Dead Man's Rules (2 page)

“Let’s go back to your dream.” Freeda waved her fork, flicking pieces of egg around them.

Patiently, Cere wiped up clumps that fell on the counter. “It’s the same guy and we’re in a dark room and he wants help.”

“Nena says it means something if you keep having the same dream. We should go see her, let her analyze it. What are you doing tomorrow? Let’s drive to Santa Barbara.”

“Hello?” Cere rapped a knuckle on Freeda’s bent head. “Remember Randy Waverly? We’ll
both
be at the Santa Monica courthouse. Did you forget he’s supposed to testify today? I don’t understand how you could go drinking…” She stopped as Freeda flashed an impish grin.

“You shoulda reminded Audrey. It was her idea.”

Wonderful! Probably the biggest story of the year and her photographer would be hung over. With a sigh she slid off her stool. “I better head to the office. Maybe I can do an early blog on what to expect.”

“You’re so dedicated.” Freeda let her fork clatter to the plate and shoved herself to her feet. “I better get some sleep.”

“Good idea. He’s due to arrive first thing. I’ll save you a spot in case you’re late.”

“Thanks for saving my butt. Again.” She turned and thumped down the hall, leaving a lump of eggs to harden on her plate and toast crumbs scattered around the counter.

Cere cleared the counter, rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. At least Freeda’s drama had eliminated some of the anxiety caused by her dream. For an instant, as she walked down the hall to shower, Cere could see those eyes.

“Help me. You’re the only one who can.”

****

The rapping at the door jerked Sheriff Rafe Tafoya away from his first cup of coffee. Ginny! Fear that his daughter might be ill propelled him to his feet and to the front door. Relief and surprise surged through him when he recognized the outline of his neighbor, Lottie Medina, through the sheer drapes of his front door.

“Lottie, you okay?” he asked as he pulled the door open.

She was a retired school teacher who lived around the corner and kept fit with her morning jogs. Today, her normally smiling countenance was pale and a frown slashed across her brow. Her concerned look jerked his protective instincts to life.

“I’m fine,” she said, though she sounded breathless and she cast a quick look back over her shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I saw your light on so I jogged over. I’m probably just spooked.”

“Spooked?” He looked beyond her. The streets of Rio Rojo were quiet, not unusual for six in the morning in the small New Mexico town.

She choked out a laugh. “I am being silly. That’s what thirty years of living in the city will do to you.”

“Come on in.”

Lottie stepped inside and took a deep breath as though catching the rich aroma of his strong coffee. “I hope I didn’t wake Ginny,” she said, looking toward the narrow hallway that led to the bedrooms.

“She spent the night at Mom’s since I had to do early morning rounds. Come on in. I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Tell me, what has you spooked?”

She glanced out the wide front window one last time before following him through the living and dining rooms. “Have you seen that big black van that’s been around town lately?”

Rafe had spent a dozen years as a police officer in Los Angeles and he prided himself on his powers of observation. “Big black van? No, I can’t say that I have.”

“I’ve seen it a few times. It has out of state license plates. Now I’m probably being silly, like I said.” She drew a quick, sharp breath as she sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. “When I came out to run this morning, I saw it parked down my street and as I ran past, I realized there was someone sitting in it. Watching me. Well, maybe not watching. I am the only fool out this early so he might have simply been sitting there. But why on a residential street three blocks from downtown? Anyway, I did my run, but as I was coming back, there it was again, parked a few blocks over and the guy was still in it. He had moved. So I thought, did he know where I was running? That’s probably me being paranoid. I lived too many years in Los Angeles where you pay attention to strange details. But you police officers were always the ones telling us to watch out for things like that.”

Rafe poured her a steaming cup of coffee and placed the cup on the table before retrieving milk from the refrigerator. He pushed a small tray of sugar and sweetener across the table toward her. “No cream, sorry. I don’t blame you for being paranoid, and there is a good reason we tell people that. And Rio Rojo may not be a big city, but that’s what makes unknown people more noticeable.” Their shared past in California was part of why they had become friends since her arrival. Like him she had grown up here before leaving for the city. Maybe it was telling they had both come back.

