Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (18 page)

Paavo hung up the phone.

He was in Merry Belle’s office and had just finished speaking with the handwriting expert he’d often gone to for help in San Francisco. For a preliminary reaction, he had faxed the man a copy of the note that had been put in his pocket. It had been written on newsprint—some white space on the weekly
Jackpot Press Democrat.

The fact that the writing was done in a childish block print could mean the writer was young or poorly educated, but it more likely meant that he or she had watched a TV show or movie which stated that block printing was the easiest way to disguise one’s handwriting. The expert didn’t think reviewing the original rather than a fax would do much good, and went on to lament the popularity of shows that gave away such valuable information and made police work ever more difficult.

Paavo thanked the expert and turned back to Merry Belle. He hated that he’d reached another dead end.

That had been the same result the day before. Agent Cragin managed to break into Hal’s computer, only to discover that nothing important was on it. The only thing of interest, in fact, was that Hal had used “4clarissa” as his password. It gave Paavo pause that even after so many years, it was Clarissa’s name that Hal had chosen. All in all, it seemed rather sad.

He and the FBI agents searched the computer’s documents for a will. They found a generic form, but none of the blanks had been filled in.

They also read through old e-mails, trying to find any indication of why Hal might have taken off, or why he might have been killed. What they found was typical of older people—he had scarcely used his new, high-powered technology.

Paavo didn’t know if it was because this case was cleaner than most or because he was in this unknown territory with none of the usual forensic and crime lab information, but all he was doing was growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of evidence and detail he had to work with. It seemed it wasn’t a case that would be solved by forensics, but by understanding the emotions of the people involved. There were two layers—one, what everyone was saying and doing, and the other, what they were feeling. He had gathered about as much as he could of the first. He would have welcomed some straight talk about the second.

His cell phone rang. It was Lupe Flores. She was with Doc. The two were worried about Teresa, who had gone to see Angie earlier in the day. Lupe tried Teresa and Angie’s cell phones, but neither
worked, and no one answered the guest ranch number.

“I left Angie at the cabin,” Paavo said. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

For a long while, Angie all but held her breath to be sure she made absolutely no noise. When her nose began to tickle from the nearby sage, she almost panicked. Fortunately, the tickle went away.

After an hour of silence, though, boredom began to set in. She took her cell phone from her handbag and tried to make a call. There was no service. So much for being clever.

“Why is it,” Angie whispered, “that there’s phone service at the cave where Hal’s body was, and none out here?”

“There’s service at the caves?” Teresa asked.

“Yes. I don’t get it.”

“Me neither—unless someone put equipment out there—boosters or receptors or whatever. Why would anyone do that?”

“Makes no sense to me,” Angie said.

Teresa looked thoughtful, but didn’t say anything more.

Minutes slowly ticked by, an hour seeming like an eternity, until Angie couldn’t take it any longer. “What do you think about making a run for it?” she whispered.

“Run where?” Teresa glanced at her. “We don’t know where the shooter is, if he’s given up, or is sitting out there waiting for us to move. He can be anywhere between here and the hacienda, just waiting for us to return.”

Angie recognized the logic of that, much as she didn’t like it. “Okay, let’s think about this. Whoever is after us has got to be someone from the guest ranch. They’re the only ones who saw us leave, right? All we know is it’s not Clarissa. She’s no shooter.”

“But she is,” Teresa countered. “She used to enjoy skeet shooting. Hal told me she was good at it. I can see her thinking of me as nothing more than a clay pigeon! Also, she could easily have paid someone—a stranger, or someone in town who wanted money. Maybe someone who wants to leave here so badly that he’d do anything at all to get enough money to go.”

Angie had the eerie feeling that Teresa was, in a sense, describing herself.

“Do you want to take the chance of leaving this hiding place while it’s daylight?” Teresa asked.

“No,” Angie admitted, cautiously eyeing her companion. “It’s not worth the risk. If whoever wants us dead is still out there waiting, with this wide-open desert, we wouldn’t have a chance. Night can’t come soon enough.”

Paavo rushed into the bungalow to see if Angie had left him a note. The door was unlocked, which wasn’t like her. Growing up in a city, she never left anything unlocked if she could help it.

There was no note in the bungalow, but it felt different—violated—as if someone else had been there. When he looked around, however, he saw nothing amiss.

The cookhouse was empty, as was the common room.

On his way to the office he spotted Junior leaving the stables. He was wiping grit from his face, as if he’d just gotten back from a ride. Paavo called to him.

A rebellious sneer flickered across the man’s features. He skulked closer. “You want me for something?”

“I heard Teresa came here to meet Angie. Have you seen either one this afternoon?”

“Hell, no,” Junior said. “I been out on the range with those stupid, ugly, smelly, filthier than dirt birds.”

Paavo eyed him sharply. “Come with me.”

He rapped on the trailer door. Lionel stuck his head out. “Oh …” he gulped at Paavo’s fierce expression, then came out. “Something wrong?”

“I’m looking for Teresa Flores and Angie,” Paavo said.

“Uh … Teresa?” Lionel acted as if he never heard of her.

“She was here.”

“Oh?”

“Listen, Lionel, I know you don’t miss a thing that happens on this ranch, so what did you see?”

Lionel glanced at Junior, then said, “Oh,
that
Teresa. Didn’t you see her, Junior?”

“I was feeding the ostriches,” Junior mumbled, “and not paying much attention.”

“Did you talk to her?” Paavo asked.

“No.” Junior stared at the ground. “I was kind of …”

Embarrassed, Paavo thought, to show his daughter that all he’d done with his life was to be
come an ostrich feeder. Paavo turned to Lionel. “Did you talk to her, Lionel?”

“She was looking for Joey,” he said.

