Daisy shook her head at the sight. Here I am, a hundred miles from a home that’s burnt to the ground, walking into who-knows-what, and what’ve I got to protect me? A silly old woman with a little switch in her hand, a dimwit dog that goes off chasing rabbits. Almost unconsciously, she asked God for help.
Her perfunctory prayer had been anticipated long before Daisy had been conceived in her mother’s womb—yea, even before the first star had warmed to a dull, reddish glow.
Having left his unit parked by Louise-Marie’s Oldsmobile, Scott Parris took up a position in the weed-choked space beside St. Cuthbert’s. He watched the elderly women exchange words, then march up to the door of the stucco house. Daisy Perika had a habit of getting herself into trouble, and taking the French-Canadian woman along for the ride. He scratched at an itch on his ear. What is she up to this time?
Daisy started to put her foot onto the small plank that served as a step, hesitated. The board looked like it might fall off the cinder blocks. She reached out with the oak staff, gave the door a light tap. She heard no steps in the house, but had the uneasy sensation that someone was watching her. Someone was.
Someone stared through a narrow slit set high on the cellar wall.
Daisy tapped on the door again, harder this time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement by a tattered curtain.
The women waited.
Finally, Louise-Marie made this observation in a hopeful tone: “Maybe there’s nobody home.”
“Oh, they’re here all right.”
Somewhere, far off in the brush near the church, there was an urgent whine from Sidewinder.
The Ute woman supposed that he had run the cottontail into a hole.
Louise-Marie entertained a hideous vision of the hound ripping a poor little flea-and-tick-infested bunny rabbit into bloody shreds. The world was a hard place.
Daisy Perika was about to knock again when—
The doorknob turned.
The Ute elder tightened the grip on her sturdy walking staff.
Louise-Marie readied her puny stick.
The man who appeared in the doorway had utterly failed in his lifelong aspiration. A red-hot dandy was what he wanted to be. This vain ambition was the reason for the seven-hundred-dollar ostrich-skin boots, skin-tight black jeans, turquoise-studded snakeskin belt, and canary-yellow silk shirt decorated with a scattering of embroidered butterflies. Spiffy duds, all in all—and he might just have pulled it off. Except for a few minor deficits—such as a shirttail hanging out over a bulging gut; greasy, slicked-back hair; and a mustache too thin to be manly. The stern judges in the Dandy of the Year contest would have winced and subtracted extra points on account of being appalled. There were other deficiencies that the pitiful soul could not be held responsible for—a deeply pockmarked face, a knobby nose, a chin decorated with a slug-shaped mole. This latter feature wriggled as his lips worked with a plastic toothpick. He stared at the visitors with flat, unblinking eyes.
Never one to hesitate in passing harsh judgments, Daisy sized him up in a glance. This pineapple head’s the kind of back-alley pimp that gives flesh peddlers a bad name.
The man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Spitting out the toothpick, he stuck a filter tip between his lips. “What?”
With a sickening epiphany, Daisy realized that Louise-Marie had been right. I should’ve worked out a plan before I knocked on his door. To gain a patch of time, she cleared her throat. Cleared it again. Then: “Are you Mr. DeSoto?”
He produced a plastic lighter, flicked it three times, touched a flame to the tip of the cigarette. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Daisy.” She gestured with an elbow to indicate the woman behind her. “That’s Louise-Marie.”
He blew a smoke ring over the Ute woman’s head. “So whatta you want?”
Daisy had barely opened her mouth when she heard the words behind her.
“We’re with the Salvation Army—we visit sick folks and shut-ins.”
The Ute woman turned to stare at her one-eyed friend.
Louise-Marie LaForte was blushing crimson. She gave Daisy a pleading look. I just felt like I should say something.
Daisy grinned at her companion. Well, the old mare has taken the bit in her mouth, I’ll just let her run with it for a while.
DeSoto’s lips twisted into a quasi smile. “Salvation Army—you two old biddies?”