“It could be an innocent reason,” she said, making a face as she stirred sweetener into her coffee. “It just seemed out of place. Why would a stranger be parked on two different streets, when I was running by? Then I saw your lights so I came over.”

He started toward the door, but she shook her head. “He’s gone. I looked back when I started knocking and he left before you opened the door.”

“I’ll keep a watch out,” he said with a nod as he slid back onto the chair where he’d been earlier.

“I’m really sorry I had to bother you. I mean, what if you had a lady guest?”

Rafe almost choked as he took a sip of coffee. “Lady guest?”

She gave him a coy smile. “You never know.”

He grunted and shook his head. “In this town, I know. I think I dated every girl within five years of my age before I left. And don’t you start trying to set me up with people. I get enough of it from Mom.”

“You’re lucky your Aunt Rosalie is not still around. When we were in high school, she was the queen of matchmaking. I never had to look for a date because she would always find someone for both of us. If she was still with us, she’d be searching from Taos to Albuquerque to find the right woman for you.”

He didn’t want to encourage her, but he was pleased to see her earlier tension had eased. At least she was now smiling. This was the Lottie he knew and enjoyed. “Are you saying she’d set
us
up?”

She laughed. “Goodness no. She’d find a way to get my Cere out here and introduce the two of you.”

Cere Medina.
TV star. He knew how proud Lottie was of her journalist daughter, but he’d watched her reports and all he could think was
no thanks.
“Well, I hear you’ve got the hottest romance in town, dating the mayor?”

She made a face. “Don’t tell me you listen to that crazy gossip. And we’re just friends.” But her giggle was more like a teenager than a retired fifty-something. Then she sobered. “You know what? I think I saw that car last night too, when Bradley and I were coming out of Gennaro’s Restaurant. Oh, my gosh. You don’t think I have someone following me, do you?”

Chapter Two

“Here they come!”

The shout was a war cry—a call to arms. A long black limousine provided the objective, with cameras and microphones the weapons of choice. Cere eyed the gathering swarm of warriors preparing to storm the castle—except these warriors wore expensive suits and designer ensembles instead of armor.

Another day of battle on the news front.

She drew a deep breath and hurtled into the thick of the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of little Randy. The custody battle had waged for three days, but this was the first time he was expected to appear and tell the judge his side.

Switching on her microphone she searched the frantic throng until she located Audrey Jones. Her photographer’s statuesque height was invaluable in tight situations. Cere didn’t see Freeda, but this was every woman for herself. Ducking around thrusting microphones and waving cell phones, Cere maneuvered her way to the front. She swung out her elbow to clear a spot for Audrey to join her and photograph Randy as he emerged from the limo.

The boy was shorter than she expected, a skinny kid with flaxen hair in a blue suit that appeared to be too big, even though it was probably custom-made. The public adored Randy for his rubbery face and wide blue eyes, which exuded glee on the screen. He’d made millions in a string of comedies, but today his thin lips pinched together, his cherubic face as pale as his hair. His willowy, platinum-haired mother kept her arm around his small shoulders as though issuing her visible claim to the boy.

The media army surrounded the pair as they fought their way up the steps and into the sanctuary offered by the courthouse. Around Cere, still photographers frantically focused and snapped pictures. Television cameramen shouldering compact equipment jostled for the best position. Microphones with colorful logos thrust forward like swords. Boom mikes dangled overhead like vultures about to pounce. Cere shoved her hand microphone at the pair, battling to be heard over the others.

“Randy, who do you want to live with?” she shouted.

He blinked, blue eyes growing larger, but he didn’t answer.

“Where’s your dad?” Gail Martin, the frail network correspondent, jostled aside the reporter next to her with the zeal of a linebacker.

“Are you going to testify?”

“What are you going to say?”

“Hey, Randy, look over here.”

