Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 03 - A Deadly Change of Heart Page 3

  Sincerely,

  Diane

  P.S. By the way, I like my coffee black, no cream, no sugar.

  “Wow,” I whispered to myself as I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. Thankfully, Craig was nothing like this poor woman’s husband.

  I flipped the address book to the ‘A’s and stuck my finger on the first entry—Melissa Anderson. I punched in the number and waited for an answer. A man’s voice said, “Hello.”

  “Hello. Is Melissa there?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Hang on.”

  A few seconds later, Melissa came on the line. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi, Melissa. My name is Devonie Lace. I’m trying to locate Diane Parker. I found her purse and your name and number was listed in her address book. Do you know how I can reach her?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. “Melissa? Are you there?”

  “I’m here. What did you say your name was?”

  “Devonie Lace. Do you know Diane?” I asked.

  “Yes, I do…or I did. You see, she died over a year ago.”

  I dropped the address book in my hand. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I just found her purse and wanted to return it.”

  I could hear Melissa whispering to someone next to her, “This woman found Diane’s purse.”

  “Is there some family or someone I can contact to return the purse to? It looks like she might have had some children,” I continued.

  “She had two sons. They’re both at UCLA. And there’s Bradley, but I don’t know if I’d call him.”

  “Bradley? Is that her husband?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “Yes, but maybe you should take the purse to the police, considering the situation,” Melissa suggested.

  “Police? I don’t understand. Why the—“

  “I have the name of the detective in charge of the investigation here, somewhere. Let me see if I can find…here it is—Detective Wright. You should call him and tell him about the purse,” Melissa said.

  “Wright?” I asked.

  “Yes. Sam Wright. Here’s the number,” she continued.

  I took out a pen and wrote down the name and number. “Can I ask how Diane died?”

  Melissa was silent for a moment. Her voice sounded choked when she finally started to speak. I got the feeling she was close to Diane Parker. “She fell. She was out running near Point Loma—Sunset Cliffs. She fell…or was…I don’t know…maybe she fell off the cliff, but I think there’s more to it than that. Just call Detective Wright, please.”

  “I will. I promise. Thank you for talking to me.”

  As I hung up the phone, Jason’s words reverberated in my head. This was the skeleton he warned me about. I hate it when he’s right.

  Chapter Three

  I punched in the phone number for Detective Wright and waited for his answer.

  “This is Wright,” he announced into the phone.

  “Hello. My name is Devonie Lace. Melissa Anderson gave me your number. I found Diane Parker’s purse and she suggested I call you,” I explained.

  It sounded like he dropped the phone. I waited for the commotion to stop, then he came back on the line. “Excuse me. Spell your name,” he requested, and I complied.

  “Where did you find the purse?” he asked.

  I explained the details and I could tell he was taking notes.

  “Did you ever find who killed her?” I asked.

  “Diane Parker’s death was an accident. Those cliffs are unstable. Signs are posted, she just ignored them,” he said.

  “But now that you have this letter, doesn’t it sound like her husband might be a suspect?” I asked.

  “I don’t see how. Anyway, it’s a police matter. I’d like to come pick up the purse and take a look at your vehicle. What’s your address?”

  I checked my watch. I had a dinner date with Craig and I didn’t want to be late. “I have an appointment tonight, but can I bring it to you tomorrow morning? It would be more convenient for me,” I explained.

  “You’ll bring your vehicle?” he asked.

  “Yes. You won’t want to keep it, will you?” I asked, biting my lip and worrying about being immobile again.

  “I doubt it. Just want to get some numbers off it.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring it by the station in the morning,” I promised, then hung up the phone.

  I gathered up Diane Parker’s purse and jogged up the dock to the parking area. I slid the key into the Explorer’s ignition and gave it a turn. It started without hesitation, but when I tried to put it in reverse, there was a terrible grinding sound. I double-clutched it and tried again until I found my gear. I chalked it up to being out of practice with a manual transmission.

  I rang the bell and waited on Craig’s porch until he opened the door. He shot me a panicked look. “You have to go away. I’m expecting my fiancé any minute,” he said, peering around me as if he were looking for another person.

  I grinned at him.

  “Oh, wait. You are my finance.” He gave me a huge smile and a hug. “Why do you ring the bell? I gave you a key. This is your house, too.”

  Standing there with his arms wrapped around me made me feel safe and happier than I’d ever been. My whole life, I’d fought those feelings, sure that once I allowed myself some happiness, someone would take it away from me. “This is your house. It won’t be our house until we’re married, and even then I’m not sure it’ll feel like it’s mine.“

  Craig wasn’t listening to me. His gaze went past me to the Explorer parked in the driveway. “What’s that?” he asked.

  I turned to see what had his attention. “Oh, that’s my new ride. Like it?”

  He gawked for a few more seconds. “Explorer?”

