Tough Customer

CHAPTER 5

PATRONS OF THE PINK AND WHITE TEAROOM PROBABLY DIDN'T drop the f-word that often. Dodge's saying it had shocked Caroline speechless. It didn't used to, but it had been thirty years since she'd been around him. Her ears had grown soft.

He'd used the word specifically to shock her. He was tired of beating around the bush about their daughter's involvement in a shooting, and sometimes shock therapy was the only way to get people to give up information they'd rather not disclose.

"Talk to me, Caroline."

She cleared her throat. "I think, I'm afraid, that Oren Starks meant exactly what he said when he threatened to kill Berry."

"He's not just a goof spouting off?"

"On the contrary, Berry says he's brilliant."

"Brilliant people go crackers all the time," he said. "Get mad, get jealous of competitors, say things they don't mean.

I'm gonna kill you! They rarely follow through, Caroline. If all the people who said, 'I'm gonna--'"

"All right," she snapped. "I see your point."

He waited. She said nothing. He glanced over his shoulder. They were the only two customers left in the tearoom. The server hadn't reappeared since she'd brought their order. Coming back around, he said, "This is the last time I'm asking. What do you know that you haven't told me?"

"Nothing. I swear."

"Okay, then tell me what you suspect."

Her back stiffened. "That's a policeman's word."

"A word that got a defensive reaction from you. Which indicates to me that I hit the nail on the head."

"You're that smart?"

He banged his fist on the table, softly, but with enough force to make the china rattle. "Apparently you think so, or you wouldn't have called me in the middle of the night, asking me to drop everything and haul ass down here, which I was stupid enough to do and am coming to regret."

Her eyes sparked angrily again. He was gifted in ways to make her angry. In a tight voice, she said, "Berry is a lot like me in many ways."

"Dandy. The world can be grateful for that. What's the problem?"

"The problem is..." She hesitated, then said the one thing that she knew would make him stay. "She's even more like you."

Berry was leaning against the wall of the hospital corridor, staring into near space, when out of the corner of her eye she saw Ski Nyland.

He was consulting with a nurse at the central desk. The nurse inclined her head in Berry's direction. He turned and, holding Berry's gaze, absently thanked the nurse and started toward her.

Every time he looked at her, she felt exposed and under scrutiny. What were those razor-sharp gray eyes looking at, looking for? Defensively, she fired the first volley.

When he was within earshot, she asked, "Any progress?"

"Like what?"

"Has Oren been spotted?"

"No, ma'am. At least no spottings have been reported."

She didn't miss his tongue-in-cheek tone, and it annoyed her. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Patronize me."

He didn't deny it. In fact, he seemed about to answer when he changed his mind and motioned at the hospital room's closed door instead. "I'd asked them to notify me as soon as Lofland was moved from recovery into a regular room."

"They just brought him up." She called his attention to the empty metal bracket on the door. "They haven't even had time to get his name card in place."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Not yet. A nurse is helping him to get settled."

"Where's his wife?"

"Her name is Amanda. She's in there, too."

"Let's have a chat."

It wasn't a suggestion or an invitation but an order. However, Berry figured it best not to make an issue of it. He ushered her halfway down the corridor to a small waiting room. As she entered it, she remarked on his familiarity with the hospital.

"My mom was a patient here for a couple of weeks. I catnapped in this room the night she died."

Berry stopped and turned to face him. "I'm sorry," she said, meaning it.

"Thanks."

She looked into his face, expecting elaboration. None was forthcoming. He indicated a love seat that turned out to be as unyielding and uncomfortable as it looked. But it was the largest piece of furniture in the room, and she wondered if it was what he'd napped on that night.

He caught her looking at him speculatively. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You were going to say something."

"Just that ... I'm sad for you."

"Sad?"

"I can't imagine life without my mother in it. Were you and yours close?"

"Yeah. She was great. But she was suffering." He coughed into his fist, an unnecessary, self-conscious gesture. For a moment his eyes lost some of their hard glint, leaving Berry to wonder if there wasn't a feeling human being behind them after all, if there was actually room for sentiment in their narrow gaze. Perhaps he wasn't as tough as he wanted everyone to believe.

