Murder at the Miramar (Augusta Burnette Series) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-three

If there is anything more irritating than carrying on an argument with the back of someone’s head, I don’t know what it is. Ellie knows that, just like she knows all the other buttons to push with me. I have to admit, though, that she is as loyal as the day is long and would gladly tear off someone’s head if they said anything rude about me. With that in mind, I let it – and Ellie – go.

I sat and stared out the window, not really seeing anything. I felt so far removed from the Miramar and my job as an assistant concierge, and it felt like months since I’d done any real work. Sighing, I leaned my head back and let my eyes fall shut. Sleep was my weapon of choice whenever things went belly up in my life, and I was beginning to feel like a good hibernation might be the order of the day.

When my cell rang once more, I was tempted not to answer. It would either be Detective Annie Bronson with another update – she could just leave a message – or, heaven forbid, my mother, whose sixth sense for all things catastrophic rivals Ellie’s. I couldn’t help glancing at the screen, though, curious to see which one it was. The name that appeared surprised me, enough to actually answer.

‘What?’ I said curtly into the phone.

‘Get in here,’ hissed Ellie, speaking so close to the mouthpiece that it sounded like static coming through the lines.

‘Why?’ I whispered back, feeling a trifle silly. I mean, she
was
in the next room.

‘I think there’s someone in the house, AJ! Get in here now!’ Ellie disconnected and I sat, phone in hand, staring at the blank screen. What in heaven’s name was going on now?

Heart pounding – the last week had done wonders for my cardio health, blood pressure notwithstanding – I slid from my chair and crouched on the floor, now conscious of the sounds around me. With my ears tuned to radar-detection strength in order to hear what Ellie had heard, I half-walked, half-crawled into the kitchen. Ellie was under the table, and why she thought that was such a great hiding spot I had no idea. She was clearly visible from the hallway and I almost laughed out loud when I saw her.

Sliding under the table’s edge, I sat on the floor next to her. She really looked scared, and I impulsively hugged her.

‘Ellie, old houses make noise. Maybe that’s what you heard, you know?’ I squeezed her, feeling her shoulders tremble under my arm.

‘I know what old houses do and don’t do, thank you very much.’ The old Ellie was back, quick as a flash, which took care of the shaking. I had to smile. She is so wishy-washy sometimes. ‘Just listen for a sec.’

I felt like a participant in one of the old ‘duck and cover’ videos the Government used to put out during the Cold War years. Instead of listening for incoming atomic bombs, though, I was listening for an intruder in a house that wasn’t mine, kind of like a pot calling a kettle black.

‘How are the mighty fallen,’ I muttered to myself, earning a sharp jab of Ellie’s bony elbow. If this kept up, I would be black and blue.

A loud creak from the hallway made me jump, literally, and I whacked the top of my head. There was an instant silence. Ellie’s eyes grew so large I thought she’d lose an eyeball, and my pulse seemed to migrate from my chest to my head. I was fully scared to death. That was becoming the emotion
du jour
here in San Blanco.

‘See? I told you!’ Ellie triumphantly sprayed the words across my face and I gave her a dark look in return as I wiped them from my cheeks. Nothing like an impromptu shower, courtesy of my hissing cousin.

Before I could think of something equally childish to say, a soft sound, almost a sigh, could be heard clearly from the hallway. It was vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t place it. Apparently Ellie could, and did: she leapt from beneath the table and made a mad dash for the back door, with me hot on her heels and my heart pounding to beat the band.

The sound of a bullet zinging past my ears gave me wings and I flew through the backyard and all but vaulted the low wall in one mighty jump. Ellie was close behind and we fell, panting and staring at each other, into the empty lot behind Annie’s house. I couldn’t hear anyone chasing us, so maybe the bullet was just a friendly reminder to keep our noses out of someone’s business. Someone’s very illegal, very lucrative business.

The snapping of twigs and the thud of heavy feet on the ground shook me to life.

Grabbing Ellie by the hand, I tugged her to her feet and we sprinted for the nearest house, a small cottage on the edge of the vacant lot that hugged the edge of the water.

Please, oh please, oh please, let someone be there, I silently begged. Preferably someone with a phone and a hefty lock on the front door and bulletproof windows.

I chanced a look back over my shoulder and saw the top of someone’s head as they peered over the fence. When an arm came over the top, something shiny in hand, I pulled Ellie to the ground and began scooting crab-like through the lot.

‘Hey! What’s going on? You there!’

I was never so glad to hear someone shouting at me. Standing near the back door of the small house stood a woman whose size belied the toughness of her words. When I saw the shotgun in her hand, I felt both relieved and worried; I didn’t want the little old lady from San Blanco to take a potshot at me just as I was escaping a killer.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK!’ I shouted back, getting back to my feet and heading for her house. In response, she raised the shotgun to shoulder height. Ellie and I waved frantically at her, yelling that we were running from someone who’d taken a shot at us. To my intense relief, she lowered the weapon.

