Who Killed Rudy Rio?

by Lee Bellamy

  With a shrug he answered, "We Hispanics are protective of our women. It's in our blood. We're raised that way."

  "Our women?"

  "Don't go feminist on me. You're my employee. I'm responsible for you."

  "Oh." I felt deflated as a popped balloon and hastened to conceal it. "I'm responsible for myself. Just because I work for you, don't ever, ever think you've got to take care of me."

  "Fine with me," he answered lightly. "I can do without another wild night ride down Herndon."

  "Good. Glad you've got that straight." I was pleased with my answer. I'd concealed my hurt feelings rather well, and also let him know I wasn't some fragile flower in need of protection. Then I blew the whole thing. "And I don't want you hitting on me either, not now, not ever."

  "Hitting on you?" His brow furrowed. "Am I hearing you correctly?" he asked in feigned astonishment. "Do you mean making a pass, as in a sexual advance? If so—"

  "Dammit, forget it." The instant I said "hit on me," I regretted it. I had made myself vulnerable. Now he had to know what was on my mind. I turned to my car and made a big show of clicking my remote to unlock the door. I very much wanted to get the hell out of there. "Good night, Perez."

  He closed the distance between us and took my elbow. Softly, he said, "Don't mess with me, Keene. You know I'll never make a pass at you."

  I shifted away from him, my hand frozen on the door handle, my feelings speared and hurting, but only for a moment because right away my common sense kicked in. I had not lived in a world of horny men for thirty-one years for nothing. I knew he liked me. I could tell from the way he teased me—and the way his eyes got soft when he looked at me sometimes. A reckless, don't-give-a-damn feeling swept through me, caused partly, I suspected, by my lately under-used supply of hormones that his nearness was causing to seethe. My better judgment had disconnected. I couldn't let the moment die. I let go the door handle and met his gaze. "You're full of it, Perez."

  "Full of it?"

  "So you'll never make a pass? Why? Because I'm your employee?"

  "That and other things."

  Defiantly, I laid my purse on the hood of the car, leaned against the fender and crossed my arms. "Other things like what? Because your daddy doesn't like me?"

  "You know better than that."

  "Because we're different?" Mimicking a soap opera, I waved an arm to punctuate my words. "Two different worlds... she, the golden princess from Old Fig—he, the dark and handsome prince who swam the Rio Grande. Can this culturally diverse pair find happiness? Can they—?"

  "You're pissing me off." He was scowling.

  "Oh, touchy, touchy! So what if I made a pass at you?"

  "Good night, Holly." He backed a step away. Only a step. Sure as I was a woman, I knew he wasn't backing away from me, but from himself.

  "Well, good night, then," I answered, sounding lightly amused. He didn't move. I held out my arm, palm down, and circled with my index finger. "Well, turn around then, and go. Have a lovely ride home. Guess you're afraid you'd break your face if you kissed me, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" I waited, head tilted to one side, to see his reaction. Either he really was pissed and he'd leave or...

  "Better watch it." His hands went to his hips again. He slowly shook his head as his lips curved into an ironic little smile. A warning glint lit his eyes. "I told you—don't mess with me, Keene—"

  "Go home. I'll see you at the police station in the morning." I started to turn. Before I could, though, his hands came off his hips in a hurry, and in a flash he had retraced that step and encircled me tightly in his arms.

  "Dammit, M.T!"

  All at once it was his show, not mine.

  Our bodies melted together. He gave a little moan, right before his mouth covered mine hungrily and urgently, and with such a velvet warmth that I let myself go with the moment.

  "Dammit M.T.," he repeated, only huskier this time, and quieter, and his mouth settled on mine even more possessively. I wrapped my arms around him, wanting to get even closer. Suddenly, my knees got rubbery and I felt as if my entire insides were being sucked right out. He was a man, experienced and hungry, a man who knew what to do with his desires... oh, yes, I wanted him...and oh, yes, pressing up against him like that I knew he definitely wanted me—had wanted me—and if I hadn't pushed it...

  A cheerful little tune sounded from his pocket. Startled, I pulled my mouth from his. "Your cell?"

  "My cell. Shit." Perez grimaced. He let me go and reached towards his jacket pocket, pulled the cell out and checked who was calling. "I'd better take it. I've got two guys on surveillance."

