Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09

by Susan Wittig Albert

  "All right, Ms. Bayles," he said at last. "I want to know who the hell you are and what you're doing here, and I want it straight."

  "Excuse me," I said, "but who the hell are you?"

  He leaned toward me, narrowing the space between us just enough to be threatening. His eyes got icier. "I am Captain Ron Talbot, South Texas Narcotics Unit."

  "I need to see your identification," I said.

  He made a low growl.

  I smiled. "Identification, please."

  Angrily, he stood, unzipped his jacket, unsnapped his coveralls, and went deep inside for his badge. Pulling it out, he flashed it at me, very fast.

  "Excuse me," I said. "I'd like to see the number."

  With another growl, he shoved it forward, about three inches from my nose. I pulled my head back and read off the digits, mouthing them as if I were memorizing them. "Thank you," I said.

  He reversed the unsnappings and unzippings and sat back down. "I don't want any more crap out of you," he said. "Now, talk."

  I'd already determined that there wasn't any point in trying to avoid the embarrassing truth, so Talbot got the full story, or most of it. I left out Blackie's request to drop in on the Fletcher sisters and the bit about Corinne Turtle and her nephew, and the discovery of Aunt Velda's truck in Swenson's tractor shed. I also explained, briefly, that the white substance in the Baggie was sugar, the joints were oregano, and the stuff in the large plastic bag was mistletoe. I didn't try to tell him why or how we had happened to come equipped with these things.

  "You can get the sugar and the oregano tested," I concluded. "You can tell what the mistletoe is by looking at it. You can call my husband, who will be glad to ID me. You can also check me out with Sheriff Blackwell." I paused, and with a knowing emphasis, added, "And just where is Sheriff Blackwell? This is his county. Why isn't he in on this bust?"

  Talbot regarded me with angry contempt. "What makes you think I'd answer those questions?" he demanded. "And just who the hell do you think is running this show, anyway? It sure as shit ain't some half-assed county sheriff who can't find his—"

  But that was the end of the captain's tirade. The front door burst open with a bang to reveal Sheriff Blackwell himself, jaw set, mouth tight, eyes blazing.

  "Hello, China," he said tautly.

  Oh, rats, I thought to myself, now I'm in for it, and mentally ducked.

  But I wasn't Blackie's target. He strode to the table, put both hands flat on it, lowered his head and snarled, "What the devil are you doin' here, Talbot?"

  Talbot, suddenly deflated, made an ineffectual effort to speak.

  Blackie pushed his face closer and overrode the man. "I thought I made it clear the last time this happened. You come into my county to do a bust, you notify me. No notification, no cooperation, no bust. Is that clear?" Talbot said nothing.

  Blackie snatched at the bill of Talbot's cap and yanked it down over his nose. "Is that clear?" he roared. "Or do you want me to file another goddamn complaint? How's that gonna look on your record after that mess down in Kerrville last month?"

  Slowly, with an attempt at dignity, Talbot raised the bill of his cap. "It's clear," he said, through clenched teeth. "But I thought we had the lid nailed on."

  Blackie snorted sarcastically.

  "Where was the leak?" Talbot persisted. "Was it Marvin? He's not one of mine." "You don't want to know."

  "Like hell!" Talbot's nostrils flared. "That goddamn Marvin, that's who it was."

  "It wasn't Marvin." Blackie gave him a malicious grin. "One of your prisoners called me on the phone."

  There was a moment's silence. "On the phone!’ Talbot asked incredulously.

  Blackie's grin got wider. "She called the dispatcher and left a message. I was out this way on another matter, so I thought I'd join the party." He stopped grinning. "Especially since I should've gotten an invitation in the first place."

  Talbot's eyes darted to me. "Was it you?" he snarled.

  "Me?" I lifted my shoulders, let them fall, completely innocent. "Not me. I left my cell phone at home. Must've been Ruby."

  "But... but where?" Talbot sputtered. "How?"

  "From the bathroom, maybe," I offered helpfully. It was the only time Ruby had been out of my sight. "Jose's got a soft spot in his heart for ladies in distress. He let her pee." I grinned. "She must've leaked."

