Claire cut the ribbon and tucked the loose end into the weave. She pulled a clear box labeled “Ribbons” off a plastic shelf. The shelving lining two walls of the workroom contained baskets, packing and wrapping materials such as Spanish moss and colored cellophane, fabric remnants, nonperishable foodstuffs, and Colorado-themed gift items and trinkets. She pulled a white ribbon spool out of the box and started weaving it through the basket alongside the navy. Her mind went to work on weaving a case for another suspect.
Claire doubted that Nancy Schwartz had the upper arm strength to deliver the fatal hammer blow to Kyle’s head. But if Gil’s suicide note was correct and he had struck Kyle, Nancy could have come upon Kyle’s unconscious body in the barn and seized the opportunity to eliminate her daughter’s unworthy suitor. Dragging him into Gunpowder’s stall and poking the horse with the hay fork would have been an easy way to keep Kyle from wooing Brittany. Or to discredit Jessica’s nonprofit by making it seem like a dangerous horse was kept on the property.
Nancy had the opportunity, but she was also a horse lover. Would she have injured Gunpowder to force the horse to cover her tracks? Maybe. If she was incensed enough at Kyle—or Jessica. Nancy had a temper, but she also seemed truly indignant when Claire accused her.
Then there was Kyle’s rival for Brittany’s affections, Vince Donahue, who had wasted no time moving into her life after Kyle was killed. He worked with horses, so he would have had no qualms about going into Gunpowder’s stall. And he was a hunter, so was familiar with guns and likely owned a rifle. Lastly, he worked for Tom Lindall, who resented Charley’s intrusion into the Garden of the Gods, which he viewed as his private domain for trail rides.
Claire snipped off the second ribbon and began stuffing white and navy blue shreds into the bottom of the basket. If Hank Isley was the spy she suspected he was, he was working for Tom Lindall, too. Also, he had benefited financially from Kyle’s death by becoming the trail guide lead. He was pocketing large tips from the tourists, especially the women whom he enjoyed buttering up.
Of course, Tom Lindall could have killed Kyle himself, hoping to discredit Charley’s stable by making it look like Gunpowder did it and Charley kept dangerous horses. Unlike the others, Lindall probably had nothing against Kyle personally. Kyle may have just been unlucky to be the last worker at the stable that night if Tom came by looking to sabotage Charley’s business. But there were certainly easier and less lethal ways to sabotage a business.
Claire stopped and tapped her scissors against the table. Why would any of these four kill Gil? If the killer was the one who both hit Kyle with a hammer and finished him off by dragging him into Gunpowder’s stall, maybe he or she suspected Gil saw what happened to Kyle. If Gil was still on the grounds at the time, that was likely. But why take the chance of killing Kyle with Gil still around? Claire didn’t think Gil really saw anything, because as Charlie said, he would have told the police, if only for self-preservation.
A new thought popped into her brain. What if the two deaths were totally unrelated? Maybe one of these people killed Kyle and another killed Gil, each for their own reasons. And was anyone else capable of committing either murder that she wasn’t even considering?
She rubbed her aching head. Oh, God, this is just too complicated!
Refocusing on the task at hand, she pulled over the stack of Broncos gear she had gathered for the basket. She had bought a Broncos official team hat, T-shirt, scarf, and socks. And since the woman receiving the basket was also a foodie and wine lover, Claire was including a Broncos salt and pepper set, cake decorating kit, wineglasses, corkscrew and wine stoppers. For an edible item, she had a bag of orange and blue raspberry-flavored Broncos-blend popcorn from the Pikes Peak Gourmet Popcorn Factory.
She started arranging the items in the basket, and her mind wandered back to the murders. The next step in the case was to find the rifle that was used to kill Gil Kaplan. Whoever owned that rifle was likely his killer, and maybe also Kyle’s. Detective Wilson was the best one to go after Oscar Vargas, but maybe she could sniff around, see if Tom Lindall or Nancy Schwartz owned any rifles. Of course, Wilson could do that, too.
