She splashed coffee into a cup without spilling a drop. I ordered a veggie omelet, wheat toast, and a fruit cup, feeling quite righteous for avoiding the sausage, bacon, and fried potatoes.
It was still early and the place was, once again, not crowded. I wondered if Sal was really making a living out of it. A couple occupied a booth down the row from mine, but they seemed completely involved with only each other. Like Drake and I might have been, had he been here with me.
"Sal? You got a minute?" I asked when she passed by.
She glanced at the other couple, making sure they were all right. "Sure," she said. She slid into the booth across from me and set the coffee pot between us.
"Remember what we were talking about last night?" I asked.
She squinted her eyes together, thinking. "About Cynthia Martinez?"
"Yeah. Well, I was wondering . . . " Wondering how to phrase a question or two without telling her about my evening. Information which might easily be all over town by noon if I told her. "Did you tell anyone else about that conversation?"
She pulled her chest up straighter. "I don't make a habit of gossip," she answered formally.
"Oh, I didn't mean that," I assured her, although I wasn't the least bit sure of her assertion. "I just, well, it's kind of touchy."
She sat very still.
"I mean, well, shoot, I think someone's after me."
She leaned in closer. "What do you mean, honey?"
I really didn't want to elaborate. "Oh, I don't know, Sal. I just, well . . ." I was not handling this well at all. "Remember that man who sat at the other end of the room? Do you know him well?"
"Larry? Sure. He's lived in town all his life. Runs a little appliance repair shop down next to that car dealer that sells them little small cars."
"He's not dangerous, is he?"
She burst out laughing, attracting glances from the couple in the other booth. They smiled and went back to their conversation. "Oh, heavens no," she breathed. "Larry's one of the sweetest men you'd ever know."
"Okay, well, never mind then," I said, hoping to cut off any other questions. I felt a bit foolish but didn't really know where else to turn.
Sal got up to check the other's coffee and I finished my breakfast quickly. I left cash on the table and walked out into another sunny day.
The police station was just coming awake as I drove up. Steve Bradley had apparently opted to come in late after his middle-of-the-night call from me. I was escorted into a private room where I gave a statement to an officer who didn't seem to have a very clear idea of why I was there. He didn't ask many questions, simply took down what I told him and had me sign the form when finished.
Thirty minutes later I found myself outside again, with no definitive plan for the day. Bradley's warning from last night came back to me. He wanted me out of town. Unfortunately, more than ever, I wanted answers.
The fact that someone had gone to the trouble to break into my room, search my things, then try to kill me, told me that I was getting close to something. I only wished I knew what.
The day was getting warm already, even though it was not yet nine o'clock. I climbed back into the Jeep and rolled all the windows down. The sun had cleared the surrounding mountains early and now scoured the sky a pale blue. Dust settled on the trees and shrubs. The grayish chamisa which grew around the perimeter of the police station parking lot looked as if it survived on a steady diet of the powdery brown stuff. A small patch of yellow and orange marigolds near the doorway provided the brightest spot of color on the property. I noticed them but my mind was mulling over my options.
I started the car and cruised aimlessly up the main street of the sleepy little town. Saturday morning. People were only beginning to stir. Traffic was light, almost non-existent by Albuquerque standards. Most of the visible cars were clustered around restaurants and gas stations. The variety store had apparently just opened because parking spaces near the front door were still plentiful. The clinic was quiet. Only two cars sat in the lot, much the same arrangement as the first time Sally and I had come here, although I couldn't be sure if they were the same two vehicles. I noticed that their Saturday hours were posted as nine to three.
Nothing here was giving me the answers I needed and with a sudden burst of longing for my own home and my own dog, I hung a U at the next intersection and headed south. Ninety-four minutes later I pulled into my driveway. Rusty bounded out of Elsa Higgins back door and nearly skidded around the blue spruce at the corner of the house in his haste to greet me. I hugged him with something nearing desperation. Suddenly, every bit of adrenalin drained from my body and I could think of nothing but a nice long sleep.