He dragged a chair across the low pile carpeting and sat down facing her. When he did, he spread his knees wide to avoid touching hers, causing her to speculate further. Was he just being gentlemanly, or did that purposeful avoidance signify a vulnerability?

Which, of course, was a silly thing to think. He held all the advantages here. Why would he be reluctant to touch her, even accidentally?

He said, "Before I interview Lofland, I wanted to ask you some questions about Oren Starks."

The personal moment had passed, and he was down to business. As he should be. She said, "Mr. Carlisle would insist on being here."

"Call him if you want, but it's unnecessary. What I have to ask you is really background stuff on Starks. His character. Habits. Stuff like that."

Berry deliberated, then said, "All right. I'm happy to answer your questions if I can. I'm sure Ben will be equally cooperative when you talk to him."

"He doesn't have a choice. He's a material witness. I need to hear his version of what happened."

"His version? You think I'm lying?"

He remained unflappable. "I think two people can see the same incident from entirely different perspectives."

"Very diplomatically put, Deputy."

He shrugged. "Lofland may shed new light, give me some ideas as to where Starks might have gone."

"He could be miles from here by now."

"He could. But if he's hurt, he may not be up to traveling. He could be lying low, somewhere in the area, someplace close."

"Someone could be sheltering him."

"Like friends? Family? You tell me, Ms. Malone. Do you know of any?"

"Honestly, no."

"Well, we don't, either," he said. "Houston PD is helping with that angle, and nothing's turned up. He's not working anywhere. Since being fired from Delray, he's been drawing unemployment.

"His only known kin is his mother, who's elderly. She's in a facility for Alzheimer's patients, has been for several years, and she's in the final stages of the disease. For all practical purposes, she's ... gone." He made a gesture to indicate that all the woman's cognition had been wiped clean.

"Neighbors say Starks is a loner. He doesn't host parties. No one remembers friends visiting his house. Asked if he had any outside interests--like a gym membership, an obvious hobby like tennis or golf, church affiliation--neighbors didn't know. Said he kept to himself."

He gave Berry a lazy once-over, the kind of which a woman can't mistake. "You seem to be his only passion." The suggestion underlying his tone was perturbing.

"That's not true. I told you earlier today about some of his passions."

"Right. Puzzles, games, problem solving. According to the officers who searched his house, his home computer had bookmarked several websites relating to that kind of thing. He routinely visits message boards and blogs but never posts on any." Again his eyes flicked over her suggestively. "Anyway, I doubt intricate mazes could hold a candle to you."

"Maybe it's a matter of degree," she said coolly.

"Maybe." A second or two ticked past before he continued. "He's now being sought all over southeast Texas and into Louisiana. We're checking hotels, but I doubt he'd go to one. Usually they require a credit card to check in. None of his has been used since last week. No ATM withdrawals since he took out two hundred dollars three days ago at a branch bank in Houston."

"He would know better than to leave a trail that's so easily followed."

"What I figured," he said, nodding. "But we checked anyway. We're canvassing motels, cabin rentals, like that. What worries me," he said, pulling his eyebrows into a frown, "is that there's a lot of territory around here to hide in."

"You mentioned that this morning."

"If he's holed up in the woods somewhere--"

"The woods?" Berry laughed. "He'd have to be crazy."

"You said he was."

"I said he was unhinged."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No."

"What's the difference?"

"Constancy. Crazy is a state of being. Unhinged is a reaction."

"Catching you with Lofland sent him over the edge."

"He didn't 'catch' me with Ben. He caught me in the shower. Alone."

"Right. When I got there, you were still wet." He kept his eyes fixed on hers for several beats before moving on. "You told Sheriff Drummond you'd seen Starks rattled like that only once before. When was that?"

"At the beginning of the summer. Just before I moved to Merritt."

"Starks wigged out on you, and that was the final straw?"

"Exactly. I got scared."

"Do you think he's sinking deeper into psychosis?"

"I have no idea. I'm not a psychiatrist. What I can tell you is that, ordinarily, Oren isn't a raving maniac."

He propped one booted foot on his opposite knee and crossed his arms over his wide chest. "Describe to me what he's like. Ordinarily."

