So About the Money Page 12

  “For Mrs. Ramirez.” Heat climbed her cheeks. “Letting her vent.”

  He just watched her, his damned dimples distracting her.

  Words kept tumbling from her mouth. “Sometimes guys don’t understand. All women really want them to do is listen while we get it out of our systems.”

  JC leaned closer. She could’ve sworn he was smelling her hair. And liked what he smelled, because he was definitely crowding her personal space more than the surrounding people required.

  “We don’t want you to do anything,” she continued, “fix it, explain it, or anything else.” Shut up! She was babbling like an idiot.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice was low and intimate.

  He studied her face. She could almost see the debate going on behind his eyes.

  Intensely regretting her verbal oversharing, she braced for his next maneuver.

  “I didn’t try to fix anything, but I did talk to a friend at the Seattle PD,” he said.

  She frowned, looking for the connection. “Why? Were you hoping I’d done something terrible in Seattle? That the only reason I came back was because I was running away?”

  Dimples flashed again. “The possibility occurred to me.”

  She folded her arms, dislodging his hand, and tapped a foot. “Why’d you really call them?”

  “I found something disturbing.”

  She froze. Disturbing combined with the Seattle police department meant only one thing to her—Officer Frank Phalen. Even thinking the man’s name left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “I found your protective order.”

  “Bully for you.” She felt violated all over again. First by Frank, then by the Seattle PD’s refusal to take the harassment seriously, and now by JC’s knowing about the whole damn mess. And she couldn’t even complain about his reading the order because it was a public record and anybody who wanted to could look it up.

  JC scanned the group behind her. “I thought you might want to know. Phalen was reprimanded by the department after you complained.”

  “Reprimanded.” Phalen had flat-out stalked her. “He got his hand slapped for harassing me, camping in front of my house, following me—”

  Threatening me.

  “In the official report, he claims you two were dating and you didn’t handle the breakup well.”

  Holly’s mouth dropped open. Shock and outrage left her sputtering. And naturally JC believed the rumors, what the other cops told him. “I didn’t handle rejection well? We went out a couple of times and he wanted to buy wedding rings. I didn’t.”

  His gaze swung back and pinned her in place. His brown eyes carried a message she couldn’t interpret.

  “You think just because our relationship ended badly, I made this stuff up?” The words ground out between clenched teeth. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this angry. “Screw you, JC.”

  She pivoted on her heel, but JC grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute.” He tugged her back. “I never said I didn’t believe you. I’m telling you because he pulled the same shit with another woman. She raised a bigger stink than you did. They fired him.”

  She jerked her arm free and gave JC her best squinty-eyed stare. “Frank Phalen reinforced every bad thing I ever heard about the ‘thin blue line.’ ”

  “There are all kinds of officers. Some are like him. Ones who don’t understand that behavior isn’t acceptable.”

  “You’re avoiding the issue.”

  His tone went hard and flat. “I don’t like the idea of some guy, especially an officer, harassing women.”

  She caught her breath at his intensity. Forget the theoretical. His expression said he didn’t want anyone harassing her, Holly Price, specifically. She swallowed. “Sounds like we finally agree on something.”

  He glared down at her. “I want to know if Phalen contacts you.”

  She didn’t need JC telling her how to run her life. Trying to control her life had been one of Frank’s horrible habits. “I doubt that will be necessary.”

  God, she hoped it wasn’t necessary.

  “He’s going to blame you for getting fired. That kind of guy won’t admit it was his own screw-up that caused his problems.”

  Like JC or her father admitted theirs? Yeah. Got that.

  “I’ve handled Frank all by myself this long.” Even if it did include moving.

  Temporarily moving.

  And speaking of moving, a graceful retreat sounded like a brilliant next move.

  Clearly, she wasn’t getting any information from Marcy’s relatives tonight. Time to find Laurie and leave. She scanned the room, but didn’t see her friend’s blue hair, which should’ve stood out in the sea of brunettes.

