The Trap (11 page)

After I left the office, I drove straight back to the ranch, slowing as I crossed the bumpy bottom of the small stream. I hadn’t read or answered my e-mail, and if I didn’t pretty soon, Mom would be calling to find out why she hadn’t heard from me.

Glenda and Gabe were involved in a two-handed gin rummy game, so I was free to go online. “You’ve got mail,” the voice informed me.

Of course the first message was from Mom:

I clenched my teeth and wrote a response:

What did the family expect me to do? Check the kitchen and medicine cabinet and tell Glenda and Gabe what to do? Get real.

There was a short note from Dad asking how everything was going, two ads from clothing companies, and a letter from Ellie, updating me on the swim team:

Before I answered Ellie’s letter, I checked the last e-mail on my list. It had a subject that intrigued me:
Just for you, Julie.
The screen name was PDQ, which I hadn’t seen before, and all it said was

Before I had a chance to wonder what was going on, I heard the familiar instant message jingle, and the box popped up.

I waited for an answer, but one didn’t come, so I sent another message.

Again there was no reply.

But PDQ remained silent.

I tried to figure things out. Who knew about my computer messages with Robin? Who knew that I was living on a Texas ranch?

Glenda … Luis … Ashley … Deputy Dale Foster. Each of them had access to a computer.

I went back to PDQ’s e-mail, clicked on
Reply
, and asked who was hiding behind that screen name and why I was being warned.

Just a few moments after I’d clicked on
Send Now
, I heard “You’ve got mail” and found a message from Mailer-Daemon informing me that my letter couldn’t be delivered. PDQ’s e-mail to me had no return address.

I needed Robin and her good advice. I saw on my buddy list that she had come online, so I told her about the messages.

I signed off and leaned back in the big office chair, trying to think things through. If someone was trying to frighten me away from asking questions about the so-called accidents—two of which had led to deaths—then it meant there
was
something to investigate. Since Uncle Gabe was one of the men who had fallen, I was more sure than ever that there would be another attempt on his life.

Myrtle had told me to leave the investigation to Deputy Sheriff Foster. Luis had told me the same thing. At the moment, since I didn’t have a clue what to do next, I decided to pay the deputy another visit, tell him about the warning I’d just received, and convince him he had a duty to look into Eugene Barrow’s and Albert Crouch’s deaths so he could protect Uncle Gabe.

After lunch, while both Glenda and Gabe were napping, I again drove to the deputy’s office. Foster’s door stood open so I smiled at Myrtle, walked into his office without even asking if I could, and firmly shut the door behind me so Myrtle couldn’t listen in.

I perched on the chair opposite the deputy’s desk and told him about the warning I’d received through an instant message.

He gave me a look of disgust and asked, “Which one of your little buddies was playin’ games this time? Robin again? Or are there a bunch of you in on this Nancy Drew thing?”

“We’re not playing detective. Who is PDQ? I don’t know. I’m trying to protect my great-uncle.”

“That’s
my
job,” the deputy answered. “But I seem to be havin’ to protect myself from
you.
” He stood up and motioned to me to leave. “I don’t want you runnin’ back and forth to my office anymore with foolish ideas. Be a good girl and stay with your aunt and uncle and help them like you’re supposed to.”

As I walked out of his office, Myrtle not only gave me a hostile look but she made a beeline for the closed door—obviously to find out what I’d told him.

I stopped on the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the clear air to help me think. I had to face the fact that I wasn’t going to get the deputy’s help. It was going to be up to me to find out whatever I could to protect Uncle Gabe.

AS I DROVE BACK TO THE RANCH, I TRIED TO PLAN WHAT I
should do and decided the first thing was to get answers to my questions. That brought me back to Mrs. Barrow. She hadn’t had time to tell me what I wanted to know about Mr. Crouch. Also, by this time, she would have missed Mr. Barrow’s company paperweight—or maybe found out where she’d misplaced it. I needed to know.

At the entrance to Rancho del Oro, I eased the car over the ridges in the cattle guard and began the climb across the stream and through the hills. When I reached the Barrow house, I parked in the driveway and walked toward the front door.

As I approached the steps, a pair of familiar legs shot out in front of me. Giving a yelp, I leaped to one side, barely catching my balance.

