Flash Flood (12 page)

The fakey, but expensive, English Tudor commanded a full unfenced acre of the Country Club Estates, Roswell's grouping of upper-class homes around a golf course. Carolyn met him at the door and gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. Their mother must be doing fine this week. Dan followed her into the living room. The house's forty-five hundred square feet held priceless art work, some Hurd oils he wished he had. The rugs, bright colored kilims, were perfectly placed, blending with the richly polished wood floors.

“It's nice enough tonight to eat out back. Mosquitoes aren't too bad.”

They were passing through the kitchen and Carolyn had handed him a covered casserole and gestured toward the French doors leading to the patio. “Phillip's grilling his fabulous salmon. You've had it before.”

“Don't think so.”

But, then, would he have remembered? Dan stepped out and placed the dish on the table and almost bumped into Dona Mari, who gave him a sour look.

“Hey, old man, can I fix you up with one of these?”

Phillip was waving a bottle of Samuel Adams but it was the fake British thing. That was also on the list of Dan's dislikes, part of that hale and hearty glad-handing approach.

“Sure.” Dan stretched out on a lounger and tipped up the ice cold beer. “Good.” He nodded Phillip's way but the man had already turned back to the grill. He studied his brother-in-law and marveled at how little he'd changed over the years. Maybe the teeniest hint of a beer gut belied youth, but it was the same tapered western shirts, calf-roping buckle from a junior rodeo in '59, five-hundred-dollar Tony Lamas fresh out of the box, and styled hair. Maybe that was it, styled hair and manicured fingernails.

This was a man who prided himself on being an operator. A sweet-talker who got his way. Always. Dan watched as Phillip did a fancy two-step and hummed some country-western tune all the while brushing the salmon with a brown liquid. Carolyn had said that they had been promised the party's top position on the ticket in two years. Dan wondered how much of the campaign would be funded by Phillip, a sort of under the table, not-to-be-reported million or so.

Dona Mari was setting the table, large gold hoops weighing down her earlobes, a tiered multi-colored skirt making swishing sounds when she passed him. She acknowledged him but seemed grumpy and withdrawn.

The salmon actually was fabulous, but so was the saffron rice and green salad with cilantro dressing. Cooking was obviously an interest that Carolyn shared with Phillip. Funny. He'd never thought about what they did together before, besides promote one another. In that, they were perfect. But what hobbies did they share? He realized he didn't have a clue. He remembered Carolyn's fear of small aircraft. That must have caused a problem over the years given Phillip's preoccupation with flying. He could never imagine them in bed.

Dessert was a crème de-something-or-other. Totally satiated, they sat by the pool and enjoyed the sounds of a desert night. Dona Mari hovered about clearing the table, folded the table cloth, then went back to the kitchen.

Phillip was just offering him a cigar when Dan said, “Tell me about Eric Linden.” There it was. Straightforward. The same request had worked before. Only this time it backfired.

“I would think Elaine would tell you anything she wanted you to know.” This from sister dear. Letting hubby off the hook or just naively stepping in?

“I'd rather get Phillip's impression.”

“Why?”

Even in the half-light Phillip seemed nervous, or was he imagining things? The tip of the cigar glowed bright red.

“I suppose because I wouldn't be certain she was telling the truth.”

“You really like her, don't you?” Dear Carolyn, always the romantic but maybe it wasn't such a bad cover to let them think he was just trying to be careful about his love life.

“I'm reluctant to get involved if there are any skeletons in the closet.”

“Nothing that would involve Elaine.” Finally, something from Philip.

“How well did you know Eric?”

Phillip pulled on the cigar and exhaled slowly before he answered. “He was a childhood friend, and business acquaintance. Later on, he did some legal work for the company. We flew together, founded a club for single-engine enthusiasts, that sort of thing. Our sons were the same age.” His cigar smoke drifted over Dan.

Dan could see Phillip enjoying the company of another man. Someone with the same hobby. Maybe that was it. He could see Phillip as the consummate good old boy. A cigar, good Scotch, a few loops over the barn in a Piper Cub. It was a lot clearer picture than Phillip the father, the family man, the husband in bed.

