Hotshot P.i.. B.J. Daniels
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At first the bad memories were just too painful. Then the good memories started to surface again.
She opened her eyes and looked out the plane window. She’d had such hopes when she’d returned. Had she made a mistake coming back? Was there a curse on the island and her? Some debt not yet paid?
She felt a chill as she thought of Jake. He’d believed his father’s version of what happened that night. Warren Hawkins testified during the trial that he knew nothing about the missing money. After Clarence Jones left, he’d gotten out the books to go over them. Warren was in charge of that part of the businesses in the partnership with Clarence, but he’d turned a lot of the responsibility over to Lola, he’d said.
Warren said he’d heard someone in the adjoining office. When he’d gone to check, he saw two suitcases outside the door and found Lola cleaning out the safe.
He’d tried to stop her. Lola had poured gasoline around the office, obviously planning to cover her tracks. In their struggle, she must have lit the gas. The room burst into flames. That’s when Warren swears he saw someone move in the shadows; someone else was in the office by the back door. When he ran out, Lola was still alive. He thought she was right behind him.
Warren said the other person in the office that night must have taken the money from the safe, because it wasn’t found in the debris from the fire and Lola certainly didn’t get away with it. That person must have also murdered Lola. In the autopsy it was found that Lola had died from a head wound—not from the fire. That made Warren look all the more guilty.
In the end, the jury didn’t believe there was another person in the office that night. Nor did they believe Lola set the fire. It looked too much like Warren had embezzled money from the businesses and tried to cover his misdeeds with the fire. Lola, who was leaving the island, just happened along at the wrong time. All of the joint businesses’ books were destroyed in the fire. Warren couldn’t prove his innocence. Nor could the police prove his guilt.
Clancy’s testimony had clinched it. Warren was convicted of embezzlement, arson and deliberate homicide. He got sixty years at the state prison at Deer Lodge.
And because of Clancy’s testimony, Jake had walked out of her life without a word. The hurt from that still made her heart ache. And now—Now he’d come back. For revenge.
Just what she needed, Clancy thought as the plane descended into Gallatin Field outside of Bozeman. An old boyfriend with a grudge on top of all her other troubles.
At the airport, Clancy rented a car and drove the eight miles into Bozeman to Dex’s condo. She felt as if time were running out. Jake wouldn’t be far behind her, she knew that. And he’d be furious. Boy, was that putting it mildly.
But she hoped that by the time he tracked her to the airport, discovered she’d flown to Bozeman and rented a car, it would be too late for him to stop her. By then she’d have searched Dex’s place and hopefully found something that would help her case. Though she couldn’t imagine what.
There was also the possibility that Jake would go straight to the county attorney. By the time she reached Bozeman, the police could be looking for her, as well.
Either way, she needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Dex owned a condo on the southside of town, set back against a hill overlooking Sourdough Creek. Clancy parked and sat in the car for a moment, watching the quiet street. No other vehicles cruised by. She told herself she was just being paranoid. No one was after her. Except Jake. And maybe the entire Bozeman police. And possibly the person who’d tried to drown her last night.
She picked up her purse from the seat and got out, closing the car door behind her. As she walked toward the front door of the condo, she searched the street. A florist’s van passed by; the driver never even looked her way. She could only hope the spare key was where it had been the last time Dex locked himself out. Carefully, she slid the large flowerpot slightly to one side. Nothing but dust. She pushed it a little farther and was relieved to see the key.
Quickly she scooped it up, slipped it into the lock and turned. The door swung open.
Clancy stepped into the high-dollar condo, wondering whether the police had already been here, whether they’d already searched the place and found something that would further incriminate her. The cluttered condo didn’t surprise her as much as the man who came out of the kitchen.
“Excuse me,” he said, sounding annoyed and a little frightened by her intrusion. He was short, with rumpled dark hair and sunless pale skin, and he was wearing nothing but shorts. “How did you get in here?”
Her first thought was that the condo had been sold. Her second was that Dex had a roommate she hadn’t known about. A roommate who was looking more than a little anxious.
“I’m a friend of Dex Westfall’s,” she said quickly, not sure that was exactly accurate, but it beat the alternative. That she was the woman the police had arrested for Dex’s murder.
“Dex Westfall,” the man said, shaking his head. Had he heard Dex was dead? She felt her heart rate accelerate. Worse yet, had he heard about her arrest? “I suppose he gave you a key.”
She shook her head, wondering how she was going to explain what she was doing here. “I used the one under the flowerpot.”
He swatted the air with the pancake turner in his hand. “Did Dex tell everyone where to find the key to my condo?”
“Your condo?” Clancy thought she must have heard him wrong.
“Dex Westfall was only house-sitting for me for a few months,” he said, his tone increasing in both volume and irritation. “I come home to find he’s run up my phone bill and failed to pay the utility bills, and now the police want to talk to me about God knows wh—” Behind the man, smoke curled out of the kitchen. He spun around and charged out of the room.
Pans clanged into the sink. A kitchen fan came on. A few moments later, he stalked back into the living room.
“Look,” he said, his face flushed. “The guy’s a deadbeat. Just give me the key and tell Dex I don’t want to see him or any more of his girlfriends around here, all right?”
He didn’t know Dex was dead. “The police called you?”
“I got a message on my machine,” the man said. “I haven’t had time to call them back.” He seemed to resent her questions, but also seemed resigned to answer them. No doubt he felt sorry for a woman stupid enough to fall for Dex Westfall. “I just got back yesterday from Australia. I haven’t even had time to unpack yet.” He held out his hand for the key.
Clancy noticed the stack of newspapers by the door. Magazines and junk mail were piled high on a telephone table by the door. “Did Dex leave any personal items here?” she asked as she handed over the key. “He has something that belongs to me.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Dex isn’t completely stupid. He packed up and got out just before I returned home. Did you check his apartment?”
She stared at him. “His apartment?”
“You don’t get it, do you,” he said, his face growing redder. “Dex Westfall is a lying sleazeball. You aren’t the first woman to show up looking for him. Or the last, I’m sure.”
No, she hadn’t got it. She realized how little she knew about the man she’d dated. The man she was now accused of murdering. “Where is his apartment?” Her voice came out a trembly whisper.
He reached over to snatch a scrap of paper and a pen from the phone table and scribbled something on it. “If you loaned him money, forget it. I’m sure it’s long gone. Just like I would imagine he is. This is the address he gave me.”
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