Panting and covered with dust from our crawl through the lot, Ellie and I stumbled into the woman’s yard. I turned to look back toward Annie’s house and saw the figure of a man standing in the spot where Ellie and I had landed when we vaulted the fence. I pointed.

‘Look! There he is!’ The woman craned her neck and squinted slightly, her eyes narrowed against the sunlight.

Ellie was on her feet and running before I could stop her. She headed straight for the door of the little house and burst inside. I shrugged an apology and made to follow, but the old lady reached out and grabbed my arm as I passed. Her grip was strong, and I had no choice but to stop.

‘What’s going on, young lady?’ she demanded, a suspicious look crossing her face.

‘We’re trying to get away from him.’ I gestured over my shoulder at the man who was now walking away toward the front of Annie’s property. The woman followed his movements with her eyes then turned loose of my arm.

‘You might as well go inside. Seems your friend’s already made herself at home.’ The grin instantly softened the pattern of wrinkles that ran through her face, giving her a kindly, grandmotherly look. Of course, I’ve never seen a grandmother who carried a shotgun around, but there’s always a first.

I smiled at her gratefully. Any port in a storm, I always say, and this particular port came with its own armory, making me feel a tad better about being chased. At least the playing field was closer to level now, thanks to a gun-totin’ granny.

The inside of her cottage was – no other word for it – eclectic, to say the least. Antiques jostled for space with stacking plastic cubes that held books of every kind, and the mishmash of patterns that assailed my eyes almost made me dizzy. In short, it looked perfect for someone like her.

‘Name’s Sarah Bacon, but I never use it. Call me Sal,’ she said, stumping over to the sink and running water into a kettle that looked as old as she was. The gun was still tucked under an arm, and I began to wonder if it was some sort of accessory, a good luck charm of sorts. She must have read my thoughts because she said, ‘It isn’t loaded. Just use it for scaring folks who have no business on my property.’

I smiled at her in what I hoped was a friendly manner, but my mouth was so dry from running that I could feel my lips stretching across my teeth. I’m sure I looked as feral as I felt. ‘We didn’t mean to invade your space, ma’am.’

‘Well, you did,’ Sal said bluntly. ‘And your friend there,’ she added, pointing with her chin at Ellie who sat curled on one end of a couch covered with violently-colored flowers, ‘She just came in without as much as a by-your-leave. Good thing I only use my gun for looks.’

Talk about jumping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire! Ellie and I appeared to have stumbled into a time warp of sorts, with a woman whose words, demeanor and actions would be more at home in the mountains of the last century.

I was trying to think of another plan when Sal spoke up again.

‘If you’re running from those men, the ones who make a living out of cheating honest folks, with their false papers, and promises that are even more false, you’re in a world of hurt. If I were you, I’d plan on lyin’ low for a while. You can stay here if you need to. I could use the company and you could use a safe house.’

I figured that staying here, even for just a few hours, would be better than trying to get about on our own. At least we’d be with someone who actually knew how to handle a firearm and wasn’t afraid to try. I had to smile. It was almost funny, in a weird way, to think that Detective Annie Bronson had her very own vigilante living less than a hundred yards away.

I looked straight into Sarah Bacon’s shrewd eyes and said, ‘We’d surely appreciate it.’

And then it occurred to me that she knew who we were running from, and why – she’d said as much. Things were getting “curiouser and curiouser”, as Alice would say, and I was starting to feel as if Ellie and I were falling down our own rabbit hole.

Two mugs of tea and an hour later, I was sufficiently calmed down to tell Sal exactly what had transpired between accepting my dream job at the Miramar and this afternoon. It was the stuff of movies, I know, but all true and all too fresh in my mind. If someone had told me I’d be as close to death as I had been in the last few days, I’d have laughed them out of town. I wasn’t laughing any more, though.

Sal stared at me thoughtfully, cradling her own mug as she eased back and forth in a rocking chair that looked like it belonged in a museum. She’d listened to me in silence, only interrupting for an occasional clarification. I had found myself talking to her as easily as I talked to my own grandmother. If my Grandma Tillie had carried a shotgun, they could have been twins. They both had that no-nonsense, take-care-of-business attitude that tended to make me spill my guts.

And now that I think about it, that’s probably how my mother found out some things that I thought were my deepest, darkest secrets. Thanks for nothing, Grandma Tillie.

All talked out, we three sat in the darkening room, the squeak of the rocking chair punctuating the silence. I was still worried but not nearly as much as I had been. The problem had been handed over to someone whose existence I hadn’t even been aware of a few hours before. Sal Bacon seemed more than capable of coming up with a plan and I was more than happy to let her.

