Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (11 page)

“Don’t look at me like that!” Clarissa said. “You’re young. You think married life is a bed of roses. I’ll tell you—it’s a bed of thorns. Someday you’ll thank me for the warning. People here feel I took advantage of Hal’s illness. They thought Hal was a saint, but in truth, he was a spiteful little man who never passed up an opportunity to make money no matter the cost.”

“I’m sorry,” Angie murmured.

“It’s life. Remember that, and expect that someday you could easily come to hate your handsome fiancé. And him, you.”

Angie was so shocked and appalled by the sudden personal attack, her voice shook. “I don’t believe that.”

“Realism is an asset in marriage. The biggest asset.”

“So are love and trust and the will to persevere.”

Clarissa smiled disdainfully, then emptied her wineglass. “Perhaps we should speak again in, say, ten years.”

“You’re wrong, Clarissa.”

“You
hope
I am.” Clarissa stood. “I’ve got to go get cleaned up. I can’t abide the smell of horses.”

As Angie watched her leave, she found herself torn between anger at the lonely, bitter woman and feeling very, very sorry for her.

Angie was looking for Lionel to get directions to the creek area, where remnants from the stagecoach had been found, when she noticed Junior Whitney scrubbing out the plaza’s center fountain. Clarissa had demanded that it sparkle for the cookout.

Several ostriches were around him, fascinated by what he was doing.

The second time Angie saw Junior take the handle of his mop and hit a wayward ostrich with it to get the big bird away from him, she decided to do something.

Ostriches, she’d learned by watching them, weren’t quite as free ranging as she’d originally thought. They were herd animals and tended to stay together in flocks. As long as a mound of food was kept in an area behind the workhouses, the birds mostly stayed there. The problem was that they were also curious. If their interest was piqued, simply because they were so large, their legs so long and fast moving, in just a few steps they were in the plaza.

They were surprisingly good-natured, as well. If startled, though, they tended to run blindly in straight lines, which meant smacking into trees, buildings, or even people in their way.

Only when cornered were they dangerous. Then, their enormously powerful legs could kick a man to the next county.

That was why Angie saw no reason for Junior to hit or jab them, when simply taking the time to shoo them away worked just fine. As another ostrich ventured near, Junior raised the mop again.

“Is that bird being stubborn or is it you?” Angie asked, marching toward him. “I’m sure she’ll follow corn kernels if you sprinkle them back toward the flock.”

He scowled. “You herd ostriches in San Francisco, do you?”

“No, but I’ve watched Lionel do it.”

“He don’t know nothing.”

As Junior stepped toward the bird, Angie grabbed hold of the mop. “You don’t need to do that.”

The way he looked at her, she wondered if he wasn’t going to whack her with it. Suddenly, though, his expression changed. He stared over her shoulder, and his face went from white to red, and then angry and vicious. He shoved the mop at her. As she stumbled back a few steps, he stomped off.

She turned to see what had caused the change in him, and discovered Lupe walking toward her.

“Are you all right?” Lupe asked. Dislike and something else were in her dark eyes as she glared after Junior.

“Fine,” Angie replied. “I’m surprised to see you out here.”

“I need to talk to Paavo,” Lupe said. “It’s important.”

“He’s off somewhere with Merry Belle, I think.”

Her hands clenched, Lupe spat out the words, “Someone tried to kill Teresa late last night. She says I’m overreacting, but I saw the whole thing. If she hadn’t turned back, a truck would have hit her.”

“Whose truck?” Angie asked, alarmed.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to tell—and it didn’t have its headlights on. But I know …”

“What?” Angie asked.

Lupe shook her head. “I’ll go back to town. I’ll try to find Paavo.”

“Give me a minute to change clothes,” Angie said. “I’m coming with you.”

Paavo stopped at the foot of the hills where the caves were located. He was searching for the saddle and saddlebags.

He tried to think like Ned’s killer. The man—or woman, although it wasn’t very likely that a woman had killed by brute strength—had probably premeditated the murder, and lured Ned up onto the ledge knowing the chance of anyone finding his body up there would be almost nil. Out in the open like that, with the kinds of scavengers in the desert, there was a good chance he’d never be found.

But then, the killer had to do something with Ned’s horse.

