Small Towns Can Be Murder
The Fourth Charlie Parker Mystery
By Connie Shelton
Copyright © 1998 Connie Shelton
Chapter 1
New Mexico is a land of contrasts. Hidden deep within the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, from north of Santa Fe to the Colorado border are dozens of little secluded towns. Part of the old Camino Real, that legendary trading route between the settled world and the wild west, these quaint adobe enclaves hold tightly to their secrets. No matter how dirty.
Sally Bertrand and I were in my Jeep, driving north on I-25, just leaving the Santa Fe city limits. My name is Charlotte Louise Parker, a CPA by profession, partner with my brother, Ron, in a private investigation agency in Albuquerque. No one actually calls me Charlotte. I'm Charlie to everyone who knows me. Sally is our part-time receptionist, and a good friend.
Sally had called me the night before, sounding blue. Her husband, Ross, had just found out he'd have to work this Fourth of July weekend, canceling plans they'd made for a backpacking trip together. Ross works in construction, and with the recent slump in building, must have felt that he better take the work no matter when it came. Sally called to see if I'd be interested in taking his place on the trip. Loading a forty pound pack on my back and carrying it off to some spot that has neither toilet facilities nor take-out food ranks right up there in my book with stuffing matchsticks under my fingernails. Sally knows this, and as an alternative suggested that we take the day off and drive north.
Sally’s hometown of Valle Escondido is about ninety minutes out of Albuquerque, and does at least boast some paved streets and a few respectable Mexican restaurants. We arrived before noon, just in time to find a parking spot in front of Rosa's Cantina, where we ordered huevos rancheros smothered in green chile.
Once our waitress had taken the menus away I had a chance to look around. The room where we sat was one of three I had noticed on the way in, with heavy hand-carved tables and chairs set at intervals with lots of space between them. The walls were of adobe, over two feet thick, brown on the outside, brightly whitewashed on the inside. Sturdy poles supported the roof made of vigas interlaced with narrow latillas. Long strands of red chile hung from the vigas on the outside of the building. We were spared the cuteness of miniature pinatas, gaudy serapes, or glittering velvet sombreros as wall decor.
Outside the window where we sat, the street curved away, lined by rows of more adobe buildings, their rounded brown lines broken occasionally by dusty green trees. This street was the main drag through town, having all the charm of Santa Fe or Taos, without the tourists. The two thousand residents apparently preferred it this way.
Sally's eyes traveled to the curve in the road and back, taking in sights familiar yet different.
"That bookstore over there?" She indicated a blue door across the street. "That's where I had my first after-school job. I was working there when Ross walked in and asked for a book on backpacking. I was two years out of high school when we met, and I think it was love at first sight."
Her eyes sparkled, and I felt a brief stab of almost-jealousy that she had found her soul mate at such a young age. My own love life had consisted of years of ups and downs, with one distinct possibility coming onto the scene during my Hawaiian vacation a couple of months ago. It reminded me that he'd be here for a visit within the week.
"Remember that park we passed on the way in?" Sally asked. "It used to be so big. Do all our childhood haunts shrink when we get older?"
I couldn't say. I still live in the house I grew up in, having inherited it after my parents were killed in a plane crash when I was a junior in high school. But I could see what Sally meant. I wondered what it was like for her, growing up in a small town like this.
Our huevos arrived just then. The waitress set them down using a potholder and warned us that the plates were hot. Waves of steam rose from the plate with the first cut of my fork. The chile, cheese, egg, beans, and tortilla steamed for a moment on the tines before I tentatively took a bite. Umm... heaven.
"So, how do you want to spend the day?" I asked, once Sally and I had both reached a stopping place.
"Well," she answered, "I thought about calling my friend Laura Armijo. The last I heard she was still living here."
She thought about that a minute, then chuckled. Sally lights up when she laughs. Otherwise, she's on the plain side—pear shaped body, small breasts, shaggy blond hair, a few freckles on an honest-looking face. Two weeks ago she learned that she's pregnant, something they'd been working on for months, and there does seem to be a little more glow surrounding her now.
"Actually, I couldn't imagine Laura living anywhere but here," she said. "Her parents and grandparents live here. Her great-grandchildren will probably live here."
"Did she know you were coming?"
"No. Obviously, we didn't even know we were coming. We'll just stop by her place after lunch."
I liked the informality of it. Right off hand, I couldn't think of a single friend I could just drop in on, other than my eighty-six year old neighbor, Elsa Higgins. Being with Sally today wasn't making me feel any better about my independence.
We had finished lunch and divided the check. Sally gave directions, and I guided my Jeep along the back streets she indicated.
Laura's house was a picture postcard. A huge cottonwood tree cast dappled shadows over the adobe house and the driveway. We parked in the shade in front of a tall wooden gate set deeply into an adobe wall. Lamps of Mexican wrought iron flanked the sides of the gate, and red chile ristras hung below the lamps. Someone had planted flowers along the front of the wall, bright orange-red geraniums and tall purple cosmos. The gate itself was heavy wood, weathered into a gray plank of deep crevices. The pungent scent of roasting chile filled the air.
