my past.”

“I’m okay with that. Really. It’s . . . oh, a lot of things.”

“You want to go to dinner and clue me in?”

“Why don’t you come over, and I’ll order a pizza or Chinese food?”

“How about I pick up sandwiches at Wanda’s and come over?”

“Sounds good. I’ll take a tuna and cheese on rye, and a Diet Coke.”

“See you soon.”

September walked into her bedroom, stripped off her clothes and ran through the shower, letting the hot water nearly scald her. She was not looking forward to this.

Chapter 20

Jake took the steps to her apartment two at a time, carrying the white bag with the two sandwiches, two small bags of Lay’s potato chips, and a Diet Coke for her, a regular Coke for himself. She answered the door on one knock, as if she’d been waiting on the other side.

“No surprise, there was a line at Wanda’s,” he said. He glanced at her, seeing she’d unclipped her hair and changed into jeans and a white tank. She was barefoot, and her feet looked small beneath the frayed hem of her jeans. When he looked at her, she shifted her gaze away. She seemed tired, he thought, and, as if to answer that silent question, she pushed her dark hair away from her face and sighed.

As she took the bag from him and started laying the sandwiches onto plates and searching for glasses for their drinks, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. I just . . .” She trailed off as she grabbed a tray of ice cubes from the bottom freezer and plunked two cubes into each of their glasses. She handed him a glass and his Coke, and placed his sandwich on the small table pressed against the wall. He took one of the two chairs and then waited as she brought over her own sandwich and drink, and placed the two bags of chips between them.

“You may be the detective, but I’m detecting that you’ve got something on your mind,” he said. “If it isn’t Loni, what is it? You haven’t been yourself since we were at Colin and Neela’s.”

“I got a call. From Phil Merit.” She looked straight at him, her blue eyes serious. “He called me on my cell when we were at the B&B.”

“Okay.” Jake popped his Coke and poured it over the ice cubes. It fizzed and sparkled and he picked up the glass and took a long draught.

“He said he forgot to tell me something. He’d kept it to himself, and he didn’t think it mattered. He’s pretty sure it’s meaningless. He said Sheila did it on a lark.”

“I’m listening.”

“He told her she should make out a will. She was leaving her husband, and he’s an estate lawyer, and she did. Sounds like they were having a few drinks and it’s just something they did.”

Jake had unwrapped his sandwich, and he noticed she’d not done one thing to prepare to eat. He waited himself, taking another drink from his Coke, his gaze searching her tight face.