Spanish Dagger

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “Your mother did that?” I asked in surprise.

  “Well, that was silly.” Leatha’s voice was thin and querulous. “That car killed him. Why would she be so sentimental about it?”

  “It wasn’t sentiment,” Miles said. “She—”

  “Hauled away where?” McQuaid interrupted tersely, leaning forward.

  “I have no idea,” Miles said, throwing up his hands. “The paper trail is fragmented and sketchy. There isn’t much to go on, and I’m certainly not an experienced investigator. But it looks to me like maybe she rented a garage and had the car towed there.”

  “A garage!” Leatha scoffed. “How ridiculous. If it wasn’t sentiment, what was it? Surely she didn’t intend to sell it. The car was a total loss.”

  “She wasn’t interested in selling it,” Miles replied evenly. “She had those letters. She didn’t think his death was an accident, and she wanted to preserve the evidence.” He paused, with a glance at McQuaid—a hopeful glance, it seemed to me. “The car may still be there. I intend to find it and have a look at it.”

  “Why in the world would you want to do that?” Leatha demanded. She appealed to me. “Don’t you think that’s ghoulish, China? I hope you won’t want to see it.”

  “There where?” McQuaid said, trying not to sound eager, and I knew that he was halfway hooked already. “Houston?”

  “I don’t think so.” From the relief in Miles’ voice, I could tell that he knew, too. He was no longer in this alone. “There’s a receipt for the purchase of the car, and a tow truck receipt that shows the number of miles hauled. Doesn’t look to me like Houston.” As a final appeal, he added, “I’m sure you’ve done lots of investigations like this, Mike. You must have some ideas. I’d be grateful for any help you’d be willing to offer.”

  I got up and began to clear the table. Howard got up, too, and came over to see if he could help. “When you’ve got some concrete information,” I said in a businesslike tone, trying to stave off the inevitable, “I’m sure we’d be glad to know. In the meantime—”

  “In the meantime,” Leatha said loftily, “I fail to see why Laura Danforth—whom I always thought was a sensible person—would keep a totally wrecked car for sixteen years. Sixteen years!” She narrowed her eyes at Miles, and malice sharpened her tone. “Morbid. Utterly, completely morbid. What did she do? Light candles and incense on it every year on his birthday?”

  I added McQuaid’s empty dessert plate to the stack. “Mother,” I said, “you’re missing the point.” Not quite true. She was intentionally, deliberately avoiding the point. “Mrs. Danforth kept the car because—”

  “And I cannot understand why,” she went on, her voice rising, “either you or China would have any interest whatsoever in finding that old wreck. You are intelligent young people with plenty to keep you busy. Your father has been dead for sixteen years. I should think you would want to bury the old fool and get on with your life, rather than obsessing over a silly old Cadillac.”

  “Mother!” I exclaimed.

  But it wasn’t any use. Having worked herself into a state of righteous indignation, Leatha pushed her chair back. “Don’t use that patronizing tone of voice to me, China Bayles,” she said bitterly. She flung her napkin down. “You always know it all, just like your father. And you, too.” Standing, she glared at Miles, then at me. “The two of you are a pair. You’re both exactly like him, full of logical explanations and legal arguments and big words.” She swallowed her tears with an audible gulp. “Thank you for the dinner, China and Mike—it was very nice. Good night.”

  I put down the stack of plates. “Wait, Mother. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Don’t bother.” She lifted her chin with dignity. “I believe I can find it. It’s right out there in the driveway, you know. Not hidden away in some old garage.”

  The screen door banged behind her. I started to follow, but McQuaid put out his hand. “Let her go, China,” he said softly. “She just needs a little time, that’s all. This whole thing has been hard on her. Phone her in the morning—I’m sure she’ll feel better then.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said reluctantly, and sat back down again. Leatha spun the tires on gravel as she drove off down the drive. Howard Cosell flopped onto the floor, the owl called again, and the first firefly of the season flickered against the screen. “More coffee, anybody?”

