Underneath his name was the title Lieutenant-at-Arms. His rank in the Rats, however they figured it.
Or he might just be blowing his own horn.
I pulled away from the curb and headed back to Megan’s. As I drove, Melissa called.
“Hey,” she said. “Allison e-mailed me back. She gave me her number and told me to call her tonight at eight when she’s off work. Can you be around when I do that? I think you should talk to her.”
Melissa was right. I probably should. “Sure. Why don’t you come by around seven-thirty?”
“I can’t. I have a meeting until six-thirty and then I have to get home to meet a handyman. Can you meet me at my place? I told Allison to call me there.”
A cold chill wrapped around my guts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“She’s out of town until tomorrow.” Melissa’s tone was as cold as my innards.
“Uh,” I scrambled for a save. “Sure. Where’s the house?”
She told me the address and the main streets. She was in a ritzy part of Albuquerque, where the old money lived. North on Rio Grande Boulevard about ten miles outside of town. An area where horse ranches and low-slung adobe hacienda-style homes recalled a Spanish past.
“Thanks. Come by around seven. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
“Okay. Bye.”
She hung up and I groaned. “Fuck.” What now? It was probably best not to go by San Pedro and Coal looking for Roy, since I didn’t know who he might have hanging out at his place and if he was the guy who tried to break in the other night, he might recognize my car. Besides, meeting Aunt Terry had left a bad feeling in my stomach. I opted instead to go back to Megan’s and write down my findings, get something to eat, and maybe look through more of her files, which would help me not think about tonight as well. I turned left onto Comanche, which would take me west, away from the Heights, and the bad vibes at Aunt Terry’s.
Chapter Nine
“HEY—ANYBODY HOME?”
I emerged from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a towel. “Hi, Sage. C’mon in. Door’s open.”
She tried, using her elbow to knock the handle on the security door. Too late I realized she had a beer bottle in each hand. I rushed to open the door. “Geez, sorry. I didn’t realize you came bearing gifts.”
She laughed and held up two bottles of Fat Tire.
“It’s five o’ clock somewhere,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. I glanced at the clock on the wall above the kitchen doorway. Three-thirty. I took one of the bottles.
“True enough. Thanks. Have a seat.”
She flopped onto the couch. It must’ve been a ritual with Megan when Sage visited. That was nice, I thought, that Sage had cultivated a friendship with Megan. I tried not to let my gaze hang on her more than what might be considered normal, but I knew I was going to fail a few times. Today Sage wore baggy grey shorts, a white tee, and her sport sandals. She was even more attractive in the daylight. Damn.
“It’s nice having you here,” she said. “I miss Megan and all, but I like you more.”
I nearly choked on the beer, barely able to swallow, and managed a weak laugh. It probably sounded forced. “Oh, really. You don’t even know me.”Sage flashed me one of her little smiles. “I feel like I do, from what Megan told me.”
I took a nervous swig of my beer. “So what’s your story?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. I must have been obvious. She humored me.
“I’m from Sheridan, Wyoming. I grew up like the singer Jewel. You know who that is, right?”
“I ain’t that old,” I retorted good-naturedly.
She shrugged and continued. “Sheridan’s up near the Montana border.”
“It’s pretty. I’ve driven through.”
She looked at me appreciatively. “Well, my dad wanted to be like Grizzly Adams or some shit and we lived in a freakin’ cabin with an outhouse and no indoor water.”
“Whoa. What about your mom?”
“She was into the pioneer crap. I didn’t know you could have an indoor toilet ’til I started school. That was the shit. Literally!” She started giggling. “My dad’s a roughneck.” She meant that he worked the oil and gas fields here in the West. “I didn’t see him all that much and when I did, he was a major prick to my mom and me and my brother. When I turned sixteen, my mom moved us into town and told him not to come around anymore. He drank too much.” Sage shrugged and took a sip of her beer. “I worked my ass off in high school for a scholarship. I got one and went to the University of Wyoming, where I majored in journalism and photography.”
