Pre-Meditated Murder Page 20

  “And since then?”

  “A few times. Enough for me to realize that she was serious about wanting money for the divorce.”

  “Did she ever mention that she was seeing someone?”

  “Not once.”

  I thought about the mysterious stranger I’d seen twice now. “I still wonder about that creepy-looking guy.”

  “What creepy-looking guy?” Dale asked.

  “The one I saw lurking around both the spaghetti dinner and Gabriella’s apartment. Remember? I thought he might be Gabriella’s ex-boyfriend from Mexico.”

  “Gabriella was terrified of her ex. She would never have taken him back.”

  “Well, whoever that guy is, he’s up to something. As soon as he saw me watching him yesterday, he took off. I chased him down an alley, but he disappeared before I could catch him.”

  “You what?” Michael leaped to his feet, startling Bella out of her cat nap. “Kate, what the hell? Do you have some sort of death wish?”

  Michael’s loud, cranky voice woke Amelia, who started wailing again. Alice’s plaintive cry joined over the baby monitor. I glanced up at Dale. “Do you mind?” He jogged upstairs to retrieve her.

  I rocked Amelia back and forth. “Don’t be scared, little baby. He’s just a big, grumpy caveman protecting the little cavewoman.” I lowered my voice, pretending to whisper. “Your mama would kick his ass.”

  “Not funny, Kate.”

  I sighed. “I know it’s not. But you’re in real trouble, Michael. The last thing you should be worried about is me jogging down an alley.”

  Dale appeared behind me, cradling an unhappy infant. “I’m with Michael. Chasing a stranger—any stranger—was a boneheaded move.”

  I ignored them both and paced back and forth, trying to soothe Amelia back to sleep.

  “Let’s say you’re right,” Dale replied. “Let’s say this guy—whoever he is—killed Gabriella. Why would he still be loitering around?”

  My reply came out sharper than I’d intended, but I was frustrated. Submitting to male overprotectiveness had never been my strong suit. “How should I know? You’re the defense attorney. You tell me. Why do criminals return to the scene of their crimes? Guilt? Fear? Keeping tabs on the investigation?” Dale didn’t answer. “My point is, someone should question him.”

  “How do you propose we find him?” Dale asked.

  “Cannon Beach is a small town. Someone is bound to know who he is. Rene and I could ask around and see if anybody recognizes his description.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Why stop there? Why not meet with a sketch artist and publish the drawing in the Clatsop County Herald? Be sure to tell everyone your address and offer a reward like you did when George was killed. That strategy worked out so well the first time.”

  “Michael, I told you before not to—”

  Dale stepped between us, hugging Alice close to his chest. “Knock it off you two.” He reached for Amelia with his free arm. “Give me that baby before you traumatize her.” He gently took Amelia, made kissy noises at both babies, and then leveled a stern look at Michael and me. “Sit. Both of you.”

  Michael and I gave each other looks that clearly said This isn’t over, then claimed opposite ends of the couch. Dale disappeared up the stairway. Bella abandoned the pups, jumped between us, and rested her chin on Michael’s thigh, leaving me with a much less attractive end. Traitor.

  Dale returned a few minutes later and spoke as if our conversation had never been interrupted. “Kate, if you see that guy again, don’t chase him. Call me. If I don’t answer, call 911 and report a prowler. The police probably won’t get there in time to catch him, but it will put him on their radar. That’s the best we can do for now.”

  Which reminded me of Boyle. “Speaking of the police, I have another suspect.” I told Dale and Michael everything I’d learned from Mona about Officer Boyle. “I hate to suspect a police officer, but in this case, I can’t help it. He and Gabriella may or may not have had an affair, but he had some sort of interest in her. Mona saw them arguing. From the sounds of it, he got violent.”

  Michael frowned. “He certainly seemed protective of Gabriella the other night at the spaghetti dinner. He hasn’t exactly been friendly to me since then, either. Then again, none of the cops have.”

