Tommy St James Mysteries Boxed Set

by Kristi Belcamino

  “He said thank you for bringing his son home. He realizes now that …” and here Rafael got tears in his eyes as he translated. “Although at first he thought he couldn’t give his son the life he deserves here in Mexico, he realizes now that his son belongs here with him.”

  It was the older man’s turn to swipe at some tears that had seeped out of his crinkly eyes.

  Mr. Vasquez went on, and Rafael continued to interpret.

  “He says Mr. Pinto — the landowner — has given him his own plot, given him the deed on the ranch and his own stock of cattle, so he is a landowner now, too, and can pass that onto his … children … his son.”

  Rafael looked at Tommy. “Guess I’m going to be a real cowboy.”

  She smiled. “You’ll be the best cowboy there ever was. I know it.”

  The pilot came over and said something to Rafael’s father.

  Mr. Vasquez nodded and said something in Spanish to his son.

  “We have to go now, Tommy,” Rafael said, looking excited. “I get to fly in another plane!” Then he looked a little somber. “I’m going to miss you.”

  Tommy handed him a little backpack. Inside she had packed the treats from the airport gift shop and some photos she had printed out this morning. They included a photo Kelly had snapped of the two of them.

  “Here you go, Rafael. I put a pad of paper and a bunch of envelopes with my name and address on them. I bought some stamps at the airport. Write me. Please.”

  “Yes, Tommy. I promise.”

  They hugged and when Tommy pulled away, Mr. Vasquez came over. He took both of her hands in his and then stood there, his wise eyes looking deep into hers, saying what words never could. He stared at her for a few seconds and then squeezed both of her hands and said, “Gracias, Senorita St. James. Vamos Dio.” Go with God.

  “Thank you. Vamos Dio.”

  Then, holding hands, Rafael and his father, walked away and boarded their plane.

  Kelly started toward the other small plane to tell their pilot they were almost ready to leave, but Tommy stood riveted at the spot where she had said goodbye.

  She stood still as the doors to the small plane closed and the propeller started up.

  The red dust swirled around Tommy St. James as the small plane taxied down the dirt runway and turned around. The whine of the engine grew louder as the plane turned and started to go faster down the runway, once more coming toward Tommy. It would pass her right before it lifted into the air.

  As it went by, Rafael’s smiling face appeared in one of the windows and his small hand pressed against it, fingers splayed. Tommy raised her hand in a similar gesture, smiling until her cheeks hurt. Then, blowing a long, kiss toward the plane that was growing smaller in the blue sky, she turned away, turning her back before the tears slid down her cheek.

  Epilogue

  La Isla Bonita

  The old Mexican man spoke no English, but no words were needed. The silence was what Tommy St. James preferred on the small boat this morning. As they left the shore, she saw Kelly standing near the dock with his blue windbreaker on and his arms folded across his chest.

  This was something she needed to do alone. She clutched her mother’s ashes in their gaudy tin. After a few minutes, she turned to the old man.

  “Are we close?”

  He held his fingers to his lips and then to his ear, gesturing that she should listen. In the distance, she heard a clap of water, as if a giant tail had slapped down nearby.

  She unwrapped the ashes and gently poured them over the side of the boat, close enough to the waves that they would not escape into the air.

  “Here, mama. Now you can find peace. Nobody can ever hurt you again. The whales will protect your spirit and guide you wherever you need to go.”

  She watched the ashes quickly dissolve into the water until they had become a part of the sea. A tear splashed after them. She quickly wiped the others away.

  Then suddenly, the old man reached over and gently touched her shoulder until she looked where he gestured. On the other side of the boat, a giant gray whale had surfaced. A giant black eye looked right at Tommy St. James. Her breath caught in her throat. She was afraid to move. She didn’t want to startle the large, gentle creature. As she looked deep into that one eye, she felt as if the whale was trying to communicate with her. She was mesmerized. She had never seen such intelligence in the eye of an animal. It seemed as if the whale were telling her she was not alone. It was telling her it was not Tommy’s fault that her mother died. A sob caught in Tommy’s throat as an image of her mother filled her mind’s eye. Her mother told her it was time for Tommy to forgive herself.

