Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  “Sure. It’s been on my mind. You can understand why.”

  “Are you the beneficiary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your husband in the will?”

  “Are you thinking, if I were to die? I put him in my will, but I've been thinking about changing it.”

  “But he could contest it if you do.”

  “Of course he could.” There was a pause. “You don’t think … you don’t think he had something to do with Sean’s death, do you?” Another pause. There was the beginning of panic in her voice when she said, “Do you think I’m in danger?”

  “I doubt it,” Laura said. “But you know him better than I do. What do you think? Is he capable of something like this? Where Sean is concerned?”

  A pause. Then Ruby said, “I don’t think so. Joel is a lot of things, a lot of reprehensible things, but I can’t imagine … I don’t want to think so. I can see him staying married to me for the money, yes. But I don’t want to believe he would be capable of killing someone. I don’t know if I could live with myself if he was.”

  Laura didn’t want to ask this, but she had to. “Why didn’t you push harder for a divorce?”

  Suddenly, Ruby Ballantine’s voice turned cold. “I don’t have to give you my reasoning.”

  “No, you don’t. But—”

  “If that’s all, I have some work to do.” And she disconnected.

  Laura looked at Anthony. He looked as surprised as she was.

  “There’s more going on with Ruby than we previously thought,” Laura said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Ex

  They did some digging. Joel Strickland was the owner of Strickland Construction. The contractor built several high-profile buildings in Phoenix and a research center affiliated with the University of Arizona in Tucson. The company appeared solvent, even successful, but they’d have to dig a little more to see if that were true. Anthony took it and ran with it—he was very good on financial stuff. Laura could do it, but her eyes glazed over and she knew she was prone to mistakes. It was like pulling teeth to even do her own taxes. She purely hated QuickBooks.

  Laura went back to DPS and worked on the murder book. Once again, she found herself transfixed by the expression on Sean Perrin’s face. Most of the homicide victims she’d seen who had died from gunshot wounds looked shocked. But Perrin didn’t look shocked. There was that quizzical uplift to the corner of his mouth. He looked like he was anticipating something.

  What she wanted to know—what she needed to know—did the threat to his life come from Las Vegas, or Winslow, or was it home-grown?

  She thought she’d have a better feel for that after they met with Joel Strickland.

  Joel Strickland was exactly what they expected. He was a hard-nosed businessman, with fingers in all sorts of pies, coming from a blue-collar background, with a massive chip on his shoulder.

  Before he even said a word, Laura could feel his resentment. She could almost see the cartoon word bubble over his head saying, “I’m a busy man.”

  He was a manically-busy man.

  His office was cluttered, a sleeves-rolled-up kind of place in downtown Tucson that made her think of bare bones and bare-knuckle leadership. His face was red (high blood pressure?), his manner brusque to the point of bitter resentment.

  He sat down behind his desk and stared at them both. “So what is it exactly you want? I’m busy here.”

  Laura took this one.

  “I’d like to talk with you about Sean Perrin, your wife’s brother.”

  “Oh, that’s what this is about? Yeah, yeah, I know he’s dead. What do you need from me?”

  “Did you know him well?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Sir…”

  “I never met him. So you came here for nothing.” He leaned toward her, getting into her space. Laura allowed it, but held her ground. She’d dealt with many people like this.

  “I bet you knew about him, though. Like his disregard for the truth.”

  He was mollified by that, as she’d hoped he would be. “Yeah, I knew he was a liar. One of those people who can’t tell the truth if you waterboarded them.”

  Former military. Laura realized that when she saw the table with the Gulf War memorabilia on it, and the framed Bronze Star above his head.

  She decided to skip the sweetness and light, and talk to him in a way he understood. “Sean Perrin was shot between the eyes while he was parked in his car. Did you ever talk to him by phone? Perhaps he said something about coming down here?”

  “As a matter of fact he did call me. He asked if he should come.”

  “When was this?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said it was up to him.”

  “Have you talked to him recently?”

  “Recently? No. Why should I?”

  “He didn’t call to let you know he was in town?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe he left a message? At Ruby’s?”

  “I haven’t been with Ruby for months. So if he did call me there, I wouldn’t know, unless she told me. I’m out of it.”

  “It?”

  “The running,” he said. His voice hard.

  “The running?”

  “The running for my wife’s fortune. I wasn’t fooled. Sean called to feel me out. He wanted to know just what kind of hand I was holding.”

  “And you told him?”

  “I told him what I’m telling you. I’m out. I have enough going on with my own business. I’ve got enough money for my needs.”

  “So you told him to come out here?”

  “I said it didn’t matter to me.”

  “He called you.”

  “He called me.”

  “May I ask why you and Ruby are still married?”

  “It’s easier. Financially, for her and me. I still care about Ruby and she’s going through a tough time, her Dad hanging on like that. So we discussed it and we’re staying married for the indefinite future.”

  “You think Ruby has something to hide?” Anthony asked Laura as they drove out. “Like contacting Sean and getting him to come here?”

