I pulled to the side of the road again and whipped out my cell phone. This time to call Jack for feedback on the situation. It rang five times and our office phone machine picked up. "Jack Cooney investigations. Leave a message," the grouchy voice barked.
He probably had plans to see his new lady friend. My thumb hit the off key harder than intended. I glanced at the digital clock below the speedometer. It was now almost seven and I wasn't more than ten minutes from the spa.
Under different circumstances, navigating the series of county roads leading to the entrance of the spa could've been pleasant. Not this time. I took the dirt lane that seemed to be a private side-road running along the spa's property line. This turned out to be a dusty affair. It probably led to the barns and out buildings of the next ranch. I pulled off and parked the little green bug behind a grouping of overgrown shrubs, so it could not be seen from the road. I had almost fifty minutes until the shipment was scheduled to arrive. I would go the rest of the way on foot.
I stepped from my car and happened to glance up. Then I stopped short and my breath trembled in my throat. A glorious eagle with an immense wing span swooped, then soared on an air current over the spa's grounds. For the briefest moment, I thought about what had created all this rugged beauty. What was it all about anyway? Then I swept those thoughts from my mind.
When the magnificent bird was no longer in my field of vision, I stepped out from behind the covering of the shrubs and surveyed the landscape around me. Nothing stirred.
Short grass and weeds made it an easy jog toward the back of the spa's main building, but offered no cover. I picked up my pace to a run, not wanting to be visible from the main road any longer than necessary.
The Estella Ranch and Spa's paddocks extended from the paved road and stopped at the stable. I could walk through the small corral or go around the stable. I opted to go around, figuring there'd be better cover and I'd have more time to make an assessment of the situation.
The stable's back wall had several large plate glass windows, so I peeked in. The inside was well lit. The stalls, constructed of knotty-pine, were pristine. Ceiling fans circulated the air within. The horse-wash area was outside to my left and had hot and cold running water. Inside, just beyond that, were several commercial washers and driers. These stables were the Waldorf Astoria compared to the Bar None Stables which would be more like Motel 6.
I scooted along the back wall, climbed into a small corral and hurried along its fence to the other side of the rectangular structure, hoping to find a vantage point with a clear view of the spa's delivery area.
An exquisite palomino approached me. He was so large, I almost took a step back, but then decided to hold my ground. "Easy fella."
After a quick look around, I realized the paddocks and corrals close to the stable were filled with horses. Well, if the shirt plastered to my back was any indication, it had been pushing ninety degrees today. These animals would be more comfortable outside as it cooled down for the night.
He nudged my hand and the fanny pack, still hanging from my side.
"Oh, I see someone gives you treats. Sorry, don't have any." I stroked his face as I surveyed the area looking for cover. There was a small shed just beyond the corral with two feet between it and the fence. If I climbed the fence and dropped down behind the shed, I'd be able to see part of the driveway without being seen. At least this was my hope, since it was still light outside, though shadows would soon start creeping.
Once I'd gotten into place, I remained motionless and prayed the horse would leave me alone. He did, apparently having lost interest as I didn't have a carrot or lump of sugar for him.
The rumble of a truck coming up the drive made me hold my breath and press my body into the shed. The unmistakable sound of a vehicle door opening punctuated the evening. Then it slammed shut.
A familiar voice called out, "Miguel, you're right on time."
Reece Morgan. Why would he be meeting a truck after hours if it were organic produce? He was definitely the type to have underlings do the drudge work.
I took a chance and stuck my head out for a moment between the shed and the stable. It was a standard white, boxy delivery truck. Nondescript. It had no delivery company name on it. And no crazy Mexican drug lord jumped out of the vehicle's back brandishing an AK-47. No bloody palm prints on the truck's side.
I guess I imagined something nefarious, or Uma did. I'd wait until they left and return to my car.
"Miguel, don't go unloadin' this yourself. Let me call the kid we give a room to in the stable and he'll come help you."