  McQuaid stood and picked up the stack of dessert plates. “Miles and I have a few things to discuss. You’re welcome to join us, China, but we’ll understand if you don’t want to be involved.” He balanced two cups on the stack, and added some silver. “Hey. It’s time to break out the hard stuff.” He grinned at his brother-in-law. “What’s your pleasure, Miles? Brandy? Bourbon? Scotch?”

  Miles returned the grin, visibly relaxing. “Bourbon,” he said. “Neat.”

  “I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher,” I said stiffly, and began to clear the table.

  The job took longer than it usually does because I dawdled. I knew what they were talking about out there, and I didn’t want to hear it. When I finally finished and went out on the back porch, they were just winding things up. Miles stubbed out his cigarette and stood.

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll put a retainer check in the mail tomorrow.” He glanced at me. “Mike and I have agreed—”

  “I know,” I said briefly. McQuaid hadn’t had a paying client for several weeks, and the bank account was looking thin. My half brother might as well help us pay the mortgage, my Inner Teacher wisely observed. All things considered, I should keep my mouth shut.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad you’re on board.” He turned back to McQuaid. “I can’t say how grateful I am, Mike. I didn’t come here with the object of hiring a private investigator, but I’m glad that’s how it turned out. You’re experienced. You know that police department. You’ll get the job done faster and better than I could.”

  “Yeah. Well, we’ll see,” McQuaid said gruffly. “No guarantees, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Miles turned to me, half-smiling. “I hope you don’t think I pulled a fast one, China.”

  I did, actually, but it would have been churlish of me to say so. I shrugged. “McQuaid is his own boss. I don’t interfere in his business decisions.”

  “True words,” McQuaid agreed, putting an arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “But I wouldn’t take the job if China was opposed.” He looked down at me. “I don’t hear you saying no.”

  “Would it do any good?” I countered. “Would it do one single ounce of good? A scintilla, an iota, even a smidgeon of—”

  “Thanks for the dinner,” Miles put in hastily. “It was great. Terrific. Really.”

  McQuaid dropped his arm. “Any time,” he said, the genial host. They shook.

  Miles hesitated, still looking at me. “I don’t want to impose, China, but I wonder if I could bring Caitlin down to spend a weekend sometime. You know, she really loved it when we were here for your barbecue.”

  Somehow I had missed Caitlin’s enthusiasm. She was a shy, quiet child, and had hung on to her father as if she was afraid to let him out of her sight—which I could understand, I suppose. She had lost her mother, something that must have been terribly traumatic. I wasn’t sure how she would manage a whole weekend without her dad or how I would manage a whole weekend with an uncommunicative child. Maybe it would be good for her, my Inner Teacher suggested. And good for you, to give a little.

  I sighed. “Sure. We can do that. Just give us a little advance warning.”

  Miles smiled. “I’ll definitely do that. Thanks again.” He gave me a brotherly hug, lifted his hand to McQuaid, and disappeared into the dark.

  “Well,” McQuaid said heartily.

  “I don’t want to discuss it.” I picked up the glasses.

  “I wish you wouldn’t be that way,” McQuaid said, taking the glasses away from me. “I was hoping you’d want to get involved. After all, he was your father.”


  “I am not being any way,” I said, and took the glasses back. “And I definitely do not want to get involved.”

  “Sure thing, sugar,” McQuaid said pleasantly. “If that’s the way you want to play it.” He looked around for the dog. “Hey, Howard. Come on, buddy. You need to make a pit stop before bed.”

  Grrr. I looked after him. He wasn’t going to argue with me? He wasn’t going to try to persuade me?

  Tch-Tch, my Inner Teacher said in a disapproving tone.

  Chapter Three

  Whether growing in its native setting or as an invited guest in flower beds, the yucca is an impressive plant, both formidable and beautiful in appearance. On its tall, sometimes branched stem, sharp-pointed leaves radiate in a cluster, and out of this daunting green arsenal arises the showy flower stalk with its masses of creamy white bell-shaped blossoms.

  Elizabeth Silverthorne, Legends & Lore of Texas Wildflowers

  “I hope your dinner party was fun,” Carole said as she climbed into Big Red Mama the next morning.

