“But that doesn’t mean we can’t find out for ourselves,” I said.
Gila Joe gave a dismissive wave. “You two work with Detective Dartagnan. I’m juggling twenty balls, hoping one’s not a terrorist.”
We got in the four-wheel rental, turned on Ramon, and headed downtown for the Palkott. Dartagnan was somewhere behind us, of that I could be sure.
* * * * *
At the Palkott, I hung back checking for a tail while Lake went to the desk. We didn’t have a reservation.
I caught sight of Arlo. He was in a lobby recess, looking out the window, hands in his pockets. I slipped past him and found Tess sitting on a loveseat in another recess.
She looked up as I came in, sad eyes, but head held high.
“Tess,” I said. “You doing okay?”
“Arlo. . .” she said. “He’s . . .”
“I saw him,” I said, pulling a chair next to her. “Where’s Kinley now?”
She didn’t bat an eyelash, because she expected the question. “She’s safe.”
“Where? You know, of course, that her father is dead.”
“Now no one will harm her.”
“Wrong, Tess. We have no idea what Kinley saw or heard, what she knows, what she can tell. And about whom.”
By Tess’s rapid eye blinks, I knew I had given her something to think about, but she didn’t respond.
Arlo came in, his arms outstretched to give the air a bear hung. “Glad to see you.” He dragged an armchair close. “Goddamnedest thing—that freak Whitney.”
A movie in the making. “You staying at your house?” I asked.
“No way,” he said. “All that invisible blood, and the cops. We’re next door. Heidi’s invitation.”
I looked at Tess. “What about you?”
“Staying on the rez.”
“With Kinley?”
Tess looked away. Arlo looked at the ceiling and began banging his fingers together.
“Tess,” I said, “has anybody been asking about Kinley? Anyone at all?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re Eileen’s stepdaughter. Everyone knows it. Someone looking for her would naturally think you’re hiding her.”
“Who’s the someone, besides you?”
“Whoever killed Eileen.” Her brows drew together. She looked at Arlo.
Arlo said, “Anyone thinks Eileen’s dead, thinks Kinley’s dead.”
“Tess, what about it? Anybody asking you questions?”
“No,” she said, too quickly.
“Dartagnan, perhaps?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you two closer than you let on?”
Her eyes flashed to her father before she answered, “We are not lovers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Arlo leaned forward. “They’d better not be.”
“Why?”
“Tessie, she’s better than that.”
I had to agree. “Who are Dartagnan’s good buddies?”
Tess bit the inside of her lip. “He has lots of buddies—all over town.”
Arlo sat back. “He plays poker at the casino—with Zing and Philippe. He played with Larry, too, before he was killed.”
Lake walked in. He made an air check on his palm, indicating we’d gotten a room. Arlo stood and moved to the window. He stared out for a long moment, and then turned back to look from Lake to me. “Look, you two. I didn’t kill Eileen. I’m swearing on all I got.” He walked over, sat beside Tess, and took her hand.
Lake drew up a chair next to me.
Arlo rubbed his forehead. “Let’s talk.” We each leaned closer together. To onlookers, we might be plotting a heist. Arlo’s eyes riveted mine. “You got a story to tell?”
“Things come to a head when Kinley confides to her mother that she’s unhappy with her father. It strengthens Eileen’s determination to get Kinley away from Whitney. First, though, she has to get drug-free.”
“She was succeeding,” Arlo insisted.
“But she also has to prove that Whitney is unfit. So she hires an investigator. On the surface it looks like Whitney’s the perfect father. An academic, no less. But his façade hides a deeply disturbed personality.” I explained Whitney’s family background—that he was not the son of wealthy parents, that he was from the hills of Arkansas and his parents were killed in a feud over river rights.
“Happens all the time out here,” Arlo said with a hand wave. “Riparian shootouts.”
“His real name was Whitey—Dewey Whitey.”
“I’d change my name, too, if it was that,” Arlo said.