"I've got the packin' list," Cassidy's voice called out. More curious yet. Why would she be interested in the spa's delivery?
A young man appeared from the stable, and he and Miguel grunted as they off-loaded the merchandise.
"Three large tippin' jar fountains." Cassidy's singsong tone irritated me. I still couldn't get past the infidelity. "Three medium and three small ones."
"Put them in the storage room next to the gift shop. We'll inspect them tomorrow," Morgan instructed.
"Five Mexican hand-woven rugs, a case of wind chimes." Cassidy went down the list that contained books, greeting cards, and jewelry. "Fifteen cases of incense. Five musk, five patchouli, and five gardenia."
For sure they were heavy handed with incense, if the overwhelming smell outside the gift shop was an indication. Still, what would they need fifteen cases of the stuff for? Though I couldn't even get a whiff from where I was hidden, I wriggled my nose.
Miguel got back into the truck, turned on the headlights, and left, Morgan pulled a bill from his wallet and handed it to the kid who then returned to the stable.
Morgan slid his hands around Cassidy's waist and let them roam a bit as he pulled her in tight to his body. He kissed her deeply, long, and hard.
She murmured and chirped his name out.
I wanted to shoot both of them. Why did she destroy my marriage to the only man I'd ever loved when she could so easily transfer her affections to another? Obviously Mark had meant next to nothing to her. But he'd meant everything to me.
When they finally managed to pull away from each other, Morgan got into his black BMW and drove off into the lengthening shadows. Cassidy left, the silver finish on her Caddy coupe gleaming in the pale moonlight.
I shimmied out from behind the shed and stretched to get the kinks out. Time to phone Hughes and face the music for having gone off on my own investigating again. Thankfully he didn't answer and I was able to leave a vague message to the effect that I hoped he had an open mind and we needed to talk.
This time instead of trudging back in the circuitous manner in which I'd come, I decided to take the shorter route to my car by crossing in front of the stable. When I'd reached the exact middle of the paved loading area, a pair of headlights came up the drive, cutting through the tendrils of the encroaching twilight.
The driver of the vehicle switched the lights to high beam and I froze like a caught deer.
Chapter Thirty
Abilene
Day Fifteen, Evening
Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
The driver gunned it. The tires spun and screeched as the vehicle careened toward me.
I did my best imitation of a swan dive, bringing my outstretched arms together, ending with a duck-and-roll, hoping to tumble toward the shed when I hit the ground.
The vehicle's front bumper struck my feet in midair, tossing my body with my noggin aimed directly for the shed. I folded my arms around my head, and hoped for a positive outcome.
At the exact moment my body met the pavement, brakes squealed and a car door opened then slammed. Rather than roll, I flipped head over heels. Thankfully, my arms still protected my skull. The driveway's surface felt like industrial strength sandpaper ripping my shirt and scraping my back.
I lay there stunned, trying to will my mind back into gear so I could defend myself, but my thought processes had slowed to a near halt.
&
nbsp; A blond mass of hair thrust itself over my prone body. Twisted, blood-red lips screamed at me. "You don't know when to quit, do you? Well, you're done now." She kicked me in the side and knocked the wind out of me. What wind I had left.
I made a sound that went something like, "Arrah -- auhf."
She knelt and unzipped my conceal and carry fanny pack.
I tried to prevent her from taking my Glock but couldn't manage that and breathe at the same time. Still, I flailed at her when she thrust her hand into my fanny pack.
She pulled her elbow back, balled her red enameled fingers, and punched me in the face.
I managed to turn to the side and her fist deflected off my cheek bone. Not a solid hit. I didn't have a broken nose, but the force of the strike further boggled my mind. A plus was my breathing had nearly returned to normal.
I reached for her again, but she sprung backwards, aiming the gun at me. "Stay put, or I'll put one helluva hole in you. Gladly."
