Authors: Jacquie Johnson
“I could really use some backup here, Boss. We need to tap her phone. Besides, I need a few hours of sleep, and we can’t leave her unprotected with
Chul
-Moo involved.” Chase could tell he was losing the fight with fatigue.
“I’ll have a black minivan outside in thirty. You get eight hours. Call me when she’s on the move tomorrow and I’ll handle the phone.”
Six and a half hours later, Chase leaned back in his chair and watched in surprise as Angela backed out of her driveway. The black minivan pulled out and trailed a few car lengths behind her.
With a sigh, Chase poured his coffee in a to-go cup and prepared to start his day. For some reason, he was feeling quite protective of Angela McKenzie.
Angela collapsed onto the soft, clean sand at Singing Beach, hugging her knees to her chest. She could picture her father running along the shore, chasing after her as they played in the surf, the sounds of her delighted laugher echoing in the air. In her mind, his blue eyes flashed with amusement as he stalked toward her, lifted her in his strong arms and swung her around in a circle. Sitting on the beach with her eyes closed, Angela could almost hear her father laughing and calling her name.
Angela lay down and looked up at the sky. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting a cheerful glow on the water; waves crashed upon the shore; and the scent of the sea salt wafted through the air. She tried to clear her mind and enjoy the beauty of the morning but all too soon reality intruded.
“Angela!” Sheriff Bates’ voice carried over the sound of the crashing surf, and she frowned.
She sat up and looked into the man’s blue eyes. “Morning, Sheriff.”
“You know this beach doesn’t open until 9:00 a.m., young lady,” he chastised, his eyes smiling despite the rebuke.
“I know,” she replied and gestured toward the ocean, “but the ocean called me this morning. I’m not causing any trouble just sitting here.”
“I’ll admit I’m not surprised to see you here.” The sheriff chuckled at Angela’s surprise. “Did you really think I didn’t know you and Mac used to sneak onto the beach before it opened?” He shook his head. “It’s my job to know everything that goes on in this town. I knew you and Mac found peace here in the early mornings, so it was an easy thing to let slide.” He sat down on the sand next to her before patting her on the knee. “These old bones could use a rest, so I think I’ll just sit with you a bit, and then we’ll leave together. How are those ribs, honey?”
She grimaced, not surprised he was aware of her injury. It was just how Manchester operated. Still, it didn’t mean she liked everyone talking about her injury. “Sore,” she admitted, “but I’ll live.” Silence reigned for a few minutes while they both enjoyed the sound of the waves hitting the shore.
“Sheriff?”
“Yes, Angie?” He glanced over at her, his eyes conveying concern and affection.
“If I thought Dad’s death wasn’t an accident, what should I do?” She scooped up handfuls of wet sand and started building a small sand castle.
“Angie, honey,” the sheriff started, his deep voice quiet and soothing. “Derrick mentioned that you were having difficulty dealing with Mac’s death.”
“It’s not that.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his, but he continued speaking despite her protest.
“It’s natural for you to be looking for answers. I felt the same way when my Myra died. But asking why won’t help you heal. Mac’s gone, honey. He had a heart attack. Yes, it was unexpected, but it can happen. I know it was a shock, but you have to accept his death and move forward, Angie.”
Realizing that arguing would accomplish little, she nodded and stood. As she turned toward the small parking lot for residents, she caught sight of a tall, dark haired man leaning against one of the large black rocks near the shore. She stiffened, recognizing the man as her Good Samaritan from yesterday.
What’s he doing in Manchester? He’s not local and he was near the jeweler’s yesterday when I was.
The man nodded, and she responded in kind just as Sheriff Bates joined her and placed a firm hand at her waist, escorting her to her car and waiting for her to drive away.
Why won’t anyone listen to me?
She clutched the steering wheel, her fingers turning white.
And why
is
Derrick telling people I’m having trouble accepting Dad’s death? I’ve barely spoken to him. Besides, it’s none of his business.
She replayed Derrick’s words in her mind.
You need to go back to Washington, Angela. You should pack up Mac’s stuff, Angela. If you can’t do it, I’ll take care of it. Maybe you should sell the house. After all, you’re living in Washington now.
He had made such an effort to appear caring, but now she wondered if he only wanted to get her out of the way. Angela quickly turned right and pulled into the Donut Shoppe’s drive-thru. With a steaming cup of black, hazelnut coffee in hand, she drove home more determined than ever to figure out what was really going on.
About an hour later, Angela tapped her pen against the edge of the kitchen table.
Come on, Daddy. Help me here. Why were you in Boston? Were you working on a project there like Doc suggested? If so, why won’t Derrick tell me? And what was the project about? Were you protecting someone?
Something?
Could that be the item the caller wanted? Did Dad have it when he died? Boston and Derrick are the keys to this thing.
Angela hurried down the hall into Mac’s room. She hadn’t set foot in the room yet but recalled Derrick telling her that he had picked up Mac’s personal items from the medical examiner’s office and put them on the dresser. She stopped with one foot on the threshold. The scent of Mac’s cologne lingered in the air. Angela closed her eyes and inhaled. In her mind, she saw her dad standing in front of the dresser, teasing her as he finished getting ready for the day. When she was little, she would often sit on the bed and watch while he put on his shirt. Then he would let her choose his tie.