  “Could be,” Laura said. “She wanted him to come to her.”

  “You mean, she lured him to her neck of the woods where someone could kill him.”

  “It does have the earmarks of a hit.”

  “Yeah, you have to admire the simplicity. Just walk up and shoot him.”

  Laura said, “He was meeting someone. He knew that someone.”

  “One way it could work: he calls her, she’s not home but she calls him back. They could’ve set up a meeting in Madera Canyon, maybe she says she’ll meet him there, I don’t know.”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “At least now we have one,” Anthony said.

  They put together a photo line-up of six drivers license photos, including Ruby Ballantine’s DL. It was dusk by the time they reached Madera Canyon. Hopefully, some of the guests were still staying there. There were plenty of vehicles in the parking lot, including the Armada belonging to the birding couple, Lloyd and June Dickinson from New Hampshire.

  The door was open but the screen door was closed. Anthony rapped on the doorsill. Lloyd Dickinson appeared, a tall, stringy ghost in the dim orange light of the cabin.

  Laura said, “Would you mind taking a look at these photos and let me know if you recognize anyone?”

  Dickinson took hold of the card with the six photos on it, three top and three bottom, and scanned it quickly. Then he looked harder. Finally he shook his head. “I’ve never seen any of these ladies. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. If you haven’t seen her, you haven’t seen her.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Perrin’s homicide?”

  Beside her, Laura felt Anthony look up and away. She knew it was his way of rolling his eyes. In this day of police and homicide television series
, everyone said “homicide”. Some even said “perp”.

  “It’s possible,” Laura said, keeping her expression neutral. What about your wife, June? Would she mind taking a look?”

  “Certainly!” He backed up quickly, and was replaced by June. In the light, her face appeared narrower than Laura remembered. She wore reading glasses on a chain—they rode down on her nose and made her look professorial.

  June looked at the photos for a long time. Then she said, “I’ve never seen any of these women.”

  “Doesn’t mean anything,” Anthony said as they walked out to their car. They had asked every person in every cabin. They’d asked Barbara Sheehey, her son Cody, and Robert Waller, the handyman. No one picked out Ruby Ballantine. The crickets were chirping and the air washed over them, nice and cool, after the heat of Tucson. A beautiful evening.

  “Let’s drive up to the scene,” Laura said.

  They did. Both were silent on the way. Like Sean Perrin, Laura had spent good times in this canyon as a child. Madera had always been one thing—a great getaway, a treasured memory of childhood, but now it had been sullied by death.

  This made her sad, and it made her angry.

  She wanted to clear the decks and find the person who did this. “Do you think it was Ruby?” she asked Anthony as they headed up canyon.

  “She seems the obvious choice.”

  Anthony was often her Second Opinion. And his opinion mirrored her own. Ruby had motive. She had access. “Just because she wasn’t seen doesn’t mean anything. She didn’t want to be seen.”

  “Yeah,” Anthony said. “Like I said. She calls him up, ‘Hey bro, let’s take a walk. Put on your hiking shoes.’”

  “They’re estranged, but he’d probably go for it. He came down here to see his father, and he’d be bound to see her anyway.”

  “Yup. Well within the realm of possibility.”

  They parked in the lot below the crime scene. The tape was gone now and even on a week day there were seven or eight cars, and plenty of people in the campground nearby. There was a car parked in the space closest to the restroom, near the place where Sean Perrin was shot.

  Laura said, “There would have been another car here. The one belonging to whoever was meeting him.”

  “Sure, but no others, right? It would be too dangerous. Someone might be coming back from a hike on the trail and see what happened. They’d be able to see the make of the car, maybe even get a license number.”

  “Yeah, but no one was here. Or at least no one called it in.”

  “They could be afraid.”

  “But wouldn’t they call it in?”

  “Probably.” Anthony rested his hands on his hips, stared around the parking lot. “The killer could have parked in another lot and walked over. If there were any other cars parked here, and people were gone on a moonlight hike…” He shook his head. “Still too risky, huh?”

  “So let’s say whoever it was, Ruby or someone else? Said to meet here. They’d probably hide in the restroom and wait until the coast was clear.”

  “But he’d be waiting in his car. He wouldn’t wait that long.”

  “So it worked out. Nobody else was here. He wouldn’t suspect anything if the person he was meeting came from the restroom. Although he’d see them.”

  “They’d hide the gun behind their back?”

  “Yes, but…” It still didn’t feel right. “They got right up close.”

  “Boom! Not even a foot away.”

  “So it had to be perfect,” Laura said. “All the stars had to align. He drove up here planning to meet someone, and he was the only one here, except for the assailant’s car. The restroom was to his left and the person came out of there and walked up to him and ‘bang’! Real quick.”

  “His eyes were shut. He had a chance to think about it.”

  “Maybe.” But Laura was thinking of something else. It wasn’t a fully-framed thought, but a feeling. “What do you think of this? He was there for a couple of weeks. Maybe this wasn’t the first time he met someone for a moonlight hike.”

