I handed over the information, more than a little eager to close up shop for the day and get home to my hubby and dog. By the time I’d shut down my computer, found my jacket and picked up my purse, Ron informed me the area code for Livingston’s phone was in El Paso, Texas.
Chapter 25
El Paso sits on that little jag of Texas land directly beneath New Mexico on the map, the little shelf that gives our state its neatly squared edges. It’s the border city to Juarez, Mexico, and as such has always been popular with kids who want to duck across the border for some evening fun and tequila. Especially the students at New Mexico State. El Paso is only a hop down the road from Las Cruces.
All this went through my mind as I drove home. I like things tidy and organized, so the idea of clearing two cases with one relatively short drive south made a lot of sense to me. It was the only reason I toyed with the idea of volunteering to help Ron.
Freckles greeted me at the door as if she hadn’t seen me in a month. Days alone, apparently, stretch out infinitely for a dog. I ruffled her fur and scratched her ears and babbled sweetie-sweet words at her, to which she wriggled and danced and led me to the kitchen.
Drake had been home awhile. I’d called him when I left the office, and he offered to start the grilled chicken and salad we’d talked about for dinner. He stood at the sink, washing lettuce.
“Don’t let her lie to you,” he said with a nod toward the eager pup who was sitting with her nose pointed at her empty food bowl. “I fed her fifteen minutes ago.”
I gave him a kiss and ignored Freckles.
He set aside the vegetables and pulled me into his arms. “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to tell you … I found out who owns that property, the little cabin we found.”
“Really? Do you think it’s available?”
“Haven’t got that far with it. All I know so far is the piece of land is twelve acres. The road we spotted below is one boundary, and from the topo map it looks as though it wouldn’t be too difficult to lay a driveway from it up to the cabin.”
“Would we want that? Driveways invite nosy people and vandals.”
“It’s an option that would make it easier in case we’re weathered-out from flying.”
“How does the current owner get up there?” It was something I’d wondered from the beginning.
“That, my dear, is something we’ll have to ask once we make contact.” He turned to the bowl containing two chicken breasts and spooned more of the spicy-scented marinade over them.
I set plates and flatware on the table and poured a glass of wine for myself. Drake already had a beer in a frosty mug nearby. I filled him in on the latest drama at the Lorrento household. He just shook his head.
“Bobby Lorrento used to be one of my favorite players,” he said. “Why do people go all weird once they have fame and fortune?”
I could only make a guess. “People start treating them as if they can do no wrong, so they suddenly get away with bad behavior or buy the solutions to their problems instead of having to work them out. If their antics make the news, it’s covered in a silly boys-will-be-boys way so there isn’t much outrage over it.”
“Boys-will-be-boys? Sounds as if the wife was every bit as wild this time.”
“She was. I’m not pointing fingers at men or making excuses for women. They’re both messed up.”
Childish. That’s what the Lorrentos’ behavior had become.
“Speaking of kids acting up, I thought I’d volunteer to drive down to El Paso tomorrow to help Ron find the guy who has the missing ring.”
Drake sent me a puzzled look. “He’s another kid?”
“Oh.” I could see where my stream of consciousness had skipped a few steps in the telling. “I’m thinking while I’m down there it would be easy to prowl around in Las Cruces and see what I can find out about the Delaney girl who is supposedly enrolled in school there but isn’t. Ron’s following a lead we have on the ring collector and is trying to get an address. If we’ve got that, it could turn into a twofold bonus if we can solve both cases at once.”
As it turned out, simplicity took extra time to accomplish. By the next day Ron had made contact with Jay Livingston and, pretending to be a buyer for the ring, set up a meeting. During our little heart-to-heart, Marcie Lorrento had agreed to use the money she’d obtained from the pawnshop when she sold the rings in order to get them back. This little transaction would, no doubt, cost her a bit extra from her clothing allowance. Jay might be interested in Marcie in the bedroom, but this was business and he wanted to make a profit.
Ron also had the little matter of taking custody of Bobby Lorrento when he was released from the hospital and taking the man into his own home. While he took off to accomplish those tasks, I drove out to the peaceful, green estate on Rio Grande where the last battle in their marital war had taken place. The horses had been moved to the pasture on the opposite side of the drive; otherwise, everything appeared the same.
Marcie was either busy with a charity luncheon (the story I was given), or she was too embarrassed to see me (the version I believed) because she’d left a thick brown envelope with my name on it. The maid who answered the door handed it to me without even asking to see identification or have me sign a receipt. It either meant the household operated greatly on trust, or Marcie was watching from a window and knew I was the one getting the money.
I counted it in front of the maid. One hundred ten thousand dollars in one-hundred dollar bills. From what Ron had told me, this represented a ten-percent profit for Mr. Livingston on an investment he’d held less than a week. Not bad. I wished my retirement fund was doing anywhere near that well.
I admit to being more than a little nervous with that kind of cash so I drove straight back to the office and locked it away in the safe. The following morning I got an early start, retrieved the money, and headed south. In one way, it was a heady feeling—there was nothing to stop me from disappearing into a new life and never having to get involved in another private investigation case. The irony was not lost on me. Here I was, driving toward Mexico with enough money tucked under my car seat to live quite comfortably there for a long time. The downsides would be my dozen-word Spanish vocabulary and the fact I’d go crazy without my husband and my dog.