  “They wouldn’t be,” Dale replied. “Unless they were trying to scam you into a confession, and I haven’t let them get you alone long enough to do that.” He picked up his legal pad. “How sure are you about this …” He looked down at his notes. “This Mona. Any chance she was lying or simply mistaken?”

  Michael shook his head. “Mona’s not perfect, but she’s sharp and she’s got a good heart. In spite of her bias against immigrants, she gave Gabby a job when no one else would. I don’t think she’d lie.”

  “I agree,” I said, then corrected myself. “Not about the good heart. She seemed like a garden-variety bigot to me.”

  Michael frowned. “People aren’t simply good or evil, Kate. They’re complex. Don’t be so quick to judge. Gabriella learned how to get along with Mona, and she had a lot more reason to resent her than you do.”

  I felt my face redden, mainly because he was right. Example number 483 of how Michael forced me to be a better person. “Well, complex or not, I never got the sense that she was lying about the argument.”

  Dale’s expression had darkened.

  “This is bad, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “It’s not good. To my knowledge, this Boyle character hasn’t divulged any relationship with the victim, and he should have. At best, he’s biased. At worst, he may be framing Michael.”

  Michael paled. I reached across Bella’s back and took his hand.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “That’s a good question,” Dale replied. “I have to handle this carefully. If one of the investigating officers is the killer, I can’t trust the evidence. Then again, I don’t dare accuse Boyle without some proof of my own. It could come back to bite Michael.” His shoulders squared. “It’s time to up my game. I’m hiring a private investigator.”

  “I can’t afford that,” Michael replied. I opened my mouth to argue, but he stopped me. “Neither can you, Kate.”

  “I can if I sell the house.”

  “Not yet,” Dale said.

  “Not ever,” Michael said louder.

  I drowned out both of them. “It’s my house.”

  Dale stood and raised his hand in the universal stop sign. “Settle down, both of you, and listen. I have a PI friend in Portland who owes me a favor. Let me talk to him before you do anything rash. Michael, if you get arrested, you’ll need the house as collateral for bail. Provided I can get you bail, that is.”

  Michael buried his face in his hands. “How did everything get so messed up?”

  It was an excellent question. I wanted to assure Michael that everything would turn out okay, but I would have been lying. I had a terrible feeling that things might not ever be okay again.

  Dale broke the silence. “I’ll go to Portland tomorrow.”

  “Why not just call?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you stay here?”

  Dale was adamant. “Trust me, I’m a helluva lot more persuasive in person.”

  “What should Michael and I do while you’re gone?”

  “For now, nothing. And in case I’m not being clear, that means no amateur sleuthing. No searching apartments, no interviewing suspects, no trying to corner wayward police officers.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “Dale, I—”

  “I said for now, Kate. I need time to think. Give me twenty-four hours. I’ll talk to my investigator friend and formulate a plan.”

  “What if Michael gets arrested in the meantime?”

  “He won’t. At least I don’t think he will. I raised a pretty big stink at the station to
day. I suspect that the police will wait for a court-ordered DNA test before they move forward with any arrests. Besides, tomorrow’s that sandcastle contest. Small-town cops are much more efficient than television would lead you to believe, but a huge event like the one tomorrow will drain their resources. I suspect they’ll wait until Sunday before they focus on Michael. Keep your heads low, spend the day at the festival, and try not to think about anything serious. Enjoy your time together.” He paused. “While you still can.”

  sixteen

  In the end I agreed, albeit reluctantly, to part of Dale’s advice. Michael and I would take the day off from investigating Gabriella’s murder and attend the Sandcastle Festival together. Dale was right. The festival would give us a short reprieve, and lord knew we could use it.

  As for not thinking about anything serious? Good luck with that. In spite of Dale’s reassurances, I didn’t hold any illusions. Michael could be arrested at any moment. We needed to have a conversation about our relationship, and if I didn’t want to hold it through a sheet of bullet-proof Plexiglas, we needed to have it soon.

