A DEAD RED MIRACLE: #5 in the Dead Red Mystery Series (11 page)

I nodded and wobbled to my feet. Hanging onto the edge of the couch I said, "Damian, can I talk to you outside, please?"

Closing the door behind me, I pushed a finger into his chest and promptly felt dizzy.

Damian grabbed me by the shoulder. "You okay?"

"I will be. As soon as I kick your butt." But still a bit woozy, my words sort of lost their punch.

"You should thank me," he said. "I know the pizza guy from the gym. He's also a friend of Joey's. I got in there and cuffed Joey before he could warn him."

"You used my cuffs? He could get a lawyer and have you arrested for illegal restraint."

"Uncle Ian says I can do a private citizen's arrest anytime I want. Besides, you're not legal either and Joey is all set to talk. All you gotta do is ask him."

My head hurt and I smelled like pepperoni pizza, but other than that I was fine and considering that Joey was tied to a chair, he seemed to be completely relaxed.

"You have to uncuff him, Damian. We're not here to arrest him; we're here to give him the good news about his former boss."

"I did that already," he said. "I told him everything; that you knew Joey got a bum deal when he was sent to prison and that you needed his testimony against Wade Hamilton. Do I still get pizza?"

Okay, so it hadn't gone exactly as planned and Damian was still a pain in the ass but I got what I came for, didn't I?

"Sure," I said. "I'll pick you up a whole one on the way home."

.

Chapter Sixteen:

Damian's pizza was half eaten before I dropped him at his uncle's house. I congratulated Ian on his nephew's sleuthing abilities, didn't mention the kid tackling me in the parking lot or that he'd stolen my cuffs to use on Joey Green.

On the way home, I called Pearlie, gave her the update and reassuring her that I still had her taser, I went back to reading street signs; Apache, Navajo, Yaqui, Cochise and even a Geronimo. Damian's middle name and his nickname at the gym was Geronimo. His uncle Ian named one of his champion quarter horses Geronimo. What was it about the name Geronimo that made me think I was missing something?

Was that what the old Apache yelled when he leaped to his death? Now, that would make sense; WW II Rangers yelled Geronimo when they jumped out of airplanes, didn't they? But somehow, I thought it was three words, but what? I shook off this latest round of obsessive behavior and aimed my Jeep for home.

Happy to see Caleb's SUV parked next to our house, I pounded some of the dust from my boots onto the welcome mat and opened the front door. "Helloooo," I called. "I’m home!"

He was on the patio, stretched out on a chaise lounge. He turned at the sound of my voice and held up his empty glass.

I grabbed the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge, a glass for me, nudged open the French doors and set the icy pitcher onto a small table between the two chaise lounges. With a deep sigh, I looked down before sitting and saw that Hoover had claimed my spot.

Caleb laughed and swatted at the dog. "Go lay down on your own bed, you mutt."

"I presume you're talking to Hoover, not me, right?"

He grinned. "Unless you've changed your name when I wasn't looking."

I refilled his iced tea leaned back and tried to relax. "You're home early."

"I have some news," he said, sitting up.

My earlier good mood evaporated. "Bad news, I suppose?"

"No, no. I’m pleased to say that Andy Sokolov's tenure as child molester was a huge overstatement. He was fifteen and babysitting a seven-year-old terror. When he'd had enough of her shenanigans, he put her over his knee and spanked her bottom."

"Well that doesn't sound so awful, but I suppose the parents reported him."

"He got a court ordered psychologist and probation."

"I’m glad to hear it. I know how much you like and respect Andy. Wait a minute. Caleb, if he was under eighteen, his record would've been sealed. How did you get this information?"

"I asked him."

"Oh, Caleb! You know we aren't supposed to let any of Ian's suspects know we were looking at them."

"I'll get to that in a minute. The other news is that Wade Hamilton's twenty-foot fishing boat was found abandoned at Patagonia Lake today. The park ranger wasn't surprised to see the boat on the water, but all day without moving from the same spot got him worried. Wade's truck is there with a day use permit stamped for day before yesterday. Except for an empty whiskey bottle in the bottom of the boat, there was no sign of him."

"Don't they usually check the day use tickets at the end of the day?" I asked.

"The ranger on duty for the last couple of days has been reprimanded."

"So, where is he?" I asked.

"Santa Cruz County Search and Rescue sent their scuba team to scour the bottom. As soon as Ian Tom found out it was Wade's boat, he called me. I've been out at the lake most of today, but so far," Caleb said, looking at his watch, "no one has called to say they've found him."

