Dead Man's Rules (11 page)

“Who would kill him?” Jerry Orozco, who lived two houses away, positioned himself on a seat atop the fence.

“You see anything, Jerry?” Rafe had no intention of playing detective, but he could gather information. If Diaz was around with his black SUV, Jerry might have seen him.

“You investigating?” Jerry asked, leaning back, arms folded.

“It’s BJ’s case. I’m just helping.” He studied the watching faces. “Anyone see anything?”

“They were looking for money,” one of the other men said, rubbing a dark hand over a stubbly beard. Rafe recognized Bill Langley, who nodded toward the house with his chin. “There was money in that house. Everyone knew he had it from when his dad ran the pawn shop. It wouldn’t surprise me if he still had gold or silver too. Remember, he used to have those coins. I saw them once when I was a kid. Don’t know if he still had them or if he buried ’em in his yard.”

“Hey!” Rafe had known that speculation was coming. “I wouldn’t be telling that story if I were you. You want people digging up the place?” He challenged the men and they looked away.

“They killed him for money,” Bill repeated.

Rafe walked away, sliding a roll of antacid out of his pocket. He feared they were right about money as the motive. And he feared he knew the culprit.

****

The chirping cell phone was a welcome intrusion. Cere swallowed a yawn as the portly man sitting across from her reached down and pulled up a silver phone. It disappeared in his pudgy hand as he lifted it to his ear. A diamond pinky ring the size of a shelled peanut glittered in the glow of a candle squatting in the center of the table.

Beside Cere, Lottie smiled and smoothed the white linen tablecloth. “That’s the problem with dating the mayor,” she said in a voice just loud enough for Bradley Foster to hear across the table. “They’re always getting called in the middle of dinner.”

The gray haired man winked at Lottie, a gesture that drew a smile from Freeda. Cere turned away and stifled a laugh.

Stop that.
She should be happy that her mother was going out, but Mayor Foster was not the type of man she’d expect her mother to date. Large, pompous and overbearing, he was nothing like her quiet, scholarly father. The budding romance delighted Freeda, but Cere was having a hard time with it.

“Say that again?” A furrow deepened across the man’s forehead. His jowly face grew ruddy. “Dead, yes, but murder?”

“Murder?” Now that got Cere’s interest. Suddenly the obligatory dinner with her mother’s new beau didn’t seem so boring.

Lottie put a finger to her lips, frowning in her most disapproving manner. That look terrified many junior high students over the years, but Cere was seldom cowed.

Bradley put away the phone and pushed back his chair. “This has been pleasant, ladies, but duty calls.”

“There’s been a murder?” Freeda asked. “I didn’t think things like that happened in little places like this.”

“We don’t know it’s murder.” He had been trying to charm Cere and Freeda with his blustery talk of the town, but now annoyance flicked in his blue-gray eyes. He picked up the check and took out his wallet. “I better go to the scene.”

Tony Gennaro, a lean, silver-haired man her mother had introduced as the restaurant owner, approached as though he had been watching. “Did you find everything satisfactory?” He took the check and credit card being offered by Foster. Alert, sea green eyes rested on Lottie as he asked the question.

“Fine, Tony,” she replied with a warm smile. “Wonderful, as usual.”

The lanky man flushed with pride and nodded at her. Cere exchanged a knowing smile with Freeda and stifled a giggle.

Bradley hefted himself to his feet. “You ladies stay and have dessert and cappichina on me. I’ll send a car to take you home.”

Cere bit back laughter at his mispronunciation, but she was already lifting her napkin to her lips. The food had been surprisingly good for a small town restaurant, and she had eaten too much, but she wanted to find out about this murder.

“Who was killed?” Lottie asked, concern visible on her face.

“BJ said it was Naldo Sanchez. You probably don’t remember him. Strange old hermit type. Must be in his 70s, so I doubt he was killed. Probably fell down or something.” He said a quick goodbye, leaned down and kissed Lottie on the cheek and went to meet Tony at the front of the restaurant.

Freeda leaned over and elbowed her aunt. “Quite a catch,
Tia.
The mayor?”

Her mother emitted a girlish giggle, but it only sparked frustration in Cere. She put down her napkin and pushed back her chair “I don’t know about the two of you, but I ate too much to have dessert. I’ll walk home. I can use the exercise.”