  “Yeah,” I answered as I walked past him through the doorway. He continued to study the vehicle in his driveway.

  “Those are good,” he noted, with a little hesitation.

  “That’s what I hear. Did you notice it’s orange?” I asked.

  “Almost right away.” He squinted harder at it. “What’s that green writing on the side?”

  I pulled Diane Parker’s letter to her estranged husband out of the purse and handed it to him. “Sunkist. Here, read this. It’ll break your heart.”

  “Sunkist?” he asked, staring at the letter, confused.

  I kissed him. “That’s what I love about you. You didn’t feel the need to inform me of the color of my new car. You’re so considerate.”

  He kissed me back. “No. You’re a bright girl. I just figured you probably already knew it was orange. What’s this letter?”

  I started down the hallway to his office. “Read it, then I’ll fill you in on how I found it. Can I use your copy machine?”

  “Sure. Might have to put some paper in it.”

  I copied all the pages from Diane’s address book. Craig wandered in with the letter and handed it to me. I placed it facedown on the glass and pressed the copy button.

  “So the purse was in the spare tire?” Craig marveled.

  “Weird, huh?”

  Craig nodded. “Why are you making copies?”

  “Because I have to give the originals to Detective Wright. He doesn’t think Bradley Parker’s a suspect. He thinks Diane Parker fell off that cliff all by herself. I bet he won’t even go talk to Parker.”

  Craig frowned. “You’re not going to jump in the middle of this, are you?”

  “No. I just…didn’t that letter tear you up? Someone has to be on her side.” I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “I think Bradley Parker pushed her,” I said.

  “I have to admit, the guy sounds like a total scumbag, but how can you be sure? What about the guy who hid the purse in the tire? Don’t you think he’s a more likely suspect?”

  I stuffed the envelope back into the purse. “I hadn’t thought of that. You could have something there. See? That’s why I need your help with this. You’re brilliant.”


  Craig shook his head. “If I were brilliant, I’d come up with a way to talk you out of this.”

  “Can’t be done,” I reminded him.

  “I know. That’s why I’m going to help you.”

  I kissed him, again. “That’s the other reason I love you.”

  “Because I let you wrap me around your little finger?” he joked.

  “No. Because you never try to change me.”

  The sergeant behind the desk announced my arrival to Detective Wright over the phone. I waited several minutes before the six-foot-four, three-hundred pound powerhouse of a man strode into the lobby. I stood in the middle of the room with Diane’s purse clutched to my chest.

  “Miss Lace?” he inquired, holding out his hand.

  I felt dwarfed by this man. I released my grip on the purse and held my hand out. “Yes,” I replied.

  “Is that the purse?” he asked.

  I nodded and handed it to him. “This is it. Everything’s still inside.”

  He took the purse and gave it a brief inspection. He didn’t open it. “Let’s get a look at the vehicle. Is it outside?”

  I nodded, again. “It’s in the lot.” He followed me out the door and down the steps. I stopped in front of the Explorer.

  “This it?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He removed a stubby pencil and a small notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages. “You bought it yesterday?” he asked.

  “Yes. At the U.S. Marshal’s auction.” I hesitated a moment while he jotted something down. “Do you want to see the letter?” I asked.

  He either didn’t hear me, or he ignored my question. He set the purse on the hood, moved to the windshield and cupped his hand over an area in the lower driver’s side to shade the sunlight. He repeated the letters and numbers of the vehicle identification number as he wrote them down in his notebook.

  “The letter’s in the purse, in case you’re interested,” I reminded him.

  He squinted at me. “I assume it’s in the purse. You haven’t removed anything, have you?”

  “No. I just didn’t want you to forget about—“

  “I won’t forget,” he interrupted. “Did you find anything else unusual in the vehicle?”

  “No. Just the purse,” I answered.

  “Not surprised. They usually take these things apart and put them back together before they auction them off. Guess no one ever thought to check inside the tires.”

  I stared at the purse on the hood. “You think the drug dealer who owned this before I bought it killed Diane Parker?”

  Detective Wright rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I told you before, her death was an accident. She was jogging on the trails around Point Loma and got too close to the edge. Happens once in a while.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Then why would her purse wind up stashed inside the spare tire of a convicted drug dealer? Sounds suspicious to me.”

  The big man snatched the purse off the hood. “Look. This is none of your concern. It’s a police matter. We’ve investigated the death of Diane Parker and concluded it was an accident.”

  He walked away and headed toward the doors of the station. I followed. “But now that you have new evidence, don’t you think you should re-open the investigation?”

  He stopped and glared at me. “I’ll look at the contents of the purse and if I find anything suspicious, I’ll follow up on it. Okay with you?” he snapped.

  I sensed that I irritated this man like a gnat fluttering around his face. I didn’t care. For some reason, I felt a kinship with Diane Parker, and I wanted justice for her. I looked him square in the eye. “I don’t think so. You don’t seem sincere, Detective Wright.”