"Why did you tell Andy he was on the list?"

"It just didn't seem fair to Andy, so I asked. He confirmed his alibi with a printed itinerary. Twenty people can vouch for his whereabouts during the hours someone killed Ron Barbour."

I wasn't happy about it, but if Caleb's trust in his best friend took a turn for the worse, no one would be quicker to make it right than my husband.

I mentally cringed. I'd just scolded Caleb for letting one of Ian's suspects in on our case, when Damian's inept attempt to corner Joey Green may have had something to do with Wade's disappearance. I would have to accept some of the responsibility, but since I'd promised not to withhold anything from him, I told him about Damian and finding Joey Green.

Caleb looked shocked at the notion that I should trust the kid. "Damian broke into your office again and you reward him with a job?"

"We're short-handed," I said, waving my hands around in the air. "It was either recruit him or he'd continue being a nuisance. It's Wade's ex-bookkeeper that's the holdout."

"Why?"

"She's terrified of him."

"What does he have on her?"

"His culpability in the burglaries with Joey Green. But when she tried to tell someone in law enforcement, they told Wade. Wade fired her and has continued to threaten her with annual reminders in the form of sympathy cards sent to her home. She won't talk because she doesn't trust anyone."

"Is she sure it was an officer of the law? Lalla, we haven't had a problem in the department since Abel Dick and that was the first incident with Cochise County's law enforcement in twenty years."

Deputy Abel Dick had been sucked into a murderous scheme to defraud landowners of their property as well as covering up a murder. Unfortunately, his redemption came too late.

I hopped off the chaise and paced the length of the patio. "Wade's bookkeeper didn't actually say who it was, only that it was someone she thought she could trust. I assumed it was a cop or a deputy. Maybe a lawyer?"

"Did you get a sense that she'd talk if she knew Wade is missing?" Caleb asked.

I looked at my watch. "Suzi and Emily usually work until seven."

He sucked down the last of his iced tea. "Suzi's shop is in Wishbone, right? Let me put Hoover in the house with his supper and I'll join you in the Jeep."

<><><><><>

On the way to see Emily, I got an earful from Caleb about Damian. "He's too young, too foolish. You can't trust him not to take matters in his own hands."

"Damian is willful," I said, "but he's right about one thing; the sheriff's department won't reopen his father's case without proof and he's determined to get it."

Caleb hummed, but otherwise didn't offer any more opinions for the fifteen-minute ride to Suzi's.

Turning off the engine, he said, "Ready?"

"Yes," I said.

I let Caleb, as police chief, break the news to her that Wade was missing and presumed dead.

Grabbing a Kleenex out of the box on the counter, she blew her nose and with a trembling smile, said, "Sorry. It's just after all these years…. You really think he could be dead, Chief Stone?"

"Or, he's slipped across the border into Mexico," Caleb said. "Either way, I doubt you have to worry about Wade Hamilton bothering you again."

She huffed out a bitter laugh. "And there I was wondering why I hadn't gotten an anniversary card from him."

"Has he tried to get in touch with you recently, Emily?" I asked.

"No and I thought it odd, because I'm always a wreck about now wondering what spiteful trick he'll use this year. But if he's dead… "

"I have more good news. Even if he is found alive, Joey Green is now willing to testify against him."

"I can't believe it. I'm free. Oh God, I can't wait to tell Henry."

"Are you now willing to tell us who it was you confided in about Wade Hamilton?" Caleb asked.

"I'm glad to finally be able to talk about it," she said, looking directly at me. "It was Ron Barbour. He convinced me that he was working with the police on the theft ring."

"I'm so sorry, Emily," I said, chagrined that the woman thought I might be part of Ron's deceit. "I had no idea, but then the last few days have been a real eye-opener on my former business partner's bad behavior."

At my words the lines around her mouth visibly relaxed. "You too, huh?"

"We'll talk about it someday, but for now is there anything else you'd like to share about Wade?"

"One other thing," she said. "I saw the hefty check Wade made out to Joey's mom. I don't know if you'll be able to prove it, but I think it was in exchange for Joey's silence on Wade's participation in the theft of those cars."

"Thank you for your time, Emily. I'll have a detective get in touch with you later today," Caleb said.

In the car again, Caleb pried apart my fisted hands. "Hungry?"