Dropping my purse and duffle on the living room floor behind the couch, I stripped on the way down the hall and turned the shower on hot. Within ten minutes, I had closed the drapes, taken the phone off the hook, and slipped into bed. When I stretched lazily and turned toward the nightstand, the clock said it was five p.m. I rolled away from it and stretched again. The sheets were cool and smooth and reminded me that Drake had been gone three days now.
Six-thirty. The red numerals stared at me and I stared back at them. I must have dozed again, but somehow it felt like I'd been thinking the whole time. I allowed myself the luxury of lying there briefly, until a new thought struck me. Had my nighttime intruder stolen anything?
I vaguely remembered Steve Bradley asking that question and thought I'd responded negatively. The hands appeared empty when the dark shape dashed through the door. But I hadn't checked. I'd no idea how long the person had been in my room before I awoke. No idea how thoroughly they'd searched my purse and duffle. With sudden purpose, I got out of bed. Pulled on a pair of panties and a robe, then retrieved the duffle and purse from behind the couch in the living room. I pawed through them, looking for my notes, anything that might prove incriminating.
Everything appeared to be intact. Even the small spiral with my notes, the names Laura had given me at lunch. I smoothed the bedspread and dumped the contents of both bags. My purse was the usual disaster—wallet, keys, lipstick, and business cards, all held together with a collection of paper scraps, loose coins, unwrapped dinner mints, and nameless fuzz. I picked through the good items, dusting them off. The wallet still contained money, credit cards and ID. I couldn't tell that anything was missing.
One by one, I replaced the purse contents while tossing aside the scrap junk. After discarding the used shopping lists, cellophane candy wrappers, and unidentified lint, I came up with just one unfamiliar item. A tiny cup-shaped thing, slightly larger than a contact lens. I carried it to the window and opened the drape.
It was opaque white, flexible. As I examined it more closely, I noticed a ragged tear at one edge. It had caught on something inside the purse, probably the keychain, then torn cleanly away. Away from the fingertip of a latex glove. Like a surgical glove. My skin prickled.
Chapter 23
My mind whirled. I tried to remember the figure of the intruder as he'd escaped my room. Someone from the clinic. Definitely not Chris, the receptionist, although she was the one I'd talked to the most. She was far shorter and plumper than the silhouette I'd seen. And I seriously doubted that she possessed the iron strength of those hands that had wrapped around my neck.
The doctors? I shook my head to clear it. The idea seemed so implausible. My heart thumped as an idea began to form.
Something about the questions I'd been asking had frightened someone. The answer had to be in the patient files. I had to get back into that clinic. My hands shook slightly as I selected black leggings and an oversized navy blue cotton sweater from a dresser drawer. My mind raced. Black socks and shoes, a pair of gloves. I rounded them up. What on earth was I thinking?
It would be dark in an hour. I could be in and out of the clinic by ten and home again by midnight. Was I totally crazy?
Rummaging through my kitchen junk drawer, I gathered a few basic tools, including a can of black shoe polish that I e
nvisioned smearing camouflage-style on my face. I tossed all the tools and extra clothing into the duffle. Rusty stared at me quizzically, ears cocked and head tilted.
"Don't worry," I assured him, "you get to come, too."
I should let someone know where I was going. Who? Gram would be no help. She could dial 911, but if my plan failed, how would she get them to Valle Escondido in time to do me any good? Ron? I wasn't eager for a lecture.
I paced through the house, trying to think. I should make it look like I was home. I pulled drapes and turned on lamps. I should leave a message on the answering machine at the office. I called, knowing that if I wasn't home by morning, it might not matter anyway. I should have my head examined.
