Star Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 3) Page 11

  “Don’t even go there,” she told him stonily.

  “You know I wanted to marry you,” he said in a low voice.

  “Yeah, so now we’d be going through a divorce on top of everything else.” She glared at him.

  He scrubbed his face with both hands, then ran one hand through his hair irritably. “I know, I know. All right. So tell me what you’re doing now. How’s the P.I. business?”

  She shrugged. “It’s working out. Keeps me on my toes. Pays the bills.”

  “What kind of cases do you take?”

  She weighed telling him. He looked genuinely interested. Avoiding the truth could get sticky, plus she wasn’t ashamed of what she did. She just got tired of the negative reactions.

  Aw, fuck it.

  “I’m working with a medium. He talks to ghosts and we find out who killed them.”

  His expression almost made her laugh. She could see the questions in his eyes. Was she serious: Was this a joke? Did he hear her correctly?

  “Close your mouth,” she said, stealing one of Sam’s lines. “You’ll catch flies.”

  He snapped his mouth shut and steepled his fingers under his chin. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, nodding. “Dead serious, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  “And this… works? You solve murders?”

  “We do. Remember the old Fairfax Stalker case? That one that used to drive me crazy? Sam was called in by a homeowner to clear some ghostly happenings, and discovered where all those girls were buried. We found every one of them, plus a couple more in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where the perp had moved.”

  “No shit?” he asked with a laugh. “That thirty-year-old cold case? That’s amazing. Yeah, I remember how you used to obsess over that case. But so many years had passed… I never thought anyone would solve it.”

  “We did.” She tried to keep her voice from sounding smug—especially after that word obsess—but she only partially succeeded.

  “So what’s this guy—Sam?—like? Nice guy?”

  Suspicion erased any sign of pleasure from her voice. “Yes, he is. He’s half Navajo, half white. He’s an upright guy.”

  Unlike you. The words were unspoken, but hung in the air between them.

  “You dating him?”

  That’s none of your business. “No,” she said forcefully. “We’re partners.”

  He searched her face for a moment, his eyes intent. Then he nodded. “Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you, Lace. I really am. I knew you’d be successful at whatever you did. And fighting crime, even in weird ways, is just what you do.”

  She bit back another sarcastic remark and decided they’d said everything that needed saying. She folded up the power of attorney and stuck it in her purse.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “I’ll go see your mom as soon as I can, and I’ll let you know what I find.” She stood expectantly.

  He got to his feet and hesitated. Lacey’s eyes dared him to approach her. Instead, he just shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  “Thanks, Lacey. I really appreciate you looking into this. It means a lot to me.”

  “Sure,” she said. She hoisted her purse strap onto her shoulder. “See ya.”

  “Yeah. See ya.”

  She turned and walked away, knowing his eyes followed her. She refused to look back.

  Seated in her own car, she let out a long breath and leaned back. She felt deflated, like a balloon losing air, and only then realized how stiffly she’d been holding her entire body. Visiting Derrick was not good for her, emotionally or physically. She’d do it as infrequently as possible.