The Ute elder shot him a sizzling look. “Who’re you calling biddies, you two-bit piece of horse—”
Alarmed that the Indian stick of dynamite was about to explode in their midst, Louise-Marie intervened. “Mr. DeSoto, we are here to…uh…to bring you some nice books to read.” That was good.
“Books?” The cigarette hung precariously on his lower lip. “I thought the Salvation Army dished out bread and soup.”
Though not having told a lie since she was six years old, L.M. fell headlong into the job. “That’s right, sir. But we also distribute all sorts of wholesome literature.” In an attempt to conjure up examples, she fell back on her own collection. “For instance, we provide Aunt Celia’s Country Cookbook, The American Heritage Dictionary, Birds of the Rocky Mountain West, Guys and Dolls, See Here, Private Hargrove, and…and the Holy Bible.”
The man snorted. “Bible?”
Sensing that her friend’s line was going a bit limp, Daisy took up the slack. “You know, that black book with gold on the edges of the pages.” She took a step closer to the man. “If you was to read one, you’d find out what God expects from you. For one thing, hospitality to strangers.”
“Izzat right?” He blew smoke in her face.
Daisy coughed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
He chuckled. Blew another puff at the funny old woman.
The Ute elder held her breath until the smoke had passed her by. Then: “Now listen to me, you pineapple-headed pot-gut—don’t you do that again.”
The blackguard sucked in another lungful of smoke.
She added in a menacing tone: “I’ll hit you hard.” Where it’ll hurt.
Noting that the little woman wielding the big stick was looking at his crotch, he sensibly allowed the fumes to escape through a pair of hairy nostrils.
Sensing that she was getting the upper hand, Daisy pointed at his house. “You go inside, and tell Prudence and Alonzo that there’s some ladies at the door that wants to have a word with them.”
The cigarette wobbled between his lips. “You get offa my property or I’ll—”
“Keep your yap shut till I’ve had my say!” Like a cougar about to pounce, Daisy hunched her shoulders. “And while you’re at it, tell that pretty white girl you’re hiding that I want to see her too.”
DeSoto retreated into the doorway. “Go away, you crazy old woman!”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, Pineapple Head!” She shook the walking stick at the hideously pockmarked man, raised her voice loud enough for Pansy Blinkoe to hear—and Pansy heard every word. “Now you tell that silly yellow-haired girl to come out here—and tell me why she left her home to stay with a blivit like you!”
Though not a person who would ever be mistaken for a scholar, it must be said that DeSoto had an Inquiring Mind. He also harbored an aching suspicion that he had been insulted. “What’s a blivit?”
Daisy explained to him that a blivit was two hundred pounds of manure in a sixty-pound bag. Though it must be admitted that she used a vulgar synonym for “manure.”
Being not entirely without feelings, DeSoto was hurt. He muttered a vile remark, making reference to the mean old woman’s ancestry, then slammed the door in her face.
Daisy banged the knobby end of her stick on the wall, dislodging a sizable chunk of stucco.
Louise-Marie tugged at her friend’s arm. “I don’t think he is going to cooperate—we might as well go back to the car.”
“Not till I talk to Pansy!” The Ute woman took a hearty lick at the door. Bam!
The h
ound loped up, woofed happily at the excited woman.
Daisy turned an accusing eye on the dog. “Where was you when I needed you, you old sack of bones—off chasing a varmint? You could’ve made yourself useful, bit a big hunk outta that slick-haired pimp!”
DeSoto appeared at the window, waving a pistol. “Go away!”
Daisy yelled back: “You let me talk to that young woman, or I’ll call the cops on you!”
Right on cue, Scott Parris came trotting across the yard. “What’s going on here?”
Daisy and her pal were struck dumb by this unexpected appearance. Startled by the sight of the silver shield pinned on the lawman’s shirt, DeSoto backed away from the window.
34
Police Brutality
Scott Parris pulled himself up to his full height, which—with the gradual compression of his spinal column over the years—was down to an even six feet. He folded muscular arms across a broad chest, glared at the pair of elderly women.
