Dangerous Melody (9 page)

It was a relief to slide into the darkened car interior. Luca started the engine, and she leaned back her head,
suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue. Then an email popped up on her phone. Just a photo, no message.

Cold fear squeezed the breath from her. It was a picture of a handkerchief. She held the phone up to Luca with trembling fingers. “It’s Daddy’s,” she whispered. “I gave it to him on his last birthday.”

The dark corner of the photo showed black, illuminated by the dome light Luca flipped on.

They looked at each other in horror, transfixed by the spot that looked very much like blood, an ugly blot against the sheen of the silk.

TEN

B
itter Song lived up to its name, as far as Tate could see when he awoke just before dawn the next morning, stiff from sleeping in the tiny area in the back of the truck covered by a camper shell. The temperature was chilly in spite of their desert location. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he didn’t have the money to rent one of the small rooms at the Desert Spur Inn, where
they’d arrived only a couple hours before. He knew if he’d said something, Luca and Stephanie would have paid for his room without any comment. Probably stupid to refuse, but he had to hang on to his remaining self-respect with every ounce of strength he possessed.

He turned his back on these thoughts and sucked in a deep lungful of clean desert air. All he really needed anyway was a bed
and access to the small shower in the pool area. A dark-haired and sun-weathered guy had been cleaning the pool deck with slow, deliberate strokes when Tate had helped himself to the shower earlier. He hadn’t said anything.

The stinging hot water hadn’t washed away the image. He’d gotten the gist of the final shock, the delivery of the handkerchief photo. Bittman was playing a sick game,
and it made his blood boil. The thought that Maria was involved in the mess added salt to the wound. There was still no further word from Gilly, and Tate had tried again several times to leave messages for Maria, just in case she was checking. He’d wanted to say something along the lines of, “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know who you’re tangled up with? Ricardo’s no better than Bittman.”

His own words surprised him.

Sis, I know I’ve been harsh on you. I’m sorry. Let me help you. Call me, please.

He gazed out into the stark landscape of sand flats, distant canyons and the abrupt range of mountains that punched into the rapidly lightening sky. The inn seemed to be perched on the edge of a vast nowhere, bisected by a ribbon of road that led to the half-dozen buildings
that comprised downtown. It was almost as if the great Mojave Desert was in the process of swallowing up the town like a snake ingesting a helpless rodent—like Bittman would do to his sister if he didn’t find a way to put a stop to it.

He shook his head and did a few stretches to try to work out the stiffness in his leg, wondering why he didn’t see any sign of life from the two rooms occupied
by Luca and Stephanie. They were exhausted, pushed to the limit by fear and fatigue, but he did not think it was enough to keep Stephanie in bed.

He was proven right when he finally noticed them sitting under the shade offered by a sun-bleached umbrella stuck in a ragged patch of grass, a makeshift picnic area for weary travelers, perched on the far edge of the parking lot. She saw him and
gestured him over.

Luca’s attention was fixed on his laptop screen, but Stephanie had a curved piece of glass in her hands, and she peered through it to the picture below—the picture Devlin had left in the shop.

“You found yourself a magnifying glass?”

She shook her head, nose wrinkled as she squinted. “I took the makeup mirror apart in the bathroom and borrowed the glass.”

“I always said if life didn’t give you a door, you’d make a window.” He laughed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Probably because you don’t have any use for makeup mirrors. Can you read this?” She took his hand and pulled him down on the bench next to her, where he tried hard not to feel the softness of her body pressed next to his as he stared through the glass.

“Just looks like squiggles
to me.” She pressed her face to his, and the sensation made his stomach tumble.

“There,” she breathed. “Doesn’t that look like letters?”

The satin of her skin next to his made him want to hold her face with his hands and press her lips to his. “Too small to read,” he muttered as he stood, pacing up and down the small area.

Stephanie continued to stare at the scrap of paper.

Tate circled until he could stand it no longer. “Time’s a wasting. We’re going after the crazy desert guy today, right? Shouldn’t we get started?”

Luca looked up from his screen. “That’s what I’m doing. Checking law enforcement records and newspaper references for anything having to do with a Guarneri.”

Tate shook his head. “How about we just go look for some crazy guy with a violin?
How many could there be in the desert?”

Luca sighed. “Treasure hunting is mostly research—weeding through historical documents, diaries, talking to someone’s great grandfather. You’ve got to be methodical.”