The boy’s eyes flashed with fear as he contemplated the stampede of reporters and cameras. His mother shielded him, ignoring the questions. A cadre of attorneys and police officers fought to shove the crowd aside and keep the pair shuffling toward the doors of the courthouse. As quickly as they arrived, the two were swept inside, and the media army retreated.

“Damn!” Cere grimaced in pain as her gaze lowered to her black Italian pumps. During the fray, someone had stepped on her foot. The scuffed blemish on the expensive leather hurt worse than her mashed toe. She leaned down to rub it.

Audrey appeared beside her. “You should have worn Reeboks.”

“Probably. Did you get anything good?”

“Great shots of the kid. Wanna see it, or do you want it downloaded to your laptop?” She hefted the video camera from her shoulder with one hand, tanned arms displaying fine muscular tone.

Turning to the courthouse, Cere waved her hand in frustration. “I want to be in there. I want to hear what they tell the judge.”

“Now what? Another day of waiting? Writing a running blog and keeping up with Twitter fans?” Audrey scanned the activity outside the courthouse as she shoved her blue baseball cap higher on her forehead. Her blonde ponytail poked through the back.

Around them reporters and photographers were setting out lawn chairs under a green awning as though preparing for a giant picnic. Most were already tapping on laptop keyboards or texting into cell phones.

Cere pulled out her phone. “Go ahead and transfer the video to my laptop and send in video of the kid.” She hated waiting, but she could send a preliminary report for the web to use with Audrey’s pictures.

“You want tonight’s lead,” Audrey teased as she unlocked the van to retrieve Cere’s laptop. “You’re wearing your new Prada jacket.”

Cere didn’t react to Audrey’s baiting, though she had paid special attention to her wardrobe and hair, which was why she’d chosen the Italian pumps over running shoes. She’d carefully selected the navy blazer, beige linen slacks and a sleeveless pink shell. She’d also taken care with her make-up, using a light shade of green to enhance her brown eyes and blush to make her face look less round. She was pleased she’d had the foresight to have her customary auburn streaks put into her shoulder-length brown tresses a couple of weeks early.

“It
is
the lead.” She waved at the throng of reporters. “Look at this circus.”

Their van was one of several dozen emblazoned with bright logos that lined a side street near the courthouse. Rows of microwave trucks sent up towering masts, while across the street, several bulky satellite trucks pointed their dishes into space. Lines of cable snaked across the street which was closed at both ends by barricades. She held up her phone, snapped a picture of the media crowd and emailed it to the web producer.

Reporters stood in front of the courthouse to deliver reports for local and cable stations but Cere didn’t have to worry about going “live.”
Scope
was a syndicated news program broadcast every weekday. Their ongoing work would be uploaded on the
Scope
website and their full edited report would appear on the evening program.

Cere watched with disguised envy as Gail barked orders at her photographer in front of the courthouse. Why was Gail the network star while she couldn’t get noticed? Could it be the woman’s wild mane of honey-colored hair and willowy figure? People called Cere cute and curvy, but men didn’t stare at her when she walked into a room—not like Gail.

Freeda, wrapped in a black leather coat, popped her head around the corner of the van. Her dark eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner that only emphasized their bloodshot nature. “Hey, guys, where is the network star today?”

Cere put her finger to her lips and gestured at Gail’s producer who was setting up a chair nearby. Because they worked for the same network, Cere and Gail sat near each other, though Cere knew the reason was Audrey’s video. Gail’s camera person always seemed to be out of position, while Cere made certain her photographer got a good spot.

Audrey appeared from the back of the van and shook a finger at Freeda. “You look as bad as I feel. Nice outfit. Cere, didn’t you buy that last week?”

She drew a quick breath and jerked around as Freeda removed her coat, displaying a beige Kate Spade sweater and black knit St. John skirt. Damn! Her cousin was always dipping into her closet, but she’d hoped to save the ensemble for an important occasion.

“I had to rush,” Freeda replied without apology. “So the kid’s already inside, huh? Damn, I missed it.”

As though noticing Cere’s clenched hands, Audrey thrust the laptop at her. “Video’s all here, babe. Great stuff.”