Evil Cries

by Lala Corriere

  He knew we weren’t going out. “Not at all. I love it here and I love seafood.”

  “The lobster is from Maine and the Alaskan king crab is from—”

  “Let me guess. Alaska?”

  He laughed and opened the large gates at his entrance with the same fingerprint system.

  Once again I stepped into his world of white. I’m certain Marcus caught my inquisitive stares down both white travertine corridor floors. This time he offered me a tour.

  More white. Leather and fabrics, and textures—all white.

  “I’m guessing you don’t own a black long-haired cat,” I said.

  “No.” and then Marcus quickly added, “Do you?”

  “I have a teacup Yorkie.” Now why did I say that? Gage and I had a teacup Yorkie.

  “I see.” Marcus said with neither enthusiasm nor disdain. And why should he care? He was just being polite.

  I touched the glistening patina of a white cocktail table.

  “Eight coats of hand-rubbed lacquer,” Marcus told me.

  I looked around at the accessories. White wood, porcelain, and the absence of any color in the surfaces of all that surrounded me.

  A towering crystal marked the entrance to the dining room.

  “Do you know of it?” Marcus asked.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s an octahedron”

  I now nodded, still not sure what it was, but refusing to fess up to my naiveté.

  Inside what I presumed was a family room, a mammoth crystal skull stood like a sentry.

  “The world’s largest,” Marcus explained.

  I did know a little about crystal skulls, although Marcus didn’t ask. Something about mystical powers and miracles. Something about them containing a soul.

  Marcus only smiled, then led me back outside to the table under the ramada where we had enjoyed our first lunch after the horse ride. The sun was setting; its light replaced by thousands of tiny white lights framing the ramada and accenting the landscaping, along with dozens of white candles inside tall hurricanes. The ambience called my breath to deepen, as if I thought I could breathe in the surroundings and absorb the magic into my being. What I smelled was the rich unmistakable fragrance of jasmine.

  Only moments after Marcus whisked me into my chair, Chef arrived. He bowed at Marcus, then me, and presented us with our first course.

  “Ceviche,” Marcus announced.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Fresh scallops.”

  Marcus winked. Chef served the crisp Chardonnay and left for the kitchen.

  “Do you have a favorite Chardonnay?” Marcus asked.

  “I like them light, crisp, with a hint of oak. Not an easy combination to blend to perfection. One of my favorites is local. The Pillsbury Wine Company here in Willcox.”

  “Buying local,” Marcus mused.

  A simple spinach salad followed, along with a basket of fresh bread, and next—the display of lobster and crab legs. The seafood, carved into perfect strips of fleshy meat and splayed out on a silver platter, rose above presentation of any five star.

  I remembered those odd questions I harbored and the feeling in my stomach they provoked, no matter the elegance of the meal. After unladylike table manners gulping down the mouth-watering lumps of, buttered crabmeat, I tried to sound as natural as possible, “Marcus, has there ever been a Mrs. Armstrong?”

  He grinned. Didn’t miss a beat. “Well, a good deduction given a man of my age. Yes. She left me. It’s not a pleasant memory, but I’ll share it with you if you like.”

  He answered the question. He passed with glowing colors and I didn’t need the details. One more question. “Children?”

  “Sadly, no,” he replied.

  And that ended my great inquisition.

  After dinner we danced under the stars of Orion rising strong in the sky. It gave me pause. Only I would notice those particular stars. Gage and I were as much star worshipers as sun worshipers. Gage’s favorite constellation was Orion. Mine—Pleiades, or the Seven Sisters. Orion’s belt led the way to sighting the Seven Sisters. It was my guiding ship, because often, and part of the romance for me, if you look at the sisters directly they will fade away from sight. Look a bit away and you will see them.

  I shook away the chill inching up my spine and forced myself back into the moment and the sounds of some silky-smooth and slow Sade. A little too slow. A little too close. I broke the embrace and, without words, Marcus guided me back inside to finish our tour. His office. A second large bedroom with no bed. No furniture and only a few boxes. Down another hall stood erect two eight-foot high crystal clusters flaunting each side of the master bedroom doors.