He couldn’t leave the horse there at the caves. That would be a sign that the body was near. So
the murderer led the horse out to the open desert, took off his saddle and bridle, and spooked him. A strong horse like Ned’s could go a long distance before he’d stop running, and even afterward, he’d continue moving, enjoying his freedom before hunger and thirst set in.

So, unless the killer brought the saddle and saddlebags home with him, he most likely hid them somewhere in the rocks before the desert turned flat and sandy.

That was what Paavo hoped.

As he sat thinking, he realized this area was quieter than anywhere he’d ever been, so quiet he could hear his horse breathe. It gave him an idea.

Patting the horse to calm and quiet it, a five-year-old roan gelding named Bucky from the guest ranch, he took out his cell phone. For some strange reason, out in this area, there was cell service. He wasn’t sure why, but he could take advantage of it.

Even before dialing, he had to admit the idea was probably silly. Chance of him being within miles of Ned’s phone was pretty remote.

Still, what would it hurt to try?

He punched in Ned’s number. The phone rang once, twice, and then a voice said, “Hello?”

Angie tried to phone Paavo while Lupe drove, but she had no service on her cell phone.

How did people exist in an area where they couldn’t be reached any time of the day or night?

Hmm … come to think of it, that sounded rather nice.

When Angie and Lupe returned to the restaurant, Teresa was there. She ignored her mother’s
concerns to the point of rudeness, and said no one was trying to harm her.

With that, she stormed out of the restaurant.

Seeing how unhappy and stressed Lupe looked, Angie offered to stay, but Lupe declined, saying she wanted to talk to Doc.

Astutely, Angie excused herself.

Paavo thought he was going to die. He choked, wheezed, and gasped. Tears formed in his eyes, and fire roiled down to his guts. “You call this medicine? It’s criminal,” he managed to croak. He handed back the brown glass flask of Wainwright’s All-Genuine Medicinal Elixir.

Lucius Wainwright twisted the cap back on the bottle. “It most certainly is medicinal!” The middle-aged, florid-faced man put the bottle by his side, then turned the wieners on the spit over the butane heater while licking his lips.

They sat on lawn chairs in the shade of a van. A sign painted on each side showed a covered wagon and above it, in flowery writing, the name Lucius Wainwright, Esquire.

“My elixir relieves headaches in men, and for the ladies, whatever ails them,” Wainwright said. “Most women I’ve known have a great many ailments.” He took a moment to tsk-tsk. “My great-grandfather sold Lydia Pinkham’s Compound to the ladies for their female complaints. He made a fortune from it. It’s become the family tradition.”

“A family tradition of selling eighty proof?” Paavo asked skeptically.

“Now, sir, you should know that at least twenty percent alcohol is not atypical of an herbal tinc
ture, which is all this is. Indeed, my good man, an herbal extract with less alcohol is pharmacologically unstable! The alcohol is necessary to disperse the medicine, especially to the uterine tissues, where the little ladies seem to suffer their gravest discomfort.” He bowed his head.

“Okay,” Paavo said. “Forty-proof, then.”

“Actually, it is eighty. But it even helps with depression, which is quite common in bleak areas such as this.” He spread his arms wide.

“I’m not here from the FDA,” Paavo said. “And I don’t care what you’re selling. But I do need to take the saddle and saddlebags with me.”

Earlier, the peddler had relayed how he’d been driving his van when he heard ringing and realized it was coming from the cell phone in the saddlebags he’d found. That was when he’d answered.

“Finders’ keepers,” Wainwright said with a smile, removing the frankfurters to buns. He offered one, which Paavo declined. “That’s the way of the West.”

“This is a murder investigation,” Paavo pointed out. “You don’t want to be withholding evidence.”

“Evidence? Damnation! Why is it that whenever I come across something useful, I can’t use it?” He pouted. “Of course, even if I were to keep the phone, I have no one who would want to call me. Is it worse, I wonder, to have a cell phone and have it remain silent, or to not have one at all?”

That was a question for which Paavo had no answer. “Have you come across anything else useful recently?” he asked.

Wainwright munched on his hot dog. “Depends
on what you consider useful. Do you mean the coyotes and illegals who used Hal Edwards’s property and hid in the caves last winter? Or the fact that the man who was killed—the boat rental owner—was out here a couple of times going through those caves?”

Now that, Paavo thought, was definitely interesting. “You saw him?”

