Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 (28 page)

He did, under the
seat. With Ruby peering through the wire screen, we located Comanche Road and
the lane leading to Swenson's place, then traced Comanche as it looped around
to the flower farm. On the map, we could see that the distance between this
house and the Fletcher sisters' house was just over a mile. Between the two was
Mistletoe Spring, clearly designated on the map.

"Looks to me like the old lady could've
walked it," the sheriff said, studying the map. "It's not that
far."

"I'm not sure," I replied. "I think
she could make that distance by road. But this terrain is really rugged. I
don't know whether she could manage a cross-country hike." On the other
hand, Aunt Velda had said that she'd been looking for a cave. Maybe the old
lady was more nimble than I thought.

"But if she
didn't park the truck in the shed," Ruby said, "who did? Terry?
Donna?"

Blackie was reaching for his radio.
"I'll get somebody out here to print and impound that truck. And then we
need to have another talk with the old lady."

"You could ask Talbot to do the
printing," I suggested with a grin.

"Hell, no." Blackie gave a
scornful snort. "He'd screw it up. That jerk has blown three busts in the
last six months and hasn't made a single arrest. He's got the worst reputation
in the whole damn narcotics division."

"It's a
thankless job," I said with a grin. "Give the guy a break." I
turned around in the seat. "Ruby, you saved our butts by phoning the
sheriff's office. Talbot was ready to haul us off to South Texas. I'm sure
he'd've turned us loose eventually, but not before we had an arrest record and
a day or two in the Brownsville jail." I shuddered. "I interviewed a
client there once. It's way down on my list of South Texas tourist
attractions."

"Thank
you," Ruby said modestly. "The odds weren't in our favor, and I could
tell that those guys would have a hard time believing our story. I thought we
needed help, so I called the cops."

Blackie swiveled. "Is it true that you phoned
from the bathroom?"

"Yeah."
Ruby leaned back in the seat. "There was a phone on the wall."

"A phone!" I stared at her. "But
Jose checked before he let you in. How come he didn't see it?"

"Because somebody used it for a hook, to hang
up a towel," Ruby replied. "When I went to use the toilet, the towel
fell down, and there was the phone."

Blackie shook his
head. "Like I said, you two are dangerous." With a chuckle, he
clicked on his mike.

Chapter
Thirteen

If mistletoe was hung
in the dwelling as a protection against ailments and the terrors of an unseen
world, woe betide those who left the charm hanging there too long! Herrick
gives fair warning to all who would venture to do so after Candlemas Eve
(February 1), for he wrote:

Down with Bays and Mistletoe, Down with Holly,
Ivy, all Wherewith ye deck the Christmas hall That so the superstitious find No
one least branch there left behind. For look! how many leaves there be
Neglected then (Maids, trust to me) So many Goblins you shall see.

H. H. Warner
"Mistletoe," 1931

A couple of hours later, the old Ford
truck was on a flatbed tow truck, headed for the sheriff's impound yard. Ruby
was on her way back to town in my Datsun, to check in with Laurel at the shops
and make sure that everything was okay in the tearoom. And Blackie and I were
in the sheriffs car, on our way to the flower farm. I hadn't wanted to go, but
Blackie persuaded me that I might be able to help.

"I still don't
understand what you two thought you were doing at Swenson's place,"
Blackie said as we drove. "It seems like a dumb stunt."

"Yeah, maybe,"
I replied uncomfortably. "But I was curious about Swenson. When Ruby and
I got to talking about what he might've been growing in that greenhouse
...
Well, it seemed like a good idea to
take a look. The way things turned out, though," I added ruefully, "I
wish we'd stayed home. I had no idea that Marvin was a narc. I hope he wasn't
injured. And I'm really sorry if we caused you or Talbot any trouble."