Our little family was scattered enough at the moment. Drake had taken a job flying some Fish and Game Department men around the northern part of the state. Since he would be gone overnight, Freckles was spending the day with Elsa. Ron had charge of Bobby Lorrento and I didn’t even bother to ask how that would go. I could imagine him trying to keep the big football player from going back home, attempting to prevent the battling couple from having contact until we could be sure there wouldn’t be another skillet incident. I could possibly end up staying away overnight, too. The drive to El Paso takes nearly five hours.
I shaved some off that time by blatantly ignoring the speed limit in the wide-open areas south of Socorro and was hitting the El Paso city limits before noon. It had been years since I’d come down this way and, of course, the city looked nothing like it used to. But my cell phone had provided me with a neatly organized set of directions and I followed them. One of these days I would modernize with a GPS for my vehicle, one that would talk me through the trip. It’s silly that I haven’t done so already, given the number of times I’m trekking off somewhere unfamiliar to me.
I-25 turned into Interstate 10 and my directions led me into a complicated spaghetti bowl of interchanges before sending me eastbound into an upscale subdivision. Various twists and turns put me onto a cul-de-sac where I faced a handsome two-story home stuccoed in shades of moss green. Six stately palm trees flanked the drive.
I took a brief moment to gawk. My home turf has nothing like this, and I’m always a little surprised to find what I think of as tropical plants in a desert environment. Patterned tile led the way to the front door. Through the beveled glass double doors, I caught glimpses of a curved staircase with curly wrought iron e
mbellishments. I pressed the doorbell button and waited while a set of chimes played something melodic.
Jay Livingston answered the door himself. He stood a tad under six feet, with a slim waist and broad shoulders. He wore jeans, a dark turtleneck and lambskin jacket. Dark hair with a slight wave to it curled to touch his earlobes, and his green eyes showed golden highlights beneath the dark brows. A warm smile completed the picture. I could see how Marcie Lorrento had been charmed by him.
“Come in,” he said when I introduced myself. He ushered me into a living room so well-ordered and perfect either he was the world’s neatest man or the cleaning lady had left only minutes earlier. “You brought the cash for the ring?”
The bulky envelope was jammed into my largest purse, which I’d brought for the occasion. “I’d like to see the ring, please.”
He reached into the jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Although I’d seen the other two rings, when he opened the lid I have to confess to being more than a little dazzled. The ring was huge—designed to be impressive on the chunky size-11 finger of a football player—and every millimeter of it was covered in diamonds and rubies. Livingston watched as I took the box and turned it to see the ring.
“I have to say—wow. I can see why you like to collect these things.”
I set it on the coffee table, unzipped my purse and pulled out the pack of money. He accepted it and gave me the ring.
“I counted that,” I told him, “but you can certainly double-check.”
He opened the metal brad on the envelope, gave a deep look inside, and closed it again.
“It looks right,” he said. “Thanks for coming by.” He stood and moved subtly toward the door, my obvious cue that the deal was done and he had other things to occupy his day.
I tucked the ring box into my purse and thanked him. It sounded a bit silly to thank a guy for selling something at a markup, but I was just thrilled the whole transaction went so smoothly. Back in my car, I lost no time retracing my path out of his swanky neighborhood and getting back on the highway.
Chapter 26
The entire transaction with Livingston had taken less than thirty minutes and I was back at the outskirts of El Paso with plenty of time to grab some lunch and pursue my other case. Las Cruces is a quick forty-five minute drive, and the first exit sent me toward a selection of fast-food choices. I wheeled into the first Mexican food place I spotted and ordered a burrito.
Managing the floppy foil-wrapped packet, I pulled the Walmart receipt I’d stolen from the Delaney dining room table and found the store’s address. I’m not terribly familiar with the town, but figured these big-box stores tend to group together on the major throughways. Surely, I could find it by driving around, but the appeal of finishing this task quickly and being home in my own bed tonight won out. I called out to an older couple who sat at the next table.
“Do you live here in town?” I asked. “Do you know how I would get to the Walmart over on Walton Boulevard?”
I got two versions but the woman’s directions seemed more straightforward. I left them to discuss it, wadded up my food wrappers and beat a path back to the Jeep. I pulled into the Walmart lot less than ten minutes later—the beauty of a small town.
“I’d like to speak with the store manager,” I told the woman behind the customer service desk.
She eyed the receipt in my hand. “If it’s about a return, I can help you.”
“Thanks, but it’s something else.”
She asked to see the receipt anyway, examined it, handed it back.
My hundred-thousand-dollar transaction with Jay Livingston had drawn less scrutiny. Eventually, she paged a Bill Morgan who came from somewhere in the back and greeted me politely. He had the country air of a guy who might have been a dairy farmer before the economy changed and corporations dealt out the better-paying jobs. I introduced myself as a partner in RJP Investigations from Albuquerque and said we were looking into a missing-persons case.