In fact, she chided herself, why did she think she could help solve these murders anyway? It was his job, after all, not hers.
Just then her home phone rang, making her jump and knock over the half-filled basket, spilling her careful arrangement and scattering her thoughts along with it.
One of the wineglasses rolled off the table, hit the carpet and bounced. Claire lunged for it, but before she could catch it, the glass knocked against the table leg and cracked.
“Damn it!” She snatched up the phone. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Hanover? This is Frank Wilson calling.”
Not Detective Wilson, but Frank Wilson. Interesting. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, um, that’s why I’m calling. I have a favor to ask you.”
Something in his tone said that this was difficult for him. Admitting that he needed help from her. What in the world could she possibly do for him?
“What favor?”
“As you know, we’re trying to find out where Oscar Vargas lives so we can get a warrant to search his place for the rifle that killed Gil Kaplan.” He paused and something rustled near the receiver.
Claire envisioned him pulling on his shirt collar. “Ye—es?”
“Both ICE and Colorado Springs PD have exhausted all our means, including quizzing our street informers. And we have nothing. No one can tell us, or is willing to tell us, where Vargas holes up. Here’s where you come in. I know you and Leon Fox have a relationship. I was wondering if you could ask him.”
Claire thought about the flamboyant Colorado Springs drug boss who had helped her solve the murder Roger had been accused of in February. Leon had admired her spunk and the two had developed a strange friendship, based on the exchange of favors. And he was always looking for ways to secretly eliminate his competition. But …
“Why would Leon know where Vargas is?”
“There’s quite an overlap between drug smuggling and immigrant smuggling gangs. So Fox may have some contacts who know Vargas—or he may know the man himself.”
“Okay, I’ll try him.” God help me. I wonder what favor Leon’s going to ask for in return.
“Now, don’t put yourself in any danger.”
Claire pshawed. “I’m safer with Leon than anywhere else.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. We appreciate it.”
Claire knew that was hard for him to say. “I’m happy to help.”
After finishing the conversation with him, she righted the Broncos gift basket. She replaced the spilled items, except for the wineglasses etched with the Broncos logo, one of which was now cracked. She stood with it in her hand and thought about what to do. She didn’t have time to order another pair. With a sigh, she pulled a bottle of Colorado wine off her shelves and put that in the basket instead. Tying some orange and blue curling ribbon around its neck might make it look more team-oriented. It was the best she could do.
She threw the cracked glass in the trash and wondered what she would do with one Broncos wineglass. She found Leon’s cell phone number in her directory and called him.
Leon’s deep voice boomed through the connection. “Claire, my favorite white woman. What you up to, lady?”
“Right now, making a Broncos-themed gift basket. But I have a favor to ask.” She explained the deaths at Charley’s stable and Detective Wilson’s search for Oscar Vargas. “Do you know the man?”
“Not personally, but I know his rep. He’s a mean mother. A business associate used one of his guys to run some product across the border awhile back. But he broke that connection when Vargas wanted a bigger share of the take.”
“Does your associate know where Vargas lives?”
“Don’t rightly know. I suppose I could ask him. Pok
e around a little. So what’s in this for me?”
“You mean besides eliminating more of your competition?”
Leon let out a belly laugh. “Yeah, woman.”
Claire looked at the tumbled basket on her work table. “Anyone you know have a birthday coming up? I could make a gift basket for you.”
Leon laughed. “I bet you could. You remember Condoleza, right?”
The girlfriend of the massage therapist who had been shot dead while giving Claire a massage. “Oh yeah.”
“She’s laid up with a broke arm.”
“Oh, God, did she get involved with another abusive guy?”
“No, nothing like that. You know I watch out for that girl. She fell on her arm while salsa dancing a couple nights ago. Probably had one too many mojitos.” He chuckled. “I was gonna take her some flowers or something, but a gift basket from you would be better.”
