Dead Red Cadillac, A (18 page)

I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I promised to help you, Autumn, and I will. But you gotta trust me. If what you say is true, sooner or later the police are going to come looking for you, here or in L.A. You might as well do it now. Show the police what a good citizen you are," I said, with a wave of my hand. "Come on, Autumn, let me call my sheriff friend. He'll help you clear your name, so you can get on with your life."

She bit around the side of a thumbnail and swung the foot a little faster. "I guess I could do that. Okay, you kin call him."

I fished around in my bag for my cell phone, but remembered I'd left it plugged into the cigarette lighter. I didn't want her out of my sight, so I said, "Come with me out to my truck, I'll phone from there."

"I gotta go to the bathroom. I get the squirts when I get nervous," she said and bolted for the ladies' room.

Figuring she would be safe for at least three minutes, I headed for my car and the phone.

I punched in Caleb's private cell number and he answered in one ring. I breathlessly told him I was holding onto a very nervous Autumn O'Sullivan, who just might be an accessory to Patience's murder. It was with a great deal of self-satisfaction that I heard the quick intake of breath as he quickly surmised it would be in his best interest to get here. And fast.

I could hardly wait till he got here and then at last, to hear him say my three favorite words—You were right!

The waitress pointed out the ladies' room to me. Pushing open the door, I called her name.

No answer, no toilets flushing and no white heels lined up under a stall.

Why did I think I could hold her? I hadn't been but a minute. Damn, and double damn. There went my credibility. Nothing like a little humility to bring things into perspective.

I hurried out the back door to where the usual assortment of pickups and SUVs were parked. There was only one sedan in the entire lot, and it wasn't a busted up old Chevy. It was a Ford Tempo, automatic, the upholstery jam free, and it was all white. The door was unlocked, so I got in and read the plastic ID tag dangling from the key ring in the ignition. Here was the last good car "rented by a redhead" at the rental agency in town. Now I could see it: Autumn in a white wig tailing me from the library to the judge's house. She said she was an actress, or at least, going to Hollywood to become one, wasn't she? She also could've been the one who tried to run me off the road.

I punched in Caleb's number from inside Autumn's rental, while sticking my other hand into the glove compartment, looking for clues to where she might have disappeared.

"Caleb? Oh, good, you're still there. Um, about Autumn?"

He listened without comment and took the license plate number in case she or someone came back for the car.

"Um, and maybe," I said meekly, "have someone start calling the local motels and see if she checked into any of them? I'll wait out front for you."

I stood out by the curb, feeling foolish that once again I'd let my enthusiasm get ahead of my better sense. She told me she didn't want to stick around, didn't she? This was not the kind of girl to think much beyond her own selfish interests. She'd stayed long enough to be sure that she smeared Garth's reputation and then split for Hollywood. Then I saw it. The motel across the street—she'd run across the street to where she was now tossing her things into a suitcase, thinking about the quickest route to Los Angeles. She probably figured I'd give up and leave. Then she'd come back and retrieve her car, hit Hwy 99, cross over to I-5, and punch it for all it was worth.

Caleb pulled up. I yanked open the passenger door and pointed across the street. "I think she called me from that phone booth and that she's in the motel behind it."

Caleb parked and we jaywalked into the motel office. The day clerk raised his eyebrows at the sheriff's uniform, but confirmed that the "fancy redhead" hadn't left yet. Cautioning us not to break anything, he handed Caleb a key.

We sprinted up the flight of stairs to room 203, where the draperies had been drawn tight.

Caleb pulled his revolver and held out a protective arm. I whispered, "Let me do it. She knows me, she'll let me in."

He nodded, and I knocked. "Autumn? It's Lalla, honey. Can we talk? Open the door, please."

When there was no answer to several more louder knocks, Caleb shook his head and used the key. He opened the door cautiously, and motioning for me to keep up the banter, looked inside. I got around his shoulders and stopped in my tracks. Nothing about the room was out of place—a double bed, sheets turned back on one side, a woman's lacy red panties and bra left on a chair. But there was the thick smell of sweat overlaid with something heavy coming from the bathroom. I instantly identified one of the smells from a childhood memory of a gashed hand on a barbed wire fence. Blood.

