Read Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery Online

Authors: Elaine Flinn

Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery (22 page)

BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
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While mulling all this over, Molly thought she heard someone rapping on the front door. She decided to ignore it. When the knocking became a loud pounding, Molly blew out a sigh. Very carefully, she poked her head around the open door and peeked past a tall floor lamp hiding her from view. She could see most of the glass in the front door from there. Molly squinted, wondering why the young woman’s face seemed familiar. It took a moment, and then she remembered. She was a new TV reporter for one of the local stations. Molly pulled back and returned to the storage room. She wasn’t about to talk to anyone from the media. She no sooner plopped in the chair than the phone rang. Molly had a good idea who it was. She waited for the answering machine to click on and listened. Sure enough, it was the reporter. Molly picked up and said, “Don’t call me again. And don’t come to the shop. I have nothing to say.” She hung up, and it rang again. Her hand hovered over the phone, ready to let loose. She pulled it back and decided to let it ring. There was no point in trying to warn any of them off. She knew firsthand they were like mad dogs with a bone. She listened to the caller. It was Carla Jessop.
“I don’t blame you for not picking up, Molly,” Carla’s voice said. “I’m not answering my phone either. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am you’ve become involved. I...well, I hope this won’t impact our relationship or stop you from completing the redecorating. I know this may sound a bit crass, but if you could stay with the delivery schedule, I’d appreciate it. We’ve closed the tasting room for the present. Can you place the pieces when they arrive? Oh, one other thing—we’re not having a service, so please let Daria know, too, would you? Take care, Molly...and thanks so much for everything.”
Molly was about to delete the message, then changed her mind. She decided it might be a good idea to save it. She wasn’t sure why, but if she’d learned one thing in life, it was cover your ass.
Molly checked her watch. She had hours to kill before leaving for Daria’s. An idle day was not a part of her lifestyle, and she found herself unable to decide what to do. She didn’t dare take the van and leave. Going upstairs and watching TV was out of the question. She’d only bite her nails. With a sudden jolt, she realized she was a prisoner. And that infuriated her no end. She jumped from the chair and plugged in the teakettle. With as much defiance as she could muster, she lit a cigarette and began pacing the small, narrow room. After a moment, she threw open the door to the garage and stared at the two tables of the new merch she hadn’t put away. Maybe, she thought, she should just spend the day rearranging the shop. Like the old Chinese proverb—when business is slow, paint the counter. Only business wasn’t slow, but that didn’t mean a fresh, new look would be out of order. But there was a problem with that, too. She’d be visible from the street. And then there was all the silver she’d bought for Daria to pack up. That would take at least a half hour if she took her time. Disgusted at her cowardice, she decided the hell with it. She was going back in the shop to move merch until she got bored. If anyone else knocked on the door, she’d just ignore them.
After an hour and four trips back and forth to the garage, Molly was on a short stepladder hanging a new watercolor when loud knocking surprised her and she almost lost her balance. She climbed down and stalked to the front of the shop. It was one thing to knock politely, but the continuous banging was uncalled-for. She skidded to a stop when she saw that it was the man who had bought the water pitcher and the boat. The same man on the beach, and who Bitsy thought was a pervert. Molly had half a mind to turn away, but the stern look on his face made her falter. What in heaven’s name was this all about? Molly wondered if he was going to give her hell as well. Well, she thought, he’d better not. He didn’t even live here.
Days of frustration came to a head. She was ready to tear into someone, and it might as well be him. She unlocked the door, and said, “In case you didn’t notice, the door was locked. I’m not open today and probably won’t be tomorrow either. If you want to return something, you’ll have to do it later in the week.”
She was about to close the door when he said, “I think it would be wise if you let me in.”
“Really? Well, I’ll be the judge of that.” Molly gripped the edge of the door and stared him down. “Look, Mr. Whatever-the-hell-your-name-is... get lost before I call the cops.”