  “Gotta go,” she told JC and dodged between two people before he could say another word.

  So much for graceful.

  She angled across the room. She felt Alex’s glare and JC’s gaze following her. At the doorway, she risked a glance over her shoulder. JC wasn’t just watching her, he was measuring her in that blatantly male way that made her aware of every inch of her on-fire skin. She felt as though she were wearing her sexiest piece of barely there lingerie instead of the most conservative black suit she owned. For a second, she was glad she’d worn high heels that made her legs look a mile long and lifted her butt into something that from the right angle might be considered a booty.

  The next instant she wondered what she was doing—strutting for a guy she’d sworn never to think about again, much less help, talk to, flirt with, or whatever it was she was doing. A man she needed to deal with strictly on a professional basis.

  She turned around and found Alex’s glare had intensified to a laser of death. What was his problem? He was pissed because she wouldn’t go over there and subject herself to his mother’s snubs? Newsflash—the floor crossed two ways. Alejandro could grow a pair and come to her.

  “Screw this,” she muttered. She didn’t ask to get caught between two competitive Neanderthals.

  She moved into the foyer and looked around for Laurie. Raised voices caught her attention—along with most of the people in the room. Heads turned.

  There was a commotion at the front door.

  She caught the words and the voice.

  That damn reporter.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “The police are questioning the owners of Stevens Ventures.” A young man holding a mini-recorder stood just inside the door of the funeral home. He’d cornered a middle-aged woman, but he spoke loudly, as if he wanted to be overheard. “Sources inside the sheriff’s department say they have questions about Tim Stevens’ possible involvement in Ms. Ramirez’s death.”

  Holly gasped. As far as she knew, the only thing Tim had done was offer Marcy a job.

  And maybe have an affair.

  “Were you concerned about Ms. Ramirez working there? Tim Stevens’ business partner, Alex Montoya, found the body. Is there a connection?”

  Holly whirled around and looked for Alex. He’d go ballistic if he heard this crap. She didn’t see him or his mother. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed the commotion, or were too far away to hear the guy’s questions.

  She turned back to the reporter. Should she say something? Defend Tim and Alex?

  A group of men who looked a lot like Marcy swarmed out of the inner room. They filled the entrance hall with noise, the clatter of feet, voices speaking English and Spanish.

  “¡Salga! Leave! This is a private function.” An older man led the pack.

  The reporter stood his ground and directed his next question to the crowd. “What about Ms. Ramirez’s husband? Why isn’t he here? Have the police been able to locate him?”

  Holly felt like a spectator at a tennis match. Her head swiveled between the group of men and the reporter. The scene was ugly, but if somebody actually answered the guy, she’d get some answers too.

  “Have the police given any indication Ms. Ramirez was involved in activities that contributed to her death?” The reporter mo
ved closer to the older man.

  “Get out!” One of the younger men stepped forward, not touching the reporter, but definitely in his face. “Now.”

  An angry barrier of men hid the reporter from sight. Holly turned and scanned the crowd for JC. He seemed to be good at calming yelling matches. Her gaze raked across the room. Given his height, he should’ve stood out in the crowd. Apparently, he was still in the inner room, probably trying to question another family member.

  The woman in front of her spun around. Feverish red spots lit her cheeks and her teeth clenched around the words which seemed ready to burst from her mouth.

  “Yessica?” Holly stared in astonishment at the furious woman.

  “That reporter doesn’t want to interview anyone for the truth. He’s telling more lies.”

  “He’s just making noise, trying to get a reaction.” Based on Yessica’s expression, the reporter had succeeded.

  “It isn’t right. Why is he dragging my sister’s name through the mud?”

  “He can’t print stuff like that.” At least she didn’t think he could print blatant speculation. Although he’d had no problem printing she was a Person of Interest. Which might be factual, but it sure seemed like slander—or was it libel?