"Not really. I guess we have to add snitch to the growing list of reprehensible behavior for Ron Barbour."

"You'll feel better after you eat," he said, putting the Jeep in gear and heading up Tombstone Canyon Road to Screaming Banshee's Pizza. Being close to the county courthouse, it was also his favorite place for lunch when he had to go to court.

Nik was leaning over the bar, working on a new menu with the owner. When she saw me, she rounded the bar to give me one of her fearfully strong hugs. "Baby girl! Where you been?"

Since Nik topped my five-foot-ten by two inches she could call me baby girl and give me huge hugs anytime she wanted.

"Oh, an' look who you brought. How you doin', Chief Stone?" she asked, playfully punching him on the arm. "I haven't seen you in a couple of days."

Caleb smiled politely and managed not to rub his shoulder until Nik excused herself for work.

"That woman packs a mean punch," he said, rubbing the spot.

I laughed at him, feeling somewhat better about this case since giving Emily the news that she was forever free of Wade Hamilton.

We found a seat outside and when we ordered, Caleb said, "I almost forgot, Ian Tom got a judge to allow wire taps on the three suspects'."

"In case Wade is still alive and decides to call home?"

"It could happen, you know."

"What about Jesse Jefferson?"

Caleb looked away. "I tried, but Ian won't make an exception for Jesse just because he's our favorite pastor."

"If he's wrong, his career as county sheriff could be on the line," I said.

"Censured, reprimanded, or just not win his next election," Caleb said. He was reminding me that the job of county sheriff was an elected law enforcement position and maybe the reason why Ian Tom gave us the dubious honor of investigating three respectable men.

Unable to come up with a solution to this problem we gave ourselves over to enjoying the food and the evening's entertainment. Tonight, Becky and her partner played a few tunes. Becky had a wonderful singing voice and Caleb and I leaned back, ordered another round of beer and left thoughts of criminals behind us for the rest of the evening.

.

Chapter Seventeen:

The next morning I met Pearlie at the office with breakfast sandwiches and plenty of good coffee.

"Oh, thank God! I'm starved," she said, grabbing a sandwich. "How'd it go last night? Joey give you any trouble, or did he fold like a weak card in a high stakes poker game?"

I smiled at my cousin's reference to poker. "Joey folded easily enough. He's agreed to spill everything he knows about Wade Hamilton. Oh, and his mother came through with the check. Did the insurance company pay us yet?"

"Yes," she said. "And with the check you got last night, we can pay our bills until the end of the month. Mentioning insurance companies, Detective Hutton called. Good job on getting Wade's bookkeeper to crack. The detective figures the insurance fraud alone will get Wade a one way ticket to prison."

"If he's alive."

"Detective Hutton said the divers were called off yesterday. Wade Hamilton better be dead," she said, "'cause if he ain't, I'm gonna want a piece out of his hide for killing Ron."

"You'd rather have Ron back?" I asked. "You do get that the man has ruined our livelihood, don't you?"

"Not yet, he hasn't and we still have his funeral to attend. Just a minute," she said, picking up the newspaper. "Lemme find the notice."

"With the way things're going," I said. "Maybe we should skip his funeral. What if we run into his exes?"

"We'll sit in the back and make a quick exit," she said, scanning the list for Ron's funeral.

After this weekend, we could expect to get a notice from an attorney representing the two ex-wives, along with a phone call or a registered letter telling us that Ron's P.I. license had been revoked. Squeezed out of business by the state and Ron's two ex-wives expecting the balance of our contract made for a pretty grim looking future. I counted on my fingers—today was Thursday. We had Friday and the weekend. Thank God government offices were closed on the weekends. We had less than a week to solve Ron's murder, resolve Damian's case, collect the money his mother owed us and prostrate ourselves before the State Board and beg for our license. I felt dizzy just thinking about it.

Pearlie slapped a hand on the folded out newspaper. "Well, well, well. Guess we're going to Ron's funeral after all."

I looked up. "Huh?"

"You'll never guess where the funeral is going to be held today―Pastor Jefferson's church in Wishbone."

"I doubt Ron ever saw the inside of any church, much less Jesse's," I said, "but one of his family members could've requested it."

"You know the pastor?"

"Caleb and I attend Christmas and Easter Sunday services there and I have to say that they're wonderful. He's got a terrific choir, his sermons are upbeat, and he's managed to attract and keep a mixed race congregation."

"Charismatic, huh?" she asked. "Or working on redemption because he shot a man in the back?"