“My name, Ms. Doyle, is Marshall Macomber. I’m Emma’s father.”
Chapter 20
 
MOLLY DIDN’T KNOW what a heart attack felt like, but the sudden pain in her chest could be a preview. She staggered against the door.
Marshall Macomber’s hand reached out to steady her. “I’m...I’m sorry I was so rude. I guess I should have—”
Molly’s hand flew to her forehead. “I’m okay...I’m okay. It’s just that—” She stepped back from the open door. “I guess you’d better come in.” Molly sucked in her breath and made it to her desk. She turned to see Macomber still by the door. She gestured to the chair next to her desk. “Please. I’ll be fine in a moment.” Her vision was blurry as she watched him sit.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Macomber asked. “I should have eased into my announcement. I hadn’t planned to be so blunt.”
Molly couldn’t ignore his sincerity. No matter what she might be feeling, she realized how distressed he was. “I’m not really okay, but it’s not your fault. It’s been a nasty few days, and I’m afraid my temper got the best of me. I was rude to you first.”
“One might argue your mood is justified. It’s easy to realize you’ve most likely been targeted by the media again.”
She checked herself this time. There was no point in being defensive. She knew a few things about this man who claimed to be Emma’s father. She knew he was a high-powered attorney in Seattle and that her sister, Carrie, had worked for him for several years, and they’d had a long-term affair. But then, was he really who he said he was? She hadn’t been sure about Susan Jessop. Why should she believe him? For all she knew, he could be a reporter.
“Before we go any further, I’d like to see some identification.” When she saw his neck stiffen, she said, “Your purchases were made with cash. I have no proof of who you really are.”
“Fair enough.” He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and set it on the desk. “My driver’s license and credit cards. Feel free to take them out and examine them.” He reached into his pocket and took out a card case. “My business cards.” As an afterthought, he opened his sport coat and took out a leather folder. “My passport as well.”
While Molly eagle-eyed each item, he said, “I also have a private investigator’s report on you. Shall I offer that as well?”
Molly stared at him. “Really. Well then, please do.”
Macomber pointed to the leather folder. “It’s there with my passport.”
Molly willed her eye to stop twitching. Indignation had quickly overcome her shock and was threatening to explode into full-blown anger. With more control than she’d imagined possible, she read the report.
It was all there. Damn near her entire life. Two pages, single-spaced. Filled with her father’s incarceration, her marriage, her husband and his girlfriend’s antiques scam, her move back to San Francisco, and then to Carmel. The last paragraph detailed the murders she’d played a major role in solving. ‘Apparently you know a few things about me.”
Macomber smiled. “Yes, Ms. Doyle, I think the report makes that quite evident.”
Molly smiled back. It was vital she didn’t let on how much he’d rattled her. “Well, guess what? I know a little about you as well. But I don’t know for certain that you’re Emma’s father. You’ll have to prove that to me. But first, it would nice if you’d let me know why you’re even here.”
“Might we go somewhere for coffee or maybe a cocktail?” he asked.
Molly shook her head. “No. I’d rather chat on my own turf if you don’t mind.”
Macomber laughed. “Excellent strategy, Ms. Doyle. Cleverness must be a dominant gene in your family. Your sister was—”
“Leave my sister out of this,” Molly shot back. She could have kicked herself. She realized he’d just pushed a sensitive button, and she’d reacted as he planned. Score one for the other side.
“Unfortunately, Carrie plays a major role in our discussion. Do you have a guardianship agreement with Carrie for Emma’s care?”
“Until you can offer me proof that you’re Emma’s father, that’s none of your business.”
“I can, and I will if that becomes an issue. But before we continue in this adversarial mode, I think I should explain why I’m here, and what I’ve decided to do about Emma.”
That was all Molly needed to hear. All her good intentions flew out the window. “Excuse me? What
you’ve
decided to do about Emma?” Molly shot out of her chair. “Until you come up with your so-called proof, you have nothing to say about Emma or her future. And even then, you’d better know I’ll fight you tooth-and-nail.”
