Stranger in Cold Creek (13 page)

“Or hers,” John conceded. “But if he or she was willing to go to the lengths of coming up with fifty thousand to pay back the charity—”

“He or she might have gone even further.”

“Having that hanging over your head would be a nightmare. Even if the money was refunded, you'd have to worry that what you did would come out. Forget about your position with the charity. Even being accused of that sort of transgression could put your job in jeopardy.”

“Especially in Texas. County clerks here oversee elections. Imagine the kind of election shenanigans a blackmailer could cause holding something over the head of the county clerk. And you know, if something like that came out and your spouse didn't know about it, it could wreak havoc on your personal life, too.”

John nodded. “A person might be willing to kill to make it all go away.”

“So we need to find out who the Heflin county clerk is and if he or she has any connection to the Remember the Alamo Fund.” She pushed away from the table and headed down the hall to her bedroom.

John followed, stopping in the doorway while she grabbed her laptop computer from a drawer beside her bed. She plugged it in and sat on the edge of her bed, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You can come in.”

He sat on the bed beside her, trying to ignore the little shiver of animal awareness that rippled through him. So many other things he'd like to do in this room besides surf the internet...

“Here we go. Jasper Layton is the Heflin county clerk.” She pulled up a search engine page and entered the name. Several links came up, most of them connected to his position as county clerk.

She made a sound, and he found himself edging closer to read the screen over her shoulder.

She clicked a link and a page came up, an article from the Heflin County newspaper. “‘Liver transplant miracle not without its downside—recipient and family find themselves deep in debt.'”

“His wife needed a liver transplant,” John murmured, scanning the article. “Guess that might explain why he was willing to risk everything to skim money out of the charity fund.”

“But how did he pay it back?”

“Good question.”

Miranda picked up her cell phone and brought up the previous tab from the Heflin County website. She punched in a number. “Jasper Layton, please.” Listening for a second, she frowned. “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Thank you.”

“Sorry to hear what?” John asked as she ended the call and set the phone on the bed beside her.

She turned her head to look at him, her expression troubled. “Jasper Layton is dead.”

Chapter Thirteen

“He ran his car off Wildcat Ridge. There was no evidence that he hit the brakes.” Sheriff Paul Leonardi leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands over his flat stomach as he looked across the desk at Miranda and John. “What's your interest in Jasper Layton, if I may ask, Deputy Duncan?”

Miranda had anticipated the question, and she had her answer ready. “We're investigating a murder in Barstow County, and Mr. Layton's name showed up in some of the victim's personal effects. When we learned that Mr. Layton was deceased—”

“You thought you'd come talk to me.”

“You said there was no evidence he hit the brakes,” John said. “Do you think he intentionally ran his car off the road?”

Leonardi gave John a long, narrow-eyed look of speculation. “You're not a deputy.”

“No, sir.”

The sheriff flicked his gaze toward Miranda. “You bring a civilian along to all your meetings with fellow law enforcement agents?”

“Mr. Blake is a consultant,” she said, as if dismissing the question. “Do you think Mr. Layton's accident was intentional?”

“Let's put it this way. The autopsy determined that cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head. Layton went through the windshield and landed under the car. There were no signs of alcohol or drugs in his system. It was in the middle of the afternoon, so it's not likely he fell asleep at the wheel.”

“But you seem reluctant to call it suicide.”

“I didn't see the point of multiplying the tragedies Mrs. Layton and her children had to face.” Leonardi shrugged. “It wouldn't have made any difference. He was past the two-year exception in his life insurance. They were going to get the money regardless.”

Miranda glanced at John. He looked back at her, his dark eyebrows twitching upward in response.

“The article I read said this happened three weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

So, she thought, soon after Delta disappeared. But quite possibly before she had died and definitely before her body was dumped on Lizzie Dillard's farm. And that meant even if Jasper Layton had been one of Delta's blackmail victims, he wasn't likely to have been her killer.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Just one thing, and I don't think you're going to like it.”

Leonardi sat forward, leaning his forearms on his desk blotter. “You want to talk to Angela, don't you?”

“I do.”

Leonardi's lips pressed to a thin line. “Is that really necessary?”

“I'm afraid it is.”

“I'd like to be with you when you talk to her.”

“If you're worried I'll tell her something about her husband's mode of death, rest assured, I won't.”

“Then what's left to ask her?”

She glanced at John again. He sent back a meaningful look.

“I'd like to ask her about her husband's involvement in the Remember the Alamo Fund.”

One twitch of the muscle in Leonardi's lean jaw was the sheriff's only visible reaction, but it was enough. “What about it?”