"Well, one thing he's not is an outdoorsman. I can't see him taking cover in a well-protected campground, much less the woods. You can chalk that off your list."

"Okay, where do you think he ran to?"

She bent her head and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know, Deputy Nyland."

"Call me Ski."

She looked across at him but didn't address the topic of names. "Oren's persnickety. Orderly."

"Obsessive-compulsive?"

"Close," she said with an absent nod. "I used to tease him about his desk being the cleanest of any at Delray. Everything in its place. His mind works in an orderly fashion, too."

"For instance?"

"For instance, during a discussion over a project, I could jump around from point to point, but Oren wouldn't move from point A to point B until point A had been reviewed, discussed, and approved one hundred percent. He would go back to something a dozen times until it met with his satisfaction."

"What you're telling me is that he'll keep coming back until he gets it right."

"Yes," she said huskily. "Until I'm dead."

"I'll do my best to keep that from happening."

"Thank you."

"You don't have any idea where he might have fled?"

"None."

"Okay." He lowered his foot to the floor and leaned forward. "You've said that Starks made other women employees at Delray uncomfortable, not just you."

"That's right."

Removing a pad and pen from the breast pocket of his sport jacket, he asked if she could name a few. He jotted down the names as she enumerated them. "Sally Buckland in particular," she said. "She resigned from Delray at the beginning of the year. Oren factored largely into her decision."

"You know this for certain?"

"Absolutely. He had a terrible crush on her. She wasn't interested and tried everything to avoid him, but he was persistent. On several occasions she complained to me that he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"No to what?"

"To anything. The situation got so bad, it was beginning to affect her work, so I interceded on her behalf. I told Oren that Sally wasn't interested, that he was wasting his time on her."

"How'd he react?"

She smiled sadly. "He turned his attention to me."

"Was there ever a time when you were interested in him?"

"Romantically? Good Lord, no."

He arched one sun-bleached eyebrow.

"Absolutely not!" She chuckled. "When you see him, you'll understand. He's not at all my type."

"What's your type?"

His question checked her amusement, because the first word that sprang to mind was You. It startled her, rattled her right down to the soles of her feet. Because were it not for the fact that he was investigating a crime involving her, and seemed to harbor some mistrust of her that extended beyond a peace officer's instinctual mistrust of everybody, she would find the deputy sheriff attractive. His imposing bearing, his sheer physicality, even his damn gray eyes, were appealing.

But he seemed bent on trying to trip her up, to catch her in a lie, which made her dislike him intensely. Pulling herself up straight, she said, "Oren was my colleague. Bright. I'd even go so far as to say gifted. But he became a rejected suitor who stalked me, and who last night vowed to kill me. He said he must."

The deputy studied her for a moment longer, then replaced his notepad and pen in his pocket and stood up. "Maybe Lofland's settled in by now."

When Ski entered the hospital room, no one was happy to see him. Not the nurse, who told him the patient was still very weak and asked that Ski not take too long. Not Mrs. Lofland, who when he introduced himself was polite, but only because she had to be. Not the patient, who seemed the least happy of all that Ski was there.

Ben Lofland, fresh from the surgical recovery room, was attached to various lines and tubes and looked like warmed-over death. Oren Starks's bullet had gone clean through him, creating entry and exit wounds but, miraculously, doing only moderate damage to tissue on its passage. It had missed all his organs and the bowel. The worst of the injury had been the amount of blood lost. Either Lofland was living right or he had the devil's own luck.

Ski was betting on the latter.

His condition was far from critical, but he came across to Ski as a whiner. Once introductions were out of the way and the nurse had left the room, he said, "I really don't feel up to this right now."

"I'll be brief," Ski said.

"Why do you need to talk to Ben? Hasn't she told you what happened?"

Ski turned to Amanda Lofland, who'd placed hard emphasis on the she, making the pronoun sound like a word for something that smelled bad. "Ms. Malone gave a detailed statement last night and again this morning. But it might help us catch Starks--"

"You haven't caught him yet?"

Ski disliked the implication of incompetence that had underscored Lofland's question. "Ms. Malone didn't see his vehicle. She was busy trying to keep you from bleeding out on her bedroom floor."

