A Dead Red Oleander (The Dead Red Mystery series)

by RP Dahlke

  He kissed my forehead and backed up a step. "You think about what I said, will you?"

  I silently nodded and watched the taillights of his truck disappear. I stayed on the porch long enough to see the stars disappear behind a thin layer of cloud. We were in for a change of weather. As I turned to go inside, I felt the breeze pick up and rustle at the remaining fall leaves on the chinaberry tree. A change of weather would be a welcome reprieve from the heat of September, though after Caleb's heated words, I doubted it would bring me a good night's sleep.

  I went inside and got out the cards for the game of gin rummy with Nancy and Aunt Mae, hoping it would take my mind off the temptation of meddling with the investigation. Even as I dealt the cards, I thought of ways I could approach Burdell Smith and the aero-ag school. Old friends ought to be able to see each other, shouldn't they? It was still a free country, wasn't it?

  When most of our corn chips were stacked on Aunt Mae's side, she reached up and poked a finger into her hair. Seeing she'd drawn our attention, she said, "Yes, girls, it's a wig, but by this time of the night it's starting to chafe a bit. Used to have a nice full head of hair, straight and blond just like Lalla's, but forty years of running a cattle ranch and trying to keep a rein on my granddaughter, well, it's a wonder I have a hair left."

  I cleared my throat and looked to Aunt Mae. "About Mad Dog—"

  She held up a wrinkled forefinger. "Don't give it another thought."

  Nancy looked perplexed, and with Aunt Mae's nod of approval I gave her the quick and dirty about my chief pilot. "He's not a bad guy, Nancy, but he's opportunistic and his ego will not allow him to think he's anything but God's gift to women. Probably why he's separated from his wife."

  "Oh, gee," Nancy said, looking from me to Aunt Mae. "Does Pearlie know he's still married?"

  Aunt Mae snorted. "Let me, Lalla. Pearlie didn't have the best start in life and it's left her with incredible insecurities. When I refused to support my handsome, brilliant son, with his dropout lifestyle, he took off and disappeared. When I was notified that he'd died in a car accident I thought that was it. Except for Lalla, I had no other children to carry on my name.

  "Then one day this rag-tag bunch of hippie types rolls up in one of them psychedelic Volkswagens and out pops this curly-headed moppet. She tossed her backpack on my porch, announced she's my granddaughter, and asked if I'm gonna stand there with my mouth open, or am I gonna invite her in? So right after she shows me a picture of my son and her in the arms of her mother, I invited miss sassy-mouth inside.

  "I called my family physician and told him to give us an appointment the next day. I got her a check-up, a test for VD, and one to verify her DNA. When the results proved our relationship, I took her to the first dentist she'd ever been to and then dragged her to Neiman Marcus. She promptly told me in no uncertain terms that prices for one article of clothing was enough to feed a small country and that she had enough clothes to last through college, thank you very much. College was what she yearned for, or she never would've come looking for me. Pearlie may look like a cupcake, but she's got the brain of my best bookkeeper. What am I saying—she is my best bookkeeper.

  "She just doesn't have a lick of sense when it comes to men. First date and she's in love, and if that doesn't send them scrambling for the door, she tells them she's an heiress—or she will be soon's her granny kicks the bucket. Yeah, I know what she tells 'em and why shouldn't she? I'm ninety, for cryin' out loud, and I will kick the bucket soon enough. But in the meantime, I have their vitals checked. When I show her the paperwork on the lying bastards we're back to square one. So, at the rate we're going, it doesn't look like I'm ever going see my granddaughter married much less have any great-grandchildren."

  I'm sure Aunt Mae and my dad agreed that the lack of progeny to carry on the family name was a disgrace. "I am sorry about Mad Dog, Aunt Mae. In his favor, he does have a very fine military record, and he's been a great asset to our business."

  "You're too kind, Lalla. I already know he's got a wife, though it looks like they've been separated for a few years. Nope, he's got complications. I just wish for once, she could take to a nice Texas boy. Don't have to be rich, just single, sane, and not looking for a handout. Now, enough of that. Let's play cards."

  <><><><>

  By eleven p.m. Aunt Mae slapped down her cards, swept her winnings into her empty ice cream bowl, and said, "Way past my bedtime, girls, so I'm cashing in my chips."

