He’d been as randy and horny as the boys he foresaw trying to date his daughters.
A helluva thing.
Now, taking a swallow of whiskey he barely tasted, he noticed his reflection, pale and watery in the glass. “So now what’re you gonna do, you son of a bitch?” he asked the man with the streak of grease on his face. “Just what the hell are you gonna do?”
Chapter 23
“You think maybe Edie, in her twisted way, is right?”
Pescoli asked Alvarez as she drove into town, crossing the railroad tracks at the base of Boxer Bluff. Darkness had fallen and the snow was beginning to get serious, coming down steadily enough that Pescoli cranked up her wipers to the max.
Alvarez threw her a look. “I don’t think Edie Gardener’s right about anything.”
“She said we were barking up the wrong tree, and there’s a chance she’s got a point. It could be that whoever’s behind this is closer to home.”
“You mean like a love triangle, or someone wanting to inherit, or something?” Alvarez said. “We’ve looked into that, but the trouble is we now have one assassin. Why would he want both victims dead?”
“Unless Grayson is somehow connected to the judge on a personal level.”
“No proof of that,” Alvarez said. “At all.”
“I know, I know.” Pescoli let out a frustrated breath and felt as if she were missing something obvious as she followed the road that cut along the hillside and wound its way up the bluff to the newer part of Grizzly Falls. She’d called Sage Zoller and asked the junior detective to follow up on some leads, including trying to track down Rose at Hot Stacks, the pancake house in Montana, just to double-check on Edie and her goon of a new husband.
“We’ve already figured that Grayson’s ex-wives are out. They have no connection to Judge Samuels-Piquard,” Alvarez said.
“Yeah, I know. It must be someone they both put away,” Pescoli agreed and felt the heartburn that had been with her all day kick up again. “Would you check the glove box? I think there’s a bottle of antacids in there. I could use some.” As Alvarez rummaged inside the box, Pescoli once more attempted to come up with some personal connection between Grayson and Samuels-Piquard. She’d tried to find some way Cara Grayson Banks or Akina Grayson Bellows wanted to harm Dan Grayson, but it was apparent neither of Dan’s exes had opportunity. For Cara Banks, there was plenty of motive, but her alibi was rock solid and she appeared not to want anything to do with the Grayson family or money. Nolan Banks, from all outward appearances, was on the wealthy side of the economic seesaw. And Akina was into her own thing. The same could be said of Winston Piquard, though the judge’s brother, Vincent Samuels, hadn’t yet surfaced.
“So we’re back to the beginning,” Alvarez said as Pescoli slowed for a light and a semi, making the turn in front of them, nearly rolled up on the sidewalk before chugging down the hill. As the light changed, Pescoli stepped on it. Traffic was relatively light. Alvarez found the near-empty bottle of chewable antacids and, after they pulled into the lot, handed it to Pescoli, who downed four tablets.
“We still don’t know who cleaned the judge’s house, right?” Pescoli asked.
“Still working on it,” Alvarez said. “There’s a chance she could shed some light on the judge’s personal life or any threats she may have gotten.”
“And what happened to the threatening letters that her son swears she got?”
Alvarez glanced out the window to the day beyond. “Her house and office have been searched and so far, nothing.”
“You think the maid would know anything about that?”
“Possibly.”
“Then let’s find her.” As she cut the engine and stepped outside, Pescoli’s cell phone went off and she glanced down at the screen. Unknown number. God, she hated that. She answered, “Regan Pescoli.”
“Detective!” She recognized the voice even before he said, “Manny Douglas, here. Mountain Reporter.”
Damn! She shouldn’t have answered. “I know where you work, Manny.”
“I thought you’d like to see what I got in the mail today.”
“What?” she asked, as the connection was a little dicey, the traffic noise and wind making it hard to hear.
“Better I show you in person. I’m just down the street getting coffee. I can be at the station in less than ten.”
“I’m busy,” she said automatically, assuming he was just bluffing while intending on weaseling his way into the station so he could go on another information fishing expedition.
&nb
sp; “Trust me, you won’t be too busy for this,” he said, and there was an oily smugness in his voice that bugged the hell out of her. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and she gave herself a swift mental kick for not meeting with him outside of the station. Once inside the doors of the department, there was a chance it would take a gigantic backhoe and light-years to get him out again.