Lottie tilted her head in a disapproving manner. “Cere, you’re being a party pooper. You didn’t say two words over dinner.”

Freeda laughed and leaned forward. “Maybe she’s thinking about her own romantic conquest.”

“What?” Cere and Lottie cried in unison.

“The sexy sheriff. They really hit it off this morning.”

Chapter Eleven

Cere threw her cousin a look that threatened murder, but as usual, Freeda was unfazed.

“He kept flirting with her. I might as well have been a bug on the wall.”

Lottie clapped her hands together. “I want to hear all about it.”

“Then stay and discuss it.” She stood, knowing Freeda was eager to tell the story. The three had spent the afternoon visiting relatives so there was no opportunity for girly gossip.

Tony appeared at the table interrupting their conversation. “Mayor Foster says he’s buying dessert. May I suggest our tiramisu? It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Heavenly,” Lottie said. “Cere, you should stay and try this.”

“I can’t eat any more.” She patted her stomach that stretched against her knit dress. “We spent all day sitting. I need to walk. But you stay. I know you both love your sweets.”

Lottie nodded at Tony. “Two espressos and one dessert. We’ll split it.” As he left, she looked up at Cere. “Can you find your way home? It’s not that far. You go down Main Street two blocks and turn right for three… wait, I’ll draw a map.”

“I can find it. I did earlier.”

“You were in the car. I don’t want you wandering around lost.” Lottie dug in her purse, brought out paper and pen and began to draw. “Thank you for meeting Bradley, hon. I had such a crush on him when I was a teenager. He was deputy sheriff, and he always looked so handsome in his uniform.”

Cere tried to imagine the heavy, jowly man as young and appealing, but the image refused to appear.

“He seems nice,” Freeda said. “Kinda like a cuddly teddy bear, but what about Mr. Gennaro?”

Lottie’s eyes blinked rapidly, and she looked startled. “Tony? What do you mean?”

“He’s giving you the eye,
Tia
.”

Lottie flicked her hand in dismissal. “I’ve known Tony since high school. He’s always been a friend, one of the boys. Bradley was special. He would drive me home on snowy days. Sometimes when he saw me at the drug store, we’d have a coke together.”

“I guess I should be pleased he never paid attention to you or I wouldn’t be here.”

Her mother’s face grew pink and she looked up. Her voice grew low and conspiratorial, as though sharing a secret. “No. He was married and I was so jealous of his wife.” She sighed like a teen with a crush. “I guess he was friendly to everyone, even though I liked to think he took special care of me. In high school, when boys bothered me… he… well… rescued me.”

To Cere’s surprise, her mother’s eyes had a girlish gleam unlike anything she’d ever seen. She’d never considered her mother’s life before Del Medina. She had always taken for granted that he was her mother’s first and only love.

“Did you date a lot when you were young?” Freeda asked.

“Heavens, no! My parents were strict. I couldn’t go out alone so Millie and I double dated. Since she was dating my brother, I was well-chaperoned.” She finished her map and handed it to Cere. “Don’t get lost. And relax. Sit in the back yard, enjoy the stars. You’ve been too tense since you arrived.”

Cere drew a deep breath. Relaxing at home was the last thing on her mind. When her mother told her about buying a cozy place, Cere had visions of a new townhouse or gingerbread Victorian. Instead, the two bedroom bungalow had the cookie-cutter look of the 1950s and its narrow rooms barely held the family furniture. The only attempt at updating was the addition of a second bathroom. With no air conditioning, the little house would be hot and stuffy.

Cere intended going home, but only to get her car and find out where the Mayor had gone. Maybe this place was the murder capital of New Mexico. This could be a story.

Finding the murder location was easy. She didn’t even need her car. The center of town was unnaturally quiet as she hurried along the sidewalk. She didn’t see one car before turning toward the residential area. At first she was struck by the silence, then a strange noise seemed to buzz around her. It took her a few seconds to recognize the sound of crickets. But she didn’t have time to think about them. As she reached the next intersection, she caught sight of a crowd gathered a few blocks away. Police cars with flashing lights stood like beacons on both sides of the street.

Without hesitation she turned in that direction. As she approached she could see small knots of people gathered outside a tiny well-kept yard. Bradley Foster stood in front of the house, listening to an overweight man in a police uniform, his jowly face a study in concentration.