  Then, with what she swore was a glimmer of understanding, the whale slowly sank back under the sea and nothing was left but the smooth silky glass surface.

  Her heart suddenly filled with love and joy, Tommy St. James turned to the old man and asked him to take her home. She needed to go back to shore and sleep. So she could dream.

  The Last Exit

  By Kristi Belcamino

  One

  Dark stormy clouds swooped in from the west on a cool breeze, making Jackie Chandler hesitate, glancing back at the office building where she worked.

  She caught a glimpse of some coworkers at the picnic table out front scooping up fast food bags and jumbo soft drinks and scurrying inside.

  “Screw it,” Jackie said, pulling back her shoulders as she stepped onto the wide walking path in front of her building.

  Five years ago, she’d been eighty pounds overweight and would’ve been happy sitting there with the rest of them stuffing her face, but things had changed.

  Glancing down to admire her trim stomach, Jackie started up the trail. Every day at lunch she followed the paved path bordering the cemetery up to Sunset Hill. At the top of the hill was a small graceful meadow overlooking the skyline of downtown Minneapolis. From there, the trail curved between the cemetery and golf course eventually winding around the far edge of the cemetery and bringing Jackie in a full circle back to work.

  It took Jackie about forty-five minutes to make the loop.

  As she passed the looming fortress of buildings that housed the plastics plant, a man in jogging shorts ran by, startling her for a second. She held her breath as a whiff of sweat and aftershave cascaded in his path. Casting another glance at the ominous sky, an irrational trickle of fear ran through Jackie. But she shook it off. It was just a summer storm. She was being silly. That other jogger knew it wasn’t a big deal. A little rain wouldn’t hurt anyone and she was no dummy, she’d brought a small umbrella to shield her makeup and hair if the skies did open up.

  She was prepared. Nothing would stop her from getting her daily dose of exercise. Not if she wanted to keep her body toned and tight. Now that she was in her forties, that level of discipline was crucial.

  Besides, staying indoors because the clouds threatened a bit of rain was for wimps. After all, this was Minnesota summer. Get used to it: Hail one minute. Blistering heat the next. No reason to hunker inside over storm clouds.

  Besides, now she’d have the two-mile loop all to herself, no dodging sweaty joggers or trying to maneuver around clumps of older ladies out for a leisurely stroll. Even Jackie’s walking buddy, Sheryl, had begged off, looking up at the sky suspiciously and then saying she was going to eat lunch at her desk and read her new Jess Lourey book.

  Today, Jackie could keep up the pace she liked and maybe get back to the office in time to fix her makeup in the bathroom. Sheryl could be the one trying to squeeze into those shorts at the company picnic later this month. Not Jackie. The thought of wearing her swimsuit to the picnic at the lake made Jackie pick up her pace. The jogger who had passed her was now a distant speck at the top of the steep hill. As he passed a large tree, a murder of crows took to the air. Instead of settling back down in the branches, they formed a posse weaving in and out of the tree, attacking a hawk that had dared to settle on a bare branch.

  That’s one thing
Jackie loved about Northeast Minneapolis. Her daily lunchtime walk often included wildlife sightings. The area was known for its cemetery crows, albino squirrels, and flocks of wild turkeys. In addition, the neighborhood had red foxes, hawks, and occasionally you could even spot a bald eagle, of all things.

  The grassy plateau at the top of Sunset Hill offered one of the most stunning views of downtown Minneapolis to be found. And anytime there was any sort of meteorological event: shooting stars, eclipses, and full moons, the parking lot at the plateau would be filled with sightseers.

  On one side of the plateau, the I35W freeway stretched into downtown Minneapolis. On the other side, sweeping across the rolling hills below, lay Hillside Cemetery, which butted up against Sunset Cemetery.