"The bust would
have gone down the way it did with or without you," Blackie said evenly.
"And Marvin was a snitch, not a narc. He was Swenson's hired help. When he
found out that Swenson was dead, he figured the hit was drug-related. He
panicked and called the Regional Office. Talbot decided to buzz on up here and
seize the plants, without even thinking about the rest of the investigation. He
must have had fantasies of bagging a couple of hundred pounds of weed to shore
up his sorry batting average. When you and Ruby walked into the middle of
things, he thought he'd really scored. He figured you were part of Swenson's
distribution system."

"Maybe they'll find his little black
book," I said. "Or the equivalent. Swenson had to have had some way
to keep in touch with his distributors."

"You can bet
they're looking for it. Talbot's men were searching the house and the captain
was logging onto Swenson's computer when we left." He shot me a look.
"I hate to say it, but I'm glad you went out there, China. I was treating
Swenson's death like an ordinary hit-and-run.

I doubt that I would've bothered
getting a warrant to search his place, especially since I'm short-handed. It
could've been a week or more before Talbot got around to informing me of the
bust. In the meantime, he has the authority to impound every piece of equipment
on the place. That Ford truck might've ended up on a lot in Brownsville, and
we'd never have known it was there."

"Yeah," I said glumly. "Now we've
got the evidence. We can arrest Aunt Velda. Whoopee."

"Maybe,"
Blackie said. "It would have been real tough for that old lady to hike
over that hill. Which leaves us with the sisters."

"Yeah,"
I growled. "Which leaves us with the sisters."

When we got to the Mistletoe Creek Flower Farm, it
was shortly after noon. The clouds still scudded low over the hills and the
wind was chill. Donna and Aunt Velda were in the kitchen. Aunt Velda, in her
rocking chair, was wrapped in a purple afghan and crocheting what looked like a
red and green wool cap. Donna was clearing the table after a soup-and-sandwich
lunch.

"Would you like
a cheese sandwich?" Donna asked after she'd invited us in. "There's
some tomato soup left, too."

I glanced at her and then back again, startled.
Her face was a dull, grayish color, and her eyes were hollowed.

"No, thank you," Blackie said, hat in
hand. With a glance at Aunt Velda, he said in a low voice, "I'm afraid
this is an official visit, Ms. Fletcher. We've located your aunt's truck. From
the physical evidence, there's reason to believe that it was the vehicle that
killed Carl Swenson."

Donna gave a muffled
gasp and a low, protesting "Oh, no." She sank into a chair as if her
legs wouldn't hold her. I had the feeling that this response, like the one on
the previous day, was not entirely genuine. She was anguished—but not
surprised.

Rocking vigorously,
Aunt Velda looked up. "Well, it's about time you found it," she said.
To Donna, she added, "I told you it'ud turn up sometime or other. Them
Klingons is trickier than slicky dickens, but they ain't all that smart."
She grinned flirtatiously at Blackie. "Sure is nice o' you to come and
tell us, young man. Didja bring it back?"

"I'm afraid not," Blackie said. He
turned to Donna. "I need to take your aunt to Pecan Springs for
questioning. Please get her coat and whatever she'll need for an overnight
stay."

"Hooboy,"
Aunt Velda said, delighted. She tossed her crocheting into a basket and sat
forward in her chair. "Yer takin' me to town, huh? Donna, git my stuff.
I'm ready!"

Donna
made an inarticulate sound.

"You can come
too," Blackie said in a sympathetic tone, "although I'm afraid I
can't allow you to be present during the interrogation. I'll arrange for her
social worker to be there, of course. And you'll want to contact a
lawyer."

Donna had gone completely white. She sat staring
at Blackie, her hands twisted tightly together. She seemed to be having trouble
breathing. But after a moment she said, in an unexpectedly clear, distinct
voice, "That won't be necessary, Sheriff. I'm the one you want."

I drew in my breath,
startled. This wasn't what I had expected. Not Donna, surely!

Blackie's mouth tightened. "Are
you saying that you were the driver of the truck that killed Carl
Swenson?"

