Murder, Sonoran Style

by Kathy McIntosh

  Across from him were several greenhouses housing all manner of succulents and cacti. Pots in front held flowering species, and succulents that looked as if they’d melted into their present form. Most had spines, some that looked feathery, others, fierce. Gabe had learned to his dismay that those innocent looking furry spines proved tricky to remove. Duct tape helped, tweezers, patience and good eyesight, as well.

  “Mr. Ramsay. Gabe.” Gabe started at the voice calling his name and turned to meet Ben’s sister. The woman who strode toward him had, at first appraisal, little resemblance to Ben. Around six feet, she was taller than Ben, and her long hair, which fell beneath her straw hat, was a dark blonde. She neared and smiled, and Gabe worked hard not to react to the thick scar on her cheek and neck. She shared Ben’s smile and rawboned features. She thrust a hand out and clasped Gabe’s in a strong grip. She smelled of soap and some spice. Ginger? Rosemary? “Sorry to keep you,” she said. “I have my own garden at home to care for. I sell herbs at a couple of local farmers’ markets.”

  “No problem. This is an impressive nursery.”

  “A great place to work. Let’s walk while we talk. I hope Ben’s doing okay on his new job.” She stooped to pinch a dying leaf from a succulent.

  “He’s fitting in well,” Gabe said. “He’ll be a great addition to our team.” He paused. “Have you seen him lately?”

  “Not since he started training with your tour group.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “Actually, we don’t see each other often.” Her voiced contained regret.

  “I hear you were a great support to Ben after your parents died.”

  “Not so much. I was shattered, too. But we hung together and made it through.” She shrugged. “Mostly.”

  She stubbed a dirty tennis shoe in the red earth. “I heard about Everett Poulsen’s death. Shame.”

  Ben’s shoulders tightened. He hated pressing people for sensitive information. “You dated him, I understand.”

  “Yes, for a while. I was quite enamored.” She laughed with a tinge of bitterness. “Guess he wasn’t. But it was a long time ago. Water under the bridge. Which isn’t much of an analogy in Tucson.” This time her laugh was a merry chuckle and Gabe saw so much of Ben the prankster in her.

  She squatted on her haunches and spun a large potted cactus around and away from its neighbor. “Always something to do here. I disappointed Ben when I sold the ranch. I hated to do it, but it was too hard to keep up. I never thought Everett would—“ she stared up at Gabe. “Surely you don’t suspect Ben of killing Everett. That was years ago and Ben’s over it. As I am.”

  Gabe shaded his eyes so he could take in her expression below him. “I heard Ben’s saving money to buy land for a ranch. Maybe get it back for you?”

  Her gaze flickered away before she looked back at Gabe. “Of course he wouldn’t. That’s ridiculous. I’m happy here. I’ve made a new life in Tucson, with lots of friends, my garden, this job. I wouldn’t, couldn’t leave all this. Ben knows.” Her lips pinched together. “He must know that.”

  Suddenly she bent over and turned over a large rock, then a second. From beneath the second a scorpion Gabe recognized as a Giant Hairy Scorpion scurried away, brushing against Patsy’s hand as it passed. “You know, they recognize fear and hatred and—who knows?—love, maybe better than people,” she said. “Besides, it’s the little ones that sting worst.” She stood and brushed her hands against her faded jeans.

  Patsy glanced at her watch. “I can’t tell you much more about Ben. I haven’t seen him for quite a while. He’ll be great at this new job. He’s a people person, for sure. Lot more than me, the plant lady.” She extended her large hand to Gabe and he saw the ugly, ropy scars extending under the rolled up sleeve of her checked shirt. “Ben’s a good man. He’ll make you proud, just like he does me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: Please Don't Cuff Me

  G abe pulled his truck into Tripp’s circular drive, passing a white SUV with the logo of the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department parked near the front door. He parked in the graveled parking area and entered the house through the garage after punching in the code Tripp had given all the guides. Tripp informed Gabe he’d be changing the code once the team members were moved out. Not exactly a declaration of confidence in his employees.

  As he strode into the kitchen, Madrone and Heather fell silent. Madrone moved toward him stiffly. “The sheriff is in the living room. He needs to speak to you.”

  He aimed for the coffee pot. “I could use some fortification.”

