Gossip Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  “Umm . . . I was goofing off. Taking a nap and having this wonderful fantasy about you and some green chile enchiladas.”

  He chuckled. “That sounds kinky. Or is it just that you’re missing normal food?”

  “I’m missing Pedro’s, that’s for sure. A week without enchiladas is like . . .” I couldn’t come with a good simile for it. “How about you? Deposition going okay?”

  He made a growling noise. “So far they haven’t asked many relevant questions about the crash. Mainly, they’re just grilling me about my credentials.”

  We talked for a few more minutes before he clicked off, sounding discouraged.

  With that mysterious cosmic oneness that makes everyone pick up the phone at the same time, mine rang again immediately. Ron.

  “I forgot to tell you earlier, I got some interesting information on your Rita Ratwill and her time at Peaceful Haven.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sally coaxed her buddy the nurse to fax us a copy of Rita’s admission papers. Seems Rita didn’t exactly check herself in.”

  “What?”

  “Well, technically she did because it’s her signature on the line, but the forms are filled out in David Ratwill’s handwriting and he’s listed as the attending relative who drove her there. According to this nurse, who found out from the administrative assistant, who overheard the conversation when they arrived, David practically carried Rita in the door. She was drugged out on barbiturates and barely coherent. David gave the answers to the questions but insisted that Rita wanted to check herself in. Something about being free to then check herself out once she got better. I don’t know what the rules are on that, but it was the way they did it. This office girl said he actually held the pen in her hand and guided her to sign the form.”

  “That doesn’t seem right,” I said. “I mean, would hospital personnel go along with it that way?”

  “Don’t know. This is a private facility and some further background shows that they aren’t always on the good side of the licensing board. Maybe a sizeable ‘donation’ came their way. Anyway, they went along with David on it.”

  “The police here have officially closed their case. Accidental death was the ruling and they seem happy with that,” I told him.

  “So? Thoughts?”

  “It doesn’t smell right to me. Too many unanswered questions, too many coincidences.” I filled him in briefly on Trudie’s timely appearance here and the fact that Rita hadn’t seemed to remember her.

  “I can’t believe Rita wouldn’t remember Trudie, even if a few years have gone by.”

  “Could Sally talk her contact person out of a photo from Trudie’s old personnel file?”

  He agreed to give it a try.

  I told Ron about David’s connection with Stanworthy a.k.a. Light, and the strange coincidence that they all managed to appear here in Santa Fe at the same time. I told him I’d gotten a document that linked Stanworthy and David, but hadn’t had a chance to read it yet.

  By the time we ended the call, I felt my old energy surge once again. I better look at the files I’d copied, before Linda decided to pop in. I pulled her computer out of its carrying case.

  At a glance, the document filled with legalese and phrasing in triplicate didn’t make much sense to me. Why don’t lawyers just spit it out, why come up with three synonyms for everything they’re trying to say? I scrolled through the pages, taking it a clause at a time.

  I began to get the idea that David had contracted with Stanworthy’s financial firm for management of some assets. On its own, it wouldn’t have made a lot of sense to me, but taken in context with the Mayhews’ assertions that David’s firm was in trouble because of their appealing the judgment against AceChem, I began to see a picture.

  David was in the process of moving assets offshore and getting things out of his name. Apparently, he’d put several million dollars and some real estate in Rita’s name during the time she’d been tucked away at Peaceful Haven. Stanworthy had then moved those assets to hidden accounts in the islands, using the fact of Rita’s incapacitation as his reason for doing it without her signature. According to a separate memo between David and Stanworthy, a power of attorney was among the papers David had gotten Rita to sign.

  My big question was, why? If the marriage was already shaky, why would David want to take the chance that Rita would simply buy herself a ticket south, clear out the accounts, which were already in her name, and live the good life while she brushed up on her Spanish? Unless, of course, Rita were not getting any better and had to be permanently institutionalized. And could it simply be a lucky chance that Trudie happened to begin working at Peaceful Haven and become Rita’s nurse? The implications were interesting but there were lots of missing pieces still. My brain began to feel fuzzy.