I nodded my assent.
Her lips twisted into a ghastly gash, then she bared her teeth. "You ruined everything. Mark never stopped talking about you. How smart you were. How everyone liked you. I thought I would vomit."
Obviously a convivial tête-à-tête was beyond my former BFF.
I raised myself up onto one elbow and fixed a piercing look on her. It was the best I could do from the ground with the business end of my Glock pointed at me. "You didn't love him. Why did you drag him into your mess?"
"Mess! There was no problem that couldn't be fixed until you showed up here."
I stared at her in disbelief. She didn't consider Mark's murder unfixable. Or perhaps she didn't think much about it at all. My stomach rolled. To stop from upchucking, I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
"Turn over on your stomach."
I turned.
With the gun still trained on me she opened the shed door and took out a roll of duct tape. The Glock bobbed up and down as she ripped off a strip.
For a scant moment hope rose inside me, then fell. I knew in my weakened state I'd never be able to right myself, traverse the distance, and be able to disarm her while her focus was on the tape.
Cold metal pressed against the back of my head. "Put your hands together."
There was no enthusiasm in my compliance.
She clumsily wrapped the tape around my wrists once. But it was enough to prevent arm movement. Then she further secured my arms with a second strip.
She motioned with the point of the gun. "Get up."
Mindful that I still had the banker's special in my ankle holster, I struggled to my knees as I attempted to keep my right ankle away from her view.
"I said, get up!"
I clambered to my feet, tottering a bit. "What now?"
"Now, you come with me. You'll be with your beloved Mark soon enough." Her derisive laugh really made me want to go for my pistol, but there was no way. Even if my hands were free, I'd never reach the weapon before she shot me.
Since she thought I was a dead-woman-walking, she might give me some information. I only hoped I lived long enough to use it against her. "Why was Mark killed?"
"Mark turned out to be chicken livered. When the heat got turned up, he couldn't cut it."
"What heat?"
"An associate of ours from south of the border scared the pants off of Mark." Her laugh turned to hysteria.
"So Reece Morgan killed him?"
"No, dummy, I drugged him. He didn't suspect the drink I gave him. I wasn't happy about shooting him, but I will be happy about shooting you."
"You killed Mark?" It's what I'd believed all along. Still, the impact of that statement stunned me. I wanted to speak… to scream, but my mouth and lungs wouldn't cooperate. Even with my hands tied behind my back, I tried to lunge at her, but all I could manage was a shaky step forward.
She backed up and motioned toward the car with the gun. "Move, and don't try anything stupid."
Her eyes were crazed and I had no doubt, given the slightest provocation, she would kill me right there. I shuffled toward the Caddy, every muscle in my body aching.
"That's a good girl." She snickered.
Though my head throbbed, my thinking had begun to clear somewhat. I had to formulate a plan. Cassidy had only bound me with two strips of duct tape. When she retrieved the keys from the ignition, I worked my wrists. There was some give. I'd have to find a way to get my hands free and get to my banker's special.
She had me walk to the back of her car, then opened the trunk. One clawed hand grasped my bicep and shoved me as I climbed into the trunk while she pressed the gun to my back. Not my finest hour. I scraped my shins scrambling into what would become a holding cell. Once the trunk closed, the coffin-like claustrophobia nearly choked me.
I had become a mass of bruises and scrapes. I pushed the discomfort aside, as my eyes swept the interior of the trunk for an object that might help me cut my bonds. Nothing. The carpeting was pristine, the trunk empty.
I tried to gain some type of balance so my head wouldn't strike metal while she drove. If she was headed for the hills, as I suspected, she still had a few miles to navigate before leaving the more trafficked city streets. The tab most new cars have mocked me, whereby the trunk can be opened from the inside. This one glowed in the dark. That would be expected with a custom outfitted Caddy. With my wrists bound I couldn't reach it. You'd think with a car this expensive there'd be no exhaust fumes seeping into the trunk. Not so, and the smell was nauseating.
