And something was almost always better than nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After checking in with the receptionist, Aria sat in a waiting area at the insurance company in Elk Grove where Nick Calderon used to work before he was killed, and she found herself thinking of Corey Moran, the nice man who had brought the dog to the shelter and then helped her and Tiffany deal with Nolan, the weirdo.
Enough of that, she thought as she flipped through the pages of a People magazine, hoping the receptionist would tell her Nick Calderon’s boss would talk to her. Her phone vibrated, letting her know she had an incoming text. It was an update from Sawyer, telling her about her visit with Brad Vicente and asking her to look into Li and Farro.
Aria was about to use her phone to search the internet and see what she could find on Li, if anything, when a young woman dressed in slacks and a blazer appeared and told her Mr. Panfili could see her, but he had only a few minutes.
When Aria entered Mr. Panfili’s office, he stood. He was at least six feet tall and had a receding hairline. He looked friendly, and she instantly felt at ease. His office was made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a stunning view of downtown Sacramento. She leaned over his desk and shook his hand, then took a seat in a leather chair opposite him.
“You’re a reporter for the Sacramento Independent?” he asked after they were both sitting.
“I’m actually an assistant,” Aria told him. “I know you don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get right to it.”
He nodded.
“Nick Calderon worked here for the past ten years, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Aria wanted to sound professional. She thought about what Sawyer might say under these circumstances. “I’m sure you’ve already chatted with police detectives, and I know it can get redundant in cases like this, but—”
“Nobody has come to see me about Nick.”
That was surprising.
“I did hear through the grapevine that he was found on the floor inside his home,” he said. “Any possibility that he had a heart attack?”
“I’m afraid not. His death has been ruled a homicide. His ex-wife, Linda, said that Nick didn’t have many friends, if any, which is why I’m here. He does—or at least he used to—post on social media, but there wasn’t much to go on.”
Mr. Panfili lifted a finger to quiet her and then picked up his phone. “Hey, Adam, could you come to my office for a minute? Thank you.”
He hung up. “Adam Masters is the one you should be talking to.”
Before she could respond, there was a knock on Mr. Panfili’s office door.
“Adam, this is Aria from the Sacramento Independent. She was wondering if Nick Calderon had any friends.”
Aria noticed a look shared between them, a look she couldn’t decipher. But as soon as Adam opened his mouth, the mystery was solved.
“Should I tell her the truth?” Adam asked Mr. Panfili.
“Nothing but,” he answered, leaning back in his swivel chair.
Adam remained standing. “Nick Calderon was written up too many times to count. He has more complaints on record than every employee in this building put together. He was a troublemaker and a bully.”
Aria lifted an eyebrow. Adam didn’t beat around the bush. “And yet he wasn’t fired?”
Again, Adam exchanged a look with Mr. Panfili, who simply nodded as if to say, “Go ahead and tell her.”
“Let’s say we were in the process of doing just that.”
Aria let out a breath. Wow. “So it would be safe to say that Nick Calderon had few friends but plenty of enemies.”
“People who might even wish him dead?” Adam asked. “Unquestionably.”
Aria found his candor almost shocking, but still, yes, that’s exactly what she was looking for. “Can you give me any names?”
After a quick glance at his boss, Adam smiled and said, “I shouldn’t have been so flippant. It’s just that Nick tended to rub people the wrong way.”
When it became clear that no names would be forthcoming, Aria thanked both men for their time, and then Adam walked her out of Mr. Panfili’s office and to the main exit.
Aria was walking across the parking lot when she heard someone calling out to her.
“Miss! Miss!”
Aria stopped and turned around. The woman was short and overweight, and she was winded by the time she caught up to Aria. “I heard you were here asking about Nick Calderon.”
“That’s right.”
“Adam said he told you that Nick didn’t have any friends.”
Aria nodded.
“I thought I should tell you that he did have one friend.”
Aria perked up at that.
“Long story short, it was Nick’s birthday last month, and he made sure everyone knew it, telling everyone who passed by his desk that drinks were on him at a bar not too far from here. I knew nobody would go, and that made me sad.”
“So you joined him?” Aria asked.
She snorted. “Yep. Despite all the warnings, I went. Big mistake. I met Nick’s friend, Felix Iverson, and I wish I hadn’t. He was one of the most unsavory characters I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot.”
Aria wrote down the name. “Anything else I should know?”
“No,” she said, “not really. Just that I feel sort of bad for Nick. You could tell that he needed help but didn’t know how to reach out or communicate with people. I think he had a lot of demons inside that head of his. You want to know what the worst of it is?”
Aria waited.
“When everyone in the office found out he’d been killed, I didn’t see an ounce of sadness on anyone’s face. I saw relief.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bruce Ward held a cold bottle of beer in one hand and his cell phone in the other. Using his thumb, he hit call for the third time in a matter of minutes. His wife didn’t pick up.
His recliner was so old it had a crater almost a foot deep. He set his beer on the side table and used both hands to push himself to his feet. He went to the kitchen where he poured himself a shot of whiskey. Staring out the window over the sink, he downed the whiskey as he watched a hawk dive toward the ground for a mole.
The mole got away. The hawk looked dazed.
Bruce returned to his recliner. He checked for any incoming texts or emails. Nada.
He rubbed his jaw. Every muscle in his body felt tense and sore. When Sandra got home, he’d make her give him a massage with a happy ending, of course. The thought of Sandra’s warm fingers kneading his shoulders made him feel a little less tense.
A muted tinkling noise, like silverware clinking together, grabbed his attention and held tight. He turned down the volume on the TV, listened closely for a moment, then hauled his butt out of the chair. No small feat, considering he’d put on a few pounds over the past year.
The house was small. Two bedrooms. One bath. It took him under a minute to make the rounds. Nobody was there. He walked into the kitchen, opened the door leading into the garage, and peeked inside. His old Buick was there. The car smelled like motor oil and dust. Despite the fact that the engine sounded like a dryer with shoes in it, he loved that car.