So About the Money (12 page)

“No. Thank you, though.” Holly lowered her voice. “Do you know that man? The one wearing the cowboy hat and fringed shirt?”

Peter craned his neck. “Sure, that’s my security manager. Want to meet him?”

Security. She’d guessed right. She held up a hand, stop-sign style. “He just made me nervous. But that makes sense if he’s security. He’s scary enough to keep everyone in line.”
 

He must have seen her as out of place—a non-gambler. The suit, the briefcase. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Over-reacting much?
Of course it isn’t Frank
. Just another cop-wannabe bouncer with an attitude.
 

“That’s what we hire them for,” Peter said.

 
Obviously the casino needed protection. She had to remember that not all law enforcement people—even the intense ones—were crazy like Frank. “I’ll be careful not to attract his attention next time.”

Peter smiled. “Now, that’ll be hard to do.”

With a wave to dismiss his compliment, she escaped through the front door.
 

The sense of unease followed her to the car.

Chapter Ten

Late Monday afternoon

Multiple file reviews later, Holly restacked the folders on her credenza and placed the completed ones in her out-box. She checked with the staff working on last-minute tax returns, then said, “I’m going out for a while to clear my head.”

The staff probably thought she meant
clear it from taxes
, but she needed to clear her head—and her name—from Marcy’s murder. She didn’t know if Tim’s brunette and gambling habit were connected to Marcy or if they were yet another ball to keep in the air, but she hoped Marcy’s sister, Yessica, could shed some light on her sister’s life—and death.
 

Holly crossed the Blue Bridge over the Columbia River and drove into Pasco. She knew Yessica’s store was located in downtown Pasco, but Marcy had driven the one time they’d visited the place. She’d have turned on her GPS, but she couldn’t remember the exact name of the boutique. She cruised the streets around the courthouse and Farmer’s Market. One-story buildings lined the roads —some newly renovated with bright colors and awnings; others remained minimalist 70s-era bland. They all housed businesses catering to the area’s predominantly Hispanic population.
 

Twenty minutes and a few wrong turns later, Holly spotted the store and pulled into an angled parking space near Celia’s Confectionery. Sweet, carbohydrate-laden odors drifted through the bakery’s door and permeated the air. Holly’s mouth watered and her stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch.
 

Pastry. Afterward.
 

Holly bypassed the bakery and entered La Boutique. Pristine First Communion dresses and frothy
Quinceañera
and Sweet Sixteen gowns crowded the racks. Based on the displays, she thought the
Quinceañera
seemed more debutante ball than Hispanic religious ceremony and coming-of-age party.
 

The showcase of beaded “First Heels,” gloves, and sparkly tiaras snagged her attention. A small white purse—the perfect size for summer cocktail parties—caught her eye. She twisted, trying to read the price tag.
 

“Holly?” Surprise colored Yessica’s tone.
 

Holly jerked away from the purse display with a guilty start.
 

“You have a beautiful store.” She gestured at the clothes and accessories. “Marcy had a flair with clothes, too. She always looked so put together. I guess it runs in the family.”

“Maricella loved pretty things.” Yessica closed the cash register. “But I don’t think you came for a
quinceañera
present.”
 

“Actually, I hoped to see you.” Holly had headed to Pasco, suspecting Yessica might have sought solace in the ordinary routine of managing her boutique.
 

Wary surprise shifted the woman’s eyebrows and narrowed her eyes. The expression drew attention to the dark shadows underneath them.
 

“I saw your store was open and stopped in. I didn’t want to disturb your family by going by the house,” Holly said.

“I needed to get away.” Yessica no longer met her eyes. “People depend on me. If the store isn’t open, my employees don’t work.”

“You don’t have to explain.” Work would give Yessica something besides Marcy to focus on.

“Why did you want to see me?”

How to get into this? That Holly wanted to understand what was going on in Marcy’s life? That she should’ve known more than she did about her friend? “There are things I don’t understand.”
 

Yessica fidgeted with her rings, then looked directly into Holly’s eyes. “Me, too. The newspaper said you found her body. It mentioned the strange coincidence—very convenient—that
you
, her friend, were the one who found her. Are you here about Maricella or are you really looking to clear yourself?”

Holly went still. Her mind raced to get ahead of Yessica’s unexpected reaction. “Both. I really need to understand why she’s dead.”

“I know you two were friends, but it’s not your place to figure it out. You’re an accountant, not a police officer. It’s up to them to find who killed her. To clear you. Or not.”

How could she get past Yessica’s anger and reticence?
Yes,
I’m a suspect
probably wasn’t a good start and
JC’s ruining my business reputation
—definitely a bad follow-up. But this wasn’t idle curiosity. “Marcy was my friend. I swear I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to her. That reporter—”

“I know you’d never hurt her.” Yessica waved her comment away. “And I know all about
that
reporter.”
 

“It seems murder sells a lot of newspapers.”
 

“He’s using Maricella, and my family, to sell his newspaper.” Yessica’s mouth twisted in a grimace. Color rose on her face, two hectic red spots on her smooth olive skin. “Where was he after she disappeared? When we wanted his help?”
 

“I don’t think he cares about Marcy at all.” Holly wanted to direct Yessica’s anger in another direction. JC had brought up an “ex” when she mentioned Lee, and Tim had talked about a guy named Alders who gave Marcy a lot of grief. Marcy’s reappearance in Pasco, meshed with her reluctance to talk about her past, created a troublesome combination. “Did Marcy have a restraining order against Lee?”