Sally pushed the gate open, and we stepped into a spacious courtyard. Here, the same attention to detail was evident. Pots of geraniums lined the walkway. A small horno, an adobe bread oven, was built into one corner of the courtyard. Black soot stains around the opening indicated that the oven was not merely decorative. The flagstone walk had been recently washed, the gravel areas around it freshly raked. Being somewhat of a neatness fanatic myself, I found the whole place immensely appealing.
The house was built in a U shape, forming three sides of the courtyard. As I scanned the area, trying to determine which would be the front door, a woman came out, her step questioning and tentative. She was petite, with dark hair cut short and stylish, and skin the color of coffee with a lot of cream added. She wore jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She stopped just under the edge of the covered portal.
"Sally!" It was almost a shriek, as she flew down the walkway toward us.
Laura disappeared into Sally's big hug. They exclaimed over each other for a good three minutes before either of them realized I was standing there shifting from one foot to the other.
"Where are my manners?" Sally said, turning to me. "Charlie, this is my old friend, Laura."
Laura was just as welcoming to me as she had been to Sally. Her smile was infectious, showing straight white teeth and well-defined smile wrinkles at both sides of her mouth. She took my hand and led us both toward the house.
"Let's sit out here," she said. "It's cooler. I've been roasting chile all morning."
A round glass-topped table stood in one corner of the patio. We pulled out the cushioned chairs around it, and sat down.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Laura asked. "Tea, Cokes, anything?"
I was still full from the meal we'd just eaten, but Laura seemed determined to be a good hostess. Sally and I both opted for iced tea. Laura was gone only a couple of minutes before she ca
me back with tall glasses of tea with lemon slices floating on top. She had also brought a plate of cinnamon and sugar covered bizcochitos, a cookie I've never been able to resist. I proceeded to munch down two of them while Sally and Laura caught up on their news.
Laura was thrilled to hear about Sally's pregnancy.
"Aren't you and Bobby about ready to try again?" Sally asked.
"No, not yet." Laura's voice was hesitant. Her dark eyes stared out toward the small patch of lawn in the middle of the courtyard.
Sally reached over and took her hand. "Losing one baby isn't the end of the world," she said. "That was three years ago."
"I know," said Laura. "It scares me, though, to want something so much." She wiped the moisture from her tea glass with a napkin. Her hands and eyes stayed busy as she spoke. "Maybe it's better for now to stick with my job at the bank. We're putting a little money aside, you know, finally getting a little ahead."
The back screen door opened just then, pushed slowly outward by an elderly woman. She spoke to Laura rapidly in Spanish, with Laura answering the same way. The old woman nodded briefly toward Sally and me, then ducked back inside.
"My husband's grandmother," Laura explained. "There's a phone call for me."
She glanced around the patio. A phone stood on a small table near the door. "I must have turned the ringer off on this one," she said. She walked to it and picked up the receiver.
"Hello? Hi, Richard, what's up?"
I had no intention of listening to the phone call, but there was no way I could avoid it. My chair faced the spot where Laura stood, and she made no effort to conceal either the caller or the content. As I watched, the color drained from her face.
"No!" she screamed. "Oh my God, no!"
Her hand went to her mouth, and her knees began to give way. Sally and I both were out of our chairs in an instant. Tears were streaming down Laura's face by the time she hung up the phone. Sally held her close, while I stood by feeling completely useless and very much out of place. Laura's sobs built in intensity before beginning to subside.
Sally held her at arm's length at last.
"What is it, Laura?" she asked gently.
"My friend, Cynthia," she choked. "She's dead."
Chapter 2
Laura's legs threatened to give way again. Sally steered her toward her chair.
"What happened?" I finally had the courage to ask. Perhaps talking it out would help her cope.
She took a sip of her tea, and a little color came back into her face. I handed her a fresh napkin to wipe her cheeks. The tears had begun to dry in two salty tracks.
"Richard said she lost the baby." Her voice was tiny and not at all solid.
I glanced up at Sally. Her own face had gone white, her light freckles standing out vividly now. She flopped heavily into her chair. Her own pregnancy was still too new and fragile to take for granted. Being thirty years old was an added risk, and she knew it.
Laura was beginning to come around a little. Her fingers stayed busy folding the edges of her paper napkin into neat patterns.
"I don't know whether you knew Cynthia," she said to Sally. "She's a bit older than us."
Sally shook her head. She still hadn't spoken.
"Cynthia just turned thirty-seven," Laura continued. "She was so excited about this baby. You know, she lost one last year, and figured this might be her only chance to try again."
Tears puddled at the bottoms of her big brown eyes once more.
"Maybe we should go," I suggested gently.
Sally looked disoriented, but Laura pulled herself together. "No, please," she said. "I think I'd like company for awhile yet. At least until Bobby gets home." She looked over at Sally. "I could use a little help in the kitchen," she suggested.
We followed her into the house and through a cool, dark dining room to the kitchen. A large skylight in the middle of the room made it light and airy feeling. Copper pots hung from hooks above a center work island. The counter tops were brightly patterned Mexican tiles in blue, rust, and yellow. The smell of roasted chile was prevalent. A shallow pan of green chile pods, their skins crispy from the broiler, sat atop the stove.