This blatant attempt at intimidation had the expected effect on Louise-Marie LaForte, who cowered behind the Ute woman.
Daisy was another matter. She stared straight back at the tough-looking lawman, went on the offensive. “What’re you doing here?”
The Granite Creek chief of police knitted his brow into a halfhearted scowl. “Seems to me that’s what I should be asking you.”
Hah—got him on the run. “I asked you first.”
He tried not to grin. “As it happens, I’m out looking for a desperate criminal. And I’m talking about someone who’s a real and present danger to society.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Daisy pointed at the DeSoto residence. “He’s hiding in there.”
Parris glanced at the door. “Who?”
“Pineapple Head DeSoto.”
“Pineapple Head?”
“Soon as you see his ugly, pockmarked face you’ll know why I call him that.” Daisy lowered her voice. “And that primped-up pimp’s up to no good, you can count on that. If you don’t believe me, just ask him to let you talk to Prudence. Or Alonzo. Or that yella-headed white woman. See where that gets you!”
The lawman looked at Daisy’s French-Canadian companion. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”
Having already represented herself and the wicked Ute woman as pious soldiers enrolled in the Salvation Army, Louise-Marie was not about to tell another lie. She shook her head.
Parris produced a ferocious scowl, pointed toward the lane. “You two start walking.”
Louise-Marie sprinted off like a famished hen at feeding time.
The Indian woman glared poisoned arrows at the lawman, staunchly stood her ground.
Parris pointed harder. “Go.”
Daisy grumbled something in her native tongue that was extremely rude. Having had this final say, she grudgingly followed her faint-hearted friend.
DeSoto peeked through a crack in the curtains, mumbled a curse of his own.
Ignoring the blare of the TV set, Pokey Joe stood at the store window. Here comes that good-looking cop, and he’s herding them two old women like they was sheep. I bet they’ve done something real bad. This was lots better than As the World Turns.
As they approached the Oldsmobile, Sidewinder loped up to the rear door and whined. Parris patted the old dog on the head. “You won’t be riding home in that.” He allowed some time for this to sink in.
It did.
“Oh,” Louise-Marie said, “I guess you’re going to drive Daisy and the doggy back to her nephew’s ranch.” She smiled sweetly, began to rummage around in her purse for the car key. “I suppose that’s just as well. It’s getting late and I should drive directly home.”
“I don’t think you’ll be needing this.” The chief of police deftly removed the key from her hand. “Not till I see a valid driver’s license.”
“Driver’s license?” The French-Canadian woman did not hide the hurt. “I don’t think I have one of those things with me.”
“Hah!” Daisy said.
It was not clear to whom this comment was directed.
“No driver’s license, eh?” Parris pointed at the rear bumper. “You want to tell me where you got that Mexican plate?”
Louise-Marie beamed with pride. “It’s from my late husband’s collection. He was a big traveler, you see—and whenever he went somewhere, he always brought back a license plate. It was like a keepsake. Why, I suppose I must have hundreds of ’em in the garage.”
The lawman almost wished he had not asked, but this had to be pursued. “When was the last time you had a current Colorado plate on this vehicle?”
Louise-Marie counted fingers, muttered something about Adlai Stevenson, tried to remember the other guy. Finally, she smiled. “It was when General Dwight Eisenhower was elected president. For his second term.”
Parris stared in disbelief. “Really?”
“Sure. That was when we bought the car. It was brand-new then.”
Well, that tears it. “Get all of the stuff out of your car that you want to take with you.” He opened the trunk on his unit. “You can put it in here.”
Louise-Marie’s visible eye doubled in size. “Do you mean to say—”
“Even without a legal plate, I could write you a ticket and issue you a temporary permit to drive it home. But seeing as how you don’t have a driver’s license, that’s not an option.” With a shrewd glint in his eye, he turned to Daisy. “Of course, if Mrs. Perika has a ticket to get behind the wheel, maybe she’d like to drive this fine Oldsmobile.”
