The head FBI man sat behind the desk. Another one with a laptop computer positioned himself to type up my statement, while Drake and I occupied the two chairs in front of the desk.
“It’s okay, Charlie. The worst is over now. Just start at the beginning.”
“But what about catching them now?” I’d told someone—I thought it was the sheriff who’d been here when I first arrived—about the Explorer I’d left behind with String, Mole and Ollie in it.
“We’re checking on that. For now, just tell me everything you remember.”
So I did. From the moment the man with the shaky voice, who I’d later learned was Billy, grabbed me in the bank, through the whole crazy ride. He asked me to identify the two women from the place near Romeroville, but it seemed that he knew more about them than I did. All I could do was nod when he showed me their photos.
“I only saw them at a distance, from the back seat of the pickup truck,” I said. “I heard two shots. I assumed the worst.”
He nodded. “We found their bodies later that afternoon.”
He asked me to identify other photos, mug shots of Leon Mohler and Lonnie Stringer—Mole and String. I told him the other two had been known among the gang as Kid and Domino, but in conversations with them I knew them as Ollie and Billy. He made notes about that. Apparently they’d not identified them yet.
I covered Billy’s death, although I didn’t have a clear idea where we were along the highway when it happened.
He told me how they’d been so close to catching up with us at Stringer Farms, and how they’d identified the place. I choked up a bit when Drake described flying in there to get me and finding me gone. He pulled my blue ponytail band out of his pocket. I ran my fingers over it as though it were some foreign object.
One of the sheriff’s men tapped at the door. “We’ve found that Explorer you told us about. Empty.”
Kingston’s mouth settled in a firm line.
Drake and I exchanged a look, thinking the same thing. The three robbers were still on the loose.
Chapter 31
Drake’s surprise, when we returned to Alamosa for the helicopter, delighted me. She was a wiggly bundle of brown and white warmth who leaped straight into my heart. With the mass of adorable dots across her face it was a natural that we named her Freckles.
My ordeal dimmed in a few days time and I began to settle back into my normal routine at home in Albuquerque. After that extensive debriefing and hours with a police sketch artist, the experience took on the quality of an especially vivid dream or a trip to an exotic place—indelible in my mind but somehow unreal.
The only part that nagged at me was the fact that the robbers got away. The bank had been happy at the recovery of part of the stolen loot, and even I didn’t believe String or Mole would be dumb enough to return to the same city and try it again. They’d been headed for California and I hoped that’s where they would stay. As for myself, I’d wanted to get back to the office immediately but both Ron and Drake insisted that I take a few days off first. I ended up spending a lot more time than I ever do in front of the television.
Media coverage of the story had, as usual, gotten a lot of the facts wrong. The robbery was reported to have netted the robbers more than fifty-thousand dollars. I’d counted two thousand in the pillowcase I brought out with me and handed over to Agent Kingston. Two of the Albuquerque stations mentioned me, identified as “a local woman who runs a private investigation firm.”
Miraculously, the part about the Cristina Cross connection never got leaked to the press. I had to admire the way Kingston and his team had kept that whole bit under wraps. Once I was safe at home again, they must have let her producer know that life could proceed as usual. I saw her on some awards show in London, just a couple of days after I got home. I didn’t see the strong resemblance, myself, but then I guess we never view ourselves the way others do.
Three days after my return to Albuquerque I was standing at the bathroom mirror, realizing that my hair seriously needed trimming.
“Hey you,” Drake said from the doorway. “Brought you some coffee.”
It’s amazing how solicitous a guy will get when you’ve been away for a few days.
“Thanks.” I took the mug and enjoyed a long sip.
“You sure you’re okay with me taking that photo shoot?” he asked.
“Absolutely. I’m just glad they still wanted to do it after you had to cancel the original date.”
“Me too. But I’ll be glad to cancel again if you’re uneasy about being home alone.”
I tossed a wet washcloth at him.
This is the other thing about surviving a dangerous situation. We’d been out to the gun range twice in the past three days, he bought me pepper sprays enough for all my jacket and jeans pockets, and he’d already begun encouraging Freckles into a frenzy whenever anyone came to the door. All the attention was beginning to wear—just a little—and I really could use an evening to kick back with a good book.
I dabbed on some lipstick and rubbed my lips together, then bent down and called to the puppy. “Hey, Freckles! C’mere baby.”
She scrambled into the room, four paws slipping and going all directions on the tile floor. We still haven’t figured out what breed she is—probably a mixture—so the whimsical name has just stuck. I jostled the little ball of fluff and kissed her on the nose. It’s amazing how well she has filled the empty spaces in our lives where a dog really belongs.
“Okay, then,” Drake said. “As long as you have ‘killer’ here to guard you . . .”
I scooped up the fuzzy brown and white bundle and carried her along as I followed Drake to the front door, kissed him and wished him luck with the job.
Ten minutes later I was on the way to the office, puppy at my side, to face the mountain of mail and calls that were probably awaiting me. I pulled around to the back of the gray Victorian, the Jeep finding its familiar parking spot beside Ron’s Mustang and Sally’s minivan, one more detail on the pathway back to normal life.
