Gossip Can Be Murder (10 page)

“But then I guess it could have been purely an accident and she sat on the wall and leaned too far back, but wouldn’t a person reach out and catch herself if she started to fall backward? Well, I mean, unless she was depressed and secretly wished it would happen. You know, lots of people don’t have the courage to purposely kill themselves but if an accident is about to happen they won’t do anything to stop it. I read this thing one time that said lots of accidents could be prevented but that lots of people subconsciously want to get hurt. Sometimes they really want to get killed. And when I feel depressed sometimes I feel that way too. But I’m lucky because I have this really good doctor and he makes sure I get these pills that keep my moods even and I don’t get the depression all that much anymore, just once in awhile, like, around the holidays and stuff but mostly I don’t.”

“Trudie,” Linda said gently. “We’re here. This would be a good time to take a deep breath and get ready for a nice, relaxing massage, don’t you think?”

Without giving Trudie a chance to get going again, we collected our robes from the attendant and headed for the locker rooms. While Trudie chatted away with the desk person, we ducked into changing rooms.

“Whew!” I said. “Get me into that massage room!”

I heard Trudie come in and latch the door of a changing room. Linda and I both remained silent as we stripped out of our clothes and put on robes. I actually tiptoed over to the lockers and manipulated the door cautiously for maximum quiet as I put my clothes away. We sneaked back to the spa lobby and were lucky enough to be met by our respective masseuses before Trudie got back.

“How’s it going today?” Joanne asked as I stretched out on the table. “Sad about this morning, isn’t it?”

I nodded and murmured affirmatively.

“Well, we’re going to put all that out of your mind,” she assured me.

Good.

“Starting with our special oil of clove, geranium, and other essential oils suited to your body type, you’ll find yourself losing those tight muscles and that pinched place between your eyebrows.”

“Ahhh . . . yes. You’re so observant, Joanne.”

Ninety minutes later, she’d fulfilled her promise and I left the spa feeling like I could put all the Rita stuff behind me during my dinner with Drake.

I went back to the room, changed clothes and left a note for Linda, in case Drake and I ended up staying in town late.

I’d just tugged the door shut behind me when I recognized the voices of Gerald and Nicole. Before I’d turned to face them, Gerald bumped into me.

“Oh! Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t see you there.” He snapped his tiny cell phone closed and dropped it into a pocket.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Look, I wanted to let you guys know that I was sorry about what happened to Rita this morning.”

“How did you--?” Nicole didn’t realize that I’d been bluffing.

“I’m used to being observant,” I said, handing them my card from RJP Investigations. “You did know her before this seminar, didn’t you?”

Nicole started to speak, but Gerald shushed her.

“We better not talk out here,” he said. He nodded toward the door to their room, across the hall. He moved to unlock it. This was about to get interesting.

Chapter 12

“Okay. You’ve guessed that this Lightness in Living conference isn’t our first encounter with Rita Ratwill,” Gerald said after securely closing the door and motioning me toward a chair near the window. “When we got to the first yoga class Monday morning, I didn’t recognize her at first. She used to work in a law office and she wore suits and had her hair in a much more businesslike style.”

“It was those square white plastic glasses that I noticed,” Nicole piped up. “She always wore those. But she didn’t seem to remember us. Not surprising, really. We only went to their office once or twice. It wasn’t until she, uh . . . died, that I learned her last name.”

Gerald shot her a look and continued. “The law office was her husband’s. David Ratwill was head of a firm that sued my company. Of course, he was young and eager and snapped up the case immediately.”

“What was the case about?” I asked. “Just generally.”

“Oh, I can tell you exactly. You probably heard about it on the news, roughly two years ago. The guy who thought he’d become an instant millionaire suing AceChem because his son was born with severe birth defects. Claimed our pesticide was used on the apples that his wife loved so much and her eating them caused the defects.”

“And you own AceChem? I do remember that one,” I said. “They won some enormous amount but AceChem is appealing.”

