So About the Money (6 page)

“Marcy took off earlier this fall, said she wanted to be by herself. She made it real clear she didn’t want to talk about it.” Holly shrugged. “When she took off this time, our receptionist talked to the Stevens Ventures receptionist. Marcy had told her she was going away with her boyfriend. And no, I don’t know who she meant.”
 

“Nothing like firsthand information.” JC lifted a derisive eyebrow. “I never knew you to listen to gossip.”

“Hey, you asked. You’re the frikkin’ detective. You go figure out who killed her. Just be damned sure you put in your report it wasn’t me.”
 

For a long moment, JC stared at her. Then he closed the folio, laid his pen on the table, and folded his arms across his chest. Eyes narrowed, his expression reflected a mental debate. Knowing him, mostly likely it was whether to treat her like a suspect, a witness, or an ex-girlfriend. “I expected more cooperation from you.”

She mimicked his body language—stiff back, squared shoulders, minus the glare. “I
am
cooperating. I answered every one of your questions.”
 

 
“The whole time I’ve been here, you’ve said a lot of words, but everything you’ve told me adds up to a big fat zero.” His tone was level, coolly devoid of emotion. “I have to ask myself, why is she being so evasive?”

“Wha..?” She sputtered with outrage, but he cut her off with a slashing hand motion.

“Tell me, Holly. What am I supposed to think? You and your boyfriend
just happen
to find the murdered body of a woman who is your friend and his partner’s employee. Interesting coincidence?”

Chapter Four

JC’s suspicions lay on the table between them.
 

Holly stared at him and hung onto her incredulity and her temper. “It may be a coincidence, but it’s only an issue if you make it one. This interview is over.”

“You said you’d help.” Disapproval frosted his voice.

She crossed her arms in a defensive move. This wasn’t about JC and the antagonism between them, her frustration with Desert Accounting, or her life in exile. “I said I’ll help you find Marcy’s killer. All you have to do is ask about her. Quit pushing me on the other stuff. I didn’t kill her, and you know it.”
 

His gaze dropped to his notepad. Rather than reopen it, he drummed his fingers across the cover.
 

Dammit, was he admitting he was being an ass about their past or did he actually need her help? How was she supposed to help when she didn’t know anything?

The muscles across his shoulders relaxed, and his voice warmed from deep freeze to room temperature. “I need to understand Ms. Ramirez’s regular routine. Then we can retrace her steps and figure out when and where she disappeared. Fill me in on the details of her day.”

Holly softened her posture and reached for her coffee mug. “You should talk to Tim Stevens or one of the Stevens Ventures office staff. They can tell you more than I can.”

“I have that covered. An outside opinion can be helpful.”

She fiddled with the mug, stalling. What did that mean? Had he already talked to people at Stevens Ventures? Did he think Tim was lying?

Did he think
she
was?

JC’s expression didn’t give her any hints about his thoughts.

“As near as I could tell, Marcy did a little of everything.” Her hand swirled in a vague, encompassing gesture. “Bookkeeper, project manager. She even filled in occasionally as the receptionist.”

“A key employee.”
 

Holly sipped coffee, then placed the mug on the table. “Marcy was smart and she caught on fast. Tim talked about promoting her to full-time project manager. When she didn’t come in Wednesday, people assumed she’d gone up the Valley to check on one of the sites. At the time—until her sister said Marcy was missing—everybody figured she was working out of the Yakima office.”

JC scribbled on his note pad. “What does that mean? Work out of Yakima? Check on the sites?”
 

“Inspections, checking on contractors.”

“This was at buildings Stevens leases out?”
 

“No. The property managers handle the occupied buildings—rents, maintenance, that kind of thing. Marcy occasionally did an inspection for the managers, but she handled properties under renovation. She was working on several projects, but the Yakima one was the largest.”

He rocked his pen between his fingers, his expression a thoughtful frown. “She could’ve vanished from any of those places.”
 

“Marcy never mentioned trouble with the workmen.” Holly combed her fingers through her hair, trying to remember anything else Marcy had said about her trips around the Valley. At an almost subconscious level, she noticed JC’s gaze tracking her movement.
Yikes
. Not preening.

She dropped her hand. “But you can see why we weren’t too concerned about her whereabouts.”

Whereabouts?
Did she really just use that word in a sentence?

His dimples flashed, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “No signs of duress?”

“Duress?” A blush warmed her cheeks and she cursed her fair complexion.
 

“No one saw or knew anything indicating she didn’t leave voluntarily.”

“Oh. Right.”
Brilliant
.
 

Hoping to blow past the faux pas
,
she said, “I talked to Brea—the Stevens Ventures receptionist.”

He raised an eyebrow, asking how this was relevant.
 

“Last week, when we thought Marcy was missing”—
instead of dead
—“Brea said Marcy had mentioned a guy named Lee, said he might come by their office, but I don’t know if that’s who Marcy took off with.”

JC sat up a lot straighter. “Ms. Ramirez’s ex was in town?”

“Marcy has an ex? I mean,
had
an ex?” JC seemed to already know about the guy, whoever he was. “Why didn’t she tell people about him? You think he’s the one?”
 

