by Roslyn Woods
“May I ask, in what way you didn’t get along?”
“Well, that’s kind of personal.”
“Did he drink, use drugs, see other women? There’s always a reason when people break up.”
“Sometimes people find out they’re not suited.”
“Is that what happened in your case?”
“Yes. He’s just different. He’s always at the bar, you know? Always there late at night with his friends and saying stuff to Amanda that I wasn’t supposed to hear. Always upset if I asked him what he was doing, why he was so late. I got to feeling there was something wrong. It upset me.”
“Something wrong with his relationship with Amanda?”
“I don’t know.”
“And his friends? You said you didn’t like his friends?”
“I guess I thought they seemed mean or something. I’m just a kid from Lockhart, Texas. I don’t understand his world. I don’t fit.”
“And who were these friends?”
“I don’t know their names. They work at the bar. That’s all I know.”
Gonzalez’s eyes narrowed and he gave her a long look. “You don’t know their names? Not even their first names?” It didn’t ring true to Gonzalez.
“No,” she said. “I think I’ve told you everything I know.”
“What about Ray? Wasn’t he Danny’s friend?”
“Sure. I’m not afraid of Ray.”
After that, Becky Lester seemed reticent to answer more questions, and Gonzalez decided he would try talking to her later. They had already gotten a lot of information.
“Well thank you for your help. Here’s my card if you think of anything you think could be useful to us.”
Chapter 30
When Gonzalez got the registration on that license plate, he was fairly surprised. The car was registered to Danny Lopez. So why was Maxwell’s intruder driving Danny Lopez’s car? And where was he now?
It was Friday, and he and Wilson had planned to drive down to Onion Creek to check out the house. Wilson had checked out the county tax records and found it belonged to Arena Investment Group. So Danny didn’t own the house, but he stayed there. He didn’t know if that was significant, but he would like to hear an explanation.
The traffic was so bad on I-35 south that they were stuck above Cesar Chavez for fifteen minutes without moving. This pretty much always meant there was an accident ahead, and there was no telling when the road would start moving again.
“Get us out of here,” said Gonzalez when his patience couldn’t take it anymore. “Let’s go back up to Hyde Park. We can go down to Onion Creek this afternoon.”
They drove an unmarked car, and Wilson used the siren to get to the shoulder so they could take the Cesar Chavez exit. He traveled west across town to Lavaca and turned north. “Why Hyde Park?” he wanted to know.
“Dean Maxwell called me this morning,” said Gonzalez. “I told him we’d try to come by this afternoon. Let’s give him a little surprise visit right now.”
They pulled in on Barrow Avenue at just about eleven a.m. Maxwell’s Cherokee was in the carport, and Wilson noticed that Michelle Hodge’s Corolla was in hers. An older Hispanic woman came to the door. She was wearing an apron.
“May I help you?” she asked rather quietly.
“Yes. We’re looking for Dean Maxwell, ma’am,” said Gonzalez.
“He is working,” she said in a loud whisper. “Can you come back? Mr. Dean is working very hard on his computer—”
“It’s all right, Carmen,” Maxwell interrupted. “I’ve invited these gentlemen here to discuss a few things. I would have told you but they’re a little earlier than I expected. This is Sergeant Gonzalez, and this is Detective Wilson. Gentlemen, this is my friend Mrs. Espinosa. She takes care of everything around here.”
Carmen nodded and smiled and the detectives said hello.
“Okay, Mr. Dean. Can I get coffee for all of you?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea. Thanks.” She started for the kitchen.
“Hello Sergeant. Detective,” said Maxwell, nodding at each of them. “Please come in.”
The place was looking much tidier than the last time they had been there. Everything looked polished, and the books were neatly stacked or back in their shelves.
“You said you had something to discuss with us?” asked Gonzalez, wanting to get on with it.
“I do. I would have come in to the station. You didn’t have to come all the way up here.”