  I drew a shaky breath and backed off. "Right. I'd better get home." In a kind of daze—that I hoped he wouldn't notice—I said good night, got in my car and drove away. My god, that kiss! It was supposed to be just trivial—I was only trying to thank him for saving my life, or so I tried to convince myself. But now Guillermo Perez was in, on, around, and encircling my brain. I rolled down the window and let the brisk night air smack me in the face. It brought me back to earth. This was no time to be wallowing in thoughts of lust? sex?...love?...whatever it was.

  Think reward. Think VISA and MasterCard and other assorted, unpaid bills.

  Forget Perez. Tomorrow I would find Rudy's murderer. I didn't know how. I had no answers. What I did have was a premise, and a gut feeling that I was close—very close—to someone's dark secret.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning I awoke with the kiss on my brain. For a moment I snuggled under the covers reliving the thrill, then guiltily remembered Tyler and Crystal. I reached for the phone.

  No, said the hospital, Tyler Champion's condition hadn't changed, he was still critical. No, said the police, Crystal had not been found.

  The bad news and the bad news. Cheerlessly I dragged myself out of bed. In the bleak morning light, my intimate moment with Perez seemed like bad news, too. An inter-racial romance? What was I thinking of? He was my boss—we had nothing in common—his father didn't like me. Come to think of it, Mother wasn't crazy about him, either. For all the wrong reasons, of course, but still, it mattered. Oh, definitely, a relationship between Perez and me would be a big mistake. No more kisses. I didn't need a man in my life right now. We absolutely must keep our relationship professional.

  When I arrived at B & P an hour later, my mood was still somber. Perez was "out somewhere" according to Tish. I used his desk, sorting out my notes, putting them into a manila folder, along with the Bill Hatcher report. Barnicut was in. Whatever else, he knew his business. Maybe he could give me some new insights on the case. Folder in hand, I found him tipped back in his desk chair, dressed in the usual, clipping his fingernails.

  "So," he said, addressing me over the shiny tips of his shoes, "you got yourself kidnapped last night." Click! A sliver of nail sailed through the air.

  There he went, putting me on the defensive again. "Only for a little while. Obviously, I got away."

  "Had a hard time, huh?"

  Jerk. He was dying for me to tell him I'd totally panicked, screamed hysterically when the killers dragged me into their car, and now I just felt lucky to be alive, gratefully working for my pittance at B & P. Well, a blizzard would hit Fresno before I gave him the satisfaction. "Hard time?" I examined my manicure. "Not really. All in a night's work."

  "You were lucky—a lot luckier than Crystal." He peered at me expectantly. "That was Crystal Hargrove?"

  "Yes." I sank into the chair across, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Those were honest-to-god hit men last night. They weren't kidding. I have a horrible premonition she's not coming back."

  "Probably not." Click! There went another nail, a disgusting sight if ever there was one. Had the man no class at all? You're all heart, Barnicut. Settling back, I casually crossed my low-top suede desert boots. I was wearing jeans today, and a baggy beige cable knit sweater that my grandmother knitted for my twenty-first birthday. It didn't make much of a fashion statement, but I
didn't care. All I wanted was to find Rudy's killer. I opened my folder. "Would you like to hear my assessment of the case?"

  "By all means." Barnicut sat straight, laid his nail clippers down, dug out a yellow scratch pad and took up his precious pencil. "You might start by telling me how you found Crystal." He smiled sourly. "And why you're not collecting the fifty thousand reward."

  "Oh, but I am..." He took notes while I described my discussion with Jay, how I'd recognized Crystal, and my conversation with Tyler that was interrupted by the shot, and, of course, the kidnapping.

  "Interesting," Barnicut commented when I was done. "So you'll still get the fifty thousand if you find who killed Rudy."

  "That's my agreement."

  "Any ideas?"

  "Plenty. Too many. For a little guy who lived in the back of a trailer yard, Rudy stirred up a lot of trouble. You'd be amazed at the number of the people who did not wish him well."

  "Name some."

  "For openers, Joy Daniel, Crystal's old friend. Rudy romanced her for a while. I suspect he had an ulterior motive because...well, Miss America she is not. He borrowed money from her. When she wouldn't give him any more, he dumped her. She was definitely not happy about that."

