Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (19 page)

Light flashed in the distance. Angie gripped Teresa’s arm and pointed.

It was a set of headlights, and a second set followed not far behind. It was the first set, though, that intrigued Angie. High and wide like on a truck or SUV, it wasn’t a “normal” headlight set, but Xenon hyper-whites. The only car she’d seen in Jackpot with those headlights was the Mercedes she and Paavo had rented.

She grabbed the knapsack, rummaging madly through it until she found the flashlight, and ran toward the road.

“What are you doing?” Teresa tried to grab and stop her, but missed.

“It’s Paavo,” Angie called, still running.

“Wait! You’ve got to be sure.”

“I am sure.” She frantically waved the flashlight toward the vehicles. They sped on.

She yelled, brandishing the light while fighting despair that help, so near, had eluded them.

Suddenly, the lead car slowed, then made a U-turn and stopped. The second car did the same.

Doors slammed.

Angie stood as if glued to the spot, praying she’d been right.

Fear that she’d made a deadly mistake kept her quiet until Paavo called her name.

“I’m here!” she shouted, relief and joy propelling her forward.

He met her halfway. “Are you all right?” he asked, holding her tight.

“Yes.” She nestled against him. He felt so good, so warm and secure, that she nearly cried. “We were shot at—and Teresa’s truck tire blew out and we ended up in some brush, nearly off the bank and into the creek.”

Joey hurried toward Teresa. “Someone shot at you?” Joey asked. He hugged her, and for a moment she let him, but then pulled away and folded her arms as if she were cold.

“Did you see anything? Any sign to tell who it was?” Paavo asked.

“We couldn’t see anyone,” Teresa replied, moving toward them. Joey stood back and watched her go.

“We were trying to go to Ned’s,” Angie said. “We should still do it so Teresa can see the amulet he had. She found one hidden in Hal’s office.”

“In his office?” Paavo asked, then peered into the darkness. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk.”

Paavo, Angie, and Teresa piled into the SUV, while Joey went off on his own to call for a tow truck to take care of Teresa’s vehicle.

Teresa listened with growing sadness as Paavo explained to her that the obsidian carving was no longer at Ned’s home, and that the FBI agents had confirmed Hal’s involvement with the coyote smugglers.

“Everything makes more sense now,” Teresa said bitterly.

“What do you mean?” Paavo asked.

“When Hal brought the ostriches to his ranch, I asked him how he was going to handle them.” Teresa folded her hands. “If he was going to breed, raise, and sell, or slaughter them, he’d need help. It wasn’t the sort of thing people in town would be interested in, I was sure. He said he knew how to get all the help necessary. I didn’t understand at the time, but now I think I do. He got the ostriches cheap, and would use free labor to raise them. Free, smuggled-in labor. Caves are often used as
hiding places by illegals. Caves like on Hal’s land. The fact that cell phone service was available out there makes sense now, doesn’t it? He must have put receptors, or boosters, or some kind of relay system out there. The whole thing was another of Hal’s schemes to make money.”

Paavo started the SUV and headed toward the ranch.

“If that’s what the cave would be used for, why was Hal’s body put in it after he was murdered?” Angie asked. “That doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It was a message—telling the coyotes the area was no longer a safe haven,” Teresa said. “That would explain why one day we had a lot of illegals, men mostly, and very poor, hanging around, but then they all disappeared.”

“Who would want to give a warning like that?” Angie asked. “Ned? He also had an amulet, but if that’s the case, it means he was Hal’s killer.”

“Ned would never kill anyone,” Teresa insisted.

“Ned could have figured out Hal’s connection,” Paavo said. “He would have wondered about the ostriches, the way you did, Teresa. If he found the amulet somewhere, it might have told him who left the message for the coyotes. And whoever left that message is the one who killed Hal.”

“Ned was trying to find out who wanted to hurt me, and it led him directly to Hal’s killer.” Teresa blinked back tears. “As I said, it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not, Teresa.” Angie squeezed her hand. “You had no idea any of this was going on.”

“I want to go home,” Teresa said. “I’m tired of hiding at Doc’s house. Tomorrow after the cookout, Hal’s estate will be distributed to Joey and
Clarissa. I can only pray that will end the madness all around here.”

“Only if the killings have been about the inheritance,” Paavo countered. “And whether they were or not, a killer’s out there who must be caught. One more night at Doc’s isn’t a bad idea for you.”

After Paavo and Angie brought Teresa to Doc’s, they headed for Merritt’s Café.

