Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  He stared intently, trying to place me. The redhead narrowed her eyes and drew herself up to her full height. In heels she was at least three inches taller than either Larry or me. Larry was decked out, three gold chains around his neck and a pinky ring that would have made Elizabeth Taylor envious. His polystyrene hair was perfect, like he'd just pulled it out of the mold and stuck it on his head. He wore denim jeans so tight they made him stand funny and a western shirt of brilliantly colored diagonals.

  "You come here often?" I asked.

  "Oh. . . yeah," he said, recognition dawning, "you're the chick asking around about Gary."

  I took a slug of the beer, struggling not to grimace.

  "Hey, I heard they caught the broad that did it," he said.

  "A woman was arrested, yes. But they don't have much evidence against her. She's out already."

  "Hm." He seemed disappointed at the news.

  The redhead tightened her death grip on Larry's shoulder. He seemed to take the hint.

  "Well, see ya," he said. They walked toward the jukebox.

  I turned toward the bar where a spot had opened up. I grabbed it. When I next glanced over at Larry and Wonder Woman he was earnestly explaining something to her. He glanced back at me once or twice, then explained some more with even greater vigor. I smiled back at him, making the task all that much more difficult.

  "'Nother beer for ya?" I glanced up to see Pete, the bartender, close by.

  "No, thanks, I'm still doing great with this." I would never in a million years finish the whole thing, but I planned to get good mileage out of it.

  The crowd seemed to change slightly, coming and going after a drink or two. I watched the new faces as they came in. Larry Burke had finished another game, clearing the table without giving the other guy a chance. He managed to separate himself from his gold plated bodyguard for a minute and was standing in the corner deep in conversation with another man. Their heads were close together, the conversation obviously private. Larry looked up just then, saying something to the other guy and pointing toward me. When the other man faced me, I realized he was the same one who'd sat next to me at the bar the last time I'd been here. Interesting.

  I quickly turned my back to them, concentrating on a bowl of popcorn in front of me. I hoped he hadn't got a good clear look at me. My thoughts were spinning. Did this have anything to do with my slashed tire? If Larry Burke perceived me as a threat, what did he have to hide?

  Pete came back to check on my drink.

  "Who is that guy in the red shirt?" I asked. "The one talking to Larry Burke?"

  Pete looked over my shoulder. "I don't see anyone," he said. "Which guy?"

  I whipped around to look again. Burke, the redhead, and the other man were gone. I scanned the entire room. No sign of any of them.

  "That's weird," I said. "They were standing right there, back by the pay phones."

  "Maybe they were ready to leave." Pete shrugged it off. "There's an exit back there. You know, one of those doors that won't open from the outside, but you push on the bar inside and you can get out. Fire exit. Required by city code." He went back to wiping the bar. I sat there wondering what they had been talking about.

  I thought back to the last time I'd been here. Pete had mentioned the man's name to me, the one who sat next to me. It had been . . . something easy . . . something like Bill. No, Willie. That was it. And when Willie had got up to leave he'd made a phone call first. Suppose he knew that Larry Burke was somehow involved in Gary's death. If he didn't like my asking questions, might he have called Larry to report this? Since I'd already questioned Larry maybe it worried him. Maybe he'd told Willie to scare me. Maybe by slashing my tire. An uneasy flutter went through my stomach.

  I didn't like the way they'd disappeared so quickly just now, right after they'd talked about me. Paranoia rose within me. I thought about my vehicle parked up the street away from the lights and the people coming and going around the bar. I didn't like the idea of walking out there alone, but I didn't want to hang around all evening and give anyone time to cook up something really bad. My eyes darted around the smoky room for answers.

  A couple near the door stood up and began putting their coats on. This might be my chance to have an escort out. I hesitated—I'd really wanted to ask Pete a few more questions about Gary Detweiller. The couple were saying goodbye to their table-mates. I grabbed my jacket and pushed through the crowd. They were at the door, and the man graciously held it open for me along with his date.

