Deadly Valentine (Special Releases) (7 page)

Jack picked up the keys without a word and opened each drawer, looking through the contents, not surprised when he found nothing of interest.

He glanced around the office. Oliver had gone into Peggy’s office. He came back with what smelled like coffee in a glass mug. But from the looks of the tea-colored liquid, he didn’t have a clue how to make his own coffee.

‘‘Where’s your safe?’’ Jack asked.

The question seemed to startle Oliver. He sloshed some of the coffee onto the carpet and let out an oath. His eyes moved to the oak liquor cabinet against the wall. He either wanted a drink badly or he’d forgotten something he wished he hadn’t. ‘‘You’d better have a warrant to open that safe.’’

Jack motioned to the warrant still lying on the desk. ‘‘It includes all financial and personal records.’’

Oliver swore again. ‘‘You are determined to pin this on me, aren’t you.’’

‘‘The safe,’’ Jack asked.

Tempest had moved over to the bar. She opened the cabinet, pushed aside a few bottles of booze and a wooden panel to expose the safe as if she’d known it was there.

‘‘What’s the combination?’’ Jack asked joining her.

‘‘I’ll open it,’’ Oliver said and shoved them aside. It took him several tries to get the safe open. His hands were visibly shaking and Jack could see beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip.

Jack stepped in quickly, stopping Oliver before he could remove anything from inside, the moment the door swung open. Tempest produced an evidence bag and began putting the papers he handed her inside it.

Oliver grabbed a bottle of bourbon and retreated behind his desk, his expression like death warmed over.

Jack dug through the safe, finding the usual stocks and bonds, insurance policies (five hundred thousand on both he and Mitzy), business papers dealing with his development plans and bank loans. He’d have Tempest go through all of it first because she had a head for numbers. While Jack didn’t think they’d find a motive for murder in the papers, he could see that something in the safe was making Oliver very nervous.

He had almost emptied the safe when his fingers brushed a large manila envelope that had been pushed to the back.

He drew it out and held it up as he turned to look at Oliver. He could tell that whatever the man had to fear was inside the envelope. Jack opened it slowly, watching Oliver, expecting the worst. And yet he was still surprised by the contents.

A dozen black-and-white photos of a very young, very naked Mitzy Baxter, her barely pubescent body so pale it looked bleached, the poses awkward and embarrassed making them all the more unsavory. Strictly amateur night.

Jack dropped the snapshots on Oliver’s desk. ‘‘Did you take these?’’

‘‘Good God no,’’ Oliver said, not looking at either Jack or Tempest.

‘‘Then who did?’’ Jack asked. Tempest was staring at the photos spilled across the desk and frowning.

Oliver poured a shot of bourbon into the weak coffee and took a drink. ‘‘I purchased the photos years ago from some hippie-type she’d taken up with one winter.’’

‘‘Are you telling me this guy blackmailed you?’’

He nodded solemnly. ‘‘I wish I’d destroyed them.’’

‘‘Why didn’t you?’’

He shook his head and poured more bourbon into his mug. And it was only a little after eight in the morning.

‘‘Does Mitzy know you have them?’’ Jack asked.

Oliver shook his head without looking up. ‘‘I never wanted her to know I even knew about them.’’

Jack closed the safe and went out to search Peggy’s part of the office. It was obvious that Peggy had been very organized and a much better secretary from the looks of things than her boss had led him to believe.

Tempest followed him out and thumbed through the file cabinet without a word.

He thought he heard a sound coming from Oliver’s office and stopped to listen. It sounded like crying.

He moved to the doorway and looked in to find Oliver with his head in his hands, the dirty photos of Mitzy spread like solitaire cards across the desk, his mug empty.

CHAPTER SIX

B
ACK AT
the sheriff’s department, Jack asked Tempest to look over the financial papers they’d confiscated from Oliver’s office, then he went to his own office and closed the door.

For reasons he didn’t want to delve into, the photos of Mitzy had made him think of Frannie. Her small, dark, girllike woman’s body. So fragile. It had been a year since he’d buried her and a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of her and agonized over why she’d left him the way she had.

There was a tap on his door. He motioned for Dobson to come in.

‘‘Insurance policies?’’ he asked without preamble.

‘‘Just the ones Mr. and Mrs. Sanders had on each other for five hundred thousand. As for alibis…’’ Dobson consulted his notebook. ‘‘Mrs. Sanders left work about eleven a.m. and didn’t return. She had no showings on her schedule and couldn’t be reached by cell phone. Not that that means much in this area.’’