“On the grounds that the wife’s repeated use of illegal drugs during her pregnancy was never brought out in front of the jury. On the grounds that every one of our products is FDA approved and EPA tested—don’t even get me started on the joys of dealing with those agencies—and any burden of proof should rest with them. Common sense is dead, I tell you.” His face grew red as he paced the floor.

“Gerald, your heart—” Nicole said.

He took a deep breath. “I know. Okay, so Ratwill’s fledgling firm gets this big case. The dollar signs are glowing in his eyes. He’s promised the client untold riches, obviously. Truthfully, the case was so flimsy that our attorney was every bit as surprised as we were when he won it. Lifelong judge who should have been disbarred twenty years ago for his antics and a bleeding-heart jury who saw absolutely
nothing
they were shown except that poor little kid with breathing tubes and missing limbs.”

“Yeah, as I recall, that image made the news on a regular basis too,” I said.

“Why is it that no one, not the judge, the jury or the media gave a shit about how the kid got that way, they just wanted a big corporation to pin it on.”

Nicole signaled him again to slow down.

“I know. I’ve now got a heart condition and a stress-related cancer over this thing. Does anybody care how
my
health conditions came about?”

“But the appeal—is that going well?”

“Extremely. A new judge has already ruled that the mother’s drug use has to be admitted. He’s also allowed documents proving the government approval of every one of our chemicals. So, yes, I think we’ll win ultimately. Problem is that our insurance company already paid out a big chunk, not all but a lot, of the judgment. With the verdict getting overturned, David Ratwill and his client will be required to repay that money. Will we ever get it? Not likely. Ratwill went right out and spent his greedy share—big house, yacht in the Bahamas, art. Cash accounts that seem to have mysteriously disappeared. None of it but the real estate has a chance of selling for its full value. The client paid medical bills for their poor kid. How can I ask for that money back? But not to do so admits guilt to a certain degree in our convoluted legal system. In short, it’s a total mess.”

“What did Rita have to do with any of this?” I asked.

“Nothing directly, not with our case, anyway. She’d quit the law office awhile back, apparently went the New Agey way and started teaching yoga. My guess is that she saw David getting into financial trouble and wanted out, asap.”

Maybe that was the reason Rita referred to David as her ex, rather than admitting she was still married to him.

“Not that it makes any difference to your situation,” I said, “but the police are leaning toward ruling Rita’s death an accident. If anything comes to mind that might change that, you could tell the police or give me a call at that number on the card I gave you.”

Gerald glanced at the wrinkled card, which he’d kept in his clenched fist. “Sure,” he said.

I didn’t get the feeling that any outcome to the Rita investigation would take priority over Gerald’s other problems, but it was worth a try. I left a couple of minutes later and headed toward the parking lot. I saw a woman walking toward me with her head lowered. “Dina? You okay?” I asked.

“Charlie?” The voice was soft.

Dina Carlotti stepped out from between two cars. Her eyes looked moist and her smooth dark hair was rumpled. I repeated my question.

“Um, yes, I think so.” She walked toward me, wadding the fabric of her tote bag in her fingers. “I have been thinking so much about poor Rita.”

“Well, it’s sad. But you hardly knew her.” I thought of the way Rita had practically forced Dina into one of the yoga positions, despite her back injury. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn’t exactly the nicest person any of us have met.”

“That is true. She just . . . I saw what a struggle she had in life.”

How well
did
Dina know the dead woman?

“Didn’t you just meet her on Monday, like the rest of us? I mean, she hardly shared her life story with us in these three days.”

“Oh, I did not mention? Rita and I attend some yoga seminars here in Santa Fe last summer. She was only recently separate from her husband. I think there were many problems with money. She talk about going back to California for a better job.” Dina fiddled with the tote handles again. “I did not know her well, but her impression is of a lady who knew better times. She once had money to spend and to travel. She told me she once watch me perform in Venezia.”

Interesting.

“What about this week? Did you talk to her much?”

“No. Sadly, she did not recognize me at first. I introduce myself, then she remember, but was very, how you say, distracted. I asked her to have dinner on Wednesday, that is tonight, and we would talk. Maybe then she would tell me how her life was going. But now . . .” Her eyes welled up again.

