by R. P. Dahlke
Pearlie bit on a nail, clearly distracted.
“What?” I asked.
“I’d feel better if we had a friend in Homicide.”
“We’ve got Caleb.”
“Uh-huh.”
She had me there. Caleb was still a sheriff, bound by the same rules as all officers, which meant that he wouldn’t be any help to us, not without Detective Tom’s approval.
“When do you want to leave?” I asked.
“After breakfast, I’m starved.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Pearlie laid a bouquet of store-bought flowers on the bedside table and took Reina’s hand in hers. “How’re you doing?”
Reina’s wan face brightened. “Oh, much better, now that you’re here. My art gallery owner called—probably wondering if I was going to finish her commissions. But with Julio in jail … Did he call you, Pearlie?”
“Yes he did,” she said, the steel back in her spine. “But if you want my help, you have to be truthful with us.”
Reina kneaded the hospital sheet, her nerves stretched tighter with every rise and fall of her breath. “He didn’t kill Bethany, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then why did Homicide arrest him?”
She wiped at a tear threatening to spill. “It’s what we were arguing about when you came to my cabin that first day. I-I hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this, but now … now it’s all messed up.”
Reina looked out of the window, as if she wished she were anyplace but here. “Julio went to work right out of high school and we moved in together. I painted and he worked. I was so happy with the arrangement it never occurred to me that his job was dealing drugs. When he was arrested, I was furious and hurt, then I just felt stupid that I’d been so blind. If only I had asked more questions, maybe I would’ve …. But it was all so easy, you know? Then he was sentenced and I panicked. I hadn’t worked since high school. What could I do to support myself?
“But Julio had already made arrangements for me to live at Bethany’s. He even paid the rent three years in advance, and all I could think of was how grateful I was that I didn’t have to wait tables or work at Walmart.”
Reina plucked a tissue out of the box and wiped at her tears. “I loved having my own studio. Bethany introduced me to her agent and within a year, my work was in multiple galleries. I was making money, good money, for the first time in my life. It was so exciting. I could pay my own way and I convinced myself that when Julio got out of prison we could start over. There would be no drug dealing with his pals. If he couldn’t get a real job, I could make enough to support both of us.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing. He got out and ignored my offer. Then suddenly he has his own business. A body shop, equipment, and ready-made customers included. I knew something wasn’t right, but he assured me it was all legit. Fat, dumb, and happy, that’s me. I should’ve known better.”
Pearlie spoke up. “Then you lied to us and to the investigating detectives? And he was at the property the day Bethany was murdered? Tell me about it.”
She looked up, tears in her eyes. “I’d parked my car on the other side of the cabin and I guess he thought I wasn’t home, so he drove around the back. I followed him to the cavern and caught him checking the bales of pot.”
“Then what happened?” Pearlie asked.
“I told him I was through with him and his lies, but it’s also how I know he didn’t kill Bethany. I made Julio go with me to tell her I’d be moving out because we were getting married. I couldn’t betray Julio to the police, but I couldn’t allow him to continue to abuse my friend’s trusting nature, either.”
“What did you tell her?” I asked.
Reina’s head dropped to her chest. “She was already dead when we found her. I pushed Julio out of the room and told him to leave, then I called 9-1-1 and pretended I was Bethany. I told them there was an intruder in my home and where I lived. I hung up before they could ask for my name so it wasn’t a complete lie. Not that it did any good. Julio’s mechanic finally confessed that Julio was with me the day Bethany was murdered.”
So the frantic caller wasn’t Bethany, it was Reina calling from Bethany’s house.
“You didn’t see or hear anyone leaving?” I said.
Reina’s eyes filled with tears. “All I saw was my friend lying there with her eyes staring at nothing. I couldn’t save her but I thought I could save Julio. I owed him that much.”
“You know that you can be arrested as an accessory to murder,” I said.
Reina rubbed her thin hands together. “All I wanted to do was make things right with Bethany, but I couldn’t bear to see Julio charged with killing her. I swear to you he didn’t do it.”
“Does he have an attorney?” Pearlie asked.
“He won’t talk to nobody, not to the police, not even to his attorney. He thinks he’s being noble, or something, but he’s only making it worse … that’s why last night … I just couldn’t take it anymore. Please, can’t you help us?”
Pearlie shook her head. “We’ll have to think about it, Reina. One more thing. You told us you paid rent. Was that a lie too?”
“What? Oh, no. I paid rent until six months ago. Bethany said she’d waive the rent if I’d drive with Jason to deliver her paintings.”
“Why would she do that?” Pearlie asked.
Reina looked at her hands again. “Probably because she knew Jason wasn’t so good with the gallery owners. He can be an old grump sometimes.”
“You mean when he’s in pain?”
“His back hurts most days, and when it doesn’t, he shouldn’t be driving, you know?” Reina said.
Pain meds or the marijuana, either way, if he got stopped for a traffic citation and DPS noticed his dilated eyes, he’d be arrested.
“So you drove?” Pearlie asked. “Why didn’t Bethany go with him?”
Reina blushed. “She said she was busy, but I think she was trying to push us together. She thought Jason and I had chosen the wrong people to be involved with.”