  A crevice formed in his brow between the deep-set brown eyes. He stared down his chiseled nose at me, towering over my small frame. I could see the muscles of his powerful jaws clench as he formulated his next sentence. “I’ve never been more sincere in my entire life. If Diane Parker was murdered, I’ll find out who did it. Do not get in my way. Do not tell me how to do my job. And do not suppose that you are more qualified to get to the truth than I am. Understand?”

  My neck felt the strain in its awkward position as my own muscles tensed. I returned his glare. “Would it be possible for me to see what you’ve come up with so far in your investigation?” I asked.

  He stared at me for a moment, then turned his gaze to the sky and let out a loud, boisterous laugh. “That’s priceless!” he boomed.

  I remained serious. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  He flashed his straight white teeth at me in a grin so broad I could almost count his fillings. “You don’t see the humor? I think it’s funnier than heck. Some little…I don’t know…whatever you are…comes bouncing in off the street and you think you can do a better job than the entire San Diego Police Department. It’s hilarious.”

  I felt my fingernails dig into the palms of my hands as my fists clenched. “So can I see your report on Diane’s death?” I pressed.

  “No,” he barked, then walked off.

  I started after him. “But—“

  “No, Miss Lace,” he repeated.

  “I just want to—“

  “No! N-O! No! Are you deaf?”

  I stopped and watched him disappear through the doors into the police station. My face felt hot and flushed. “What a jerk,” I grumbled as I climbed into the cab of the Explorer.

  I checked my watch. I was supposed to meet Craig for lunch before our appointment with a local photographer. My heart was racing and I needed to calm down. I decided to drive to Pacific Beach. No matter how long I live here, I never lose the thrill I feel when I drive over the last rise between the ocean and me, and the glorious view as the sparkling blue Pacific paints itself across my windshield.

  I hunted for a parking spot for twenty minutes. Finally, I found one a mile away, hiked down to the beach, removed my shoes and rolled up the cuffs of my jeans. I walked along the shore and watched the activities going on. A group of teenagers played volleyball, laughing, concerned with nothing more than keeping the ball in the air. A pair of tan young men flung a Frisbee back and forth, challenging each other to jump a little higher with each toss. A little girl built a sand castle with a bright-pink bucket. Her father helped her by digging a moat to divert the water and keep it from washing her hard work away.

  I let the water splash up around my ankles and felt its coolness work its way up my body. In a matter of minutes, I’d sent the memory of my confrontation with Detective Wright out to sea. He wasn’t worth getting upset over.

  I met Craig at a little sidewalk café near Old Town. He spotted me across the crowd and waved to get my attention. I made my way through the tables and stopped under the umbrella of the table he’d picked for us. I slung my purse across the back of the chair opposite his and he stood up and gave me a kiss. “Hi there,” he said, squeezing my hand.

  I smiled. “Hi.”

  We both sat down. He watched me closely. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I answered.

  “Uh uh. What’s wrong?” he repeated.

  He wasn’t going to accept my non-answer. I don’t know exactly when or where it happened, but he has somehow gotten to know me better than I even know myself. Maybe it was during those months sailing around the Caribbean, taking care of me and making sure I was safe. There’s no way I can ever deceive him. I took a deep breath. “I took the purse to Detective Wright this morning.”

  Craig watched my face, waiting for me to continue. “And…?”

  I fidgeted with a pack of sugar in a container on the table. “I don’t think I brought out the best in him.”

  Chapter Four

  Spencer answered his direct line on the third ring. I was surprised because calls usually rolled over to his voice mail. “Spencer. It’s Devonie,” I announced.

  “Devonie! I got the wedding invitation. I thought you were never getting married. Isn’t that what
you told me?”

  I spoke seriously. “I decided it might not be a bad idea to have a man around, you know, to open jars and stuff.”

  Spencer laughed. “Who is he? Do I know him?”

  “He’s a great guy. I met him last year when I got mixed up with that storage unit caper.”

  Spencer whistled into the phone. “When those guys blew up your boat?” he asked.

  “That’s the one.” I sat at the galley table of the Plan C and doodled on a tablet of paper sitting in front of me. Spencer still worked for the State of California. He’d been offered a prestigious position with Bates Corporation, but was forced to turn it down. He had made an agreement with the Department of Justice to work for them rather than against them after being caught hacking into some presumably secure computer sites. When he tried to give notice to his boss, he was reminded of his indentured status as a State employee. He gave up his dream of driving a Pantera company car and resigned to the fact that he’d be paying for his lapse of good judgment for a few more years. At the time, I was sorry the Bates opportunity didn’t materialize, but now I was glad for it. His position with the State gives him access to a huge volume of information that would, otherwise, be inaccessible to me. I felt a twinge of guilt for that thought.