  But right now she needed some lunch. She wasn’t going to make the long drive home without food in her stomach. She started the car and steered it out onto the street, looking for a good burger place.

  ~~~

  SIXTEEN

  Monday morning felt like a new, fresh start, at least until she started thinking about the brick walls and the emotional entanglements she’d rather avoid. It was difficult deciding which path she wanted to tackle; neither beckoned with promise.

  She owed it to Sam to keep on task with Lance. She began searching again for William or Emily Kendahl, since she’d struck out with Doreen. Emily, she knew, could have married and changed her name, so she wasn’t surprised when her search came up empty. She tried again with William. No William, no Bill. She found a Henry, a Liam, a Mark and a Zachary. No help there.

  She was getting a headache. She took a couple Tylenol, then mapped out the way to Primrose Senior Care Home. She hoped the place was half as homey as the name sounded. If nothing else panned out, she’d go this afternoon.

  On an impulse, she ran a search on Allison and Ian Rush. She was surprised when she got a hit on Ian on a jobber site. She clicked through and found herself looking at his resume. His last employment, at Good Pharma Corporation, the drug company, ended six months ago.

  Really? That was interesting. She did a search on Good Pharma Corp itself and pulled up a small newspaper item from the same time. The drug company was announcing a reorganization of its management team, as well as implementation of new operating procedures in order to reduce costs and promote efficiency.

  Lacey tapped her fingers on the table. Sounded like a fairly major shake-up. She read on down to the list of senior executives that were excited about the new direction the company was taking.

  Ian Rush was not among them.

  “Ha!” Lacey laughed out loud. “You got bounced out, didn’t you, Ian? Well, well.”

  She didn’t know Ian well—he hadn’t deigned to attend many family functions when Lacey was still with Derrick—but her impression of him was not the warmest. Arrogant, stuck up, more concerned with money and conspicuous consumption than family and a thing called ethics. He and Allison had been much more impressed with his corner office and high-end salary than anyone else was.

  Okay, so he got sacked six months ago and hadn’t landed on his feet. What would that do to their lavish lifestyle? Any fool would have diverted a good portion of that salary early on into savings or investments, but maybe they were so sure of Ian’s place in the hierarchy that they hadn’t bothered. Allison was only in her late thirties, Ian a couple years older. Maybe they were still too young and too overconfident to start saving. Too eager to enjoy their wealth and lifestyle to the fullest.

  Allison, as far as Lacey knew, was still working for a title company, but that wasn’t going to provide even close to the same income. They were going to need serious cash.

  Lacey jerked upright in her chair. When had Allison moved Margaret? Three months ago. Margaret’s home had been paid for. Did they sell it? While the woman wasn’t rich by any means, her husband had made some savvy investments and they had a modest nest egg. That, coupled with an inflated price on the house, could amount to a pretty decent figure.

  And who was minding the bank account?

  Lacey determined to find out. She called the prison and left word for Derrick to call her. His gut feeling about this might be right on.

  She fixed herself a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch and went back to poring over the Kendahls. Some of the ones she found could be relatives; William’s kids, perhaps. But she wasn’t crazy about the idea of cold-calling people and fishing around for a connection.

  She checked marriage records for William, but found none that fit for his age. She went back to the 2000 census; no William in the L.A. area. There was a Liam. William… Liam. Was that a nickname for William? She checked resources for male names and their meanings. Liam: Irish diminutive for William, meaning strong mind.

  All right. For the first time in a few days, she felt like she was getting somewhere. Crossing the fingers of her left hand, she dialed the number for Liam Kendahl.

  The phone was answered after two rings.

  “’Lo?”

  “Is this William Kendahl?”

  A hesitation. If he went by Liam, her usage of his full name would tip him t
hat she wasn’t anyone who knew him. “Yes.”

  “My name is Lacey Fitzpatrick and I’m trying to reach your mother, Doreen. I’m wondering if you could—”

  “Hang on.” The phone was set down on a hard surface, and then she heard, “Mom. Phone.”

  Mom? She lived with her son! No wonder Lacey couldn’t find her. Excited now, Lacey licked her lips in anticipation.

  “Hello?” An older voice, a bit quavery.

  “Doreen, my name is Lacey Fitzpatrick. I hate to bother you, but I’m a private investigator and I’m looking into the death of your father, Lance Tynan. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  Breathing. “I don’t understand. Why are you investigating that now? He died in…”

  “Nineteen forty-eight. Yes, I know, but I’ve found some… anomalies in the report of his death that I’m hoping to resolve. Do you know much about it? How he died?”

  “I was only a baby. Not yet three.”

  “I know you may not have any personal memories of him, but I was wondering if your mother might have told you anything about him.”

  Silence.

  Lacey decided to plunge. “Let me tell you what’s brought this up. A woman who owns the house on Laurel Canyon—the one where your father died—hired my partner and me to investigate paranormal activity there. Between the impressions that my partner picked up—he’s a medium—and my research, we’ve established that your father is tied to the house in disturbing ways. We’re trying to resolve the issues that tie him there so he can move on. Your input could help us greatly in this.”

  “My mother rarely spoke of him,” Doreen said finally.

  “Did she tell you how he died?”

  “He, uh, had a heart attack.”

  “That’s the version that was released to the public. Did your mother ever mention that he used heroin regularly? That he actually died of an overdose?”

  The silence stretched beyond just shock. That’s a yes, Lacey thought.

  “I’m sorry,” Doreen said. “I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “I’m sorry. I have nothing more to say.”

  Click.

  Lacey stared at her phone. That went well. Her one lead and she got stonewalled. She had a feeling that trying to drill down deeper into the family—talking to Liam, for example—would be fruitless. She felt sure Doreen would caution her son about the crazy lady with the outlandish ghost theories.

  She sat back and drummed her fingers on the table with frustration. All right; there was nothing for it but to go after Lance with the information they had. Maybe if they presented it in a vague way, maybe the ghost would fill in the blanks. Maybe Lance himself would tell them what happened to him. After all, Estelle had.

