Dead Man's Rules (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“No,” Cere wailed. “I just got it fixed.” But sure enough as she rounded the car, she saw the tire was flat as a pancake, but it wasn’t the new one. That was on the front wheel.

“Hope you got a new spare when you got the tire replaced,” Freeda said.

“It’s a rental car and doesn’t have a spare. I’m going to raise hell with that company.”

“Do it later,” Lottie interjected. “In the meantime, we better figure out how to get out of here. Check your phones to see if they work. We may have to walk out.”

Cere could imagine what Rafe would say about this. She pulled her cell phone from her purse, but as usual it showed no service.

Freeda shook her head as she stared down at her phone and slumped against the back of the car. “I’m beginning to think I’m a jinx.”

Hands on her hips, Lottie scanned the horizon and squealed. “Hey, look. Who’s that?” She jumped like a cheerleader, waving and shouting. “Hey! We need help!”

A lone rider on a black horse galloped toward them.

Freeda’s muttered curse before Lottie’s sudden gasp warned of the identity of their oncoming rescuer. Or was he coming to rescue them?

Diego Diaz pulled up his horse a few yards away. As usual, he was dressed all in black, from his battered cowboy hat to scuffed boots. Sun glasses covered his eyes and a toothpick dangled from a pouting lip. He didn’t resemble a faux city cowboy traveling around in a Caddy SUV. The black horse was magnificent, but the leather saddle was well used. Diaz’s black shirt and jeans were faded and frayed around the cuffs. He trotted his horse around both cars before stopping next to Lottie. He cleared his throat before speaking, but his voice still came out in that raspy croak. “Having trouble, ladies?”

“Thank goodness you happened by,” Lottie said. “I’m stuck.”

“And my tire is flat,” Cere added.

“What are you doing up here? This is private property.” Using his toothpick, he pointed at a fence that bordered either side of the road a few yards behind their cars. The wire gate was pulled back to one side and sagged on the ground. “That gate is kept closed and surely you must have noticed the ‘Private Property’ sign on it.”

Lottie folded her arms across her chest, like a little girl caught doing something naughty. Her head lowered and her voice filled with chagrin. “I saw it…before I opened it.”

“I see. Probably not a good idea. And definitely not a good idea to leave it open behind you. Never know who might follow you in.” The sharp sarcasm was made doubly strong by his raspy voice as his face swung toward Freeda and Cere.

She refused to accept his superior attitude. “What the hell are you doing here, if it’s private property?”

“Don’t owe you an explanation, but I happen to work for the owner.” He dismounted his horse and approached the cars.

Lottie threw Cere a perturbed look and leaned toward her, gripping her arm until it hurt. “Don’t anger him. We need help.” She walked over to Diaz who examined the flat tire.

“We really appreciate any help you can give us, Mr…”

His head jerked up. “Diaz.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Diaz. I’m Lottie Medina.” She held out her hand and he straightened and stood facing her for a moment. His hand rubbed his faded black jeans and for a split second Cere wondered if he was going to be rude and ignore the outstretched hand.

Then he reached over and shook her hand before jerking around toward Cere. “I can change your tire if you want and, Mz. Medina, if you have a blanket I can get your car out of the sand.”

“Unfortunately this car doesn’t have a spare tire. It’s a rental.”

“And they know you keep driving it up to the Palladium and over all these rocks n’ things?”

“How do you know I’ve come up here more than once?” she demanded.

His black sunglasses turned to her and their shiny blackness reminded her of a bug’s hard emotionless eyes. “I ride all over these hills. Patrolling. It’s my job. I see lots of things.”

She gulped as her gaze swung around to his horse and she noticed a rifle sticking out of a leather holder. “What else do you do? Maybe a little target practice?”

“I’m a good shot, if that’s what you’re saying.”

Lottie came up beside her and pinched her arm. “Cere, don’t accuse the man. He’s going to help us.”

“Is he?” Sudden fear raced through her. Hadn’t he once bragged bodies were buried in these hills? Bodies that had never been found? How hard would it be for him to kill them right now and bury their bodies? They might never be found. She swallowed hard and decided to lie. “Just so you know, Mr. Diaz, the sheriff knows where we are. And he’s checking on you too.”

