by RP Dahlke
Witness Protection in the United States was a few lines about who gets in and some references to the more lurid cases, and with only half my questions answered, I padded down the stairs, wondering why the house was so quiet.
A heavy saltshaker weighted down a couple of notes on ruled cards. The first one said: Went to the movies with Shirley. I'll be home in time for supper. No signature, but since no one else in our family was presently dating anyone named Shirley, I knew it must be from my dad. Besides, who else would make sure that his place would be set and ready for another meal?
I picked up the next note: Have taken Granny and Nancy into town. Will be back in time to make supper.
I reached into the fridge, took out a pitcher of iced tea, and settled on one of the two mismatched wicker chairs on the front porch.
I put my bare feet up on the railing and admired the fragrance of ripe peaches in the orchard next to us. Our neighbor had it listed for sale, but with no takers he was letting his fruit drop on the ground. Should I get up and go collect some for a pie? I took another sip of iced tea and decided against it. Too hot, maybe later. Then I wondered if Juanita was ever coming home again. Now, there was a woman who could make pies, those wonderful little Mexican pies, empañadas, a mouthful of flaky crust and fresh, sweet fruit. Maybe later.
I dozed in the warmth of the afternoon sun, but awoke to the sound of a car slowing as it approached our house. I shaded my eyes against the sun-bleached horizon and watched a tan Ford sedan roll into our driveway. Modesto police detective Gayle Rodney pushed open the door and lumbered to his feet. I took another swallow of iced tea, and putting it on the table next to my chair, got up and waited.
He rolled his big head around on his beefy shoulders as if the bell had rung on round one, then halted at the steps to the porch. Removing the toothpick he wore on his lower lip, he said, "Nancy Einstein. I need to speak with her."
No please or thanks, or even a hello, nothing that might mediate his surly demand.
Oh, hell, why not? I uncrossed my arms and sent him a big old smile of welcome. "Got a warrant, do you?"
"Not your bidness, Ms. Bains. Not this time."
"Still, why come all the way out here?"
"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."
"A telephone call wouldn't work, huh?"
"Not this time."
And because it would be a whole year since the last time I messed with him, I said, "Hot out there. Why don't you come up on the porch, and I'll go get Nancy and bring you out a nice cold glass of iced tea. Oh, come on, I won't bite," I said, backing up from the front step.
He dropped heavily into the wicker chair while I went to fetch the missing Nancy and the iced tea.
Inside, I called Caleb. "Did you and Marshal Balthrop attend the autopsy today?"
"Yes, but cause of death is still inconclusive. The drug panels won't be back for a few more days."
"Then it wasn't a heart attack?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Would you be surprised to know that Detective Rodney is here?"
That stopped the conversation. "What'd he want?"
"Nancy. But she's not here. When do you think the medical examiner will know for sure?" Since he couldn't add anything more, I promised to tell him if the detective said anything he should know and hung up.
I called Nancy's cell and left her the message not to call or come back before five. I was betting Detective Rodney wouldn't be willing to sit on my porch that long.
Then I loaded a tray with one glass and a pitcher of cold tea, and went back to the porch. I set it on the table between the two wicker chairs, then poured him a glass. "It appears Nancy went to town with my relatives. Aunt Mae and Cousin Pearlie are here for the wedding, you know."
He took the proffered glass. "And you couldn't remember that before I sat down?"
I poured myself another glass. "You were in the neighborhood, making a friendly call. And if it was really important, you would've called first, to make sure you weren't wasting your time, right?"
His tossed back the tea, capturing an innocent ice cube between his molars. I was picturing bones of small creatures gasping their last breath. "You trying to tell me how to do my job, Ms. Bains?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." Now that wasn't true and we both knew it. I nodded at the rolled-up paper bag next to his chair. "What's in the bag, Detective?"
"Might as well see this," he said, leaning over and giving me a huge whiff of body odor. Did this guy ever bathe?
He pulled out a black cloth and unfolded it. It was an apron, with the words Don't make me poison your dinner! printed on the top.
