Alibis Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  As it turned out she pulled to the curb in front of Hokona Hall and tooted her horn twice. A girl with flowing, dark brown curls came down the steps a little awkwardly on her high platform shoes. Otherwise, her outfit of jeans and tank and smartphone were nearly identical to Zayne’s. She smiled widely and reached for the door handle on the ’Vette.

  A group of four college-age boys stood near the bottom of the steps, and they called out to the girls. Zayne turned to respond, although I couldn’t tell what any of them were saying. Her friend gave a coquettish sway with her hips but stayed with the car.

  Fifty yards behind them, I snatched up the camera and got a few shots. At this point, I didn’t know if the group of kids had anything to do with anything, but I figured it was best to gather any and all data I could get. The girl slid into the passenger seat and the red car’s top began to retract. As long as I could somewhat match her speed, following a bright red convertible with a blonde at the wheel and a brunette riding shotgun should be fairly easy.

  Animated conversation took place for about a minute, the girls waved to the guys, then the car began to move. I dropped the camera on my lap and cruised up slowly to narrow the gap between our vehicles. Zayne turned left from the parking lot and roared up Girard with a fair amount of noise. It must have been for the benefit of the boys—by the time she reached the light at Lomas she’d slowed to normal speed and I caught up, only a couple of cars behind her.

  She made the right turn then sped up again. By the time I began to keep pace, we were both doing more than ten over the speed limit, not that it bothers me but some of these lights have the traffic cams that get your picture if you shave a red light a little too close. I really didn’t need another ticket on my record when the previous one was about to reach its time limit and drop from sight of my insurance company.

  Lomas is a major street with traffic lights at all the big cross streets. I managed to keep within one light of the red Corvette until she reached Louisiana Boulevard. She pulled into the left-turn lane where she made the light and I didn’t. I watched the convertible longingly until it went out of sight. By the time I got a green arrow and followed Zayne’s direction, there was no sign of her car.

  Ahead were the city’s major shopping centers and a freeway entrance. Two young women, off for the day and heading this direction … I could guess they might be doing a girl’s day of lunch and shopping, but the choices were nearly endless. I came to the ABQ shopping mall and pulled off the busy street. The center offered both storefront and underground parking, but a quick recon of both didn’t reveal the car I was seeking.

  Next up the road was a bigger challenge. Coronado Center was built in the ’70s as the biggest mall of its day, and it hasn’t shrunk with time. Multiple parking lots with traffic that’s constantly changing—I took one look and decided it was a waste of time. Not to mention there were other shops throughout the area. I should have noted the shopping bags on the Delaney dining table for clues on the girls’ taste, but I hadn’t and it was too late now.

  Chapter 19

  The only sensible thing was to go back to square one. Ultimately, Zayne had to come home. I headed that way, vowing not to admit to Ron how badly I’d done this surveillance. On the other hand, he’s always telling me what a bore it is to watch someone and how this type of spying is frequently unsuccessful. If his questions got specific, that’s the line I would stick to.

  Back in the neighborhood, the first thing I noted was the blue sports car still in the driveway. So, if Clover had gone out with Ryan, there was no real way to tell if she’d come back yet. My dog had initially been enthralled with the long car ride but was now quickly becoming fidgety. I clipped her leash to her collar and we did a little brisk walk to the end of our street and back. Letting the Delaney twins out of my sight again was something I wanted to avoid.

  The view of their house from mine is fairly restricted. I have no windows facing their direction. The view from my living room requires me to stand at one edge of the front window and peer around the trunk of a sycamore tree in my yard, and I’m still limited by shrubs in other yards.

  Elsa’s place would work far better. Her living room has comfy chairs and corner windows that practically put the Delaney driveway in your face if you’re using a decent pair of opera glasses. She keeps those on a small table beside the sofa.

  All I needed was to pack a baggie of dog treats and take along my uneaten sandwich, and we’d be set for the rest of the afternoon—provided I could get Elsa to let me in. Since she’s rarely anywhere but home on a weekday afternoon, it came as no surprise when she opened the kitchen door at my knock. A quick explanation of what I planned to do and I was in. I didn’t even have to converse. Old people can talk non-stop if you only let them.

  In her living room, I raised the opera glasses to my eyes. The ones with a little handle down the side are handiest, by the way, unless you want to build arm muscles of iron by holding up a regular pair of binoculars. These days, I’m into the philosophy of easier is better. Freckles waited diligently at my side until the peanut butter sandwich was down to the smallest sliver of crust. Once she got that, she settled on the floor.

  I heard all about the doings at Elsa’s church, the various health problems of all her friends, and how the monthly pie supper had gone. Truthfully, I had no idea there were so many varieties of pie. You gotta keep up with church ladies to get this stuff. About the time I thought I would overdose from the tales of all the sweets, a flash of red came into view. Zayne and her friend were home.

  The red ’Vette pulled in beside the blue one and the top began its journey to the up position. Both doors opened at the same time—Zayne and her brunette friend stepped out. They circled to the trunk and began pulling out shopping bags. This time I read the labels and knew the stores were all out of my league. If shopping was on the agenda again, I would know where to find these ladies but, unfortunately, I would stand out as an intruder in any one of those shops.