Caleb holstered his gun and put a hand on my arm. "Don't go in there, Lalla. Whatever has been done is not going to be pretty."

But I had to see and was irresistibly drawn forward. At the edge of the white tile now dotted with splashes of red, two very small hands, the pink-tipped nails so lively an hour ago, lay folded together in an odd gesture of supplication. I moved closer and let out the breath I was holding. The hands were attached to an even paler, and very dead, Autumn O'Sullivan.

Chapter Nineteen:

Caleb and I retreated to the downstairs parking lot to wait for the team of investigators. It didn't take long. We followed what appeared to be half of Modesto's and Turlock's police departments and the Stanislaus County Coroner, back to the motel room, where it appeared that they had all tried to crowd into the small bathroom. The smell of blood was soon overlaid with more sweat, stale cigarettes and staler cigars.

I stood close to the door, where I could watch the crime scene investigators. The coroner pulled on his latex gloves and, addressing a young assistant holding a recorder close to his face, noted the date, time and location, and began a cryptic dictation: "Deceased stabbed high in thorax area." Lifting up a hand and bending a middle finger, he said, "Rigor mortis has not set in, so death was probably within the last half hour, hour tops."

He moved over to squat close to Autumn's head, and lifting her hair away, pulled out a rag that had lain hidden under the tangled red curls. "Rag is saturated with"—he brought the gray rag to within an inch of his nose and grimaced—"chloroform. God, haven't seen anybody use this in eons."

As he stood up, his knees cracked. "Clothing is intact. No immediate signs of sexual molestation. Les, take a shot from this angle. Danny, hand me that jar, will you?" Then he squatted down again and rested the pink-nailed fingers in one hand, examined each. "One nail is broken. Les, look around for a fake nail, then bag her hands."

That was all I could take. I couldn't watch any more. I knew they were going to examine under her nails for evidence that she fought for her life.

She had been subdued with chloroform and then stabbed. I told the police everything she said; that because they didn't put him in jail he'd find a way to silence her. Now it was too late. He’d killed her. He’d followed her here and murdered her. Then why didn't they turn on their heels and run back to their shiny little cars and go arrest him? What were these people waiting for, a sign from God? Hello—I think we just had one.

Outside, I sat on the concrete stair steps and watched the flow of traffic moving around me in slow motion. CSI folded up shop, leaving the rest to the coroner's crew, who unfolded their body bag for the collapsible gurney. Caleb was standing next to me, talking to another police officer, giving yet another version to the story. I pulled on his pant leg and he squatted down next to my perch on the steps.

"What's going on here?" I asked. "Why aren't the police, the sheriff's department, somebody going there to arrest him?"

"Garth? There's a twenty-four-hour watch on his motor home. That little yellow Pinto of his aunt's hasn't moved from the trailer park."

"Oh. But couldn't he have…?"

"Nope. Which leaves us with Eddy. Unless you have another suspect?"

"Oh, no. Not him again, Caleb. Are you sure Garth is there? I mean did the police actually see him in the motor home? Talk to him personally?"

"They could see him moving around inside. Somebody's talking to him now."

"I thought she was close to breaking, that's why I pushed so hard to get her to talk to you. If I had called you in the first place, if you had picked her up, she'd be alive right now and maybe confessing her involvement with Garth."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, sweetheart. She said no police, right? You did what you thought was right. Too bad she'll never be able to testify."

"I still have her recording."

"What recording?"

I patted the little gizmo on my belt. "That was our agreement. No cops, but I could record our conversation at the pancake house. If what she had to say sounded plausible, I'd take it to the police."

"Oh yeah? Is it something you can play back in the car?" He was considering the proximity of a certain police detective.

"It's digital," I whispered close to his ear. "It'll play anywhere, but your car will be out of earshot."