Ellie was still curled up in a corner of the couch. I was happy to see that her movements were more natural, not so stiff, and that her bruises were fading. I’d seen Sal looking at them but she’d asked nothing. Hopefully she’d put two and two together and gotten ‘running from a crazy person’ and not something more sinister. Although, come to think about it, that was sinister enough in itself.

‘OK, girls. This is what I think we need to do.’ Sal’s abrupt announcement jerked me back to the present, and even Ellie perked up a bit. ‘I’ve got enough supplies down cellar to outlast anyone trying to flush us into the open.’

I almost fell over. Number one, who even says ‘down cellar’ any more and number two, who has one?

‘What do you mean, “flush us out into the open”?’ I was rapidly moving from confident to concerned, with Sal sounding even more like that homespun vigilante than someone who could help.

‘I think we just need a phone, Sal,’ piped up Ellie. At last! A suggestion that didn’t smack of conspiracy.

‘I’ve got a phone you can use,’ Sal countered, jerking a thumb toward a darkened room just off the front door. ‘It’s one of those satellite contraptions. Got it when I thought I’d have to hunker down during an enemy invasion.’

Oh, boy. We’d gone from running from a killer to hanging out with a nutcase survivalist.

Could it get any worse? The answer, unfortunately, turned out to be a resounding ‘Yes’.

Chapter Twenty-four

I just managed to keep myself from gawking at Sal. Who in their right mind would prepare for an ‘enemy invasion’ and install a satellite phone? Or even think about invasions of any kind? (I think the key words there are ‘right mind’.) I was beginning to wonder what else she might have ‘down cellar’ aside from food. Visions of barricaded doors and night vision goggles danced through my already boggled mind; instead of planning how to escape killers, I needed a plan to escape from kooky old women.

You know how some folks can surprise you, no matter how well you think you know them? Dear Ellie managed to do just that.

‘Let’s get that phone hooked up, Sal,’ said Ellie, rising to her feet and stretching. She’d sat still for so long – probably in recovery mode – that she was probably stiff as a board. Thankfully, her mind was still working. At least, I hoped it was, especially since she’d disappeared into the office of a crazy woman, alone and unarmed. I debated following them in there, wondering if I should stay close to the door in case I needed to make a break for it. Finally, with one last lingering look at potential freedom, I rose from my seat and walked into a center of technological wonder.

I’ve seen made-for-television movies where an average citizen becomes the hero of the day, defending the town against an alien invasion – the kind where all the houses are flattened by laser; except for the hero’s house, of course.

I’m dead serious: the woman had a virtual armory of stockpiled guns in cabinets and hanging on the wall, an impressive shelving unit containing boxes of ammunition and goggles that looked like the night vision variety, and a desk that looked like the master command center for the CIA. In short, Sal Bacon was ready for Armageddon.

I just wanted to get in touch with San Blanco Police Department. Hopefully they’d already started searching for us – at least I trusted they had.

Ellie had already settled into the impressive leather chair that sat at the desk, switching on buttons and powering up the biggest cellphone I’d ever seen in my life. Sal was flipping switches on a computer that sat on one side of the desk, syncing it to a hand-held device she casually pulled out of her shirt pocket. I shook my head in amazement: I’d never seen such a set-up in anyone’s house. Actually, I’d only seen things like this on the cable military channel and in those movies where there’s always an on-the-run ex-spy who’s been wrongly accused of some terrible crime and the government is out to get him. Maybe Sal had more of a past than I thought.

‘OK, it’s working,’ announced Ellie. She turned to look at me. ‘AJ? Do you want to call Annie or shall I?’

Actually, I’d thought of calling our dynamic detective duo, especially since I hadn’t had my Detective Baird fix for the day. ‘How about Detective Fischer?’ I suggested with my best innocuous look. I should have saved it.

With a masterful eye roll, Ellie passed me the phone. ‘Go ahead. Give your Detective Dimple a call, AJ.’ As I took the monster device from her, I stuck out my tongue. Sometimes that feels so good, you know?

Crediting my near-photographic memory – or an obsession with a certain dimpled detective – I punched in the number to Baird’s cellphone. By the third ring, I was feeling slightly anxious. When his voicemail picked up, I disconnected. I wasn’t positive about police protocol and all that, but it seemed to me that they had to remain available.

I shrugged my shoulders at Ellie, handing back the phone to her. She took it without a word and dialed quickly, calling Detective Annie Bronson, I assumed.

‘Er … Annie? This is Ellie, Ellie Saddler. Yes, that Ellie.’ I could hear Annie’s voice faintly and from the look on Ellie’s face, something was off. ‘OK, we’ll stay put. No, we’re all right.’ Here she glanced over at Sal with a questioning look, who returned it with a nod. ‘We’re at Sarah Bacon’s house, the one just behind yours … yep, that’s the one. You do, huh? Well, is that so?’ Ellie smiled at Sal whose face wrinkled back at her mischievously. I had a sudden sneaking suspicion that Sal and Annie were old acquaintances.