  Lights came on across the street and Elsa excused herself to start dinner. I sat in the dark, feeling only a little like a creep for staring at the lit windows where the girls moved about behind sheer curtains. I couldn’t see details but got the idea they were trying on their new clothes to show each other. Maybe deciding on outfits to match. Very twelve-years-old, in my opinion.

  If that was the case, I would bet they were getting ready to go out. I made a mental list of what I would need to do if I had to take off with two seconds’ notice and follow again. Since the goal of this whole exercise was to get a photo of Zayne and Clover together, I’d better have the camera, and in case I ended up outdoors a jacket would be smart. I assumed a college party could go on all night. It had been a few years since my days at UNM and I’d never exactly been a party animal.

  The sky grew dark and I turned down Elsa’s offer of a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. Good thing I did—the two girls came waltzing out the front door, the brunette laughing. I couldn’t see that they were dressed much differently than before. They both wore jeans and very similar cropped tops. Boots. These had to be the new items. I didn’t have time to ponder the question, though. They were heading toward the car, the blue one this time.

  I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my purse and camera.

  “Can Freckles stay with you until I get home?” I asked as I whipped open Elsa’s front door.

  She nodded but I barely saw. I closed the door and dashed across the two yards, making a mad leap for my vehicle. The blue car roared past my house as my engine caught and I practically screeched out of my driveway. This time, surveillance would be a bit trickier than previously in broad daylight. I memorized the car’s taillight pattern and wondered whether I had a prayer of keeping up with her.

  Zayne (I assumed it was still Zayne) turned toward Rio Grande Boulevard, the opposite direction from her earlier trip uptown. Once we passed Old Town the traffic thinned appreciably and I had no trouble keeping her lights in sight. She kept head
ing north. A bunch of possibilities came to mind. If the girls planned to cross the Rio Grande and head out to the west side, we would once again be caught up in a tangle of traffic, shopping centers and a maze of streets I wasn’t very familiar with. Then again, they could go almost anywhere. Several major arteries could take us back to the middle of the city, to Interstate 25, and from there to nearly any destination, including the airport or the northern mountains.

  As it turned out, I had seriously dramatized the possibilities. A couple miles later, Zayne turned left toward the river. Although there’s a developed visitor center and hiking paths out here, it appeared the kids were taking a small side road to an area of their own. The narrow road would make it very apparent a car was behind her, but there wasn’t much I could do. Another car had followed me. Suddenly it all made sense. The riverside spot had been a teen hangout for a lot of years. It had simply not occurred to me that my generation wasn’t the only one who’d discovered it.

  The Corvette continued along the trail, passing a couple of areas designated for parking. Ahead, I could hear thumping music and see the glow from a couple of campfires. I steered to the next parking area I came to, letting the car behind me close the distance to the ’Vette. I knew the area well enough to be ninety percent certain the girls wouldn’t be more than a quarter mile from this spot. My trainers weren’t the best choice of footwear in an area strewn with vines and branches, but I could do this.

  I reached into my glovebox for the flashlight I always keep there, praying the batteries were still in decent condition. Most likely I would only need it to get back. Finding my way toward the party would be no problem at all. The music alone would lead me. I tucked the light into my pocket and stuffed my purse beneath the seat. The camera would definitely look out of place, but I hoped to accomplish my mission without being noticed. The two-hundred millimeter lens should get great shots while I played stealth in the woods.

  I was about to get out when it occurred to me that if I got in trouble no one knew where I was. I quickly called Drake and gave the basics, asking him to go over to Elsa’s and get the dog when he arrived home. Bless him, he didn’t ask for details. He’s figured me out pretty well over the years.

  Two more cars had driven by since I arrived and no one gave a second glance toward me. Rather than walking along the road, I took a path that cut through the woods and most likely led to other picnic sites. As I recalled, there were a dozen or more, each equipped with a concrete table and benches and an ugly metal grill you really wouldn’t want to actually put your food on. I stayed to the left of the gathering of kids until I came to a break in the trees where I could get a good glimpse without actually stepping out into their midst. I was at least eighty yards away, and no one in the group seemed to be aware of anything beyond their own fire-lit circle.

  The purpose of the party was abundantly clear—guys and girls drinking and flirting, raucous laughter and throbbing music. Pretty much the normal. I raised the camera and took a peek through the lens, focusing it to see if I could spot Zayne or Clover. The first person I recognized was the girl who’d been with Zayne most of the day, the brunette with all the hair.

  During their prep time inside the house, she’d added a bunch more curls and some flirt to her style with a couple of coquettish sparkly clips. She was standing near a beer keg with a red plastic cup in one hand, her phone in the other. The screen cast a glow upward to her face and I could see she was laughing over something she read there.

  With the camera lens as my spyglass I slowly scanned the crowd. There must be about thirty kids, most likely all college age, although a few of them could be high schoolers. One group at the northern edge stood close together, passing a joint among them. Nearly all held red cups from the stack near the keg. A surprising number were looking at phone screens in lieu of talking with their friends. Parties sure had changed since my day.

