newspapers are you reading?” Ronald’s face reddened, his hands fisting at his sides.
“Specifically? The one that paid him several thousand dollars for his story.”
“And you believe that garbage?” Ronald shook his head, apparently disgusted, though Mick was sure he saw fear in the man’s eyes.
“What I believe is that Garrett McGraw was working for your family. He found information that you might have preferred to keep hidden. Now he’s dead. According to his weekly planner, he was to meet with someone in your family two days before his death. I’m wondering if that meeting took place.”
“It did. I paid him for the information he’d found.” Bianca spoke quickly, as if afraid her father might say something that disagreed with her account.
“And he didn’t ask for more?”
“More money? No. I asked him to continue investigating. He agreed.” Bianca looked puzzled, and Mick was sure she knew nothing of McGraw’s reputation. Most people didn’t. Which was the way McGraw had wanted it and the way Mick felt obligated to keep it.
“So you had no idea he was planning to sell your family’s story to the tabloids?”
“Of course not.”
“If you’re implying that my sister knew what Mr. McGraw planned to do and committed murder to keep him quiet, you’re way off.” Portia spoke up, her voice quiet but firm, her dark eyes staring into his as if she could read whatever motive he might have.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking.”
“And I’m telling you that Bianca would never commit a crime. I doubt she’s ever even gotten a parking ticket.”
“I’m not that perfect, Portia.” Bianca smiled at her younger sister, and Mick saw the affection between them. Obviously, it wasn’t Portia’s relationship with her sisters that had her sitting at a distance. So maybe it was her father that she had a problem with. Or his girlfriend.
“I didn’t say you were perfect. I said you weren’t a murderer.” Portia rose and paced across the room, tiny bells jingling at her wrist as she swept a hand over her hair.
“My questions are standard. I’m not accusing anyone here of murder.” And if he were, Bianca wouldn’t be the one he’d target with his allegations.
“If you were, the accusation wouldn’t go far. I was out of town at Westside Medical Center the day Mr. McGraw died. I didn’t hear about his death until I returned home,” Bianca answered.
“Can I have the phone number to verify that?”
“Of course.”
“Did anyone else in the family know Mr. McGraw was working for you?”
Bianca hesitated, her eyes straying to the chair where Miranda sat. The silence stretched for a moment too long. Then Miranda spoke, her voice calm. “I knew. And I don’t have an alibi. I was here alone the night he died. My father and Aunt Winnie were both at a charity auction.”
“You don’t need an alibi. No one would ever suspect you of such a horrible thing!” Portia shot Mick a look filled with worry and frustration, but there was nothing he could say to ease her concern. His investigation had led him to her family. He’d follow it through until he found the answers he sought.
“I think we’re at a dead end, Detective.” Ronald moved toward the door. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do to help.”
As dismissals went, this one wasn’t subtle, but Mick had learned what he’d wanted to. Bianca and Miranda seemed forthcoming and willing to work with him. Ronald was a different story altogether. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch.”
“Let me walk you to the door, Mick.” Winnie Blanchard stepped toward him, her hazel eyes asking questions he couldn’t answer. At church they were acquaintances, maybe even friends. Here, Mick was a cop with a job to do.
“Aunt Winnie, you’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll walk him out.” Portia put a hand on her aunt’s arm, her gaze on Mick. “I need to get something out of my car anyway.”
“All right, but put your coat on. It’s a bitter night.”
“I will.”
“Don’t forget, Portia, we were planning to discuss your possible transfer to Blanchard Fabrics tonight. I’ll expect to speak with you when I get home.” Ronald’s tone held a hard edge Mick couldn’t ignore. He studied the other man, saw that he watched his daughter with a mixture of frustration and confusion, as if there were something about her he just couldn’t understand.
And maybe that was the case. Portia did stand out from the rest of Ronald’s daughters, her style alone separating her from her casually sophisticated sisters.
“Of course, Father.” Portia’s words were stilted, her expression blank, and Mick felt something stir in his chest, a need to step in, to offer protection. Though from what he didn’t know.
He pushed the door open, held it as Portia proceeded him into the foyer, catching a whiff of sunshine and flowers as she passed. “Do you really need to get something from your car?”
“My cell phone. Though I suppose it could have waited until morning.”
“But what you have to say to me can’t wait?”
“Something like that.” She smiled, relaxing for the first time since they’d walked into the house, her dark curls bouncing as she stepped outside.
Beyond the soft glow of the porch light the world was pitch-black, the moon and stars hidden behind thick clouds, the roar of the ocean a rumbling backdrop to the still night. What had it been like to grow up here, so close to the pounding fury of the ocean and the stunning beauty of cliffs? Mick supposed the experience would have been different for each of the six sisters, though he had a feeling that for Portia it hadn’t always been a good one. He reached toward her, pulling her coat closed. “You need to button up. It’s freezing out here.”
“I’m okay.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, holding the coat closed and emphasizing a too-thin frame. Had she been ill? Or was she one of those women that thought thinner was better?
And why did he even care? He raked a hand through his hair and tried to refocus his attention. “So, do you want to tell me why we’re out here?”
“I want to know if you really believe my sisters are murderers.”
“I don’t believe anything…yet.”
“Come on, Mick, we both know that’s not true. You’ve got suspicions. I want to know what they are.”
“I think Garrett McGraw’s murder has something to do with your family.”
“But—”
“But I don’t think any of your sisters are involved.”
“That doesn’t leave many other possibilities.”
“No.