Marshall Macomber put his hands together and softly clapped. “Brava, Ms. Doyle. Wonderful performance. The jury would be in tears by now. Please do sit down and hear me out. You won’t be unhappy with my verdict.” When Molly just stared at him, he added, “Please?”
Molly hesitated. She wasn’t buying his sudden but rather pompous empathy. “I’ll sit, but you’d better understand I’m serious.”
“I do. And I am, believe it or not, on your side.”
Molly’s mouth fell open. “You are?”
“May I call you Molly?”
Still surprised by this sudden turn-about, Molly could only nod.
“I came here, Molly, with every intention of taking Emma back to Vancouver with me. I’ve left Seattle. Too many sad memories. When I read the investigator’s report, I must admit, I was very concerned. The report, as you no doubt noticed, was merely factual. The human element, your character if you will, was missing. Also missing were your simple lifestyle, your circle of friends, and your weekly religious attendance. I needed to see, firsthand, just who and what you are. Although, I must admit, I wasn’t pleased to discover your association with those...well, calling them exotic dancers is being kind.”
“Those are clients who buy chairs and are not friends. I doubt you were very cozy with some of the white-collar criminals your firm defended.”
“Touché.” He laughed. “I apologize. That was rude of me. One does not always have the opportunity to choose one’s business associates.”
Molly didn’t buy his apology but was surprised by sudden softness in his eyes. Was this just another lawyer trick to lull her? Her hands were in her lap. From where he sat, across the desk, he couldn’t see how tightly her fingers were intertwined. “Okay, now that you’ve met me, let’s get on with your next move. I mean, I’m sure that’s what this is all about, right?”
“Until yesterday’s event, I’d decided Emma was in good hands. But now I’m not sure. You’ve become involved once again with yet another murder investigation.”
“But I’m not involved!” Molly rushed to say. “I was only a guest.”
“From what I’ve read, Molly, you were in a dispute with the victim. He was approaching you when he was shot.”
“My dispute was minor. I...couldn’t help where I was standing.”
“Suppose Emma had been there with you? Do you see where I’m heading?”
Molly no longer cared about lawyer tricks. She slumped in the chair and turned from Macomber’s intense stare.
He can’t take her, please God!
“I...I’d thought about that,” she finally managed. “But—”
“Yes,” Macomber said gently. “But.”
Molly knew he was right. She also knew that he had good cause to take legal measures for custody. If...and that was a big if...he were indeed Emma’s father. “Emma will be thirteen in a few months. She’s of an age where she can—”
“I’m well aware of juvenile rights, Molly. I want only the best for her, and I can offer her much more than you’re able to.”
“Really? Well then, where the hell have you been all these years? Your sudden concern leaves me wondering.”
“I’ve only just discovered that I’m her father.”
Molly suddenly knew who was sending the postcards. “Carrie,” she said. “Carrie has been in touch with you, hasn’t she!”
Macomber nodded. “Yes. I began to receive a series of blank postcards from Europe a few weeks ago. I knew it was Carrie.”
Molly slammed her hands on the desk. “Damn her all to hell! She’s been sending them to me, too. The latest one has a—”
“A rabbit on it?”
Molly let out a deep sigh. She could only nod.
“Carrie had a habit of doodling. Always rabbits. Two days before I arrived here, I received a letter from her. She told me about Emma and where I could find her, and that I should tell you about my postcards. A childish whim of hers, I suppose, to tease us. She also included a lab report attesting to my being Emma’s father. Apparently, she’d gone to the expense of having our DNA samples examined. Carrie is, if nothing else, thorough. I suspect she’d decided a day might arrive when she needed some insurance. I had assumed Emma was the result of an affair she’d had with one of my partners. I truly had no idea I was her father.”
“I find it hard to believe my sister sat on this information all these years.”
BOOK: Deadly Vintage: A Molly Doyle Mystery
12.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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