Paavo called Merry Belle from the car. He needed to give her the latest information. She was in a particularly bad mood when Paavo called, not only because she’d been asleep, but because she couldn’t find Buster. He wasn’t at the station, and hadn’t been since early afternoon.

LaVerne, on the other hand, was delighted to see Angie and Paavo enter the diner. She practically sang the words, “I’ll bring you something extra special.”

“No!” Angie shouted. “I want something off your regular menu. Something basic, like chicken potpie. Wait, on second thought, I don’t want to eat bird.” Visions of ostriches came to her. Would she ever be able to eat fowl again? “Let’s make that pot roast.”

“Pot roast?” LaVerne looked stricken. “But you’re a gourmet cook. Gourmets don’t eat pot roast! I’ve got something extra special in the freezer. It’ll heat up real fast. It’s a thick turtle soup—made from Arizona turtles. Or tortoises. I never can remember which is which. But anyway, you’ll love it. Not as much as my prairie dog soufflé, but those stupid Feds followed when I left the
diner with my shotgun, so I couldn’t get any this morning.”

“So you know that the fishermen are Feds?” Angie asked.

“Of course!” LaVerne said with a huff. “They first came around when Hal showed up with his ostriches. Then, they came back when his body was found. What else could they be? Probably, they’re connected with Homeland Security because of the sudden increase in the number of illegals that came through here for a while.”

“You knew about the illegals as well?” Paavo asked.

“I’ve got eyes, ears, and a brain, don’t I?” LaVerne said, indignantly. “I’ve been reading about it in a few ’special’ publications I get, plus my shortwave radio. Forget talk radio—shortwave is where you get the real story!”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Angie asked.

“I did! To you.” LaVerne looked affronted.

“But you said there were terrorists involved,” Angie pointed out.

“Well?”

Angie stared at LaVerne. It all sounded remarkably far-fetched. She was surprised that Paavo offered no objections. Maybe the world was farfetched these days.

LaVerne frowned in dismay at them both. “I’ll bring you my turtle soup.” With that, she turned and walked away.

“No, you won’t!” Angie shrieked, standing. LaVerne gawked at her. “I don’t want your turtle
soup. I don’t want any of your so-called gourmet foods! You’re as much a gourmet as Roseanne Barr is anorexic! I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m sick of the way everybody gives us only half-truths, but all of you know exactly what’s going on. You’re wasting my vacation!” As LaVerne backed toward the kitchen, Angie marched after her. “All I’ve eaten since breakfast is beanie-weenies. I want real food! No turtles, no prairie dogs, no javelina, and definitely no toads! I want something I can eat and enjoy!”

LaVerne flattened herself against the door to the kitchen, mouth agape. Suddenly, her face crumpled. “That is the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me! Not even Clarissa was so cruel when she didn’t like my rabbit stew. You’re just jealous of my cooking, that’s all!” She took off her bifocals to wipe sudden tears. “I know others around here don’t appreciate it, but I expected you would! Pardon me for being so wrong. I’ll go get your boring pot roast!”

It was late when Angie and Paavo returned to the guest ranch. All was quiet, but Angie knew the next day would bring workmen, cooks, and chaos as the big cookout finally happened.

Instead of going inside, they stopped on the porch of their bungalow, and turned to face the night and the plaza.

“I can’t help but feel,” Paavo said, his thumbs hooked to his pockets as he surveyed the surroundings, “that all our questions about these deaths will come to a close tomorrow, and that, if
we’re lucky, the pieces will finally fall into place.”

“I take it you don’t think the solution has to do with Hal’s inheritance,” she said, hooking his arm with hers and leaning close, “or with settling the estate.”

“No. That’s only a small part of it—if anything at all. If whoever killed Hal was interested in the inheritance, why hide Hal’s body? They’d have made it look like an accident or suicide and collected. Something else is going on, something we’re overlooking.”

“The illegals?”

“They’re gone.”

“They were here when Hal died,” Angie pointed out. “One of those coyote smugglers could have done it.”

“It’s possible, sure, but why? Hal was helping them. No, it’s something else. After Hal married Teresa, his paranoia grew until he was sure his life was in danger and he ran from the country. Then there were, apparently, attacks on Teresa as well. And now she can’t find any proof of her marriage.”

“That would mean it all began five years ago with the marriage,” Angie said, “which ties in with the inheritance—which brings us right back to Joey and Clarissa.”