“We’re looking for a fiddle, not the lost treasure of the Aztecs.”

“An eighteen-million-dollar fiddle, and this is not something we’re going to find with 3-D deep-seeking metal
detectors and radar units. We have to do some groundwork, otherwise we’re just wasting time. We’ve got to think smart here.” He turned back to the laptop.

Tate burned with restlessness. He wasn’t about to sit still staring at pieces of paper and computer screens when his sister was running around the desert, working with a possible murderer.

He let himself into the pool area. “Hey,”
he said, giving a friendly nod to the worker.

The man nodded and offered a polite smile.

“We’re looking for someone who lives around here. A guy with a beard. Know anyone like that?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

“You sure?”

He nodded again and moved to the trash can, pulling out the filled bag and inserting a new one. Tate moved closer.

“Look, I’m going to level
with you. My sister’s in a lot of trouble, and this guy can help me figure out where she is. I don’t want to make trouble for him—all I want to do is help my sister.”

The man looked up, a web of wrinkles appearing around his narrowed eyes as he took in Tate’s full measure, from his worn boots to his faded baseball cap. “You got a limp, I seen you. What happened?”

“Tried to get my dad
out of a car wreck. The explosion shattered my femur. My sister is all I’ve got left.”

He considered. “She got hurt in the accident, too?”

Tate sighed. “Not on the outside.”

“Sometimes the inside is worse.” He picked up his broom and leaned against it. “I got a sister.”

The man chewed his lip for a moment and crooked his finger in Tate’s direction.

* * *

A squad car
pulled up, and Stephanie had to blink several times to clear her vision from staring into the glass. “Luca...” she breathed. There was no time to do anything but close the laptop and try to paste amiable looks on their faces before the cop got out, strolling by their cars before joining them at the table, her khaki uniform perfectly matching the shade of the gravel under her booted feet. An alert
German shepherd looked out the open car window, eyes trained on his master, flared nostrils catching the airborne scents.

The officer stood, fingers tucked into her belt as sunlight found the crow’s feet circling her eyes. She chewed a piece of white gum with quick movements of her jaw. “Good morning, I’m Officer Sartori. Welcome to Bitter Song.”

Stephanie forced out the words. “Thank
you. How nice to receive an official welcome.”

“We aim to please. Enjoying your stay? Strange place for city folks to come and vacation.”

“We like the desert,” Luca said.

“Uh-huh.” The officer shot them a smile that was completely devoid of humor. “I’ve got a substantial to-do list, so let’s get down to it,” she said, gesturing to the dog. “Bear doesn’t like to be in the car very
long.”

Bear stiffened at the mention of his name.

Luca raised an eyebrow. “Is he liable to jump out of there when he gets bored?”

“Not from boredom, but if I start to sound stressed he’s going to think about it, so why don’t you give me the truth right off the proverbial bat? Why are you in Bitter Song, really?”

Luca waved his hand and offered a dazzling smile that would have
caused many other women to melt. “Who wouldn’t want to come here?”

Sartori’s expression didn’t change. She remained silent except for the cracking of her gum.

Stephanie exchanged a look with him. They could not lie to the police, but they might be able to avoid certain details. “We own a Treasure Seekers business, and we followed an evidence trail to Bitter Song.”

She pursed her
lips. “Let me guess—you’re looking for a violin, right?”

“How did you know that?” Stephanie said.

“Got a call from the sheriff at Lone Ridge this morning. He mentioned there had been a few visitors in town. We don’t get many visitors.” She continued chewing her gum, eyes scanning the table. “Love your bag. Coach?”

Stephanie swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Pretty. You visited the music
store in Lone Ridge.”

“We talked to Mr. Devlin and asked him if he had seen the violin.”

“Had he?”

Sweat rolled down Stephanie’s face. What if Bittman’s contacts were watching right now? Reporting her conversation with the police?

“No,” Luca cut in. “He’d spoken to someone who brought in a picture of a violin, but the man didn’t leave an address and there was no way to verify
the authenticity by a picture. We came to Bitter Song to ask around, see if we could dig up the name of the man Devlin talked to.”

“Why did you go back to the music store last night? A resident saw your car there some time after midnight.”

