Fire in Broken Water

by Lakota Grace

  Maybe this was the best way to handle it. The fact was, Heinrich Spine’s construction crew had destroyed any possible evidence at the barn, and his granddaughter Amanda had finished the job at the sleeping quarters.

  If it was a homicide, we were so far behind that we might never catch up. I could lose my job over this one. Small consolation that Shepherd wouldn’t be far behind me.

  “I've got a plan,” he said. “Fill me in on what you discover and I'll report back to the sheriff's office. They'll never know that I'm...”

  “…That you're tailing this drunk driver on company time.”

  “Never mind. I'll figure something else out.”

  “Not so fast. I’ll cover for you. But you’ve got to help me, too.” I recapped my visit to the Spine Ranch ending with Amanda’s assertion that Gil had been her Intended.

  He nodded. “So where would you go next, if this were a homicide?”

  “I’d keep plugging away,” I said. “Go to the bank to check the accounts there, try out that safe deposit key that I found.

  “And I’d investigate the secondary witnesses,” I continued. “For instance, talk to the nurse, Fancy. She might know something. Maybe I’d question the absent husband, Dr. Theo Riordan. If both his wife and daughter were involved with Streicker, there might be a jealousy angle.”

  “Good,” Shepherd said. “I agree. Go see these folks. Follow any leads you find there.”

  There was an echo of the old Shepherd in his structured, precise statements. If I held on long enough, perhaps my partner would give up this crazy Porsche driver vendetta and rejoin me in the real world.

  “Something else,” I said. “Amanda mentioned their cook might have a back history. Does the name Raven LightDancer mean anything to you?”

  “Tall skinny guy?” Shepherd asked. “Long black hair, dresses like Johnny Cash?”

  “That's the one.”

  “Think he has another name. Talk to Rory Stevens. He had some dealings with LightDancer a time back. I’ll meet up with you tonight. You can bring me up to speed on the case then.” With that, Shepherd departed.

  His last suggestion raised a small problem.

  Rory Stevens had been a SEAL and was now on the underwater recovery team for the sheriff’s office. Even though he was shorter than me, he was intelligent and incredibly buff. That’s why he’d been my on-again-off-again boyfriend.

  Right now we were most definitely off, but I dialed his number before I got cold feet. I needed the background on Raven LightDancer, and I needed it now.

  Chapter 9

  Rory answered on the first ring. “Well as I live and breathe. Peg-the-rat-Quincy.”

  The warmth I once knew had turned suspicious and cautious.

  “No, you can't borrow my Hummer again.”

  I back-pedaled. “It wasn't like that. I swear I didn't know that fire hydrant was so close.”

  “You got any idea how much one of those fenders cost to repair? Not to mention that hydrant spewing dirty water all over my baby. Which hydrant I also got to pay for, I might add.”

  How much did it cost to fix a Hummer? A lot probably. Couldn’t blame Rory for being a little peeved. I pushed ahead and apologized. I even tried to sound sincere. He had information I wanted.

  There was silence, then, “All right, you wouldn't be calling me unless you needed something important. Spill it.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Shepherd says you know something about one Raven LightDancer.”

  “He still around? Thought we ran him out of town.”

  “Yup, still here,” I said. “He’s working as a cook at the Spine Ranch. What can you tell me about him?”

  “Better clue the family in. He can get expensive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What's it worth to know?” Rory’s voice turned calculating.

  A chance to redeem myself with Rory and get some information at the same time. It was worth substantial to me, but my wallet was flat. How much would it take?

  “What about a bottle of Arizona Stronghold’s Mangas wine?” I bargained. It was a local Arizona vintner, one that Rory was particularly fond of.

  “A start. What else?”

  What did he mean, what else? Wine was expensive. I thought hard. “How about a massage?”

  That was my hole card in this poker game. Would it be enough?

  “All right. Next Saturday. Wet Beaver Creek, the far side of the water. But I'll meet you there. I’m not letting you near my Hummer again. And this is not a date,” he cautioned.