I dropped the grin I was wearing. He was serious. "Where did you get that?"
"It's part of the evidence we found in her home. I'm here to ask her about it."
"It's a joke, Detective. Surely even you can see that."
His lips tightened. "Nothing is a joke in a police investigation, Ms. Bains."
"In other words, you've got nothing for evidence but an apron? My dad gave me one a few years back that said, Dinner will be ready when the smoke alarm goes off, but as you well know, it wasn't because I tried to burn down our house."
Someone else tried that, and almost succeeded. Besides, I was now sure the detective's visit was nothing more than a fishing trip.
"I still want to ask her some questions."
"Might be a long wait," I said, eyeing the shadows leaning over our house. "Is it important enough for you to be here after hours, Detective?"
He stood, placing the empty glass on the table. "Can I trust you to bring her to my office tomorrow morning?"
"I've already offered to post her bail, Detective. I don't imagine anything going wrong between now and say, ten tomorrow, do you?"
He left as I knew he would. I should've been satisfied to have won that round with the creep, but along with the secrets that I was keeping from Caleb, doubt was settling in with the lengthening shadows, making me wonder what else could possibly go wrong before tomorrow.
Chapter Nine:
Pearlie, Aunt Mae, and Nancy trooped into the kitchen with groceries but insisted on hearing about the detective's visit.
"What did he want?" asked Aunt Mae
"Is he coming back tonight?" asked Cousin Pearlie, rearranging her hair and smoothing her figure-hugging T-shirt.
"No, he's not coming back tonight, thank God. And Pearlie, you wouldn't want to meet him anyway. He's not rich, or even cute, and he's married." Not that married had stopped Gayle Rodney from dating whenever and whomever he chose, but I was hoping to avoid any encounters between him and my cousin.
"I'm not asking if he's single, silly," she said. "I just don't want the family to look like a bunch of hillbillies. Bad enough y'all living out here in this broke-down old farmhouse. Why didn't your dad just tear the dang thing down after that fire?"
I wanted to tell her that it was because he'd designed and built it for my mother, and because my dead brother and I had been raised here. Instead, I said, "Gee, I don't know the answer to that, Pearlie. Why don't you ask Noah when he comes in?"
"Ask me what?" my dad said, sticking his head inside the fridge. And as if soliciting advice from the oracle living in our refrigerator, he asked, "What's for supper?"
Pearlie recited tonight's menu. "Fresh trout, asparagus, baked potatoes, and ice cream."
Satisfied, he withdrew his head. "Well, then, call me when supper's ready. I'll be in the TV room."
My dad's behavior got a smile out of Nancy, then it faded. "I should go home."
"Absolutely not," said Aunt Mae. "You're right where you're supposed to be."
I poured iced tea for everyone. "Of course you are, Nancy. Do you need something from your house?"
"Not really. But I feel like I'm causing problems. That detective showing up. I can't avoid him forever. He'll only come out here again, won't he?"
"I promised him I'd bring you to his office tomorrow morning by ten. But I wa
s hoping we could dodge him until after Caleb gets the toxicology report. I hate to say this, but the detective is trying to make a case for the oleander skewer."
At the horrified expression on her face, I hurriedly added, "I looked it up on the Internet today. The plant has to be ingested and there has to be a lot of it ingested to kill a grown man. That didn't happen, did it? He only used the branch to cook his hotdogs." I didn't tell her about the apron the detective was holding as evidence. Anything printed on an apron wasn't something a judge was going to take seriously.
"Look, Caleb said that report will be in tomorrow. We'll know something one way or another. Then Arthur's body will be released for burial and you can go home. It won't be long, you'll see. In the meantime, we'll keep you busy. We were going to play cards after dinner, remember? That'll be fun, won't it?"
Pearlie, who had been conspicuously quiet, brightened. "Poker?"
"I was thinking more like gin rummy," I said.
If Pearlie was planning on a real game, I'd have to squash that idea. My budget was already tapped for wedding expenses. "We'll use corn chips instead of money. Wha'd'ya say, Nancy?"