“We’re missing something, Angie,” Paavo said. “But we’ll find it. Hopefully, tomorrow.”

“And the day after that,” she murmured, “if things are settled here, we’ll be going back home. I wish we’d had more time to simply enjoy this area.” Angie rested her head against his shoulder.

“I’m surprised at how much I’ve remembered,”
Paavo said, wrapping an arm around her. “Good memories about Doc, Joaquin … Ned. Even as a boy I loved the desert on nights like this. The quiet, the peace.”

Stars seemed so close she felt as if she could reach up and touch them. After the dinginess and sadness of the town, the guest ranch was like a different world. The plaza sparkled nearly white in the moonlight. No wonder Hal built this home as a sanctuary. It would, in fact, make a wonderful destination-wedding site. Not hers, though. She knew too much about the town and it held too many sad memories for that.

“Despite everything,” she said, draping her arm around his waist, “I have to admit that this area is lovely. I can see why you enjoyed coming here as a boy.”

His voice was little more than a whisper as he said, “I wish I’d realized, as a boy, how kind these people were to me, how open and friendly.”

“You couldn’t tell?” She glanced up at him, surprised.

His gaze seemed to turn inward. “I didn’t let myself know. I was a tough little kid, and did all I could to shut people out, to not let them get close.”

“You did it to protect yourself from more loss,” she said, holding him closer. “I can understand it. At least, you’ve grown older and wiser. You can see it now.”

“It isn’t that I’ve grown wiser.” Blue eyes caught hers. “It’s that the barrier was broken down.”

“Broken down? What do you mean?”

“You, Angie.” One finger lightly brushed her
cheek. “You’re the one—with your warm heart, and crazy ways. Without you, that little boy would still be outside, looking in.”

She smiled at him, her big detective who could fight hardened criminals, but was just a big softie when it came to love. His admitting as much brought tears to her eyes. “If that’s the case,” she whispered, lifting her face to his, “I’m glad.”

Merry Belle walked into her office the next morning. It was quiet, which was good. She didn’t see Buster—and that wasn’t.

Last night when she joined Paavo and Angie at Merritt’s and then ate a plate of pot roast—she never could pass up a good meal—Paavo filled her in on the evening’s events.

Between having eaten two dinners and the fact that some loony with a gun had bushwhacked Teresa Flores and Paavo’s little girlfriend, Merry Belle hadn’t slept a wink all night. Not to mention the exposure of Hal Edwards’s illegal activities. She’d long suspected Hal’s ties to the illegals, given the way a bunch descended on the town when he returned and then—
poof!
—he disappeared, and so did they.

Somehow, she had to find Hal and Ned’s killer or killers so the Frisco cop and the Feds would leave, and the town could go back to being the sleepy little haven she loved and protected.

“Where the hell is Buster?” Merry Belle de
manded from the night deputy sleepily sitting at the front desk where Buster should have been.

“Don’t know. He hasn’t called in.”

As the sheriff poured herself a cup of coffee, she frowned. “You call his place?”

“Couple times. Either he ain’t home or just don’t want to answer.”

“He phones in, you make sure he talks to me,” Merry Belle said as she marched into her office, slamming the door behind her. She sat at her desk and glanced up at the picture of the governor on the opposite wall. As a little pick-me-up, she took a Mr. Goodbar from a drawer and chomped into it.

The telephone rang.

“Buster, you mealymouthed—oh—” It wasn’t him. It was the crime lab in Phoenix calling with some results.

Merry Belle gulped down the mouthful of chocolate as she listened, then shared a smile with the governor. The blood on the kitchen floor in the hacienda had been Hal Edwards’s, and the heel protector was definitely from Joey’s boots. Now, if only she could find a way to tie those two facts together.

Joey had to be the killer. Good-bye, Joey Edwards! Patricide should be worth the death penalty, minimum.

Still … she wished she didn’t have this nagging feeling of uncertainty. Paavo clearly had his doubts and Merry Belle was uneasier than she cared to admit. She had the evidence, though. What more did she need?

A little after seven that morning, Angie’s mini-alarm woke her. There was already activity outside in the plaza area. She got out of bed, and with as little noise as possible prepared for the day, trying not to wake Paavo.

Outside the bungalow were a half-dozen men Angie had never seen before working to pitch an enormous tent in front of the hacienda. Others rushed about with hammers and wood.

The ostriches had the sense to stay out of their way. She didn’t blame them.

As she crossed the plaza to the cookhouse, Lionel spotted her. He bent over an ice chest, pulled a beer from it, and raced her way.