  He opened them and led me inside. The gas fire lit up the space, casting its orange glow across the capacious room and providing the only shade of color. Marcus kissed me as we stood at the foot of his bed. Lovingly, tenderly, and passionately and I kissed him back.

  I shook my head. “No, Marcus. I can’t,” I said.

  He let go his embrace. Sorrow filled his dark eyes and he whispered in my ear, “I understand. You can’t tonight.”

  Chapter 35

  Facts to Find

  DETECTIVE TAYLOR GRABBED his wrists behind his head. He’d shoot up from the computer and pace the floors of the small office, then sit back down, then pace again. His partner mimicked the gestures as if mirroring him.

  “I don’t know why these places even bother to have video surveillance. Too damn grainy and useless.”

  The junior detective stroked his throat. “Guessing they get reductions on their insurance premiums for even the cheapest models,” he offered. “We had to go out two city blocks, Boss, but we have something. We got Perez hauling out of the back seat of an SUV. Black. New. One of those big bad boys on shiny wheels.”

  Detective Taylor resumed his position at the desk, back to the video, studying it frame-by-frame as if he was in Hollywood producing the world’s first 4-D movie. “Big vehicle. My money says it’s a Lexus. One of the elite, anyway. And no license plate read. Not even sure if it’s an Arizona plate. Damn!”

  “But we see a money trail,” the young man said.

  “Whoa. You’re jumping the gun. No trail. We got nothing but a kid popping out of a cool car.”

  The junior detective let out a deep sigh. He clinched both fists, and then released them.

  “Okay, Kid,” Detective Taylor said. “I lied. We got something. We have a gut instinct. And we have a seemingly expensive dark colored SUV. We see Perez exiting from the back seat. We know there’s a friggin’ driver, but was there someone else in the front passenger seat?”

  “You’re right,” the junior detective said, reevaluating his first analysis. “We don’t even know for sure that it’s black. And we can’t tell if there’s a third perp.”

  “Excellent,” Detective Taylor said. “Now let’s go see the Falls woman and find out who she knows with an expensive SUV.”

  “A dark-colored late-model,” the kid said. “Maybe not black.”

  “HE CALLED YOU MY cadre of criminologists,” I told Shirley and Zoey, inside Shirley’s Sam Hughes home.

  Zoey laughed, “Probably he meant your coven.”

  “He came in here sometime today and took Harry. Shared pooch custody. He was not a happy camper. My first warning sign was two New York steaks nailed to the garage.”

  “Seriously?” Zoey asked. “His way of telling you your dog was in danger?”

  “No way,” Shirley answered for me. “He would never hurt Earl Harry. Did you maybe miss a dinner with him? A romantic steak night?”

  “So what if I did? I don’t presume to know his schedule anymore. The Club or here? I’m trying to play nice, but he’s the one that walked out and then he just shows up. Murphy’s Law. He comes home as he pleases and brings steaks. It happened I wasn’t home. He moves out, even sporadically, if he doesn’t get to know my schedule, either.”

  “I like this man,” Shirley said. “You two push each othe
r’s, buttons, but in an okay way.”

  “You don’t even know him, Shirley. And you don’t know me. You have no right,” I asserted.

  “I have gut feelings outside of my work. I happen to agree with him that you need to get some facts about Chicago. It sounds like he tried to arrange a long talk with you, nice and calm, by surprising you with a wonderful dinner.”

  “Two steaks nailed onto my garage door aren’t facts enough?” I screamed.

  “I don’t think so,” Shirley said. “Maybe some frustration.”

  Zoey nodded in agreement.

  “Then again, why should I listen to what you think? Doesn’t sound to me like you’ve been too lucky in love,” I said to Shirley while ignoring Zoey and her lack of support when I needed a friend.

  I guess I sounded like a bitch. I had a good excuse. Maybe two or three.