  Outside, the wind bit into my legs ferociously. The storm front predicted for tomorrow was here early. It was one of those March storms that could bring anything—snow, rain—in this case, sand. The grainy stuff whipped through the air blasting everything in its path. I turned my back to the gusts but not quickly enough. My eyes involuntarily slammed shut, filled with painful granules.

  I stepped back into the small alcove by the door, rubbing carefully at the corner of each eye. The other couple had dashed for their car. Its tail lights were already at the driveway. I glanced up the street at my car. Light from a streetlamp across the street illuminated it fairly well. It appeared undisturbed, alone. My fears began to seem unfounded.

  A fresh gust slammed into my back, whipping my hair across my face, chilling me through the thin denim jacket. I stepped back into the shadows again, scanning the parking lot. No sign of my three mysterious friends. The hell with it, I decided. If someone wanted to lurk in this weather to get me, they could just lurk a while longer. I stepped back inside.

  Penguin's crowded, twangy atmosphere felt warm and friendly this time. I pushed back toward the bar.

  "Oh, I didn't know you were coming back," Pete said regretfully. "I tossed your beer."

  "That's okay," I assured him. "This time I think I'd just like a glass of water." My teeth felt full of grit.

  "Sure thing. Spruce that up with a lemon wedge for you?"

  The cold water tasted so much better than the beer that I drank heavily from it and asked for a refill.

  "Looks like we've hit on your favorite," Pete grinned.

  "I'm not much of a beer drinker," I admitted.

  "I knew that the other night," he said. "Was kinda surprised when you ordered it again tonight."

  "You're pretty observant." I raised my glass to him. "Tell me more about Gary Detweiller."

  "Never saw the man anyplace but here," he said. "A guy can be a whole different person from one place to the other." He dried glasses, stacking them somewhere below the bar out of my sight.

  "In here, he was everyone's buddy, I gathered."

  "Pretty much. I saw him lose his cool once."

  A new voice chimed in. "Hmmph. I sure saw him lose his cool more than once," the man said. He was sitting on the stool next to me hugging a whiskey between his palms. Long legged and slim, wearing Levis, western shirt, and hat, he was about my age. I must have been slipping not to notice him earlier.

  "That's right," Pete said, "you knew Gary didn't you, Toby?"

  Toby turned to me and touched the brim of his hat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to break in on your conversation, ma'am."

  "Oh, please, my name's Charlie." We shook hands. Not even little kids have started to call me ma'am yet.

  Toby had an incredibly sexy smile, and I wondered for a flash of a second if he was here alone.

  "Tell me more about Gary," I said. "He had a temper, huh?"

  "Oh, yeah. Look, I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, you see." The accent was surely west Texas.

  I explained how a friend of mine, a real lady, was about to take the rap for Gary's death, and how I needed to find out who really did it.

  "If I was you, Charlie, I'd look close to home," he said. "Gary mighta been a real good ol' boy around here, but he didn't extend that courtesy to his family. I was only over there once, now, but I could see he didn't treat that lady of his with any respect."

  "That's too bad," I said.

  "Why, where I grew up," he continued,
"a man didn't never hit his woman. My daddy woulda washed my mouth out if I'd ever talked the way Gary did to that wife and kid of his."

  We mused on, discussing the state of the world today with violence gone crazy, both in the family and in the streets. Pete tended his other customers, checking back and adding his opinion every few minutes.

  "You know where I think it comes from," Toby said. "I think it comes from a lack of respect. People don't respect anything anymore. They don't respect the law, they don't respect each other or each other's property." He drained the last drop of his whiskey. "I don't know where that attitude comes from, but that's what it is."

  He set his glass firmly on the bar. "Well, folks, it's been fun, but I gotta go."

  "Toby, could I ask you one last favor?" I didn't want to seem like a wimp, but I had the feeling this was one man who wouldn't hold it against me. I explained about my earlier uneasiness over Larry Burke and his companions waiting out in the parking lot. "Could you walk me to my car?"

  "I'd be more than pleased," he answered in pure Texan.

  When we stood up, I realized for the first time how big he really was. He stood at least six-three, and his shoulders were far broader than I'd guessed. A guy this size should be sufficiently intimidating.