  “Yes. A lot, I think.”

  “What up?” He looked from Madrone to the younger woman.

  “I’m just supposed to send you in. Not talk to you.” She crossed to the cupboard that held coffee mugs and reached for one. Moved closer to Gabe to hand it to him. “Here’s a cup.” She leaned close and whispered, “No matter what, I have faith in you. We’ll get through this, I promise.” She backed away from him, unsmiling.

  Heather rubbed her mouth with one hand. “It’s gotta be a mistake,” she murmured, not looking at him.

  If they weren’t going to tell him what was going on, he’d find out himself. He poured the coffee and headed for the living room. There he found Tripp, seated with Sheriff Idle and Deputy Weston, standing at attention near the other entrance to the room. On the coffee table beside Idle a large clear plastic bag marked “Evidence” held Gabe’s skinning knife. Another bag held a hunting knife he’d seen in Tripp’s gun case.

  Crap. He looked at the sheriff and then to Tripp. Both wore serious expressions, Tripp’s with a tense flavor.

  “That’s my knife. Why do you have it in an evidence bag?” Isn’t that what an innocent man would ask?

  “We got an anonymous tip that it might be the murder weapon,” the sheriff said.

  “They searched all our rooms,” Tripp added. “Took mine, too. This is crazy.”

  The sheriff stood. “We got some other information I’d like to discuss with you, Mr. Ramsay.”

  So now I’m Mr. Ramsay, not Gabe. Great. “Sure.” He moved toward an empty wing chair.

  “In my office.” The sheriff’s expression remained solemn.

  The deputy moved toward Gabe and took his arm. Surely they weren’t going to cuff him. In front of Tripp, Madrone and Heather? He heard a slight noise outside the room and saw that witnesses would also include Jesse and Ben. Couldn’t they have been outside? Anywhere else? Sweat dripped from his armpits.

  “I’m happy to go with you. No idea what’s going on, but I want to help. We need to find Everett’s killer.”

  “Yes, we do.” Sheriff Idle’s emphasis made his point clear.

  Gabe accompanied the sheriff and Weston out the front door. He discarded the idea of rushing to Madrone and embracing her in a dramatic farewell. He could definitely use some affection. Too bad he didn’t have a dog.

  When he started to walk toward his truck, the deputy again grabbed his arm. “You’ll be riding with us,” Weston said.

  The skin all over his body prickled. Holy Hannah, he was a real, live suspect in a murder he hadn’t contemplated since Everett Poulsen framed him for cheating in prep school. Maybe he should have followed through back then. Maybe not. Still, he’d have thought his first arrest might have been for a valid reason.

  When he’d decked Arthur Holley back in Durango, Gabe had voluntarily gone to the police department and told his side of the story. Because Holley had run into his office swinging, Gabe hadn’t thought he’d need an attorney. Big mistake. Holley was rich, a tenured professor and a donor to the college, with connections throughout the community, with a lawyer who never hesitated to swing his big stick. When threatened with a lawsuit and a missing donor, the college administration folded like the wings on a ladybug and Gabe was gone. But not arrested.

  No cuffs, but he saw Tripp, Madrone and Heather standing on the front steps and watching him behind the cage as the SUV drove off.

  “I didn’t kill Everett.”

>   “No talking,” Deputy Weston barked from the driver’s seat.

  The sheriff twisted around in the passenger seat. Was that a flicker of apology Gabe saw in the man’s eyes? “Procedure. We’ll talk when we get to the Benson substation.”

  * * * *

  Forty-five minutes of silence broken only by the grumbling of his stomach that had missed lunch gave Gabe plenty of time to think. Way too much time. He considered and discarded a half dozen escape scenarios before convincing himself that innocent men don’t run. Okay, not this innocent man. Who had told Idle about Gabe’s knife? Why wasn’t Tripp here, since he too had a hunting knife of considerable size? Eventually, he’d forced himself into a semblance of meditation watching the desert outside his moving cell.

  At the substation, Weston escorted him into a small room and offered him coffee. Gabe accepted, expecting sludge and receiving a hot, savory cup of dark roasted coffee. “We all chipped in for a Keurig. No point ruining a good donut,” Weston remarked in his first foray into humor that Gabe had witnessed.

