Five O’Clock Shadow (6 page)

It was thoughtful of him to leave. She really did need to compose herself, disperse the wad of anger that constricted her chest and threatened to explode. She needed to think. How could this be happening? How could any of this be true? Wasn't she dreaming? But no, there were the wills. Hers and His, not to mention the prenup. Truly incriminating documents. And nothing about children. But, of course, there never were going to be children. Any produced by the two of them. All the talk. Some kind of game—a game turned deadly. Yet the family lawyer knew about the vasectomy and had assumed
because Randy had looked into it
that they were going to adopt.

She grasped the arms of the chair and pushed, steadied herself, and after a deep breath, stood and walked to a window facing Indian School Boulevard. She adjusted the forest green designer blinds and gazed out at traffic. Life was continuing. Cars stopped, started, as lights turned green. A feathery dusting of snow was sticking to the sides of the street. The world was in order. It was just her life that was chaos. She placed her hands flat against the cold pane of glass and felt the chill travel up her arms. Better. It seemed to remind her that she was alive. She turned when she heard the door.

“You look much better.” Sam sounded relieved. “If you're up to it, let's put the will aside and talk a bit about the prospectus you mentioned on the phone. How does that sound?” He stood beside her now, and reached out to put his arm around her shoulders. Fatherly. Not insistent, just supportive. Men always assumed that she needed them. Needed to lean on them. And didn't she? The answer surprised her, almost brought a smile to her lips—because maybe, just maybe, she
didn't
need them anymore. Maybe she'd found some reserve, some stockpile of strength that was beginning to obliterate those old feelings of dependency.

***

“I thought it was important that you knew that we believed you.” The detective had stood in line for two coffees, one cream, and now put a steaming, multi-hued mug in front of her. He was the young one, the one who had eyed her legs and seemed sympathetic, the cute one. She'd only known him by his first name, Antonio, which he quickly insisted be Tony when he'd called to suggest coffee and then added that his last name was Ramiriz.

She'd suggested the Park Square coffee shop since she'd be coming from Mather's law firm across the street. And the place always lifted her spirits, Santa Fe style sporting handcarved wooden tables and chairs and giant stuffed green cloth cacti with plastic spines. A tube of fuchsia neon light outlined the cash register. The place was bright and cheerful and warm, just what she needed. It had been a good choice.

She had nabbed a table by the window and watched people turn up their coat collars or adjust scarves as they met an icy blast after coming out of the warm shops that ringed Park Square Plaza. Christmas shopping? Could that be? It wasn't quite Thanksgiving. But all those packages could only mean….

“I went back to the area off the Alameda bridge, where it happened.” He sank into a chair opposite and emptied three packets of Equal into his cup before continuing. “I really think you saw a kid.” His spoon clinked against the mug's sides.

“The child in the white tee shirt,” Pauly said. He had all of her attention now. “Why the change of heart?”

Tony looked a little sheepish. “It wasn't that we…uh, I… didn't believe you at first, but it's a piece that doesn't make sense. So I went back and found drag marks on a sandbar about a hundred and fifty feet to the west, but out of your view. And I found this. There's no way of knowing, but it's possible that it belonged to this child.”

He reached into a sack beside his chair and brought out a much bedraggled, small teddy bear. Quite fine in its day but now ragged, missing an eye, fur clumped with mud. Forever frozen in a sitting position, it measured no more than five inches high.

“And we found a jacket. I need you to identify it as your husband's. I believe you said the child was wearing his jean jacket?” He paused at Pauly's nod. “This was found across from where the gondola went down on the opposite side of the river and back a ways in the trees.”

He moved his coffee mug to one side and spread a jean jacket across the table. It was Randy's, with two shiny balloon pins still stuck in the collar. Pauly reached out to touch it and blinked back the tears that felt warm at the corners of her eyes.

“It's his.” She couldn't say any more in the midst of the rush of memories, happy memories before she knew any better about her marriage. But Tony didn't seem to expect anything. Just jotted down something on his notepad and put the jacket back in the bag under the table.

