Washed Up (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 4) (6 page)

Gracie watched as Marc gingerly removed the protective boot from Max’s injured foot. The hulking black-and-tan shepherd licked his master’s hand as if pushing him away.

“Sorry, Max.” Marc refastened the boot. “I know it’s not fun. Hey, buddy, it’s looking pretty good.”

“No sign of infection,” Gracie concurred, looking over Marc’s shoulder.

Max followed the pair back to the sofa, limping only minimally before lying down, his long black muzzle touching Marc’s pant leg.

Gracie passed an admiring gaze over Amanda’s comfortable living quarters. The great room was full of cowboy memorabilia on the walls. Gene Autry and John Wayne movie posters were in the center of one wall with belt buckles, spurs, and an ivory-handled Colt .45 displayed in several shadow boxes. Terracotta-colored tile ran throughout the space, with a couple of brightly woven Navajo rugs in front of the sofa and chairs.

Amanda appeared from her small kitchen with water in tall glasses.

“Is the foot looking all right?” she asked, placing a tray with the drinks on a leather-topped rectangular coffee table.

“It is,” Marc replied. “Thanks for watching him.”

“Not a problem. Anything to help the cause of love,” she laughed.

Gracie reddened and flashed her a wry smile. Despite Marc’s assurance that he wanted to marry her, she still had nothing to show for it. And he hadn’t actually proposed. Uncertainty seemed to be the name of the game when it came to her relationship with Marc.

“We’ve made some headway,” Gracie managed, looking at Marc, who’d turned his attention back to Max.

“I hope so.” Amanda smiled, and took a sip from her glass. “On the subject of progress, what can you tell us about the investigation?”

“Not anything really, Amanda,” Marc said. “It’s an active investigation. Speaking of which, I should check in and see if there are any updates.”

“Spoken like a cop. I have a little news, though. Gary stopped in while you were hiking. He’s been checking on Stephanie, Manny’s widow. She’s adamant that Manny wasn’t involved with drugs in any way, shape, or form. Stephanie wants his name cleared and pronto. The DEA has torn apart her house looking for evidence and hasn’t found anything. Plus, they still can’t find Ricky. They’re tracking down any relatives he has in Douglas and Naco, but, so far, nobody’s seen him. Or will admit to seeing him.”

“Ricky is probably the key to the whole thing,” he said. “Although his record isn’t good, he doesn’t have a history of violence. A drug paraphernalia charge, possession of marijuana, shoplifting … that sort of thing. If he’s addicted to cocaine or anything else, all bets are off. When you need a fix, anything can happen. If he and Manny got into a fight, it’s entirely possible he killed him. Ricky’s on the run for a reason, and that’s a good one.”

Amanda frowned. “I know. The kid worked for me several times cleaning out the barns when Manny and Stephanie first took him in. He did all right and seemed to want a fresh start. Manny was serious about helping him do that. Ricky had a good deal going with them, if he could play by the rules. Manny was pretty strict.”

“I guess he couldn’t, unfortunately.” Gracie adjusted a small pillow behind her back. “However, he’s not the only one who could be up to no good. Your favorite guests were spotted on our hike. They were a little off the trail. Engaged in suspicious activity, I’d say.” She looked to Marc for confirmation.

“That reminds me, I need to make a call,” he announced. He stepped out into the courtyard, pulling his cell phone from the holster on his belt.

Amanda turned her gaze to Gracie as Marc shut the door behind him. “Well, did he pop the question?”

Gracie bent over and scratched behind Max’s ears, mulling over her response. Her love life had clearly become of great interest to her hostess.

“Not in so many words,” she began cautiously.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure myself. I guess we’re still working out a few things.”

She had no intention of sharing Marc’s employment dilemma or his old-fashioned insistence on being the breadwinner. The investigation seemed a much more palatable topic.

“Where do you think this Ricky might have gone?”

Amanda raised her eyebrows and then smiled, apparently accepting defeat on the topic of romance.

“If I had killed someone, I’d try to get into Mexico. If he has relatives or friends in Douglas or Naco, I’m sure they could slip him over the border. It’s not that difficult in a border town.”