“Sure, I can do that. Tell me what kinds of things she likes.” Claire had already pulled over a pen and a pad of paper and written “salsa how-to DVD?” on it.
She and Leon brainstormed on items for Condoleza’s basket, then Leon said, “Think you could have it ready tomorrow? We could slam down some lunch at my rib-joint and do the trade. I should be able to make some calls by then and find out Vargas’s hidey-hole for you.”
So soon? Claire’s mind raced. She had invited Charley and Jessica over for dinner, and she still had the Broncos basket to finish and deliver. But maybe she could delay delivery of that one. She would have to spend the rest of the day buying items for Condoleza’s basket locally. It would be tough, but the sooner she could help Wilson close the case, the sooner Charley’s business could start to recover.
“Okay, I’ll meet you there at noon.”
———
At six that evening, Claire opened her front door to Charley and Jessica and invited them in. They would be eating a store-bought cake for dessert, and chips and salsa for an appetizer instead of the seven-layer-dip she had originally planned to make. But she had succeeded in buying most of the items she had listed for Condoleza’s gift basket. Roger fixed drinks while she finished putting a salad together, then she could finally relax for a few minutes.
She plopped on the couch in the living room and gladly accepted a margarita from Roger.
“You look a little frazzled, Claire,” Jessica said. “I hope having us over wasn’t too much trouble.”
Claire waved her hand. “No, it’s not that. I’ve been busy working on a gift basket that I’m trading for information on where Oscar Vargas is.” When the other three showed their surprise, she explained Wilson’s request and her deal with Leon.
Roger frowned. “You know I don’t like you associating with him. He’s a drug dealer, for God’s sake.”
“I trust him.” Claire patted his arm. “And it’s just lunch. If I can do anything to help Charley, I will.”
Charley’s eyes widened. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger for me.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Claire replied, “But Leon’s a friend. He won’t hurt me—or let anyone else hurt me either.”
Charley studied her for a moment then said, “Okay, but only if you’re sure you’ll be safe.”
“I’m sure.” Claire sipped her margarita and savored the perfect blend of tangy lime, peppery tequila, and sweetness. “Now tell me about your day.”
“I’ve been busy today, too,” Charley said. “First, Jorge called his former boss in Oaxaca. The man contacted a friend with a tourist horseback riding business in Puerto Vallarta, whose English was excellent. Jorge talked to him about Pedro, then I got on the phone. He said Pedro sounds ideal for his operation and that he should come talk to him once he’s deported back to Mexico.”
“That’s great news.” Roger raised his glass in a toast and took a sip.
Charley joined him and smacked his lips. “You make a great margarita, Roger. I also had a meeting with an immigration lawyer about Jorge.”
“What did he say?” Claire asked.
Charley shook his head sadly. “He told me that, legally, since I now know that Jorge’s not a legal immigrant, I can no longer employ him. If I do, not only will I have to pay a fine, I can be criminally prosecuted.”
“Damn,” Roger muttered.
Claire leaned forward. “Is there any way you can help him become a legal immigrant?”
“I asked. The lawyer said there’s a form I could fill out, a Petition for an Alien Worker.” Charley took a gulp of his drink. “But it won’t do any good, because the only kinds of workers that are being approved are temporary agricultural workers like crop-pickers, health care workers like nurses, and special categories like highly educated PhD types where no U.S. equivalent exists. There’s basically no way an employer can sponsor someone who is just a skilled worker.”
Roger polished off his margarita. “What a shame. So Jorge’s screwed, then?” He stood and reached out a hand for Charley’s empty glass. “Another?”
“Sure.” Charley handed him the glass, and as Roger went to the pitcher to pour more, he said, “About the only way immigrants are legally getting in from Mexico these days is if they have a family member who is already legally in the U.S. and who fills out a Petition for an Alien Relative. And even then, the wait is at least sixteen years.”
Claire sat up straight. “Sixteen years? You have got to be kidding me!”