  The sheriff joined him after a long, sweaty, quarter of an hour. “Had a few calls to return. Sorry to keep you.”

  After asking and obtaining Gabe’s agreement to tape the interview, Idle began. “Got a tip about your knife. Anonymous text from a prepaid phone. Reason I hadn’t gotten a search warrant for all your rooms before was I figured no one, even a crazy bad guy, would keep the murder weapon on him—or her—with acres of desert to dispose of it in.”

  Gabe stared at him. “So either I’m nuts or you, what, smell a rat?”

  “It’s never a good idea to let the rat know you have a nose for him.”

  Gabe’s muscles relaxed for the first time in over an hour. He ran his hand over his damp forehead. “Wish you could of told me that in the car.”

  The sheriff smiled, if only a small one. “Procedure. Can’t let my young deputy think I break the rules. Like telling suspects I don’t suspect them.”

  “Wait. Is this some sneaky trick to put me at ease so I’ll spill all?”

  “Is it working?”

  “I do have some things to tell you, but not a confession.”

  “Just what I was hoping.”

  Gabe told him what Madrone had learned about Ben’s obsession with saving money for a ranch and about Ben’s sister’s insistence that the ranch couldn’t be for her. Her conviction that Ben had left behind his anger at Everett. He didn’t share Heather’s secret about why she’d left Flagstaff. That was hers. He asked if she’d told the sheriff Everett had come onto her at Tripp’s party and he said she had. He told him that Tripp and Lorraine had argued about Flicker and Tripp’s insistence that it was Everett, not Tripp, who was having an affair with the redhead.

  “I’m not going to ask how you heard that discussion. Don’t want to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

  “Good idea.”

  The sheriff wriggled in his chair. He leaned forward. “Listen up. You’re not top on my suspect list. Howsomever, I looked into the backgrounds of all of you and I wish you’d of mentioned your little set-to in Durango. Ya knew I’d find out.”

  His throat constricted enough that Gabe could barely choke out a response. “I knew. It’s something I don’t bring up. For one thing, I signed a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “Pretty sure that doesn’t apply to law enforcement, buddy. In fact, I doubt it applies to anything except posting it on social media or telling the media. Put that assault charge together with your fight with Poulsen the other day and I gotta think again about your position on my top ten list.”

  “I can see how you might. But there’s things you might not know.” Trying to bring up enough spit to wet his dry mouth, Gabe swallowed. Probably made him look even more guilty. “I didn’t take the first swing at Arthur Holley. And I definitely did not make a pass at his wife. My problems started when I turned her down. Both of them went first, believe me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “None of it was my fault, except maybe that I gave in too soon to the school admin’s pressure. I don’t know how to get you to believe me, but I’m telling you the truth.” Sweat dripped down Gabe’s chest.

  “Thing is, I do believe you. I have a buddy on the Durango force. We used to work for LAPD together, Robbery-Homicide. Marcus told me he doubted the whole story when he was called in.”

  “Nobody stood up for me back then.”

  “Politics, son. The college wasn’t the only recipient of Holley’s generosity.”

  Someone knocked on the door. Sheriff Idle frowned but stood and opened it. Weston’s high-pitched voice said, “Sorry to bother you, sir. That cook is out here hollering about unfair and ridiculous detention without representation. I can’t get her to calm down. Should I arrest her?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t arrest her. Tell her her friend will be out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “You’re free to go, son,” he said to Gabe. “Stay in town for now, keep me informed should you hear anything new, and for God’s sake, tell your friend out there the whole story about Durango. Other people know, including someone who texted me that tip. Someone else’s bound to squeal. Nobody’s gonna run up to Colorado and tell the dean. If you check with a lawyer, I’m sure you’re free to tell most anyone.”

  He clapped Gabe on the back as he walked past. “The truth’s usually a good idea. Unless of course you’ve been trespassing.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: why Didn't You Tell Me Sooner?

  W hen he saw a furious Madrone through the window on the door to the substation’s waiting room, Gabe stopped. Facing Madrone might be harder than answering Sheriff Idle’s questions. Maybe her angry expression was a remnant of the rage she’d vented on Idle’s deputy. That righteous fury was directed at the sheriff and his minions, fine with Gabe. However, if she’d learned from Tripp or someone else about the reason he fled Colorado, he’d soon be burnt toast. Too late now to tell her the whole story?

