Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(82)

I paid the bill, Twink collected her carry-out sticky bread pudding, and we made for the Travelall. Suddenly the abbreviated overview of the situation I’d given her earlier was no longer adequate. It was close to ten miles from the restaurant to the Adamses’ place. Along the way I filled her in on much of the family’s troubled history and on how an unsuspecting twelve-year-old hoping to meet his grandfather for the first time ever was about to blunder into the middle of a murder inquiry.

“You really think Shelley Hollander killed the boy’s father?” Twink asked.

“In March of 2006 when Chris Danielson disappeared, the vehicle in that garage on Ocean View Drive—the one filled with human bloodstains—was registered to Shelley and Jack Loveday.”

“My, oh, my,” Twink muttered after a moment’s thought. “So much for being a former Miss Alaska!”

When we arrived at the house, there were plenty of lights on, so I knew that someone was home. Twink stopped the Travelall, and I piled out. When I rang the doorbell, no one answered. I gave it thirty seconds or so, then hit the button again—this time really leaning on it. Eventually I heard footsteps inside. After that the porch light came on, the dead bolt clicked, and the door swung open. Standing before me was a fully dressed and very pissed-off Shelley Adams. Wearing a high-necked sweater, a pantsuit, and a pair of fashionable boots, she appeared to be dressed more for a night on the town rather than a long evening at home keeping watch over an ailing husband.

“You again!” she growled when she saw me. Tone of voice is everything, and hers indicated that she had zero intention of inviting me inside. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak to Roger.”

“He’s asleep,” she said.

At six forty-five in the evening? I wondered. Asleep or handcuffed to his bed?

“Then wake him up,” I told her. “I need to talk to him about his grandson.”

“Roger doesn’t have a grandson,” Shelley said.

“Roger may not like the idea, but it turns out he does have a grandson,” I asserted. “He’s Danitza’s twelve year-old-son. His name is Jimmy, and he ran away from home earlier today, supposedly to come here and meet his mother’s father for the first time ever.”

“Well, he’s not here,” Shelley declared, making as if to slam the door in my face. “We haven’t seen him. Now, leave.”

I had no intention of leaving. Liars lie, and I figured if Shelley Loveday Adams’s lips were moving, that was the case now.

At that point Shelley did actually try to slam the door in my face. I had worked my way through college doing door-to-door sales for Fuller Brush. I may be among the last of that dying breed, but I still have the moves. Before she could close it all the way, I had the toe of my boot between it and the jamb. Once the door bounced back open, I brushed past Shelley and entered the house.

“Jimmy!” I called out. “Jimmy, are you here?”

“You can’t come inside like this,” Shelley hissed at me. “Get out or I’ll call the cops.”

“Maybe you should,” I said. “When they show up, I’ll let them know that they should probably do a welfare check on your husband. Several people have mentioned that you might be holding him here against his will.”

Shelley’s face contorted in fury. “I said get out.”

“I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” I told her. “Jimmy!” I called again. “Are you here?”

Again there was no answer, making me hope that Twink and I had made it to the house before the boy had.

“Shut the hell up or you’ll wake him,” Shelley snarled, and she wasn’t talking about waking Jimmy. She was talking about Roger, and that’s when I noticed the collection of luggage parked on the far side of the entryway. Shelley was dressed to go somewhere, all right, because she was going somewhere.

“Taking a trip?” I asked.

“None of your business,” she snapped.

“Maybe I’m making it my business.”

“If you really want to know, I’m going to Anchorage for a couple of days. Nadine and Dunk will be staying here to look after Roger.”

“Going there to sell off a few more of his properties?” I asked innocently.

Of course, I shouldn’t have goaded her. It’s like one of those fight scenes on TV where one guy has the drop on another. Then the second guy says, “Go ahead and shoot me,” and is surprised as all heck when that’s what happens and he gets shot. But now that I was fairly sure Jimmy Danielson wasn’t inside the residence, I was willing to take that risk. For one thing, I doubted she was armed. Shelley’s tight-fitting clothing was designed for maximum effect in showing off her considerable assets, leaving little to the imagination and no room at all for a concealed weapon. Besides, maybe I could provoke her into saying or doing something stupid, because angry people tend to do stupid things.

Shelley was staring at me in absolute fury when the ping of an arriving text came in on my phone. Feigning indifference, I pulled the device out of my pocket and checked the screen. The text was from Twink:

Got your missing kid in the car. He’s eating my dessert. Come when ready.



Bless Twink’s heart! I barely managed to avoid heaving a sigh of relief. With Jimmy clearly out of danger, I decided to take another swipe at Shelley.