“Did you know at least fifty thousand dollars went missing from the fund earlier this year?”

“You're mistaken.” His tone was dismissive.

“Are you involved with the fund?” she asked bluntly.

Leonardi rose to his feet, towering over them. “I'm a busy man, Deputy Duncan. I've answered all the pertinent questions about Jasper Layton's unfortunate accident. If you have any further enquiries, you can have your boss contact me.”

“You hit a sore spot back there,” John murmured a few moments later as they left the Heflin County Hall and stepped into the mild afternoon sunlight. “I think he knows the money is missing.”

“Or was,” she said as she unlocked the door of her truck. The interior had heated up beneath the warm Texas sun, coaxing a trickle of perspiration down her temple as she started the truck and headed its wide nose out of the parking lot.

“You think Layton paid the money back.”

“If he stole fifty grand from the charity, it would come out unless it somehow got paid back before anyone figured it out.”

“But how could he have paid it back?” John asked. “You saw that article about his wife. Her transplant left them in serious debt.”

“That's why I wanted to talk to Angela Layton.”

“You think she knows what her husband did?”

“I think if anyone would know, it's probably her.” Miranda pulled the truck into a small shopping strip just off the highway, parking in front of a diner that occupied one of the glass-front shops at the nearest end. “So we need to talk to her.”

“But first, we're going to have a late lunch?” He followed her as she got out of the truck and headed for the door of the diner.

“I don't know how much you know about life in a small town,” she said as they neared the front door of the diner, “but if you want to know anything about anyone in town, a town diner is the place to start.”

At a little after two in the afternoon, the diner was sparsely occupied. Miranda headed for the counter at the back. Within a few seconds, a pleasantly plump, motherly waitress appeared from the back and put menus on the counter in front of them. With a smile, she welcomed them to the diner.

“I'd like a cup of coffee—black, one sweetener—and a slice of your double chocolate cake,” Miranda ordered with a smile.

“Same,” John said.

“I've heard such good things about your chocolate cake,” Miranda added, taking a chance.

“Really?” The waitress smiled with pleasure at the compliment. The rectangular name badge pinned to her light blue dress said “Vicki” in neat embossed letters. “Heard from who?” she asked, as Miranda had hoped.

“Angela Layton, for one.”

Immediately Vicki's expression faltered. “That poor woman.”

“These past few months have been so hard on her.”

“Just when she was finally starting to see a little light at the end of the tunnel.” Vicki shook her head. “Did you make it to the funeral?”

“We were still at the hospital,” John said, slanting a quick glance at Miranda. “My mother was still recovering from her transplant.”

“That's where we met Angela and Jasper,” Miranda said. “John's mother was having a kidney transplant when Angela was in the hospital. We met Jasper in the cafeteria and, well—”

“We clicked, you know?” John flashed Vicki a smile that seemed to charm the waitress into a broad, answering smile.

“I know what you mean,” Vicki said as she poured coffee for both of them. “Did you come to town just to see Angela?”

“Actually, no,” Miranda answered, “we're just passing through on our way to Amarillo, but we thought we'd at least stop in here at the Lone Star Diner to try a slice of that cake.”

“We had hoped maybe Angela might be feeling well enough to be here, too,” John admitted. “But that was probably hoping too much.”

“She hasn't felt a lot like getting out and about,” Vicki said as she served them slices of the chocolate cake. “But maybe you could give her a call. I'm sure she could use some cheering up.”

“That's the thing,” Miranda said with a slight shake of her head. “Jasper gave John their phone number, but somewhere between the hospital and the motel where we were staying, he lost it. We were lucky to remember Heflin County.”

“She's probably not in the mood for visitors anyway,” John said after swallowing a bite of cake.

“Not so sure about that. She'd probably appreciate a friendly face right about now.” Vicki reached under the counter and pulled out a thin phone directory. “I think they're listed.”

While Vicki went to wait on a couple of customers who had just entered and taken one of the tables near the front window, Miranda quickly looked up the listing for Jasper and Angela Layton. She jotted the number and address to her phone.

“Are we really going to invade that poor woman's privacy?” John asked quietly.

“I don't want to, but if anybody's going to be able to tell us why Delta had that notation about Jasper Layton in her blackmail diary—”

“What if Jasper didn't tell his wife anything?”

“We won't know unless we ask.”

Still, she had to give herself a mental pep talk during the mile-and-a-half drive from the diner to the small ranch-style house on Prescott Road, including most of the walk up the flagstone path to the front door, before she found the courage to knock.