‘‘What about the candy shop?’’

‘‘The clerks there know Mrs. Sanders well, said she comes in a lot to buy candy for her receptionist and clients.’’

Jack raised a brow.

‘‘The receptionist says Mrs. Sanders has never purchased her candy or any other gift,’’ Dobson said, looking pleased with himself for anticipating the question. ‘‘The receptionist said Mrs. Sanders always keeps chocolate in her locked bottom drawer.’’ Dobson nodded. ‘‘There were wrappers in the drawer from Sweet Things.’’

So she’d lied about chocolate. And she shopped at Sweet Things. That didn’t mean she’d killed Peggy. But it definitely could have gotten her killed had she gotten into the chocolates before Peggy.

‘‘Good job,’’ he told Dobson. He noted that Mitzy had bought the candy for herself as cover, just as Tempest had said a woman might do. But it didn’t prove she’d bought the extra box. ‘‘And Mr. Sanders?’’

‘‘No one saw him leave his office. He walked to work that morning, taking the trail between The Riverside and his office.’’

Jack nodded. ‘‘So there is little chance anyone would have seen him coming or going unless they’d been on the trail. See if you can find someone.’’

Dobson nodded. ‘‘Also no one remembers him shopping at Sweet Things, but they sold dozens of boxes of chocolates exactly like the one Mr. Sanders had Ms. Kane purchase.’’

Jack nodded, suspecting as much.

‘‘I stopped by the bank like you asked.’’ Dobson dropped several large manila envelopes on the table. ‘‘These are bank accounts for both Sanders and Peggy Kane, including canceled checks.’’

Dobson had the look of a man who’d just won the lottery. Or discovered oil in his backyard. ‘‘I saved the best for last. Peggy Kane only recently took out an insurance policy on herself. Five hundred thousand dollars. Guess who the beneficiary is?’’

‘‘Oliver Sanders,’’ Tempest said, appearing in the doorway behind Dobson.

‘‘Oh yeah!’’ Dobson said and smiled.

Jack motioned her in. ‘‘Thanks, Dobson. Good work. Let me know if you find anyone who can verify Oliver Sanders’s whereabouts during the time in question. Any prints on that key that was in the elevator?’’

Dobson shook his head. ‘‘Too smudged to get a clear latent.’’

Jack nodded, afraid that would be the case.

After the deputy left, Tempest gave him the items they’d taken from Oliver’s safe. ‘‘Find anything interesting?’’ Jack asked.

She shook her head. ‘‘He was into all kinds of developments, a real wheeler-dealer, but nothing unusual or suspicious that I could find.’’

‘‘Well, let’s see if there’s anything in the bank statements,’’ he said as she took a chair across from him.

It didn’t take but a few minutes to see a pattern—just not the one Jack had been expecting.

Mitzi had been making large withdrawals from her account for the last six months. A few days later that money had been showing up in Peggy Kane’s account.

‘‘Peggy was blackmailing Mitzy?’’ Jack asked, confused as all hell.

‘‘Think it was the photos you found in the safe?’’ Tempest said.

‘‘If so, what was Oliver doing with them then?’’

She shrugged, eyes bright with interest. ‘‘I guess there is only one way to find out.’’

* * *

MITZY WAS SHOWING
a three-million dollar log house near the ski hill, the receptionist at her office told them.

‘‘At least she and Oliver weren’t so distraught over Peggy’s death they couldn’t work,’’ Tempest commented as they drove up the mountain and parked in front of the massive house.

As they got out and went in, an older couple was climbing into a Suburban with out-of-state plates.

Mitzy seemed startled to see them on her turf. ‘‘You aren’t interested in a house, are you, Jack?’’ She looked at him expectantly. More than likely she just wondered if he could afford this place. More to the point, if Frannie had left him enough, since Frannie had come from money, not him.

He didn’t bite. ‘‘Why was Peggy blackmailing you?’’

‘‘Peggy?’’ Mitzy blinked and grabbed the back of one of the chairs at the breakfast bar for support. ‘‘Peggy Kane?’’ She paled, then flushed. ‘‘Why, that bitch.’’

Either she hadn’t known who was blackmailing her. Or she was a damned good actress.

‘‘What did she have on you?’’ Jack asked.

Mitzy glanced at him, then at Tempest.

‘‘Tempest is the new undersheriff,’’ Jack qualified. ‘‘If you’d rather, the three of us could discuss this at my office.’’