“It isn’t all that far,” said Gonzales.
“Well then, please sit down,” said Maxwell.
They found themselves in the very places they sat only ten days earlier when they had reported the murder to Maxwell. Gonzalez noted that Man’s Search for Meaning was no longer lying on the coffee table. He wondered if he had finished reading it.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Maxwell, “it occurred to my sister that it was just odd that we haven’t been able to reach Danny, so she went to his bar two nights ago. She and her best friend, Miss Hodge—the woman, also my tenant, who you met the other day—and my brother-in-law went. They saw something interesting.”
“And what would that be, Mr. Maxwell?” Gonzalez asked. He was genuinely interested, but he couldn’t seem to keep the disinterested sound out of his voice.
“It would be,” said Maxwell, making it clear he had noted Gonzalez’s condescending manner toward him, “It would be that they saw our intruder, the man who’d been in my house, working behind the bar. He was right there.”
Just then Carmen came back into the room with a coffee tray. She placed it carefully on the table and offered each guest cream and sugar. When each had his coffee and they had thanked her, she left the room.
“So you’re telling me that the man who was seen leaving your house the other day and locking the door is now working behind the bar at Danny’s Place?” asked Gonzalez.
Dean noted that the sergeant’s eyes had narrowed again, as if he were considering some criminal relationship between himself and Danny, himself and the intruder. “That’s right,” Dean said, wondering if he should have called Gonzalez at all.
“Well, I’m going to have to admit that this is interesting,” said Gonzalez. “I just learned that the license plate you gave me is for a car registered to Danny Lopez. So it seems as if this intruder is driving Danny’s car around and also going in and out of your house with a key. What do you make of it?”
“I’m not sure. I’m surprised the car is Danny’s. Why would he be driving Danny’s car?”
Carmen came back in with a plate of pastries and a little stack of paper napkins. She quietly left them on the coffee table and returned to the kitchen.
Gonzalez suggested, “He may just be borrowing the car. Maybe he drove Danny to the airport and he’s using the car while Danny’s in Albuquerque or wherever he really went.” He stopped speaking and thought for a moment. “Or it may be that there’s something unpleasant going on. I think it’s strange that Danny isn’t responding to calls on his cell and that no one at the bar seems to be willing to say exactly where he is. Maybe they don’t know, or maybe they do and don’t want to say.”
“What can be done to find out?” asked Maxwell.
“I think we’ll take a little ride over there and see what we can learn. Is there anything else?”
“One more thing. I don’t know if it’s significant or not. My friend Ray Hoffman—he was actually the best man at my wedding—was seen in the bar the same night my tenant and sister saw the intruder there. So I called him up and told him I’d been unable to reach Danny and asked if he’d seen him. He said he hadn’t. When I asked him if he ever went into the bar, he said no. He said he never goes in there. It was a lie, and it seems odd that he’d lie about it. Maybe there’s a connection.”
“Did you tell him he’d been seen?”
“No.”
“Okay. It could mean something or it could mean nothing, but we’ll check it out. Thank you
for your help Mr. Maxwell.”
The detectives were getting up to leave. “Uh,” said Maxwell quietly, “please take the pastries. Otherwise I’ll be forced to eat them.”
Chapter 31
It was one of those beautiful fall mornings in Austin. The temperature was perfect, and the sky was a clear, deep blue. Shell left Margie’s at about nine, anxious to introduce Bitsy to her new house. She drove toward Barrow Avenue with her little dog barking and wagging her tail excitedly as she jumped around the back seat.
“Well you’re definitely coming out of your doldrums!” Shell said.
As she pulled into her carport, she thought she saw Dean walking up the street. She got out of the car and watched for a moment as he got into the driver’s seat of a gray Ford Escape. Then he pulled out onto the street and drove off. Where was he going? What car was he driving? She turned to get Bitsy out of the backseat of the Corolla and saw Dean watching her from his front porch.