Pearlie and I looked at each other. Yeah. Bethany might’ve been right on that score.
“Where will you go when you get out of the hospital?” Pearlie asked.
“Back to my cabin, I guess, why?”
“Because,” I said, “if Julio is innocent of the murders, the killer might think you know his identity and should be silenced.”
Reina put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry.
Pearlie shot me a hard look and rushed to comfort Reina.
“Surely you have someone you can stay with in Tucson?” she asked.
“No, no one. My parents died when I was young.”
Another reason for Pearlie to feel sympathetic.
“You can stay with us,” she said, patting the girl’s hand.
I nudged Pearlie. Our new house barely had room to accommodate the four of us. Where would we put another person?
She whirled around, ready for battle.
“Nothing,” I said, deciding to leave it until we were alone.
Pearlie wouldn’t allow Reina to say no, and promised to return and pick her up when she was released this afternoon.
I followed my cousin out of the hospital, worrying how this was going to play out with our men folk. Although I could see her point, the artist’s compound clearly was no longer a safe place for Reina, I knew my cousin had stepped over a line.
“We need to talk,” Pearlie said.
“We sure do. I know you meant well, Pearlie, but isn’t there something in your P.I. manual about sleep overs?”
Instead of answering, Pearlie pulled out her notebook. “Let’s consider the suspects.”
“What suspects?”
“Jeez, do I have to do everything? The people who knew Bethany and or the police chief.”
“Why did anyone have to know either of them? It could’ve been like Mac Coker said. She witnessed a drug drop and one of them killed her. Besides, you heard Reina, she made that
9-1-1 call, not Bethany. Which means that the chief got the call after Bethany was dead. The man was off the clock, headed for a date with his new girlfriend. Why did he answer a distress call?”
“Darlene said he was the hero type and it got him killed.”
Pearlie squinted at the horizon. “We need someone in the sheriff’s department but not quite on the team, a bit overweight, maybe even bullied by his peers.”
The only people we knew in the sheriff’s department were Detective Tom and Deputy Dumb-Ass. “You’re not thinking of Deputy Dick, are you? I doubt he’d friend us on Facebook.”
“He’s a man, ain’t he? Now where can we find the little darling?”
A phone call to the sheriff’s office got us the news that the deputy was at lunch.
“The receptionist said he’s either at home or eating at that Mexican café,” Pearlie said.
My stomach heaved at the memory of our take-out flying through the interior of the Jeep.
Pearlie laughed at my queasy expression.
“Aw, come on, Lalla, you looked great wearing all that Mexican food.”
“I’ll wait in the car.”
She reached over and punched me in the arm. “You do that. But I’m not splitting my fee when I solve this case.”
I rubbed the sore spot on my arm and followed her into the café.
The cafe was as busy as it was the first time Pearlie and I were there. Pearlie’s nose twitched hungrily at the fragrant smells.
“You’re not thinking of staying for lunch, are you?” I asked. “What if we miss Deputy Dick?”
“No hurry,” she said. “We know where he lives.”
“Pearlie, we just ate breakfast two hours ago,” I said. “You can’t possibly be hungry again. Are you?”
“Three hours by my watch and interviewing suspects always makes me hungry. Let’s find a table.”
Any excuse for a good meal, and though I hated to admit it, the smells were making my stomach talk again. Must’ve been all that exercise I had last night.
Menu in hand, Pearlie squinted at the print. “Mm-mmm. I think this says…. Here, you look. Does that say chimichanga?”
I took the menu and agreed that the item was indeed a chimichanga. “Don’t you have reading glasses?”
She grabbed back the menu and folded her hands over it. “If I’d remembered to put in my contacts this morning, I wouldn’t have to suffer the indignation of having to ask you for help.”
“I didn’t know you wore contacts, but now that I think about it … they’re colored so your eyes look bluer, right?”
“My eyes are blue. Cerulean blue,” she said, lifting her chin as she does when she thinks she needs to defend herself. “I got distracted when I took that early morning phone call from Julio and I completely forgot to put them in. And for your information, it’s a blue tint so if I drop ‘em I can find ‘em again.”
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t going to argue. This was my Texas fashionista cousin. “And if he doesn’t show up, or he’s already eaten? You’re still going to order?”
She sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. We’re here, ain’t we? Look, his house is right down that road, we can always pay him a visit. Maybe his granddad will invite us in for lemonade and cake.”
I groaned. “I keep eating like this, I’m going to be wearing your clothes.”
“You’d have to have curves to wear my clothes,” Pearlie said, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder. “As for us eating here instead of at home, obviously you wouldn’t know about the rewards of dining socially. It’s all about interacting with others over a meal, exchanging pleasantries, catching up with friends, that sort of thing. You should try it sometime.”
My cousin was spitefully baiting me for my gaff about her weight and I had allowed an unnecessary habit to flare up again in front of strangers. I knew her weight was a sore subject. My fault, but she always chose the tender spot in my shallow armor in which to drive her point. It wouldn’t do to respond in kind, not when we were supposed to be, as my cousin called it, detecting.