“No he’s not.” Jessica shook her head. “It’s absolutely ridiculous.”
Charley took the drink Roger offered him. “The lawyer says that’s why we have so many illegal immigrants, because there’s no realistic way they can get in legally. And the conditions are too deplorable in Mexico for them to stay. There’s no work, no way for them to feed their families. That’s why we need immigration reform. He said Jorge’s best chance was to keep delaying court dates while we wait for politicians to reinstate Reagan’s Immigration Act or some equivalent.”
Roger resettled on the couch next to Claire. “What’s that?”
“It offered temporary amnesty to immigrants who were already in the country and filed for legal status. It allowed them to keep on working and living here while they waited for their paperwork to go through. If we get some kind of immigration reform like that, it should open up more job categories for employers like me to legally petition for someone.”
Jessica, who had been slouching in her chair and looking sadder by the minute, piped in. “So what’s the delaying tactic?”
Charley looked at her. “Well first, the lawyer told me that I should have Jorge come in and talk to him and hire him as his legal counsel.”
“But he can’t afford a lawyer,” Jessica replied.
Charley held up a hand. “I’ll pay for it.”
Jessica made as if to speak, then stopped. Claire’s thoughts filled in the unspoken words, Charley can’t afford it either.
“The next step,” Charley said, “is to have me, or preferably a relative, file a petition for his legal status, and for Jorge to file for a green card. At that point, he’ll be arrested for being in the country illegally.”
“But that’s no good,” Claire began.
Charley held up a hand. “Hear me out. I’ll bail Jorge out, and the lawyer will ask the judge to schedule a formal hearing of Jorge’s case. Hopefully the judge will agree to a hearing, and it will take many months to schedule it. Also, the lawyer will try to keep on delaying the date. In the meantime, I ask for a temporary work authorization, pending the hearing. Hopefully that won’t take as long.”
Roger frowned. “And until then, Jorge can’t legally work and earn any money.”
Charley nodded dolefully. “Right. He could volunteer for me in exchange for room and board, maybe.”
“And Jorge’s not the only one this hurts,” Jessica said. “We’ll be paying for the lawyer and bail out of ou
r pocket just on the chance that reform will take place before his case comes up.”
“But I’m still going to do it,” Charley said fiercely. “Not just for Jorge, but for me. I need him.”
“Have you explained all this to Jorge?” Claire asked. “What’s he think of it?”
Charley shook his head. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning at the stable.” He straightened. “And speaking of the stable, I’ve got definite proof now that Tim Lindall has a spy on my property.”
“How so?” Roger asked.
“Lindall called me today and said he knows I’ve got illegal immigrants working for me.” Charley made a sour face like he had just bitten into a crabapple. “He said that if I can’t follow the law, I don’t deserve to be in business. Figuring the news about Pedro must have gotten out, I said I didn’t know Pedro was illegal when I hired him. Lindall said, ‘He’s not the only one,’ and told me he was going to file a written complaint with the city Parks and Rec director.”
Jessica nibbled on her lip. “Do you think he knows about Jorge?”
Charley nodded.
Claire gripped her drink glass tighter. “Remember when I thought Hank Isley may have been listening to our conversation yesterday? And that he was talking to Tom Lindall like he knew him well at Jessica’s charity event? I bet that’s how Tom found out.”
Charley exhaled deeply. “Hank’s been a good employee. Stepped right into Kyle’s role of leading most of our trail rides. I can’t fire him, too.”
“But if you know Hank’s feeding Tom information, and Hank doesn’t know you know, maybe you can use that to your advantage.” Claire raised her eyebrow.
A sly grin spread across Jessica’s face. “Oooh, sneaky.”
“How?” Charley asked.
“What kind of false information could we feed Hank that would create havoc for Tom?” Claire tapped a finger on her lip while her mind raced. “Something that would unbalance his business as much as yours is now, and would let us know once and for all that Hank’s the spy?”
3 A Basket of Trouble Page 18