Stardom Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #12

by Connie Shelton

  “I’ll hold tight then, awhile longer anyway.”

  He hung up, with Ron’s assurances that it was the best he could do. He called his mother to see if there had been any word from Charlie, although he knew there hadn’t. Catherine or Charlie would have called him immediately. He stared across the highway, out toward the airport where his helicopter sat, fueled and ready to go.

  “Not thinking of taking off for Barstow, are you?” Kingston’s voice surprised him.

  “No. Well . . . yeah. That’s actually what I was thinking.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I won’t do it. I thought about going back to Albuquerque. I feel useless here. But then Charlie’s brother pointed out that I’d be feeling even more useless there.”

  “Your choice,” the agent said. “Normally, a civilian—especially a family member—doesn’t get anywhere near an investigation like this. But you’ve been helpful. I really did think that we had a shot at catching up with them at Stringer’s farmhouse.”

  “I appreciate that. Sorry I’ve been jumping down everyone’s throats.”

  Kingston shrugged. “Not that bad. I’ve dealt with worse.”

  The motel swimming pool glistened blue and silver in the sunlight. Two kids shrieked at each other, splashing and dunking, while their father loaded bags into a red car nearby. He called out to them, ordering them to get ready to leave. Life went on in such a normal way. Drake tamped down a faint resentment.

  “Going to be another hot one,” Kingston commented, taking a seat on a small concrete bench. “Cooler here though, with those mountains nearby, than it is in Albuquerque.”

  “How do you do it?” Drake asked. “Handle this like it’s another day at the office, talk about the weather?”

  “Sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m blasé about the situation because it’s not my family member.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Believe me, I care a whole lot about resolving this case with a good outcome.”

  “Your retirement on the line?” Drake stopped. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. It has to be hard to retire from this kind of work, something where you’re in the action all the time.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I got six more months. I guess the question of what I’ll do next hasn’t really hit me yet.” He stood up. “I’m out here right now only because I’ve found it helpful to take a few minutes away from the intensity of the command room. It gets to you.”

  “Yeah. It does. I guess I’m used to putting out a fire, or taking somebody to the hospital, or rescuing someone off the side of a mountain, and then I go home and have dinner. It usually doesn’t involve days and days of this . . .”

  “Hours of boredom punctuated by minutes of heart-pounding terror?”

  “Something like that.”

  The agent patted Drake’s shoulder and turned to walk back toward the room.

  Behind him, Drake heard a female voice. The motel manager, whom he’d seen only briefly last night, was scolding a small puppy that trailed along behind her. It was some kind of collie or setter—he wasn’t sure—so small that it still had the rounded face and downy fur of a really young one. A ball of brown and white, with spots across the muzzle and chin.

  “I told you, get out of here,” the woman said, shoving at it with her foot. She glanced up and saw that Drake was watching her.

  “Want a dog?” she asked. “Somebody dropped two of them off and I can’t find a home for this one.”

  A hundred thoughts flashed through his head. Life was too chaotic right now to even think about adding this complication. How was he going to care for a puppy, feed it, walk it, when he couldn’t even remember to eat his own meals right now? They’d both missed having a dog; recent months had felt very empty. Charlie would love it.

  He stooped down and the puppy ran over to him and began licking his hands.

  “It’s a little girl,” the woman said, obviously encouraged that he hadn’t fled for the hills. “She’s a sweet little thing.”

  The puppy climbed up the ramp of his thigh and into his arms, bringing a comforting doggy-warmth and the coffee-like scent of puppy breath.

  “I’ll have to take her to the shelter if I don’t find a home today.” That was the clincher.

  He cradled the puppy and stroked her ears as he walked back toward the room where the FBI men were working.

  Chapter 28

  Mole nudged String, none too gently. “Trade seats with me. I’ll drive awhile.”

  String was definitely woozy as he stepped out and walked around to the passenger side door. One down and two to go.

  Mole reached for his soda and sucked down the last of it. I hadn’t realized there was so little left. I held my breath for a minute but he made no comment about the taste. Ollie, after his little potty break, also drained his cup. He made a slight face at it but didn’t say anything. I had no idea how quickly the pills would work, having not actually swallowed any myself, but based on the fact that String was now slumped into a dead sleep, I guessed it wouldn’t be long.

  I waited until Mole had started the vehicle rolling and then tapped his shoulder.

  “I need to go potty, too. But I can’t do it out here in the open. Could you just cruise through town and find me a gas station or something?”

  He glared at me with that why-didn’t-you-say-so-earlier look that parents always give the one kid who forgot to go.

  I had to stall him. We could not get on the Interstate with three people asleep and one, awake and terrified, sitting in the back seat. He pulled in at the first gas station we came to. It had a convenience store and that gave me an idea.

  “Um . . . this is kind of embarrassing . . .” I said.

  He stared at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes saying What now?

  “Uh . . . girl stuff. Uh, that time of the . . .”

  “Oh, geez. What do you want me to do about it?”

  I glanced over at Ollie, whose eyelids were already at half-mast.

  “I’ll have to go inside and buy some—”

  “Fine. Don’t give me no details.”

