R.P. Dahlke - Dead Red 04 - A Dead Red Alibi (19 page)

Caleb held up the little gizmo with a blinking red light.

My eyes widened with horror. “The
Bugatti could be toast by the time we get there!”

“Not to mention trying to explain a dead thief to the sheriff’s department,” Caleb said.

“Maybe not,” Dad said. “We just can’t remember if we attached the light switch to the bomb.”

I didn’t have to voice what we were all thinking: Would we find a burned out barn with the hulk of an expensive race car and a dead thief in the ashes, or was it a false alarm?

I ducked into Pearlie’s room to explain, saw that her head was down and her eyes closed, so I backed out of the room and motioned to Caleb and my dad that we could leave.

Caleb
drove the new loaner and kept to the speed limit until we turned off the highway, and then floored it. We bounced over potholes and ate dust for the next mile, but when we arrived at our property, the security lights were on. Someone had been here. The good news was that there was no fire or smoke coming from the barn.

Caleb swung the wheel over and parked.

“Still intact,” he said, pointing to the chain and lock. “That’s a good sign.”

He and Dad got out and did a quick sweep of the property.

I was twitching my fingers on the dash, waiting for the guys to give me the all clear sign when Caleb opened my door.

“Your dad’s new dog must’ve triggered the alarm. We left the porch light on so why don’t you go inside,
Lalla. Noah and I will keep checking.”

A false alarm?
And they had it rigged to blow up? I was relieved and furious. Selling the Bugatti was going to be my nest egg for retirement. Obviously, these boys needed something to occupy their time besides building a makeshift protection against thieves.

I unlocked the door to the house, stepped inside, switched on the light and laid Pearlie’s purse on the entry table.

Something didn’t feel right. I tried to shake off my apprehension, but I couldn’t quite get over the eerie feeling that I was being watched.

Oh get over it,
Lalla. It’s just that you’ve never come into this house alone at night.

A
s I reached up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead, I noticed movement on the far side of the room.

I froze, then stealthily reached into the side pocket of Pearlie’s bag and withdrew her gun. Holding it between both hands, I croaked, “Come out where I can see you!”

The shadowed figure halted, a glint of metal in his hand.

With my heart threatening to leap out of my chest, I crouched and pulled back the hammer.

“Drop it, or I’ll shoot!” I yelled.

But instead of doing as I ordered, he pointed his weapon at me.

I fired and dove for cover behind the nearest couch.

I waited, expecting to hear him fire back, or shout, or run out the door.

Nothing.

Was he dead? Or was he waiting for me to come out from behind the couch? Before I could decide, the front door slammed open and Caleb shouted, “
Lalla!”

“Get down,” I hissed.

He threw himself on the floor next to me. “What happened?”

“A gunman. I-I think I shot him.”

“Where?”

“On the other side of the living room.”

“By the French doors?”

“Yeah,” I said, breathless and panting.

In spite of my warning, he peeked around the side of the couch, then flicked on his flashlight and scoured the dark interior.

“No one’s there,” he said, standing. “Let’s turn on some lights.”

I got up, my legs shaking from the adrenaline rush.

With the lights on, I scanned the room. Where’d he go?

Glancing at the French doors, I gasped and brought up my gun again. “There he is!”

Caleb hit my forearm, forcing the barrel down. “Don’t shoot! It’s your dad.”

Dad quietly slipped through the door, a shovel in his hand. “What’s all the ruckus?”

“You didn’t see him?” I asked, my voice an octave higher.

“Who?” Dad asked, looking around.

“There was a man with a gun standing right where you are, Dad. If the French doors were open, then he escaped the way he came in.”

My dad looked behind him. “I didn’t see anyone.”

My voice quaked and my hands shook. “He-he could still be out there.”

Caleb gently pried my fingers off the Lady Smith. “Noah, close the French doors and come over here, will you?”

When my dad was standing next to us, Caleb turned off the table lamp and said, “
Lalla. Tell me—what do you see?”

I looked across the dark room. This time, three people looked back. Caleb waved. The tallest figure waved back.

“Oh, but ….” My explanation trailed off into embarrassment. I’d come into a dark house, turned on an overhead light and seen my own reflection.

“Then,” I asked, annoyed at my own idiocy, “who left the French doors unlocked? And you set t
he alarm, right? Oh, crap. I didn’t even notice the alarm wasn’t set.”

“The French doors were locked and the house was alarmed,” Caleb said. “Someone
was
in the house.”

My dad reached over and turned on the table lamp. “
Gol-durn thieves. What else did they steal?”

“What do you mean? They didn’t take the Bugatti, did they?”

I looked at their hangdog expressions and knew without asking. “The lock on the barn door—?”

“Yeah, well,” my dad said. “I guess if he could figure out our alarm code, he could pick a simple lock and disarm our makeshift security system. If I get my hands on that
sonofabitch, I’ll shoot him myself.”

“That may have to wait,” Caleb said. “Let’s turn on all the lights and look around—just don’t touch anything.”

When we were finished, we gathered in the living room.

“Everything is as we left it,” Caleb said. “No drawers opened, and our closets appear undisturbed.”

“That quart of coffee ice cream in the freezer is gone,” Dad growled.

“You polished off that carton after dinner last night,” I replied. “There’s nothing out of place, but still ….”

“Yeah,” Caleb said, looking around. “Someone was here. But for what purpose?”

“They were quick about it,” Dad said. “Maybe there were two of them.”