Inner excitement stirred as she neared the scene and she felt the thrill of arriving at a breaking news story. She didn’t cover murders often, and seldom anyone besides Hollywood stars, but she’d been to crime scenes. She pushed her way to the front of the throng until a short brick fence stopped her. She leaned forward, hoping to hear what the mayor was saying to the uniformed officers.

“Well, well, the media arrives. What brings you out here?”

Cere jumped and turned to find Sheriff Tafoya standing nearby. Much to her dismay, her heart skipped at the sight of him. A cowboy hat cast shadows on his eyes, but his face wore a grim smile.

She feigned disinterest, shrugging her shoulders and gesturing at the people around her. “I’m just an onlooker, like everyone else.”

The crowd was a mixture of young and old. Curiosity mingled with anxiety on tense faces. A few children pushed at each other, while others circled the street on bikes.

“Why aren’t you inside?” she asked.

“City jurisdiction. I’m an observer too.”

“How did he die? Mr. Foster said maybe an accident?”

His full lips drew down, and he shook his head. “He was killed. I saw the gun.”

“My mother told me how safe this place is compared to Los Angeles.”

“Safe enough. First murder in years.”

“Since Marco Gonzales,” said a dark man beside him.

Cere twirled toward the voice. The speaker was the man in the black T-shirt who had been at the restaurant earlier. What was his name?

“Really?” she asked. “You know Marco was murdered, uh, Jerry, right?”

“Hey!” Rafe shot him a hard look. “Don’t start that.”

Jerry lounged on top of the brick wall at the corner of the yard, and as she studied the men near him, she recognized several others from the café counter. Interesting. Her heart thumped. Maybe they would be more talkative tonight.

“Nobody’s goin’ to care about Marco no more.”

“Why?” she asked, spinning around. The comment came from the man she’d talked to earlier in the green baseball cap. She hadn’t learned his name.

“Why go looking for ghosts when you can stay in town and search for treasure?” he said.

Cere’s curiosity rose like a building wave.

“Do you think there’s treasure buried here? Want to tell me about it?” She didn’t have a notebook with her, but she pulled out her mother’s map and a pen from her purse.

“Stop it, Bill.” Rafe moved to stand between her and the group. “I told you before I don’t want to hear that nonsense. Those ridiculous rumors about Naldo burying stuff in his backyard was nothing but talk, and you damn well know it.”

“Maybe,” another man said, jerking his unshaved chin at the house. “But I bet there’s gold in that house and he was killed for his money.”

“The coins probably,” Jerry added.

Rafe drew a deep breath. “Will you guys stop? Jerry, Monte, you know better.”

“Just saying. She’s a curious reporter.” Jerry nodded at her as though he was suddenly her friend.

“Hollywood stories,” Rafe replied, disgust rippling through his voice.

“I’m a reporter tonight and I’m always looking for interesting stories.” She stepped around him to stand beside Jerry and his group.

She directed her gaze at the man Rafe had called Monte. He was tall and wiry with long gray hair that hung to his Led Zepplin T-shirt. He had not been at the restaurant.

“What coins?” she asked.

“Naldo’s people used to own a pawn shop,” Rafe interrupted. “Years ago. He still had things that people couldn’t redeem.”

“Gold coins,” Jerry repeated. “Had them appraised once and ended up in a fight with the Santa Fe appraiser who said they was worthless.”

“Yeah, worthless,” Monte added with a grunt, “but the guy was willing to give him a thousand for them. I saw them once and they looked real to me.”

Jerry nodded in agreement. “Naldo threw him out. I saw the fight right here.” He pointed at the edge of the sidewalk. “Kicked the guy in the ass and chased him to his car with a shovel. Told him he’d rather bury them in his backyard than let that crook have a single one.”

Monte leaned toward Cere, eyes wide, eyebrows raising and lowering. “And the next spring, whaddya know? The old man digs up his front and back lawns and puts in fresh sod.”

The men laughed, but it carried an uneasy, uncertain ring.

“Ever since, these guys have been convinced he did bury them,” Rafe finished in a sarcastic tone.

“You don’t think it’s true?” Jerry asked. “I’ll tell ya, he never showed ’em to no one again. Used to be, if you ran into him in the street, and he needed money, he’d have a silver or gold coin he’d show you and say if he didn’t pay you back, he’d give it to you. They looked real, but he hasn’t shown them in years.”