  A walk would do me good. The bedside clock said it was well after three o’clock so Linda would be returning from her massage any minute. I popped the card out of her computer and stashed it again in my purse. By the time I’d put on my walking shoes, Linda’s key sounded in the door.

  “How was the massage?” I asked.

  She moaned. “God, wonderful. I had that two-part one—energy enlivening, I think they call it.”

  The one which I’d received part one and missed part two. “I want you to learn how to do that massage,” I said. “I’ll be at your office twice a week for it.”

  “I’m seriously thinking about trying to hire Joanne away from here,” she said. “That girl is good.”

  “I’m fuzzy-headed from too long a nap,” I said. “I think I’ll walk for a bit.”

  “Remember, there’s a special two-hour meditation session before the farewell dinner. I hear the chef has planned something really good.”

  I acknowledged it but made no promises. I couldn’t imagine trying to find that magical space between my thoughts when I had all this new information about David and Rita Ratwill buzzing through my head.

  I took the corridor exit to the courtyard, deciding to pass through it to the parking lot, then down the driveway and circle back uphill, the reverse of the walk Linda and I had previously taken. As I passed the spot where Rita had gone over the wall, I glanced down. Aside from the broken cholla, nothing indicated that a woman had lost her life in this spot. It seemed that there should be some hint of a lingering spirit, some ghostly voice calling out for resolution. Nothing moved but a light breeze ruffling the brilliant yellow leaves on a cottonwood across the ravine. I picked up my pace and felt the quickening of blood flow, melting away my muzziness.

  At the parking lot I decided to circle the parked cars to lengthen the walk by a bit. There were ten or twelve of them parked along the adobe wall, and half that many more in a second row. I skirted the wall and had nearly passed all the vehicles when my attention was drawn to my own Jeep. The front passenger door stood open.

  Wait a minute.

  I knew I’d locked it. I cut through the first row of cars and headed toward it.

  What happened next, I don’t remember. Something hit me from behind and everything went black.

  “Charlie, Charlie!” Voices wafted in and out, going quiet and loud with an eerie effect. An underlying hum made it difficult to follow them. “She’s coming around,” someone said. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder and fingertips on my wrist. “Pulse is strong.”

  Someone stuck a nasty chemical near my nose and I recoiled from it. My eyelids gradually opened and things came into focus. Linda’s face hovered over me; her fingers pressed gently at the sides of my neck and face.

  “Well, I think you’re going to live,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  A stupid doctor question. I feel like people are hovering around and staring at me. But the only words my mouth managed to utter were, “Okay, I guess.”

  My brain sent signals to my various limbs, and very slowly they began to respond. I seemed to be lying flat on my back on gravel, with a bunched up piece of clothing under my head. Faces came into focu
s: Dina, Tahlene, Nicole. Samantha Sweet was there too. Somehow I knew it was a good thing, the fact that I recognized them.

  “You have a pretty good knot on the back of your head,” Linda said. “Any idea what happened?”

  I rolled to one side and sat up, closing my eyes against the black sparkles in the air. “How long was I out?”

  “Not long.” Linda said.

  I’d walked out of the room a little after four. Had probably walked five minutes to get to this spot. “How did you know . . .?”

  “The Mayhews just got back from a shopping trip in town. They must have driven up immediately after this happened. Nicole ran inside and called me from the lobby.”

  I rested my elbows on my bent knees, checking my various body parts for rips and scratches before attempting to stand up.

  “Did anyone see anything?” I asked. “Someone was out here.”

  Samantha looked around the group. “I just finally finished setting up that cake and was driving out through the parking lot. Realized it was you in the middle of the crowd.”

  Dina spoke up. “Tahlene and I, we have just come from the spa. But it did not face to the parking. We run after Linda and Nicole when they come out here.”

  “I didn’t notice anyone either,” Tahlene confirmed.