Ski knew it was the mention of Berry Malone's bedroom and not pain that caused the guy to wince. Lofland shot a worried look at his wife, who was hugging herself as though at any moment she might fly apart.

Without further prompting from Ski, Lofland said, "I heard Berry scream. Heard their voices. I ran--"

"Were you asleep?" Ski removed his notepad and pen from his pocket.

"What?"

"Did her scream wake you up?"

"Uh, no. I hadn't gone to sleep yet." He cast another look at his wife, who had moved to the window and was looking through the blinds at the ventilation chutes on the roof.

"You were still awake," Ski stated.

"Right."

"But you hadn't heard Starks come into the house."

"No."

"Car engine? Boat motor?"

"You think he came by boat?"

"It's possible. We're checking it out."

"I didn't hear a boat motor."

"Anything?"

"No."

"Okay."

Lofland paused to see if Ski was going to ask something else, and when he didn't, Lofland continued. "I ran along the gallery to the other side of the house." He gave his wife another glance, as though to ensure she'd heard how far away from each other the two bedrooms were.

"When I got to Berry's room, I rushed over to the bathroom. That's where the voices were coming from. Oren was standing in front of the bathtub, his back to me. He must've heard me. He turned around and shot me."

"Did he say anything first?"

"No." Lofland grimaced with discomfort. "Can I have some water, please?"

Amanda went to the bed. She poured water from a carafe into a plastic cup, then leaned over him and guided the bent straw to his mouth. When he'd drunk, he looked up at her and touched her hand. "Thanks, sweetheart."

She gave him a lukewarm smile, returned the cup to the nightstand, and then resumed her study of the ventilation apparatus outside the window.

"He just spun around, saw you in your undershorts, and pulled the trigger," Ski said.

"Yes. He seemed completely unbalanced."

"Why do you think? Jealousy over the two of you being together in the lake house?"

"I don't know the cause for Oren's precarious mental state, Deputy."

Ski disliked his tone. To keep himself from knocking the sanctimonious jerk out of the bed, he scanned several of the sheets in his notepad. "What happened after Starks shot you?"

"I can't tell you. I blacked out."

"Ms. Malone says you were conscious right up till the paramedics got there."

"I was? If so, I don't remember. I must've gone into shock. I don't even remember feeling any pain until I regained consciousness in the recovery room this morning. I didn't know where I was. I was so disoriented, I freaked out. The nurse told me I'd been shot and had undergone surgery. Things began coming back to me then, but between Oren firing that pistol and my waking up in recovery, everything is blocked."

"How well do you know Starks?"

"Only as a co-worker."

"You hadn't seen him since he got fired?"

"No."

"You two ever hang out? Go for a beer after work?"

Lofland was shaking his head. "I never saw him socially."

"Mrs. Lofland?" When Ski spoke her name, she jumped and came around quickly. "What are your impressions of Oren Starks?"

"I don't have any."

"You never met him?"

"Well, yes. Ben introduced us at a company function."

"You only met him that once?"

"Once or twice. I don't remember."

"Nothing about him stood out to you?"

"They were casual introductions, Deputy. Insignificant. If I had known that one day he would try to kill my husband, I would have paid more attention."

In Ski's opinion, these two people deserved each other. One was as unlikable as the other. He returned his attention to Ben. "Did you and Starks get along okay in the office?"

"He was off-putting to some people, but I never had any issues with him."

"Did Ms. Malone?"

"Wouldn't you call stalking an issue?"

Again, his smart-aleck tone grated on Ski. He wanted to yank hard on the catheter draining Lofland's bladder, see what effect that would have on his sarcasm, but he settled on glaring at him coldly.

Lofland got the message. His smirk dissolved. "Berry told me Oren was stalking her."

"When?"

"When did she tell me? First I heard of it was when she decided to spend the summer here in Merritt. Naturally I was surprised."

"Why?"

"Berry's such a workaholic. Rarely even takes vacation days. First one in the office each morning, last one out in the evening. But Oren had become a real pest, she said. She wanted to disappear for a month or two, hoping he'd lose interest. She's been working from the lake house. She calls it the annex."