  "Aw, jeez." Talbot slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand and turned away in disgust

  Blackie put his hand on my shoulder. "This turkey been giving you a hard time, China?"

  "Moderately," I said. "He might've figured he was entitled, though. We crashed his bust." I looked at Talbot. "Sorry about that Captain. It wasn't intentional, believe me. I hope none of the bad guys got away."

  Blackie gave an unkind laugh.

  Talbot's eyes slitted. "Don't tell me she's one of yours," he said to Blackie. "If she is, you've got one hell of a problem in your shop. She is the most untrained, unprofessional, amateurish—"

  "Not one of mine," Blackie said. "What are you going to do with her?"

  Talbot pulled himself up and stood looking down his nose. After a moment he said: "Just to show you my generous intentions, I hereby remand this prisoner into your custody. The redhead, too. Good riddance."

  Blackie held up his hands, looking alarmed. "Oh, no, Talbot. You're not foisting them off on me. They're dangerous. If I were you, I'd turn 'em loose, fast Both of 'em. The redhead is weird as hell, and this one is very bad news. Her husband is a former Houston homicide dick and a retired police chief. She's a defense attorney. She'll sue your ass, and he'll kick it from here to Dallas."

  "Aw, hell," Talbot said disgustedly.

  I held out my hands. "Now that we've cleared that up, how about getting these cuffs off?"

  Without a word, Talbot got up and went to the kitchen. In a moment, Jose came in, patting his pockets for the key.

  I was rubbing my wrists when Talbot returned to the room, Beretta in one hand and ammunition in the other. With a disdainful flourish, he dropped both on the dining room table.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Yeah." He looked at me, nostrils flaring. "Next time you decide to do a drug bust, you oughta ask the sheriff to show you how to load."

  "All right, you two," Blackie said sternly, when we got outside. "I want to hear the whole story, start to finish. Straight and fast, just the way it happened. And don't try to make it pretty."

  Ruby shivered. "Let's do it in the car," she said plaintively. "It's cold out here."

  We got into the sheriff's car, Blackie and I up front, Ruby in the back, behind the wire screen that separates the front of the car from the rear. I told my part first. Since it was my second telling in less than an hour, I got through it quickly. This time, I left out Ruby's cancer. Blackie was Ruby's friend, and I wanted her to tell him in her own way. I did, however, report our finding of the truck.

  "It's here?" Blackie exclaimed incredulously. "The red Ford we've been looking for?"

  "In that shed," Ruby said, pointing out the window. "Beside the tractor."

  Blackie craned his neck for a look. "The right front headlight is smashed," I said, "and there's blood on the grille. The key is in the ignition. Looks like the vehicle that killed Swenson."

  Blackie was silent for a moment. "So what do you think?" he asked finally. 'The old lady drove it here and parked it and walked back home?" He frowned. "It'd be quite a hike, wouldn't it?"

  "I'd have to look at a county map," I said. "You got one?'

  He did, under the seat. With Ruby peering through the wire screen, we located Comanche Road and the lane leading to Swenson's place, then traced Comanche as it looped around to the flower farm. On the map, we could see that the distance between this house and the Fletcher sisters' house was just over a mile. Between the two was Mistletoe Spring, clearly designated on the map.

  "Looks to me like the old lady could've walked it," the sheriff said, studying the map. "It's not that far."

&
nbsp; "I'm not sure," I replied. "I think she could make that distance by road. But this terrain is really rugged. I don't know whether she could manage a cross-country hike." On the other hand, Aunt Velda had said that she'd been looking for a cave. Maybe the old lady was more nimble than I thought.

  "But if she didn't park the truck in the shed," Ruby said, "who did? Terry? Donna?"

  Blackie was reaching for his radio. "I'll get somebody out here to print and impound that truck. And then we need to have another talk with the old lady."

  "You could ask Talbot to do the printing," I suggested with a grin.

  "Hell, no." Blackie gave a scornful snort. "He'd screw it up. That jerk has blown three busts in the last six months and hasn't made a single arrest. He's got the worst reputation in the whole damn narcotics division."

