“Mitch told me he checked with a friend in the El Paso PD,” I said instead. “The autopsy showed Austin had evidently stopped taking all his prescribed medications.”
“That’s what my commander told me when he reinstated me to full duty.”
“So you’re back on shifts?”
“Starting Tuesday. Hey, what are you doing Monday afternoon?”
“I’ll be in the office, summarizing our test reports. Why?”
“One of the gift certificates I received is for a full spa and beauty treatment at Canyon Ranch. For two. If you took off, say, at noon on Monday, we could treat ourselves to the works.”
Now that was a gift I wouldn’t have refused, either! Canyon Ranch billed itself as the most exclusive spa in a five-state region. I’m not sure how it racks up against the high-priced health and beauty retreats in Scottsdale and Santa Fe, but I was certainly willing to give it a shot.
“You sure you don’t want to take someone from work? Or maybe your neighbor?”
“Annette wouldn’t enjoy it. Besides, you deserve a share of this booty. You acted as quickly and decisively as I did.”
“Not hardly.”
She looked at me with a question in her brown eyes. “One of the reporters told me he’d left a bunch of calls on your answering machine. They even staked out your condo. Why wouldn’t you talk to the media?”
“To be honest, I didn’t want to get into the details of what I was doing in that parking lot.”
“Oh, that’s right. You were conducting some kind of test.”
She didn’t ask for the specifics and I didn’t volunteer them. Best to let sleeping NLOS systems lie.
“Well? Want to go all out at Canyon Ranch with me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Great! Why don’t I swing by your office at noon and pick you up? I’d like to see what you do. Oh, good. There’s the doorbell. That should be Annette.”
Joey and Trish greeted their babysitter with smiles and bear hugs. The slender, sixtyish widow returned the hugs with obvious affection. She remembered Mitch from the mayor’s ceremony and said she was glad to see him again. When Diane introduced me, Hall treated me to a fierce hug, too.
“From what Diane has told me, you saved her life.”
“It was more the other way around.”
“Well, I think you’re both remarkable women.”
She claimed the folding lawn chair next to mine while Diane delivered sodas to Mitch and the kids.
“I thank my lucky stars for the day I met Diane and her children at the playground. I’d just moved to El Paso and was feeling so lonely. Taking care of Trish and Joey has put the sparkle back in my life.”
“The feeling’s mutual. Diane told me she didn’t know how she would manage without you.”
Beaming, the older woman gazed at the foursome in the yard. “She’s so good with those two. So is Mitch.”
“Mmmmm.”
I won’t say it made me uncomfortable to see the cozy, family-style tableau the four of them made, but it did stir some odd thoughts.
“Diane has had such a rough time of it. And now this shooting!” Tch-tching, Annette shook her head. “It’s been so hard on her, coming so soon after the tragic loss of her in-laws.”
Surprised, I set my dew-streaked beer bottle on the table beside my chair. “They’re dead?”
“Oh, dear.” Annoyed with herself, the silver-haired Annette bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I just assumed Diane had told you.”
“She said her in-laws had fought for custody of the children but it was all behind her now. I didn’t realize she meant that literally. What happened?”
Obviously reluctant, Annette flicked a glance at the others. I didn’t push. I didn’t have to. She realized she’d let the cat out of the bag and continued in a hushed voice.
“From what I understand, they were bludgeoned to death by a burglar.”
“Good God!”
“It happened just a few weeks before Diane was supposed to rotate back to the States. She had to get an emergency . . . uh . . . I think she called it a curtailment. Anyway, she rushed home from Afghanistan to take care of the kids.”
My heart twisted. I couldn’t imagine the trauma such a violent act must have caused those two children.
“What a horrible thing for Trish and Joey to go through.”
“They weren’t there when it happened, thank heavens. The grandparents had just dropped Trish off at school and Joey at nursery school. Diane said the police think they surprised the burglar when they returned home.”