  He shut off the engine and got out, fishing a few dollars out of his pocket. If I’d hoped that he would let me go inside alone I was soon disappointed. He walked right along with me. He wasn’t quite as paranoid as String, but he wasn’t taking any chances on their million dollar baby getting away.

  I went to the right aisle and chose the brightest pink package they had. Mole averted his eyes as he paid and I made a show of opening the box and heading toward the women’s restroom. He was yawning as I went inside.

  I stalled as long as I feasibly could and then peeked outside. He’d given up standing by the restroom door and was waiting near the registers. He yawned again, hugely, but stuck right with me as I walked toward the car, my bright pink package in my hands.

  “All better,” I announced.

  We settled into our seats and I was pleased to see that Ollie was also completely out of it now.

  “Oh, look! There’s an ice cream place. I’d really love an ice cream.”

  I have no idea why he didn’t simply turn around and belt me. He had to either know that I was stalling or consider me the biggest pain in the ass in the world. When he steered toward the ice cream stand I could only attribute his compliance to the hazy feeling he must be getting from those pills.

  “Hm . . . doesn’t look like they have a drive-through,” I said. “I’ll just order at the window.”

  He didn’t protest and he didn’t leave his seat. I hopped out and walked up to the tiny order window. A teenaged girl popped her gum as she asked what I wanted. To give her a lesson in proper customer service was what I really wanted, but there was no time for that. I glanced over at Mole. His eyes were on me.

  Even if I thought I had a prayer of convincing this dimwit girl to call the police without giving away the reason, I knew Mole was still being far too careful. I ordered two hot fudge sundaes.

  “Here, I got you one too.” I gave it my best perky
voice as I handed one to him through the open window. “Looks like the other guys will miss out.”

  Mole seemed surprised. Maybe no woman had ever bought him ice cream before. Maybe it was just the way his eyes looked when he was struggling really hard to keep them open.

  He took a spoonful of the ice cream then set the cup on the console as he backed out of his parking spot and turned toward the main drag. Darn. I’d been hoping that he would eat all of it as we sat here. It was the whole reason I ordered cups instead of cones. I spooned away at my melted fudge concoction, stopping to ask a question just often enough to gauge his level of alertness. At some point he was going to blink out in traffic and I’d have to be ready to leap over the seat and take the wheel.

  He missed the entrance to the freeway—thank goodness—and then got confused about where to go. His head turned to the left and then the right as he worked to pick out a sign or landmark, something to tell him how to get back on the road to Barstow.

  We were nowhere close. He’d gotten onto a narrow paved lane that didn’t seem to go anywhere and by the time his head took the final dip into unconsciousness we were a couple of miles out of town. Luckily, his foot slipped off the gas pedal and the SUV began to slow to a crawl. I dropped my dirty ice cream cup into Ollie’s lap and reached over Mole’s shoulders and took the wheel. We cruised, ever so slowly, onto a sandy berm and the Explorer would not move another inch.

  I grabbed the keys from the ignition, feeling only mildly guilty that the robbers might cook to death inside the hot car. But, hey, I was going to have to walk back to town—I wasn’t leaving them with a usable vehicle.

  With a wary eye on the three sleeping men, I reached into the back of the SUV, dumped all the cash from their three pillowcases into one of them and slung it over my shoulder. Then I ran for my life.

  Chapter 29

  The puppy licked Drake’s face a couple of times and then settled into his arms, falling into that immediate limp-body sleep that puppies can do so effortlessly. He looked around but the motel manager had vanished. Unless he tracked her down and handed the puppy back, it looked like he had a new dog.

  He walked into the command room to find the agents sitting around. The place had an air of delayed expectation, the lull before the event that happens when the stakes are high but there is simply nothing to do until the game starts. Two of the men glanced up at him. Smiles appeared at the sight of the little dog in Drake’s arms.

  “Hey, whatcha got there?” someone asked.

  Kingston reached out and rubbed at the dog’s ears. “Cute little guy. What kind is he?”

  “She,” Drake said. “I have no idea.”

  The group crowded around, letting the little foundling take their minds off the serious situation that had occupied them for more than three days now. They were speculating on what breed the dog might be, coming up with combinations, when Drake’s cell phone rang deep in his pocket.

  He handed the puppy off to someone else and yanked at the phone. He didn’t recognize the number on the readout. “Drake Langston,” he said.

  “Honey . . . ?”

  “Charlie! Oh my god, where are you? Are you safe?”

  Every person in the room froze.

  “I’m . . . I’m not quite sure where I am. But I’m safe.” Relief flooded through him.

  “I’ll come get you.” His voice cracked slightly, but Drake ignored the nudge from Kingston who was trying to get him to hand over the phone.

  He heard her turn to someone else and ask a question.

  “I stopped at a house to use the phone. The lady says we’re a few miles outside Seligman, Arizona.”

  Drake repeated the name of the town, and the agent who’d been on the computer raced back to his seat and brought up some maps.

  “Let me speak to her,” Kingston insisted.

  Drake gripped it tightly. “I love you, sweetheart. We’ll get to you real soon.” Then he handed it over to the agent, who identified himself.