I
found my voice. "Sheriff!" I said sharply.

Blackie nodded. "Ms. Fletcher, I
must tell you that you have the right to remain silent. If you do not remain
silent, anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of
law."

"I don't want to remain
silent." Donna stood up, steadying herself with a hand on the table.
"I just want to get this over with." She took a deep breath and
squared her shoulders. "Yes, I was driving the truck."

"Don't,
Donna," I said emphatically. "You need to talk to a lawyer before you
make a statement."

She ignored me.
"It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him. But when I saw that the
truck was damaged, I panicked. I drove it to Swenson's place because I was
afraid to bring it back here and I couldn't think of anywhere else to hide
it." She threw a small smile in my direction. "And I don't need a
lawyer, China. I intend to plead guilty. There's no use spending a lot of money
on an attorney when I know I did it."

Blackie's jaw muscles were tight. "You'll
have to come with me, Ms. Fletcher. Is there someone who can stay with your aunt?"

Aunt Velda was
scowling. "Reckon this means I don't git to go to town after all,"
she said crankily. "Means I gotta stay here."

Donna went to the old woman and bent
down close to her, smoothing the tangled gray hair tenderly. 'Terry will be
back in twenty minutes, Aunt Velda."

"Maybe
it would be better if we waited," Blackie said.

"No, no," Donna said
quickly. I had the impression that she didn't want to see Terry, to explain
what she was doing. Or maybe she didn't want
us
to
encounter Terry. To Aunt Velda, she continued, "I want you to promise to
stay indoors and not mess with the stove."

Aunt Velda put on a
ferocious pout. "You V Terry git all the fun." She leaned over to
look past Donna to

Blackie, then gave a gusty sigh.
"Sure wish I wuz goin' with you. He's sexier 'n' Bruce Willis."

Blackie smiled. 'Tell you what," he said.
"How would you like to give me your fingerprints? I promise it won't
hurt—just a little ink, that's all."

"Sure
thing," the old lady said with a grin. She held out her gnarled hands.
"Come and get 'em, sweetie. Anything I got is yours."

Donna bent over again
and kissed the old lady's cheek. 'Tell Terry I'll talk to her when I can."

While Blackie
fingerprinted Aunt Velda, I went with Donna to get her jacket. As she took it
off the hook in the hall, I gave her a long, straight look.

"If you make an
untruthful statement to the police, you can be charged with obstruction of
justice. And if you lie under oath, you're committing perjury. If you want to
protect your aunt from prosecution, Donna, this is
not
the
way to do it."

Without answering,
Donna pulled her crocheted wool cap over her ears. From the jumble of stitches
and the rainbow of mismatched colors, I could guess that Aunt Velda had made
it for her.

It was a long, silent
ride back to town.

"Donna killed Swenson!" Ruby
exclaimed, startled. "You're kidding!" She was sitting in the empty
tearoom, the cash drawer and her calculator on the table in front of her. She
had traded her early morning Indiana Jones outfit for a denim dress with a
sunflower-print vest.

"That's what she says," I replied
grimly. "She claims she hid the truck in the shed, too. Blackie's got her
at the county jail right now. He's agreed to hold off on the formal questioning
until she has a lawyer—which she doesn't want."

I sat down across
from Ruby. Laurel, who helps Mrs. Kendall with the tables and the register, had
swept the floor and set the tables for the next day's lunch, and the place
looked wonderful. I'd been skeptical about the color scheme Ruby had
suggested—hunter green trim and wainscoting, green-painted tables and chairs
with floral chintz chair pads and napkins. But I had to admit now that it was
perfect, as were the dozens of stylish touches Ruby had added: terra-cotta pots
of rosemary and thyme on the tables, floral paintings, hanging pots of ivy. I'd
been reluctant to become her partner in this enterprise, but now I couldn't
imagine the tearoom—or my life—without her. I thought of her upcoming surgery
and swallowed the sudden cold fear.