“Oh, wow! You startled me!”
“Sorry. I just wanted to welcome you home,” he said.
“Thanks. I thought I just saw you walking up the street.”
“That was Jason. He’s my handball partner.”
Shell wasn’t accustomed to seeing Dean in athletic clothes, and she could see that his hair was still damp from his workout.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, “one of the triplets.”
“Right. Can I give you a hand?”
Shell was gathering her overnight bag, her laptop, her purse, Bitsy’s bed, and Bitsy in her arms while trying to shut the car door. “I think I’m okay—”
But Dean was already there, pulling the bed and overnight bag from her grasp and catching the keys that were falling in one swift move.
“I’ll just help you get in the door,” he said as he took the six steps up to the porch in two.
He turned Shell’s key in the lock and pushed the door open for her. As she passed she caught a whiff of something. Sandalwood?
God, he even smells good after a workout.
“Well thanks,” she said, not quite looking at him. There was certainly an awkwardness here. She wanted to be polite, but she didn’t want to be friendly. She wanted him to apologize, but she didn’t want to accept an apology just yet.
He ran a hand through his hair. “No problem.” He gave her one searching look, then turned to go.
During the next hour, Shell put Bitsy’s little bed by her bedroom dresser and hung her new leash on the hook by the back door. She put her water and food bowls on the floor in the laundry room and decided she needed a pretty basket for her toys. They could go by the fireplace, she thought.
“You live here now, Bitsy. Aunt Margie and Tabitha are coming over to visit later,” she said. She knew she was baby-talking to the little dog, but she almost couldn’t help herself. “And Sadie is next door. You’ll meet her soon, too,” she said as she stroked the little dog’s soft head.
She had come to some conclusions as she lay awake the night before. She was going to get on with setting her life up the way she wanted. She was sure Dean wouldn’t want her to help anymore with trying to find Amanda’s murderer, and that was going to have to be okay with her. In spite of his half-apology the night before, she still felt pushed aside. She would help Margie all she could at a distance, but she wasn’t going to crawl into her bed and be unhappy. She was going to get on with doing what she wanted and needed to do to be happy and independent.
At a little after noon, the doorbell rang. For a moment Shell thought that it might be Dean. He never uses the front door, she told herself. She went and checked through the peephole while Bitsy yapped at her feet. It was a woman she had never seen before. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties with graying black hair and a round build.
“Hello?” said Shell, opening the door.
“Hello. You are Miss Shell? I am Carmen Espinosa, Mr. Dean’s house cleaner.” She was a little heavy, and she had a pretty, round face and a pleasant look in her large, brown eyes. “I just coming by to say hello and tell you I am available if you need help with your house.” She had an accent, but her English was good, and she had a kind manner. “Mr. Dean say it’s fine if I come tell you.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind of you. Won’t you come in?” asked Shell, picking up the little dog before opening the door further. “Could you tell me what you normally do when you clean?” she asked as Carmen walked in.
“Oh, just everything, Miss Shell. I did this house for Mrs. Lana for six years. I clean the kitchen and bathroom and vacuum and polish all floors. I do light fixtures and windows, too.”
“How often?”
“Once a week, or if you don’t like so much, once each two weeks.”
“And may I ask how much per time?” asked Shell.
“Mr. Dean say he pay me to do your house as landlord.”
Shell thought about this for a second or two and just rolled her eyes. “I think I can manage to pay my own house cleaner,” she said with a smile.
“Oh, no, Miss Shell. He say he pay me. Also he pay Angel my husband who does grass.”
“Okay, well I can work that part out with him. I do think I’d like you to start. I’m wanting to get back to work soon, and I have some jobs I’d like to do instead of housework in the meantime.”
“Maybe I can help you with other things too, Miss Shell,” she said smiling.
“Yes, well actually, I want to paint the kitchen and the living room, and well, every room, but I’d like to start in the kitchen.”
