So About the Money (27 page)

Abruptly, the sun cleared the mountains on the horizon and scalded her eyeballs with unfiltered rays. When she blinked, the sky had transformed and shone a cerulean blue in a vast overhead bowl.
 

She loved this house.
 

From her counter stool, Holly savored both the view and the first rush of caffeine. The Yakima River curled below her hillside home, lazily rolled through the Chamna Nature Preserve, before looping back to join the Columbia River.
 

A line of geese glided across Bateman’s Island, headed for the offshore sanctuary. She shuddered as the birds evoked memories of Alex’s hunting. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Marcy’s murder.
 

She sipped more coffee. She didn’t want to get all morbid and weepy about being alive when Marcy wasn’t. The whole thing was just so…weird.
 

She danced away from the next thought. Why wasn’t she more upset?
 

Marcy wasn’t a close friend—she hadn’t touched her life in a deep way—but she knew the woman.
 

Still uncertain what state her emotions should be in, Holly showered and dressed for work. Her grandfather had died from old age and smoking. But Marcy…?
 

Everybody said she was sweet and pretty and good.
 

Nobody was all sweetness and light. Everybody's life contained some gray areas.
 

Holly had the uncomfortable feeling the question everybody should be asking wasn’t
who
killed Marcy, but
why
?
 

~$~

In one smooth move, Holly dumped her briefcase, deposited Alex’s flowers on the credenza, shrugged out of her jacket, and punched “voicemail.” She stared at the flowers as the phone connected. Did Alex really think he could smooth over the angry accusations with a seasonal assortment?
 

In his dreams.

And what was up with his so-called alibi? She knew without checking that the movie was Monday night. Where was he on Tuesday that he didn’t want to admit?
 

She couldn’t believe he’d had anything to do with Marcy’s death…but why lie?

A huge envelope filled her in-basket and a stack of file folders lay on her desk with a Post-it tacked on top. She read the brief message—“Please countersign, Donna.”
 

Donna, not Mother.
 

Holly still couldn’t get used to calling her mother by her first name.
 

Apparently, her mother had put in an early morning appearance at the office. She’d cleared half a dozen projects, but a dozen more clamored for Holly’s attention.
 

The first voicemail message played through the speakerphone. She jotted notes and wondered how many of the projects she could pass to the staff.

Several client messages finished, then Alex’s baritone filled the office. “I guess you aren’t in yet.”

He needed to find someone else—someone who thought his fight-and-make-up cycle was acceptable.
 

“Look, I shouldn’t have unloaded on you last night.”

Ya think?
She started to erase the message. She’d already deleted the ones he’d left on her cell.
 

“That cop really riled me up.”

Her finger hesitated over the keypad. Was Alex actually going to apologize?
 

“We were both upset. Said some things we shouldn’t. But…”
 

He paused and she could nearly see him shift position to try a different approach. His vocabulary apparently didn’t include the words, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to break up…”
 

Like they were ever actually together?
 

Not.
 

“I like you, Holly. We were having fun…”
 

Yeah, they had, but was he living in Total Denial-land? Why would he want to keep dating? They were so done. Finished. Over.
 

“Damn, I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone. I have no idea how you’re reacting.”

Interesting. She gave the phone a thoughtful inspection. This didn’t sound like male pride. While painting last night, she’d rerun the argument, and examined both the words and the nuances. She’d decided Alex really didn’t want her, but he didn’t like
her
dumping
him
.
 

“Call me.”

Why the push? She deleted Alex’s message. The next recording began, but she barely noticed. She and Alex weren’t a love match. They’d both known things were temporary.
 

She stared out the window at the traffic on Grandridge. What did Alex really want? JC had harped on Alex’s and Tim’s finances. Was Alex afraid she’d uncover something? He had his own bookkeeper for the restaurant. Restaurants—any cash-based business—were notorious for manipulating income. Sometimes it provided a cover for other activity—drugs, money laundering. She’d seen no evidence of either, but was Alex trying to make their relationship more serious, hoping to protect whatever he was hiding?
 

If he was hiding anything.
 

Did he really think he could convince her to look the other way? Clearly, the man didn’t know her. If Alex was doing something illegal, she’d never put up with it.
 

With a disgusted sigh, she noticed the silence. The message system wanted something from her. Damn, was there anybody or anything that didn’t?

She shelved Alex and his mystery motives and replayed the last message. She had plenty of other things to occupy her time. Notes from clients lined her legal pad.

“Call me.” Laurie’s voice. “Call me, call me, call me.”

What had her so excited?
 

Holly nearly hung up to return Laurie’s call, but the next message began: “Holly. Devon Edwards. I have the information you wanted. Call me around eleven.”

Yes! She gave a double-fisted victory pump. Her friend from the M&A team had come through. Impatient now, she waited out the remaining messages. With a glance at her watch—plenty of time before she needed to call Devon—she picked up her cell and said, “Laurie.”