“So are those your photos in your house?” I had noticed some beautiful shots of Yosemite, Yellowstone, and Chaco Canyon in their living room the evening before.
She looked surprised and pleased. “Yes. Did you like them?”
“They’re beautiful,” I said, completely serious.
“You have a good eye for that. So how’d you end up in New Mexico?”
“I visited here my senior year in college and loved it. I traveled around a while, working and taking photos. And then I applied to grad school. I’m working on my thesis. I’m supposed to defend in December.”
“Congratulations. Photography?” I was becoming more intrigued.
“Yep.” She took another sip of her beer.
“That’s great. Do you sell your work?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got stuff in New Mexico Magazine, Arizona Highways, and National Geographic. Plus some other mags.”
I stared at her. “Wow. Here I am in the presence of greatness and I had no idea. I’ll look for your stuff.
What’s your last name?”
“Crandall. Two L’s. But I don’t use it that often. I generally just sign as ‘Sage.’ ”
“That’s definitely cool.”
“Megan said you teach in Austin.”
I wasn’t surprised at her change in topic. Though it seemed as if she couldn’t stay focused, I had decided that Sage Crandall knew exactly what she was doing when she redirected a conversation. I just wasn’t sure what information she was collecting.
“Yep. Been there since I left Albuquerque after the break-up. Scored a post-doc fellowship and they’ve managed to keep me on.” There was no sense dancing around the issues with her. She was far too perceptive.
“Austin is fucking cool. I’ve taken pictures there for their Chamber of Commerce. It’s a little too humid, though.”
“You have no idea. I really miss New Mexico.”
“So come back.” She tossed me a smile.
“I’d need a job.”
“Details. If you miss it, you should come back.”
“I might.”
She was quiet for a moment then brought up another subject entirely. “What’s going on with Megan?”
I was actually relieved she switched topics. I was starting to really like the little bits and pieces of herself that she was showing me and it made me nervous. “Well, you’re right about Cody. He’s bad news. He’s a recruiter for a white supremacist group that calls itself the Aryan Desert Rats.”
She snorted. “Desert Rats? Yeah, that sounds really menacing.”
I laughed. “You know. Cornered rat and all.”
“Please. There are so many better names than that.”
“All taken. Check the Web, if you’re interested.”
She grinned and set her beer bottle on the coffee table, careful to move a coaster underneath. It was automatic, an old habit. She had respected Megan’s hang-ups. That warmed my heart.
“Anyway,” I continued, “what I think is going on is that Cody and whatever assholes he’s running with are looking to buy some land in the East Mountains so they can build a compound.”
“Like those nut-jobs in Idaho. Aryan Nations.”
I looked at her, surprised. “Yeah.”
At my expression, she explained. “I went up there to take pictures of it after the leader—Butler, right?
After he lost the comp
ound in that lawsuit. I gave ’em to the ADL and the Southern Poverty Law Center. We had some dealings with freaks like that in Sheridan. A couple of families out on the land, stashing guns and shit waiting for some fucked-up race war. Mom wouldn’t let us play with their kids. Thank God.”
“I’ll be damned,” I said softly.
“So you think Megan is with Cody of her own free will?”
“I don’t know. He sucked her in and...” I looked at her. “C’mon. Who are we kidding? You know how Megan is. He’s a nice-looking guy. He said what she wanted to hear. She may have been in a weak place.
Melissa thinks she doesn’t want to be with him anymore but she’s not sure how to get away. I talked to his aunt today and I think he’s also abusive.”
“That piece of shit,” Sage said with pronounced venom. “I will so rip his arms off the next time I see him.”
I had no doubt that she was capable of such. She looked at me then. “Do you think she’s using again?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in almost three years. You’re in a better place to gauge that. Do you think she is?”
She paused for a long moment before answering.
