We shook. His hand swallowed mine, although he wasn’t a large man, like his show-off colleague. Teo was taller than average, broad-shouldered and long-limbed but trim, like a runner. I knew he had to be strong to do what he did, but I knew he would also be fast.
“The dimples are a great addition to the voice,” he said as he dropped my hand.
I tried not to melt. “You have time to be interviewed now?”
Bismarck was circling toward us, and the tennis balls were back in the other deputy’s pocket, his dog on a leash now. Teo said something that sounded like it was in German, and Bismarck trotted to his side and sat.
I had done a little research before my arrival, so even if I hadn’t witnessed the demonstration, I knew how well-trained these dogs had to be. Still, this was nobody’s cocker spaniel. Never having owned any dog, I didn’t know what to do.
“You can pet him,” Teo said.
“He won’t eat my hand? A little evening snack?”
“Only if I tell him to.”
I leaned over and held my hand out for Bismarck to sniff before I carefully reached over his head and scratched behind his ears. “He’s beautiful.”
“My best friend.”
I wondered if that meant there was no woman in his life. “My mom’s not a fan of dogs, so I’m a dog novice.”
“You don’t have one now? I bet you don’t live at home anymore.”
“Actually I do, but just for the summer. While I’m here interning at the paper.” I looked up and flashed my admirable dimples. “And the paper’s the reason I’m standing here. I’d love that interview.”
His gaze held mine. “I’d love to give it to you. But I just found out I’m working this evening.”
“Can we set up another time then?”
“We could do it over dinner tomorrow.”
There were many times and places for a quick interview. I knew that. He knew that. But I didn’t hesitate. Because the idea of sitting across the table from the deputy who had found John Quayle in a tree stand was promising.
Even more so? Finding out about Mateo Santiago was irresistible.
CHAPTER TWELVE
My tea was cold, and apparently so was I, because I was shivering. I was just wrapping a chenille afghan around my shoulders when the doorbell rang. I wondered if a miracle had occurred, and the cops had arrested my attacker and were now at my front door to gloat. I knew better, of course, since at best I’d probably be called down to the local sheriff’s office to identify the guy in some kind of lineup. But hope is like a worm peeking out of its hole in the spring when hungry robins are everywhere.
A quick peek through my own peephole brought the second surprise of the day.
“Sophie?” I flung open the door and grabbed one of the two cloth bags loaded into Sophie’s arms before I gave her a quick hug. “I told you none of this stuff was necessary.” The bag in my arms held folders about potential cold cases. I hadn’t expected to need them because I’d foolishly assumed, or hoped, my stay would be short.
“You know the coffee date I told you about?” Sophie stepped over the threshold and let me lock the door behind her.
“Isn’t that today?”
“In about an hour. Here. Or almost. Just down the road.”
“You drove four hours to have coffee with a stranger?”
Sophie was sparkling more than usual, enough that I had to blink. I hoped the guy liked rhinestones and sequins. Her billowing chiffon blouse, worn low over her shoulders, was crusted with them. To tone it down, she wore plain skintight jeans. Her hair was pulled back with multiple butterfly clips, which exposed hoop earrings wide enough to play ring toss.
“I’m being careful,” she said. “I didn’t want to tell him where I live.”
“And you needed an excuse to check up on me.”
“Of course not. Why would you think so?” She began to wander, examining the downstairs.
“You didn’t happen to notice anybody hanging around outside, did you?”
Alert, as always, she stopped. “Why?”
“Finish your fact-finding mission, then I’ll tell you.”
Minutes later we were on the screened porch, rocking back and forth on the cushioned glider. I told her about my morning.
Sophie waits and then she pounces. “I assume you didn’t tell the deputy about Wendy’s little problem?”
“Of course not.”
“Because you don’t think the guy who came after you is related? Or because you’re protecting her?”
“Both.”
She looked pained. “Did the deputy have any advice?”
“He told me to get a dog.”
“Do you know how many people get dogs and then abandon them because they don’t really think it through?” Sophie volunteers at our local animal shelter. She fosters rescued chihuahuas until they find new and better homes.
“Maybe I could borrow Kiwi.” Kiwi is Sophie’s permanent chihuahua, old, overweight and only up for attacking a toe if absolutely required.
“You have better possibilities.” Sophie was a student of my past.
She waited, but when I didn’t take the bait, she moved on. “Your sister is absent because she’s afraid she’s going to be arrested for a murder she didn’t commit. A man tries to break into her home.” She let her words squirm uncomfortably between us.
“The deputy said he’s had several break-ins this week. He thinks it’s a group that travels through on a regular basis.”
“Could be.” She pushed the glider harder, and it squeaked in protest.
I asked the obvious question. “Wendy’s out west somewhere running from everybody. What could this guy have to do with that?”
“I have no idea. But coincidence is the catalyst of investigations.”
“And sometimes coincidence itself is the enemy because it’s thought to be more than it really is. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”
“You’re planning to be extra careful?”