  "I can't imagine going to sleep yet," said Nancy, "so why don't you ladies go on up and I'll finish the dishes."

  I shook my head. "You haven't had three hours' sleep in the last two days. You go have a nice soak in the tub. Take a glass of wine with you, that always does it for me."

  "Won't work," Nancy sighed. "I'm worried about tomorrow, and what the autopsy will prove. I hate to think I'm keeping you from a good night's rest again, Lalla, but I just don't seem to be able to sleep."

  Aunt Mae hoisted herself to her feet. "I'll give you one of my sleeping pills, Nancy. Trust me, you'll sleep like a baby and wake up rested."

  "Gee, I don't know," Nancy said. "I sure could use it, but I've never taken anything stronger than an aspirin."

  "You take that pill," I said, pushing Nancy after Aunt Mae, "have a nice warm soak in the tub, and I'll be right up."

  I stood in the kitchen looking at the disaster. Pearlie's cooking always came with a price; cleanup was a bitch. No use in complaining now that I offered. I went at the pots and pans with a Brillo pad and lots of extra soap, stopping occasionally to take a swig out of a leftover beer. I finished the pots and pans, emptied the sink, and started on the plates and silverware. It was midnight by the time I finished. Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I reached for some hand lotion and squirted it onto my hands. That was when I saw a shadow cross the window.

  It looked like my dad was opting out of a night with Shirley Hosmer for his own bed.

  I stood at the sink, rubbing lotion between my fingers, when the screen squeaked open. The handle turned, and I remembered Caleb made me promise to lock all the doors. I called to him through the door. "It's locked, Dad, use your key!"

  He mumbled something I couldn't hear.

  I reached out to open the door and the little square window in the door exploded. I jerked back and stumbled back and away from the door.

  A hand reached through, fumbled for the lock, and the door slammed open against the wall.

  Two men in ski masks, dark clothing, and purple latex gloves forced their way into the kitchen. Both were armed, and as soon as they noticed me gaping at them, they pointed the guns in my direction.

  I stumbled back, too shocked to speak. Then my brain fired up again, and I wondered if I had time to get to the TV room and my dad's shotgun before they killed me.

  We stared at each other for a minute and then the fat guy said, "This her?"

  "No," the other guy said. "Brunette. Shorter. Younger. She's here somewhere. Where is she, lady?"

  They were after Nancy! I twisted around, and tossing the kitchen chair into the air, made tracks for that shotgun.

  I scrambled down the hallway, slamming the tiny antique phone table with its tiny wobbly legs in their path. A few more steps and I added the coat rack, not paying a lot of attention to see how they were doing with my obstacle course.

  I was pumping the action on the shotgun when the first one came through the door and skidded to a halt.

  He held up his hands in surrender. "Don't shoot, lady. We just want the other one."

  "Tell your friend to walk in with his hands in the air."

  From behind the wall, I heard words, feet shuffling, and then the second guy came through the door holding Nancy in front of him. He had a gun to her head.

  She must've opted out on the sleeping pill after all.

  I could see his white teeth all the way to his back gums in a big wide smile. "Checkmate," he said.

  I held up my left hand in surrender. If these were the guys se
nt to kill Arthur, there was no way I was letting go of my shotgun, not if Nancy and I were going to make it through this night alive. Nancy was right, and here was the killer plus one, back to finish the job. They'd take us out into the desert and kill us.

  I slowly leaned over, showing I was putting the shotgun on the floor, then crouched low and head butted the guy next to me.

  Caught off guard, his arms windmilled awkwardly, and while he tried to keep his footing, he lost the grip on his gun, and it clattered on to the floor next to my feet. Unable to stay upright, he finally collapsed into a heap.

  I grabbed him by the collar, holding the shotgun to his head. Panicky and hyperventilating, I tried my best negotiating technique on his partner. Only problem was my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and it came out garbled. "Let'r go or ah'll shoo' 'im."

  My threat must've amused him. "Please do. I'm still taking her with me," he said, pulling her out the door.

  As a weapon, my birdshot-loaded shotgun was useless, so I dropped it, and shoving his friend away, grabbed up the pistol, and from a crouched position, aimed at the guy holding Nancy and shot him in the leg.