Pearlie and I had gone around and around on Ian's addition of the pastor as a suspect. Money problems was all Ian would say, but we couldn’t find anything. Not in the files Caleb gave us on Jesse's finances, or anything negative from his parishioners. Everyone liked Jesse, me included. Still, it lay like an overcooked egg and it was beginning to smell bad.

"I don't know," I said. "He preaches the gospel, jokes with the kids, does couples counseling and makes time for anyone who asks for help."

Pearlie closed the newspaper. "We're going to Ron's funeral, but just in case there's trouble, leave your police chief husband at home."

"What about my dad? He always enjoys a good funeral."And the receptions and the free food and the lonely widows―though lately he seemed to have his hands full dodging the B&B owner trying to corral him into marrying her.

"How fast can he run?" she asked, tipping her head in question.

"Seriously?"

"His two ex-wives will be all over us like stink on a hound dog. Whadya think they're going to say when we tell 'em we're broke?"

"Okay, no dad, no Caleb―got it."

We would sit in the back so we'd be the first ones out of the door. Then we'd drift over to our car where we'd discreetly photograph the attendees and make a quick getaway before Ron's ex-wives saw us. That was the plan anyway.

<><><><><>

I had enough time to go home, feed Hoover, answer a couple of phone calls and call Caleb to tell him where I was going this morning.

"You don't want to go, do you?" I asked, hoping he was too busy to attend Ron's funeral.

"No thanks," he said with a laugh. "One member of this family associated with Ron Barbour should be enough. Say hi to Detective Hutton for me. Oh, and please be careful."

"Careful? Yeah sure," I said, but keeping my voice steady and confident wasn't so easy. "Ron's two crazy ex-wives will be gunning for us. Why on earth would any man in his right mind marry and divorce one woman only to then marry her sister? Velma and Zelma. Shoot, even their names sound like trouble."

"I was thinking more in the line of news people," he said with a smile. "They'll be after you for a story. You two being his
employees
."

"Thanks for the reminder, but we're going to sit in the back and do that low profile thing Ian keeps talking about."

Ron just had to let everyone think he paid us to work for him. What a couple of chumps we turned out to be.

Caleb chuckled and just before he hung up said, "Oh, you'll want to hear this; Ron Barbour's autopsy said he was struck by a blunt instrument on the back of his head, but died from smoke inhalation. Call me after the funeral and tell me if anything interesting happens."

I was about to leave when my dad drove up and tooted his horn.

"Hi Dad," I said, pulling up next to his driver's side window. "Are you going to the mine?"

"I'm taking Rafe and his cousins their lunch. Those boys're making good progress clearing out all that rock from the mine."

"Do your miner friends have any more ideas on who did it?" I asked.

Something passed across my dad's eyes. He cut the engine on his Jeep and got out to lean on my open window. "Nothing concrete, but…."

"Spit it out Dad, I've got a funeral to go to."

"Ron Barbour's, huh? You sure you want to do that? Seems to me he had more enemies than friends."

I was running late, but if my father was working up to something, I needed to pay attention. "Go on," I said, turning off the motor. "Tell me what's on your mind."

He fidgeted for a minute, then said, "You know I think the world of Caleb, respect his abilities as a lawman to no end and I wouldn't want you to think anything bad about his opinions, 'cause we've all got 'em…."

"Yes, yes and he's as perfect in every way, as you've told me about a thousand times, so what is it this time?"

"I just wanted to remind you that I once thought my good friend Burdell Smith wouldn't abuse our thirty-year friendship. Yet, he used me to settle his debt with the Feds and that one lie let loose a whole passel of trouble on our family."

Burdell Smith owed the IRS big time and thought if he took that deal with the feds, nobody was going to get hurt. He lied to me about a pilot's credentials, which got him killed and led a vicious Las Vegas hit man to our doorstep.

"You think Andy Sokolov lied to Caleb?" I asked.

Dad pulled on his ear, a sure sign that what he had to tell me could be up for interpretation. "Well now, that's where it gets complicated. You know my friend, Gabby Hayes. She says Andy's father was a miner."

"Where're you going with this Dad?"

"Andy's dad was a blaster too, taught his son everything he knew about charges and non-els."

"So Andy knew how to use explosives and conduits. My God, Dad, what would be his motive?"