I didn’t tell her I’d already toyed with bringing my Smith & Wesson inside. Unfortunately, there were two small children in the house and no gun safe. And what would I have done with my gun today, anyway, had it been handy? Pulled it from my purse while the guy was rolling over me, and then aimed it at his chest? Florida is a “stand your ground” state, so I probably would have been within my rights to shoot him. Unfortunately, then I would have spent the rest of my life wondering if he’d only knocked me over so he could get away. And he would no longer be alive to clear up our misunderstanding.
Sophie was waiting for an answer. “I’m mulling my possibilities,” I said. “But I’ll come up with something.”
“I don’t have time to goad you. I want to tell you what else I’ve learned about the murder in Santa Fe. Then I have to scoot.”
“You could come back and meet my nieces after your date. Stay for dinner.”
“I have to head right back to Delray after coffee. I’m subbing for another cashier, and she can’t leave until I get there.”
“So fill me in.”
“I’ll start with the victim. His name is Vítor Calvo, Dr. Vítor Calvo from Rio de Janeiro. He is...was a plastic surgeon, well-known, apparently. His website touts him as plastic surgeon to the stars. If the online rumors are true, lots of celebrities go to his clinic in Rio to have work done, probably on the sly. What I know for sure is that he regularly scheduled seminars for potential patients at a variety of glitzy resorts with golf courses and five star restaurants. He scheduled half a dozen this year in the US alone. He had one scheduled at the Golden Aspen, and he was there relaxing and preparing.”
I digested this as she went. “Is there a theory about why he was murdered?”
“In a brief statement the sheriff said he believed robbery was the motive, because Calvo’s wallet and a valuable watch
were gone, and the room had been ransacked. That’s the kind of thing he wouldn’t say out loud if he could avoid it. So it’s likely they actually think that’s true.”
While I couldn’t imagine my sister killing, even hurting, anybody, I especially couldn’t believe she’d do either for money. Bryce made a substantial income, and when our father died, Wendy would probably take over Gracey Group. As CEO she could pay herself a small fortune. For all I knew, my father had beat her to the punch and she was already filthy rich.
I felt relief, although that surprised me. Even relief felt disloyal. “Any evidence linking someone to the crime?”
“Real information is still sketchy. But we have partners in that area. And one of them knows people in the sheriff’s office.”
“Partners” were Sophie’s idea. In the planning stages of Out in the Cold, Sophie had patiently explained that some people wanted more than talk from a podcast like ours. They wanted to see photos, converse with other listeners, investigate on their own and draw up new theories. They wanted to share their results, discuss motives, means and opportunity. They wanted to help solve our crimes. So we had two choices. We could let them do this on their own, with no oversight, or we could create a club of sorts, Partners in Crime, and keep them more or less in line.
In my opinion “less” was winning, because the partners are a feisty bunch. But I was still glad that Sophie had ignored my skepticism. She’d organized groups by region, set up online bulletin boards and corralled a graduate student into taking on the job of involving our listeners in myriad acceptable ways. In the meantime, I had paid a designer to set up a website.
In addition to creating an almost fanatical interest in our show, our partners had come through for us almost immediately. In our first season, one of them had uncovered documents the state’s attorney had carefully misplaced. The case had concerned a woman convicted of her husband’s murder back in the 1990s. Three years ago DNA had exonerated her and she had been released, but both the police department in her little town and the state’s attorney’s office had refused to follow new leads. The documents were used to prove incompetence and malfeasance. We’d had to rewrite entire segments to include the new information, but our efforts had been invaluable. Interest in the case, kindled by Out in the Cold, had led to a hunt for new suspects, and the end of the state’s attorney’s career.
“So you contacted this partner?” I asked. “You knew somehow that she...”
“She,” she affirmed.
“That she had contacts who might have more information?”
“It wasn’t hard to sort locations and zero in on the three partners in that general area.”
“You know, you could sell your talents and stop bagging groceries.”
“I like my life. I like Out in the Cold. I like being beholden only to me.” It was true. Sophie was a free spirit, and she would hate being nosy for profit in any kind of corporation or institution.
“So what did this partner turn up?”
“It’s not verified, okay? But she says the maid who discovered the body quit her job and left town, and Calvo’s driver refuses to speak to the police and hired a lawyer. Both are considered persons of interest, but investigators are also looking for several guests who left the resort between the time Calvo was murdered and his body was found.”
“So that’s another reason why you thought this murder was promising. Maybe Wendy was there and got spooked.”
“I’m imagining that could have happened, based on what we actually know.”
“We need that list of hotel guests.”
“I can’t ask anybody to steal them, even if we could figure out a way.”
If we had the list, we might not be able to use it for any reason other than to verify Wendy’s presence at the resort anyway. Of course I could also just ask her outright and hope she was honest.
If she called again.
“So how long has your sister lived here?” Sophie asked.
“Months. She moved in this past summer.”
“The whole place feels very standard-issue. Like everything here came with it, even the dish towels.”
“I don’t think she brought much with her when she drove down. And my mother probably stocked it with supplies Gracey Group uses for their vacation rentals on the beach.”