Luis rose up on his knees and stared at me. “I didn’t know you were there,” he said.

“What are you doing under the bushes?” I asked.

He put down the trowel he was holding. “Digging up weeds,” he said.

He was gripping something in his left hand—something metal, something shining. “What is that?” I asked.

Luis held it up. “It looks like a paperweight.”

“Where was it?”

He got to his feet and handed the paperweight to me. “I saw some freshly turned earth under the bushes next to the porch steps. I poked around with the trowel and hit something hard, so I dug it up.”

Dried mud was caked on the paperweight, as though it had been wet when it was buried. I scraped off some of the dirt and saw Mr. Barrow’s company logo.

Mrs. Barrow walked onto her porch and leaned over the railing. “I heard voices,” she said.

I handed the paperweight to Mrs. Barrow and said, “Luis found this buried under the bushes.”

She took it, turning it over in her hands. “How very strange,” she said. “What was it doing there?”

“Mrs. Barrow,” I said bluntly. “Please don’t try to clean your paperweight. I think the deputy sheriff will want to see it.”

“The deputy sheriff?” Luis echoed.

“Why?” Mrs. Barrow asked. She must have answered her own question, because her mouth opened and closed as if she were a fish, gulping air. She peered again at the paperweight and said, “It is odd that this was buried. I suppose Dale Foster
would
want to know about it.”

After she had walked into the house, I turned to Luis. He was frowning, obviously deep in thought. “I
hope the deputy will test the paperweight for fingerprints,” I said.

Luis stopped frowning and looked directly into my eyes. “Mine are on it,” he said quietly. “So are yours.”

For an instant I was startled, but I recovered quickly and said, “Yes, and Mrs. Barrow’s and probably Millie Lee’s, since she must pick it up when she dusts.”

I sat on the porch steps, ready to wait however long it would take for Dale Foster to come. “And maybe the murderer’s fingerprints too,” I added.

Luis shrugged. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so sure that Mr. Barrow was murdered.”

“Someone wanted to get rid of the paperweight,” I answered, “and Mr. Barrow took too much of his medication for no good reason. At least, that’s what they think. The deputy hasn’t tried to find out what really happened.”

Luis was quiet for a moment. Then he sat beside me, so close I could feel the warmth of his body against mine. “Maybe the deputy should spend his time protecting your uncle,” Luis said. “If he was meant to die and didn’t …”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. I shivered and clasped Luis’s hand, desperately needing someone to hang on to. “I tried to talk to Deputy Foster about Uncle Gabe’s fall,” I confided. “He didn’t believe me when I said it wasn’t an accident.”

Luis shifted, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to reassure me. “Do what I told you,” he said. “Make sure that someone is with your uncle at all times. Don’t leave him alone for a moment. I’ll try to help you as much as I can.”

“Thank you,” I said. I liked Luis’s arm around me. I liked to feel him close against me. I relaxed, leaning into his shoulder.

But then, as if I’d been slapped, I remembered. “Luis,” I asked, “you know a lot about computers, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” he answered, his voice warm with confidence. “As I told you, computer science is going to be my major.”

“Does that mean you know how to do things with computers that most people can’t do?”

He twisted to look closely at me. “Like what?”

“Like … well … being able to send e-mails without identification.”

For a long moment he studied me. Then he said, “I’ve heard that people can do that, but I don’t know how it’s done.”

I was surprised. I didn’t know Luis well, but from what I’d seen of him I was pretty sure he was the kind of person who would zero in on learning how to do something if he knew it was possible. Could he be PDQ? Was he trying to warn me not to ask questions?

No. He couldn’t be. He had told me he didn’t know how to send that kind of e-mail, and I was determined to believe him. Regardless of what Robin had said, I had to trust someone.

It didn’t take long for Foster to arrive. He went into the house and talked for a while with Mrs. Barrow. Then he came out, gripping a plastic bag that held the paperweight.

“Show me where you found it, Luis,” Foster said.

Luis did. They both poked their heads under the bush
by the door. When they straightened up, Foster said, “What that hole tells me is either you found a paperweight buried there, or you were buryin’ it yourself when Julie got here.”

“What!” Luis and I shouted almost in unison.

Foster grinned. “Just givin’ you both an idea of how there are two sides to every question regarding a crime, if there even was one.”