“This little guy has been through the wars.” Pauly picked up the bear. Anything to change the subject. Stop thinking about the jacket and the day it was lost. She turned the bear over and over in her hands and noticed that the fur on one paw looked plucked. The felt backing was smooth and hairless. It had probably found its way into a child's mouth at nap time on more than one occasion.

“The pilot definitely set that balloon down,” the detective continued. “And could have taken on a passenger. There was enough disturbance in the sand to indicate a scuffle or maybe someone stepping out…hard to say. And no indication that it was a forced landing. You didn't report that the pilot appeared to be having any trouble.” He paused to look at her.

She shook her head. Weren't there pictures to show an exuberant Randy leaning over the basket while the balloon drifted slowly towards her? No, everything seemed normal until the shot.

“I'm not accusing. I don't believe that they were having difficulties. Just—”

“Your training. Part of the job. I remember.” But she smiled. She was pleased that the detective, that Tony had called. She found herself enjoying being with him. He was attentive and eager to reassure her, prove that he believed her. And the teddy bear was sweet. It kept her from thinking she'd lost her mind, fabricated the child in some shock-induced stupor.

“Do you have any idea why they would have picked up a child?”

“None. It's a puzzle. Could be, the kid was stranded or running from something, in some kind of trouble. They swooped down out of the sky and saved him.” Was he making fun? Sort of, Pauly decided, and grinned back.

“Something for the caped avengers?” It felt good to joke, then, serious again, she added, “Tell me about Mesa Landings. I'm sure you've talked to the owner of the balloon and the people who crewed that morning.”

“They're as baffled as we are. The pilot was new, hadn't worked with them long, a month, I think. But he was qualified. Member of the family with no history of problems. Left a wife and two children.”

Pauly started. She'd been so wrapped up in her own problems that she hadn't thought to inquire. The pilot. Hers hadn't been the only loss. She suddenly felt terribly guilty. Terribly self-centered. Maybe she could find out if the children would be taken care of. Their education. Shouldn't she be doing something good with her money?

“And there's another thing.” The detective seemed to be stirring his coffee overly long, Pauly thought. “When things like this happen, we put feelers out, try to scare up someone who might know something. Street-news, so to speak.” The coffee was swirling around and around even with the spoon out. He looked up to make eye contact. “The firm where your husband worked has hired a PI. Word has it that they're investigating you.”

“Me?” Had she heard correctly? Archer and Tom were investigating her? “Do you know that for sure?”

“Fairly reliable source. Of course, it could just be routine. Unusual circumstances. New partner.”

How did he know that? Was he fishing? Or did the informant also know that she had decided to join the firm? Had just picked up the prospectus, would hand-deliver it later that morning?

“What do you think all this means?” She was interested in the answer. Would he be truthful with her? Better yet, would she be able to tell?

Tony shrugged. “Hard to say. Could be routine, like I said, or could be they have reason to suspect something.”

“What?” She was on guard but held eye contact.

“Believe me, I wish I knew.” He looked down at the table and fiddled with a paper napkin. “I shouldn't be telling you this. I think you know that.”

“I appreciate the warning. Do you have any idea who this PI is? What he looks like?”

“Not from around here. He's an import, supposed to be the type that only big bucks can buy you. Whatever that means.”

“But no name or face?”

“I'll try to come up with one.”

“But for now there's nothing to give me a clue as to who might be following me.” She heard the irritation in her voice.

“Has someone been following you?” He looked up quickly.

“Not that I know of,” she admitted sheepishly. “I haven't really been paying attention.”

“Want some free advice? Pay attention. There's a lot of money involved. Someone's going to want to protect their investment. Am I making myself clear?”

She nodded. Too clear. In addition to false wills, and lies from the man she had married, she now had to look over her shoulder. For a moment she hated her life. Hated what it had become, some travesty of deceit.