I didn’t remember reading about a double homicide. “Was this here in El Paso?”
“No. They lived in Florida. Town with a funny name. Kimsee or Kissme or something like that. Joey and Trish never say it the same way twice.”
“This family has had its share of tragedy,” I murmured.
“It certainly has.” Pausing, Annette thinned her lips.
“I don’t like to disparage the dead, but those people put Diane through hell when they tried to get custody of the children. She doesn’t speak ill of them, however, which speaks well of her.”
Not totally true. I distinctly recalled Sergeant Roth referring to her “bitch of a mother-in-law.” I could understand the lapse, though. That was right after the shooting, when her emotions had to be as raw and as close to the surface as mine were.
Funny she hadn’t mentioned her in-laws’ brutal murders, though. Only that the battle for custody was over. Then again, we were both still pretty shaken up.
My gaze went to the cozy tableau again. No wonder the kids had latched onto Mitch—and, apparently, Annette Hall—so quickly. They’d experienced way too much turmoil and loss in their young lives.
The tableau broke up a moment later. Diane asked Mitch to fire up the grill while she went into the house for the hamburger patties. Annette pushed out of her chair and accompanied her.
“I’ll help you, dear.”
That left me to ease into my self-designated role as honorary auntie.
“That’s really a neat castle,” I commented to Trish.
“You want to get in with me?”
“I, uh, sure.”
We scrunched down inside the plastic walls. I tucked my knees under my chin so Trish could let down the drawbridge for her brother to crawl in as well. I wasn’t quite sure what to do next but got inspiration from the kids’ shiny gold curls.
“Do you know the story of Rapunzel?”
“Isn’t she the one who let down her braid like a rope so some dorky prince could climb up and rescue her?”
“You don’t like that story?”
“Nuh-uh. My mom says it’s dumb to sit around and wait to be rescued. She says me ’n’ Joey gotta study hard in school so we kin be smart enough to care of ourselves.”
Nothing like being put in your place by a seven-year-old. I glanced up, caught Mitch’s grin, and nodded solemnly.
“That’s very good advice.”
“I know.”
My would-be honorary niece gave a prissy nod. Luckily for our future relationship, she reverted to a giggly little girl in the next breath.
“I’d let down a braid for Tyler Taylor, though. He’s sooo cool.”
I drew a complete blank. Thankfully, no response was required as Trish launched into a nonstop monologue about a kid I eventually understood was the latest adolescent heartthrob to burst on the scene.
“Tyler’s new movie is gonna be at the theater next Saturday,” Trish gushed. “Mom says she’ll take me if she doesn’t have to work ’n’ Mrs. Hall will keep Joey. I already know three of the songs by heart. Wanna hear them?”
“Okay.”
She launched into a clear, high treble and never missed a beat as she went from one song right into the next. I sat there with my chin on my knees, amazed that she remembered every line of the lyrics.
Diane returned with stacked platters in time for the last verse. After we all duly a
pplauded her daughter’s performance, she sent the kids inside to wash up. A still-grinning Mitch had to reach down a hand to extricate me from the castle.
“What do you think?” I asked him. “Should I take Trish to this movie next week if Diane can’t? You could entertain Joey while we’re drooling over this hunk Taylor and meet us afterward.”
The smile that lit his eyes was answer enough. “Sounds like a plan.”
“You two don’t have to give up your afternoon,” our hostess protested.
“It’ll be my pleasure,” I said. “Besides, you’re treating me to the works at Canyon Ranch. Least I can do is return the favor.”
MY anticipation of an afternoon and evening of decadent indulgence at a world-class spa mounted during the following day. So did my curiosity about Diane Roth’s in-laws.
Since it was a lazy Sunday, I decked out in loose-fitting gray sweats and a well-washed USAF sweatshirt, plopped down at my desk, and powered up my laptop. Didn’t take long to narrow Kimsee and/or Kissme down to Kissimmee, Florida. Or search the online archives of the Osceola News-Gazette, which serviced that area. The brutal murder of two respected citizens in their own home had dominated the headlines for several days.