  “Was Ms. Ramirez afraid of her husband?” The reporter hadn’t given up.

  The men pushed the reporter outside.

  “Dammit!” Yessica sputtered. “Why is he doing this?”

  Holly’s earlier words to JC rang through her head. Women just need someone to listen while they get it out of their systems.

  Tears overflowed Yessica’s eyes—eyes that had the same tilted corners and warm brown color as Marcy’s. Holly fumbled in her purse, found a battered package of tissues, stepped closer, and held Yessica while she cried.

  A few minutes later, Yessica wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Thanks.”

  Holly stepped back. “Did you talk to the police? Have you told them about Lee Alders?”

  The color on Yessica’s cheeks deepened. Her gaze drifted over the remaining crowd. “My mother wouldn’t like it.”

  “It could be important.”

  “You don’t understand. Mama and Papa don’t want to make Maricella look bad. She was a good girl.” Yessica shredded the tissue. “I can’t prove Lee killed her, so why bring him up?”

  Holly gestured toward the front door, where there were now sounds of a scuffle. “It’s going to come out. If nobody tells him anything, that reporter will print whatever he wants.”

  Yessica raised her eyes and stared at the doorway. She turned and glared at Holly. “How did that reporter know about Lee? Did you tell him? You said you’d keep it quiet.”

  She jammed the mangled tissue in her pocket and took an angry step toward the inner room.

  “Wait.” Holly grasped her arm. “I understand you want some privacy—believe me, I really understand. I didn’t say anything. The restraining order is a public record. So is her marriage. That’s how the reporter found out.”

  “We don’t want to discuss it. We don’t want to ruin her reputation. It’s all she has left.”

  “Then get on top of it. Spin it in your favor.”

  Yessica hesitated. Uncertainty joined the anger in her eyes.

  “Make people see Marcy as the victim. Tell your version of the story.” Holly scanned the throng for JC.

  In seconds, she found him—watching her. Their gaze met and lingered. Stifling the other messages she sensed in his eyes, she tilted her head toward Yessica and mouthed, “I need you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What’s up?” JC gave the men still clustered near the funeral home’s entrance a quick inspection before shifting his attention to Holly.

  “Detective Dimitrak, you’ve met Yessica Herrera, haven’t you? She’s Marcy’s sister.”

  JC didn’t so much as twitch at the sudden formality—had she ever called him Detective rather than JC?—but Yessica recoiled. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I told you, my mother won’t like it.”

  “If you tell Detective Dimitrak about Lee, about what he did, the police will know to look harder at him.”

  “You mean, tell them everything that man did?”

  At Yessica’s stricken expression, Holly said, “It’s the only way we can help Marcy.”

  With their backs to the crowd, the three of them created a bubble of privacy while Yessica repeated her story. After her initial hesitation, she spoke more freely than she had at the boutique. When she finished, Holly asked, “Do you think Lee had something to do with…what happened?”

  How big a step was it between beating someone and killing them? Had Lee realized he couldn’t control Marcy any longer and lashed out in a rage?

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Yessica’s shoulders slumped. “He hit her, but he always seemed to know when to quit. Maricella would lie and cover for him. I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until I stopped to see her on my way to Bellingham. She looked awful.”

  Yessica’s fingers fluttered to her ribs, as if touching her sister’s battered body.

  Holly murmured a soothing phrase and laid her hand on the grieving woman’s arm. As Yessica leaned toward her, JC subtly shifted positions and covered them. Holly glanced at him. Had she overstepped some boundary?

  He dipped his head, a nod she interpreted as encouragement.

  “I convinced her to leave with me. We went to the hospital.” Yessica’s lips trembled. She grasped Holly’s hand, as if she needed the anchor of a human connection.

  Holly suspected Yessica was reliving that day, seeing it instead of the crowded reception hall.