The woman who answered was plump and cheerful, and definitely not the woman whose photo had been part of the online article Miranda had found during her internet search for Jasper Layton. She introduced herself as Angela's aunt Laura.

“Angela's resting in the sunroom,” Laura told them when they asked. “Are you friends?”

“We actually knew Jasper,” John lied. “Through his work with the Remember the Alamo Fund.”

Laura's expression fell. “Poor Jasper. Poor Angela, for that matter. Finally starting to feel better, a whole new future ahead of her, and then this.”

“We wanted to see if she needed anything. If there was anything we could do for her,” Miranda said, and meant it. She might have questions for the woman, but maybe if she could find the answers about what really happened to Jasper, it would give Angela Layton some comfort.

At least, she hoped it would. She hoped she wasn't about to make everything worse.

“I'll ask if she's up to having visitors.” Laura disappeared down a hall, returning a few moments later. “She'll see you. Down the hall, first room on the left.”

Miranda and John followed the directions and found a slim, blonde woman sitting on a colorful sofa in front of a wall full of curtainless windows. Bright sunlight and warmth flowed into the room through the wall of glass, bathing the blonde in golden light.

Angela Layton looked considerably better than she'd appeared shortly after her liver transplant surgery, but beneath the glow of improving health was the pallor of grief. She rose to greet them as they entered the sunroom, extending a slim hand. “Aunt Laura said you knew Jasper?”

Miranda felt like a creep. “Actually, we didn't. Not personally.”

Angela sank to the sofa again, looking at them through narrowed eyes. “Are you reporters?”

“No.” Miranda gestured at the round ottoman sitting in front of the sofa. “May I?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Miranda Duncan. I'm a deputy sheriff with the Barstow County Sheriff's Department.”

Angela's expression went from wary to confused. “Barstow County?”

“Did you know anyone named Delta McGraw?”

Something shifted subtly in Angela Layton's eyes. “Should I?”

“I believe she might have been blackmailing your husband.”

For a moment, Angela looked as if she was about to order them to leave. But after a second of tension, she slumped back against the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. “He paid it all back.”

“To the Remember the Alamo Fund?”

Angela nodded, her eyes still closed. “We were so desperate for money. All of our savings were gone. Jasper had borrowed all he could against his 401K and it just wasn't enough. One of the doctors at the hospital in Dallas was making a big stink about getting his fees, and I was still feeling so sick, I couldn't even go to work part-time to try to pick up the slack.”

“And there were the funds at the charity, so easy to get his hands on,” John murmured.

“It wasn't easy for him,” Angela snapped, anger flashing in her blue eyes. “It broke him. Do you really think that accident that killed him was an accident?”

Miranda glanced at John, whose expression was carefully neutral. But she was beginning to be able to read the subtle clues to the emotions he kept in check. There was a grim cast to his hazel eyes that echoed the dismay burning in her own chest.

“He held onto the funds for a long time. I think maybe he was hoping something would happen to save us.” Angela passed a thin hand over her face. “Then one day, he told me someone knew what he'd done.”

“Delta.”

Angela nodded. “Delta.”

“How did Jasper know Delta? Or did he?”

“He told me he knew her through his job as county clerk. Apparently her father had owned some property here in Heflin County and she'd come here after his death to deal with some probate issues. He wasn't sure how she figured out what he'd done, but the next thing he knew, she called him and told him she knew he'd skimmed the funds from the charity and if he wanted her silence, he had to pay her ten thousand dollars.”

Miranda's heart sank. Intellectually, she knew that Delta had to be involved in extortion, but hearing it laid out so baldly was a blow.

“What did Jasper do?” John asked.

“He couldn't pay her. He hadn't even really decided whether he could keep the money to pay our bills. So he told Delta why he'd taken the money and told her he would put it back.”

“What did she say?”

“She said if he did, she wouldn't tell anyone what she knew.”

“For a price?”

Angela looked up at them. “Jasper said no. That once she heard why he'd taken the money in the first place, she backed off. She just said she'd know if he put it back or not, and if he didn't, she'd double her price.”

“So he put it back?” John asked.

“Yes. And then three weeks later he drove off Wildcat Ridge.” Tears glittered in Angela's eyes, but they didn't fall.

“I'm so sorry.” Miranda started to reach across the space between them to touch Angela's hand, but the expression on the woman's face stopped her. She dropped her hand back to her lap. “You clearly don't think it was an accident.”

“It wasn't. He left the life insurance policy sitting on the desk in his study. I found it there before I even heard about the crash.” She brushed away the tears welling on her lower eyelids. “He'd left a sticky note on top.”