Authors: Jacquie Johnson
Originally, Chase thought watching over Angela was waste of time. But now, his initial assessment changed. The presence of an intruder combined with the dirty, white cargo van he had noticed at the funeral raised some suspicions. He was pretty sure the cargo van held two FBI agents, but he couldn’t figure out why Angela’s employer would watch her from a distance like that. If the FBI suspected her of wrongdoing, her boss would just order her back to the office so agents could watch her like a hawk or the agency would bring her in for questioning. Ordering surveillance was an extreme option, usually only exercised when someone was accused of a crime like treason. Somehow he just couldn’t picture Angela as a spy. He sighed. He’d been wrong before, especially about a woman.
As night waned, Chase settled on the couch, mirroring Angela’s position, though he kept the lights off. He sipped cup after cup of coffee, keeping watch as Angela dozed, Ruger in hand, on the couch in the brightly lit living room.
Angela slammed the phone down and blew out a breath. Instead of sleeping, she spent the previous night lying on the couch and waiting for the intruder to return. All that sitting and thinking had made her wonder if there wasn’t more to her father’s death than she initially suspected. In the light of day, her suspicions seemed silly, and she had hoped to set them aside by talking to the Medical Examiner in charge of her father’s case. Instead, she had learned that her father’s death had been ruled a heart attack without an autopsy or further investigation. Apparently, a Dr. Richards had provided proof that Mac was under his care for a heart condition when he died. Richards’ word had eliminated the need for an autopsy according to the medical examiner’s office. Angela fumed.
What heart condition? Dad didn’t have any medical problems.
And what kind of ME just accepts a doctor’s word without proof? They didn’t even ask for medical records!
She tapped her pen rhythmically against the kitchen counter. To the best of her knowledge, her father had had no health problems. Plus, he’d always seen Doc Bernard.
Things weren’t adding up, and no one appeared interested in helping her solve the puzzle.
Sighing, she rested her head on her arms, her heart aching. She hadn’t made much time for her father in the last year, focusing instead on building her career with the FBI. If she had agreed to work for her father instead of choosing the FBI, would he still be alive? The ringing of the house phone interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped up to answer.
“Miss McKenzie?” The caller had a smooth, cultured voice with a hint of an accent.
“Yes?”
Angela leaned against the granite counter.
“I’m interested in the item you possess.”
“Excuse me?” Angela wrinkled her brow. “Who is this? What item?”
“My name doesn’t matter. I am willing to pay a fair price for the item your father stole. I shall meet you at the bar in the Fairmont Copley Plaza tomorrow at 9:00 p.m.” The caller disconnected, but Angela continued to stare at the phone in her hand.
Angela plopped into her father’s chair and grabbed a yellow notepad from the desk. Her father had always told her a good investigator starts with a list of facts he knows and works his way forward from there.
Dad went to Boston
He collapsed on the street later that day
He was dead when the paramedics arrived
Someone broke into the house but didn’t take anything
As she nibbled on the pen, Angela turned her thoughts into questions.
What was Dad working on when he died?
What was he doing in Boston?
What was the caller referring to?
Who is Dr. Richards?
When did Dad change doctors?
With those questions in mind, Angela headed for her father’s office. Ten minutes later, she pulled her father’s Mercedes into the small lot behind Investigations Inc. and parked in the spot labeled N. McKenzie. Her hand shook as she unlocked the door and stepped into the file room, relieved that the office was empty. She really didn’t want to deal with Derrick right now. She hurried to her dad’s office, a small smile crossing her face when she noticed a framed copy of her high school graduation picture on his desk. Her dad had always been her biggest fan. He supported her dreams, even when those dreams took her away from him. As she recalled some of her favorite moments in his arms, a lone tear trickled down her cheek. Breathing in and out slowly, she regained her control and began sorting through the stacks on the massive desk. Almost an hour later, the office phone interrupted her thoughts, and she instinctively snapped it up.
“Investigations, Inc.”
“Is Mr. McKenzie in?” a man inquired.
“No,” Angela choked out. “May I help you?” Her voice quivered slightly.
“Well, I suppose.” The caller paused. “This is Charles Jenkins from J & J Jewelry. Mr. McKenzie’s package is ready to be picked up.”
“A package?
What kind of package?”
“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t say. Would you please pass the message to Mr. McKenzie?”
“Actually,” she hesitated. What she was about to say was more painful than she had anticipated. “This is Angela McKenzie. My father passed away a few days ago.”