  Maybe not. He pushed through the door and confronted her back as she paced. “Hey, Madrone. You scared the deputy.”

  She spun around and ran to embrace him. “You’re out. You’re okay,” she said to his chest. She backed away. “You’re also dead meat.”

  He hung his head. Maybe the repentant puppy dog look would gain him some points. “I know I should have told you sooner.”

  She strode up to him. “If I were a slapper, this would be the perfect time.”

  He looked up with a smile. “But you’re not. You’re a kind person who’ll give me the chance to explain.”

  “Just stop, Gabe. Stop with the puppy who’s peed on the carpet look. Stop with trying to butter me up. Just promise that you’ll tell me the whole story as soon as we get out of here.”

  “I promise. I will tell you everything. Soon.”

  “As soon as we walk out of this place.”

  “Yes. As soon as we get back to Tripp’s?”

  “No. We will go to the nearest cafe and you will tell me all about it.”

  “Don’t you need to get back to Tripp’s to fix dinner?” He didn’t know why postponing the inevitable seemed such a good idea, but it did.

  “No. Got that covered.”

  As they made their way to the entrance, Jesse Leeman burst through the door, drenched in sweat. He ran right past them, blind to the presence of his friends. He ran to the reception desk. “Gabe Ramsay is innocent. I killed Everett Poulsen. Let me talk to the sheriff,” he yelled through his panting. He held up his hands in fists. “Cuff me. Arrest me.”

  “Hold on, buddy,” said the older man at the front desk. “Take a breath.” He picked up the phone. “We got us another screecher out here. This one says he killed Poulsen. Wants to talk to you, sir.” He paused. “Sure thing.” He walked around the counter and opened the door to the back. “This way, son. No need for cuffs since you’re here voluntarily.”

  “Wait!” Madrone ran to the door and blocked it. “What the heck’s going on, Jesse? A
re you nuts? And how did you get here?”

  Jesse swept the back of his hand across his forehead. “When you said they’d taken Gabe in, that he was a suspect, I panicked. Then I realized I had to tell the truth. Couldn’t let him take the blame for me. I didn’t mean to hit him . . . . Anyway, I convinced Ben to loan me his truck.” He looked at Gabe. “I’m sorry, sir, that you had to go through this.” He gestured back toward the hallway. “I’ll set them straight.” He pivoted and walked down the hall, as if to an execution.

  “Sir?” Gabe felt ancient along with confused.

  “He said he hit him,” Madrone said. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “He looked convinced to me,” Gabe replied. “Wouldn’t have thought he had that much anger in him. Maybe we should wait. He is my employee, after all.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. This won’t get you off the hook of explaining about Durango. We can come back. Did you get any lunch?”

  “No. I’m starving.” Madrone was a sucker for a hungry, weak man.

  “You can eat while you talk. Or after. Yeah, after is better.”

  Maybe not such a sucker. They got in Madrone’s car and headed downhill to the town center, where a number of cafes were still open in the mid-afternoon. She parked and entered without pausing to look at the menu posted in the window, a sure sign she still hung on to her anger, despite the interruption provided by Jesse.

  When they were seated in a booth toward the back of the cafe, Gabe picked up his menu. “I can’t believe Jesse killed Everett. What was his motive?”

  “Not happening, my friend. No distractions.” Madrone reached over and pushed it to the table. She spoke to the waitress. “We’ll just have coffee for now.”

  Uh oh. She was serious.

  So Gabe told her, over not very good coffee, told her every detail, from his joy in teaching, his admiration for his students and what happened after Pamela Holley waltzed into his life at the Student Union. At first he’d been friendly and receptive to conversation. She’d “accidentally” run into him a few more times and then one day dropped in on him during his office hours. She was not his student. In fact, he didn’t know if she’d enrolled in any classes. When he’d informed her he needed to keep his office hours for students, she’d suggested they meet at his place, anytime he wanted. He declined and she threw herself on him, sobbing, declaring her loneliness, clutching his head between her hands and pulling him down to kiss him. He had grasped her forearms and thrust her away from him, propelling her with as little force possible out of his office and he’d hoped, out of his life.