  “This too shall pass,” Zoey said. “Meanwhile you guys aren’t enjoying my homemade brownies and that pisses me off.”

  I softened my words and shifted gears, genuinely curious and with as much tact as I could muster. I could not resist, “So is your full name still Shirley Falls?”

  Shirley tilted her head. “You bet it is. I wasn’t going back to my maiden name.”

  Zoey let out a cackle of a laugh, rolling backward on two legs of her chair. She lightened the air with that single moment.

  “Did I miss something?” I asked.

  “My family name is Burleigh.”

  I thought about it a moment. “Ouch! Shirley Burleigh. I guess your parents had a wicked sense of humor.”

  “They didn’t have hearts,” Shirley said. “And if you don’t mind, this is a conversation for some day when we aren’t enjoying Zoey’s brownies.”

  “Just one more question, Shirley,” I said. “I thought you were some big mucky-muck FBI agent. So tell me, who the hell was in my store that night and why did you go and kill him? What aren’t you telling me now?”

  Chapter 36

  Goodwill Calls

  MARCUS ENTERED THROUGH the double doors of Falls & Falls, his stride indicating purpose.

  “Dr. Armstrong. You’re here to see the rings. Special stones, I promised,” I said.

  “Excellent,” he answered. With his body held erect and his arms crossed, he walked toward the main counter.

  “Why don’t you take a seat over at the desk? Better lighting and better optics. I’ll go find your extraordinary pieces.”

  At the vault I slipped into a state of dumbness, and it wasn’t my dumb blonde routine. Why did he try to kiss me the other night? Don’t analyze. Don’t analyze. Sell him the engagement ring and wish him good luck. Meet his bride-to-be and forget about something that never happened. Except it did. I did kiss him back.

  “Which one do you prefer?” he asked me once six glistening marquise stones set in gold or platinum or both, and all enhanced with even more shimmers of diamonds, were laid across the stretch of black velvet.

  “This one,” I said on auto-pilot. I guess it was my favorite. He asked.

  “Please put it on your finger.”

  I placed it on my right ring finger. He asked me to put it on my left.

  He studied the ring. Maybe held my hand a second too long.

  “Then this is the one I want.”

  “I haven’t quoted you any prices.”

  “Write it up.”

  I did as my customer requested and returned with the wrapped ring in one of our burgundy velvet boxes with the burgundy bag to match. He already had his credit card on the counter.

  I looked away. I thought for just a moment, but he caught it. Damn him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I dropped my eyes to the floor, and then raised them to meet his gaze. “She’ll love it.”

  “She’s already turned me down,” he replied.

  My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I felt a tightening in my chest. “I’m confused. You must still wish to sway her, and this ring should do the trick.”

  “Not at all,” Marcus Armstrong answered. “Someday my wh—my goddess will appear. I’ll be ready for her.”

  I laughed with a catch in my throat. “A planner. And an optimist. That’s nice.”

  He signed the credit card ticket. He accepted the bag, and then kissed my hand. A quick peck on my hand this time. And he was gone.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER Detective Steve Taylor walked through the doors of Falls & Falls. “Lots of energy around here today,” he said.

  I looked up. “Some nice activity, Detective. What brings you by?”

  “Just a goodwill call. Sorry I don’t have anything solid for you.”

  Shirley must have sent him over. “Not a problem. We just made a huge sale with several sweet small ones. Seems like I was right about the Tucson market. And I don’t have any dead bodies anymore. Just all these goodies for sale. I’m sure I can find you something.”

  Taylor cocked his head and patted his chest. “Good to hear, but I’m not exactly a prospect. Not on my salary. I don’t want to bring you down, but I wonder if I could ask you a couple of questions.”

  “About that night. I guess that’s what you guys do best,” I said. “Go ahead. After all, there really was a dead man lying on my floors with his internal organs on the floor and blood all over my walls.”

  “Do you know anyone that drives a late model SUV. Big. Maybe black?”

