Dying Scream (18 page)

Gage sat back, silent. He wanted Janet to do all the talking. Silence generally made people uncomfortable and he used that to his advantage.

“Two days before the wedding, Craig came into my office. He said Rhonda had taken the money he’d offered her and had agreed to leave town. Crisis averted. End of story.”

“He paid her off,” Vega said.

“Yes. And it worked. She didn’t want him. She wanted his money.”

“What makes you think she left town?” Gage said.

Janet shrugged. “Craig told me she did.”

Gage watched her face closely. “Never occurred to you that he might have killed her?”

“No. Craig wasn’t like that. He was a charming, funny man, but in so many ways he was weak. He wouldn’t have the stones to kill someone. If there was a tough decision to be made, I made it. His mother made it. Adrianna made it. Not Craig.”

Her appraisal offered little solace. Many underestimated killers before the cops tallied the body count. “What if he thought he could lose Adrianna? Would that drive him to murder?”

“He didn’t have the balls. Didn’t like to get his hands dirty.”

“Would you have killed for Craig?” Vega asked.

“No.”

“What about this business? Your reputation?”

She arched a plucked eyebrow. “Ask me any more questions like that and you can ask them through my lawyer.”

Janet’s unblinking gaze revealed nothing Gage could use in court. “You’ve cleaned up your share of Craig’s messes.”

“Sure.”

And he’d bet she’d bent laws to do it. But did loyalty include murder? “Do you still have Rhonda Minor’s personnel file?”

“It’s most likely in storage by now, but I’m sure we can have it sent to you.”

“I’d appreciate that. Your receptionist also mentioned you had some of Rhonda’s paintings in storage?”

“She’s mistaken. I cleaned the room out about eight months ago.”

“Mind if I look?”

“I do. We’ve got delicate pieces down there that I don’t want disturbed by cops mucking about.” Janet’s fingers curled into fists. “You’re looking in the wrong place, Detective.”

“That so?”

“Craig wouldn’t have hidden anything on the property that was incriminating.”

“Where would he have kept it?”

“An apartment that Adrianna didn’t know about. Moondance Apartments. It’s a modest complex in the west end.”

This valuable nugget of information hadn’t been tossed to him out of kindness. “I know it.” It pissed him off that this information didn’t come up three years ago. “Was the apartment leased under his name?”

“I doubt it. Most likely he leased it through a dummy corporation. He didn’t want a paper trail connected to him.”

“That where he met Rhonda?”

“Among others. I didn’t pay much attention to his love life as long as he pulled his weight at the gallery.”

“He didn’t always pull his weight here?”

“Like I said, he could be easily distracted. Daily routines were a bore.”

Vega leaned forward. “You two are an unlikely pair.” How’d you two hook up?”

“His father hired me.”

“That would be Robert Thornton,” Gage said.

“Yes. He hired me about fifteen years ago. I interned here and he saw potential. When he offered me a paying job, he made no bones about my duties. I was to keep an eye on Craig.”

“You were his babysitter?”

She shrugged. “It started out that way but as time passed I learned the ins and outs of the business and got to know the movers and shakers in the art world. I
am
Thornton Gallery now. Through my guidance it’s become one of the premier galleries on the East Coast.” She lifted a brow, clearly pleased. “Not bad for a girl from a small town in southside Virginia.”

The raw determination burning in her eyes mirrored Gage’s. “The Thornton name carries a lot of weight in the art world.”

“It certainly does. I never would have achieved the success I did if not for the Thornton family. But they would have failed several years ago if it weren’t for my management.”

“Who received Craig’s portion of the gallery when he died?” Gage said.

“Adrianna. I bought it from her last year.”

“Before he died?”

“Yes. She had power of attorney and sold me Craig’s interest in the gallery.”

“Why?”

“She needed the money.”

“For what?” Vega asked.

“Medical expenses, I’m sure. That nursing home was eating her alive.” She shrugged. “The doctors told her last November that even though Craig’s brain was irrevocably damaged, his body was strong. He could live another twenty-five years.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes. That news prompted the gallery sale. Adrianna hides her feelings well, but that day she was shaky and scared. I made her an offer and she took it. If I’d waited a few more weeks, she might not have sold. Craig finally did something that helped her.”

