Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(50)
Josie watched Dell return to the casserole, which he cut into squares with a spatula. He wore his standard worn-out Levi’s and a threadbare plaid flannel shirt. She wondered where he bought his clothes. He refused to get a computer, so there was no online shopping, but she couldn’t imagine him in a store, searching for the perfect shirt, trying on clothes.
“Tuna casserole. Made from the same recipe my mama used sixty years ago. Basic. That’s the key. If it comes in a box, don’t buy it.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“Tea’s on the counter. Grab that and we’re ready.”
Josie carried the pitcher of tea to the table, which was set with two plates and napkins, a small garden salad in the middle of each plate. Dell never touched salad. She was touched by the gesture, at the trouble he had gone to.
Conversation throughout dinner focused on a sick heifer over which Dell had been battling with the veterinarian for the past week, as well as the beautiful weather and the high price of gas. Finally, once dishes were washed and they had settled onto the couch in the living room, Dell asked for the full report.
Josie wasn’t sure where to start. “We’re moving too slow. We don’t have enough to show for three full days of work.”
“So tell me what you have.”
Josie rubbed her temples as a wave of weariness settled into her bones. She felt sluggish and frustrated. “The evening you and I were waiting on Dillon to come cut wood, he drove to his new client meeting on Driftriver Drive. It was most likely located in one of the empty homes in the back of the subdivision. I think he was lured out of his car, abducted, and his car was stolen.”
Dell stood and walked to the kitchen as Josie talked, bringing back two Dos Equis. Josie was surprised; she hadn’t seen Dell drink anything in years. He had given up drinking, not for a physical or moral reason, just because he got tired of it. She accepted the beer gratefully and took a long pull, resting the cold bottle on her thigh.
Josie continued, “They most likely drove him straight to Mexico, where he’s being kept in a stash house. Later that night, about two hours after Dillon was kidnapped, Christina Handley received a cell phone call and drove from her home back to the office.” Josie took a long drink and considered how to explain her theory to Dell.
“This is where it gets sketchy. We’re assuming someone lured her to the office because they wanted information about one of Dillon’s clients. It appears Christina struggled with someone. A necklace was found, presumably flung across the room during an argument. But then it also looks as if Christina just sat in her office chair, maybe at gunpoint. The perpetrator then walked to the front of the office, about three to five feet directly in front of the front door, and fired a shot at Christina, who was sitting in her chair, a few feet to the side of her desk. It’s a contradiction we can’t reconcile. If there was a struggle at one point, why wouldn’t she have attempted to flee before she was shot?”
“How many times was she shot?” he asked.
“That’s the most bizarre part of this. One time. From the side. The coroner said the shot nicked her heart, but it wasn’t a particularly good shot. She bled out, but it wasn’t instant death.” Josie stopped, staring at Dell, unable to keep the guilt from her expression. Dell met her gaze, unflinching.
“Don’t go there. Her death had nothing to do with you. She was murdered. You called her phone and you called Dillon and you called the office to check on him. End of story.”
She nodded absently; her thoughts were broken into pieces by the frequent recollection that she had not listened to her instincts. And it most likely cost a woman her life.
“They steal anything from the office?” he asked.
She nodded, drank down half the beer, and set the bottle on the table, hard. Chester raised his head off the floor, his eyes wide in concern.
“File folders. A through G, and L and T appear to be missing. Computers and flash drives.”
“What’s your best guess?”
“The Medranos. The size of the ransom is huge. Nine million. Nick, the kidnapping negotiator, said ransoms don’t go that high, not unless a cartel is involved and the victim has big money.”
Dell raised his eyebrows and smirked. “You not telling me something about Dillon?”
She attempted a smile. “He’s no millionaire.”
“So who has the money?”
“Maybe one of Dillon’s clients. Maybe Dillon has access to a client’s accounts that the Medranos want access to. Honestly, Dell, none of it makes sense anymore. Who would pay nine million dollars for their accountant?” Josie shuddered involuntarily, the sound of Dillon’s scream still fresh in her mind. She took a deep breath. “On top of the original messages, I received a video clip from the kidnappers today. Dillon was cut, his arm sliced open. He was forced to talk on camera, ask me why I didn’t love him. Said they were going to kill him if I didn’t come up with the money.”
Dell shook his head in disbelief, his eyes narrowed in concern. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Sorry you have to do this.”
Josie looked away, not able to meet his eyes. “I went to Macon Drench today. Begging for money.” She shook her head and picked at the label on the beer bottle. “After the way my mom manipulated people for money when I was growing up, I swore I would never put my hand out, no matter how bad things got in my life. Now, here I am. It’s like God’s trying to teach me a lesson. Telling me, don’t be so self-righteous. Have a little humility in your life. And Dillon’s paying the price.”