Nancy's eyes teared. "Honestly, Lalla, I don't know what I'd have done without you and your aunt and cousin. You ladies have really made me feel welcome."
With Pearlie as the only hold-out, Aunt Mae and I gave her a group hug. Pearlie, I knew, was worried. Even if Nancy wasn't actively vying for Mad Dog's attentions, he still might get a whiff of that perfume every young woman wore, the stuff that couldn't be bottled or bought. For every day Nancy remained in our house, Pearlie's chances would go down a notch.
Caleb arrived, and when I told him Nancy was feeling bad about staying, he nodded. "I'm not so sure this is the right decision for you, either. We still haven't been able to confirm the identity of Mad Dog's friend, Jack Lee Carton. Mad Dog's truck and the inside door and outside handle were wiped clean of all but Mad Dog's prints."
"Mad Dog loves that truck like a girl. He would've washed it the next day."
"He didn't. We asked. We also had Mad Dog looking through digital photos of known hired guns, but he said he couldn't ID anyone."
Caleb seemed restless, maybe from too much worry that I'd taken on defending a young woman who might be guilty after all.
In the dining room, we ate and told family stories to entertain and distract Nancy. I told her about how Caleb and I had been in and out of each other's homes since we were kids and how we'd been orphaned of one parent each at eleven and best friends ever since and now happy to marry.
"Wasn't easy getting her to say yes, either," said Caleb, taking another bite of the tender trout.
I looked at him. "Ah, yes, man of my dreams right in front of me and I couldn't see him. But then, my luck with men had been on a long losing streak."
When I heard a car drive up, I started to push back my chair, thinking that the detective had changed his mind and was coming back tonight to interview Nancy.
Pearlie waggled her fingertips at me. "That'll be for me, Cuz. Mad Dog's taking me to a country western joint where they have a good local band."
She got up, kissed her grandmother on the cheek. "Don't wait up, Granny, I'll probably be late."
I heard voices, then footsteps coming back, and my cousin's breathy laughter.
In a thinly veiled attempt to make it look like this was her idea, Cousin Pearlie preceded Mad Dog into the dining room. "Granny, I'd like for you to meet Noah's pilot, Robert Schwartz."
"Evening, folks," he said, filling the doorway and ruining the pleasant smells of dinner with his aftershave. "Don't get up, fellas. I'm not staying, just wanted to say howdy to y'all."
The fork in Nancy's hand clattered on to her plate.
I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and whispered, "Trust me, Nancy, Mad Dog wouldn't have done anything to intentionally harm Arthur."
She nodded, then lifted her face to Mad Dog. "I don't think we've met. I'm Nancy."
Pearlie's expression drooped. Any hope that she could circumvent an introduction to Nancy just went out the window.
"Yes, ma'am, glad to meet you, too," he said, grasping her small hand between his. "Sorry about Dewey—er—Arthur."
Pearlie crowded in front of Mad Dog and moved the salad bowl closer to Nancy. "Have some more, sugah, you're looking awfully thin lately."
"Well, I just want you to know," Nancy said, ignoring the salad, "Arthur thought the world of you. He was glad to have you as his friend."
Friend? Mad Dog was trying to get Arthur fired.
Mad Dog beamed. "Well, thank you, ma'am, I was glad I could be there for him. Same goes for you, too, Nancy. You need anything, anything at all, you just ask, hear?"
Nancy pushed back her chair and stood. "As a matter of fact, I would like to ask you how you came to bring that man who claimed to be Arthur's friend to the party."
Mad Dog gulped and stammered, "It—it wasn't my idea, ma'am. He—he cozied up to me at a bar and when I mentioned I knew your husband, he fairly jumped into my pickup, excited to see his ol' buddy Dewey Treat. I—I didn't see anything wrong with it."
Nancy put up a hand to her forehead and sank back into her chair. "No, Mad Dog, you didn't do anything wrong."
Pearlie reached out and captured Mad Dog's arm, pulling him out the door. "We have to be going, but y'all have a nice night."