“How so?” Gage said.

“He died.” She seemed to realize how harsh her words sounded. “Look, I don’t want to sound callous. But let’s face it, Craig died the day that drunk driver slammed into him. He was just pulling Adrianna down. The woman visited him almost daily in the nursing home. She’s a young, beautiful woman and she deserved better.”

“Where was she when he died?” Vega said.

Janet shrugged. “At a design show in Alexandria. It was a day trip, from what I hear. And honestly, by waiting until she was out of town, he spared her the trauma of watching him die.”

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Guthrie,” Gage said.

Neither Gage nor Vega spoke until they’d reached their car.

Vega put on his dark glasses. “She rolled over on Craig pretty fast when you suggested she might have killed Rhonda.”

Gage fired up the engine. “Janet Guthrie does what is best for Janet Guthrie.”

Vega relaxed back in his seat. “Odd Craig died at a convenient time.”

Gage blew out a breath. “Yeah. Might be a good idea to talk to Craig’s doctor and get his theories on Craig’s passing.”

“You think he was murdered?”

“Let’s just say I don’t like convenient deaths.” He pulled into traffic. “I’d like for you to get a warrant for the gallery’s basement. I want to see if any of Rhonda’s painting still exist.”

C.C. Ricker arrived at the upper-middle-class home in the far west end of the county an hour after her meeting with the homicide team. The streets were quiet, the lawns and flowerbeds neatly manicured, and the homes all had a similar Williamsburg kind of colonial feel. They were expensive, nice but too Stepford Wives for C.C.’s tastes. She preferred the quirky and mismatched.

She climbed brick front steps and rang the bell. Before she’d come, she’d called Sandra Lable and asked for the appointment. The woman had been hesitant at first, then agreed.

Footsteps echoed in the house, curtains by the front door fluttered briefly, and then the door opened. The woman standing there was short, petite and just as manicured as her lawn. Short hair dyed brown. French nails and toes. Dressed like she was headed to the gym.

“Mrs. Lable?”

A plucked eyebrow arched. “Detective Ricker.”

“Yes, ma’am. I have a few questions about Jill.”

“Your call surprised me. Jill has been missing for over fifteen years. Have you found something?” No hint of emotion seeped into her words.

“Ma’am, do you mind if we don’t have this conversation on the front porch.”

“Why not? Jill had no problem airing dirty laundry in public. Have you found something?” The woman radiated a hard, brittle energy as if one tap and she’d shatter.

“We’re working another case that might be linked to your daughter’s disappearance.”

“You mean death?”

“No body was found, from what I understand.”

“She’s dead. I know it.”

“When was the last time you saw Jill?”

“Two days after she was released from detention. June fifteenth. She’d missed the last two months of school and we were arguing about getting her into summer school. She didn’t want to go back. She stormed off. I thought she’d come back when she cooled. She always did. But she never came back.”

“Did you see her with anyone unusual?”

“No.”

“What can you tell me about Craig Thornton?”

She frowned. “Her prom date? He died last year.”

“I know, but about the time he was dating your daughter.”

“They went out just a couple of times. Prom night they got arrested. Drugs. I remember seeing him at the police station. He looked shook up.”

“His parents came and got him?”

“No. Was a friend of the family. Whoever he was, Craig was thrilled to see him. The guy bailed him out. Family lawyer spun it so that it looked like it was all Jill’s fault. That’s why she did time and he didn’t.”

“Anything else you can think of?”

She sighed. “I try not to think about Jill. We failed each other so many times. I find it’s better not to remember.”

“Anything else?”

“I pulled her scrapbook out from the attic. The whole book is about prom night. She worked on this while she was in detention.” Mrs. Lable leaned to the left and picked up the book. It was decorated with large flowers and hearts.

C.C. took it. The spine creaked when she opened the book full of fading pictures, napkins, and a dried corsage. “Funny she’d want to remember that night so much.”

“She really liked Craig. I think she thought they’d get together when she got out.”

“Did they?”

“No. He was in Europe that whole summer.”

“They never saw each other again?”

“No.”