The phone connected and her friend’s voice bubbled from the speaker. “You are not going to believe this. Marcy was pregnant.”

“Are you sure?”

“My brother-in-law’s part of the investigation team.”
 

“I forgot your sister married a cop.”
Duh!
It was how Laurie had known about JC’s job, marriage, and divorce.

“He told her Marcy was pregnant. She told me.”
 

Holly shook her head. “Wow. Pregnant.”

“Yet another major life moment she didn’t share with us.”

“She couldn’t have been very far along. She wasn’t showing.”
 

“Any idea who the father is…was?”

Tim’s name immediately ran through Holly’s mind, followed by Frank’s.
 

“I can’t help but wonder if she really had a new boyfriend…” Laurie’s voice trailed off.

“The manager at the Tom-Tom told me his security chief was dating Marcy.”

“Wow, that raises a few possibilities. Does JC know?”

“Like he’d tell me. I called him after I found out, but he hasn’t bothered to call me back. Peter said they started dating the week before…”

“Then his security guy couldn’t be the father.”

Holly drummed her fingers on her desk. “I told you what Lillian said about Lee Alders. What if he forced his way back into Marcy’s life?”
 

“Emphasis on force.”

“From what I hear, Mrs. Ramirez is the only person who’d be happy if Lee did show up. Maybe that’s why Marcy didn’t tell anybody. She didn’t want to admit she hooked up with him again.”

“Maybe.” Laurie sounded doubtful. “Some women go back to an abusive spouse, but Marcy seemed to have her act together.”
 

Holly rearranged some papers, stalling. She really couldn’t see Marcy with Creepy Security Guy—but Tim? What if her instincts were right on target and Tim and Marcy had been having an affair? Whose baby was he crying over on Monday? If he was involved with Marcy, he’d lost both a lover and a child. But she had absolutely no proof of an affair, other than one night at the casino. “My vote’s Lee Alders. According to the newspaper, he’s missing.”

“Where is the guy? Outer Siberia?”
 

It had been nearly a week since they’d found Marcy’s body and still no word about her husband. “He has to know the police want to talk to him.”
 

“Think he used his millions to buy a new identity?”
 

“He’s probably someplace where he’ll have an alibi, and he hired somebody to kill her.”

“Yeah, he looked in the Yellow Pages under ‘Killer for hire,’” Laurie said.
 

“There are plenty of out-of-work, desperate people in debt. He could’ve waved ten thousand tax-free dollars in front of some badass and shown them Marcy’s picture. Bam.”

“Glad to hear your imagination still works. Listen, I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tonight at book club. We can talk then.”

Holly hung up and slumped in her chair. Had Marcy really, truly been pregnant? The provenance sounded good. Deputy to wife to sister.

There was one way to find out.
 

She hunted through her desk drawer and found JC’s business card. Taking a deep breath, she punched the number into her cell phone.
 

“Dimitrak.”
 

Short, clipped tones. Why did men answer the phone that way?
 

“Morning, JC.”

His voice changed, a smile hiding in the warmth. “Miz Price. To what do I owe the honor? Or do you need another mess cleaned up?”

The sarcasm was a bonus feature, but she decided not to be insulted.
 

Rocking back in her chair, she tapped the business card against her desk. “I’m just looking for confirmation of a little story I heard.”
 

“About?”

“Marcy. I hear she was pregnant.”

Silence. Absolute silence.
 

Gotcha
. She dropped the card and propped her elbow on her desk. “If you hang up on me, I’m going to be really, really mad.”

“What makes you think the victim was pregnant?”

So he wasn’t denying it. “Come on, was she or wasn’t she?”

“Who told you about this alleged pregnancy?”

“Alleged?” She made a rude noise. “You have a leak. Deal with it.”

He was too experienced to fall for her ploy. “Where’d you hear this rumor?”

“JC. Focus. If Marcy was pregnant, that opens things up. I know you’re keyed on Alders, but what if he isn’t the father?”

“Holly.” He sounded exasperated. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation, but strictly theoretically, that would make it more likely that Alders killed her. If he did it.”

“But what if it was the other way around?” she suggested. “What if she was going back to Alders and the other guy didn’t want to let her go?”

“Care to suggest a candidate? Have a suspect or, say, an actual motive?”

Yessica might know. She jotted the woman’s name at the top of a fresh sheet of paper. “I don’t have any proof.”
 

About Tim or Security Guy.

“Then stay out of it.” It was his cop voice again, all humor gone.
 

“You’re the one who keeps putting me in the middle.” She dropped the pen and tucked her arm over her stomach.
 

“Look. Do you know something you need to tell me about?”
 

“Not really…” All she had was instinct. Maybe a woman’s intuition. JC was so obstinate. He wouldn’t admit Marcy was pregnant. No way would he tell her about the rest of his session with Lillian. Of course—she suppressed a grin—Lillian would tell her if she asked.