  I ran my hands over my face and through my hair. A large bump stood out on the back of my head and the area felt really tender. Samantha extended her hand and I pulled myself up. A surge of warmth passed up my arm, through my shoulder, along my neck, and the hairs stood on end. She met my gaze and said quietly, “There, it should feel a lot better now.” Better than better, actually. A feeling of . . . how would I describe it? Peace?

  Before I could dwell on it I realized Linda was talking again: “Nicole? Did you guys notice anyone in the parking lot when you drove in?”

  She thought about it for a second. “No, well I didn’t. We can ask Gerald. He went to put our packages in the room, once Linda came to take care of you. We drove in and parked over there.” She pointed to a spot two vehicles away from mine. “Then we got some bags from the back of the car. We were walking toward the lobby when it caught my eye that your car door was open. You were lying on the ground right in front of your Jeep. I think I screamed. Gerald grabbed my arm and said we better get help. That’s when we ran into the lobby and got Linda.”

  She piped up, “Yeah, in medical lingo we’d say you were out cold.” She grinned at me, which let me know I would live. “After that kind of bump on the head I don’t want you to go to sleep for the next few hours.”

  Like that would be possible. All I felt right now was outrage. Who broke into my car and who was waiting out here to ambush me?

  “Where are the other members of our group right now?” I asked.

  “There weren’t any classes this afternoon,” Linda said. “So I don’t know.”

  “Some of us had massages and spa treatments,” Tahlene said.

  “A group of the doctors had planned to go downtown and visit the museums,” Linda said.

  I did a quick tally. Aside from the doctors, none of whom I’d had much contact with, I knew the whereabouts of the Mayhews, Tahlene, Dina, and Linda. Presumably, Joanne and the masseuses were at their jobs. So that left Dr. Light, Shirley and Trudie unaccounted for. So far, Shirley’d done nothing to warrant suspicion but the other two were high on my list. I thanked the ladies for their assistance and assured everyone that I would be fine.

  Dina, Tahlene and Nicole headed back toward the lobby looking relieved that their obligation was now over. I followed Samantha to her vehicle as she prepared to leave.

  “How did you do that?” I asked, flexing the fingers on my right hand. “That little shock up the arm.”

  She sent an enigmatic smile my way and shrugged. “It’s . . . I guess it’s a talent. My friend calls it the healing touch.” She got into the car.

  I felt the back of my head. The bump was barely noticeable and there was no pain whatsoever. No ordinary talent, I’d say. What had just happened?

  I shook off the weird feeling as she drove away. Back to practicalities. I checked my vehicle quickly. Didn’t see anything out of place. I must have come along at just the right time to interrupt the potential thief before he could take anything. But why didn’t he just run away, why hit me? Unless he knew I would recognize him.

  Or unless he wasn’t a thief; maybe he’d planned to rig the car in some way, damage it mechanically or plant an explosive?

  Light/Stanworthy might be a fake, but would his repertoire include this kind of stuff? Trudie might be crazy but would she be this calculating? Would either of them actually know how to mechanically rig the car?

  Chapter 21

  With the afternoon’s grilling still fresh, there was no way Drake could envision going home to an empty house and quiet evening of TV so he stopped in just long enough to change clothes and get Rusty. The two of them headed out to Double Eagle Airport, where Drake could finish his logbook entries from the Pecos job and check the aircraft over. It was due for an oil change and couple of minor inspections that he could do himself. The airport’s A.I. and a couple of other mechanics were there, hovering around a private jet that had come in during the afternoon. Drake greeted them and walked over to the shiny white jet with its trimwork done in burgundy. Rusty loped over to the hangar, sniffing the ground, establishing that this was a place he already knew well.

  “What a beaut,” Gordon, the A.I., said, looking up at the jet’s cockpit.

  “No kidding. Who’s she belong to?”

  “Some corporate type from Chicago. The pilots are sitting in the lounge. The guy and his wife got met by a limo about noon.”