  Trying to shore herself up with that positive thought, she was pulled from her contemplation by the ringing of her phone. She checked the screen.

  Calif St Prison. Derrick.

  “Hello?”

  “Lacey? What have you got? News already?”

  Lacey grabbed her notebook and flipped to the page about Allison and Ian. “Actually, yes. Did you know Ian lost his job?”

  “No.” His voice was tinged with rising concern. “Are you sure?”

  Lacey gave him the rundown of her research, her suspicions about their finances. “I’m just wondering if Allison has control of your mom’s bank account.”

  “She’s on it, sure,” he said. “Mom added both of us to the account after Dad died.”

  “Do you know the login and password for it online? I can take a look at it right now.”

  Derrick supplied the necessary login information and walked Lacey through the security questions to establish her computer as an approved end user. Once in, she pulled up the checking account activity.

  “Oh, this is not good,” she said. The more she scanned down, the deeper went the sinking feeling in her gut.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  Lacey sighed. “I see monthly payments of $569 to Mercedes Credit. I’m guessing your mom has not bought a Benz lately.”

  “Why, that—” Derrick bit off the words. “What else?”

  “Good-sized chunks of money to Saks, Crate and Barrel, the Gap. Looks like Allison has been on quite a few spending sprees.”

  Lacey imagined she could hear Derrick’s teeth grinding together. “That sneaky bitch,” he said finally. “I can’t believe she’d do this. Not to Mom.”

  “Payments to the senior home are $2300 a month. Between that and Allison’s shopping trips, your mom’s money won’t last long.”

  “Holy…” Derrick’s words faded into mumbled curses. He exhaled heavily. “I hate to ask you this, Lace, but can you…”

  “Yeah. I’ll look into it. I had already planned to go see your mom this afternoon. I can talk to her, find out if she has any idea what’s going on.” She had a thought. “Is your mom still sharp? Still clear-thinking?”

  “Oh, yeah. Or at least she was the last time I talked to her.”

  “Okay, good to know.” She had another idea. “You know, if this really does amount to fraud, elder abuse, your sister could wind up in jail.”

  “I know,” he said. “Poor Mom. Both kids ending up jailbirds. Not exactly the golden years.”

  Shoulda thought of that before, Lacey said to herself. But she could feel sympathy as well. It wasn’t Margaret’s fault her kids made shitty decisions. But she was going to end up paying for them.

  “Okay, let me go see her,” she said. “I think I’ll take my laptop, and if I feel like it would be best for her to know, I can show her the bank activity. I’m just not sure how well she’ll take this.”

  “Me, neither,” he said. “She’s always believed Allison walked on water. This may be hard for her to accept.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. I don’t want to go busting in and stomping around on her illusions. But I may have to.”

  “Whatever you think is best,” he said. “I trust you implicitly, Lace. You know that. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

  She sighed. “I’ll do my best. Why don’t you call me tomorrow? I can let you know how it goes and we can plan from there.”

  “Okay, will do. Thank you, Lacey. I know I don’t deserve your help, but I sure do appreciate it.”

  She could hear the sincerity in his voice. It unsettled her. He’d been such a jackass for so long…

  “Talk to you tomorrow,” she said simply.

  “Okay. Bye.”

  She keyed off the phone and powered down her laptop after one more glance at the bank statement. Unbelievable, she thought. Allison had never been Mother Teresa, but Lacey really hadn’t expected this level of callousness. Of greed and heartlessness.

  All during the long drive to the senior home, she tried on different styles for how to approach Margaret. Concern, certainly. Tentative? Aggressive? Controlling? She really had no idea. She’d just have to see Margaret’s state of mind and go from there.

  The Primrose Care Home was a poor stepchild to Meadow View, which was no surprise at all. A blocky single-story building, more a bunker than an apartment complex, with minimal grounds and no apparent concern for creating a welcoming atmosphere. Lacey pulled her soft case out of the car and walked to the front door with depression bordering on dread.

  Inside the double glass doors, the entry was an austere room of fluorescent lights and linoleum flooring. A counter ran along one side, backed by a door into a closed office. A heavyset woman with short dark hair eyed her.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” Lacey said as brightly as she could. “I’m here to visit Margaret Nelson. Can you tell me where her room is?”

  The woman arched an eyebrow at Lacey. “Room seventeen. Down this hall to the end”—a hand waving to the open doorway—“turn left. Rooms are numbered.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lacey glanced around as she set off down the hall. Dirty baseboards. Chipped paint on the wa
lls. The fluorescent lighting did nothing to flatter the less than pristine conditions. Lacey fought the urge to grind her teeth together. Hard to smile that way.

  She found seventeen, the brass numbers darkened by age and grime. She knocked lightly.

  “Yes?” Margaret’s voice, then the clicking of the deadbolt, the door swinging open.

  Lacey smiled, but had to force it. “Hi, Margaret. It’s Lacey. How are you?”

  She was dismayed to see Margaret in a colorless house dress, her hair uncombed, her bare feet in scuffed leather slippers. She’d lost weight since Lacey had seen her last.

  “Lacey? Oh, my, what are you doing here?”

  “Just thought I’d come and visit. I heard you’d moved. I thought it was time to catch up.” She wondered if Margaret was going to invite her in. “I wanted to see what the new place was like.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes, come in.” She stepped aside so Lacey could move past her, and then closed the door behind her.

  Lacey’s first impression was sadness. The place was hardly any more than a hotel room. An abbreviated kitchen lined the entry: sink, refrigerator and microwave. No stove. The main room was living room and bedroom combined. A single bed took up one corner, a couch and chair another. A tiny table with two straight chairs sat just off the kitchen. An open doorway led to a dark bathroom.

  “Well,” Lacey said, trying to be positive, “this is cozy. Sure a lot less to take care of, right?”

  She sat on the couch and leaned her case against the side of it. Margaret took the chair beside her.

  “Yes. It’s… small.” She seemed reluctant to say more.

  Lacey leaned over and took her hand. “How are you doing, Margaret? Everything okay?”

  Margaret inhaled, then let the air out slowly. “Oh, all right, I guess. I’m still getting used to this. There’s not much to do here.”

  Lacey glanced around. No oven for baking. No garden for planting. What did the woman do all day?