He’d been leaning over the tire and now he jerked up. “Really?” Offering no other response, he ambled over to the other car to check the stuck wheel. “You got a spare, Mz. Medina?”

“Yes.”

“The wheel rims are the same size. Maybe if we put it on your daughter’s car, she can drive back to town. You still haven’t told me why you went through that gate.”

Lottie tugged at her hair, looking nervous. She pointed to the torn up road. “I wanted to go up to the lake. We used to stay at the cabins up there. It’s only twenty miles out of town, but thirty years ago, it seemed much farther. The air is so cool, lots of grass and sometimes we’d see deer. I wanted to see it again.”

“Well, this road ends at the base of the next hill. The creek changed course and took it out. You would have had to turn back anyway. The only way to get there from this side is on horseback.”

“Oh, drat.”

His sudden bark of a laugh made Cere and Freeda jump.

“Yep,” he said. “Oh, drat. Got a blanket?”

“Certainly.” Lottie unlocked the trunk and produced a green and blue striped stadium blanket. While he worked with it, placing it around the wheel, Cere and Freeda took out the spare. The tire wouldn’t go far, but Diaz was right—it would get them back to town.

With the blanket under the tire, he had Lottie drive forward and back up slowly until she freed her wheel from the sand. Then he walked back to where Cere and Freeda were struggling with the nuts on her wheel.

He made quick work of the changing process, though he barely used his left hand. A long jagged series of scars ran across it. But his right hand showed amazing strength. If he wanted to choke someone to death, he could probably do it.

She also noted his old boots. Both heels were worn. Was there an oval in the center of the heel? Trying not to be obvious, she studied the ground looking for familiar prints in the soft sand. Nothing.

Finally, he straightened, and shook the dust from his hands. “That should get you back to town. I’ll lead you to an open area where you can both turn around.”

Lottie hesitated, gazing down the canyon with longing. “I guess I’ll never see the lake again.”

“It means that much to you, Mz Medina?”

Her sad smile was answer enough. “Yes, it does. And please, call me Lottie. My students call me missus. It always made me feel old.”

“Well, Lottie, tell you what. I could arrange to get you up there. You ride?”

Her laugh was quick and almost girlish. “Are you kidding? I did when I was a kid. I could even ride bareback, but I haven’t been on a horse in years.” Sighing, she turned away. “Oh, well, it isn’t that important. Thank you, Mr. Diaz. I’m sorry my daughter’s been so rude and hasn’t thanked you.”

“It’s okay. I never mind helping ladies. Especially good looking ones. And you can call me D-V. Mr. Diaz makes me feel old too.” He smiled, a sincere grin that for once wasn’t mocking.

Freeda elbowed Cere’s side and whispered. “Wow, your mom just made another fan. I’m telling you, she’s doing a whole lot better than either one of us.”

Bradley Foster was bad enough. No way would Cere let this jerk charm her mother. She pushed forward.

“Mr. Diaz, were you up here yesterday? Did you hear the rifle shots?”

His smile vanished as his face jerked toward her. “Rifle shots? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Someone shot at me. Came close to shooting my head off. You mean you didn’t see that while you were
patrolling
?”

He drew back as though she slapped him. “You think I did it?”

“I’m not accusing anyone. But who else is up here regularly?”

He didn’t reply as his lips tightened into a straight line. He looked from one to the other, but only Lottie spoke.

“Cere didn’t mean to accuse you…”

“Right.” The sarcastic tone was back in his voice and he walked over to his horse. After heaving himself up onto it, he tipped his hat to them. “I’ll lead you over to a place to turn around. Then I suggest you get the hell out of here and stay the hell out. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

****

“Well, you were right. The prints on the shells match a set of prints on that old box.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted at the pronouncement from Jack Landis, his connection at the state crime lab. So the person firing at Cere had handled the box—and probably killed Naldo. When had the box been put there? The night before? Or just before they arrived? Had the shots been an attempt to get them to leave? Maybe they had interrupted him on his way back to retrieve the box.

“Any hits on the prints in the database?” he asked.

“Nope, sorry.”