  “Right,” I agreed, “Not a date. Thanks, Rory, I owe you.”

  “Not nearly enough, Quincy. We have scores to settle.” He hung up.

  I felt like I'd scaled a very slippery castle walls. But he’d said he’d help.

  Still, I considered his last words. Did I owe Rory something? Of course not. He was being unreasonable. I brushed away the guilt niggling at the back of my mind. He should have known better than to loan a friend a car too big to negotiate the winding streets of Mingus.

  On the other hand, a bribe never hurt.

  I drove down to a vacant lot on the outskirts of Cottonwood and parked in the middle of it to finish the paperwork on the FLO call for the teen who had killed himself. The Verde Valley wasn’t the center of criminal activity, but old training dies hard.

  Many of the law officers here had come from larger cities, where it wasn’t safe to park in an unattended area without clear views to the rear. This lot had nice visibility all four directions and was a favorite for both the sheriff’s department and the town police.

  Next, I debated filling out a burglary report on the storage unit. Nah, a waste of time. Instead, I pulled out the bank statements I’d retrieved from Gil Streicker’s room. I’d struck out at the storage unit, but perhaps the bank would be more productive.

  There was a chance that safe deposit key I’d found in Gil Streicker’s quarters fit a box there, too. Worth a try. I checked my watch. It was almost closing time, which meant Loretta Stone should be working the front counter. Maybe I’d get a break and pick up some small town gossip on Gil Streicker along with information about his accounts.

  I fingered the deposit key in my pocket. I didn’t have official sanction to look at the contents of the box but figured I could finagle my way in, if I talked to Loretta.

  Time to pull in a few favors. I had driven her under-age daughter home from a party that had gotten too wild down in Clarkdale. The daughter was furious, but the mother had been grateful. I hoped she’d remember that now.

  Three clerks stood behind the counter waiting on customers, with Lorena in the middle slot. The bank had one of those arrangements where customers stood in a single line. The process lowered the frustration of choosing the wrong queue, behind the guy who wanted to chat up the cute teller. It also meant you couldn’t predict which bank clerk you’d get.

  I was at the front of the line, with three customers doing business with three tellers. If they all finished at the same time, I’d have my pick of clerks. Or could be I’d be shunted toward someone that I didn’t want at all if the business transaction times were uneven. I stood rocking on my heels, tuning in to the conversations at the front counter.

  One guy wore a dirty, ripped T-shirt and was cashing his construction wage check. The clerk on the end position gave him the once-over and made him thumb-print the back of the check. Not fair to an honest working stiff, but part of the unconscious bias at some financial institutions. You are what you wear. Hmmm. I wet a finger and scrubbed at a spot of lime salsa on my shirt sleeve.

  At the other end of the long counter, a man in a business suit and the male teller exchanged football stories about favored teams. No discrimination there.

  At the center window where Loretta stood, a frail woman with white hair leaned on a cane while she conducted her business. I willed the lady to talk faster, to finish whatever matters she had and leave, so I could talk to Loretta. Sweat spouted a
t my hairline. I breathed deeper to calm my impatience.

  Football guy finished his story and left.

  “Next.” The male clerk beckoned to me. I looked behind me. No one else in line. I pointed with my finger toward Loretta and made gestures that I wanted to talk to her. He shrugged and turned to straighten up his piles of deposit slips. I made eye contact with Loretta who gave me a non-verbal signal about the slowness of some customers. I smiled back.

  Finally, the older woman completed her deposit slip, received her cash, counted it twice, unclicked her purse, and pulled out her wallet. She put the bills inside, changed her mind and pulled them back out and sorted them by denomination.

  My toes started to itch.

  She returned the money to the wallet and the wallet to her purse. She clicked it shut, gathered her cane, and walked slowly toward the exit.

  At last, my turn.