  Shocked, and gasping from the pain, he let go of Nancy and grabbed at his leg. Seeing I was about to shoot off another round, he shoved her at me and hobbled out the door.

  I could hear him clawing and cursing as he ran down the hallway, into the kitchen, and out the back door, leaving behind a trail of blood and his pal.

  When the police arrived, I had his buddy trussed up with the twine we used on our old newspapers. I had to admit, my Aunt Mae's calf-roping lessons finally came in handy. Unfortunately, without her hearing aids, Aunt Mae had slept through the whole thing. She was going to be so disappointed.

  <><><><>

  Caleb and Detective Rodney compared notes while the one intruder cursed at the EMTs as they put a collar on his neck while a deputy cuffed him to the gurney.

  "Ow, ow, my neck! Easy, will ya? Officer, I'm telling you, she tried to kill me! I'm gonna sue!"

  I didn't respond to his lame threats, and instead pushed Nancy inside for the relative quiet of the kitchen. I got out a broom and swept all the broken glass up into a dustpan, then poured us a stiff double shot of my dad's favorite scotch.

  By the time Caleb came inside, our lips were numb from the whiskey. Nancy had stopped shaking but her mouth wasn't tracking so well. "I th-thought we were gonna be k-killed." She lurched to her feet, swaying over to me until she more or less landed on my head. "I owe you ma li-life. They woulda m-murdered us."

  I eased her down into her chair. "I've been attacked a time or two, and the one thing I got out of it was that I would never give up without a fight. They never expect it of a woman."

  "You shoulda sheeen her, Caleb. She was a-ma-a-a-zing!"

  "Right," he said, taking the empty shot glass out of her hand. "Lalla, where's your great-aunt?"

  "Aunt Mae?" Nancy stood up, then lurched into Caleb. "Shle-eping pills. Not me. No sir. Good thin', too, huh? We outsmarted 'em."

  I patted her on the shoulder, got her a tall glass of water and a couple of aspirin. Then slinging her arm around my shoulder, helped her upstairs to bed.

  Downstairs again, I said, "He wasn't the one running the show, Caleb. The other one, the one I shot, was the one asking for Nancy."

  "A local loser by the name of Larry Bonnefield with too many DUIs. He's off to the hospital where they'll put a guard on him till he's arraigned. He's swearing he just met the man tonight. Came to help his new friend save his wife from the cult she'd joined."

  "Met him in a bar, did he? Bud's again?"

  "This time it was a biker bar out in Riverbank."

  "He couldn't have been too dumb, he had a gun."

  "Serial number was filed off, a throwaway, and he says the other guy gave it to him to use on the dangerous cultists. We've already alerted the local ERs to report any gunshot victims."

  "Could Larry describe this guy?"

  "Same description as Mad Dog gave us. We have a police sketch of what he looks like but the guy is pretty nondescript. Change his clothes, or put on a fake mustache and he'd disappear."

  "But can't you find out who he is on that national database?"

  "Sure, we could pull a sample of his blood from the trail he left on your floor. But DNA testing takes time, and since he didn't actually kill anyone, there won't be a rush on it."

  "He could've killed me and what do you think he planned for Nancy?"

  "But he didn't get either of you, did he?"

  My dad stood in the doorway, the raw fear showing in his trembling voice. "I can't go anywhere without coming home to lights and sirens. What the hell happened this time?"

  I knew this was his way of reacting to bad news, so I hugged him. "We had a visit from the goon squad. Seems they were after Nancy after all—didn't get her though, thank God."

  "Lalla shot one with his own gun," Caleb said with just a hint of pride.

  My dad came all the way into the kitchen and slumped down into a chair. "Oh my God. Not again."

  "What's going on here?" Pearlie asked, pushing Mad Dog into the kitchen.

  I poured more of my dad's scotch for all of us and told them the entire story.

  "So," my dad said when I finished, "I thought you said the bad guys weren't interested in Nancy, since Dewey—er—Arthur, is dead."

  "I'm sorry, Dad." I added a contrite tear to soften his righteous anger. I hoped it would work because I didn't want him to insist that Nancy leave just yet. There were things to discuss.