“Did you show this to Detective Hudson when he spoke to you four years ago?”

“No. I didn’t think about it.”

“What made you think about it today?”

“My niece went shopping for a homecoming dress this past weekend. Reminded me of when Jill and I shopped for her prom dress. I don’t know, the dots just connected.”

C.C. glanced at the book so full of young smiling faces. What a damn waste. As she turned the pages, a postcard fluttered to the floor. C.C. picked it up. It featured a picture of Texas wildflowers, was addressed to Mrs. Lable and from Jill.
Moving to Texas. Luv you! Jill
.

“That arrived a few days after she left,” Mrs. Lable said.

Rhonda had sent a postcard. Italy. “Mind if I hang on to this?”

“I’ll want it back. It’s all I have of her.”

Adrianna’s gaze sightlessly skimmed the dozen wallpaper books piled open and waiting on her workbench. She’d been flipping through the books for an hour looking for the right paper that would enhance but not overwhelm a retired admiral’s study. The job’s excitement had waned in the shadow of fatigue and nerves, which waged a tug-of-war match with her thoughts.

Adrianna reached for her coffee and took a sip. Cold. She rose and moved to the front of the shop where she kept an espresso machine for clients. The corner coffee shop’s five-dollar lattes had prompted the machine’s purchase. The machine had paid for itself in one month.

White muslin furniture samples were draped with hand-loomed chenille, linen-cut velvets, and rich tapestries. Antique French country end tables sported odd collectible accessories including a hand-painted rooster, blue and white vases, and inlaid china boxes. She’d learned early on to supplement her design work by selling unique antique store finds to her clients. Now she was selling it all at a forty percent discount.

Adrianna loaded fresh espresso into the machine when a knock on her door had her turning. Her assistant Phyllis Gentry waved to her. In her midfifties, Phyllis sported a khaki skirt, a crisp white polo shirt and a pink headband to hold back bobbed brown hair. A former math teacher, Phyllis had whipped Adrianna’s accounts receivable into top shape with brutal efficiency.

Phyllis shouted through the glass front door. “I lost my keys.”

Adrianna’s annoyance wiped the welcoming smile from her face as she moved to the door and opened it. “What do you mean, you lost your keys?”

Phyllis looked equally annoyed and frustrated. “I’ve looked everywhere for them. All I can think is my husband took them accidentally when he went on his fishing trip. I’ve got backups to get me around, but I don’t have an extra store key on that ring.”

“When will Harry be back?”

“Two weeks.” Phyllis smelled like magnolias. “I’ve tried to call him but he’s out of cell phone range. But he’s promised to call from a landline mid-week.”

Adrianna sighed. “I’ve got an extra key. But you need to let me know if Harry doesn’t have those keys. I’ve got too much in the store to risk having a key floating around.”

“I promise.” She set her Vera Bradley purse on the front counter before she leveled her gaze on Adrianna. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A couple of hours.” She retrieved her coffee and sipped it. “Hey, can you mind the front? I’ve got to finish my sketch for tomorrow’s presentation.”

“For the admiral?”

“Ahoy.”

Phyllis laughed as she tucked her purse under the front counter. “Don’t worry. Unless fire or blood is involved, I will leave you alone.”

“Thanks.” Adrianna retreated back into her office and just as she sat down the phone rang. “I’ve got it, Phyllis!”

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

For a moment there was only silence.

“Hello?”

“It’s Craig, babe.” The voice sounded just above a whisper.

The hairs on the back of Adrianna’s neck rose. She gripped the phone. Her breath grew short and shallow. The voice sounded exactly like Craig’s. “This isn’t funny. Who is this?”

“It’s Craig,” he whispered. “I just wanted to call and tell you how much I love you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” The card, the aftershave flyer, and now a call. “You are cruel and twisted.”

“I love you, babe.”

“Damn you! Who is this?”

“Your husband. Did you get the flowers?”

“What flowers?”

“They’ll be there soon.”

“Leave me the hell alone.” Adrianna slammed down the phone so hard her wedding rings dug into her finger. Her pulse thundered in her neck. “Damn it. This has got to stop.”

Adrianna stared down at the phone, wondering what she could do to stop these pranks.