  I spotted the twin who could be either Zayne or Clover. The guy Clover had supposedly gone to the movies with, Ryan, was nowhere in sight. After thirty minutes or so, cars stopped arriving and the crowd seemed to be settling in for the evening. Laughter grew louder; someone turned up the music. No sign of the second twin. The brunette flashed her brilliant smile at a guy with curly, dark hair down to his shoulders. He walked over and spoke to her, running his finger across her bare forearm. On the screen of his phone, I caught sight of a photo. The same girl, nude.

  I gulped. Yeah, dating had changed a whole lot since my day.

  The two of them walked away from the firelight, into a shadowy area where a group of cars was parked. I scanned the area once again, hoping to see the bright flash of two blondes together. It was getting chilly out and my jacket wasn’t doing a lot of good on the back seat of my Jeep. I’d like nothing better than to leave this place for the warmth of home and husband. Obviously, both twins weren’t here and I was wasting my time.

  I used the flashlight to get back to my Jeep, got in and cranked up the heat. Keg parties among college kids were certainly nothing new, but something about the group bothered me. The edgy glances from girls, the palpable sexual tension … but there was more. I couldn’t quite define it.

  The Jeep roared to life and I retraced the route back to my own neighborhood. Drake’s truck was in our driveway and I pulled in beside it. He’d said he would make himself a sandwich for dinner, so I had no obligation to rush in and settle in front of the TV. The Delaney house sat dark and quiet. I picked up my flashlight again and nonchalantly walked across the street.

  Chapter 20

  Frankly, I’m no expert at breaking and entering. The few times I’ve done it, my success has usually come from an unlocked door or open window. So, okay, that’s really the only method I know. The trick is to make it look as if you belong. I approached the dark Delaney house with a confident step, walked right up to the front door and grabbed the doorknob. Not even a mere budge.

  Around back, a sliding glass door seemed promising. A little shaking and jimmying can sometimes get their flimsy latches to release. I discovered the Delaneys did not do cheap. Their doors were good quality and fairly new, which made sense. Some of that newfound money had gone into upgrades on the old house. I made a quick visual scan of the windows on the back of the house—checking first to be sure the shrubbery was thick enough to block views from neighbors behind—but found nothing that looked like a quick entry.

  Until I came to the side door on the garage. Should have thought of this first; it’s one area a lot of folks miss in their nightly locking-up process, and it often reveals another entrance to the house. I tried the knob. Luck at last!

  My flashlight came in handy as I picked my way through the detritus of my neighbors’ earlier life. Twin bicycles with pink handlebar grips, a collapsible backyard pool (which at some point had been replaced by an oval in-ground one), a sofa, two big stuffed recliners, a triple dresser of dark wood, its matching nightstands and a king-size headboard all lined the path from back door to front. Cartons spilling bright fabrics and stacks of books filled the dark recesses. Stalactites of coiled rope hung from the rafters and one corner was filled with leftovers from a film set: heavy metal stands and two klieg lights. It seemed as the couple began to earn more money and upgrade their lifestyle, none of the old stuff had left the premises.

  Mainly, I concentrated on not tripping. It would be embarrassing to go home impaled on a rusted garden tool from someone else’s garage. Eventually, the meandering path brought me to a door which, predictably, was unlocked. I opened it cautiously and stepped into a laundry room. As far as I could tell, the girls had left no lights on; the whole place lay in darkness now. I did a quick scan with my flashlight and saw the laundry room opened to the kitchen, and beyond it lay the open living and dining rooms, the parts I’d seen before. Presumably, bedrooms and bathrooms lay to the south of those.

  Knowing how easy it was to watch movement through the sheer curtains, and remembering I’d left Elsa to look for activity over here, I masked the
beam of my light with one hand as I entered the main areas. Not that it mattered. My elderly spy-friend had most likely watched me walk over and approach the house. If so, I hoped she would warn me if either of the twins came home.

  I got an eerie view of the living room with pretty much the same clutter I’d observed during my previous visit. The dining table held the same shopping bags plus a few new ones, and the same litter of receipts lay beside them. I could come back to those.

  A hallway led off the far side of the living room and I headed there, dodging a pair of sneakers that seemed to have leapt off their owner’s feet and landed in a heap where they would be in everyone’s way. A series of doors revealed a small bathroom decorated in navy blue and tan, a large bedroom with twin beds, loads of purple and a bathroom with a long vanity and half the contents of the cosmetic counter from Macy’s. At the end of the hall, a master bedroom seemed in good order, neatly made up when its occupants had left several weeks ago. Their bathroom wasn’t nearly in as much disarray (or as interesting) as that of the daughters.

  I veered back to the domain of the girls and began a little recon. Both beds were messy and unmade. Discarded clothing covered a dresser and side chair. A bookcase against the wall held a random collection of children’s books and a few old Nancy Drew mysteries; the top of the case had two decorative metal trees for earrings and necklaces. They couldn’t hold everything, apparently, because a scattering of spare jewelry littered the surface nearby like fallen leaves in a forest.