So About the Money Page 8

  His body type—and the intensity of his scrutiny—reminded her of Frank. For half a second, part of her shrieked Run! while the rest chided, Frank’s in Seattle.

  Everything about the guy said, “law enforcement.” Except here, it must be “security.” But what had caught his attention? As subtly as she could, she scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. Was something about to happen? Something bad, like a robbery?

  She stole another glance. He’d moved away from the wall. Hands on his hips, he blatantly stared at her.

  A shiver of unease ran down her spine. She hadn’t done anything he could consider threatening. Her briefcase looked out of place, but all it held was a bunch of papers.

  Peter said something about the Basin’s winter gloom holding off, and then cocked his head. “You okay? You look a little peaked. Can I offer you something from the snack bar?”

  “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 star
ted 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.”

  What a sad and simple statement. Everyone deserved an opportunity for love. In spite of her career aspirations, she hoped for the same chance. “You can’t blame yourself. You tried, but nobody really knows what’s happening in someone else’s mind, or why they make the choices they do. Marcy loved being back here, close to her family. She talked about all of you, all the time.”

  Yessica’s tears overflowed. “She spoke of you as well. She said you were a friend.”

  Holly grabbed another tissue, then stepped closer. “I wish there was more I could do.” The only thing she could do right now was put her arms around a grieving soul and hold on tight.

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

  Holly stepped back. “Have you told the police here about Lee Alders?”

  “Don’t they know? Maricella got the papers, the restraining order.” Yessica dabbed at her nose.

  “In Seattle?”

  “Yes.” Confusion wrinkled Yessica’s forehead. “The women’s advocate took the papers to the courthouse and the judge signed them.”

  “I don’t know exactly how it works, if there’s a central database or something. The local cops might not know about the restraining order.” Holly considered what JC would say if she suggested he look at Marcy’s ex. “It would be better if you told the police about Lee.”

  JC needed to know what Lee had done. That was where he should concentrate, not on Tim and Alex.

  Or her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tuesday morning

  Holly spread the newspaper over the files on her desk. Coverage of Marcy’s murder had already moved from the front page to the second section. Today’s article offered a preliminary assessment of Marcy’s life, starting with, “No criminal record.”

  Like that should be the highlight of anyone’s life.

  The story mentioned Marcy’s job at the real estate company, the planned memorial service, and a private interment. Holly nearly spewed coffee over the next line. “Police again questioned local accountant Holly Price and developer Tim Stevens.”

  WTF?

  What was the reporter trying to do, force her to talk to him by otherwise ruining her business? Holly was still staring at the sentence when a masculine voice said, “You checking out the story in the Tri-Cycle?”

  “What?” She gave Rick Stewert a startled look.

  “The Tri-City Courier.”

  Oh. Tri-Cycle. Baby reporters with training wheels. She nodded. “Yeah.”

  The sandy-haired man lounging in her office doorway gestured at the newspaper. “Did they manage to get any of it right?”

  “The part about finding Marcy by the Snake River is right. According to this, she was already dead—shot—when she went into the water. She didn’t drown.” A shudder rippled over Holly’s shoulders. Drowning topped her personal list of horrible ways to die.

  A frown followed. Being shot probably ranked second.

  “Marcy was a sweet girl. I’m gonna miss seeing her around. I feel bad for her family.” Rick dropped into the visitor chair. Her senior manager squirmed and grimaced. “This chair really sucks, you know?”

  She’d known the guy since high school, so she
grinned. “Makes people leave faster.”

  “Is that a hint?” Laughter sparkled in Rick’s hazel eyes.

  “Not yet.” She tapped a finger against the newspaper. “Of course, I’m not sure how accurate any of this is. According to the reporter, I’m still a Person of Interest.”

  “Really?” Rick’s face mocked horror. “I’d hate to find out I worked for a felon.”

  “Very funny. The article says they’re trying to locate the original crime scene.”

  “Makes sense. Wherever Marcy was shot, there’ll be evidence. The cops probably talked to everyone upstream from Big Flats. Hopefully somebody will give them a lead.”

  JC’s focus on the people around Marcy made more sense in that context. All the police had to go on was what they could learn from people who knew her. She bit her lip, uncomfortable she hadn’t been more help, but really, there wasn’t anything she could’ve added.

  Then again, JC’s approach, asking about Tim and Alex the way he did, didn’t exactly inspire confidence. He’d seemed to start with the assumption the men were guilty. Maybe he was so used to dealing with people who casually broke the law, he’d forgotten not everybody did.

  “Earth to Holly.”

  She blinked.

  Rick’s grin slowly faded. He stepped across the office and closed the door. “I need to talk to you.”

  Uh-oh. Closed door equaled trouble. She scanned his face, running a quick catalog of possible issues. Another job offer. Staff problems. Please don’t let it be staff problems.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked.

  He flexed his fingers, making a false start. His gaze roamed the office, but there weren’t many trinkets to distract him. Holly had packed up her father’s stuff when she moved into the office and hadn’t bothered to unpack her own belongings.

  Rick leaned back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “How long are you here?”

  She blinked again. How long was this conversation going to take? “I don’t have anything scheduled until late this afternoon.”