“One to steal the Bugatti,” Caleb said, his voice thoughtful. “The other came in to see if there was anything worth stealing in the house.”

“I put a bullet hole in the glass for nothing,” I added. “You did set the alarm before you left,
right?”

“Of course,” Dad said, heading for the fridge. “Why wouldn’t we?”

He seemed oddly nonchalant about our security system, but then my dad also thought a shotgun was the best deterrent for thieves.

Caleb cleared his throat. “We were so busy creating our bomb that we didn’t set a new code for the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“We set the code at 1-2-3-4 and left.”

“Brilliant,” I said. “Who’s going to call the sheriff’s department?”

Caleb scrubbed a hand over his
crew cut. “I’ll do it.”

“Don’t hurry or anything. They only stole a
n antique race car worth over million dollars.”

“Yes, I know that, sweetheart,” he sai
d, reaching for his cell phone.

Furious that my retirement fund had been stolen, I forgot how this call would play out; we’d be up half the night while deputies tramped all over our property, when in all probability the thief was enough of a pro not to leave any clues. The Bugatti would be smuggled across the border and in some rich Mexican drug
lord’s garage by sunrise.

I looked over at my dad. In spite of his assertion that he was fine, my father was still on heart medications and needed his sleep. All my righteous indignation would be for nothing if he had to endure another go-round with the sheriff’s department. At least we didn’t walk in on these guys. Hang the Bugatti. I had what really mattered right here in the house.

I put a hand over Caleb’s. “Wait.”

His brows went up in question.

“We can always call it in tomorrow.”

He gave me a reassuring squeeze. “Okay. Why don’t you take a quick shower?”

I pulled my shirt away from my skin and sniffed. “Eeuw. I stink, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do.” Caleb tilted his head at the
bathroom. “We’ll talk after your shower.”

Pearlie’s purse lay where I had left it on the entry table, her Lady Smith now back in its zippered compartment. We’d left Pearlie sleeping, so why the nagging feeling that I’d forgotten something?

I was lathering my hair with shampoo when I remembered—Reina! She had been released this afternoon, and thanks to my cousin, Mac Coker offered to—how had he put it, he would
take care of Reina
. My heart kicked fearfully in my chest. If Mac Coker was responsible for ferrying drugs in and out of Bethany’s place, would he decide that the unstable Reina was a liability? I quickly gathered my wet ponytail into a scrunchy and dressed.

Caleb was at the kitchen table sipping coffee.

“Dad go to bed?” I asked.

“He did,” he said, and putting a silencing finger to his lips, he motioned me to foll
ow him out onto the back patio.

I padded outside on bare feet, barely missing the new dog’s water dish, but my other foot caught on something soft, and I leaned over to pick it up. Holding it to the light, I saw that it was khaki colored, ripped, and had slobber on it. I held it between two fingers.

“There was someone here, and it looks like Dad’s new friend took a chunk out of his pant leg.”

“Yes, and I found a couple of bugs, one under our bedside lamp, the other on the fridge, made to look like a refrigerator magnet,” he said, and ignoring the slobber, rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “
This is uniform weight.”

“I hate to say it, but I think
Deputy Dick may be the culprit.”

“I thought you said the deputy saved Pearlie.”

“He did, but he also told me that Mac Coker bought the tax lien on his granddad’s property, and that Mac has also been buying up property along Red Mountain Road.”

“
What’s that got to do with the break-in?” Caleb asked.

“Abel admitted that if he can’t get the money to pay for the back taxes, his granddad will lose the property
. He’s been working full time as a deputy and part time as a tow truck operator, and it’s still not enough.”

Caleb blinked thoughtfully for a minute doing his humming thing, then said, “Y
ou think Mac is using the tax lien to blackmail Abel Dick?”

“Yes,
” I said, hoping he saw the connection as clearly as I did.

“
You think Mac Coker is buying up property along a little used road to set up his daughter’s place as a drug drop?”

“It’s a direct link between Highway 92 and Bethany’s property.
It also fits with Mac Coker’s relationship to the Chicago mob,” I said.

“
When did Abel tell you about the tax liens and the property buys, and why is it the first time I’m hearing about it?”

“He confessed to most of it at the hospital, and you rushed me out of
there before I could tell you and after that ….”

“Okay. Start over,” he said, perching on the edge
of a folding chair.

I told
him everything Abel said about Bethany’s side job as an internet sex worker, and Abel’s hints that the police chief was her killer.

“Then how
deeply is he tied up with Mac Coker?”

“I’m getting to that.
Abel was Bethany’s friend,” I said. “He liked and admired her, but I don’t believe he killed her. I think the police chief murdered Bethany.” I held up my hand for him to wait.

“
We know he wasn’t dressed for a camping trip, he was a known wife beater, and I suspect if you looked into it you will find his credit card payments for Bethany’s service. I think Abel Dick or Mac Coker tried to come to her rescue. One of them killed the chief, but Abel knew where to dump a body.”

“
The mine pit. Yes, he’s the local, not Mac Coker,” Caleb said.

“
Right. He knew all about the pits. He’s part of it … “

“He may be an
accessory to murder,” Caleb said, getting out of his chair. “I’m going to call Detective Tom. If Abel is missing a piece of his uniform, he’ll be arrested.”

“Please, Caleb, before you make that call, I need you to go with me to pick up Reina.”

“The artist who overdosed? Isn’t she still in the hospital?”

“Mac Coker picked her up when she was released today. I’m worried about her. If Mac is responsible for the drug trafficking here, he might
decide that she’s a liability he can’t afford to keep around.”