  It wasn’t unusual during Jackie’s walk to come across funeral processions. That didn’t bother her. But the gravediggers, did. Once, a shirtless man in his thirties stopped digging to admire her through the black iron fence as she passed. His arms were covered in tattoos. Although his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, he made his interest apparent, keeping the small shovel resting on his shoulder as he smiled at her. While it was flattering to Jackie, who had just turned forty-seven, it also kind of gave her the creeps to see a hunky young man, chest-deep in an open grave checking her out.

  Another time, she was struck by the serendipity of two funeral processions passing one another on opposite sides of the roadway. The first one was headed up by a motorcycle cop, and then followed by a black hearse and a stream of cars. Right where Jackie stood, this first procession met up with the other: a police car leading a white hearse and then a stream of cars. The yin-yangness of the whole thing was a trip, Jackie thought. When she got home from her secretary job that night, she sat down at her old computer and wrote a short story about it.

  Thinking of the hearses that passed her, Jackie remembered the letter she’d received the day before. It worried her a bit, but really there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t control what other people thought or felt. The only thing she could control was how she acted. And Jackie tried really hard to be nice to everyone she ran across and to treat everyone, even the homeless people, with respect. It was the right thing to do.

  She knew what it was like to be obese and have people treat her poorly because of it. She would never ever be like that to someone. She would never judge somebody by his or her looks.

  Although she wasn’t very far into her walk, the gloomy skies had turned the entire area dark like dusk, triggering the orange streetlights. That, and the utter desolation of the path today, prompted Jackie to dial her new husband. Well, he wasn’t exactly new. They’d been married six months. But compared to her old, ex-husband whom she had been with twenty-five years, this one was new.

  “Hi,” Jackie purred into the phone. “How’s your day going, lover boy?”

  Her husband, Don, chuckled. “Pretty good after the way you woke me up this morning.”

  “Well, there’s more where that comes from.”

  “Don’t I know it!”

  As she talked, out of the corner of her eye, Jackie thought she saw a silhouette duck into the thick brush that formed a wall to the right of the sidewalk on the hill above her. The brush area lasted about three blocks—a dense overgrowth area that reached up twenty feet, shading that area of the path and blocking out the sun, when there was sun. She squinted but didn’t see anything. Today was so dark she couldn’t trust what she saw.

  Brushing it off as her overactive imagination, Jackie returned her attention to Don. They talked about their plans for the weekend: a visit to the Guthrie Theater and maybe a stop at the Mill City Farmer’s Market.

  “So, honey pie, any idea what we should fix for dinner?” Don said.

  But Jackie didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Didn’t have a chance. Only felt blinding pain and cool pavement on her cheek.

  Her phone lay on the sidewalk shattered. Her mouth opened to scream but something fuzzy against her lips prevented any sound. She tried to move her arms. She realized they were yanked behind her back, immobile. She began to kick. She was able to connect with something solid before her insides exploded in pain. She doubled up, crunching into a small ball, weeping and wailing soundlessly, her eyes blurry with tears. Her phone seemed so close. If only she could get to her phone. It was an iPhone X. Rose gold. Top notch. Owning it was a dream come true. The screen was shattered, but she knew that could be fixed. She inched her head toward it, but as she did, her body was pulled away with a jerk. Her mouth opened to scream, but her breath was gone, pummeled out of her body somehow. She kept her eyes trained on the phone as she was dragged into the bushes, sticks and bushes ripping at her bare flesh. She gaped at her phone, open-mouthed, unable to scream, watching as the small metal rectangle grew smaller, knowing with all her being that the voice on the other end—her husband—was the only thing that could save her now. She painfully twisted her head as she was dragged through the underbrush, keeping her eyes trained until she could no longer see that small glimpse of rose gold glittering in the orange street light.

  Two

  Before hopping out of her Jeep, Tommy St. James stuck her big cardboard “Press” sign in her windshield and grabbed her camera case and cell phone.

  Parked behind a line of squad cars, the yellow crime scene tape was about 100 yards up a steep hill. Her three-inch-high St. Tropez espadrilles weren’t really cutting it, but Tommy hurried. Cameron Parker, the police reporter from her paper, waited at the crime scene tape.