I stared at the white-knuckled grip she had on her fork and decided to wave down the nearest waitress.
Chimichangas dispatched, bill paid, a waitress confirmed that the deputy always goes home every afternoon to check on his granddad. We took Red Mountain Road, same as last time, taking a right turn at the battered and BB riddled mailbox with the name Dick spelled out in stick-on reflective tape.
Obviously, no one could miss seeing visitors coming since we trailed a mile long rooster-tail of dust behind us.
Mr. Dick stood on the porch, a shotgun cradled in his arms.
I was feeling a bit parched. Maybe this time I would accept a glass of cold lemonade.
I pulled up close to his porch and said hello.
He squinted and cupped a hand to his ear to show he couldn’t hear over the engine, so I turned it off and got out of the car.
That’s when I saw him lift the shotgun to his shoulder, and squinting one eye, sight down the barrel. “You shouldn’t have come back here.”
.
Chapter Twenty-seven:
My hands flew up in surrender. “Mr. Dick, please! We just want to talk to your grandson.”
He lowered the gun and spit over the porch. “That’s a lie and you know it. You’re looking to pin them two murders on my boy.”
“Mr. Dick?” Pearlie waggled her fingers for his attention. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“You’re working for that no-account Mac Coker, aren’t you?”
“But Mr. Dick, he’s Bethany’s father, so naturally he’s …”
His grip on the shotgun tightened. “Yep. And as my pappy always said, show me the company you keep, and I’ll tell you what kind of man you are.”
Mr. Dick and my father should meet. They could compare shotguns and unfathomable quotes.
“What is it about Mac Coker that annoys you so much?” I asked.
“He’s a thief and a liar, and since you think so highly of him, you have five seconds before I start shooting.”
Pearlie and I turned toward the Camry.
“Not that way! You girls can leave the same way you came in here the other day. Do you some good. Think about whether it’s worth it to work for that rattlesnake.”
Pearlie and I looked at each other. Up the hill? It was already after noon and the temperature would soon climb into the nineties. It would be a long walk, not to mention dry, and our water bottles were in the car.
“Mr. Dick,” I said, reaching for the door handle on the rental. “Can I at least get out some—”
When he racked the shotgun to show us he meant business, Pearlie did an about face and took off running.
I trotted after her. But when I heard a rock ping next to my foot, I picked up the pace.
Behind me, I heard his wheezy cackle. The crazy old coot.
Catching up with my cousin, I advised her to slow down. “We’re going to need to conserve our energy.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “I guess lemonade and dessert are out of the question.”
“Deputy Dumb-Ass did say the old man had good days and bad days. I guess it’s safe to say that Abel Dick won’t be our mole inside the sheriff’s office.”
“Whad’ya mean?”
“Weren’t you listening? The old man thinks we might try to pin the murders on his grandson. And as my daddy likes to say, where there’s smoke there’s fire.”
“My throat’s on fire, does that count? How long,” she said, swallowing dryly, “do you think it will take us to hike out of here?”
“I have my cell phone,” I said, patting the holder on my belt. “We get to the ridge and we’ll be in range for cell phone service.”
Pearlie wiped at the sweat running down her face. “Thank God you’re such a tomboy. Belt loops add inches to your waist line, you know.”
On Pearlie, belt loops would be a fashion disaster, but I didn’t have any such qualms. In and out
of airplanes all the time generally didn’t allow for anything but the utilitarian belt and cell phone case.
“An hour at the most,” I said, stepping onto the goat track. “Can you walk in those shoes?”
“If I don’t die of heatstroke first,” Pearlie muttered, picking up her feet to avoid getting dirt between the toes of her pink sandals.
With Pearlie’s constant whining and complaining, the uphill climb felt a lot longer than I’d estimated. But it was either trek up the hill with the sun beating down on our heads or chance Granddad Dick’s shotgun again.
We’d been gone for four hours when we’d only meant to visit Reina at the hospital and then go home. At this rate, it would be sundown before we got to the top. I sank down onto a rock next to Pearlie, rubbing my sweaty hands on my jeans and wondering if Caleb was worried about us. I could only hope that he was now out looking for us.
Shading my brow with a hand, I stood and squinted against the afternoon light.
On the ridge of the bluff, a mirage shimmered. It looked like a man, waving at me. I waved back. This was no mirage. It was Caleb! He had found us. I reached down and pulled Pearlie to her feet.
“Come on,” I said. “It’s Caleb. He’s waiting for us at the top.”
Pearlie followed my pointing finger. Energized by hope, she waved and shouted.
He waved and shouted back.
“Thank God! We’re saved,” Pearlie cried.
“We still have to get there.”
“What? I can’t possibly take another step. My feet are killing me and I’m all hot and itchy.”
“I told you to wear your boots,” I said, disgusted with the whining.
“They make me look short.”
“You are short. He’s not going to wait all day, Pearlie, let’s go.”
I heard another shout, but the wind carried his words away. Then a rope flew over my head and landed about ten feet off the goat track.
“Oh,” Pearlie made little mewling sounds of longing and staggered after it.
“Be careful,” I called to her. “There might be snakes on the hill.”