  The sun was climbing over the trees, the morning was cool and bright, and we had already stowed Carole’s collecting equipment—buckets, gloves, clippers, and a bottle of mosquito repellent—in the back of the van. Mama is short, fat, and basically red, with psychedelic yellows, greens, and blues swirled over her sides. Ruby and I originally intended to repaint her a sedate green, with our name in professional-looking letters, but the longer we put it off, the more comfortable we got with Mama’s vintage hippie-wagon look. She may look her age, but so do we. We love her as she is.

  “Definitely not,” I said, backing into the alley. And it wasn’t surprising that when I called my mother that morning she hadn’t wanted to discuss it. I suspected that it would take awhile for her to simmer down. “How was your evening?”

  “I found a terrific place to eat,” Carole said happily. “An old Texas roadhouse called Beans. The owner’s name is Bob—he’s a real character. I like his golden retriever, too. He wears a red bandana and a leather saddlebag filled with bottles of beer. The dog, I mean,” she added, to clarify, and I laughed.

  “That’s Bud. Short for Budweiser. Sometimes people send him to the convenience store for cigarettes. He brings back the change, too. And Bob serves up the best chicken-fried steak in town.” I negotiated the turn onto Crockett. “In fact, we’re heading in that direction right now. The yucca we’re looking for grows along the railroad behind the restaurant.” I slowed to avoid a kamikaze squirrel. Mama does not like to step on small animals. “Heard anything from Ruby this morning?”

  Carole made a face. “She called around seven thirty. She’s pretty upset. Things didn’t go very well last night, apparently. Her mother thought she might be having a heart attack, so Ruby spent the night at the hospital.”

  “That’s no surprise,” I said grimly. “Whenever something unpleasant comes along, Doris has a heart attack. She’ll probably have three or four more before this is over. Ruby doesn’t fall for it, but what can you do when your mother begins to shriek bloody murder and clutches her chest with both hands?”

  “Poor Ruby,” Carole said. She gave me a sidelong glance. “She asked me if anybody had heard from Colin yet. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I guess the answer is no. Yes?”

  “Yes,” I said tersely. I shifted into high gear and Mama rattled cheerfully along, glad to be out and about in the spring sunshine. “It’s not the first time he’s stood her up, but it’s the first time he’s been seriously out of touch.”

  “From something Ruby said,” Carole remarked delicately, “I gather that you don’t think he’s right for her.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said, hanging a left. I was reluctant to talk to Carole, whom I haven’t known very long, about Colin, whom I don’t like very much. Unfortunately, I knew more about Ruby’s former boyfriend than Ruby did. I even knew his real name. But I was sworn to secrecy. I couldn’t tell Ruby what I knew, which meant that I couldn’t tell Carole.

  At that moment, a police car pulled ominously alongside Big Red Mama. The blue bubblegum-machine light went on and the officer motioned us over to the curb.

  “Oh, no!” Carole exclaimed in rueful dismay. “What have we done? We weren’t going over the speed limit, were we?”

  “Not a chance,” I said, braking and pulling over to the curb behind the squad car. “Mama’s too smart to break the law where she’s likely to get caught.” I rolled down my window and stuck my head out. “Morning, Smart Cookie,” I called to the uniformed officer who was climbing out of her squad car and coming toward us. “Haven’t you got anything better to do than flag down law-abiding citizens?”

  “Smart Cookie?” Carole let out her breath in relief. “She must be a friend of yours.”

  “You bet. A good friend.” I grinned. “She’s the chief of police. She’s good at that, too.”

  “She’s the chief?” Carole said, blinking admiringly. “Wow. I can hardly believe it.”

  This is the usual response to Sheila Dawson, who is a gorgeous blonde with lavender eyes, delicate features, and a to-die-for figure that can’t be disguised by her starched blue police uniform. But don’t be deceived. Whether she’s wearing her gun on her shapely hip or tucked into her Gucci, Smart Cookie is all cop, all the time. Although right now, she sounded more like a worried friend than a cop.

  “I hear that Ruby’s mom had a heart attack,” she said, after I had introduced her and Carole. She folded her arms on Mama’s open window. “How is she?”