  "A woman scorned, huh?"

  "Oh, yes. She could have shot him, she was mad enough."

  Barnicut awarded me a noncommittal grunt and wrote it down. "Who else you got?"

  "Well...the most likely prospect is Crystal, who was masquerading as Doris Trusdale. If Rudy was blackmailing anyone, it was probably her. She'd been living under a shadow for years, scared to death of Sereno Ghimenti. So if Rudy guessed who she was and threatened to tell Sereno, she'd be desperate enough to shoot him."

  "Sounds logical."

  "There's just one problem. Crystal went out of her way to deny it. There we were last night, bound and blind-folded, lying on the floor of the car. Out of the blue, she told me she didn't kill Rudy. It seemed important that I believe her. In a situation like that, why would she bother to lie?"

  "We'll never know. She's got to be buzzard bait by now."

  Buzzard bait. I got that sick feeling again. His callous remark was probably true.

  Barnicut squiggled some notes and muttered, "Go on."

  "There's Jay."

  "Our hero? Come off it, Holly. He's offering a reward on himself? That's nuts."

  "I'm not saying it's Jay, but think about it. Jay has a temper. Maybe he lost it when he discovered Rudy was the one who ripped off his trailers. This reward he's offering now is just a cover-up. Don't forget, Rudy was shot the very day Jay got back from Afghanistan. That's a stretch, don't you think?"

  Barnicut said nothing, just grunted again and wrote something down. "So okay, who else you got? What about Velia?"

  "Velia?" I stifled a laugh. Now it was my turn to be skeptical. "What motive would she have? She had a low opinion of Rudy—thought he was crude—but that's hardly a reason to shoot him in the head."

  "Maybe she's the one he tried to blackmail."

  "Oh, great theory," I commented skeptically. "Tell me why."

  "The usual motives—love, revenge, greed, jealousy, you name it. She's human, isn't she? She wouldn't be the first wife who cheated on her husband while the poor slob was thousands of miles away fighting for his country. Maybe Rudy found out somehow and tried a little blackmail. I can see where she'd want him dead."

  "Not Velia. I refuse to believe it." I surprised myself, the way I rushed to her defense. "She's one of the nicest, sweetest women I ever knew. Love? She loves her husband. Revenge? She's a turn-the-other-cheek Christian. Greed? She lives out on the Bluffs, for heaven's sake, in this gorgeous house. She's got a brand new Lexus, beautiful clothes...what more could she want? And jealous? Who would she be jealous of? Jay's madly in love with her. I can't imagine his having an affair with another woman."

  I sat back expecting an argument, but Barnicut didn't push his Velia theory. "Next?" he asked.

  "How about Bill Hatcher?" I pulled out my WorldSearch report and scanned page one-of-six. "His record runs from petty larceny to grand larceny, including the year he ran an auto theft ring down in San Diego." I turned to page two. "And how's this for sleazebag-of-the-year? He's a con artist. His specialty is charming little old ladies, then bilking them out of their life savings."

  "The police picked him up this morning," Barnicut said, dropping his little bomb shell with a triumphant twitch of his lips.

  "They did?" I could not conceal my surprise. "For Rudy's murder?"

  "Nope. Diaz called a while ago. Seems they've nailed Hatcher for the Champion's trailer robbery—both he and Rudy were involved. Diaz says they haven't connected him with Rudy's murder yet. They're working on it."

  My enthusiasm took a nose-dive. "So maybe it really was a falling out of thieves. Bill kills Rudy because he didn't want to divide the loot. That lets us out, doesn't it? If the police discover Bill killed Rudy—and there's a good chance he did—then we're out the fifty thousand."

  "Just so." With a heedless flip, Barnicut tossed his nail clippers into his open desk drawer. "Fifty thousand down the toilet unless you prove someone did it besides Bill. What do you think? Can you do it?"

  "Maybe."

  He eyed me over the top of his glasses. "Who did you have in mind?"

  I pursed my lips and for a moment didn't answer. "There's another suspect I haven't discussed yet."

  "Like who?"