"You're going to have to decide that for yourself, but Gabby's best friend was a social worker for the county. The friend told Gabby there was a woman who tried to get social services to investigate Andy Sokolov for sexually abusing her fifteen-year-old daughter."

"But no charges? Were they dropped? How long ago did this happen?"

"All's she said was that the woman moved to Tucson and no charges were ever filed."

It wasn't much of a lead, but I wasn't about to discredit it. Not since Ian put sexual abuse next to Andy Sokolov's name. "Have you got anything else? A name?"

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and, as if reluctant to hand off more trouble to me, released it into my open palm. "Margaret Painter is her name and this is her phone number. Gabby said to tell you that she's expecting your phone call."

<><><><><>

I met Pearlie at the office and on the way to Ron's funeral, told her about a possible lead I wanted to follow up on Andy Sokolov.

"That could be dicey," Pearlie said. "You want me to interview her?"

Pearlie had had her own dealings with sexual abuse and though I didn't doubt intentions, I thought I might be more objective. "The woman is expecting me, but thanks."

"When are you going to see her?" she asked.

"Sometime this afternoon," I said, looking at my watch.

She flopped down into her chair, shuffled through the newspaper and held up the front page for me to see. "What the hell is this?"

The front page of the Sierra Vista Herald said,
New break in the Miracle Faith Church Shootout
with a picture of deputies around Wade's abandoned fishing boat.

"Come on, Pearlie, what's the first rule of any investigator? Turn up the heat on possible suspects with subterfuge and misdirection. "

"All it says is that the sheriff's department is close to solving an old murder. But they aren't, are they?"

"Not any more than they were yesterday, "I said. "With Wade Hamilton presumed dead and Ron Barbour murdered, Sheriff Tom got a judge to sign for a wiretap on all three suspects."

"That's good news, but I don't suppose Ian will tell us anything."

"Caleb will," I said. I'd been good on my promise to share with him, so he'd better.

<><><><><>

We accepted the folded program from a deacon and entered the sanctuary. The church wasn't exactly packed, but then I didn't expect Ron had many friends. His two ex-wives and four teenage children sat in the front row. About twenty people were sprinkled here and there, but not close enough so that one could hold any kind of conversation.

Sierra Vista homicide detective Brock Hutton passed by, nodded and kept going up the aisle until he found an empty pew. I didn't want to talk to him either. If he was here, it meant he didn't have a suspect in custody. Good. We still had a chance to find Ron's killer before he did.

Seeing there was no flower covered coffin, I assumed that the widows wasted no time in getting Ron cremated.

I recognized a couple of our clients. They must have thought enough of our former boss to show up. Or they just wanted to make sure he was dead. Either way, here were readymade clients and a golden opportunity. I nudged Pearlie. "Did you bring your business cards?"

Her head was on her chest, her program open in her lap and there was that telltale sound of snoring. "What's the point of being here if you can't stay awake?"

"Don’t fuss," she muttered, moving around on the hard bench for a more comfortable position. "I had a long night."

"Doing what—or should I say, whom?"

I don't know how many times we'd both done all-night surveillance, taking turns getting a little shut-eye when and where we could. But since Detective Hutton came up in the conversation this morning, my guess is that’s where she was until the wee hours of the morning. Yep. There she went again. Eyes closed, head dropped onto her chest and a kind of whirring sound that was definitely a Pearlie snore. I let her snooze. We could speak to the clients after the service.

Pastor Jefferson reminded us that we are all sinners and that Jesus forgives. Dang it. And here I was hoping Ron was somewhere hot and miserable, the rat-bastard. He had left us with not one, but two murders to solve, and our future careers as legitimate P.I.'s seriously in jeopardy.

The pastor's sermon ended, a hymn was sung, and Pearlie woke up with a snort.

"Oh good, you're awake. Let's go," I said, nudging her to get a move on.

We waited in the shade of a big old oak tree, holding our cameras at waist height and shooting pictures of the mourners stumbling out of the sanctuary and into the bright sunlight. Detective Hutton blinked at us, hesitated, stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered in the opposite direction. Ah. I was right. I would've ribbed her about it, but two of Ron's former clients were coming our way.

"You got your business cards?" I asked Pearlie. "Good. There's Jameson Insurance from Tucson. Get us a meeting with his boss next week. I'll take the one from Sierra Vista."

"I thought we were here to look for suspects?"

I hesitated. Possible suspects against future business? "Wade Hamilton and Andy Sokolov are no shows and we need the business. I'll meet you at the car."