3 Sin City Hunter (18 page)

“Thanks for telling me, Susan,
”
he said.
“Now that I know you’re not a Carlton W
altham fan, I can tell you that
I can’t stand the man. He
has a way about him that’s
kind
of psycho. It’s more than
a roller coaster ride of nice one minute and out-of-control nutjob the next”

I interrupted and told him, “That’s what I heard at the
hotel. Some of the staff
think he’s kind of psycho, too.”

“Everyone here tends to walk on eggshells around him. Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of one of his rants.” He paused with a look on h
is
face which made
me think
Gregory himself may have been on the receiving end at least once. He continued, “I’m pretty sure som
ething’s going on here, and it involves him
. I don’t know if it’s business or personal, but I saw
Carlton and Gilbert arguing
out
i
n the distribution center more than once. I haven’t been able to find out anything on my own, but I’d bet
money
Gilbert Torres figured out what it was. Do you think Carlton had anything to do with his death?”

I had to force myself to look somewhat shocked at the question and not look guilty as I told the lie, “I don’t have any idea.” I quickly switched the focus of our conversation and said, “Are you going to the funeral this afternoon?’

“Ye
ah
. Do you need a ride?” he asked.

“
No, I think
I already have one, but if it doesn’t pan out, I’ll let you know.” I glanced down at
my notepad as if to signal
I
wanted
to get back to work.

“Ok, see you later,” he said as he left my office.

I mulled over what he had said. It wasn’t much, but it added a little
more
to what I already knew. He had confirmed the personality of Carl as being unstable, and something was going on here at Slimmers
which
probably led to Gilbert Torres’ murder.

I dug my phone out of my purse and called Darby.

He answered on the first ring and said, “Hi, Sunshine, is everything ok?”

“So far so good
,
” I told him. “My morning meeting might run through lunch, so I wanted to call you now. Have you spotted Dudley yet?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen him,” he said.

“Ok,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to ask him about taking me to the funeral, so I eased into it. “I want you to do something for me. Are Mom and Dad staying at the hotel today?”

“I think so. Dad signed up for a poker tournament, and Mom is planning to spend most of her day in the spa. What do you need?” he asked.

“Ask Dad for the car keys and come pick me up at 1:30. I want you to take me to Gilbert Torres’ funeral.”

“Susan, no!” he said firmly, and I could hear the
irritation in his voice. “A funeral puts you out in the open, and we’ve already agreed it’s too dangerous.”

“Darby, I’m not going to argue with you,” I said defiantly. “I’m going to the funeral, and if you don’t come and take me, I’m going to ride with Gregory, and he certainly won’t be watching out for me.”

I could hear him sigh on the other end of the telephone. “Why do you want to g
o? You didn’t even know the man,
”
he said.

“I want to pay my respects to his widow. Plus, I want to see who goes. I want to see if anyone cared about the man. Darby Tapley, I mean it. I’m going.”

He simply said, “I’ll be there at 1:30,” and I heard his phone snap shut.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sometimes I pushed the boundaries of our friendship to the absolute limit, and I could feel the stiffness and tension as Darby kept his arm around me on our trek through the cemetery to the gravesite. To say he was unhappy was an understatement.

Only a few people were in attendance at
the church ser
vice. I could only surmise
there were half a dozen relatives or friends sitting w
ith Mrs. Torres, and there were
only four employees from the office, with Gregory and Betsy Ann being two of them. Darby and I sat behind the Slimmers employees.

The service
was
short
,
with
little being said outside of a few pray
ers. It was incredibly sad
so few people would mourn the loss of the man.

Darby, of course, didn’t want to be outdoors at the cemetery, and had refused to get out of the car in an effort to make me change my mind. “Fine, stay in the car, but I’m going anyway,” I had snapped at him as I opened the door and stepped out. In all fairness to him, I knew I was pushing it by insisting on seeing the funeral through to the end. All of the Slimmers employees had gone back to the office, and only the minister, Mrs. Torres, and another woman were actually at the gravesite. It seemed like a tremendous invasion of privacy to be walking toward them.

Mrs. Torres wasn’t crying, and th
e woman beside her seemed
angry. There was something
unsettling about all of this.

As we stood beside the grave
site
, the minister looked t
o Mrs. Torres for a signal
indicating
she was ready for him to begin. Instead
,
she walked around to me and Darby and said, “Thank you for coming. Did you know Gilbert?”

I felt Darby tighten up even more
,
if that was possible. “Mrs. Torres,” I said, “we’re so sorry for your loss. To be honest, I never met Gilbert. I’m Susan Hunter, and this is my friend, Darby Tapley. I work for Slimmers Weight Loss in Ohio, and I’m here at the corporate offices for the week. When I heard about Mr. Torres, my heart went out to you, and I wanted to meet you in person to pay my respects.”

“
That’s nice of you,” she said
.
“
If you met Gilbert, you wouldn’t like him like everyo
ne else, but I appreciate
you come for me.” She stepped to her previous position beside the other woman and nodde
d to the minister. He said
a few words and proceeded to read the 23rd Psalm. Darby still had his arm around me, and I felt him pull me even closer to him. I lo
oked into his face and saw
he was staring off toward a group of burial vaults. Standing almost out of view between two of the vaults was Dudley! I couldn’t stop a slight audible intake of breath, but I didn’t flinch or move. The pastor concluded the prayer, and Mrs. Torres walked over to us
again
.