"Will you stay for dinner tonight?" Laura asked. "I was just going to make enchiladas."
I thought of the big meal we'd just eaten, and started to decline. But I looked toward Sally first. Maybe she needed this time with her friend.
"We better not," she said. "We had planned to drive back to Albuquerque this afternoon."
"Well, can you stay and help me make the sauce, anyway?"
We agreed, and went to the sink to wash our hands. The next twenty minutes passed quietly as we peeled and chopped the roasted chiles, and chopped onions, garlic, and tomatoes for the sauce. Laura busied herself at the stove stirring the stock, adding each ingredient as we had it ready. Finally, there was nothing to do but let it simmer. The work had been therapeutic, though. Both Laura and Sally looked more stable.
Laura picked up the tea pitcher, and pulled a tray of ice from the freezer.
"Let's go back outside and finish our tea," she suggested.
"Tell us about Cynthia," I encouraged. The sooner she could talk about it, the sooner she could work through the grief.
"She was my supervisor at the bank," Laura said. "Such a nice lady. She had lived next door to my mother, and we were friends for a long time. She helped me get the bank job."
"She and her husband were really looking forward to the baby, I guess?"
"I know she was. Richard's a funny guy. I have a hard time knowing what he thinks." Something in her expression closed down, warning me that she didn't want to talk about Richard.
She decided to check the sauce on the stove just then, leaving Sally and me alone on the patio.
"What do you think about that?" Sally asked in a whisper.
"The way Laura closed up about Richard just now? You mean like she and he ..."
"No! Laura is a hundred percent devoted to Bobby. I mean she almost acted like she was afraid of Richard."
Through the screen I could see Laura heading back toward us, so I motioned Sally to silence. Laura's face was still preoccupied when she sat down. I glanced back at Sally. She raised her eyebrows in a questioning way. Okay, I can ask a painful question or two.
"Laura, I got the feeling you don't like Richard too much," I prompted.
She turned in her chair, facing now out into the yard. Her expression was flittering through a variety of emotions.
"Charlie's a private investigator," Sally told her. "Maybe she can help if there's a problem."
Laura started to say something.
"I'm not really a private investigator," I told her. "I'm a partner in an investigation firm. Occasionally I get pulled into something where I can ask a few questions and help figure out some answers."
"She's good," Sally piped in. "Just last month she caught a murderer."
I waved my hand toward her, hoping she wouldn't go into a lot of detail. The occasion had prompted an on-going argument with my brother about my refusal to use a handgun. I've always been opposed to them, but he has quite stubbornly and reasonably pointed out that I came pretty close to getting myself killed a month ago, and that I better learn to protect myself. I'm not convinced yet. At least I'm not ready to admit anything to him.
Laura was looking at me with a new expression on her face. I wasn't exactly sure how to interpret it.
"Do you know how to get information from people?" she asked. "I mean, like police reports and things?"
"Sometimes." I waited. She chewed her lower lip.
"If I tell you something, you have to promise, and I mean a deadly serious promise, that you won't say anything."
"Laura, that would depend on what you tell me. There are some things I'd have to report."
"Then, could you not tell anyone where you heard it? I mean, this is a small town."
"Again, that depends." Why wouldn't she just come out with it?
She leaned
closer, her voice a whisper this time. Sally and I found ourselves leaning inward, too.
"I think Richard used to beat Cynthia," she said.
That said, we all leaned back in our chairs once again.
"Did Cynthia ever tell you this?" I asked.
"Oh, no." Denial was quick and firm. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
I kept my gaze level. "Laura, if you know your friend was being abused, you have to say so. Do you think Richard's abuse might have caused Cynthia's miscarriage?"
"I don't know." Her face closed.
Sally reached over to take her friend's hand. She squeezed it while she addressed me. "Charlie, there's something you may not understand." She looked again at Laura, sending reassurance through her fingertips. "Women around here don't talk about things like that."
My jaw must have dropped, because she went on.
"They just don't." She fixed her eyes on mine. Meaning, Hispanic women around here don't talk about these things. I got her meaning, and tried to be gentle with my next question.
"What made you think Richard was beating his wife?" I asked.
Again, Laura looked away briefly, unable to say it right out. "One time Cynthia came to work with a black eye," she said quietly. "She said she had bumped into the door. I knew it wasn't true. After that, he was more careful. She must have said something to him. Once I saw an ugly bruise mark on her arm, and I asked her about it. After that, she wore long sleeves all the time." She sipped her tea and took a deep breath. "Once, she opened a file drawer a little too fast, and it hit her in the belly. She almost screamed with the pain. Then she acted confused, and said that she'd had a stomach ache all day anyway. I never came out and asked her about any of it. It's just one of those things you know without asking."
"Do you think she would have reported this to the police?"
"If she wouldn't even tell a good friend?"
"How about a doctor? Were any of the injuries bad enough to need a doctor?"
"I don't know. There's only the one clinic in town. She would have had to go there." Again, a pause for another sip of tea. "Cynthia Martinez was a good woman. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment, Charlie."
Small Towns Can Be Murder Page 1