  When Caleb stood up, I asked, "Have you called Marshal Balthrop?"

  "He's going to meet me at the hospital tonight."

  My dad tossed back the last of his drink and stood. "If she's staying, I guess it's me and my shotgun again."

  Caleb smothered his grin. Without his glasses, my dad couldn't see beyond his nose. He and his shotgun had a reputation that didn't need repeating.

  "We'll have an officer at your road for as long as it takes, Noah," Caleb said.

  My dad screwed up his gray eyebrows. "And you're going to find this guy and arrest him, right?"

  "That's the plan. I'm going to the hospital where I hope Marshal Balthrop will be a little more forthcoming with me, because—well, I'm not sure he's told us the whole story."

  Then Caleb kissed me lightly on the cheek and turned to leave. "Try to get some sleep, Lalla. I'll call you tomorrow."

  Right. Get some sleep. My life had been threatened by murderous kidnappers, and Caleb drops the idea on me that maybe Marshal Bathrop hasn't told him everything, and then leaves. What was going on? Did Nancy know?

  I couldn't possibly wait until morning to ask her, so after brushing my teeth I clicked on the floor lamp next to her cot. Two shots of scotch and the girl was dead to the world. Then again, she hadn't slept much in the last couple of days. Her hand and a leg were hanging off the edge and there was some drool on the corner of her open mouth. In the harsh light of the floor lamp she looked like a corpse. A corpse?

  I wasn't sure what I would do with it, but I got out my cell phone and took a picture of her. Should I show it to Pearlie? It would certainly cheer my cousin to see her competition looking this bad. No, that didn't seem fair. Not when Pearlie had her grandmother and Mad Dog. Nancy had no one. I would leave that nest of vipers alone, and put the cell back in my purse.

  Over her snores, I called her name again, and lucky for me, she rolled over to her other side, the snoring stopped, and I finally went to sleep.

  Chapter Ten:

  With a career as an ag-pilot, I seldom sleep beyond four or five a.m., and that included winters as well as summers—it was all the same to me. The only time I was likely to sleep in was if I was satiated from a nice long leisurely night with Caleb. Those nights had been few and far between. I rolled out of bed, overtired, cranky, and edgy. Something told me I was going to remain like this until my wedding night.

  I took out the cell and stared at the image I'd tak
en of Nancy last night, her hair hanging over her deathly white face, her arm dangling over the cot. Dead to the world. I wasn't sure how or when it might be useful, but I e-mailed it to my computer, then deleted it off my cell, and tucked my latest round of self-pity back where it should be—deep inside along with all the other obsessive anxieties that caused me not to sleep at night.

  On the other side of the wall, I heard the muted voices of my Aunt Mae and Pearlie talking. Pearlie said something and Aunt Mae let out a squawk. Then footsteps pounded to my door.

  "Told you she'd be awake," said Aunt Mae, opening the door enough to slip inside. Pearlie shrugged her shoulders as if to apologize for her inability to hold on to her granny.

  Without the wig and makeup, the wispy, white hair was a striking contrast to her finely sculptured bones and her attractive wide mouth. She sat down on the bedspread, and taking my hand in hers, said, "You brave, brave girl."

  "Well, I don't know—"

  "Of course you are! And to think I slept through the whole thing. Those sleeping pills, you know. Was it awful, my darling girl?"

  "Well—uh—"

  "You only winged the bastard?"

  I opened my mouth to say I was aiming for his balls, but she beat me to it. "I'm sorry. Lalla dear, I don't mean to criticize. You haven't handled a pistol in years, and when are you going to get the chance to practice? Certainly not here in liberal-land California. We'll do something about that. A little practice with some tin cans should improve your aim—in case he comes back."

  "Well—"

  "I just wish it could've been me instead of you, poor lamb. 'Course I'm a mite rusty, too. I haven't shot a man in ten years or so."

  Ten years? I was hoping her math or her memory was off, but then I should be so lucky to have her eyesight at ninety. Twenty years ago it was a thieving poacher she'd finally cornered while he was loading up one of her prize yearlings. The time before that was husband number two, or was it number three? Buckshot and a quick divorce. It was always heartwarming to think that my great-aunt Mae and I had so much in common.