Freckles immediately raced around the yard, finding all the scents of her predecessor and any strange wild critters that might have wandered in recently. I gave her a couple of minutes but finally had to insist that we get to work. She zoomed toward the back door at my call, all flapping ears and scurrying paws. My heart did a little flip and I laughed at her antics.
Inside, the kitchen was deserted. Even the coffee carafe, which is normally ready by now, was gone. Ron must have carried it to his own office upstairs. Sally was no doubt at her reception desk, probably eager to catch me up on office happenings. I’d already talked to her on the phone and told her what I could about my own adventure.
I let the puppy sniff around the kitchen while I meandered toward Sally’s desk. The whole place seemed a little too quiet.
Two seconds later, I knew why, when a dozen people in the reception area shouted “Surprise!” It was a good thing I hadn’t followed Drake’s advice and walked around with my gun drawn. I could see a light fixture or two meeting their demise.
Familiar, smiling faces watched my utter shock.
“Welcome home, Charlie.” Sally rushed forward to hug me.
Victoria and Ron stood near the stairs, he grinning like the sneaky brother that he is. When my heart stopped pounding like a drum, I looked around and took stock. I spotted my good friend Linda Casper, and there was Gina from the bank. She rushed toward me with tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Charlie, I’m so, so sorry that this happened to you.”
I tried to reassure her that I really was just fine. She’d probably been more terrified than I, at the moment those guys hauled me out the door.
A few clients were here and I did my best to play up Ron’s involvement in tracking the bad guys and getting me back. No harm in putting our little investigation business in the best possible light.
Kent Taylor, the APD homicide detective with whom I’ve had a few encounters—mostly friendly—stood near Ron. I noticed
he was eyeing a cake that sat on the conference table, right by the missing coffee carafe.
Sally bustled forward and tapped on the table to get everyone’s attention. This sent the puppy into a frenzy and it took a minute to reassure her that there was no intruder-crisis.
Sally gave a little welcome-home speech that started me dabbing at my eyes, especially when she said that the cake had come from my favorite bakery in Taos and that she’d driven up there to Sweet’s Sweets to pick it up yesterday afternoon. Well, that was the clincher—a fabulous cake, and a lot of effort to get it. By the time she finished talking everyone in the room was looking around for tissues.
I performed the honors of cutting my cake—a triple chocolate torte, filled with raspberries and trimmed in shaved almonds. I’m afraid that anyone who spoke to me in the next ten minutes got a mumbled, crumb-filled answer. There was no way I was skipping my share of that fabulous confection.
The crowd dispersed soon after, to duties in their own workplaces. I carried the remains of the cake to the kitchen and stowed it in the purple bakery box. Ron and Kent Taylor were standing there.
“Glad you’re all right,” Taylor said. He reached out and gave me a pat on the arm, probably the most caring gesture he’d ever shown toward me. “You had a lot of us pretty worried.”
Awww . . . How sweet.
But Ron’s face looked serious. “Is there anything new about the suspects?” he asked.
Taylor shook his head. “It’s not part of my division, but I don’t think so. I talked with Dave Gonzales yesterday and he thinks they probably headed for California. One of the men had ties there, I guess.”
I remembered something said during one of the endless days in the car, but when I’d mentioned it to the FBI men during my interview it didn’t seem like enough to really put them on the trail of the robbers.
Taylor was giving me the eyeball. “Don’t you go getting involved in finding them, Charlie. There are plenty of law enforcement folks on this case already.”
Professionals, he meant. Well, fine with me. I’d seen all I ever wanted to see of those guys. I caught Ron staring at the cake box so I picked it up and carried it to my office. He could have more, but no way was he sneaking the whole thing while I wasn’t watching.
Freckles followed me up the stairs, her short legs barely clearing the risers. I had a feeling that situation wouldn’t last for long. In just these few days she’d already grown and I wouldn’t be surprised if we were dealing with a good-sized dog before long.
She raced ahead, poking into each of the offices and the bathroom, almost immediately finding the tin of dog biscuits I’d always kept on my bookshelf. She plopped her little bottom to the floor and stared up at it wistfully. Well, what can I say? It was so darn cute that I had to give her one. Who’s training whom here, anyway?
Watching the dog was, I must admit, just an excuse not to look at my desk. Sally had done her best to sort it and get rid of the junk that she knew I would have tossed out anyway. She’d handled some correspondence and left copies of the letters for me to read and file away. My accounting duties were mostly what remained and I settled happily into the realm of receivables, payables, and payroll taxes. Weird, I know.
Somewhere around noon, Ron stuck his head around the doorjamb and asked if I’d like to go out for some lunch. Since this almost never happens I should have jumped at the chance but I felt like I was just hitting my stride. There were a zillion computer entries to make and I didn’t especially want a break—plus I had already sneaked a second piece of cake.
“When I get back, maybe we can go over a couple of new cases,” he suggested.
I nodded, without taking my eyes off my computer screen.
“Want me to bring you a sandwich?”