I sneaked a glance at Lake, who was amused at Arlo’s butting in. When I got to the armored car robbery, Arlo said, “Ho boy. So Eileen’s PI learns all this and tells her? I didn’t know nothing about that.”
“The PI didn’t tell her, because she’d disappeared before he could. He didn’t tell me, either, because he was holding out for money. Then he was murdered.”
“So you think Whitney got the PI?” Arlo said. “And Larry with him?”
“Not personally.”
“He couldn’t because he wasn’t out here—that I know of,” Arlo said. “Dartagnan was watching the planes come in from Atlanta.”
Tess spoke up. “You’re saying he hired someone, aren’t you?”
“He knew someone here who would kill for him, yes.”
“You got an idea who?” Arlo asked.
“A few more puzzle pieces and proof would help.”
“You gonna say who you think it is?”
“Not now.”
Apparently he didn’t like the way I looked at him. “I’m not your idea, am I?”
“Whitney knew that Eileen was dead, but he didn’t know what had happened to Kinley.” I looked at Tess. “What he hadn’t counted on was Eileen’s putting Kinley with someone she trusted.”
Arlo wiped his brow again. “Boy, this is unbelievable. I knew Eileen had the private guy, and she was excited about getting some good info. I just didn’t know she was in danger. Who could?”
“Then, according to Philippe, she saw a man in his shop who alarmed her.”
“Maybe she knew the guy from Atlanta,” Arlo said. “Maybe she was just scared. She was pretty jumpy the last couple of days.
“Then Arlo, you came home Sunday morning from LA on the early bird. You always came home on the early bird. You found Eileen lying in the foyer dead.”
Arlo held up his hands like he was pushing me away. “I didn’t say that.”
“I know you did. The cops will get circumstantials at the house.”
“Just talk on,” Arlo said. Sweat sheened his brow and cheeks.
“You had a situation. You knew Kinley didn’t want to go home. You knew Eileen wasn’t going to send her home. And you knew that Tess had her.”
Tess looked ready to burst into tears.
I held Arlo’s eyes with mine. “So you had a brain wave, even if you didn’t know who killed Eileen. You and Tess wrapped up the body, cleaned up the mess, and took Eileen into the desert. A few of Tess’s people you trusted gave Eileen a native burial.” The sudden silence between the four of us hung like a pall. I said, “The idea was to let Whitney and the cops and the court think Eileen had taken off with her daughter. Happens all the time.”
“You got some imagination,” Arlo said, folding his arms tightly across his chest.
Lake shifted in his chair. “What did you think when you found Eileen dead?”
“Think?” Arlo said belligerently. “Let’s say I did find her dead. What would you think? Who did it? Why? Then I’d call Dartagnan.”
“Was Dartagnan involved in the cleanup?” Lake asked.
“It would be stupid to ask a cop to do something like that.”
“So you didn’t call him?”
“I wouldn’t have; let’s say that.”
“But there’s a killer out here who knows you covered up for him.”
“Or her,” Arlo said, and laughed. “A wo
man can shoot a gun as good as a man can.”
“How’d you know she was shot?” Lake asked.
I heard Tess crying softly.
Arlo spread his arms. “Don’t go hanging me on a guess.”
“I wonder what the killer thought,” I said. “Must have been an anxious time, waiting until some hapless mother brings her daughter’s friend, Kinley, home, only to discover Kinley’s mother’s dead body? And then days go by with no news of the murder.”
“You could write a script,” Arlo said.
Lake spoke up. “Mr. Cameron, we’re not asking for you to confess to concealing a death. That’s for you and your lawyer. We’re sure of what happened. But think about this: the FBI found blood in your house, they’ve got DNA, and they’ll prove that the amount they found was enough to make it likely Eileen was killed. They found it splattered on the walls, on the ceiling, in the keyhole. You probably left footprints in the blood, an overlooked bloody fingerprint in your car. Now they’re looking for Kinley. If they don’t find her, they’ll assume you killed her, too—just at some other location. That’s a lot to think about.”
Arlo rubbed the sweat on his neck. He looked at the ceiling and then at Tess. He got up from the chair. “You’re right. It’s a lot to think about.”