Yessica did a classic double-take. Drawing Holly with her, she moved closer to the wall. “Maricella told you about Lee?”

Was Lee his first or last name? Holly crossed her fingers and nodded. “A little. It was why she moved back here, to get away from him.”

A guess, but apparently it was right on target.
 

Lips pursed in silent contemplation, Yessica scanned the boutique.
 

Watching the woman from the corner of her eye, Holly made her own assessment of the patrons. Two girls who looked entirely too young to be planning a coming-of-age party rifled the frothy white dresses. A mother–daughter pair was engrossed in the wedding gowns.

“I’m glad she told you.”

Holly refocused on Yessica. Up close, the woman had the red-rimmed eyes and tight-pinched face of angry grief.
 

“Maybe it meant she really was moving on. I told her to stay away from Lee from the moment she met that man. I knew he was bad news even before the bastard started hitting her. Not that she ever admitted he did it.”
 

Lee hit Marcy? Outrage flared, but Holly forced herself to stay still, to listen and shoulder part of Yessica’s pain.
 

“Why didn’t I do more?” Yessica plucked a tissue from the box behind the counter.
 

Holly touched her arm, a tangible reassurance. “You did the best you could. Marcy knew you loved her.”

“Love.” Yessica snorted. “Maricella thought Lee loved her. I’ll never forget how she was. ‘He’s wonderful, Yessa.’” Her hands fluttered in exaggerated gestures of rapture, the tattered tissue a ragged banner. “All he loved was his money,” she added darkly.

Rich plus Seattle most likely meant Alders was in the high-tech industry and could’ve been the owner of a startup. Wouldn’t it be horribly ironic if her Mergers and Acquisitions Group sold his company? Ugh, then she might have made the bastard even richer and more entitled.

But damn, if Marcy had confided in her, she was supposed to already know all this. Improvising, Holly said, “Marcy never told me how she met him. Was he from Pasco or did they meet when she was living in Seattle?”
 

Yessica’s anger ebbed, replaced by weariness that bowed her shoulders and carved lines into her face. She stuffed the tissue remnant into a pocket. “They met at a coffee shop near her office. Knowing what I do now, I suspect he followed her there—made it look like an accidental meeting.”

“He was stalking her?” Holly kept her tone level—Yessica was already upset—but concern and futile frustration tightened her hands into fists. She knew exactly how it felt to have someone invade her life that way.
 

Her first date with Frank had been at a coffee shop, too. It had all started so innocently. Was that how Marcy got sucked in? A charming guy. A pleasant setting…

But things had deteriorated from there, apparently for both of them.
 

“Stalking her?” Yessica’s hands rose and fell. “Who knows? She seemed so happy, but when I met him, I got a bad feeling, you know?”

She
did
know. Her creep detector had saved her a few times, but it hadn’t kept Frank Phalen from stalking her.
 

“Maybe if I’d said more…”
 

Holly gave Yessica a reassuring squeeze. “If Marcy was that caught up in Lee, she wouldn’t have believed you. And you thought she was happy.” Maybe Marcy had been happy. Maybe Lee had simply pursued her. At least, at first…

“When she stopped coming home, we thought she was too busy and too happy to make the trip.” Yessica shook her head, tumbling glossy, dark hair across her shoulders. Hair so like her sister’s, Holly’s heart ached anew.

“Maybe she was.”

“I think she was afraid Mama and Papa would see the bruises,” Yessica continued as if Holly hadn’t spoken. “Or maybe that bastard Lee Alders wouldn’t let her out of his sight.”

Her stomach wrenched. When had Marcy realized she was in a destructive relationship? Had she ever admitted it, even to herself? Holly thought about the mystery boyfriend and kicked herself for not becoming a better friend. She should’ve given Marcy a chance to talk about it—with someone who understood.
 

Another thought intruded. What if Peter’s gambling brunette was someone else and Marcy had gotten mixed up with Lee again?

“The lies that man told. All ‘I’ve changed, baby. I’ll never do it again.’” Yessica’s voice mocked the clichéd phrases. “He better not show his ugly face around here again, or…”

Yessica’s glower warned that Lee might go home minus a body part or two if he showed up.
 

“Was he here? Last week?” Holly asked.

“A couple of weeks ago. Lee’s such a damn charmer. Mama never believed he beat Maricella. The bastard was smart enough not to hit her face. Mama kept telling her to stay with him like a good wife should.”

Mrs. Ramirez encouraged her daughter to stay with an abuser? Holly struggled to keep her dismay off her face. Her own mother had been as protective as a grizzly bear over her cubs when Holly finally admitted Frank frightened her.

She’d moved three hundred miles across a mountain range to get away from Frank, because when she stopped and admitted it, he
still
frightened her.

“Lee got Mama to tell him where Maricella was living and working. When she disappeared last week, Mama was convinced she’d gone back to him and his fancy Westside condo.”

“Do you remember where he lives? The address?”

Yessica rattled off an address, a condo in the high-rent district overlooking Lake Washington.
 

“Why did she attract that sort of man?” Tears of frustration filled Yessica’s eyes. “Her childhood—our childhood—was sweet. Papa and Mama loved us very much. We had family. No one mistreated her. But it was like she thought she didn’t deserve to be loved by a good man.”