  Shortly after ten, Dale headed back to Shannon’s, vowing to tell her nothing and imploring Michael and me not to talk to anyone either, Rene and Sam included. I asked Michael to stay overnight at Rene’s. “In one of the guest rooms,” I added. “I’m ready to talk about our future, but no promises on anything else.”

  I took the pups outside for a potty break, then put them to bed in their playpen. Michael grabbed a Guinness and poured me another glass of wine. “For strength,” he said.

  He took a long pull from the bottle and followed me back to the living room. I ordered Bella off the couch and patted the seat next to me. Michael took it but sat ramrod straight, so far from relaxed I was afraid his spine might shatter.

  I wasn’t sure how to begin, so I started with the most obvious topic: Gabriella. “I know that your marriage with Gabriella was a sham, but that doesn’t explain everything. Neither does Shannon’s story, which is that you and Gabriella were ‘friends with benefits.’”

  Michael didn’t reply, so I continued. “I need to know what she meant to you. Did you simply fall in lust?” It wasn’t exactly what Shannon had said, but it was close. And all things considered, that would have been the easiest explanation—the one most easily forgiven. Boys will be boys and all that. I didn’t buy it, though. Not with Michael. Michael simply wasn’t that shallow.

  Michael thought for a moment, as if unsure how to answer. Not because he was hiding something, but because he didn’t know himself.

  “No. At least I don’t think so.”

  I’d been afraid he’d say that. “Michael, tell me the truth. Did you love her?”

  “I love you, Kate.” Michael’s smile was more sad than romantic. “Like I told you before, Gabby’s and my relationship was complicated. Looking back on it now, I think we were codependent. I was her white knight, destined to save her. She was my damsel in distress. Believe me, Kate, our relationship wasn’t healthy, for either of us.” He ran his fingers across the label of his beer bottle. “I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier.”

  Big surprise there.

  “Gabby and I dated for a couple of months. We started to get serious, fast. For a very short time, I thought she was the one.” He sighed. “Then I woke up. I couldn’t deal with all of the drama. Gabby was intelligent, beautiful, and sensitive, but she was also damaged. I’m pretty sure she had PTSD. She picked fights with me constantly. In some broken, subconscious way, I think she was trying to prove me worthy.”

  “You must have passed her test.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She trusted you.”

  “You could have fooled me. If she’d trusted me, she would have been honest. Instead, she stonewalled me and stuck me with a bill for a maxed-out credit card.”

  “That was to protect the baby.” Deep in my gut, I knew it was true. “And she had enough faith in you to marry you, even if the marriage wasn’t real. That has to mean something.”

  Michael sighed. “I suppose.” He looked down at the sofa. “She told me that I was the first man in her life who didn’t force her to sleep with him.” His voice grew soft. “Including her father.” When his eyes met mine, they were wet. “That’s what killed me. It was like life set her up to be victimized. Her father abused her until she ran away at sixteen. She ended up on the streets, where she was ‘discovered’ by a modeling agent who got her addicted to cocaine. Every guy was worse than the one before. Then that last boyfriend …” Michael shuddered. “He almost killed her, Kate.”

  I thought back to my recent conversation with Shannon. She was firmly convinced that Gabriella had been using Michael. Could she have been right? “It’s a horrible story.” I softened my voice to take the sting out of my words. “But are you sure it’s the truth?”

  “I saw the scars, Kate, and not just the physical ones. Gabby wasn’t mentally healthy. How could she be? The few times she and I were together physically, she had panic attacks. She lashed out at me like I was abusing her all over again.”

  His words surprised me. “Shannon told me that you and Gabriella had a more … satisfying love life than that.”

  “She told you that our relationship was one big sex party?”

  “Not in those exact words.”