We all stood. I said, “Tess, Arlo, listen carefully. Let this sink in. The danger didn’t die with Whitney. One person besides Whitney knew that Eileen didn’t take off with Kinley—Eileen’s killer. He’s looking for the child. He knows who has her.”
Arlo grunted. “In this scenario of yours, did Kinley see what happened to her mother?”
I answered, “In my scenario, the real scenario, Kinley was already with Tess.”
“Who would want the kid?” Arlo said.
“This killer is vengeful. Whitney was his brother.”
“Eileen never said the dirtbag had a brother.”
“There was a lot she didn’t know about her ex-husband.”
Arlo whirled to stalk away, while Tess hugged her arms like she was freezing.
56
We were waiting for the elevator when Dartagnan sauntered up. Earlier, I’d caught sight of him circling through the lobby. The Palm Springs authorities weren’t going to let us out of their sight. He asked, “What’d Arlo have to say?”
“I did the talking,” I said.
He grinned with his upper lip. “You don’t have to convince me.” The elevator doors spread open. “Can I come upstairs?”
Lake stood in the way of the door closing. “You got a gun on you?” he asked.
Dartagnan spread his coat. His gun was in a holster under his arm. “Always.”
“No, you cannot come to our room.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t got a gun on me. It’s in my suitcase. Airport security rules.”
“You think I’m going to shoot you?”
“Some quick-draw shot two PIs in a hotel room.”
Dartagnan made a hand gesture—the quick drawing of a gun. “You got a permit to pack heat in California?”
“Not yet,” Lake said. “I’ll be down to get one.”
Dartagnan and Lake had an eyeball standoff. Dartagnan looked away first. “Okay. I’ll give you a temporary permit.” His eyes twinkled at me, but not merrily. “Bet you could get off two shots in the shake of a buck’s tail.”
“I don’t carry,” I lied. “But I’d like a permit in case I need to.” He shrugged.
“We’ll be coming along,” Lake said.
“Give me an hour to get to the station.”
As the elevator rose, I said, “‘Pack heat.’ He’s been a bit player in too many movies.”
* * * * *
The luxurious silk bed cover beckoned. Lake looked at me, and I at him. Simultaneously we checked our watches, then burst into laughter. Our work was not done.
First stop on the way to the cop station, Philippe.
Philippe wasn’t behind the computer. A slouch-hatted chef said he was making the rounds of his high-desert shops.
At the station, we waited half an hour for Dartagnan. We were photographed and printed, and finally handed two temporary carrying permits.
I held mine at the knife edge, between two fingers. I grinned at him. “A permit to carry with nothing to carry. You got a spare?”
“Sorry, no,” Dartagnan said. “You seek, you’ll find.”
Lake looked at his piece of plastic. “Two days,” he said. “How generous.”
“If you don’t find what you’re lookin’ for in two days, it ain’t gonna be found. Now, I’m saying this for your own good. Don’t do anything stupid. This is not your jurisdiction. And remember, we’re in this together.”
Lake cocked his head. “I won’t forget.” We started to leave, then Lake looked back and asked, “Your name really Dartagnan?”
Dartagnan’s mouth slipped open. Then he laughed. “Who’d pick an alias like that?”
“Whitney was an alias. His kin took aliases when they left the Arkansas hills.”
“What’re you getting at?”
“Being out here reminds me that people in the movies take different names.”
“I’m not in the movies.”
“I heard you were.”
“Bit parts.”
“What name you use?”
“Sancho Pérez.”
Lake touched the identity card to his forehead in a kind of salute. “See you later, Sancho Pérez.”
* * * * *
We drove to the FBI office and waited for forty-five minutes for Gila Joe. He took my gun permit by the edge and examined it. “Thumbs and forefinger. Let’s see who Mr. Dartagnan LeRoi really is.” He slipped it into a small envelope.
We swung back by Too Busy to Cook? but it was closed, so we headed out Ramon for the Mission Palms Casino. No players at the crap or blackjack tables. One roulette wheel spun for a few customers. Obviously, the action hadn’t arrived.