“Yes. Including the day he was killed, poor fellow. As a matter of fact, I saw two horses out there that day. One black, and the other looked just like the one you’re riding.”

Ned’s horse was black, and people at the hacienda all rode Bucky from time to time.

“I didn’t know who they were,” Wainwright continued, “and I was heading back to town. If I’d have known the dénouement, I most certainly would have stuck around. Maybe even received a reward for my troubles. Unfortunately, I did neither.” He opened an ice chest at his side. “My elixir is actually quite good over ice.” He made up a glass for himself and another for Paavo. “Want to talk about any of that?”

Paavo took the glass he was offered. “Absolutely.”

Wainwright clinked their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Angie stuck her head into the sheriff’s office to see if Merry Belle or Buster had any idea where she could find Paavo. The sheriff wasn’t there, but Buster was.

“Oh, my God!” he cried, jumping up as she walked in. “Is that a Dolce and Gabbana dress?”

“My goodness, you do know your designers!” Angie said, amazed.

“I love their clothes.” He took her hand, lifting it high and twirled her around so he could get the full effect of the white summer silk. “Casual, sometimes funky, and so classy.”

“Well …”

“I’d love to go shopping sometime in San Francisco. Maybe when you’re back home …?”

She was speechless.

“Oh, that’s all right! You don’t want me bothering you. I can understand that.” He flopped back down at his desk, his expression pouting. “Sometimes I think it’s only me and Teresa Flores who realize just how small and uninteresting this town is. We’re two peas in a pod—adventurous people, trapped here like rats in a cellar.”

“You and Teresa?” Angie gasped.

“Not as a couple. She never cared for me that way, I’m sorry to say.” His pout grew deeper.

“No. I guess her heart was with Ned,” Angie said softly.

“Ned?” Buster took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to buff the buttons on his shirt. “How about Joey?”

“Joey? You’re joking.”

“Nuh-uh! But Teresa knew Clarissa would have skewered her like a pig on a spit if she ever made a pass at Clarissa’s little boy.”

“Teresa … and Joey?” Angie could scarcely imagine it.

“Think about it. Teresa used to work for Hal. She even lived at the hacienda, and if you ask me, that was the happiest time of her life. Now, Joey
comes here every winter, and he has everything Teresa ever wanted. Personally, I always figured Teresa was just using Ned to make Joey jealous, hoping that’d make him get up the gumption to tell Clarissa to go … uh, to leave him alone.”

Angie was beginning to put some of the pieces together. “Do you know if Joey was here when his father returned this past winter?”

“Likely as not. He was in and out all winter. I’m not sure of the exact days, though. Never asked him, come to think of it.” Buster looked down at his shiny buttons and smiled with satisfaction. “Enough about all that nastiness! I want to hear all about Manolo Blahnik. Have you ever met him? Do you think you could introduce me?”

Doc heard the kitchen help and waitresses gasp as he grabbed hold of Lupe’s arm and hustled her out of the kitchen to her office. She, too, stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.

“What’s this about Teresa nearly being killed?” he asked when they were alone in the office, the door shut.

Lupe folded her arms and turned her back to him. “I’m afraid! I’m so afraid for her … I told myself I was wrong, but when Ned …”

He took her shoulders and spun her toward him, then stopped as he realized how close she stood, how dark and deep her eyes were, how the faint scent of both roses and spice that always lingered about her now curled around his senses. Whatever was between them, always there lurking beneath the surface, suddenly burst forth. His fingers tightened. She stiffened, but he knew she
felt it, too. “I lost Ned, but I’m not going to let you lose Teresa! What’s going on, Lupe?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You know you can trust me.”

“I know,” she said. Her eyes glistened as she lightly placed her hand on his chest, whether to hold him back or to simply touch him, he had no idea—and he didn’t care.

Without thinking, he drew her into his arms.

“No!” She pulled away, head bowed as she drew in a deep breath. After a moment, eyes averted, she said, “I’ve made promises. Promises I must keep.”

He slid his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. “Then send Teresa to my house,” he said. “No one will know she’s there. She’ll be safe.”

She looked up at him, and then nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll ask her, and hope she’ll do it.” She stepped even closer. “Doc …” Her expression was so sad, so troubled, that it was all he could do not to reach for her again. He was certain that if he did, she’d allow it.