After Ellie hung up, she turned on Sal, hands on hips. ‘You are one tricky lady, Sal. Why didn’t you tell us that you were ex-PD? And that you were Annie’s aunt?’

I must confess, with deep apologies to my mother, that my mouth almost unhinged, falling open to its full extent. This whole thing was just getting weirder by the minute.

Sal gave a deep chuckle. ‘Yep, guilty as charged. Annie got into the business because of me. I raised the girl and she always wanted to do whatever her Auntie Sal was doing. And I must say, she does one heck of a job.’ She looked at me and then back to Ellie. ‘So, are we all set for the time being?’

I exchanged shrugs with Ellie. It seemed we’d be as safe here as any other place, and I admit I was feeling better about the whole ‘crazy lady with guns’ thing.

‘Sure, we’re good.’ I answered for both of us.

In addition to having her own arsenal, Sal had an awesome food supply as well. With me and Ellie ensconced in the cozy front room, she bustled around in her kitchen, slicing vegetables and dumping them into a simmering pot of seasoned chicken stock. When she pulled rolls from the fridge and began brushing them with melted butter, I almost swooned. I am a bread person through and through, and I could eat a dozen hot buttered rolls by myself. I’d need to watch my manners.

‘So,’ I ventured, ready to hear some old tales on Annie. ‘How did Annie come to live with you?’

Sal was silent a moment and I felt awkward, hoping I hadn’t offended her. She still had all those weapons, after all. Wiping her hands on her shirt, Sal leaned back against the kitchen sink.

‘Well, her daddy was my youngest brother. I felt like his mama most of the time, and when he left home, he moved in with me. Eventually, I lost him to Annie’s mother, some young thing he met over at the university. They eloped, had Annie, and died in a car crash when she was still a baby. I’m the only family she’s ever known, really.’ Sal cleared her throat gruffly. ‘But I’ve always felt blessed to have had her in my life and my home. Like I said, she always copied me, determined to do everything I did. I was so proud the day she joined the force.’ Sal’s face was soft with the memory. With a small sigh, she turned back to her cooking.

‘Darn it!’ Ellie’s words cut short the moment. ‘My cards, AJ. I left them behind at Annie’s.’

She was worried about her
cards
? I was concerned about escaping with my
life
!

‘Really, Ellie? Your flippin’ cards? What good have they done us so far?’ Oh, boy. Open mouth, insert foot, AJ.

To my surprise, Ellie smiled. I mean it – she truly smiled at me, even after I’d committed the unforgivable and had insulted her beloved deck of cards.

‘I know. But, AJ, you’ve got to admit that they have given us some guidance.’ Ellie sat examining her perfectly groomed cuticles as if she’d just spotted a hangnail.

‘Whatever,’ I answered stubbornly. ‘They made Fernando mad at us, and that’s about all.’

Sal waded into our little exchange then, probably heading off a huge argument.

Ellie and I can have some doozies.

‘Are you talking playin’ cards here, girls, or some other kind?’ She sounded curious, and Ellie ate it up like a starving man on a Christmas ham.

‘My Tarot cards, Sal,’ Ellie said with a touch of pride in her voice. Good grief. To hear her talk, you’d think she invented the darn things. ‘I use them to help folks, to give them answers.’

OK. I’d had about enough of her sanctimonious attitude. It was time to kick some Tarot tail here.

‘What Ellie really means, Sal,’ I said with my sweetest voice and smile, ‘is that she uses the cards to butt into others’ problems and make them even worse.’ Now I’d done it, but I didn’t care. I was feeling reckless. In one short week I’d faced death and disaster, and I could handle Ellie. Or so I thought.

If steam could really issue from someone’s ears, Ellie would have been able to power her own engine at that moment. I’d pushed the one button that could really set her off; questioning her motives. Ellie fancies herself as a people’s person, a true humanitarian, and I suppose she is. I mean, she was usually the one to talk to the new students, to welcome the odd person out to our lunch table. I always wondered why she did it, though, especially since she was also the first to start a tiff with anyone who crossed her.

Sal turned a stern face on me and I felt like I’d time-traveled back to Grandma Tillie’s house when Ellie and I would be scolded for fussing.

‘I’m sorry, Ellie. I guess I’m just tired of this whole thing.’ I gave my cousin a rueful smile and, thankfully, she smiled back. War averted.

‘It seems to me that the both of you have had a few rough days,’ Sal said, moving to the cabinets and taking down three bowls ‘Come and get some grub. Food always makes folks feel better.’

I couldn’t have agreed more. By the second hot roll I felt much better, and by the end of the meal, I could have gladly flipped the cards for Ellie and would have been delighted to do so. Sal’s chicken vegetable soup was magic.