  "It's a thankless job," I said with a grin. "Give the guy a break." I turned around in the seat. "Ruby, you saved our butts by phoning the sheriff's office. Talbot was ready to haul us off to South Texas. I'm sure he'd've turned us loose eventually, but not before we had an arrest record and a day or two in the Brownsville jail." I shuddered. "I interviewed a client there once. It's way down on my list of South Texas tourist attractions."

  "Thank you," Ruby said modestly. "The odds weren't in our favor, and I could tell that those guys would have a hard time believing our story. I thought we needed help, so I called the cops."

  Blackie swiveled. "Is it true that you phoned from the bathroom?"

  "Yeah." Ruby leaned back in the seat. "There was a phone on the wall."

  "A phone!" I stared at her. "But Jose checked before he let you in. How come he didn't see it?"

  "Because somebody used it for a hook, to hang up a towel," Ruby replied. "When I went to use the toilet, the towel fell down, and there was the phone."

  Blackie shook his head. "Like I said, you two are dangerous." With a chuckle, he clicked on his mike.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If mistletoe was hung in the dwelling as a protection against ailments and the terrors of an unseen world, woe betide those who left the charm hanging there too long! Herrick gives fair warning to all who would venture to do so after Candlemas Eve (February 1), for he wrote:

  Down with Bays and Mistletoe, Down with Holly, Ivy, all Wherewith ye deck the Christmas hall That so the superstitious find No one least branch there left behind. For look! how many leaves there be Neglected then (Maids, trust to me) So many Goblins you shall see.

  H. H. Warner "Mistletoe," 1931

  A couple of hours later, the old Ford truck was on a flatbed tow truck, headed for the sheriff's impound yard. Ruby was on her way back to town in my Datsun, to check in with Laurel at the shops and make sure that everything was okay in the tearoom. And Blackie and I were in the sheriffs car, on our way to the flower farm. I hadn't wanted to go, but Blackie persuaded me that I might be able to help.

  "I still don't understand what you two thought you were doing at Swenson's place," Blackie said as we drove. "It seems like a dumb stunt."

  "Yeah, maybe," I replied uncomfortably. "But I was curious about Swenson. When Ruby and I got to talking about what he might've been growing in that greenhouse... Well, it seemed like a good idea to take a look. The way things turned out, though," I added ruefully, "I wish we'd stayed home. I had no idea that Marvin was a narc. I hope he wasn't injured. And I'm really sorry if we caused you or Talbot any trouble."

  "The bust would have gone down the way it did with or without you," Blackie said evenly. "And Marvin was a snitch, not a narc. He was Swenson's hired help. When he found out that Swenson was dead, he figured the hit was drug-related. He panicked and called the Regional Office. Talbot decided to buzz on up here and seize the plants, without even thinking about the rest of the investigation. He must have had fantasies of bagging a couple of hundred pounds of weed to shore up his sorry batting average. When you and Ruby walked into the middle of things, he thought he'd really scored. He figured you were part of Swenson's distribution system."

  "Maybe they'll find his little black book," I said. "Or the equivalent. Swenson had to have had some way to keep in touch with his distributors."

  "You can bet they're looking for it. Talbot's men were searching the house and the captain was logging onto Swenson's computer when we left." He shot me a look. "I hate to say it, but I'm glad you went out there, China. I was treating Swenson's death like an ordinary hit-and-run.

  I doubt that I would've bothered getting a warrant to search his place, especially since I'm short-handed. It could've been a week or more before Talbot got around to informing me of the bust. In the meantime, he has the authority to impound every piece of equipment on the place. That Ford truck might've ended up on a lot in Brownsville, and we'd never have known it was there."

  "Yeah," I said glumly. "Now we've got the evidence. We can arrest Aunt Velda. Whoopee."

  "Maybe," Blackie said. "It would have been real tough for that old lady to hike over that hill. Which leaves us with the sisters."

  "Yeah," I growled. "Which leaves us with the sisters."

  When we got to the Mistletoe Creek Flower Farm, it was shortly after noon. The clouds still scudded low over the hills and the wind was chill. Donna and Aunt Velda were in the kitchen. Aunt Velda, in her rocking chair, was wrapped in a purple afghan and crocheting what looked like a red and green wool cap. Donna was clearing the table after a soup-and-sandwich lunch.

  "Would you like a cheese sandwich?" Donna asked after she'd invited us in. "There's some tomato soup left, too."