  “Probably half of my customers. I don’t know. I don’t pay much attention, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Well, my live-in boyfriend has a dark blue Explorer. Why?”

  “We’re just working on some leads. What’s your friend’s name?”

  “No. Wherever you’re going, it’s the wrong path.”

  “Sterling. Humor me. We have to do our job.”

  “Gage. Gage Beauchamp, but he’s not involved, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean he was out of town, and no way anyway. He simply has nothing to do with this. He travels all the time, and he’s the reason I’m down here.”

  Taylor offered a half-smile as he jotted down some notes.

  The note taking infuriated me. “No, really! We’re planning a future together. That’s why I came to Tucson.”

  Taylor nodded, “That’s good. Real good. Is he in Tucson now?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Maybe at home? At work?”

  “Detective, the truth is we had a little argument. Nothing serious. It’s just right now he’s staying at The Club.”

  “Lover’s quarrel?” Taylor mused.

  “Yes. And no big deal.”

  “Anyone else you know that might want to spook you?”

  “Of course not, and that includes Gage.”

  Taylor underlined the name. Next to it he noted the man was staying at The Club, but maybe not for long. Lovers’ stupid quarrels. Not unusual, but notable.

  Chapter 37

  Evidence

  I AGREED TO MEET Gage at a local Mexican dive. A dime-a-dozen in Tucson and all of them worth a million bucks to their patrons.

  Gage sat at one of only three window tables and waved me through the line of customers waiting for a gastronomic treasure served on a white plastic plate. As I approached the table, I watched him stand and falter. He wiped his brows and hugged me with passion as I remained stiff and splintered like the stupid wooden kayak Gage had stored on the west side of our home, forever exposed to the full desert sun. Sun rot.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Sterling.”

  “I guess it’s time.” Time to call for an official time-out or breakup, I thought.

  We ordered the house margaritas and the chips arrived at our table before we said another word.

  Gage cleared his throat and placed both hands on the corners of the small table. “Sterling, I love you. I hope one day you will marry me. I would never jeopardize that. Right now what’s most important is that you believe in me. In us. Believe in the fact
that there was no indiscretion in Chicago. Nothing. Nothing that would even bruise our relationship.”

  I said nothing. Perhaps a smirk betrayed my feelings as I felt a heaviness nag at my soul. Maybe my stomach, too. All-too-familiar words from times past. And then there was that old trust issue that felt like a too tight corset somehow wrapped across my heart.

  “Will you at least hear me out?”

  I cocked my head. A small sign of acquiescing.

  Gage explained that a long lost friend that only happened to be an ex-lover needed a place to freshen up before a big show because she happened to not have a room. The woman had changed her life around, Gage said. Just what I didn’t want to hear since he loathed her old despicable ways. He saw no harm. The girl, Rachel, should not have answered his phone, but she did. And she told the truth. Gage was showering at the time. Alone.

  “If the same situation happened to you, wouldn’t you at least be as kind? A simple gesture to help someone out?” he pleaded.

  I took in a deep breath, toxic with my thoughts. Our dinners hadn’t arrived, but I was stuffing myself with the tortilla chips and too hot of a salsa. I moved to the pico de gallo. Too hot. “I suppose I would do the same thing. Except I don’t buy your story,” I managed to say while downing the margarita to douse out the flames of the authentic salsas and those poisonous thoughts.

  “You’re kidding me? Come on. Why the hell not?”

  I felt the flare of adrenaline. Unwelcome and welcome at the same time. “Evidence,” I said and reached inside my hobo bag to pull them out. A series of six photos sent to my store.

  Gage looked at the photographs and stammered. “I—I—I don’t get this. How the devil did you get these?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Look at them, Sterling. What do you see? Sure, we shared a hug. These—us laughing. We shared a joke or something. And this kiss? For chrissakes, Sterling. It was only a peck. A nano-second of a peck. Good god!”

  “So I ask you, who sent them to me?” I ranted.