  Loretta smiled apologetically. “Sometimes they’re like that. She lost her husband last year. She just likes to come in to talk. We all help each other. Like you did for me. My daughter wasn’t too happy when you brought her home, but I’ll be forever grateful.”

  She remembered my good deed! “I’m here to check on the bank accounts of Gil Streicker.” I put the bank statement on the counter and turned it so she could see the name.

  “I always enjoy Gil’s visits. He’s so easy to talk to.” She blushed.

  Another Gil Streicker conquest.

  “He has such a sweet little girl. I remember when he brought her in one day. This little towhead, holding on to her daddy’s hand, skipping all the way. She did like her free lollipop. I gave her a choice and she picked a red one. They always do that.” She looked at me with concern. “I hope there’s no problem.”

  “Gil Streicker is dead.” No way to tell that news easy. “His only living relative is that little girl, living back east with her mother.”

  I stopped here and crossed my fingers. I assumed that I was saying was true. But whatever, Gil wasn’t around to correct me.

  “Oh, no!” Her face paled. “He was just in a week or two ago. What happened?”

  I lowered my voice and leaned closer before I spoke, assuming that tone of just-us-girls sharing a secret. “His death is under investigation. Best that you don’t ask more right now.”

  Loretta nodded. She took off her glasses and swiped at them. Settled them back on her nose, then turned businesslike “Whatever I can do to help.” She clicked the keys on her computer. “Gil had the one bank account and also a savings account.”

  “Current balances?”

  “A little under a thousand in the checking account. The savings account was zeroed out. I know, because I sent out the warning notice myself last week. People always forget about the final service fee.”

  I got caught in that once myself. Never could figure out why you have to pay a bank to use your money. But Gil’s zero balance jibed with what I’d seen in the statement. Now came the hard part.

  “I have Gil’s safe deposit key,” I said. “I need to take a look at the content of his box.”

  I held up my hand, staving off her objections. “I won’t take a thing. You can be there the whole time. I just want to be sure little Veronica is taken care of in a timely manner.”

  “Oh, that poor little girl.” It was clear that Loretta wanted to help, but she hesitated. “Our manager is down at the main office this afternoon, but I imagine she’d be okay with you just looking since there’s a good reason…”

  She put a “closed” sign at her spot.

  I ignored the dirty look from the guy next in line.

  We went to the entrance to the safe deposit vault and I showed Loretta the key. She checked the number and pulled a signature card from the drawer. I signed as an officer of the law, checking the signatures above mine. Unlike the storage unit, Gil Streicker had been here often.

  “Gil a regular customer?” I asked.

  “There’s a story behind that, let me tell you. That man didn’t know much about banking. He came in with this fistful of money, wanted to open a savings account. I got all the paperwork done—there’s a ton, let me tell you!—and then he asked if he could draw the money out anytime he wanted.”

  Loretta looked around us to be sure no one was listening and then continued. “Well, of course, I had to tell him about the cash withdrawal limit of $10,000, and he got this funny expression on his face, said never mind, how much to open a safe deposit box? I had to start the paperwork all over. I remember because I was supposed to pick up my daughter from band practice, and he just kept talking, nervous like.”

  “Then he started coming in on a regular basis?”

  Loretta nodded. “First of the month, like clockwork. Would ask to visit his safe deposit box, always asked for that little room for privacy. Of course, I never asked him what he was putting in. Several months later, he asked for a bigger box. What do you think he had in there? None of my business I’m sure, but…”

  Loretta unlocked the vault door and we entered the dim little hall of the bank. The place looked like a dungeon. Can’t banks afford light bulbs?

  I followed her down a short hall lined with safe deposit boxes. Some were old, some brand new, and Loretta explained. “With the bank mergers and all, we just collect the boxes and bring them here to a central location and continue to use them. Some of these are over a hundred years old.”

  She stopped in front of a newer section. “Here it is. Number 543.” I handed her the key and she put in hers and turned both. She opened the door and pulled out the box.