“Have you talked to Stephanie yourself about Manny and Ricky?”

“No,” Amanda replied thoughtfully. “Gary’s been doing that.”

A sharp knock at the door startled the women. Max barked and struggled to stand, while Gracie held him. Amanda opened the door. Before them stood Ranger Ortiz, who filled the doorway with his imposing physical presence.

“Sorry to barge in, Amanda, but I’m looking for your guests, Alex Kramer and Justin Gardner.”

“Are they in trouble again?” Amanda asked.

“No. Nothing like that. I need to let them know about the permit they applied for.”

“They actually applied for a permit? That’s surprising. I’m not sure where they are. Alex and Justin have been hiking every day until late afternoon. They’re leaving here on Saturday morning, which is none too soon. I’ve had enough of their extracurricular activities.”

“Those boys seem to be looking for trouble, but the powers that be are going to let them take a camera crew up to the old mining area off the Crest Trail.”

“Interesting,” Amanda replied, hands on hips.

“It sure is. They need some instruction on what they can do and mostly what they can’t do up there. Do you have a cell number for either of them? The office didn’t send it to me.”

“Sure. Have a seat. I’ll get it for you.”

Amanda opened the computer that lay on the dark granite kitchen counter. She supplied the phone numbers, which the ranger scribbled onto a small pad.

“Thanks, Amanda. I’ll track ‘em down.”

“Marc and I did see them up around Ramsey Canyon this afternoon, if that helps,” Gracie offered.

The ranger raised his dark eyebrows and frowned. “Did you talk with them?”

“No. Nothing like that. We saw them a little ways off the trail. Not sure what they were doing. They didn’t see us, though.”

The ranger narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Oh.”

“Marc was actually calling somebody about them.” She hesitated. “To let the police or DEA … uh, they seemed to be ….” She wasn’t quite sure how to explain the spying they’d done on the pair.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to Officer Stevens on the way out. Seems to be a little complicated.”

“You might say that,” Gracie said with relief. “I’m sure he can explain it.” She stroked Max’s head, trying to calm the restless dog. He whined and pushed his nose against Gracie’s forearm. “Hey, Max. Settle down.”

“New dog, Amanda?” the ranger asked.

“No. That’s Marc Stevens’ dog. Max cut his foot searching for Ricky Fuentes.”

“That’s too bad. Nice-looking dog.”

“Thanks. He should be fine in a few days.”

“Good luck then. Any luck that Ricky Fuentes had is running out. It’s dangerous on your own in the mountains.”

“Do you think he’s still up there?” Amanda asked. “I’m hearing that he probably took off for Mexico.”

“Could be, but he left Manny’s vehicle in Ash Canyon. That tells me he’s probably still in the area somewhere.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back, so if you see those
gringos
, please tell them to call me in case I don’t get a hold of them,” he instructed, handing Amanda a business card.

“Sure thing, Armando.”

Max settled down on the bed after Amanda closed the door behind the departing ranger.

“Interesting that Armando thinks Ricky is still up there,” Amanda mused. “It makes sense with Manny’s truck left in the parking lot.”

“Maybe Ricky called somebody to pick him up.” Gracie took a glass of water from the tray.

“That’s possible too. I really hope he didn’t kill Manny. I don’t want to believe he did. I don’t believe for a minute that Manny had anything to do with drugs either. He could have taken them away from Ricky.” Amanda sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Manny and Stephanie did so much for the kid in only a few months.”

The door opened, and Marc reappeared, tapping at his phone’s screen.

“Geez. Interesting,” he mused.

“What? Did they find Ricky?” Amanda asked.

“Maybe. An anonymous caller reported seeing Ricky in Naco.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll turn himself in.”

“Maybe. If Ricky’s connected to the cartels, the sooner he turns himself in to law enforcement, the better his chances of survival. His family could get caught in the middle.”

“He needs to be found, Marc. The kid isn’t going to slip away from the cartel.” Amanda bit her lip. “He’s got a big bull’s-eye on his back.”