“This is gonna be something,” he said. Angie reeled from the blast of early morning beer breath. “Gonna give Hal a real send-off,” Lionel went on excitedly. “And maybe it’s the last time I gotta put up with Clarissa and her brat.”

“Why would you think that? Won’t Joey get the property?”

“Not if the sheriff arrests him for killing Hal,” he said with a smirk. “I’m thinking she just wants to wait until after she’s done eating her fill. When do you think she’ll do it?”

“That’s up to her—if she thinks she has enough evidence,” Angie replied.

“Hell, what more does she need? She’s got the heel protector,” Lionel insisted. “Now we can really celebrate.”

Angie was surprised to find that Paavo’s doubts about Joey’s guilt had crept into her thoughts as well. “It takes time to build a case.”

“Moon Bottom Hermann damn well better not take too long! Doc’s gonna be here this evening to divvy up Hal’s estate,” Lionel whined. “Hal’s killer shouldn’t get his money. It should go to a relative who loved him. Like me!”

Yeah, right.
She wanted to say everything should go to Hal’s widow, Teresa—if only there was proof of the marriage somewhere—but this wasn’t the time and it wasn’t her place to bring it up. Instead, she backed away. “I have to get to the cookhouse, Lionel, and prepare my contribution to the feast.”

Lionel seemed lost in thought a moment, then jerked in reaction to her words. “Yeah, okay. Might be Joey’s last good meal for a spell—if the sheriff does what’s right. Maybe Clarissa’s, too.”

“You must really hate them.” Angie was fascinated by the malice that filled Lionel’s face.

“Me? I don’t hate nobody,” Lionel declared, then grinned. “I just can’t stand them.”

“I really have to start cooking.” Angie walked away. Despite his denials, she was sure he hated them with the force of too many years of resentment.

“Lemme know if you need anything.”

“I will, Lionel.”

Paavo was surprised at how late he had slept, and by how quiet Angie could be when she wanted to. It had taken Merry Belle’s call to wake him. She had phoned to say she was on the way to Yuma to get a certified copy of the confidential marriage record or find out exactly why none existed. The ducks were lining up, he thought.

As he sat in the living room, aware of all the ac
tivity outside the bungalow, and grateful for the coffee Angie had made, he was more certain than ever that today would be the day when there would be resolution to the mystery of Hal Edwards’s death. Hal’s death had led to Ned’s—of that he was certain—and Paavo felt as if he was waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

He looked at his watch. It was almost ten. He’d had trouble getting to sleep last night, thinking about these cases. Whenever he had insomnia in San Francisco, he would still wake early the next morning. Was it the weather out here, the quiet, or despite everything was he simply more at peace with himself than he’d been in a long, long time?

The door opened. “Hello, sleepyhead,” Angie said as she swept in. His heart did a little rumba, as always, just seeing her. “I brought you some breakfast. A mushroom and cheese omelet, home-fried potatoes, perfect bacon, and toast with marmalade.”

“Looks great,” Paavo said as Angie put the plate on the coffee table. “I think I’ll keep you.”

“Not if you say things like that.”

“I don’t want to overdo it with praise.”

“Yes, you do.”

Paavo agreed. Between bites, he filled Angie in on Merry Belle’s errand. Although Merry Belle was eager to confront Joey Edwards, Paavo wasn’t yet satisfied with this case. Ironically, he’d felt more confident in other cases he’d had with weaker evidence. Attempts to frame an innocent person had crossed his path before.

“But Joey’s got to be the one behind this,” Angie
said. “I know I thought Joey couldn’t be a killer, but now I’m convinced he did it.”

“Let’s wait and see. The whole town knew Joey was at the guest ranch last winter, and knew his relationship with Hal. Anyone could have planted something of his in the cave.”

“That’s too clever by half,” Angie said. “You wait and see, Inspector. I’m with Merry Belle on this one.”

Outside, they heard the sounds of people arriving. It was going to be a busy, festive day.

Merry Belle reached Yuma in no better mood than when she left Jackpot. Buster had finally phoned in, hungover and morose about his job and his life. He sounded oddly guilty and kept apologizing as if he expected to be blamed for something. He received a sobering tongue-lashing. Merry Belle’s always low reserve of patience was bone dry as far as Buster was concerned.

The ride through the desert had been tedious and hot, and when she entered the Yuma records office she immediately froze the lone clerk behind the counter with an I’m-taking-no-bureaucratic-bullshit stare. The clerk, a tall lanky man with thinning brown hair, gulped as he eyed her uniform and fierce look.