Shaking off the memories, she stepped inside the room and walked to the long dresser where a small cardboard box sat. Shaking fingers pried open the lid and she removed a short sleeved blue button-down shirt, a pair of navy dress slacks, the brown leather wallet she had given her father for Christmas two years before, a watch, and a pair of brown leather loafers. Angela inspected each item. When she reached the wallet, she removed the money, credit cards and identification. Then she examined each remaining item. Nothing jumped out at her. She returned each item to the wallet and set it on the dresser. Out of habit, she checked Mac’s pockets. She pulled out a receipt from South Station.
Now that’s something to check into. Why was Dad there?
He drove into Boston the day he died.
Setting that thought aside for the moment, Angela decided to continue her fact-finding mission. She glanced at the clock. Derrick and Jenny would be at church until around eleven o’clock, giving her plenty of time to snoop around the office.
*****
Angela pulled out her Ruger the minute she stepped inside Investigations Inc. A quick inspection revealed that although the entire suite had been searched, only her father’s office had been ransacked. His file cabinets had been dumped, leaving papers files scattered over the floor; the desk drawers emptied, and the tower for his desktop computer stolen.
Two hours later, Angela groaned and leaned back in her father’s dark brown leather chair. She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and closed her blurry eyes. Despite her best efforts, she had found nothing unusual. As she pushed back from the desk, her elbow knocked a walnut picture frame to the floor. “Damn!” She leaned over to pick up the frame, avoiding shards of the glass. Tracing a finger over the photograph inside the frame, she stared at the image of her mother, her cobalt blue eyes sparkling, long dark curls wafting in the wind. A lone tear slid down her cheek.
Hopefully, they’re together in Heaven now.
As she crouched on the floor to gather the glass, she noticed faint scuff marks on the hardwood floor. Slowly, she edged the desk forward at an angle. Kneeling down, she ran her fingers along the edge of a floorboard. Her eyes narrowed as the board shifted a fraction of an inch. Using a screwdriver she’d located in the mess, she pried the plank up and stared in amazement at the floor safe. Now all she had to do was figure out the code, she thought wryly as the screen flashed, “Enter Code.”
Fifteen minutes later, she had tried her birthday, her dad’s birthday, her mom’s birthday, the date her mom died, her grandparent’s birthdays, and her graduation dates. Pacing back and forth only intensified the ache in her ribs, so she resorted to spinning in circles in the oversized desk chair. Wearily, she closed her eyes and attempted to empty her mind as her father always recommended when trying to solve a difficult puzzle.
No answer popped into her head after what felt like an interminable period of time, so she opened her eyes and leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.
“Births, deaths, celebrations?
What else is there? Wait, Mom and Dad’s anniversary!” Keying in that date, she waited with baited breath for the safe to open. When the tone indicated that she had failed again, she deflated.
For some reason, she kept coming back to celebrations.
What did Dad and I celebrate each year that no one else knew about? Oh my God! It’s so obvious! It should have hit me right away. The day Dad met Mom - October 7, 1975.
She punched in the eight digit code, vibrating with excitement when she heard the telltale click. Two manila envelopes sat inside the safe. She unsealed the first one, gasping when it revealed several stacks of hundred dollar bills. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp on the second, thinner envelope, but she managed to pull out the stack of papers and scan the first page.
Dissolution of partnership?
Angela instantly flipped to the back, noting that the agreement had been signed about six months ago.
If they dissolved the partnership, why didn’t they tell anyone? Why would Dad pay Derrick $500,000 for his share of the company and then not tell anyone?
Tucking the envelopes into her shoulder bag for further review at a later time, she rolled the office chair to the window and peeked through the blinds. She sneered when she spied the dark blue sedan parked across the street.
Stupid people! If you want to follow me, you should at least change vehicles. I’m not dumb, you know.
Moments later, she shrunk back against the wall as Derrick’s BMW Z-4 rolled past with Derrick at the wheel and Jenny in the passenger seat. Beaming, the couple waved at several Manchester citizens before turning the corner, most likely heading for Singing Beach. Angela sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was another confrontation with Derrick. Since she had found what she needed, it was time to call Sheriff Bates and report the burglary.
Half an hour later, she smiled at the sheriff. “Please, Sheriff, I just want to go home,” she implored. “I really don’t know anything. I came to the office to feel closer to Dad. I took a look around and called you.”
“You should have called me immediately, Angie,” he chastised. “What if the intruders had still been here? Or what if they came back?”
“But they didn’t, and I can’t tell you who they were or why they were here. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me. Now, can I please go home? I’m tired and hungry, and my ribs hurt.” Her lips formed a pout as she placed her hands on her hips.
“Well, I suppose Clark can…” the sheriff started when Derrick burst anxiously into the office.
“What is going on? Is Angela hurt?” Despite the concerned look on his face, Angela doubted his sincerity.
“No, no, Derrick.” Sheriff Bates rushed to his side. “Looks like someone broke into the office. Angie wasn’t here when it happened. She just reported the crime.”
“What were you doing here, Angela?” Derrick demanded, stalking toward her.