“Let’s say Wendy’s been here six months. That’s plenty of time to surround herself with things she likes better. Little things.”
I wasn’t sure where Sophie was going with this. “Wendy’s not overly sentimental. She did a lot of entertaining in Connecticut, but I’m pretty sure she turned the decorating over to an interior designer.” I’d been to Wendy and Bryce’s home several times. My nieces’ rooms were both Disney Princess themed and pristine. The rest of the house looked like a spread in House Beautiful.
Sophie was clearly not convinced. “I’m always buying little things I like for my condo.”
She wasn’t kidding. Getting in and out the door of Sophie’s condo was challenging.
“Wendy is essentially a single mom,” I said, “and she has a job. I don’t think there’s a lot of time for shopping.”
“Especially if she doesn’t plan to stay.”
“I’m pretty sure the plan is for her to move back to Connecticut when it makes sense again.”
“When would it make sense?”
“When Bryce has a longer stint on shore? When the girls are older?”
“I think what I notice most is the lack of photos. When I’m out of town, I even put photos of my girls on motel dressers. Are the family photos all upstairs?”
“Her house up north has family portraits galore.” I thought of the lovingly compiled scrapbooks upstairs, with photos of Wendy at every phase of her life. I wondered if she was doing the same for her girls.
Sophie looked at her watch, a big, jeweled affair with numbers large enough to read from across the room. “Single parenting’s not easy, and I never traveled the way your sister does. I can see why she’s here where your parents can help. What did she do for help before?”
I couldn’t recall, which was another sign I’d never given Wendy’s life much thought. “I don’t know what she did. I love Wendy, but she and Mom have always been the team, and I kind of dragged along behind. Honestly, I never thought much about it.”
“You’re sure thinking about it now.”
I stood because Sophie got to her feet. “I won’t mind when I can go back to blissful ignorance.” Except that I was fairly sure I never would. When Wendy returned and this mess was cleared up, things in both our lives would be different.
We went back through the house and stopped at the front door. I restrained Sophie before she opened the door. “I’ll go out first and take a peek to be sure Hoodie Guy isn’t waiting to get in.”
“You could move in with your parents until you feel safer.”
“I feel safer here. At least Hoodie Guy won’t ask a million questions I can’t answer.”
“You don’t have to go first, I have Mace.”
I didn’t ask why. Sophie had been on the dating circuit several times in between reconciliations with her ex. “We’ll go out together. You punch and I’ll kick.”
“Next time I’ll come when I can meet the girls.”
“If you and Mr. Coffee hit it off, maybe next time will be a sure thing.”
I hugged her and watched her head out to a street empty of both cars and trucks. I was sorry to see her go. I really did hope the date was a roaring success.
* * *
I only rarely think of myself as lonely. I have a job I love, and a crew who hang out with me when I need company. My little condo complex has an older couple who show up at my door on a regular basis with home-baked bread and yoga DVDs. There’s a bar not far away where I can watch the sunset and talk to any number of tourists and regulars. I just m
ake sure none of them follow me home.
Sophie’s visit, though, reminded me just how much I depended on her for companionship. In Seabank I had my parents and my nieces, but I couldn’t share thoughts or feelings. I was probably suffering an odd kind of homesickness, even though I was actually living in my hometown. Or maybe it was something more.
Being in close proximity to Mateo Santiago was a stark reminder that just a few years ago, I’d had the companionship, even the love I’d never expected to find. And from what I can tell, finding love, then losing it, is like conquering a drug addiction. You never really stop wanting it; you only learn how not to give in to the craving. And sometimes you’re tested almost beyond endurance.
Leaving the house for a while seemed like a good idea, so I decided to visit my parents before I picked up my nieces. I wanted to find out about the resort in New Mexico, and I had another question, one I would have to edge into. Finally, as much as I hated to do it, since my parents owned the town house, I had to let them know there’d been an attempted break-in. Since they didn’t own me, though, I could fudge a little on my unintended involvement.
I stopped at the natural food store for bribes before I headed toward Gulf Sands. As I waited in a long line of traffic stalled by roadwork on the busiest stretch of the trip, I was still thinking about lost love. I remembered another trip to my parents’ house, with Teo in tow. Our relationship had blossomed quickly, from our first dinner together, to a day at the beach, to dinner at his little apartment in a blue collar suburb, and finally to spending every waking minute we could together, often in his magnificent king bed. I liked everything about him, even Bismarck, who was his constant companion. The only times we weren’t compatible were when John Quayle entered the conversation.
From the beginning Teo had made it absolutely clear he believed Quayle was guilty, and that the only reason he hadn’t remained in prison was legal manipulation. The state’s attorney had wanted so badly to get a conviction, he’d played fast and loose with the evidence. And now his failures had come back to haunt everyone.
I was less sure. I’d spoken to people who knew Quayle well and were sure he’d been railroaded. I’d talked to people who had testified in his trial who were now less sure about what they’d seen or heard. Of course years had gone by, and some hesitation was to be expected. But as yet, I hadn’t heard a thing to convince me he should have been arrested in the first place.
A Family of Strangers Page 12