“May I help you?” he croaked.

“I need to see the confidential marriage records for five years back. Now.”

“But they’re confidential,” he said.

“No shit.” Merry Belle cast him a withering glare.

“I m-mean … they’re sealed,” the clerk stammered.

“That’s two things you’ve told me I already know. Get me the damn records.”

“I … I …”

“I’m the sheriff of Jackpot and this is part of a murder investigation.”

“Jackpot?”

“That’s right. What of it?”

“The sheriff was here a week or two back and demanded to see the records. I showed him.”

“I’m the damned sheriff, bub. Here”—she flashed her identification—“satisfied?”

“I’m confused, uh, Sheriff Hermann.”

“Me too, fellah. So, why don’t you describe this so-called sheriff.”

“Well … he wore a badge, and even flashed an I.D. And, uh, he was tall, I remember, and his hair was pretty long. Dirty blond and kind of scraggly.”

Merry Belle’s squinty eyes narrowed even more. “What color eyes?”

“Uh … I don’t know. They were mostly bloodshot.”

Merry Belle drew in her breath. “Was he skinny?”

“Hmm, yes, I’d say so. His uniform was way too big for him. I figured he’d lost weight or something.”

“Damn that Junior!” she murmured, then louder. “He’s going to lose a lot more than weight before I finish with him!”

The clerk blanched.

How could he have gotten a uniform and
badge? she wondered. Then, she knew. “Did you notice anything special about the uniform?”

“No … I don’t … uh, wait—yes! It had maroon piping along the pocket flaps, collar, and down the front near the buttons. In fact, it even had a checkered handkerchief in a pocket. Very elegant! It surprised me.”

Merry Belle was ready to chew the counter. She was going to kill them both with her bare hands. “Okay, enough of that,” she said. “I’ll take care of the impersonator. Right now, I want to see those records. This is a murder case.”

The clerk shook his head. “This is all too irregular.”

“Irregular, my ass! You’re obstructing justice,” Merry Belle yelled as she leaned toward the cowering clerk. One hand hovered near her mace canister.

He crumpled like a cheap lawn chair. “Come around,” he sputtered, “and follow me.”

The clerk motioned Merry Belle behind the counter and led her across the work area into a large, brightly lit room filled with ceiling-high shelves.

“The confidential marriage records are all in one book in this locked cabinet,” the clerk explained as he fumbled for his keys. “There are very few of them. It’s something that’s rarely used anymore. For years, nobody cared. And now, a fake sheriff, a distraught young woman, and a real sheriff all want to see them. It makes me curious as to why.”

“Tough!” she said.

In a few moments he placed a ledger-style book
on a nearby table. “This is the book I gave the sheriff.” At her glare, he amended it. “I mean, to the impersonator.”

Merry Belle grunted and began turning pages in the book. She frowned and started flipping pages back and forth, stopping to run her finger along the inner spine. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “Looks to me like there’s a page missing.”

“That’s impossible,” the clerk protested.

“See for yourself.”

The clerk hovered over the book examining it, a look of pained outrage on his face. Again and again, he ran his fingers over the pages as if willing the missing page to reappear. “I don’t believe this.”

“It’s gone and I think we’ve both got an idea who took it,” Merry Belle said glumly. “Was that guy left alone with the book?”

The now pallid clerk searched his memory, eyes closed and hands clasped as if in prayer. “Yes, I remember. I had to take a call. I had been expecting a call from my supervisor. I left you alone … I mean the other sheriff.”

“He’s not a sheriff!” Merry Belle was beyond rage and stood in fuming silence as the clerk explained that there were no other copies of the record either on microfilm or computer scanned. She nodded as he rambled on about when and how and by whom records were scheduled to be preserved.

Boredom competed with fury as the clerk lectured on records policy, procedure, and preservation. Unable to stomach any further bureaucratic minutia, she snorted and marched out of the archive toward the exit.

All she could think of was that she needed to get back to Jackpot as soon as possible and confront both Buster and Junior. Why would Junior want to take away proof of his daughter’s marriage to Hal Edwards? It didn’t make sense to her.

She turned toward the door, but the clerk jumped in front of her and continued explaining why none of this was his fault, and that he was an innocent employee just doing his job.

She began to huff and puff as he talked, distress giving way to all-consuming wrath. Finally, she told him if he didn’t stop talking, she was going to have to shoot.