  Pecan Springs is a small town and gossip zips around at the speed of light. Ruby’s trials and tribulations were probably on the tip of everybody’s tongue. But gossip doesn’t always tell the whole story. “Not to worry,” I said comfortingly. “Doris will be okay. With her, heart attacks are a habit.”

  “One of those, huh?” Sheila rolled her eyes. “I had an aunt like that. She cried wolf so many times that people stopped listening—until the day she had a real heart attack and died.”

  “It happens,” I said. “But it’s Ruby we need to worry about, not her mother.” I gave Sheila a scrutinizing look. “Colin didn’t show up for their date night before last, and he hasn’t been heard from since. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him, have you?”

  Sheila frowned. “Of course not.”

  There’s a story behind this innocent-sounding exchange, and the sooner it’s told, the quicker you’ll understand what’s going on here. Sheila was acquainted with Ruby’s friend Colin (whose real name is Dan Reid) when they worked with the Dallas Police Department. Back then, the two of them were…well, not to put too fine a pointon it, they were lovers. Sheila has been understandably unwilling to share this information with Ruby, but she has insisted to me that she was never very serious about their relationship. For one thing, Reid and his wife, while separated, had not yet divorced. For another, a serious involvement would have gotten in the way of Sheila’s work. And since I know for a fact that Smart Cookie has always been more serious about her law-enforcement career than about eating, sleeping, or sex, I have no reason not to believe her.

  Dan Reid, aka Colin Fowler, was an undercover narcotics agent assigned to the Dallas PD’s Organized Crime Division, which must be like wading barefoot and waist-deep through raw sewage. As Sheila tells it, Reid had a tendency to freelance—he was something of an outlaw—and didn’t always keep in touch with his street supervisor and his boss at the OCD. He was a first-class investigator, and his work led to more arrests than anybody else’s in the division.

  But outlaws don’t generally follow the rules, and they almost always threaten the powers that be, which is how Reid got himself into serious trouble. Shortly after Sheila moved to Pecan Springs to become chief of security at Central Texas State University, Reid was arrested and charged with tipping off a low-level distributor named Mario, who was about to be busted for dealing. Mario fled, but not far enough. His body was found the next week, floating in Lake Worth, just below the bridge on State Route 199. R
eid was charged with hindering apprehension, a third-degree felony that’s good for two to twenty. He got three years. He served one.

  When he was released from prison, Reid took a new name—Colin Fowler—and began a new chapter in his life. Newly divorced, he moved to Pecan Springs and opened Good Earth Goods on the town square, where he sells environmentally friendly stuff. Colin wears the jagged edge of rebelliousness just barely visible beneath good looks and a friendly, trust-me personality, which may be part of the reason he was good at his undercover work. Ruby met him just a little over six months ago and fell in a major way.

  I realize that this bare-bones version of Dan Reid’s life and career makes him sound like a bad actor and I’m sorry, for there are a number of interesting ambiguities here. I certainly have some sympathy for an undercover cop who has been risking his life for months, maybe years, patiently hand-feeding a few small fish, hoping they’ll give him a line on the bigger sharks swimming out there in the sordid sea. I can understand how Reid must have felt when he heard that Mario was slated to go down, and why he might have decided to tip him off, especially if he suspected that there was something funny going on in his division. Unfortunately, this is sometimes the case, for there are more corrupt cops in the world than you want to know about. It was entirely possible that somebody higher up in Reid’s chain of command was swimming with those bigger fish whose names Mario was about to cough up. If Mario and Reid were both out of the picture, it would be business as usual for the dealer-distributor and his cop buddy. And if you think this scenario is far-fetched, just read the newspapers a little more carefully. Official corruption is an inevitable part of the war on drugs, and the biggest casualty of the war may be our faith in law enforcement.

  As I said, I didn’t much like Colin Fowler, but in a perverse way, I had to admire Dan Reid. What’s more, I’m sure that Ruby—who likes to think of herself as a grown-up Nancy Drew—would be thrilled to find out about Colin’s ex-undercover ex-life. But she isn’t going to hear it from me. I promised Sheila, who told me all this in exchange for a pledge of locked lips. Neither she nor I wanted to influence Ruby, one way or another.