  “I’ll have to stay with you to be sure nothing is taken.” Then she gave me an apologetic smile.

  We went into a small room with two chairs, and I pulled back the lid on the large box. It was almost entirely empty, except for a few papers scattered on the bottom. Some odd tax receipts. A birth certificate showing Gil Streicker had been born in Montana. He had the same birthday as mine, November eighth. Did that make us related in some sort of cosmic way?

  A folded piece of paper—that lined paper with the holes on the side that kids used to write school reports. I unwrapped it to discover a brief, hand-written will leaving everything to his daughter, Veronica Streicker. He declared he was of sound mind and body when he wrote it. I wondered if that were the case.

  There was a disturbance at the main entrance to the vault.

  “Loretta, you in there? Closing time. I need the outside door key.”

  Loretta hesitated, torn between closing routines, and the need to stay to supervise me.

  I patted her hand. “You go right ahead. I’ll be fine here.”

  “Well, just a minute and I’ll be right back.”

  We’d almost gotten to the bottom of the box. I lifted the last stack of papers and peered at two remaining objects. The first was a wedding band, heavy gold. I tried it on. Even as big as my hands are, it slid around on my finger.

  Funny how we hold onto things like that. I’d wanted to dump mine in the deepest ocean after the split from my one-time husband, but a friend convinced me to keep the ring. It was still back in Tennessee in her jewelry box. Gold was worth a fortune. I wondered if I should sell it. Maybe, someday.

  I replaced the ring in the box and picked up the second item, a Yale padlock key, tarnished with age. The lock at the rental unit had been brand new. Which meant this belonged to a different padlock.

  Take it or leave it? Loretta’s footsteps approached, and the moment of decision wavered, shimmering in the air. I snatched the key and stuck it in my pocket. Bad Peg.

  I scooped everything else back into the container and closed the lid just as Loretta re-entered the room. I handed the box to her. We walked to the right row and she shoved the box in the slot, closed the outer door, secured both locks and handed the key back to me. I stuck it in my other pocket.

  We moved toward the entrance. Not soon enough for me. I felt my heart race and took some deep breaths. Closed spaces like bank vaults give me claustrophobia.
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br />   Loretta clucked her tongue as we entered the bank open area. “My goodness, that huge box for those few scraps of paper. Doesn’t make sense to me.” Then she stopped so abruptly that I bumped into her. “So that’s what he was up to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Several weeks ago, just as I was leaving, Gil came into the bank. He held the door open for me, always so polite. He was carrying this Whole Foods bag, you know, that reusable kind? I made a joke about his making a run on the bank. He just gave me this funny look.”

  She clutched my arm. “What if he was emptying his safe deposit box, not putting something in? I wonder what he kept in there? Now we’ll never know, I guess.”

  “I suppose not.” I touched her hand. “Thanks! You’ve been very helpful. I’ll make sure little Veronica’s guardian knows about the documents in the safe deposit box.”

  As I walked out of the bank, I reflected on the end of a life. Not much to show for all those years of living on this earth—a child’s sled, a box of books, some papers and a ring in a bank vault. So much for immortality. I hoped at least Veronica had some happy memories to remember her daddy.

  Or perhaps there was more. I touched the padlock key in my pocket. Did Gil Streicker transfer his deposit box contents to a closer location? I wondered if he had a premonition, something was about to happen to him. Something did happen, and I needed to find out why.

  My mind deep in thought, I drove with a heavy foot on the road back to Mingus. Blue-and-red lights flashed in the rearview mirror as Charlie Doon’s patrol car slid into the slot right behind me.

  Damn, it would have to be him! I put on the Jetta’s turn signal and pulled to the side of the road.

  Chapter 10

  Normally cops don’t stop other cops for traffic violations. It could be Charlie Doon didn’t recognize my Jetta. Or perhaps he relished the opportunity to show me up. He hitched his equipment belt and strutted to my car in an irritating duck walk, heels in, toes out.