“Would you come back to our home? I prepared for more people, but it looks like it wasn’t needed. Maybe you come and have tea and cookies?” Her words had a bit of a pleading tone, and I thought maybe she didn’t want to be alone right now.

If Darby’s mu
scles tightened
any more, he would surely snap in two, but I said, “
We would love to,
Mrs. Torres. Thank you.”

She wrote her address and a few quick directions on a piece of paper in case we were separated, but she suggested it would be easiest if we simply followed her. We turned to walk toward the road where our two cars were parked and noticed a third car now parked along the road – a black Lexus.

The muscles in Darby’s neck were bulging, and I was sure I heard a swear word under his breath when a man stepped out of the car, and I whispered, “That’s Carl.” Darby propelled me to the Chevelle as Carl walked toward Mrs. Torres and handed something to her. We jumped into
the
car and locked the doors.

“Susan Hunter, I can’t believe the position you put yourself in just now. Did you see Dudley? And now Carl is here?” His voice was strained, and I knew he was frustrated wi
th me as well as being
frightened.

I didn’t want to be mad at Darby, and I didn’t want to get into a shouting match with him. I looked at him with sadness and said softly, “I feel so sorry for her. No o
ne liked her husband, and he might
have even made her life miserable. I can’t explain it, but when I think about losing anyone in my l
ife who
I love,
it
cuts so deeply into my heart. She surely must be in some pain with no one to be here for her.”

He wasn
’t happy, but I could tell
he was done yelling. “I’ll take you,” he said, “but we’re only staying for a few minutes.”

I no
dded, and we saw
Mrs. Torres
get
into the passenger side of the car behind ours. Carl was driving off in the opposite direction, and a quick
glance around the
cemetery showed no sign of Dudley. Darby seemed to relax a
little
.

It
was only
a few minutes before we
were pulling
up in front of a small, tan, stucco home with white shutters. Mrs. Torres stepped out of the vehicle, and the other woman promptly drove off. It was down to the three of us.

We were ushered into a small, dark living room. Mrs. Torres quickly moved around the room
,
opening the blinds to allow the afternoon sunlight to flow in through the western facing windows. She motioned for us to take a seat on the sofa, and she quickly went to the kitchen. We could hear
the running water as she filled a kettle f
or tea. I looked around the room and was s
urprised to see
the fur
nishings in the room were
expensive. It was crowded, but there was a plasma television, a high-end entertainment system, and the furniture we were sitting on was definitely expensive. But the room felt cold as there were no personal touches - no knickknacks from vacations and no personal pictures. It lacked a homey feel.

I stood up, walked to the kitchen, and stuck my head through the doorway. “May I help you, Mrs. Torres?” I asked.

“Thank you, Susan
,” she said
.
“
T
ake
the cookies into the living room.” She pointed to two trays of gourmet-style cookies on the counter.

I noticed
the kitchen was a state-of-the art kitchen with all stainless appliances and marble countertops. The flooring looked to be an expensive traverti
ne
. It was obvious
a tremendous amount of money had been spent in furnishing and remodeling the interior of the ho
m
e.

After bringing out the cookies and placing them on the coffee table, Mrs. Torres followed with the tea
,
and we sat down.

“Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Torres,” I said to her with sincerity. I felt better sitting here with her. I couldn’t imagine being alone at a time like this.

“Call me Anna,” she
said to both of us with a
smile.

I returned her smile and placed
two
of
the
cookies on
my plate. She didn’t appear to be grieving
at the moment. She was smiling and obviously enjoying the small tea party. I presumed her to be in her mid-50s. She was slightly plump, nicely dressed in black slacks and a dark
,
patterned blouse. Her thick
,
black hair was long with prominent g
ray streaks running throughout, and
she had it pulled back at the nape of her neck.

“I appreciate you come and spend time with me
,” she said
.
“
N
o one cared
Gilbert died. I ask God for forgiveness
because
I’m relieved, and t
he house
is
quiet
a few days.”

I felt Darby stiffen beside me again. It did seem like such a harsh thing to say.

Anna Torres proceeded to tell us her story with little emotion. “Gilbert and I are legal immigrants. Our families come here from Mexico over 30 years ago. Our marriage was arranged, but we don’t fuss. We know each other for a long time, and we were friends. We were poor, but we were happy, and the first few years of marriage were good. I thought we would start a family, but Gilbert started to get into trouble with bad people in the city. He started drugs and drinking alcohol and even did some time in jail for stealing. When Slimmers opened the offices, he was hired as a janitor and did better. He quit the drugs and don’t drink as much. But he was meaner, angry, and making enemies. He beat me for a while, but when I told him I would leave, he stopped. He never hit me again, but his words were still ugly. He started gambling. He worked afternoons and stopped coming home at midnight. He
say he
went to the casinos
instead
. He would come home with cash. I was too afraid to ask about it, but for the last two years he won every day. He fixed up the house and started buying things. We have nice things, but never enjoy them. And I find out there is no money in the bank. None. He give me money for groceries and pay bills, but he was secret about the rest of the money. He spent
it all
. There is no life insurance, and he left nothing.”