Another nod. “Anything light.” That was like telling Emeril to leave out the butter. Ron gave me a puzzled look and left.
Another hour must have passed. Somewhere in there he came back and put a ham sandwich on my desk. Sally buzzed me on the intercom to let me know that she was leaving for the day. She still likes her half-day schedule, picking up her little girl from kindergarten and being home to spend time with her hubby. Can’t blame her for that.
The bars of sun coming through my bay window completely changed angle, the next time I noticed. I’d gotten out of my chair twice to take the puppy outside but otherwise, it came as a surprise to me that it was nearly six o’clock when Ron stepped into my doorway.
“Never did get to those new cases,” he said. “And now I have to run. Promised Victoria a date night.”
I nodded. She and I had never made up our missed lunch from last week. I supposed I should suggest some kind of girls-day-out. It’s just that I’m not real big on that stuff. The whole mani-pedi-spa thing always seemed like it would eat into my time for balancing ledgers, flying helicopters or chasing down bad guys.
I waved him out the door with a promise that we’d talk about the cases tomorrow.
At some point I noticed that the puppy was getting restless. Poor little thing was learning the hard way what a workaholic mom she had.
“Okay, we’ll go home.” I shut down the computer and tamped some invoices into a stack for tomorrow. Gathering my purse and the dog’s leash, I switched out the lights and we headed downstairs. Sally had set the answering machine and Ron left the night lamps on. All I had to do was coordinate getting the back door locked while dealing with a hyped-up puppy on a leash.
I ended up deciding to get the dog to the car first and then go back to lock up. The leash and purse went into the back seat and then I gave short-stuff a boost to the passenger seat in front. I’d just double-checked the lock on the kitchen door when I sensed movement behind me. The hair on my neck rose.
“Hello, Charlie.” The voice was String’s.
Chapter 32
String stepped from behind the lilac bush at the corner of the building, pointing that very familiar pistol at me.
No way. Before I could give it a second thought I grabbed a pepper spray canister from my jeans and shot him full in the face with it. He dropped the pistol, screaming and grabbing at his eyes.
I ran for my Jeep, dove in and fumbled through my keys with shaking hands. I snapped the electric door locks. The dog went into a frenzy, zipping around inside the car and barking like crazy as I started the engine and threw the thing in gear. I roared around the side of the office, only to find a strange vehicle in the driveway, blocking me.
Someone sat in the front passenger seat.
Mole.
Without a second thought I whipped the wheel to the left, taking out a flower bed and leaving tracks across the lawn. It felt like I flew off the curb and then I hit the street with a hard jounce.
One backward glance showed that Mole was getting out of the other car. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out any more than that.
How had they found me? Questions raced through my head about as fast as my Jeep was racing through the streets. I made several quick turns through our quiet residential area, cut over to Central and turned west. Then it hit me.
If they’d found my office, they might very well know where I lived.
I couldn’t go home.
I kept going straight, heading across the river. At Coors Road I turned north. This part of town has grown so quickly in recent years that I couldn’t be sure what I would find, but at least there were lots of choices. I spotted a crowded, well-lit shopping center and pulled in. Parked in a spot surrounded by other cars, facing outward for a quick getaway.
My hands shook as I plucked my cell phone from my purse. Poor little Freckles was shaking beside me on the seat. What an introduction to life with Charlie. I pulled her onto my lap and petted her while I tried to think about what to do next.
I didn’t want to deliver this news to Drake yet, knowing he might still be in the air. I called Ron instead.
“I don’t think I better go home,” I said, after explaining the melee at the office.
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“No. I wouldn’t chance it.”
“I’ve got the number of that Agent Kingston,” I said. “Somewhere here . . .” I rummaged one-handed through my purse, holding the phone with the other.
“Good. Call him. See what he advises. Do you want us to come out there?”
I pictured Victoria being very unhappy at the idea of his leaving their date night to come rescue the perpetually troubled little sister.
“No, I don’t see any need for that. I’ll figure out where to go and then I’ll call you.”
I clicked off the call and punched in Kingston’s number. He answered on the second ring. It was probably pretty rare that an FBI agent gave someone his personal cell number, so he must have known it was important.
“I was afraid of that,” he said, after I explained. “Hoping that those guys would stay in California was probably too wishful.”
“So, what should I do?”
“Is there a friend or neighbor you could stay with?”
I thought through my list. The neighbor who would take me in without a second thought (because she’s already done so several times) is my surrogate grandmother, Elsa Higgins. But her house is right next door to mine. Going there wouldn’t keep either of us very safe.
Paranoia kicked in. I couldn’t shake the idea that if String had found out my real identity and where I worked, he could track all my friends as well.
Kingston must have read my mind. Or maybe I said some of this out loud. “Look, he can’t know everything and he can’t be everywhere. I’m getting some agents out to watch your house and your office. They’ll be there within the hour. You should be safe enough with them around.”
I hung up, every shred of skepticism working its way to the surface. Hey, I watch a lot of movies, and when the lone woman is told that the police are right outside, guarding her, something always happens. Always.
Stardom Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #12 Page 17