“I love to paint, Miss Shell! I can help you!”
They made a plan for Carmen to start the following day. She said she usually worked at Dean’s on Thursdays and Fridays, but she could get to Shell’s around eleven a.m.
It gave Shell a little lift to know Carmen was coming to help her paint the kitchen. She told Margie as much that afternoon, and Margie demanded to be allowed to help. It was a plan. The three women would paint the kitchen a warm yellow, and while they were painting they would plan their painting strategy for the rest of the house. Shell was secretly hoping she would learn some things about Amanda. She thought Carmen might know a thing or two.
Early in the afternoon it occurred to Shell that she hadn’t checked with Dean about the paint. Did she need his approval on the color? He owned the house, after all. She almost couldn’t stand the idea of calling him. She opted to text.
Thinking about painting the kitchen. Is yellow okay?
She waited. He would make her wait, she was pretty sure of that. But he didn’t. In a minute his text came in. Do whatever you like. I’ll pay for supplies.
What was this about his wanting to pay for everything? She answered back, Don’t worry about it. Also, I can pay Carmen myself for any help she gives me. He didn’t answer for a long time. She began to wonder if he would. Finally, his text came in. Does this mean you’re not going back to Dallas?
Maybe Margie was right. Maybe he did think she was still interested in Brad. But how should she answer now? Should she just say she had never wanted to go back? Maybe she should say, “I never considered going back to Dallas, and I never will.”
In the end she just wrote, Yes. She would let him draw his own conclusions.
Chapter 32
That afternoon, Bitsy went with Shell to Lowe’s, and together they bought paint, spackle, rollers, brushes and pans. Shell bought three huge drop cloths, plenty of rags, and several rolls of blue masking tape. Bitsy seemed to be a much happier dog today. She sat in Shell’s basket and wagged her tail when people complimented her.
On the way home, Shell decided to drive along 6th Street. It was still light, and she wanted to see what cars were parked around the bar.
She did see a silver SUV, but she also saw several gray SUVs, and she realized, again, that the description was too general to do much good. Silver or gray SUVs were just too popular nowadays. She didn’t see a black Mercedes, and she wondered if there was a hidden parking area behind the bar. She drove
up and down the streets looking for an access route in the block. There it was. An alley in the middle of the block that ran parallel to 6th. She figured that going down that alley was the only way to see if there was parking in the back.
She turned her little Corolla and slowly drove over potholes and puddles as she looked around each building for a place where someone might park. There it was, a simple carport at the back of the building that had to be Danny’s Place. There were three spaces, but only one was taken. It was the Mercedes. SJS 1627. She saw a door opening at the back of the building and kept driving. Surely cars came through here every now and then, but she didn’t want to be recognized by anyone who had been in the bar the other night. The alley came out on the west side of the block, and Shell made a sharp right and quickly drove out of the area. So Kojak is there right now. Maybe he’s there most of the time.
Margie showed up with Tabitha at six. She was carrying a bag of tacos from El Chile, and she and Shell sat down in the dining room with a glass of hibiscus tea to go with their meal while the little dogs ran around the house barking excitedly.
“Too bad Donald had to work tonight,” said Margie. “He hasn’t really had a chance to see your place since you started getting it all put together.”
“Oh goodness! Let’s make it look better than this and then I’ll invite everyone over here for a meal,” said Shell. “I’m just getting to the point where I’m ready to bite the bullet and buy the new TV and get my bookshelves and side tables.”
“That’s going to make a world of difference. Let’s go over to the electronics store tonight and get the TV.”
“Do you think we can leave the girls here alone?” asked Shell as she looked at the two little dogs running figure eights around the living room.
“I think we can,” said Margie. “They’re really getting used to each other. Donald thinks Bitsy is adorable, by the way.”
“We were lucky to find her,” said Shell, “and I already love her.” Then looking at Margie with a question in her eyes, “So what’s Donald doing so late?”