“How long have you been dating Alejandro Montoya?”
 

Holly blinked. “I thought we agreed you’d just ask about Marcy.”

“Answer the question.” The hard-ass cop was back in charge.
 

Was Alex still a suspect? Or was JC using the investigation as an excuse to pry into her current relationship? “Why?”

“Holly.” His glare was part threat and part exasperation.
 

“Fine.” She threw up her hands. “Not that it’s any of your
official
business. Not long, a month or so.”
 

His lips tightened when she emphasized
official
. “How well do you know him?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer. Well enough to go out. Well enough to at least
think
about sex.
 

Yeah, like that was a good idea.
 

Not
.
 

None of that was an answer she wanted to give, especially to JC. She shrugged. “I’m getting to know him.”

JC draped an ankle over his knee. “I need background information. Where does he work?”

“He owns a restaurant in Pasco. He told the cops about it this morning.”

The detective lifted an eyebrow, clearly expecting more.

“What?” She lifted her hands, palm up. She and Alex might not be headed for a happily ever after, but he wasn’t a murderer.

“I understand he’s Tim Stevens’ business partner.”

Alex and Tim invested together, but as far as she knew, they weren’t criminal masterminds. “I believe we’ve established that fact. Is there something specific you want to know?”
 

“Tell me about Ms. Ramirez and Tim Stevens’ relationship.”

“Tim is Marcy’s boss, not her boyfriend.”

“I know she worked for him. Did Ms. Ramirez get along with him?”

So now Tim was a suspect? “Everybody gets along with Tim. Tim and his wife Nicole treat everybody—employees, clients—like friends. They asked me to their Labor Day party.”

“And?” he asked. “Relevance?”

“Wait a minute.” She crossed to the alcove she used as a home office, rummaged through the drawer, and found a picture. “This was taken at their party. Tim gave all of us a copy.”

JC squinted at the photo. “Is that Ms. Ramirez?”

Holly smoothed the creases from the surface. The picture showed half a dozen people clustered in a tight pack. Holly stood to one side, sandwiched between Alex and a property manager. Thankfully, the photo had been taken early in the day and she still wore a cute cover-up over her bathing suit.

She focused her attention on Marcy. Even with her dark, lustrous hair scraped back in a wind-blown ponytail, wearing a ridiculous John Deere baseball cap, Marcy looked adorable. Her dark eyes glittered with laughter and her grin was wall-to-wall. This was how Holly wanted to remember her, not as the horrible corpse they’d found.
 

Her finger traced the gold necklace at Marcy’s throat and lingered on the intertwined hearts. Who’d have thought the ornament would one day help identify her body?

“May I?” JC extended his hand and she surrendered the picture. He studied Marcy’s image. “The necklace.”

“Marcy started wearing it a couple of months ago. That party was on Labor Day, so I guess she got it around then. She wore it all the time.”

“Do you know where she got it? Who gave it to her?”

“She never said.”

He continued to stare at the picture. “I wasn’t aware you were so tight with that group. I see Alejandro Montoya was at the party, too.”

Why did he insist on using Alex’s full, Hispanic name? “Tim’s a client. As you pointed out, Alex is his business partner.”

“Do you hang out with all your clients in a bathing suit?”
 

She stiffened. “What business is that of yours?”

Their past history was still complicating this...whatever it was—meeting, interview, interrogation.
 

JC placed the photo where she could see Marcy’s smile.
 

Holly glanced from the picture to the detective. She didn’t need his less than subtle reminder about his reason for being there. Except this wasn’t about Marcy anymore.
 

She pushed back from the table and rose. She crossed the empty living room—a walk rather than a stomp—and pulled his coat from the closet.

He remained seated at the table, watching her.

“When you decide to actually investigate Marcy’s death, we’ll talk. For now, you’re leaving. We’re done.”

He shook his head. “We’re just getting started.”

“Then I better start my own investigation, because this isn’t getting anywhere.”

Chapter Five

Sunday, late afternoon

Holly cruised Howard Amon Park’s small parking lot. She scanned the rows for her best friend’s car, hoping she was in the right place. Laurie Gordon’s Prius was tiny, but distinctive.
 

The park ran for miles along the west bank of the Columbia River, from somewhere below the Blue Bridge in Kennewick all the way to the Hanford Nuclear Site. It widened periodically into named areas, but she always had trouble remembering what the different segments were called. She should’ve just told Laurie to meet her at the Fingernail. The bandshell’s pale blue top poked through the trees like the index finger it resembled.
 

She parked, climbed from the car, and tugged the zipper on her jacket higher. She’d changed into jeans and a fleece top, but the wind off the river carried a bite. Rather than pace, she leaned against her Beemer’s fender and watched other people enjoy the autumn sunshine. Teenagers, families. Ordinary people living ordinary lives.

The sun felt good on her face. Eyes closed, she tilted her head. Children’s voices, the teenagers’ music, and an occasional car rumbling through the parking lot receded into a background drone. White noise for relaxation.
 

“Holly?”