“Well, I don’t think Cody uses. He’s, like, Mr.
Puritan. You should have heard him go off on her when she took a drag on one of her friend’s cigarettes.
Shit, it was just one puff. You’d think she’d shot his dog. So even if she wanted to, he wouldn’t let her. I guess that’s a good thing. Or not.” She finished her beer and took the empty bottle to the kitchen. I heard her rinse it out in the sink. She returned with it and set it back on the coaster. I looked at it questioningly.
“Recycling. I’ll save you the trouble.”
“Thanks. Appreciate that.”
“So what’s your story?”
I cleared my throat nervously. I couldn’t avoid the question gracefully. “What do you want to know?”
“Why didn’t you keep in touch with Megan after you left?”
Whoa. “I can’t answer that. I was in a very bad place. Partially of my own making, maybe. And then I thought it might be hypocritical if I contacted Megan and not Melissa.” I studied my bottle. “I feel pretty badly about it, actually.”
“I can see that. Did you miss them?”
“Uh, in what sense?”
“Any sense. What happened, anyway? Megan said that Melissa was having an affair.”
“She was. I busted them together.”
Sage grimaced. “That totally sucks. I would never do that to anyone.”
“You never know what you’re going to do in a situation until you’re in it.” I shrugged. “It was a rough time for all of us. Megan was in rehab, Melissa was freaking out. I was freaking out. Hillary was available.”
“That’s bullshit. Melissa was weak. She needs to own it.”
I stared at her. Who the hell is this woman? “Okay, I agree. But it’s her shit, not mine. And I didn’t handle it the best, I guess.”
“You did what you thought you had to do. Megan told me that. But she did really miss you.”
“Well, I fucked up there, I think. I left her a card when I moved—”
“She still has it. She showed it to me.”
I felt a lump in my throat and I was out of beer.
“You didn’t say one bad thing about Melissa in it.” I didn’t remember what I said.
“You told Megan to stay strong because Melissa needed her and you told her that what had happened between you and Melissa was not Megan’s fault and you didn’t want her to ever feel that she couldn’t come to you in the future.”
Wow. I said that?
“It was the nicest thing I’ve ever seen in a goodbye card. And all that even though Melissa was fucking around.”
“So you make it a habit to read people’s goodbye cards?” I asked lightly.
Sage shrugged. “Megan showed it to me. She said you were the coolest person she knew and she wished Melissa hadn’t been so stupid.”
“Well, that’s really nice. But keep in mind I’m an actual person with actual flaws and I was part of that situation and—well, I fucked up, too.”
“You’re genuine,” Sage announced as she abruptly stood. “Genuinely human. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not and you try to own your shit, even when you screw up. I think that’s hot.”
She reached over and took my empty beer bottle from its coaster. I didn’t know what to say. My breath caught in my chest and I watched her, the muscles in her arms sliding underneath her skin. Another wave of heat raced down my back, reminding me of last night when we danced.
She looked at me. “Melissa was an idiot. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed, let alone my life. And I mean it. Stop by any time,” she finished, flashing me an absolutely wicked grin. She turned and headed for the door. I watched her leave. Okay, I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with me. I felt another stirring at my core.
No. No way. She’s a friend of Megan’s and young enough to be my student. Besides, she’s with Jeff. This is so confusing. I went back to checking the files on Megan’s computer, trying not to think about Sage anymore.
My phone rang. I checked the ID.
“Hey, Detective Hottie. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Chris laughed. “I just finished at Abuelita’s and I’m on my way home. I heard from Mark in the gang unit and he said come on by tomorrow at eleven. Bring photos so you can compare tats.”
“Cool.” I gave her a quick run-down of what I had found out that day.
“And you’ve got Cody’s number now?”
“I don’t know if it still works. I’m going to call it from a pay phone. See what happens.”
“Good idea. I’ll check on the prints tomorrow. Do you need me tonight?”