  “Lee broke her ribs—it hurt her so much to breathe. Ay, Dios mio, the bruises on her body. Maricella was so ashamed, like it was her fault. That hurt me the most. He broke her spirit.”

  Yessica’s hand dropped to her side. “We got the protection order, but I couldn’t leave Maricella in Seattle. I brought her home with me.”

  “Did it help? Did Lee stay away after that?” she asked.

  “At first, he called. When he came to see her, Maricella was very angry.”

  Holly could imagine what Marcy felt when her husband hunted her down. Fear. Fury. A sense of inevitability.

  “Other than that,” Yessica continued, “she never mentioned his name. Did she say anything to you?”

  Holly shook her head. “Not specifically. She started seeing someone this fall, but she wouldn’t tell anyone who.”

  “Mierda,” Yessica cursed.

  Mierda indeed. Holly knew the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, the constant tension, the hyper-alertness that came with wondering when a man—a sick, twisted person—was going to appear next. The constant looking over her shoulder, worrying about what Frank would do, was nothing compared to what Marcy had faced. Had Lee re-entered Marcy’s life? Refused to be forced out?

  “I have a few questions.” JC quietly took control, drawing out details of the protection order Holly hadn’t known to ask about.

  Yessica leaned into his concerned attention.

  Holly watched the exchange, a silent observer. JC had been a good listener when they were in college. Police work—or maturity—had refined his skill. Was that all it was? A skill? A tool to get what he wanted? Or was he genuinely concerned?

  While JC led Yessica through Marcy’s ordeal, taking notes this time, Lee Alders’ name cycled through Holly’s head. She might not have the databases JC could access, but she knew people in Seattle. People who could find out about the bastard.

  “Holly.” Yessica’s voice drew her back to the visitation hall. She moved close and pressed a cheek to Holly’s. “Thank you. For everything.”

  And then Marcy’s sister was gone, which left Holly alone again with JC.

  While he scribbled in a small notebook, she edged away. She should find Laurie and leave. Helping with the investigation intrigued her. It was being alone with JC that was the problem.

  “Hold on.” JC caught her e
ye. He stuffed the notebook in his pocket. “That was nice.”

  She gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “Who, me?”

  His dimples erupted and Holly caught her breath. She needed to learn to deal with those silly little indentations again.

  “Really.” His face returned to serious mode. “Ms. Herrera needed to talk and you listened.”

  “How much of that did you already know?”

  One side of JC’s mouth quirked, as if he were making a decision. “Some of it. I found the protection order Sunday night when I ran Ms. Ramirez’s name.”

  “Not before then?” JC must’ve run her name at the same time. Dammit, she’d have told him about Frank if she thought he needed to know.

  She tamped down the anger. Part of her sympathized with Yessica’s desire to shield Marcy, but Lee’s violent behavior could drive the murder investigation in a new direction.

  “Ms. Ramirez never notified us or filed a complaint.” JC rocked back on his heels. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Ms. Herrera mentioned Alders when we interviewed the family and Mama Ramirez shut her down hard. Now that Ms. Herrera’s opened up, if she remembers anything else, odds are she’ll call me.”

  Holly gave JC a considering look. He was talking but he hadn’t told her anything about the investigation. When they were together before, she’d known how to get him to talk. What was he like now? Was he a negotiator, willing to make a deal and trade information, or did he like to hold all the cards?

  “I need to push the phone company to turn over their phone records,” he said, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “See how often Alders contacted her.”

  Most likely JC wouldn’t share those phone records with her.

  Holly thought about Tim’s angry rant on Monday morning. He knew about Lee Alders, so Marcy had talked to Tim, but not the local police. Why would Marcy do that? And why hadn’t Tim mentioned it to the police?

  Tim’s knowing about the guy could be completely innocent. “Marcy might’ve talked to her husband on the office phone.”

  “I oughtta ask for those records too. If Stevens would quit canceling our interview, I could ask him about contact at the office.” JC opened his cell and mashed a speed dial.