“Joey!” Junior roared.

“That’s all I know. Then, Buster showed up.”

“What was Buster doing here?” Paavo asked.

“Said he was looking for Miss Angie. I told him she might be in the common room with Teresa, but apparently he couldn’t find her there. In fact, there goes Buster now. I wonder where he’s been all this time.”

Paavo turned to see Buster’s old Jeep pulling out from behind the workhouses. At the same time, Joey darted out from the common room and hurried across the plaza toward his bungalow.

Lionel waved. “Joey! Come on over!”

“Me? Why?” Joey asked.

“Have you seen Angie or Teresa?” Paavo asked. At Joey’s confused expression, he added, “They were together, here, early this afternoon. No one’s seen them for hours, apparently. Did you?”

“No. I was taking a walk, trying to clear my head,” Joey said. “Teresa’s missing?”

“Were you just talking to Buster?” Paavo asked.

“Buster?” He looked around nervously. “No. I’d rather not have anything to do with him. Is he here?”

Lionel suddenly found his tongue. “Come to think of it, I saw a truck that may have been Teresa’s leave the ranch earlier.”

“Back to town?” Paavo asked.

“No. It went the other way,” Lionel said, scratching his chin stubble. “Out the back road toward the lake.”

“If they broke down on that back road, no wonder no one has heard from them,” Joey exclaimed. “I’ll get a truck and look for them. It’s four-wheel drive territory.”

“I’ll call the sheriff,” Lionel said.

“Tell her to search the main road. Joey and I will take the back road to the lake,” Paavo said, then to Joey, “we’ll use both our vehicles. We can cover more territory that way.”

“I’m sure they’re all right,” Joey offered. “Teresa knows the desert.”

“I hope so,” Paavo said, although with a killer around here, it wasn’t the desert that worried him.

This had to have been one of the longest days of Angie’s life. Not even the occasional rustle of a leaf broke the absolute stillness. In fact, there were no leaves, just prickly desert scrub and cactus. There was no wind. Not even a stray animal or bird.

Angie thought she’d lived a hundred years before night fell.

Most desert creatures had the sense to stay sheltered during the day. They came out at night.

The night was dark now. Beyond dark. Pitch-black.

Owls hooted. Coyotes howled, and sounded very, very near. Angie couldn’t help but wonder what else was out there.

Quietly, the two women talked.

Angie told Teresa about her family and growing up in San Francisco as the fifth daughter of a wealthy shoe-store owner and real estate investor. Teresa told her about growing up in Jackpot, the
only daughter of a woman who worked hundred-hour weeks in her restaurant.

Teresa had vowed her life would be better. Maybe that was part of Hal’s attraction. Around the time Hal left, Maritza’s health began to deteriorate, and Lupe needed Teresa to help her with both the restaurant and her grandmother. She felt stuck.

Angie understood how, given that, she couldn’t just up and leave. As they talked, they found a lot in common—love of family, respect for their parents’ toils, and wondering if they could ever do anything with their own lives to make a difference.

Now, hungry and thirsty, they decided to make a move.

Stiff and sore, crouching low, they made their way back to the truck, listening for footsteps or any indication that whoever had been stalking them was still around. They heard nothing.

The truck held food and water. Teresa had explained how, in the desert, it was important to keep some provisions—especially water—with you at all times. If a car broke down out here, it was so desolate it could be many hours before you were found. Much of the year, the temperature would be too hot to try to walk for aid; and without water, you wouldn’t survive long in 130-degree weather.

That day, the temperature hadn’t risen much above ninety. It might be “dry” desert heat, but for a San Francisco girl, it was still plenty hot.

Scouring the darkness to make sure no one had found the truck and was waiting to ambush them, they stealthily approached. Teresa reached be
hind the passenger seat and pulled out a small knapsack.

The two sat on the ground, and Teresa took out three water bottles. They shared one, saving the others for their long walk back to the guest ranch—or wherever cell service would work again.

Angie’s real hope, though, was with Paavo. Once he returned to the bungalow and discovered she wasn’t there, he would come looking for her.

He’d find her. Wouldn’t he?

Earlier, as the sun dipped low in the sky and vultures circled over her head, she had wondered what they knew that she didn’t. She wondered no more.

“What food do you have?” she asked.

Teresa sorted through the loot. Matches. Fire starter cubes. Flashlight. Knife. Can opener. One can of chili beans and another of Vienna sausages.

“That’s it?” Angie said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She wasn’t a fan of Vienna sausages—the meat in them was always a little too soft to suit her, and what was that gelatinous stuff they sat in?

“It’s precooked and nourishing,” Teresa said, waving a can as temptation. “We don’t dare build a fire.”

“You’re right,” Angie conceded. “And we’ll eat no more than half. We’ll save the rest for later.”

Teresa opened both cans and set them on flat rocks. She lifted out a sausage, as did Angie.

Dejection settled like a shroud as Angie stared at her makeshift dinner. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The front of her stomach was touching
the back, and all she could think about was how much she wished she were with Paavo instead of stuck out here with a strange woman and a crazy killer with a rifle.

She dipped her sausage into the can of chili beans and balanced a bean on it. “Beanie,” she murmured with a deep sigh as she morosely chewed the bean. Just before she bit into the sausage, she added, “Weenie.”

It was all she could do not to cry.

With a sigh, she ate more cold chili.

It made LaVerne’s food look good.

Both she and Teresa tried to take tiny nibbles and eat slowly so the food would last. It didn’t work. In seconds they’d each devoured three sausages.

“Let’s hope Paavo gets here soon,” Angie said.

“Stiff upper lip,” Teresa said encouragingly. “We can do it.”

They skulked closer to the road, both anxious to be on their way back, despite their intent to wait.