“Was he in love with his wife?” God, where had that come from? That wasn't exactly what he had planned on asking, but Dan found himself very interested in the answer.

“He was a womanizer. Screwed everything in skirts. Took advantage of women. Played on their defenselessness.” This from his usually prissy-mouthed sister. “It was terrible for Elaine.”

“Why'd she stick around?” Now, he was honestly curious.

“Elaine is one of those women who sign up for the duration. Until death do us part. Seriously, she's a great one for honor and commitment. Thought divorce was admitting defeat, wouldn't be good for Matthew. Can you imagine?”

Dona Mari had brought coffee and a tray of liqueurs. He chose a crème de cacao cut with half and half, a maraschino cherry floating on the bottom.

“
Beso de Angeles.
You weesh.” Dona Mari muttered then passed him the drink and laughed that low cackle.

“Elaine deserves the best. She's been through so much,” Carolyn said.

It crossed his mind to ask if he qualified, but he didn't; maybe he was afraid of the answer. He just asked the question that he'd come to ask: “So, was Eric framed? Doing a little work for his employer that he didn't know about? Or, were the drugs his? Just a way to line his pockets without anyone knowing?”

“His.” Phillip didn't waste time in answering.

“How do you know?”

“I don't really. He didn't confide in me, if that's what you're thinking. I just know how much he wanted money. Not needed, really. Elaine had a good salary. His aunt took care of him through the trust set up by his parents. No, I believed him at the trial. Temptation became too much, he helped himself. And, if you had known Eric, that fuck-the-world attitude—he never thought he'd get caught, let alone do time.”

“Seven years seems pretty stiff for a first timer.”

“You don't know Charley Aspen. Judge Aspen. Wouldn't have been so bad if Eric hadn't been a lawyer. Aspen's a stickler for cleaning up the profession. Tell a lawyer joke within fifty feet of him and you're dead.”

“You seem to know him pretty well.”

“Old deer hunting buddy. Known him for years.”

“Didn't you try to talk to Charley, on Eric's behalf?” Carolyn asked.

“Nothing illegal. I just thought the sentencing was a little severe.”

“What would Eric have done once he got out?” Dan saw Phillip hesitate like he started to say one thing, then reconsidered.

“Elaine had finally served him with papers, so I don't think he would have come back here,” Carolyn said.

“What do you think, Phillip?”

“He had something set aside from when his aunt died a few years ago. Should have been enough to start over somewhere.”

What had Dan expected? Some admission about the two million? Wouldn't Eric have confided that? He got the feeling that Phillip knew more than he was saying.

Dona Mari stepped onto the patio carrying a bucket of ice, then stopped, gasped, dropped the bucket and began to shriek in garbled Spanish. She was pointing toward the edge of the lawn where the desert reclaimed its territory and sand met lushness in stark contrast. And there was the figure of a man, some seventy feet away, only partly concealed by a piñon as he gazed toward the house.

Suddenly Dona Mari was running, around the pool, past the changing area, moving unbelievably quickly for someone her age burdened by a long skirt. Dan took the other route behind the diving board to try and head the intruder off; Phillip stayed with Carolyn.

And then when he was still twenty feet away, Dan heard the pop of a gun, something small, like the derringer in Dona Mari's hand. Jesus. She could get them killed. And the man hadn't moved, simply stepped back into the shadows of the tree and then out again, letting Dona Mari see him before he turned and ran over the lip of the arroyo into the darkness of the eighteenth green, keeping his back to Dan.

The derringer's second shot was squeezed off as Dona Mari fell to the ground. Swoon came to mind but Dona Mari seemed to be in shock, both eyes were wide open but unseeing, a trace of spittle rolling out of her gaping mouth.

Phillip and Carolyn were beside her now. Carolyn on her knees cradling Dona Mari's head, whispering encouragement.

“Did you call the police?” Dan asked.

Phillip shook his head. “I'm reluctant in my, uh, present position to get the law enforcement involved.”

Of course, might not look good to have the housekeeper of the future governor emptying guns into would-be intruders.

“You don't think she hit the guy, do you?” Phillip was truly upset.