Always annoying, Cassidy turned on the local country western station blasting it so loud they might hear it in Arroyo. How could Hughes listen to this stuff? At the very least, if I were going to meet my maker a contemporary jazz singer would be nice. Maybe a little Diana Krall, or some Michael Feinstein.
I couldn't allow a small irritation to muddle my mind. I lay on my side and kicked at the right, then the left brake and signal lights as hard as I could, breaking them. Then I fell back spent and gasping for breath, hoping a sheriff's deputy would pull the Caddy over to ticket her. Then I could make a ruckus and be rescued.
The ability to measure time eluded me. The car drove at a steady speed, inexorably toward Cassidy's destination. I spied a piece of jagged broken tail light in the trunk bed and maneuvered so I could grasp it. Then I began hacking with the point at the duct tape as best I could while trying not to injure my wrists. The car made a sharp turn and I flipped onto my face, losing my hold on the bit of plastic. Tears threatened. I took a long, deep breath to calm myself. Breathing in exhaust threw me into a fit of coughing.
Then I heard a police car siren behind us. Cassidy pulled over to the shoulder and shut the radio off. Not only might I be rescued, I wouldn't have to listen to that music any longer.
"Thank you, God." Tears threatened again. This time tears of joy.
A car door opened and slammed closed behind the Caddy. "Ma'am, did you know both your brake lights are out?"
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. I was still trying to catch my breath.
I tried to scream for help, but had another coughing fit, I wasn't all that sure I could be heard outside the car.
"No, Deputy, I didn't know that. Silly me. But I thank you for bringin' it to my attention. I'll take care of it tomorrow mornin', first thing."
I managed to shift my body somewhat, hoping that would give me enough space and the right angle to strike the roof with the heel of my running shoe as hard as I could. I needed to make the maximum amount of noise with one or two kicks.
"Do, you want me to run the plate?" The voice was that of Deputy Thunder. This I knew for sure.
"I'm not ticketin' the lady. She's gonna take the car into the shop tomorrow." The voice had to be either Officer Hicks, or that other guy who sometimes rode with Thunder. What was his name… couldn't bring it to mind.
Panic raced down my spine. This couldn't be happening. I struck the trunk as hard as I could. I didn't have much room to kick and it didn't
sound very loud. I thrust again, with whatever strength I could muster. Then I croaked out, "Help!"
"Hicks, there's some kind of noise coming from the trunk." Thunder called out.
"Ma'am, you're gonna have to step out of the vehicle, if you don't mind?"
"Why, Deputy, you don't have to hold a gun on me." Cassidy purred the words as the driver's door opened.
Shots were fired.
"Hicks, hold on. I'm callin' this in."
The front door slammed and the Caddy pulled away, tires screeching.
I wasn't sure what had happened. Thunder calling it in had to mean Hicks was down.
Chapter Thirty-One
South Abilene
Day Fifteen, Evening
Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes
Times like this a badge didn't do me any good at all.
An emergency medical technician closed the back door of the ambulance. I grabbed his arm and forced him around so he faced me. "Do whatever it takes. Get him to Abilene Regional as fast as you can."
The man nodded. "We'll get him there safely and fast."
He jumped into the driver's seat and the vehicle pulled out, siren blaring.
I silently prayed the Lord would preserve Hick's life. He hadn't looked good when they hoisted him onto the gurney.
Overhead a chopper's blades sliced the air with ferocity.
I raced toward Thunder. "Which way did the Caddy go?"
The kid pointed in the direction of Route 83. Then in a kind of automatic-replay repeated the information he'd given me before.
I took the radio out of his hand and switched to the channel that let me communicate with the chopper. "It's a silver Caddy heading toward Route 83. Get after it. There might be somebody alive in the trunk. Do not shoot at the vehicle."
"Roger, that." The voice came back at me.
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