"How'd that go?"

"Not as well as when we're both in the office. We've been working as a team, almost exclusively, on a campaign for an important client." He gave his wife a quick look.

"A hundred miles isn't as convenient as next-door offices," Ski observed.

"No. The distance created a few efficiency problems. Here in the boonies the Internet connection isn't one hundred percent reliable, especially out toward the lake. But it's been okay. And if it helped her shake Oren, I was willing to put up with a few inconveniences and delays."

"Hmm." Ski pretended to think about that statement, give it importance. Then he said, "You brought some materials up here to her yesterday."

Amanda Lofland's shoulders raised and lowered on a deep breath.

Lofland sought a more comfortable position on the hospital bed. "How much more, Deputy?"

"Not much. You brought work up here yesterday."

"We had to put some finishing touches on our proposal before presenting it to the client next week. The mock-ups weren't coming through very well on the PDFs. Berry asked if I could run them up here, let her see them exactly as the client would. She had to sign off on a couple of other elements that had been added. So a trip up here seemed called for."

"Who knew you were coming?"

"Well, Amanda."

"Besides her. People at Delray?"

"I had to let people in the office know that I'd be out for the entire day, so yeah, I told a few."

"Three, four?"

With distinct impatience, he said, "The receptionist who answers the phone for our department. My immediate supervisor and his assistant. I can give you their names."

"Besides them, no one else knew?"

"Not unless one of them told somebody."

"Would they have told Oren Starks that you were spending the day with Berry?"

"I doubt that any of them kept in contact with Oren, but if you want to know, you'll have to ask them."

Ski smiled. "I have." Before Lofland could respond to that, Ski asked, "What time did you arrive yesterday morning?"

"Ten-thirtyish. We got right down to it and worked all day."

Ski flipped through several more pages in his notepad, then said idly, "You two get in the pool?"

Lofland shot a quick glance toward his wife where she still stood at the window, her back to the room. "After we knocked off, we each swam some laps to cool off, work out some kinks."

"You'd brought your swimsuit?"

Ski's question caught him off guard. "Uh, no. I had some gym shorts in my car."

"That was convenient." Lofland said nothing. Ski continued, "I guess the shorts are somewhere in the house?"

"I left them hanging on a towel bar in the guest bathroom."

"Okay." Ski let that reverberate for several moments, as though weighing its significance, when actually he'd found the gym shorts in the guest bathroom, exactly as Lofland had described. He just wanted to rattle him in front of his wife, see what shook loose when he did. Unnecessarily, he referred to his notepad again. "You and Ms. Malone grilled steaks for dinner."

"We didn't take a lunch break. We were hungry."

"It got late, you decided to stay over."

"Only after consulting Amanda," Lofland said hastily. "By the time Berry and I had finished dinner and I'd helped with the cleanup, it was well after dark, and it doesn't get dark till nine-thirty or better. That's when I called home."

"It was eleven oh three," Amanda said, keeping her back to them.

Lofland, looking sickly, said to Ski, "I didn't realize it was that late. But since it was, Amanda said she'd rather I not head back to Houston."

Ski nodded. "Probably best."

"Right. It would have been one o'clock or so before I got home."

"And you shouldn't have been driving after drinking."

Amanda turned suddenly and looked at her husband. His eyes moved from her back to Ski, looking both uneasy and resentful. "Berry and I had some red wine with our steaks."

"And beer."

Lofland pulled his lower lip through his teeth. "I had a couple while the steaks were cooking."

"And Ms. Malone?"

"She joined me for one."

"Huh." Ski looked over at Amanda Lofland's rigid back before returning to her husband. "You ate dinner in the living room?"

"No, in the dining area."

Ski shared a long look with the man, letting him know that he'd seen wineglasses on the living room coffee table in front of a very comfortable-looking sofa. He decided to let Lofland explain the significance of that question to his wife.

He closed his notepad and slid it and the pen back into his pocket. "I think that's everything for now."

"Good," Lofland said. "I feel like crap and would like to sleep."