“I always need you,” I teased. “Nah, don’t worry.
Go home and have your space. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Are you sure?” She sounded worried.
“Yeah. Seriously, I don’t think he’ll come back knowing someone’s here.”
“Okay,” she said, hesitation in her tone.
“Chris, I know you’re on shift early and I also know you haven’t had any time to yourself in a while.
If I need you, I’ll call. Really.”
“All right. Promise you’ll call if anything is weird? I don’t care what time it is.”
“Promise.”
“Good.”
“You are the best, Detective Supergirl.”
“No, you.”
“No, you. ”
“Yeah, don’t forget it,” she said, laughing. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do. Thanks. Bye.”
“Later.”
I decided I wanted pizza for dinner. Il Vicino, known for its wood-oven pizza and funky Euro-style interior, was about five blocks away. I debated asking Sage to join me but decided since I was going to Melissa’s afterward, I wouldn’t. I’d much rather not have something like that hanging over my head should I ever ask Sage to go to dinner with me. I walked over to the restaurant in the early evening heat and indulged. When I finished it was just past six. It would take me at least thirty minutes to get to Melissa’s and I was dreading it. Oh, well. Face your demons. Besides, Hillary wasn’t there. I returned to my car, got in, and pulled away from the curb.
MELISSA CALLED WHEN I was halfway to her house. She was running about a half-hour late. No problem, I told her, I’d just grab some coffee at the North Valley Flying Star and continue on my merry way. I did just that. By the time I got to Melissa’s house, it was almost seven. She lived in a Spanish-style hacienda, massive vigas jutting from the roofline. It looked historic, like it had been around a long time and updated a bit. It sat not a hundred feet from the Rio Grande bosque, amidst huge cottonwoods. It looked like it was equipped for horses but I didn’t see any. I pulled into the circular dirt drive, admiring the architecture and grounds. A pale blue Jaguar sat in front of the house. So Hillary had
switched to something even more pretentious. I admonished myself, trying not to let the past run roughshod through the present.
I parked and got out so I could stand in the driveway and appreciate the terrain. I inhaled deeply, smelling the rich, heavy odor of the river and the crisp tang of cottonwood. This was great. Too bad Hillary lived here. I laughed under my breath at that and went up onto the covered front porch, admiring the saltillo tile. A rustic bench crouched against the front wall beneath a picture window. A red chile ristra about three feet long hung from one of the vigas. Pure New Mexico. I moved to the bench, thinking I’d chill until Melissa got here. That’s when I noticed the front door was partially open. Okay, that’s weird. Nobody’s supposed to be here. I looked around, saw only my car and the Jag. I pushed the door open more.
“Hello?” I called inside, nervous. Who the hell would be here? I heard a thump and what sounded like a crash from the back. I pushed the door open a bit more. “Hello?”
“Melissa?” Came a voice from somewhere in the back.
Fuck. Hillary. I heard the clink of glass and then an even louder crash and another thump. I pushed the door open and entered. Had I not been so freaked out about Hillary, I probably would have oh’ed and ah’ed over the Spanish colonial interior. As it was, I followed Hillary’s swearing into the back of the house to the kitchen. She was lying face-up on the tile. I smelled liquor—whisky, maybe. Broken glass littered the floor and Hillary was sprawled right in the middle of it, in her expensive powder blue suit and ultra-blond glory. She struggled to get up. I saw blood on her left palm and also on her cream-colored shirt.
“God fucking dammit,” she slurred as she half-heartedly tried to get to her feet. Liquor drenched her shirt and pants. Her right hand clutched an intact glass. I stepped gingerly around bottle fragments and took the glass from her, setting it on a nearby counter.
She managed to sit up and stare at me with an expression bordering on bewilderment and awe.
Blood oozed sluggishly out of her palm but she seemed completely unaware of it. “I know you,” she mumbled, frowning. She stopped trying to stand on her own.
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