He turned me away from the dark gray body bag being hoisted onto the gurney, and we hustled down the stairs to his car.

The cruiser door shut out all the street sounds, and I pulled the small voice recorder off my belt. Over pots and pans banging in the background, the dead girl's voice came out of the recorder. I shivered and gritted my teeth. We leaned our heads together, listening to her words.

When it was finished, I sat back. "You said you got a print at Patience's house, and she admitted that the pendant was hers, though she didn't know you found it caught in the car door. So, she must have been trying to double-cross Garth, right?"

"Play that one part back. Yeah, where she talks about hiding in the bushes."

I had to dive back into some bushes when I heard the door opening, and I got to tell you, I got the surprise of my life when I seen him carrying this old lady out of the house.

"Bushes. Lalla, that's the one place I didn't look. Let's get going."

"But you aren't taking me home, are you? Come on, Caleb, not after I gave you the recording?"

"Okay, okay. You can come with me. I guess you've earned it. Besides, I'll need your help to look in the bushes."

"Arm-wrestling thorny bushes. Sounds great," I said, buckling up for the ride. "Glad to see you've finally come to your senses."

He grabbed me by the arm and, shaking me for emphasis, said, "My senses have been trained to expect the worst in people. You, on the other hand, jump blindly into dangerous situations with the worst sort of characters. Your body could be lying with Autumn's back there. Did you think about that?" His voice was rising with each tug of my arm. "You scare me, Lalla. I honestly don't know what to do with you. Tie you up? Put you under protective custody till this is all over? Tell me, what am I going to have to do to keep you safe?"

I jerked away from him to hug the door. "You're overreacting, Caleb. If this is the way you're going to behave, I'm going home." I unbuckled my belt, but I was bluffing. I wanted justice for Autumn as much as he wanted to nail Garth.

His jaw momentarily ground against the futility of this argument, but then I got a bigger surprise when he unbuckled his seat belt and reached over to pull me against his chest.

"Okay, it's okay," he said, rubbing my back and kissing my ear. He'd seen beyond the bluff and bluster, because in the moment it took for him to envelop me in his warm embrace, I was shaking and sobbing. I let out a shuddering breath and put my head in the hollow of his warm neck and let the tears I had been holding inside run all over his nice clean uniform.

He murmured against my ear, "I was so scared, so scared. I couldn't bear to lose you, Lalla. Not when I've just found you again."

I pulled back, sniffing, and, finding a tissue, honked a couple of times. Then I peered into the depths of his eyes. "What do you mean, just found me again? I haven't gone anywhere."

Still holding onto me, he ran a thumbnail lightly over my chin. "The first time I realized what you meant to me, you were gone to New York. Then, when you came back, I thought we could take our time, get to know each other again. But before I could say 'hello, Lalla,' you married Ricky."

"You were already married to Marcy," I added, hiccupping.

His gaze slid over my face and stopped on my slightly open mouth. "Yeah, well, if I had to do it all over again…"

I closed my mouth, then opened it again and said, "I'm not going anyplace, Caleb. And if you want, we can spend the time to explore more with each other than just being friends. But you have to promise me something first."

"I'll consider anything about now."

"Don't shut me out of this investigation. Wait a minute," I said, tightening my hold on him as he started to let go. "You said so yourself, I could be in danger. I promise to tell you everything I find out if you'll keep me in the loop."

He eased out of my grasp and looked down his nose at me. "Why?"

Now, Lalla, tell him now you're worried sick that all of this is going to snake back around to your father. Tell him! But I didn't—I couldn't, not yet. Not until I, or someone, found Patience's murderer and cleared my family.

"Perhaps because my reputation is already ruined? Or because neither Patience nor Autumn deserved to die?"

"Not because you want to see Garth Thorne proven innocent?"

"Hell no!" I said, planting a smacking kiss on his mouth. "Are we square now? Can we go?"

He smiled and touched my cheek. Then he said, "What's black and white and red all over?"

"Caleb Stone, this is no time for riddles!"