In a back corner, up three steps, stood two poker tables. Two men and a dealer sat at one. We perused the buffet. We could have used food, but food lines aren’t my thing. Lake lingered at the banana pudding, and we looked at each other and laughed. At the window, we exchanged cash for chips and casually strolled like gawking tourists to the bubbling of the calliopes. I sat at the quarter slots. After two pulls, twenty bucks in coins crashed into the tray. Lake kept pumping his arm and losing.
At last, Zing rushed in and passed us without a glimpse. Ten minutes later, Philippe swooped in. He had on a black beret, the first time I’d seen him without his tall hat.
The heavies had arrived at the poker table. We got up and made our way to the tables. Philippe spied me at the same time my eyes met his. He smiled big and waved toward the empty seat next to him. “Play!” he cried.
“I don’t,” I said, and gestured toward Lake. “He does.”
“Join us,” Philippe invited. Zing and the other men at the table seemed less than pleased at the invitation.
The dealer looked up at Lake. “You in?”
“Sure,” Lake said.
“You are taking the place of our Dartagnan,” Philippe said, picking up two cards.
“If he comes in, I’ll get up,” Lake said.
“He never misses. He is never late, too,” Philippe said. He looked up at me. “Sit, mademoiselle. Between Monsieur Lake and myself.”
I fetched a chair that sat near the rail for watchers.
They played the hand. Lake scooped the winnings and stacked the chips. I watched for an hour as silent men played seriously. I could see most of the casino. No Dartagnan. No Tess. No Rosovos, but I had the slithery feeling someone watched from a television screen, having remembered Tess saying that bugs were hidden all over the place.
Lake couldn’t lose. Three men left. As three new players took their places and lined up their chips, Philippe leaned close to Lake. “You are the beautiful mademoiselle’s paramour?”
Lake laughed. “Ask her.”
Bending
to his ear, I said, “He’s my partner. In crime.”
Philippe’s eyebrows went up. “You are still looking for Madame Cameron?”
“Still,” I said.
“Ah, the dogged ones.”
“Also we’re looking for her daughter.”
“She is no doubt with her mama. I hear her papa is dead. Shot in a place of ill repute.”
“True,” Lake said.
The dealer called, “Everyone in?”
I rose and ventured away, toward the fifty-dollar slots. A voice came from behind, very softly. “Try your luck?”
Rosa Rosovo.
I grinned. “Not with the fifties. Quarters.”
She waved me to the bar. “Last night, a man got a twenty-five-thousand-dollar payout.”
“How much did it cost him?”
She laughed. “Over time, about twenty-five-thousand-dollars. I’d like to buy you a drink.”
“Thanks. Amstel Light.”
We sat on cushioned bar stools. Her poison was some kind of brown whiskey with water. “To you,” she said, lifting her glass.
“And you,” I said, toasting. “And to Tess.”
“Yes. To a good heart.”
“A good heart, indeed. But she hasn’t told me the truth.”
“She does not lie without cause.”
“I know the cause.”
“Yes,” she acknowledged matter-of-factly.
I heard someone behind me and asked Mrs. Rosovo, “Where can I buy a gun?”
A half turn of the bar stool, and I faced Philippe, who air-kissed me. He asked Mrs. Rosovo, “Where is Mademoiselle Tess?”
Rosa Rosovo floated her eyes over mine. “She is at a showing up near Bakersfield.”
“When did she depart?”
“I helped pack her art this morning.”
Philippe gripped my arm. “She is the dog, celle-ci. Determined to find our missing madam. And she wishes a gun, mon dieu!”
Rosa Rosovo looked at me, and I gave a quick nod. She said to Philippe, “Miss Dru here would like to purchase a gun.”
Philippe sized me up. “You can shoot good?”
“Not good,” I said. “A snake bit me in the desert, and I’m not going there again without a gun.”
“Bonne idée,” Philippe said. “J’ai beaucoup. I will lend you one of mine.”
The Last Temptation Page 28