Rusty scampered alongside me out to the Jeep, completely unaware of the crazy stunt I was about to get us into. We stopped for gas at the edge of town. Traffic was heavy, like everyone in town was eager to get out and everyone from out of town was headed in. The sun turned the western sky to fire as I passed the exits leading to each of the Indian pueblos. Spangled signs at each turnoff enticed the traveler toward the glittering casinos.
By the time I hit the outskirts of Santa Fe the sun had disappeared, relieving the glare considerably. Realizing that I hadn't eaten anything since the veggie omelet this morning, I pulled off at Cerrillos Road, found a fast-food drive through, and cruised on out. On the Interstate again, Rusty and I ate our cheeseburgers and fries.
The lights of Valle Escondido sparkled below as we topped a small rise about a mile out of town. I glanced around nervously as we entered the town. Strange cars were easily spotted here, although mine was hardly a stranger any more. I felt like eyes were watching me. I cruised past the clinic once, staring openly, checking it carefully. No cars in the lot, muted lighting in the lobby. The rest of the building was dark.
I turned left at the next side street, then left again almost immediately into an alley. Prayed that it backed the clinic. I passed the back of a small strip center. All the metal doors were unmarked, with trash cans beside them. A beat up compact car sat outside one of the doors. A business owner working late Saturday night or the cleaning people? Either way, I'd have to be careful not to attract their attention. The other side of the alley backed on residences, separated by a solid looking block wall.
Halogen lights around the parking lot illuminated the back of the clinic. Small spotlights on the ground lit the shrubbery. These people sure were paranoid about nighttime intruders. I drove past and found a dark spot about two doors down, well out of sight of the parked compact car.
Rusty rushed the door eagerly when I stopped, but I managed to restrain him.
"Not just yet, boy," I cautioned. "I think I have to go this one alone."
I rummaged into the duffle bag. Tucked a flashlight, screwdriver, and the dark gloves into the pockets of my sweater. The can of black shoe polish looked up at me. I decided I had no idea what was in that stuff and worried that it might never come off my skin—decided against painting myself with it.
Rusty watched curiously. I tried to think what the hell I was going to do next.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, kid, you're gonna guard the car for me," I told the dog. "If I'm not back in half an hour, you call for help."
He wagged to thank me for my faith in him. I left the windows down about two inches each and locked the doors. The red-brown face with cocked ears turned toward me inquisitively. I hoped he wouldn't bark when I got out of sight.
Glancing around, I pasted myself into the shadow of the building. No movement. Soft light glowed from the residential windows behind the block wall. No curtains moved. I waited two minutes then edged my way to the side of my protective wall.
The clinic stood alone, surrounded by a much too open parking lot, its tan walls glowing nearly gold. The back door looked metal and solid. The aluminum framed windows were dark and covered by curlicued wrought iron bars. How on earth was I going to get into the place? I rubbed my temples.
The lighting was far too bright. I edged around the building where I stood until I could see down the side of the clinic to the street. Traffic was light but steady. No way I'd get around to the front without being seen. I eyed the light pole beside me.
It took three throws but I finally managed a strategically placed rock. The crash sent me ducking into the bushes. Two minutes later, I sneaked a peek out. No voices shouted, no doors were flung open, no sirens blared. And the back corner of the parking lot was now pleasantly, comfortingly dark.
I glanced to the rear corner of the building. A small spotlight on the ground illuminated the surrounding shrubbery. Confidently, I licked my lips. Piece of cake.
Out of sight of the street once again, I scanned the entire area quickly. Clear. I dashed for the side of the clinic, ducking behind a three foot arbor vitae. Directly in front of me, a yellow-pink footlight glared straight into my face. That seemed reason enough to administer a swift kick to it. The resulting darkness wasn't total, but was certainly better than before. I felt reasonably confident that I could work without being easily seen.
I turned to examine the metal back door. Slipped my dark gloves on before touching anything. The knob was cool and smooth and very firmly locked. A deadbolt lock above it reinforced the door's impenetrability. No one had been considerate enough to leave it unlocked for me. I directed my attention to the windows on either side of the door.