How much did Sartori know? Ice cold shivers went up Stephanie’s back. “We got a phone message from him, and we went to meet him but he wasn’t there.”

Tate joined them and introduced himself. “Nice dog.”

“Not nice. Effective,” Sartori said. “I’ve seen him bring down a two-hundred-twenty-pound biker. Scared the guy so bad he wet his pants. You’re Tate Fuego, the same Tate Fuego arrested for driving while under the influence of drugs four years ago?”

Stephanie watched the color suffuse Tate’s face, and she felt herself aching for
him as their prior conversation replayed itself in her mind.

Supposed to be forgiven, right? That Christian thing?

If God forgave, why did his past sins keep getting dredged up for the all the world to see?

Not past, Steph,
she told herself, remembering the pill bottle in his backpack.

“Yes, Officer,” Tate was saying, chin high. “But I’m clean now. Have been for a year.”

“Good. Hate to see a guy with plenty of miles ahead of him wipe out in the first leg of the race. Why are you with these two?”

Tate shrugged. “My sister is involved in looking for the violin, too. I want to be sure she stays out of trouble.”

“It might just turn out that trouble’s already here,” Sartori said, the gum flashing between her teeth.

Stephanie felt a ripple of dread
course through her. “What do you mean?”

“Early this morning the local cops recovered a body, victim of a hit-and-run. Two problems with that. First off, not too many hit-and-runs here. We’re not exactly a speedway, you see.”

“And the second problem?” Luca asked.

“Dead guy looked as though he’d been beaten before he was run down, like somebody was trying to get some information from
him. Maybe he made a break from his attacker and met the front end of a vehicle.”

Stephanie’s stomach churned with dread as Sartori continued.

“Oh, and one other strange thing. Dead guy had your business card in his pocket.” She pulled out a notebook and consulted it. “Treasure Seekers, proprietors Stephanie, Luca and Victor Gage.” She stopped and quirked an eyebrow. “Where is Victor,
anyway? You didn’t bring along the other brother on this treasure hunt?”

Luca shook his head, eyes intense. “He’s in the hospital recovering from an accident.”

“And you’re here in the Mojave? Chasing a violin? Strange priorities, if you don’t mind me saying it.”

Stephanie finally found her voice. “The dead man...who is he?”

Sartori cocked her head and gave her gum another good
crack. “You know him. Bruno Devlin, owner of the music store you visited just last night.”

Stephanie’s cry hung for a moment in the thin desert air.

Sartori’s expression remained relaxed, but Tate could see that her eyes didn’t miss one single iota of their reactions.

“The poor man,” Stephanie whispered.

“Yeah. Lived in Lone Ridge for years. Never caused a lick of trouble.
Never even got so much as a parking ticket.” Sartori stared at Stephanie.

“Did anyone see the car that hit him?” Luca asked.

“No, but you can believe I checked both your vehicles before I stopped to talk to you. So you have no idea why Mr. Devlin wanted to meet with you a second time?”

The moments ticked by. Tate waited to see if Stephanie would tell the rest about finding his sister
in the shop and about finding the Polaroid, which she had hastily placed under a loose sheet of paper. She opened her mouth, and the agony unfolded on her face. The crackle of a radio on Sartori’s belt broke the silence. She took a step away and listened before returning with a look of disgust on her face.

“Seems I’ve got to go. Somebody much higher on the food chain is rearranging my day.”
She leveled a deadly serious look at them. “Stay in touch. I’ll be wanting to finish this conversation real soon.” She got back into her cruiser and peeled out of the parking lot, bits of gravel zinging against the bottom of the car.

Luca waited until she was gone. “Who do you think is responsible for Devlin’s death?”

“My money is on Ricardo,” Tate said, eyes on Stephanie.

“But
why kill him?” she mumbled. “He was just a man who sold instruments. He didn’t have the violin.”

“Maybe he knew where it was, and he was going to tell us.”

Tate waited for the two of them to say it aloud, that Maria could have been the driver that struck and killed Devlin. The unspoken accusation hovered there until Luca got up from the bench and gave his sister a hug.

“I’m going
to have Tuney make an anonymous call to the police and describe Ricardo and the VW. Maybe it will give them enough to work with. We’ve got to move faster, find the violin before someone else gets hurt or we’re thrown in jail for obstruction.”

“So let’s go then,” Tate said, pulling the keys from his pocket.