Ski left them with the promise not to disturb his rest unless it was absolutely necessary and to keep the two of them updated on the manhunt for Oren Starks. As he left the room, he met a nurse going in with a phlebotomy kit. Ski held the door for her, then stepped into the corridor, where Berry Malone was still standing sentinel outside the room.

"They'll probably need a minute to draw blood," he said.

She nodded. "How is he?"

"Better than dead, which he could be."

That sparked her anger. "You're doing it again."

"Pardon?"

"You toss out these little editorial comments, most of them snide, when a simple statement would do."

He slid his hands into the seat pockets of his jeans but then realized that the position revealed the handgun holster attached to his belt, so he lowered his arms back to his sides. "Your friend is no doubt uncomfortable, but the surgeon--I talked to him by phone on my way here--said the wound is clean and that he'll be fine. He'll have bragging rights in the locker room."

The nurse emerged. There were several new vials of blood in her tray, so her mission had been accomplished, but still Berry seemed hesitant to go into the room. "What's Ben's state of mind? He must hate me."

"Why would he hate you?"

"For dragging him up here only to get shot! And poor Amanda."

"He says he called her."

"He did."

"She gave him permission to spend the night."

"It was late."

"That she knew." Gauging Berry's reaction, Ski added, "She didn't know about the cocktail hour and wine."

Berry raised her hands at her sides. "Are you going to make something of us having a couple of drinks?"

"No. I was just wondering--"

"What?"

"What kind of red wine goes with work?"

With exaggerated patience, she said, "The wine didn't come out until dinnertime, and Cabernet goes very well with filets mignons."

"When did you put the robe on?"

She looked at him for several seconds, then shook her head with puzzlement. "Excuse me?"

Ski took a step to bring himself nearer to her. "When I got there, all you had on was a robe."

A robe made of some soft, filmy stuff that had clung to her damp body, then seemed to dissolve within his grip. The imagery was strong, vivid, and way out of line. As was the irrational anger with which he asked, "At what point did you put on that robe? When you took off your wet swimsuit? Is that all you were wearing during your dinner hour with Lofland?"

He was leaning in close to her, unnecessarily close. Why? In order to intimidate a truthful answer out of her? Or for a reason totally unrelated to his investigation?

Amanda Lofland chose that moment to come out of her husband's room, and her displeasure upon seeing Berry there was glaringly obvious.

Ski hastily stepped back, placing appropriate space between Berry and himself.

"Hello, Amanda," Berry said.

Ski thought her apologetic, sympathetic tone sounded heartfelt.

"How is Ben?" she asked.

"Sleeping."

Amanda Lofland's curtness was in keeping with the anger emanating from her. Ski noticed that her hands were fisted at her sides.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Berry said. "I would rather Oren have shot me than--"

Amanda's bitter laugh cut her off. "Oh, I doubt that."

"It's true." Berry's voice cracked. "I would never have thought Oren capable of doing something like this."

The other woman seemed not to have heard that. Her eyes were narrowed with hatred. "You had to prove it, didn't you?"

"Prove what?"

"That you could snap your fingers and Ben would come running."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't stand the thought that he is happily married to me, so you lured him up here to--"

"Amanda, what--"

"I hated the idea of him spending a day here with you. But I pretended that it didn't bother me. It was for work, after all."

"It was for work. Our deadline to deliver that campaign is Monday. We are committed to meeting it."

"Exactly. So what kind of shrew would I have been to say, 'No, you can't go'? What kind of wife would I have been not to trust my husband?"

"You can trust him. Ben adores you. He called you several times throughout the day. I heard him."

"Oh, yes. He called periodically to assure me how hard the two of you were working."

"We were."

"In between dips in the pool and bottles of wine."

Berry groaned. "It wasn't like that. Please, Amanda, don't do this."

She extended her hands toward the other woman, but Amanda Lofland recoiled. "Do not touch me. And stay away from my husband!"

She sidestepped them and rushed past, blindly colliding with the couple who'd been standing only a few yards away and had overheard everything.

Ski hadn't noticed them until now. Caroline King was staring at her daughter with dismay. It was harder for Ski to define the expression of the tough-looking man with her, but his deeply shadowed eyes were also fixed on Berry.