I gave a low whistle at the photos of the Roths’ estate. Set on the edge of a lake, the plantation-style residence featured white columns, weathered brick, tall shutters, and a wraparound porch. Diane had mentioned her in-laws had money. Here was the black-and-white proof.
No wonder she’d had to spend most of her off-duty time in Afghanistan trying to communicate with her lawyer. Judging by the elegance of their home, the Roths could have poured megabucks into their fight for custody of their grandkids.
Chin in hand, I read through the articles. I knew they withheld many of the crime-scene details. The details they did reveal were pretty gory. The final article several weeks after the murders indicated the police had no suspect and were offering a substantial reward for any information leading to an arrest. The same article included an interview with a forensic psychologist, who suggested the brutal murders were the act of a seriously ill sociopath.
I tapped a finger on the keypad and re-read the psychologist’s opinion while a nasty thought slowly strung together. Two people closely connected to Diane Roth bludgeoned to death. She herself attacked by a PTSD sufferer who’d gone off his meds. When I went to bed Sunday night, I couldn’t help wondering if the perpetrator in each case could have been the same person.
THAT uneasy speculation got pushed to the back of my mind Monday morning.
My team and I had our usual start-of-the-day confab. Our main objective was to review the final draft of our test report. We agreed on most of the items but I was still disappointed over the mixed results of both the NLOS system and the Sniffometer. I insisted both systems warranted further testing and spent the morning writing up justification for follow-on tests before putting my final stamp of approval on the report. I had just zinged it off to Dr. J at DARPA HQ when Sergeant Cassidy escorted Diane into my cubbyhole of an office.
Surprised, I glanced at my watch. “Is it noon already?”
“Almost.”
“I’m sorry. I lost track of the time. I should have been on the lookout for you and escorted you in.”
Security in these thirties-era buildings isn’t precisely up to Fort Knox standards, but we do try. All visitors have to have a pass and an escort. Particularly when those visitors are unhappy inventors whose projects we’d rejected.
“Not a problem,” Noel said, his admiring gaze fixed on Diane. “I heard Sergeant Roth buzz and issued the pass.”
“Thanks.”
I waited a beat. Two beats. Cleared my throat.
“Thank you, Sergeant Cassidy.”
“What? Oh. Yes, ma’am.” His glance shot back to Diane. “Nice meeting you, Roth.”
Her glance stayed locked on him. Angling her head, she followed his progress down the hall.
“Wowza! Are all those muscles for real?”
“You wouldn’t ask that if you had to listen to him clanking weights for hours on end, like the rest of us do when we’re out at our test site.”
She looked around, curiosity stamped across her delicate features. “Just what is it you guys test?”
“Small inventions that by some wild stretch of the imagination might have military application in a desert environment.”
She nodded to the NLOS goggles sitting on my desk next to the Sniffometer.
“Like those sci-fi glasses you were wearing the night of the shooting?”
“Yes.”
“What are they supposed to do?”
I waved her to one of the chairs in front of my desk and gave her a layman’s explanation of omnidirectional transmitters and solar-blind ultraviolet wavelengths. Or tried to. Her face soon took on that glazed look I’m sure mine did when Rocky and Pen went technical on me.
“And that?” she asked when I gave it up as hopeless.
“What’s that wand thing?”
“It measures BO.”
“BO? Like in body odor?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I wish. The inventor claims our body odors are as distinct as our fingerprints and precisely reflect our moods, which this little gadget then gauges.”
“Does it work?”
“Sort of. Here, I’ll show you.” I flicked the switch on the wand and waited for the meter to reset. “Ready?”
Diane looked doubtful but struck a pose. “Ready.”
I aimed the wand in her direction, waited a moment, and checked the meter.
“What does it say?”
“That you’re calm and content.”