  Michael grimaced. “I can only imagine. That’s what Shannon wanted to believe, and I let her. Gabby didn’t want people to know about her past. It was important to her to seem …” His voice trailed off. “To seem normal, I guess.” His eyes begged for understanding. “Kate, I’m a good man—at least I try to be—but I wasn’t strong enough.” He took a long swig of beer. I had a feeling he was gathering the courage to continue. “So I broke up with her. I felt terrible, but honestly, I think she was relieved. We ended up being much better as friends.”

  I paused for a moment, trying to reconcile the person in Michael’s story with the man I’d come to love. Michael was a good man. He might not believe it, but he was also a strong man, with healthy boundaries. If I hadn’t been able to change, our relationship would have ended a year ago. Yet another reminder of how Michael forced me to grow.

  But Gabby wasn’t me. My support systems—my roots—were solid. I was healthy enough to change. Gabriella’s roots had been rotted—poisoned by men who should have protected her. The more I learned about her, the more I understood her attraction to Frida Kahlo. A beautiful woman. Physically damaged. Emotionally lost. A woman with tumultuous intimate relationships—with women as well as with men.

  I paused for a moment, not sure how to phrase what I needed to ask next. “You keep mentioning the men in Gabriella’s life. What about the women?”

  Michael’s eyes grew bitter. “Her mother was no better than anyone else. She knew about the father’s abuse—she certainly knew about the beatings—and she did nothing.”

  “What about Gabriella’s relationships with other women? Besides her mother, I mean.”

  Michael’s expression softened from bitter to confused. “What are you getting at?”

  “The artist tattooed on Gabriella’s breast may have been more symbolic than you realized. She was bisexual. Von thinks that Gabriella and Crystal were closeted lovers. I didn’t buy it for a while, but now I wonder …”

  Michael jolted in surprise. Then his eyes widened. “Von thinks they’re gay? As in not interested in men?” His eyes moved up and toward the left. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. Not of either of them.”

  I shrugged. “Not gay, necessarily. One or both of them could have been bisexual. Or experimenting, for that matter.

  He took another long swig of beer, thinking. “Maybe. It would explain why Gabby and I worked so much better as friends. Also why Crystal and Gabby got so close after I left. They certainly weren’t friends when I lived here.”

  We were both silent for several long secon
ds, serenaded only by the occasional contented snuffle through the twins’ baby monitor.

  “One thing about that theory doesn’t make sense, though.” I ran my hands through my hair. “When Crystal gave me this delightful haircut, she described you and Gabby as a devoted couple. She was downright cranky when she figured out that I was your ‘mistress.’” I made finger quotes around the last word. “She never hinted that Gabriella was anything more than a friend.”

  “Would she, though? If they weren’t going public, that is? Cannon Beach is pretty liberal, but it’s still a small town. Besides, what would a closeted relationship have to do with Gabby’s murder?”

  “If they were lovers, Crystal had motive.”

  Michael looked at me quizzically.

  “Gabriella was pregnant, which by definition means she’d had sex with someone other than Crystal. And she was planning to bolt. From the looks of it, she was planning to leave town alone. Cheating and abandonment? People have killed for a lot less.”

  Michael set his beer bottle on the floor. “I don’t know, Kate. Something seems off in that scenario. Crystal struck me as a little obsessive, so I could definitely see her lashing out if she was jilted. But every time I saw her flirting—and I saw her flirting a lot—she was trying to seduce a man. Usually me. And if Gabby truly was gay, how did she end up pregnant?”

  “If her history with men is any indication, it may not have been her choice.”

  Michael closed his eyes and groaned. “I don’t want to think about that right now, Kate. I just can’t.”

  “Okay. I understand. But we need to bring it up with Dale tomorrow. We shouldn’t dismiss any suspects—no matter how unlikely—until we find the real killer.” I’d mull over how to handle Crystal’s accusations about Shannon later. Michael had already gone through enough mental drama tonight.

  Well, almost enough.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letter from Gabriella’s refrigerator. “You were at the apartment during the police search, right?”