  Outside, the wind had not abated. Toby had slipped on a sheepskin jacket, and I pulled my denim one closer around me. We walked quickly. My eyes darted around, looking for any sign of trouble, but I saw none.

  "Can I ask you one question?" Toby asked as we approached the Jeep.

  I nodded.

  "How come a pretty little girl like you be named Charlie?"

  I had to laugh. I explained to him how I'd been named after two elderly aunts. Charlotte Louise Parker was a rather unwieldy name for a kid, and since I was constantly defending myself against two older brothers, I was sort of a tomboy. I became Charlie and have been ever since.

  He smiled bemusedly. "I'm gonna have to tell that one to my wife," he said. "Her name's Samantha Jo."

  "And everyone calls her Sam?"

  "Well, no. We all call her Samantha Jo."

  I laughed at the puzzled look on his face as I got into my car. I thanked him for the conversation and the bodyguard service, which he shrugged off. Locking my doors, I started the Jeep. As I pulled away, I saw him in my rearview mirror walking back toward the parking lot.

  It wasn't until I was nearly home that I realized someone was following me.

  Chapter 15

  Lomas Boulevard is a major street, crowded with traffic even at midnight. It hadn't occurred to me that one of those hundreds of other cars might have its sights on me. I drove west, my mind flitting over a variety of subjects not the least of which was how good it would feel to fall into my own comfy bed.

  Lomas merges with Central just a few blocks east of my neighborhood. More cars joined us there. I maneuvered across three lanes of traffic into the left lane, ready to turn south on Rio Grande. Maybe because it is a tricky move, one that has to be accomplished in a short space, I became aware that another vehicle had done the same thing. As I waited for the light to change, I glanced back. The strange dark pickup truck edged closer to me, the driver gunning his engine then hitting his brakes so the vehicle pounced at me in little jumps. I edged forward, already across the white crosswalk line. My mind went into high gear.

  I didn't dare drive straight home. I tried to think—police station, fire station—where could I go? I thought of the crowds in Old Town. Usually it was packed with tourists but this time of year, this late at night, it would be deserted. I couldn't think of the nearest fire station. The closest police station is downtown, the headquarters. Although there are always people coming and going, it's a difficult place to access. I didn't think I could just pull up to the door and honk. What to do? Think. Think. The light changed.

  Without any forethought, I stepped on the gas as hard as I could. The Jeep leaped forward, and I yanked the wheel sharply. Horns blared at me as I cut off the cars to my right who were going straight through the intersection, expecting me to turn left. I kept the gas pedal floored. Once I'd cleared the cars I'd so rudely dashed in front of, I glanced back. My pursuer was in the middle of the intersection, trying to follow my move, but unable to yet because of the three lanes of cars rushing past him. My heart pounded.

  Just ahead, the road curved to the left and I lost sight of my foe. I knew, though, that he wouldn't give up. The first break in traffic he'd be after me again. I steered toward the far right lane. I knew we'd cross the river soon, and unless I made a move now, I'd be trapped on the west side, unfamiliar territory to me, with limited means to get back across.

  I took the next side street I came to, with no idea where this would take me. I passed some apartment buildings where groups of teens lounged around cars. I didn't take the time to see what kind of merchandise passed between them, but I had a fairly good idea. I didn't want to be lost in this neighborhood. The street came to a T and I debated my choices. Took a right. This one wound in a series of curves, which I guessed were taking me north. My eyes darted constantly to the rearview mirror. No lights appeared yet. My only hope was that my pursuer hadn't seen me turn off Central. If he had, the rest would be easy. I hadn't made an unpredictable move since then.

  I continued to wind through the narrow residential street as fast as I dared, praying like crazy that it wasn't a dead end. Eventually, the houses became a little larger, a little more pretentious. Street lights were few and far between here. I had no idea where I was but at least no headlights followed, yet.