The Ute woman shook her head. “Not me.”
Never one to argue with an authority figure, Louise-Marie began to cart little bits of this and that from the Olds to the policeman’s car.
Parris took his best friend’s aunt aside. “A couple of hours ago, a person driving a car of this description passed through my fair city. When this particular person was pulled over by one of my officers, she made a getaway to evade arrest. And in the process, ran over my officer’s foot.”
Daisy absorbed this with a poker face that Parris could not help but admire.
He continued. “All told, the driver of the Oldsmobile is probably guilty of about six misdemeanors and a couple of felonies.” After a dramatic pause, he said: “Would you care to speculate about who that driver was?”
The Ute woman gave Louise-Marie a worried look. “Not with all those charges hanging over her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why, if she got throwed in jail, she’d never live through the first night in a cell. I expect her poor old heart would give out. Or she’d hang herself with her stocking.”
“Then you’re hinting that Louise-Marie was driving the car? That she ran over Officer Knox’s foot?”
Daisy shook her head. “I didn’t hint no such thing.” She assumed a primly virtuous look. “I’d never rat on a friend.”
“You won’t have to,” Parris said. “Officer Knox will be able to identify the driver.” He pulled down the brim of his felt hat. The shadow across his brow gave him a sinister look. “But you don’t need to worry. You and Louise-Marie don’t look at all alike. I’m sure he’ll point to the right suspect.”
“Suspect?”
Parris nodded. “When we put both of you in the lineup.” He cleared his throat. “With a half-dozen other ladies who’re more or less the same age as you two.”
She reached out to straighten his bolo tie. “That’s a nice piece of turquoise.”
He lowered his chin to inspect the ornament. “Yes it is.”
“Someone give you that for a present?”
He felt his face burn. “If memory serves, I believe it was a Christmas gift. From somebody by the name of Daisy.”
“Oh my, is that a fact—somebody with the same name as me?” She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, now I remember—I gave you that expensive handmade Zuni tie.”
Manipulative old woman. “Yes, you did.”
“Well think of that. I must have saved up f
or a long time. From my pitiful little Social Security checks.”
He took this hit below the belt and came back with a sharp jab. “That was the same Christmas I gave you that three-hundred-dollar AM-FM radio.”
“Oh, I remember that. It burnt up with my trailer.” She sniffed. “I guess it wasn’t fireproof.”
“This bolo tie never does quite hang straight.” He gave it a good yank. “I guess it’s off balance or something.”
Daisy fell into a thoughtful silence before she spoke. “I’d sure hate to see that nervous old white woman have to get in a lineup.”
“You’re a good friend to Louise-Marie,” Parris said. “But I don’t think there’s anything you can do to save her now. If she did the hit-and-run, she’ll have to wear the ball and chain on her ankle. And break rocks with a five-pound sledge.”
The Ute elder edged closer to the lawman. “Maybe we could cut a deal.”
Parris looked down his nose at the woman. “I hope that don’t mean what it sounds like.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t try to bribe you with cash money or anything like that.”
Having expected something at least that naughty, he was disappointed. “What, then?”
“If you’ll let Louise-Marie off, and not get me involved—not that I’ve done anything to break the law—I’ll help you solve a real crime.”
He let the doubt show all over his face. “I don’t know—we’d have to be talking about a particularly serious offense. Something even worse than running down one of my officers. And I can’t imagine what that’d be.”
Daisy could. “How about cold-blooded murder.”
“So who got murdered?”
“Well, I hope you haven’t already forgot about that rich man with the funny two-pointed beard. But in case you did, he got ripped limb from limb in a big explosion.”
“Manfred Blinkoe?”
“Unless you know of another dead man whose boat was blown sky-high in Moccasin Lake.”
“How would you come to know anything about the Blinkoe business?” The question was no sooner past his lips than he realized he did not want to hear the answer.
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