“I hope I don't have to tell you to call me if anything happens. Anything at all that you think is unusual.”

She looked at him. “I don't know if I could tell anymore. The unusual has become the usual, it seems.” And wondered to herself if she should share the contents of the will? Randy's deceit about the vasectomy. The appearance of
her
will, one she'd never signed, not to mention the prenuptial agreement. But that pointed a finger at Randy and she realized with a start that she couldn't bear to think she'd been duped, married to someone who wasn't quite what he pretended. Could she have been that stupid? Hadn't finding his killer really become finding out that she hadn't been taken? That somehow all of this was just a colossal mistake?

“Well, let's stay in touch.” Tony handed her one of his cards, then rose to go. “I'll give you a call later in the week, maybe we can get together.” He stood there expectantly, all boyish anticipation. She didn't want to encourage him, but then again, it wouldn't hurt to have an ally, a really cute one.

“I'd like that.” Her smile was sincere.

He paused by her chair long enough to say, “hang in there” and add that he was sorry but he had to take the jacket with him. She nodded and felt relieved. She wasn't up to worrying about what to do with articles of clothing. There was a storage bin filled with personal effects that needed her attention, someday, not now.

Tony pushed a dark blue cap over his thick almost-black curly hair. APD stood out in yellow embroidery on a crest above the bill. Tony Ramiriz was one of those young hunks who looked good in uniform and took his work seriously, she decided, and that was comforting. Maybe she should stay in touch. He waved from the door, and she watched him drive away, then propped the teddy bear against his empty coffee cup and wished with all her heart that it could talk.

But since the bear couldn't give any answers, maybe she could go scare some up. She borrowed a phone book from alongside the cash register and searched for an address for Mesa Landings. It couldn't hurt to visit. She felt a need to offer her condolences, see if there was anything she could do for the children.

***

There were two pickups parked in front of the quonset-hut shaped metal building on Jefferson Street. One was the three-quarter-ton, extended cab, tan Ford that had been on the mesa that morning. Pauly pushed open the front door and stepped into a twelve-by-twenty room that had been partitioned off from at least eight hundred square feet of work area in back. It was obvious that they repaired balloons and gondolas, as well as selling new ones.

“Be with you in a minute.”

A man poked his head through the double entry-way leading to the shop. Welder's goggles distorted his features, but Pauly thought it was the owner. The one she'd met the day of the flight.

She walked over to look at the fifty-odd photos of hot-air balloon flights and landings that covered the front wall. She wasn't prepared to see the Five O'Clock Shadow, but there it was, the hands on the eight-foot appliquéd clock straight up five with shadows pooling out behind. Most of the pictures had been taken during the Balloon Fiesta, one of Albuquerque's claims to international fame. She quickly turned back to the counter.

“Now, how can I help you?” The man walked through the doorway, wiping his hands on a paper towel, the goggles around his neck. “Say, haven't we met? You sure do look familiar.”

“Pauly Caton. We met at the launch of the Five O'Clock Shadow. Randy McIntyre was my husband.”

“Of course.” He frowned. “Look, I don't know why you're here. We've gone over everything with the cops.” His voice suddenly had an edge. “Isn't it about time we all try to get over this…past it, anyway.”

“I was wondering about the pilot…and his family?”

“My wife's brother. Ten years experience and he takes up some ass-hole that's marked for elimination. No offense to you, Miss.”

“Wait a minute. Who's said that the pilot was above suspicion?” She felt the anger flood her voice.

“Retired Air Force. Decorated. You figure it out.” Then his eyes narrowed as he leaned towards her. “You going to stand there and tell me your husband was squeaky clean? That there wasn't someone out there who just might have wanted him dead?”

She looked down. Had he seen the flicker of doubt? He was right. She couldn't say…swear…to Randy's being anything, not even honest.

“Listen.” The owner hesitated, but his voice had lost its edge. “I'm just upset. No reason to take it out on you. Your lawyer has been generous. Bob's family won't be hurting.”