  “Glad you could make it, Snap,” Parker said with his trademark smirk.

  “Sorry. I was asleep. Unlike you, I go to bed early.”

  “Going to sleep at ten o’clock only tells me that you need something better to do in your bed than sleeping.”

  He ruffled her long red hair playfully, but she swatted his hand away.

  “Nice try, Romeo. Remember, we tried that? I don’t date players. Or sleep with them.”

  “Aw, come on, T.J., don’t be sore. Besides, you’re the one who ditched me as soon as you met Mr. Hot Detective.”

  Deciding not to dignify that remark with an answer, Tommy got out her heavy-duty flash and screwed it onto the top of her digital camera. She peered up at the dark, starless sky.

  “Geez, even a sliver of moon would help. It’s going to be impossible to get a good shot.”

  “Nice to see the bottom feeders made it,” a voice said.

  Tommy turned to see Sgt. Matt Laughlin sneering at her from thin lips that poked out from under his gray walrus moustache. He grunted and pushed by, shoving his bulk against Tommy hard enough to cause her lens to whack her cheek. Ducking under the crime scene tape, he didn’t bother to turn around and apologize. She glared as he conferred with other officers on the scene.

  Even Tommy’s cop boyfriend, Detective Patrick Kelly, couldn’t stand the guy. But the chief seemed to ignore the complaints of excessive force that had come in about the sergeant. Kelly said he figured it was because Laughlin’s solve rate was seventy percent, twenty percent higher than the detective bureau’s overall clearance rate.

  “He’s a jerk. Ignore him,” Parker said, grasping Tommy’s shoulders and gently maneuvering her in front of him, against the crime scene tape.

  As he positioned her, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, sending an unwanted shiver down her spine. “Right there. Look. That’s where they’re going to bring the body out. Coroner’s just went down there with the body bag.”

  Tommy peered over at the opening in the dense brush. The cops had used a hacksaw to clear a path into the undergrowth.

  “So, what’s the skinny, Parker?” Tommy said over her shoulder in a low voice.

  “Woman taking her usual lunchtime walk, talking on the phone to hubby, when WHAM, husband hears her scream, line goes dead. He calls cops. It takes them ten hours to find the body. All they knew was that she normally walked this two-mile loop up Sunset Hill and around the two cemeteries. At first, they th
ought someone had snatched her and driven away with her in a car. But then the husband brought a shirt wife wears to bed. One of the search-and-rescue dogs scented on it and instead of leading them onto the freeway or up some other road, he led them deep down in the ravine at the bottom of this woodsy area.”

  The woods were so dense that it didn’t surprise Tommy that the woman’s body had been hard to find. What surprised her was that someone was fearless enough to attack a woman on a popular walking path in the middle of the day.

  This woman was out on a sidewalk that was usually filled with people and cars driving by, and yet someone had been brazen enough to grab her and then kill her, leaving her body in the bushes.

  The audaciousness of the murderer was what was most disturbing.

  Tommy’s thoughts were interrupted by a commotion as the coroner’s officials emerged from the woods lugging a blue body bag in a less than graceful manner. There was no way a gurney was going down the steep, rocky and brushy hillside, so the deputies had to carry the lumpy body bag on their shoulders. From the looks on their faces, they weren’t happy about it either.

  Tommy snapped off a few photos even though she knew the Metro Editor would probably veto a body bag shot. But she didn’t know what else to shoot. She looked around, but besides a bunch of cops, there wasn’t much that would make a good photo. Then, she spotted him.

  A man sat on the curb in front of a squad car with his head in his hands. When he looked up and saw the body bag, he started to get up, saying an anguished, “No,” but a uniformed officer nearby gently took his arm and seemed to calm him down.

  Hubby.

  The man had longish gray hair that swept back in a wave and a big beard. He wore a cowboy-cut black shirt and cowboy boots. He looked like a country western star, Tommy thought as she studied him through the lens of her camera.