He reached for the antacids in his desk. Part of him had hoped the prints would hit on a man by the name of Diego Diaz. Maybe he’d been caught drunk driving or been locked up on some petty charge in the past. But it appeared that wasn’t the case. He popped a couple of tablets in his mouth.

“You want me to keep trying?” Jack asked.

He liked working with Landis because the man was thorough, but he had no idea what else he could do if the prints weren’t in the criminal database. “You have other places you can check?”

“I have some things up my sleeve.”

“Go for it. Did you get anything on that name I sent you? Diaz?”

“Diego Velasquez Diaz. Texas DMV lists his address as north of Dallas. One of the gals says it’s a pretty upscale area. Ranch living and horse farms. Two vehicles registered to him. White Mercedes convertible. Black Cadillac Escalade. Sounds like a man with money.”

“But no criminal history?”

“Nothing I can find. Want me to check for employment history? See where all that money came from?”

“Yeah, do that. And give me his exact address.”

After he hung up Rafe turned to the computer on his worn desk. He called up Google maps and typed in the address for Diaz. It zeroed in on a location and he tapped up the street view.

He popped another couple of antacid tablets as he studied the gates and fenced walls that hid most of the homes.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Smoke rose from a grill in the middle of Lottie’s back yard. The tangy scent of barbecued ribs, seared hot dogs and hamburgers swirled through the warm evening breeze. Tinny country music wailed from oversize speakers in one corner of the yard and provided a low background for voices and the steady swell of laughter.

Surveying the festive scene, Cere cursed her bad luck. This would have been the perfect place to ask questions. Because the crowd was made up of her mother’s friends and relatives, many were Marco’s age. But she’d promised no Marco tonight.

The guests circulated around tables heaped with ribs, burgers and buns, bowls of potato salad, and platters of appetizers. Others gathered near a keg of beer that squatted near tubs of ice covered soft drinks. Guests with filled plates congregated at long wooden tables with benches running along both sides. The day’s prickly heat was dissipating and in the distance, thunderheads loomed over the line of mesas, shielding the yard from the setting sun but holding no threat of rain.

Cere and Freeda strolled among the serving tables, making certain the platters didn’t get too low, and bowls stayed filled with chips and dips.

“Try the guacamole.” She pointed out a bowl to her cousin, Pat. “I made it.”

He dropped a couple of spoonful’s onto his paper plate. “Where have you been? I thought you were coming by the bank.”

Cere pointed at the table as she unwrapped a tray of deviled eggs and miniature quiches. “For the past two days Freeda and I have been up to our elbows helping Mom.” After the drama at the Palladium and the close call in the canyon all three agreed they needed something frivolous to occupy their time. The party presented a great distraction as well as an opportunity for Lottie to see old friends and get to know neighbors better.

Her Marco story had received minimal attention. Cere emailed Alan pictures of the Palladium and hinted at writing a blog on what she had uncovered so far. Locked in her room alone, she went through Frank’s book but it didn’t contain much help. The type in the articles was faded and smudged due to the liberal use of paste. One comment scribbled in blue ink under an article about the trial stood out.

Farce. That trial was a FARCE!

Riggins had still not surfaced. His stay in Mexico had been extended and the phone number from her car remained unknown. She received no more threatening calls, but she had the uneasy sensation of being constantly watched. Could it be Diaz? His appearance as a ranch hand had surprised her and shocked Rafe even more. According to him the man had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket.

Lottie appeared beside her and whispered, “Bradley’s here. Be nice, okay?”

The portly man smiled as he waddled toward them. “Evening, ladies. Looks like a good party.”

“It will be better now that you’re here, Bradley. May I get you something?”

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Foster,” Cere added as her mother hurried off to get him a drink.

“Bradley, please. Are you enjoying your visit? I hope you haven’t been back to the Palladium. There’s no telling what kind of mischief’s in that place. They say there’s ghosts.” One side of his jowly face creased with a wink.

“I think I made friends with any ghosts.”

A hearty laugh rang out. “I bet you did.”

“I’ve been thinking of coming by City Hall to see you.”

“Certainly. I’ll be happy to show you around.”