  “Charlie, where are your captors?” He listened to her brief answer. “Can you get to a police department, a sheriff or someone like that?” There was a long pause. “Okay, do that. Good. Yes. Probably a few hours.”

  Drake chafed at hearing only half of the conversation. By the time Kingston handed his phone back, he’d estimated the time it would take him to fly to her. He stepped outside the room and spoke softly, reassuring her. When he walked back inside his eyes were damp.

  The agents busied themselves at the computers, giving him a minute to regain his composure.

  “I can get there by helicopter in two hours,” he told Kingston.

  “Let’s charter a plane. It’ll be quicker, hold more people.”

  For once, Drake didn’t mind someone else taking charge.

  Chapter 30

  The impact of the past few days began to hit me once the woman who’d let me use her phone took me to the Justice Court building in town, an unimposing one-story brown box. While she entertained a cadre of secretaries and a man who was apparently with the sheriff’s department with stories of how I’d shown up at her door, a bedraggled waif, I sat in a straight-backed chair hugging a grimy pillowcase to my chest. I’d not yet told anyone what was in it.

  I supposed her description wasn’t too far off the mark. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d brushed my hair or washed my face. I’d had only one barely-remembered shower in four days, and then dressed in the same sweaty, dirt crusted clothing with which I’d begun this whole adventure. Yeah, waif probably fit the bill.

  I spotted a restroom at the far side of the room. “Mind if I . . .?”

  One of the secretaries jumped up. “Oh, sure, honey. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

  And I’m not supposed to tell you, I thought, remembering that FBI agent’s instructions.

  The woman looked a little disappointed that I didn’t offer up any juicy tidbits but she ushered me toward the bathroom and pointed out where the soap and paper towels were. “Take your time, hon.”

  Behind the closed door, I almost collapsed. A public bathroom, reasonably clean, felt like pure luxury. I wet paper towels and used generous amounts of the smelly liquid soap—anything to wipe away both the physical and emotional dirt. My hair was hopeless. All I could was finger-comb it and hold onto the hope that I would be at home, in my own shower, very soon. I stared at the grungy pillowcase that I’d tossed into the corner.

  The lumpy case was all the bank robbery had netted those guys, and now they didn’t even have that. The police or FBI or whoever was involved with this would want the whole story. Thinking about the debriefing to come made me realize that I still had a long way to go before I would be home again with Drake.

  When I walked back into the squad room, the deputy took over.

  “We just heard from an agent Kingston,” he said. His voice was soft and kind. “He says they are chartering a plane to come get you. Should be here in a couple hours.”

  He gave me a look of wonder, obviously guessing at how important I was to warrant a chartered flight. I didn’t mention that in some people’s minds I was a famous movie star. I didn’t say anything at all, just nodded.

  “Could we get you something to eat? Something to drink?”

  A plate of Pedro’s green chile chicken enchiladas and about three margaritas would be good. But again, I kept it simple. “Yes, that would be nice. Anything at all.” I felt like a lot of my usual zip had somehow zipped away.

  He sent someone out for a sandwich, then poured me a cup of coffee from an urn on a side table. I resumed my seat in the stiff chair, my bag of cash at my feet, and sipped the dark brew. It actually tasted amazingly good.

  I resisted everyone’s questions while I sat at a desk and ate my sandwich—turkey and Swiss on rye, which tasted like a banquet. Eventually the lady who’d been my ride needed to get home to her cats and the rest of them went back to their desks. I glanced at the wall clock and saw that it would still be at least ninety m
inutes before Drake got here, so I rested my head on my arms and fell asleep.

  A small commotion infiltrated a weird dream I was having about trying to carry a bag with a million dollars in it across the desert.

  Voices.

  One was Drake’s.

  My eyes popped open and I stared around the unfamiliar room. Two men in black jeans and windbreakers, with FBI in bright yellow on the chests, were talking with the deputy who’d brought me the sandwich.

  Drake was walking toward me. Nobody had ever looked so good. I tipped the chair over when I leaped up and ran to his arms. He simply held me, for a long, long time. Then there were kisses on my neck and face and I think I was kissing him back. Hysterical laughter seemed to be bouncing between us.

  “I called Ron,” he was saying. “And my mom. For awhile there I was hoping you would be able to get to her place.”

  “You knew? You knew where I was?”

  “Little bits of it.” He glanced toward the FBI men. “You’ll need to talk to the agents. Are you up for it?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He smiled, that beautiful smile that had grabbed my heart the first day I met him. I ran my hands over his chest, wanting to feel him, to know that he was real. Wanting to hold onto him and not let go.

  “I’ll be with you,” he said, as always divining my thoughts before I’d fully formed them.

  A tall, gray-haired man with the bulk of a former football player who’d not run a hundred yards in at least thirty years introduced himself as Special Agent in Charge, Cliff Kingston. “I’m the one you talked to today, when you called your husband.”

  Was that only a few hours ago? The day had passed in a blur.

  Kingston ushered us into an office he’d apparently commandeered, as the small facility didn’t have interrogation rooms. Someone had stacked some file folders off to the side and furnished a pitcher of water and a stack of plastic cups.