He laughed and started the car. "I'm sorry. It just popped into my head, Lalla. And when you played that recording, I remembered. If it's still there."

"What—where are we going?" I said, buckling up before he thought to remind me.

"To Patience's house," he said, as we swept north onto the freeway.

I knew better than to ask any more questions, but I was pleased when he sneaked a glance at me every once in a while and the corner of his mouth tilted up with what could only be described as secret happy thoughts.

We would need to work out the parameters, make sure we didn't completely destroy our friendship, in case this romance thing didn't pan out. Was he the ying to my yang, and I'd just never let myself go that far to consider it? That he was jealous of Garth was evident. For that matter, could I also describe the queasy feeling I got when I saw Darlene lusting after Caleb? Oh yeah, I am well-experienced with that virus and should have been able to diagnose it sooner, except that I'd been too dumb to see it for what it was—jealousy.

He pulled into Patience's driveway and explained. "We were searching the yard for footprints, and the paper guy drove by and tossed the damn thing at us. It landed at my feet and I picked it up, thinking she wasn't going to need it anymore."

"So, why is Sunday's newspaper important?"

"Not Sunday's, Friday's, and if we can find it, I'll tell you why it's important."

The bushes in question were a spiny, densely packed growth of dusty green leaves in a riot of colorful red and pink flowers. Requiring little water in the summer valley heat, their blossoms attracted aphids and dust. In the stifling heat, I stumbled through the dense growth, kicking up dust that mixed with the sweat and pasted my face a muddy brown. I could barely move without raking my face with another aphid-infested branch, so using my hands to push through the bushes, I toed at the dirt around the roots with my shoe. I felt like one of my resident quail, raising more dust than reward—and to think, an hour ago anything besides watching a body of a young woman being loaded onto a gurney sounded like a good idea. Then something solid shifted under my shoe. It was a dusty, faded, still tightly wrapped and rubber-banded newspaper.

I held up the folded paper and edged out of the thorny bushes. "Now tell me what it means," I said, handing it to him.

He shook the paper and rolled off the rubber band. The chewed end of a stubby cigar fell at his feet. He leaned over and picked it up. Holding it by two fingers, he said, "We picked up all the papers from last week until someone finally called the paper and told them not to deliver any more. Know anyone who smokes cigars?"

I knew a couple of old fishing buddies who did, but decided to leave that for some other time. "Garth smokes cigarettes, or at least he did the first time I met him. I haven't seen him smoke since then. One of the detectives? The coroner? They all smelled like either cigarette or cigar smoke." I wasn't about to add that my father was likely to smoke the occasional cigar.

"No one on the case would be so careless around a crime scene."

"It could have been the paper guy. It's in the country, so who's to care if he throws his butts out the window with the paper. So, what's so special about this paper delivery?"

"This newspaper is what wasn't here last Saturday, because Garth ran over it with his motor home. His tire tracks are on the paper. See? He picked it up and threw it into the bushes either going in or out of his aunt's house—Friday, not Sunday morning like he told us."

"So the timing is right to put him here on Friday, and with Autumn's testimony, you're going to arrest him?"

He put his arm around me and led me back to the car. Opening the door, he said, "Sit inside and I'll turn on the AC."

I did as I was told and waited till he turned the AC up to max. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded hanky. "You've got dust on your face." He tilted up my chin, licked a corner of the hanky and gently wiped at the grime. "We were talking about it, Detective Rodney and I, when you interrupted, and since you had that recording of Autumn, we might be able to use it in court. The problem is, Garth has an alibi. I think we got him for killing his aunt, and it's likely Autumn was in on it, but the only one left with cause to get Autumn is Eddy McBride."

"Not Eddy again! Didn't we already agree Eddy was innocent?

"We agreed he's innocent of killing his wife."

"Right. So what would be his motive for killing Autumn?"

"Eddy was following the money, remember? It led to Autumn, didn't it?"

"But Autumn was jilting Garth. She was going to take it all and run." I groaned. "How could Eddy possibly know about all that? Not Eddy. He couldn't have done it."