The wrought iron bars looked strong. I grabbed one of them and shook it. Not the slightest movement. I crossed to the other window and repeated the exercise. This one rattled just a little; there was perhaps a quarter inch play where the bars on the left side attached to the stuccoed wall. The fire escape. I wasn't up on the local fire codes in every town, but this just might be my chance. Some places required that at least one rear and one front window be unobstructed. If so, this might be the one. The bars would extend through the wall and be fastened by large wing nuts on the inside. Anyone trapped inside could quickly undo the wing nuts. The wrought iron grating would be hinged on one side and could swing open like a small door. A quick examination of the right hand side of the grate confirmed the presence of hinges. Okay.
The window itself consisted of two large glass panes, aluminum framed with a very basic latch holding them in the center. I pressed my hands against the glass, watching it bow inward. This shouldn't be too difficult. If I could wedge my screwdriver in and move the latch, I should be able to slide the glass open, then reach in and unfasten the wing nuts, giving myself an entrance.
It worked. Until the glass slid open and the burglar alarm went off.
Chapter 24
Oh, shit. I froze.
The incessant jangling filled the night air, echoing off the other buildings. I tucked myself back behind the safety of the arbor vitae. My heart pounded and sweat froze on my body.
A couple of drapes in the residences pulled open to reveal curious faces looking out. Seeing nothing, the faces retreated and the drapes fell back into place. I thought longingly of my Jeep and my dog, parked a hundred yards away out of sight.
Two full minutes that felt like two full hours passed. I looked around again. The houses were all still, the traffic had not all come to a stop. Neighborhood was pretty well ignoring the blaring alarm. I had to get out of there.
My knee joints crackled as I rose. I took a deep breath and ran for the shadow of the nearest building, edged my way around it, and straightened my shoulders to walk nonchalantly to my Jeep. Where Steve Bradley waited, leaning against his patrol car.
His arms were folded across his chest and not the faintest trace of a smile showed anywhere on his face.
"You don't listen real well, do you?" he drawled.
I couldn't think of a response to that.
"I told you to leave this alone, didn't I? I told you to go home." His arms had dropped to his sides and he'd taken two steps toward me. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The screaming alarm seemed to answer that question.
"Didn't your mama ever tell you that two wrongs don't make a right? You think you're getting back at someone for the break-in at your motel room last night?" His index finger was aimed at my nose.
I opened my mouth to respond, but two more squad cars roared up with lights and sirens filling the night. All the residential windows were lit now, with dark silhouettes peering out. A couple of the back doors opened and a few curious souls stood on their porches to witness the big fuss.
Two officers, a male and a female, jumped out of the cars, leaving the blue and red lights bouncing off the buildings and pavement. The quiet neighborhood was beginning to feel like the inside of a disco.
The male officer had his hand on the butt of his gun as he approached. Bradley gave a tiny negative shake of his head.
"Go check out the clinic, Jim," he ordered. Jim gave me another suspicious look before heading to do as the chief ordered.
"How did you get here so quickly?" I ventured to ask.
"The alarm rings at the station. I was sitting down at the next intersection when I got the radio call."
Nowhere in the world were the police this efficient. Just my luck. The blaring alarm stopped just then, leaving a silent void. Officer Jim must have the keys.
"I can't just let you go with a warning," Bradley sighed. "Do you know how much paperwork you've just created?"
The female officer, M. Martinez according to her name badge, had circled me in the meantime. She placed my hands on the hood of her car and proceeded to pat down my sides and legs. The screwdriver came out of my sweater pocket and was handed over to Bradley. The neighbors were practically taking notes by now. For the first time in my life, I had an idea why people being hauled off by the police always covered their faces. I felt like a sideshow attraction.
Officer Jim came back and briefly explained to Bradley about the open window and broken spotlight. M. Martinez started to snap handcuffs onto my wrists.
Small Towns Can Be Murder Page 15