“Doubt it. Lucky for him a derringer's not too accurate.”

“I never knew she carried a gun. I'm truly shocked.” Dan believed Phillip.

Dan knew he wouldn't have used it, but so much for leaving his gun in the glove compartment while out with family. It took Carolyn to help get Dona Mari to her feet and the three of them to half carry her toward the house. Dan and Phillip waited downstairs while Carolyn fussed with ice packs and smelling salts and then, exhausted, came back to the living room and fixed a double bourbon over ice and ran back upstairs.

When she came back, it was to fix a drink for herself and sink down on one of the couches.

“She's quiet now. Refuses to go to a hospital.” Carolyn sipped quietly on her drink. “You know, she's a healer in her own right, actually distrusts Western medicine.”

“She may not be so strange after all.”

“Don't joke, Dan. I'm so upset.” Carolyn's chin quivered and tears rolled down her cheeks. “You know how much she means to me.”

“You know Carolyn credits her with saving her life,” Phillip said.

Dan had heard the story a hundred times. Dona Mari had delivered Jason when they couldn't get to the hospital in time and devoted day and night to the new baby and mother.

“It's just the hocus-pocus baloney.”

“Everyone is skeptical of what they don't understand,” Carolyn said.

Defensive. He knew he'd lose this one if he didn't stop but then just like when they were kids, he continued, couldn't resist.

“And you do understand?” There, throw down the gauntlet, amazing how he still got pleasure out of baiting his sister.

“Yes. I do.” At least the sniffles were gone. Dan noted the chin that now stuck out defiantly.

“So explain.”

“She's a Santera. It's a religious system that honors ancestors and recognizes a direct contact between man and nature.”

“Do they have a church or temple or whatever they would call it?”

“The rituals, magic, really, are practiced in a forest, sometimes sacrifice—”

“Sacrifices?” She now had his attention. Grand Champion Taber's Shortcake Dream had been found on an altar in the woods.

“Oh, it's not what you think. A sacrifice can be symbolic, fruit, flowers, candles, that sort of thing. If it is animal, it means that there's great danger about, great forces are involved, and there is some sort of major undertaking about to happen. She's had these spells before. She's delicate, fragile, even. She just can't overdo.”

Now that he'd had a few minutes to recount what had happened, that wasn't exactly the way Dan had seen it. It wasn't some kind of spell. For all the world it had looked like Dona Mari recognized the intruder. Recognized him and, if the derringer had been accurate at twenty-five feet, would have shot him point blank. He clearly recalled how the man had stepped into plain sight, confronted Dona Mari. Dan's running up must have interrupted. But even he couldn't help but think the man's profile had been vaguely familiar.

“I better be going.” Dan rose. Carolyn didn't get up; Phillip offered to see him out. Looking down at his sister with her shiny chestnut hair and glowing pink cheeks, he thought of the dark, mysterious woman upstairs and couldn't repress a shiver.

***

The first thing Dan did Sunday morning was call Elaine. Simon would land in Albuquerque at three fifteen. He'd pick her up at noon for the trip. Good old Roger had called. Suggested breakfast. Meet him at the Village Inn at ten. He checked his watch. He'd have time to run by Carolyn's. He thought it might be good brotherly policy to see how Dona Mari was doing, maybe question her about animal sacrifice if she was up to it.

The house looked deserted from the front when he pulled up. The drive curved around to the side and ended in front of three closed garage doors. Dan picked the far one to block and pulled the Jeep snug with the building. Flagstone steps continued around the side to the pool area and hearing voices, Dan started in that direction toward a wrought iron gate.

At first he was startled by the blood. A dead chicken was lying on the flagstone step with strange black charcoal markings in a circle around its body. Dona Mari. Keeping God knew what evil spirits from the house. But this was promising; she must be better. He opened the gate.

He'd just stepped through when he was tackled from the side by a three-hundred-pound thug who pinned him to the ground and took his gun.

“Armed, Mr. Ainsworth. I think we got him.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, that's my brother.” For someone who didn't like foul language, Carolyn was doing pretty good, Dan admitted as he rolled to a sitting position. Carolyn looked agitated and stood in front of him arms folded.