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“But—”
“Really, Pat,” she said, sensing the other woman’s disapproval. “I’ve got my appointments covered. You don’t have to worry.”
Pat’s back stiffened and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I keep things organized around here. Running smoothly. It’s my job.”
“And we all appreciate it,” Elizabeth snapped back as she shouldered her way out of the office. She could feel Pat’s angry gaze boring into her back. Too bad. She couldn’t worry about hurting the receptionist’s feelings and truthfully, she was tired of treading lightly around the woman who seemed to make everyone else’s business her own. It was definitely time for a change. Maybe, not only would she sell her house, but she could switch offices, or find a rival realty company where she didn’t feel her personal life was being dissected through lunchroom gossip or over glasses of wine at happy hour in nearby restaurants.
Tossing her briefcase into the passenger seat, she settled behind the wheel. Despite the time of year, the interior of the car had warmed up as if it were at the equator, so she rolled down the windows and thought about her upcoming meeting with Kingston. How much could she reveal to him? How far should she bare her soul?
You have to tell him everything. Otherwise he won’t be able to help you. You’ve already confided in your friends, so this won’t be so hard. He’s a professional. He’ll help you.
“I hope so,” she said, her hands gripping the wheel as she drove out of the lot and picked up speed, a soft California breeze tangling her hair. “God, I hope so.”
On the way to Elizabeth’s, Rex pieced together what he’d learned from Mike Tatum, which was supposed to be on the QT as Tatum had probably given out more information than the department may have wanted, and from Detective Vern Driscoll, whom he’d called back after talking to Tatum. Both men had said much the same thing about the Courtland Ellis case, which was why Rex had called Tatum, and why Driscoll had phoned Rex. The scuttlebutt around the department was that the widow was up to her eyeballs in her husband’s death.
Bull. Shit. From what he could tell, the police didn’t have a pot to piss in when it came to facts. He got that emotion was running high because one of their own had been killed, but it was early days in an investigation that hadn’t gotten much past the theory stage. Thronson had been running on hunches as far as Elizabeth was concerned. So, a woman who may have looked like her had been seen on the freeway, possibly goading Ellis into a dangerous game, and another woman had been seen around the Tres Brisas Hotel. Rex heard from Tatum about the positive ID on a picture of Elizabeth by several of the hotel’s employees, but even Tatum had sounded skeptical. “Ask the right questions of someone who wants to please and you get the right answer. You know.”
Yeah, Rex knew. Sometimes it was too easy to coerce a witness. They could be influenced by a few carefully chosen words. He also knew that he could be just as swayed if he wasn’t careful. Look how he’d reacted to Elizabeth after meeting her once.
As he drove, he thought back to the conversation with Driscoll.
Driscoll asked pointed questions about how Rex knew Elizabeth Ellis. He kept his tone neutral and his answers circumspect. And what was there to tell anyway? He’d met her the night before. A client of his had been searching for her.
Who? Driscoll wanted to know, his tone sharp.
“Her cousin, Ravinia Rutledge, who had never met her until last night, either,” Rex answered.
“So, you find her for her cousin and then Ellis hires you right on the spot?” Driscoll asked.
Rex discerned that it was Driscoll who’d scared Elizabeth into phoning for his help, so rather than lie, he shrugged and smiled. “Guess my reputation preceded me.”
Driscoll went on to demand Ravinia’s phone number or address, but Rex wasn’t interested in revealing how involved he’d become with her life, so he said, “She’s from a town in Oregon, on the coast, Deception Bay. I don’t have an exact address.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I think it would be fair to say that she’s between residences right now.”
“Then give me the motel she’s at.” Driscoll started to sound belligerent.
“When you tell me why it’s so important you talk to her,” was Rex’s answer.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” the cop blustered. “But if I find out they’re in collusion together, you don’t want to be the guy who was in the way.”
“They’re not in collusion together.”
“This is a homicide investigation,” he reminded tightly.
“I can give you her cell number,” Rex finally conceded, knowing Ravinia wouldn’t answer if she didn’t recognize the number calling in. He wanted to talk to her first, warn her about the police interest in Elizabeth.
The conversation w
ith the detective went downhill after that. Driscoll pushed for Ravinia’s address, where he could find her in the Irvine area, but Rex didn’t cave. He asked his own questions about the Ellis investigation, chiefly, wasn’t there any other person of interest?
Driscoll hadn’t liked that question much, so Rex took that as a no.
“Thronson believed Courtland Ellis’s death was a homicide,” Driscoll told him flatly. “She was a thorough investigator. She spoke with Elizabeth Ellis several times and was killed shortly after that last interview.”
“So she goes to Thronson’s house and shoots her. Just leaves her kid at home alone, somehow gets her hands on a gun, and drives over to the detective’s house and takes her out.”