  I glanced at her and then back again, startled. Her face was a dull, grayish color, and her eyes were hollowed.

  "No, thank you," Blackie said, hat in hand. With a glance at Aunt Velda, he said in a low voice, "I'm afraid this is an official visit, Ms. Fletcher. We've located your aunt's truck. From the physical evidence, there's reason to believe that it was the vehicle that killed Carl Swenson."

  Donna gave a muffled gasp and a low, protesting "Oh, no." She sank into a chair as if her legs wouldn't hold her. I had the feeling that this response, like the one on the previous day, was not entirely genuine. She was anguished—but not surprised.

  Rocking vigorously, Aunt Velda looked up. "Well, it's about time you found it," she said. To Donna, she added, "I told you it'ud turn up sometime or other. Them Klingons is trickier than slicky dickens, but they ain't all that smart." She grinned flirtatiously at Blackie. "Sure is nice o' you to come and tell us, young man. Didja bring it back?"

  "I'm afraid not," Blackie said. He turned to Donna. "I need to take your aunt to Pecan Springs for questioning. Please get her coat and whatever she'll need for an overnight stay."

  "Hooboy," Aunt Velda said, delighted. She tossed her crocheting into a basket and sat forward in her chair. "Yer takin' me to town, huh? Donna, git my stuff. I'm ready!"

  Donna made an inarticulate sound.

  "You can come too," Blackie said in a sympathetic tone, "although I'm afraid I can't allow you to be present during the interrogation. I'll arrange for her social worker to be there, of course. And you'll want to contact a lawyer."

  Donna had gone completely white. She sat staring at Blackie, her hands twisted tightly together. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. But after a moment she said, in an unexpectedly clear, distinct voice, "That won't be necessary, Sheriff. I'm the one you want."

  I drew in my breath, startled. This wasn't what I had expected. Not Donna, surely!

  Blackie's mouth tightened. "Are you saying that you were the driver of the truck that killed Carl Swenson?"

  I found my voice. "Sheriff!" I said sharply.

  Blackie nodded. "Ms. Fletcher, I must tell you that you have the right to remain silent. If you do not remain silent, anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

  "I don't want to remain silent." Donna stood up, steadying herself with a hand on the table. "I just want to get this over with." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Yes, I was drivin
g the truck."

  "Don't, Donna," I said emphatically. "You need to talk to a lawyer before you make a statement."

  She ignored me. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him. But when I saw that the truck was damaged, I panicked. I drove it to Swenson's place because I was afraid to bring it back here and I couldn't think of anywhere else to hide it." She threw a small smile in my direction. "And I don't need a lawyer, China. I intend to plead guilty. There's no use spending a lot of money on an attorney when I know I did it."

  Blackie's jaw muscles were tight. "You'll have to come with me, Ms. Fletcher. Is there someone who can stay with your aunt?"

  Aunt Velda was scowling. "Reckon this means I don't git to go to town after all," she said crankily. "Means I gotta stay here."

  Donna went to the old woman and bent down close to her, smoothing the tangled gray hair tenderly. 'Terry will be back in twenty minutes, Aunt Velda."

  "Maybe it would be better if we waited," Blackie said.

  "No, no," Donna said quickly. I had the impression that she didn't want to see Terry, to explain what she was doing. Or maybe she didn't want us to encounter Terry. To Aunt Velda, she continued, "I want you to promise to stay indoors and not mess with the stove."

  Aunt Velda put on a ferocious pout. "You V Terry git all the fun." She leaned over to look past Donna to

  Blackie, then gave a gusty sigh. "Sure wish I wuz goin' with you. He's sexier 'n' Bruce Willis."

  Blackie smiled. 'Tell you what," he said. "How would you like to give me your fingerprints? I promise it won't hurt—just a little ink, that's all."

  "Sure thing," the old lady said with a grin. She held out her gnarled hands. "Come and get 'em, sweetie. Anything I got is yours."

  Donna bent over again and kissed the old lady's cheek. 'Tell Terry I'll talk to her when I can."

  While Blackie fingerprinted Aunt Velda, I went with Donna to get her jacket. As she took it off the hook in the hall, I gave her a long, straight look.