They left, and the silence was broken when Aunt Mae said, "We got ice cream for dessert, don't we?"
I motioned for Caleb to help. In the kitchen we lined up bowls and spoons. I kept my head down and ladled out the portions.
Caleb chuckled. "Mad Dog is dating your cousin?"
"It appears they are. Though Aunt Mae will probably have something to say about the fact that Mad Dog is still officially married, even if they are separated. You sure you want to marry into my crazy family?"
He kissed my forehead and picked up two bowls of ice cream. "Of course."
I picked up the remaining bowls. "He said you and the marshal grilled him yesterday at your office."
"There's nothing to prove he was in collusion with Jack Lee Carton, and he's sticking to his story that the guy ambushed him for a ride to your party."
"Did he tell you if Jack confirmed Dewey Treat as the same guy he knew from his home town?"
"I think his words were that the guy wouldn't answer his questions."
"Figures." Mad Dog would have his stories straight.
After ice cream, my dad got up, patted his stomach as thanks, and said, "Think I'll go watch TV at Shirley's house."
I followed him into the hallway. "Did you ever talk to Burdell Smith about Arthur aka Dewey Treat?"
"Sure did. He was shocked to hear that the guy died at our place. And he knew nothing about any witness protection. I believe him. Not the sort of thing old men like us would have anything to do with now, is it?"
I had to agree with him. Their fifty-year friendship had dwindled to infrequent fishing trips and a trade of paperback mysteries mailed to each other each month.
I pecked him on the cheek and told him to give Shirley my best, and went back into the dining room.
Caleb stood up, said good night to the ladies, then tilted his head at the porch to indicate I should follow him out. He pulled me into his arms and I snuggled against him. We stood like that for a few minutes, not saying anything as we listened to the sounds of crickets in the warm night air. I could feel his heart beating a rhythmic pattern against my chest, and I rubbed my cheek against his, stealing his earlobe for a tender bite. He breathed in and out deeply as if trying to get a handle on the sudden emotion, then turned his face so that he could kiss me properly. We pulled apart and he said, "I'd beg you to come home with me, but I know you won't come if you have work to do tomorrow."
"I can't leave my new roommate. Nancy's nerves are still too raw, and I promised Detective Rodney I'd bring her into his office tomorrow morning at ten. Caleb, I have a question: Didn't it strike you as odd how fast these guys found
Arthur?"
"They had two years to look."
"Yes, they did. But what I mean is, Arthur Einstein went from working as a CPA in the casino and hotel industry and two years later he's Dewey Treat, aero-ag pilot in the central valley of California. If these guys have been looking for him, how did they track him down?"
"I asked Marshal Balthrop the same question. He said the marshal service pressured the flight school to hustle Arthur through his training, and I'm sorry to say this but your dad's friend, Burdell Smith, was part of the plan. Both the flight school and Mr. Smith were in hock with the IRS and the deal came with an oath of secrecy. Still, one of them could've decided to make a call that brought a killer to your party."
I cringed at the thought of having to tell my dad that his trust in his old friend may have been misplaced. "Then you do believe he was murdered?"
"I don't think there's any doubt that he was murdered. It's the how and who that has yet to be decided."
I asked, "With Nancy out of the program, Jim Balthrop won't be able to help if she's charged, will he?"
"He knows homicide is looking at her, but his hands are tied."
Maybe I could get the answers and clear my dad's best friend. "It could mean jail time for someone, if they took a bribe, right? I can help with this, Caleb. Burdell Smith is one of my dad's best friends, and I'm an alumnus of the aero-ag school. These people will talk to me."
He closed his eyes. I knew he was mentally counting to a hundred, waiting for his temper to calm.
"Lalla, you know I love you, but unless you want to enter into Witness Protection too, I suggest you leave it to the marshal."
He pulled me to him and spoke close to my ear.
"'Cause if you go off half-cocked again, you're going to get yourself killed, or you're going to be lost into WitSec. Either way, I'd really miss you."