I moved forward and hugged her. “Oh, Dina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

She gripped me tightly for a few seconds then pulled away.

“I know. A sad person, Rita was.” She took a deep breath and swiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Nothing to be done, though. It is time for my massage.”

“That will help,” I assured her, patting her shoulder as she walked away. I tossed my bag on the front passenger seat and started my car, mulling over the past hour’s revelations. How coincidental was it that three people in our group just happened to know Rita from elsewhere? And wasn’t it a tad early to consider a suicide verdict when Rita had made dinner plans for tonight? Even if she’d been feeling down, it seemed that meeting an old friend, someone she’d confided in before, would be incentive enough to stick around for another day or so anyway.

I didn’t like the accident theory and I didn’t like the suicide option. So what was left? Well, with any luck the police would begin to piece it together soon.

I really didn’t relish the idea of becoming sucked into a murder investigation.

Chapter 13

Drake stared at the horizon. The Santa Fe Airport came in sight, sitting out in an open spot with nearly three-sixty views. Some light industrial businesses flanked it on the east side, toward the city, while acres of native piñon and juniper stretched off in every other direction. He radioed his approach, got the go-ahead and set up the pattern. The elk count had gone well, they’d spotted over five hundred head, and his Fish and Game guys were happy. They’d scheduled him for another count in the Jemez in two more weeks. He brought the aircraft around to a southerly heading and aimed her into the wind. 

Charlie’s Jeep sat in the small parking lot, he noticed, and he caught the familiar sight of her slender figure as she walked toward Zia Aviation’s fueling station, hands jammed into the pockets of her leather jacket. She’d flown in and out of this airport herself many times and knew just where he’d be landing. He dragged his attention away from his wife and concentrated on the ground. Wouldn’t do to make an awkward landing in plain sight of the tower.

“Hey there, handsome,” Charlie greeted, as soon as he’d touched down and opened his door. They shared a long kiss as the engine wound down and the main rotor began to slow. “How’d the job go?”

“Good.” He liked the way she always showed an interest in his work. Not surprising. She’d been on enough jobs with him now that she knew a lot of the people and how their routines went. And she was turning out to be a pretty damn good pilot herself.

“What kind of food do you want?” she asked. “I thought about the Blue Corn, but then I got to thinking about seafood.”

“Seafood it is,” he said. “I’ve had plenty of enchiladas this week.”

He climbed out of the cockpit, retrieved his old Thermos and jacket. “If you can hold on to these . . .” He handed the items off to Charlie. “I’ll get this finished up.”

He walked around the aircraft, making sure everything looked clean, noticing a faint trace of oil near the rear cowling. Have to check that out before next flight, he noted. A young guy from Zia was walking toward him and Drake told him to go ahead and fill the tank. The day was cooling and his high altitude work was done, so no harm in having the extra fuel weight.

He watched the young guy for a moment since he didn’t know this one, making sure he followed safety procedure and watching to be sure fuel didn’t slosh onto the JetRanger’s side. While the kid finished fueling, Drake loosely tied the main rotor. He’d be leaving again, probably before dark, so there was no point in bedding her down for the night.

“Where can we get seafood in the middle of the afternoon?” he asked Charlie as they walked toward the parking lot.

Her mouth did that funny little squinch that happened when she was thinking. “I think The Horno doesn’t open for dinner until about six. I’m guessing it’s going to be Red Lobster.”

Drake didn’t mind. Personally, he thought the chain places did a good job for a decent price, and he knew Charlie couldn’t resist those cheese biscuits they made. He draped an arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her hair as they walked. Too bad they weren’t going home together, but she’d already told him that she really ought to get back to that spa place tonight.

Plus, he knew it wasn’t going to be an early evening for him. He’d be lucky to get much sleep at all, with the work he still needed to do on the lawsuit before touching base with Rick Valdez tomorrow. He gave Charlie another squeeze before they separated and went to their opposite sides of her Jeep.