“I think you just measured the new perfume one of the merchants sent me,” she replied with a laugh. “It’s called Tranquility.”
“Glad it’s working. From the sound of it, your life has been anything but tranquil lately.”
“No kidding!” She blew out a long breath. “I thought I’d seen the worst in Afghanistan.”
Then she came home to a double homicide. I hesitated, reluctant to mention the murders but the research I’d done last night had raised too many questions to avoid the subject.
“Annette told me about your in-laws,” I said as I lowered the wand. “How tragic for them, and how awful for Trish and Joey.”
The laughter drained from her eyes. “It was a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. The kids weren’t there when it happened, though, for which I thank God every night.”
She looked away for a moment, then brought her gaze back to me.
“I got so I hated them,” she admitted in a gruff voice. “All those months in Afghanistan, when they were trying to take my kids, I hated them. Then this terrible, terrible thing happened and I hated myself for the vicious thoughts I’d had about them.”
“I’ve had a few nasty thoughts in my time,” I admitted. “Particularly where my ex is concerned.”
I paused again. I didn’t want to worry Diane. She had enough on her plate. Yet I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling there might be more to the attempt on her life than either of us had realized.
“Has it occurred to you there might be a connection between the attack on your in-laws and the attack on you?”
She threw me a startled glance. “What?”
“Oliver Austin. Could he have tried to get back at you for rejecting him by going after the kids?”
The mere suggestion that her children might have been the real target in that vicious attack in Florida made her nostrils flare and her breath come fast.
“No! Ollie wouldn’t have done that! He . . . He couldn’t!”
“Even if he was off his meds?” I asked gently. “I did some research on PTSD after the shooting. Reportedly it affects every patient differently. And you can’t just quit some of the medications used to treat it. You have to come off them slowly, under a doctor’s supervision.”
She sat back in her chair, obviou
sly shaken. It took a moment or two for the color to return to her cheeks.
“Ollie couldn’t have attacked my in-laws. He was still in the VA hospital, undergoing medical evaluation.”
“Oh. Well, that settles that.”
Except . . .
Austin had been under investigation for unspecified activities. He could have been involved in anything. Had contacts or accomplices here in the States. That niggling thought was at the back of my mind as I shut off the Sniffometer and grabbed my hat and purse from my desk drawer.
“Let’s blow this joint. I’m ready for some total decadence.”
“So am I!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
OKAY, here it is, folks. My last wish and testament. When I keel over and drop dead while testing some off-the-wall gizmo, I want to go to Canyon Ranch Heaven.
Just the approach to the exclusive spa was enough to cause heart palpitations. We drove up in Diane’s rental, as her Tahoe was in the repair shop after being released from the police impound lot. One glimpse, and we were both straining against our seat belts to take in the unfolding splendor.
As its name implies, the spa sat nestled in a canyon formed by a spur of the Franklin Mountains. The curving drive leading up to it was marked by boulders engraved with Anasazi designs. Rain dancers, coyotes, spirals, and lightning bolts led the way to a flat-roofed adobe complex in a glowing shade of ochre. A uniformed valet greeted us at an entrance shaded by a wooden portico spilling huge clusters of purple wisteria.
“Welcome to Canyon Ranch. May I have your names so I can alert your personal attendants of your arrival?”
Diane and I exchanged glances. Personal attendants, no less. Waggling her brows, she supplied the information.
“Sergeant Diane Roth and Lieutenant Samantha Spade.”
“Please go in, ladies.”
The receptionist came out from behind her desk and greeted us with cups of pale yellow tea. I braced myself, but this fragrant blend didn’t pack anywhere near the same obnoxious wallop as Pen’s herbal infusions.
Our mauve-robed attendants arrived before Diane and I had taken little more than a sip or two. One was a tall, willowy redhead with a name tag that identified her as Susannah. The other was an equally willowy brunette named Jon. I won’t say he minced across the tile floor. He came darn close, though.
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