Silence prevailed for a few moments until Mr. Jenkins announced, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. McKenzie. You can pick up the package if you bring me a copy of the death certificate or the obituary.”
“Mr. Jenkins?” Her voice was whisper soft. “When did you last see my dad?”
“Tuesday.
He stopped by in the afternoon to make some adjustments to his order.”
“Thank you. If you give me your address, I’ll come by to pick up the package soon.” Angela wrapped up the conversation efficiently.
He stopped by the jeweler the day he died? That doesn’t make sense. If something was wrong, why would he go to the jeweler?
A tap on the doorframe interrupted her thoughts. Startled, she looked up and met Derrick’s intimidating glare. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone sending shivers up her spine.
“I just wanted to take a look around Daddy’s office. We spent so much time together here that I feel closer to him here.” She rambled, her words practically tripping over one another. “I was hoping you could tell me what Dad was working on the day he died.”
“Nothing important, Angie.”
“What exactly?” she pressed, squeezing her hands together under the desk.
“Sweetheart, I understand that you’re trying to make sense of your dad’s death, but, truthfully, no one can tell you why he had a heart attack.” Derrick walked toward her, his hands extended, and she fought to remain still as he approached. Her heart raced, and her stomach clenched with each step he took toward her.
“I’m not sure it was a heart attack. It doesn’t make sense, Derrick,” she confided, keeping her eyes on his.
“Angela, he had a heart attack. I understand that this is hard for you, but you need to accept his death and move on with your life. Maybe talking to Pastor Morris would help.” Derrick leaned his hands on the opposite side of the massive desk. When she remained silent, he changed the subject. “When are you heading back to Washington?”
“I’m not sure. I took a leave of absence from work.” Angela picked her head up and met his gaze squarely.
“Why? Mac would want you to continue with your life, Angela. There’s no need for you to stay here. In fact, you should think about selling the house.” Derrick nodded sharply, his gaze pensive. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea. You live in DC after all. Why would you need a house here?”
Angela’s chin dropped. “And the business?” she probed, well aware that she inherited half of Investigations, Inc. upon her father’s death.
“I’ll take care of it. It hasn’t been real profitable for the past few years, but I’ll send you your share of whatever I clear at the end of the year.” Derrick smiled patronizingly at her, and her eyes narrowed.
Does he really think I’m that dumb? The business hasn’t been doing well? Then how could Dad afford to take the two of us to Hawaii last year? We stayed at a five star resort. Besides, Dad would have told me if he were having financial problems.
Angela shook her head so hard one her brunette curls whacked her in the eye. “We can talk about this another time, Derrick,” she announced biting back the words she really wanted to say. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment.” Pushing back from the desk, she rose and walked toward the door. Derrick moved into her path and blocked the exit.
As she brushed past him, he murmured, “You should be careful, Angela. You wouldn’t want to stir up trouble you can’t handle.” His words shook her more than she wanted to admit as she walked out of the building.
Angela walked into a small but inviting shop decorated in rich colors. A display of sapphires welcomed her as she strode to the glass counter.
“May I help you, Miss?” A tall redhead smiled at her, keys to the cases dangling from an elastic band on her wrist.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Mr. Jenkins,” Angela replied as she looked around the store.
“Well,” the salesperson hesitated, clearly unaccustomed to the request, “I can see if he’s available, Ms....” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“Would you tell him Angela McKenzie is here?” Angela fought to keep her voice even despite the waves of grief washing over her. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white.
While the saleswoman ambled to a door marked employees only, Angela took a deep breath, and tried to gain control of her emotions before turning her attention to the nearby cases, where stunning rings, pendants and earrings rested on bold, black satin. For such a small store, J & J Jewelry displayed some of the most exquisite pieces she’d ever seen. Fingering the cross she’d received on her confirmation, she perused the cases, wondering what her father had ordered.
“Ms. McKenzie?” A distinguished older gentleman in a charcoal colored suit interrupted her musings, extending his hand. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She shook his hand. “Did you know my father well?”
“I’m afraid not.” He set a small white box between them on the top of the glass display case. “He’s purchased items here periodically over the years for family, friends and business associates.” His eyes twinkled. “I designed each gift he purchased for you, including the cross you are wearing. Each one contains a secret.” Angel fingered the necklace Mac had given her on her sixteenth’s birthday. “May I?” He leaned closer and cupped the cross in his hand. “Have you ever looked at the filigree along the edge of the cross?”
“What?
No, why?”