  Drake nodded. He’d met lots of corporate pilots over the years, and sometimes looked at them with a little envy—easy hours and good pay. But mostly he saw that they did a lot of sitting around. Did a two or three hour flight, then sat around for a day or more waiting until the hotshot owner showed up and told them where they were going next. Not for him. He loved having his own ship, taking the jobs he wanted to take, and being in the middle of the action. He chatted with the guys for a few more minutes, and when Johnny Ramirez offered him a beer from his cooler, Drake took him up on it. With the first few sips he felt the day’s tension receding.

  He asked Johnny to pull the JetRanger out onto the tarmac and the two of them set out with the power washer to take off the small traces of grime. As Johnny dried the fuselage, Drake went over the windows with a soft cloth and let the mundane chore relax him.

  The sun had set and they worked under the lights. The two jet pilots came out and watched from the sidelines for a while. Drake could tell that one of them had some helicopter time. The guy’s face held that particular wistful look common to those who’ve had the chance to hover. Can’t do that—and can’t back up—in a Citation. He smiled their direction and they walked over to talk story for a few minutes, the one thing that every pilot of every type of aircraft has in common—stories. By the time Drake had finished polishing the windows, the chief pilot got a buzz from the cell phone in his pocket. The two men said goodbye and crossed the tarmac to begin their preflight for the return run to Chicago.

  By this time, Johnny had finished his part of the cleanup so Drake had him pull the ship back into the hangar. The jet’s engines started and a gleaming black limo was heading toward it, coming from the entry gates across the way. Drake quickly completed his logbook entries and left orders with Gordon and Johnny to start the hundred-hour inspection in the morning. He needed everything ready by next week for another job.

  A sharp whistle brought Rusty to his side and the two of them headed through the lobby of the general aviation facility, toward the parking lot. Drake unlocked the pickup’s door and the dog climbed inside. Before he could twist himself into the driver’s seat an arm reached past him and slammed the door shut.

  “What—” Drake started to whip around but a massive dark body slammed him face first against the tr
uck.

  Rusty was barking furiously, clawing at the driver’s side window. A hairy forearm pressed against Drake’s neck and beery breath warmed the side of his face.

  “The mechanic didn’t do it,” the gravelly voice whispered.

  “What?” His mind worked furiously, thinking of the instructions he’d just given to Gordon and Johnny.

  “You’re not going to testify that the mechanic was the one that brought that aircraft down.”

  Comprehension dawned. The court case.

  The pressure on his neck increased, forcing his windpipe against the top of the truck’s cab, cutting off his air.

  “You hear me?” the voice rasped, like rocks against metal.

  Drake couldn’t form words. His throat closed tighter. He worked to produce a feeble nod.

  “I said, did you hear me?” The lips were right against his ear, whiskery stubble scratching. The pressure on his neck eased a fraction and he nodded firmly.

  “Good. When you go back there, you’re going to tell them the engine failed.”

  “It did.” Drake grunted out the words.

  “It failed because the factory did something wrong.” The arm jammed against him again, and sparks danced before his eyes.

  His legs started to give way and he forced himself to stay in control. His arms felt like rubber as he swung ineffectively at the attacker. The window vibrated in its frame as the dog threw himself at it repeatedly. Just about the time Drake thought he was going down for the count, the guy gave one final shove. When the momentary blackness cleared he was gone.

  Drake spun around, scanning the parking lot, but saw no one, only rows of parked vehicles. He leaned against the truck, lungs grabbing for air, digging his feet into the pavement to stay upright. He considered letting Rusty out of the truck and turning him loose to search out the attacker, but thought better of it. The dog was getting too old to stand up to someone that dangerous. A hundred yards away, at the far end of the lot, a vehicle started up and sped off in the opposite direction. The lot was so dark by now that he didn’t even get a good enough look to know whether it was a car or a truck. It became no more than twin red lights, which quickly disappeared as it turned onto the frontage road and went behind a hill.