We’d been talking quietly off to the side, but I could sense curiosity from the customer service lady so I suggested we go to his office.
“I wonder if you can show me the store’s video footage for the day and time this sale was made,” I said, giving him the receipt once he’d led the way to the back.
“The asset protection office is right next to mine. Let’s check.”
The fancified title belonged to a security manager. It took a few minutes’ discussion between the store manager and this guy, but they finally decided the video from two weeks ago should still be available. Security guy performed some moves at his computer keyboard and motioned me to step around the desk and take a look.
“Your receipt says the sale was made at one of the self-check kiosks, number three, to be exact, so here’s the view of it.”
I’d always been aware that the little bluish-black domes in the ceilings of retail stores were cameras, but I’d never seen how much detail they captured. On the screen before me, I saw an overhead shot of a check stand. As he edged the picture forward a few seconds at a time, a slender blonde with her hair up in a long ponytail wheeled her shopping cart up to it. In a few seconds’ time she’d run a bag of cookies, a frozen pizza, a six-pack of Cokes, a tube of toothpaste and a pack of toilet paper through the scanner and bagged them. The items matched what the receipt said, and the food choices matched what I’d seen in evidence at the Delaney house.
The girl pulled a credit card from her purse and inserted it in the machine. While it did its thing, she reached up and scratched the top of her head, fiddled with the purse strap, and generally seemed impatient. The moment the machine released her card she grabbed it and picked up her two bags. As she approached the exit door, a face-on view showed me it was indeed one of the Delaney girls.
“I’ll switch to the parking lot camera now,” said the security man.
When he did, we saw the blonde walking briskly across the lot. She got into a blue Corvette.
“Is she the one?” Mr. Morgan asked.
“Yes, it’s the girl I’m looking for. The story is that she’s attending school down here but the college can’t verify she’s enrolled.”
“Well, you’d have to check that with them,” Morgan said.
“I thought of that, but this being Sunday the admissions offices are closed.”
“Could be she just moved here and got a job,” he suggested. That very thing had crossed my mind at one point.
“Do you have facial recognition programs?” I asked. “Something that would scan all the videos and see if she’s a regular shopper here?”
Security dude shook his head. “We’d have to go through them all manually. It’s a lot of work.”
Bill Morgan spoke up: “Yeah, it is. Normally, I can’t justify that much of an employee’s time unless the law is asking and a court order goes along with it.”
“I understand.” I thought about what my next moves should be, came up with nothing of much use. “Could you do me a favor? If you happen to see her in the store again, would you mind giving me a call? It would be helpful if I could report to her family that she’s alive and well and where she’s living. That’d be good enough for them—for now, anyway.” I handed him a business card.
I sensed reluctance on his part but he agreed. I walked out, conscious that my moves were appearing on the cameras the whole way out the door and going to my vehicle. The feeling was somewhat reassuring, somewhat creepy. There didn’t seem any point in my cruising the streets of town hoping to catch a glimpse of the twin. I already knew both Corvettes were regularly at the house in Albuquerque, so if one of the girls had moved here she’d switched to a different car.
None of the story I’d been given so far made sense, but I didn’t think the answers were to be found here in Las Cruces. Home beckoned. I called Ron to update him with my progress in the Lorrento case. He didn’t much want to stay at the office into the evening, so I said I would deliver the ring to his house.
&nbs
p; By two o’clock I was on the road for home again, glad business was taken care of—at least to the best of my ability. I now had several hours ahead of me to decide what to do next about Donna Delaney’s request.
Chapter 27
By the time I hit the southern edges of Albuquerque, my body was buzzing from all the hours behind the wheel, and my brain had gone numb. I exited at Lomas and wound my way into Ron and Victoria’s neighborhood, parking at the curb in front of their house, handing the ring over to my brother as I pled tiredness for my reason not to come in. It was the point in the day when I wanted nothing more than a bowl of soup and a cuddle from my dog before curling up in bed. For once, it didn’t bother me a bit that Drake wouldn’t be home tonight.
Freckles came bounding out Elsa’s back door when she opened it to my tap. I thanked her profusely for watching my rambunctious little one all day, but declined to come in. I suppose she saw the fatigue in my eyes because she didn’t push it.
I followed the soup-cuddle-sleep plan, adding only a quick phone call to Drake and a hot shower. I was in bed before nine o’clock. Then I was wide awake at four-thirty, rested and refreshed.
All the way home yesterday afternoon I’d toyed with various ideas for ways to get the Delaney twins in one place and snap the elusive photo to wrap up the case. I’m kind of funny about projects—I like to tie up loose ends and finish them. The Lorrento case still hung in the air as a trail of random threads. I had no illusion about those two working out what they would do about their marriage, but at least our assigned task—my task anyway—had been completed. Now, I needed a photograph. Just one. It shouldn’t be difficult.
I’d sorted through the things I did know about the two girls and their recent activities: a store purchase in Las Cruces, two Corvettes now parked in Albuquerque, the shopping sprees, the river party. When I got to that point, I remembered the girl Zayne (well, I thought it was Zayne) had picked up at the dorm and spent the day with. She might provide a lead.
Alibis Can Be Murder Page 12