“Everybody’s doing their best,” he responded, reading another message on his phone.

“And you need to go back to work,” Gracie guessed.

Marc shrugged his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. “Honestly, yes. But with Max and …”

“I’ll take Max to the casita so Amanda can get some work done. Don’t worry about me … for the moment,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

“If you’re sure …” Marc hesitated. “I’ll be back before—”

“Go. We’ll be waiting for you.”

The look of relief on Marc’s face was worth the sacrifice of the remainder of the afternoon. Besides, his mind wasn’t on anything other than finding a murder suspect at the moment. That didn’t bode well for any conversations about their personal situations. Why couldn’t life be simple? Why couldn’t her vacation be a vacation instead of a police investigation? Food for thought as she meandered down the pathway to the casita with Max.

A plethora of law enforcement vehicles filled Dominguez Street in the small town of Naco. Border Patrol trucks were the most prominent. A group of agents were crowded around two women inside a wire-fenced yard. A brown pit bull snarled and barked, straining at the heavy chain that kept him from rushing the perceived intruders.

Marc kept an eye on the dog, positioned near the rear entrance of the rundown concrete block home.

A Cochise County deputy spoke rapidly in Spanish to the older Hispanic woman, who kept shaking her head. Marc wished his Spanish was better, but language had never been his forte. Most of the conversation was lost on him. The younger woman twirled a piece of dark hair between her fingers, trying to look unconcerned. Her tapping foot betrayed her nervousness.

The deputy’s stern face turned to the younger woman, and he reverted to English. “And what about you, Chaz, did you see Ricky today?”

“No. Of course not. He’s missing. That’s what we heard. Why would he be here?”

“You know we had a call about him being at your house today. He was seen on the street too. If he’s smart, he’ll let us help him.”

She threw her head back and laughed.

“I’m not stupid, and neither is Ricky. He’s not here. Hasn’t been.” She turned and yelled at the dog, “Shut up, you crazy animal!”

Marc stepped forward. “That’s a good-looking dog. Where’d you get him?

The young woman hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. “I don’t know. He’ll take you down, so don’t mess with him.”

“Wouldn’t think of it. I’m looking for a guard dog. He looks like just the kind I need.”

The deputy scowled. “I have a couple of questions,” he interrupted.

“I’m done talking to you,” the woman snapped. She turned to Marc. “The dog belongs to my brother. He bought him from some guy around town.”

“Does he have any to sell now?”

“How should I know?”

“If you could help me, I’d really like to see if I could buy one. Maybe your brother could call him, or I could see him.” Marc looked appreciatively at the dog and back to the attractive young woman, mustering his friendliest expression.

“He’s working on a car for a friend. He won’t be back until late.” She began twirling her hair again, looking down the street.

“Thanks. Maybe I can catch up with him sometime.” Marc stepped away, still smiling. He gave the deputy a discreet nudge.

The deputy took the hint, following Marc to the street. The Border Patrol agents straggled back to their vehicles.

“Whaddaya think you’re doing, Stevens?” the deputy growled.

“Sorry, Travis, but I’m playing a hunch. Let’s take a walk down this way and see if we can find her brother.”

“Ah … he’s trouble. Probably in Mexico, if I know Ernie Sanchez.”

“Humor me. Maybe Ernie’s working on a car for Ricky, or maybe Ricky’s with him.”

“All right. I’ll go along for a couple of minutes. Can’t hurt, I guess.”

They strode past three more dilapidated houses. The sound of a revving engine to the north caught their attention.

“Back here,” Marc said, jogging ahead of the deputy.

Turning left down an alley, a mobile home came into view, with a dirt yard adorned with scraggly cactus and vehicles in various stages of dismemberment. A beat-up brown sedan with the hood up was parked in the driveway. A man bent over the engine, while another sat in the car.

Deputy Travis Gunderson, a strapping 6’3” of coiled muscle, strode over to the car and pinned the mechanic against the grill when he tried to run. The driver scrambled to exit the passenger side. Marc met him as the door opened, his sidearm drawn on a frightened Hank Ramage.