  "Like Sereno Ghimenti." I paused to get my scenario together. "How does this sound? Rudy takes the lie detector test and dredges up those old snuff movie memories. He can't get it out of his mind—keeps thinking about Crystal. Suddenly realizes—Doris is Crystal. So what does he do? We know he needs money, so naturally he's going to get the most he can. He could blackmail Crystal, but she's not rich. Or he can sell his information to Sereno. He knows the gambling kingpin of Nevada can come up with a bundle."

  Barnicut looked skeptical. "So then Sereno orders Rudy killed? That doesn't make sense."

  "Sure it does." I sounded more confident than I felt. Analyzing mobster thinking wasn't my line, but my theory seemed plausible. "Rudy was about as trustworthy as Osama bin laden. If Sereno planned to kill Crystal, he might have ordered Rudy killed, too. Maybe he was mad because he thinks Rudy lied to him the first time. Or maybe he was afraid Rudy would turn informer."

  "You don't really believe that."

  "Why not? It's far-out, but it's possible. I only hope it isn't true. If Sereno killed Rudy, then I'd have a hard time proving it, wouldn't I? After last night I really wouldn't care to tackle the mob."

  "Hmmm...anybody else?" Barnicut was quick-changing the subject again. "What about Champion's kid? I heard he's a trouble-maker."

  "Tyler?" Inside I bristled. I liked Tyler and didn't want him to be guilty of anything bad. "That's reaching awfully far. Sure, he's caused some problems, but he's only a teenager. He couldn't have murdered anyone."

  "Rudy knew Tyler, didn't he? Maybe he had something on the kid. Maybe he's the one Rudy was trying to blackmail."

  "Blackmail a kid? That's ridiculous," I spouted, before noticing the little gleam of triumph in Barnicut's eye. He had managed to pull my chain again. I forced myself to calmness. "Tyler and Rudy were friends. I refuse to believe... it makes no sense. Tyler's a nice kid."

  "Nice," Barnicut mocked. "Velia is 'nice.' Tyler is 'nice.' He rested his chin on his fist and gave me a cold, hard stare. "You're a cream puff, Holly. You want to be a private eye, quit thinking everyone is 'nice'."

  I didn't know which I wanted more—to tell him off, or hang in there for the money. Then I remembered the bills and the money won. "I really don't think—," I began, just as Tish poked her head through the door.

  "Holly, you got a phone call. Jay Champion is on the line."

  Barnicut shoved his phone across the desk at me with his newly clipped index finger. "Hello, Jay?" I said, "Have you got good news?"

  "The best," he answered in a jubilant tone. "
Tyler's going to make it."

  "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for Tyler—and you."

  "It's been one hell of a leave. Looks like I won't get any peace and quiet 'til I get back to Afghanistan."

  I couldn't laugh very hard at his little joke, not when I thought of Tyler's struggle last night—how he was trying so desperately to tell me something when a bullet interrupted. Coincidence? I didn't think so. In fact, my intuition was screaming that Tyler knew something dangerous, and vital, and I'd better get to him fast. "Jay, can I see him?"

  "He's pretty blurry yet."

  "I'll only stay a minute."

  "Hmmm, well of course, sure. He's got a private nurse, Miss...Lovelace? No. Miss... Oh, hell..." His voice faded as he queried someone on his end of the line. Dimly I heard, "Honey, Holly's coming to see Tyler. What's that nurse's name?"

  Seconds later, Velia's sweet, euphoric voice bubbled over the phone. "Hello, Holly. Isn't it wonderful? Tyler's going to be fine."

  "Wonderful, Velia."

  "Miss Lovelady. Isn't that a pretty name? But I warn you, she's a tough old bird. She won't let you stay very long."

  "All right."

  "If you're coming now, we won't be here. We spent the night at the hospital, so we're going home. We'll rest a while, and then some of Jay's friends are giving him a luncheon at The Athenian downtown. I guess it's all right...do you think?"

  Naturally, Velia would feel guilty. I could almost see her worried frown. "Of course, it's all right," I answered, giving her exactly what she wanted to hear. "Tyler's okay, so go relax a little. Have a little fun. You earned it."

  "Why yes," her voice had brightened, "I do believe we did."

  After I hung up, I fired my parting shot. "I'm off to St. Agnes, Reece. I'm going to solve this case. Whether I think someone is nice or not has nothing to do with it."

  "Wonderful," he answered. As I left the office, he called, "Make some money for us, Holly. Try not to get yourself kidnapped again."