Mitzy regarded him for a moment, then walked out to the redwood deck that ran the length of the house, dug around in her coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and took a long drag, letting the smoke out slowly as she stared down at the clutters of buildings that made up the town below. Jack and Tempest shot each other a look, then followed her outside.

It was cold, the sky dark with the promise of more snow, but the deck had been shoveled off. Jack figured that was Mitzy’s doing. The place had better curb appeal without making clients trudge through the eight inches of new snow that had fallen the night before to get to the front door.

‘‘My parents invested here before the ski hill went in,’’ Mitzy said when they joined her. ‘‘This is my home. Other people have left, but I stayed.’’ There was pride in her voice. ‘‘I’ve done what I’ve had to to survive here.’’

She finally looked at them. ‘‘And I’ve done well.’’

Obviously it pissed her off royally that she’d been sharing that money with a blackmailer. Especially Peggy Kane, her husband’s secretary.

‘‘What did Peggy have on you?’’ he asked again.

Mitzy took another long drag, stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it into the nearest snowbank. She let the smoke roll out. Her words fell hard as the granite countertops in the expensive kitchen behind them. ‘‘I met this photographer. He told me he thought I could be a model so he talked me into posing for a few shots.’’

Jack felt Tempest’s gaze on him. ‘‘Nude photos?’’

‘‘What do you think?’’ Mitzy snapped. ‘‘It had been years, then about six months ago, I got an anonymous letter demanding money or the photos would end up on a Web page and everyone in River’s Edge would have the address.’’

‘‘What means did you use to pay?’’ Jack asked, already knowing where the money had ended up.

‘‘A post office box in California,’’ Mitzy said. ‘‘And yes, I tried to find out who had the box. It was just one of those blind address things.’’ She turned to look at him. ‘‘You’re positive it was Peggy?’’

‘‘The money was going from your account to hers within a matter of hours,’’ he hedged.

‘‘You probably think that I killed her now,’’ Mitzy said. ‘‘Well, I wish to hell I had.’’ With that, she turned and walked back to lock the house, before heading to her black Ford Explorer. Jack noted that the car was exactly like the one Peggy had bought for herself and wondered if Mitzy hadn’t noticed as well.

CHAPTER SEVEN

B
ACK AT THE OFFICE
, Jack didn’t say a word as he dropped a sheet of paper on the interrogation room table in front of Oliver. The paper was a copy of the doodles from Peggy’s scratchpad where she’d written ‘‘Mrs. Peggy Sanders’’ around the border a half dozen times.

Tempest sat and, at Jack’s nod, reached over to hit the record button on the tape recorder.

Oliver watched her for a moment, then looked down at the piece of paper, and for the first time, seemed to really see it and what was written on it. He stiffened and sat back a little as if trying to distance himself from it and what was coming.

‘‘It seems Peggy thought she was going to be the next Mrs. Sanders,’’ Jack said. ‘‘Why is that?’’

Oliver swallowed and slowly raised his gaze. ‘‘I guess it’s no secret she was in love with me.’’

‘‘Not anymore,’’ Jack said. ‘‘Did you know Peggy kept a date book with all your clandestine dates in it, including your plans for Valentine’s Day?’’

Oliver shot a look at Tempest, then Jack. He dropped his face in his hands, his body jerking as he burst into racking sobs.

Jack pulled up a chair to wait. Tempest stared at a spot on the wall over Oliver’s head, seemingly unaffected by the display.

After a few moments, Oliver stopped sobbing, pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes and nose with quick, angry swipes as if embarrassed.

‘‘I was in love with her,’’ Oliver said without looking at either of them. ‘‘Valentine’s Day I was going to tell Mitzy I was leaving her. After my birthday, Peggy and I were going to blow this place and not look back.’’

‘‘Kind of cold to tell your wife you’re leaving her on Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?’’ Jack said.

‘‘I couldn’t keep lying to Mitzy, to myself. I couldn’t keep...pretending.’’ He looked to Jack as if he might understand. ‘‘Mitzy and I only married because it seemed like the thing to do. High school sweethearts and all that crap. Everyone kept saying we were so
perfect
for each other. Especially my parents. What could I do but marry her?’’

Jack could see how Oliver might have gotten swept up in that. A lot of young couples did—and later regretted it. Probably the reason divorce rates were so high. It was hard to decide what to do with your life at eighteen—let alone who you wanted to spend the rest of it with.