  Ten or twelve blocks had probably passed. The street continued to meander. Occasionally, I came to cross streets, but had no idea whether they would lead deeper into the maze or which one might eventually take me out. Almost abruptly I came to a major street. Rio Grande. Okay, now I could figure out where I was. The six lanes were deserted. I must have traveled quite a distance. I turned right.

  Within a block I recognized a business, a small hardware store, closed now with only a few security lights on. I was less than a mile from the spot where the dark truck had leaped at me. Traffic picked up as I approached Central. I took it cautiously, realizing that my pursuer might have lost me, come back to this spot, waited for me to show up. Which brought another disturbing thought. Did they know where I lived?

  I scanned the intersection of Rio Grande and Central as I approached. No sign of a dark truck. Past the intersection, I began watching my rearview. Still nothing. I relaxed only a little. My thumb reached for the control to my garage door opener as I neared the house. The door was open by the time I hit the driveway and I pulled in without a pause, closing the door before I even shut down the engine. I sat there a minute before taking the key from the ignition and reaching for my purse. I was shaking, only partially from the cold.

  Rusty greeted me joyfully and I spent an extra few minutes deriving warmth from him. Before doing anything else, I checked the doors and windows. All secure. I kept my jacket on while I made hot chocolate. I gave Rusty a rawhide chew and we took our treats into the living room. The hot chocolate warmed my fingers and my insides finally calmed down.

  In retrospect the incident receded in importance. Really, there had been nothing about the truck that I could positively connect with the case. They might have just been trouble makers seeing a lone woman out late. Maybe they only meant to scare me. Maybe they meant to rape, rob, and shoot me. It happens. But the point was, they were probably strangers. I'd gotten away. I counted myself lucky.

  I dozed on the couch, waking sometime later to find the lights still on and Rusty asleep beside me. The house was chilly. I had a terrible crick in my neck. I stumbled to the bedroom, switching off lights, peeling off my clothes as I went. I fell into bed naked, not even taking time to brush my teeth.

  Something warm and wet stroked my fingers. The sensation blended into my dream, making me feel curiously sensuous. I stretched and rubbed my body against the smooth sheets. The warm stroke came again.


  "Rusty!" I woke up enough to realize he was licking my hand, wanting outside. "Go away." I pulled the comforter over my head, tucking in so he couldn't reach me. It didn't work.

  He jumped up, front paws on the bed, nudging with his nose at the pile of covers. This signaled eminent danger. If he didn't get outside soon, I'd pay. I forcefully dragged myself from under the covers, and reached for the robe on the back of my bathroom door. I had barely pulled it on by the time we reached the back door. Rusty was out in a bound, and I closed and locked the door behind him.

  Sleep came again easily. When I awoke this time it was almost nine. I felt refreshed and not the least bit guilty. Stretching luxuriously, I allowed myself to snuggle deep under the comforter, under no pressure to get up yet. I realized I'd thought of nothing but the Detweiller case for over a week now and I was tired of it. Tired of worrying about Stacy and Brad and Jean and the whole lot of them. I gave myself permission to take the weekend off.

  Bright sun filtered through my bedroom drapes like a good omen. I peeked outside to spot Rusty lying on the back porch, patiently awaiting breakfast. The sky looked like smooth blue porcelain, all traces of last night's storm blown away. Last night's shadows, too, had receded in my mind. My spirits perked up with fresh optimism.

  Steaming water coursed over me as I indulged in a long shower, making Rusty wait a few more minutes. I dressed in jeans and t-shirt, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, made my bed and tidied the room. When I reached the kitchen and peeked out again, Rusty stood with his nose aimed at the crack in the door, his tail swinging wildly. He wriggled through and planted himself in front of the sack of dog food.

  "Okay, I get the idea," I laughed. I tried to hug him but, intent on only one thing, he twisted out of my grasp.

  I scooped out nuggets for him, which he set upon like it was the last food on earth. I mixed batter and heated the waffle iron, a special treat for myself. Outside, I noticed there were daffodils already blooming in the back yard. When had those come up? Yes, I vowed, as the toasty waffle scent drifted from the iron, I'm going to enjoy the weekend and not think once about Stacy North.