  Realization dawned on his face. He was right there with her. “They might have met before. Maybe one or two or three times? Until everything was right and they were alone? A hiking buddy.”

  They played it out. Anthony sat in the car parked near the restroom. Laura went into the restroom and came out. She walked toward him, hand behind her back. “Hi,” she said. “Great night for a hike!” When she got to him she used her finger to shoot him. Her hand less than a foot from his forehead.

  Anthony said, “Could happen. If you brought it up fast.”

  “Yeah, although whoever it was nailed it perfectly.”

  “It was almost like they placed the shot.”

  “Like they had time.”

  “Okay. So maybe it was a pal of his from the cabins. Although I can’t imagine a reason for anyone to shoot him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But you never know why people kill one another.”

  “Yeah,” Laura said. “But this one was planned.”

  They canvassed the cabins once again, this time asking people if Sean Perrin had mentioned moonlight hikes or meeting for a moonlight hike.

  No one remembered him saying anything about hikes, but Robert Waller told them he was used to hearing a car drive out most nights. “I think one of them was his car,” he said. “It sounded like a Mercedes.”

  “What’s a Mercedes supposed to sound like?”

  He thought about it. “Rich.”

  “Did you ever look out or see the car go?”

  “Nope. If I tried to keep track of every car going in and out I’d go crazy. A lot of people drive out in the evening because they’re going down to Continental for dinner.”

  Laura asked him if Sean Perrin had ever mentioned a hiking friend.

  “He said he had a girlfriend.”

  “A girlfriend?” Why didn’t he tell them this before? “In Vegas?”

  “Yeah, but he kind of implied he was seeing someone seriously. But he said it was a secret.”

  “Someone in Tucson?”

  “He didn’t say. He was pretty close-mouthed, which is a hoot, considering how he boasted about everything else.”

  “He say anything else about her?”

  “Just that she was beautiful and rich and a famous model.”

  “A famous model in Tucson.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Just that she had a lover and so they had to sneak around.”

  “So now what?” Anthony said. “You believe that last part?”

  “Sometimes I think we’re living in a performance of Peter and the Wolf. Does he make up a story about everything?”

  “Somewhere in all the stuff he’s been filling people with,” Anthony said, “There’s a kernel of truth.”

  “Yeah,” said Laura. “A kernel in a haystack.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Road Not Traveled

  Laura felt they’d come to an impasse. They would have to fish or cut bait with Joel Strickland, and her instincts told her that while he was not a nice man, and maybe he was angling for his wife’s money, it still didn’t add up. Mostly, it was timing. He was a public man, and ran a company in two cities—Phoenix and Tucson. He was visible. He was here, and he was there, and while he could have conceivably carved out time to meet with Sean Perrin and shot him, the window of opportunity was narrow. Particularly because he was in Phoenix for most of the day.

  She wrote down, “Alibi?”

  His businesses were legit, and while they weren’t completely profitable and apparently there were some questionable practices in the past, he was staying afloat and, according to her partner, not in danger of going down the tubes.

  Of course it could be he was just greedy. He could have hired someone to kill Perrin.

  But Laura felt the need to keep looking, to keep picking at every loose thread. There must be another link. There must be something m
ore than what linked him. She felt like she had when she was a kid, and her parents told her she could pick out a dog at the Humane Society. She looked and looked and the dogs were cute and handsome and sweet, but for one reason or another, a reason she could not name, she settled on one. Only one. She still didn’t know to this day how she picked him, or why. But she had.

  And when she thought of Joel Strickland, her eyes just went past him.

  “That’s not an unreasonable thing, Kiddo,” Frank Entwistle said. He sat in her car (he liked to ride shotgun) and cigarette smoke trickled from his nostrils. He was looking particularly shabby today. His face was red, as it was when he was in danger of dying from the high blood pressure that ultimately killed him.

  “I’ll bite,” Laura said. “What’s not unreasonable?”

  He pulled the visor down against the sun but still squinted. He was disheveled, but then he always looked that way. “The pet thing. You know it when you see it.”

  “It makes no sense to me.”

  “A sixth sense.”

  “Is that what you are?”

  “Nope, I’m a vision.”

  “You’re not a vision of loveliness, that’s for sure.”

  “Never planned to be. And if you think I like being dragged out of the ether just to help you, Kiddo, you have another think coming.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can do this on my own.”

  “Sure, Kiddo. The thing with picking out pets, though. Who knows if you made the right choice. You think you did, because it worked out. But there are other choices, and you didn’t make them, and who’s not to say they weren’t better?”

  “I chose what I chose.”

  “Yeah, and that’s that. So here, you’re thinking there’s another choice.”

  “Somewhere, maybe.”

  “There’s always another choice. The road not traveled. The sight-unseen.” He pointed his finger at her chest. “You just have to figure out what you haven’t been seeing.”

  And then he was gone.

  The smell of Lucky Strikes, though, remained.

  What was she missing?

  Where could she look for it?