by Lakota Grace
“I tied one on the other night,” he admitted.
“You got drunk.”
“Yeah, well. Silver was there at the bar, and she drove me home.”
“Drove you home,” Peg prompted.
“Well, and then things happened—at least I think things happened.”
“And you're not sure because...”
“Because I woke up the next morning with her beside me in the bed and she said that I, that we—”
“Silver’s a suspect in a murder investigation and you had sex with her!” Peg exclaimed. “I thought you were smarter than that. And knowing you, you had the Murder Book at the house with you, right?”
Rory flashed uncomfortably to the state of his apartment the next morning. It could be the notebook had been left out in the open. Hard to remember with the massive hangover and the fight with Silver.
When accused, neither confirm nor deny was Rory’s motto. In fact, time for a counter punch.
“Okay, who’s that guy at your house?” he asked. “What's-his-name was the recipient of stolen property. He bought the gun from Silver.”
“His name is Wolf Brandeis. And there’s a perfectly logical explanation why he was there. He helped put in my new bathroom.”
“And you just invited him to dinner out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Jealous?”
“Ha! Not on your life.” Rory's voice sharpened.
Why did Peg bring out the worst in him? He should have known better than to try to work with this woman. He dropped his napkin on the place and rose.
Peg put a hand on his arm, stopping him.
“Look, neither of us did stuff that was too smart. But a man possibly committed suicide and his father was murdered. Somebody out there knows more than they're saying. We just have to find out who.”
Rory settled back, reluctantly. But his neck still itched like he was walking into a possible ambush situation.
“I still think the suicide and the murder are connected,” Peg said.
“How? If anybody had a reason to kill the old man, it was his son. And Andy died first.”
“There's another wrinkle,” Peg said.
“What?”
“Your precious Silver. She might be Henry's love child. Manresa alluded to it, but said she'd deny it if I pushed her.”
“Maybe Silver discovered it on her own,” Rory said. “And if she confronted the old man with the fact...”
“Sparks might fly,” Peg admitted. “Or worse. And if she killed Henry Fisher, she couldn’t have a gun floating around with her fingerprints on it. She'd attempt to retrieve it and remove the incriminating evidence.”
Rory perked up. Silver slept at Peg's house.
“Are you sure Silver hasn’t said something?” he asked.
“You wanted me to spy on your girlfriend. Listen: Silver. Trusts. No. One.”
“Which leads us back to your bathroom boyfriend,” Rory said.
“He's not my anything,” Peg protested angrily. “And he disappeared. I haven't seen him since you guys were at my house. Which reminds me, when are you going to fix my door frame? You owe me.”
“Soon.” Rory waved off her attempt at distraction. “What about this Wolf-guy’s truck?”
“We took it up to HT's house.”
“Who's we?”
“Silver and me,” Peg said.
“Silver hot-wire it for you?” The girl was beautiful, resourceful, and could hot-wire a truck. A perfect combination in Rory's opinion. He felt his trousers tighten. Missed opportunities once more.
“Ha! Fat chance. I found a key. Silver was just along for the ride,” Peg said, catching his expression.
“And why did you move the vehicle?” Rory responded.
“If I hadn't, I couldn't get the Jetta out of the driveway,” Peg said defensively. “But the truck's gone now.”
“You should have anticipated that. What you should have done was—”
“Back off Rory,” Peg warned. “Don't tell me what to do.”
For an instant, Angry Pegasus was in full attack mode.
Then she waved a forkful of the flan his direction. “Want a bite?”
Angry Pegasus disappeared in a swirl of the creek breeze and Sweet Peg was back. How did she do that?
Rory accepted the peace offering of food.
“So where do we go from here?” Peg asked.
“Let's concentrate on the Fisher household for now.” No way was he revisiting Manresa and Adaire. Let them cool down first.
“I'll take another look at the interviews done with the cook and the nanny,” he said. “And I’ll revisit the neighbors. You check on Robbyn's connection with the jewelry shop here in Tlaquepaque. Maybe they’ll shed insight on the lovely widow.”
“You’re paying for this investigative work, right?” Peg asked.
“Sure, absolutely. Just as long as you get me results. I need to report to—”
“Chas. I know. If I were a suspicious type, I'd swear he was on drugs.”
Rory made a face. “Anything would be better than this. Short-tempered, quick fuse.”
Even so, he needed something good to tell Chas. Rory could be pulled off this case if the progress wasn't fast enough. He didn’t intend for that to happen.
“Are you sure this is the best career for you?” Peg asked.
He hated it when she posed the same question he'd been pondering.
Rory scowled. “Don’t second guess me. I need all the support I can get right now.”
Peg gathered her things and stood.
“Call me when you have something,” Rory ordered.
Peg responded with a wave of the hand and disappeared around the edge of the building, leaving Rory to handle the check. As she always did.
Pilfering Jewelry
~ 33 ~
Pegasus
My heel caught in a crack of cobblestone as I walked from the restaurant and I misstepped. I sat on a bench to collect my thoughts. I wasn't sure how working with Rory would play out, but it couldn’t be worse than chasing after ghosts and chimeras for Shepherd. Private investigation work, I was discovering, didn’t have the glamour and mystery it promised.
And I’d welcome reliable cash coming in the door. Thanks to Rory, I now had a houseguest with the appetite of an old-time miner. Silver was unappreciative of my investigative work, which, come to think of it, wasn't much.
Although if I were lucky, she'd be gone when I returned.
I walked through a series of arches and happened on a small chapel. It was the site of many weddings and celebrations here in the picturesque sycamore-shaded courtyard. Once I’d had dreams of the happily-ever-after life, but not recently, especially with the disappearing act that Wolf had pulled.
I sat on a bench in front and dialed Beatrix Fisher's number. At least I could report in with her.
“Hi,” I said. “Maybe it's time we get together.”
“What have you discovered?” The hope in her voice was palpable.
“Not much yet, but I want to go over things with you. Maybe I've missed something. Are you free for a coffee later this afternoon?”
“Where?”
“The Secret Garden Cafe in Tlaquepaque.”
She agreed to meet me in two hours. That would give me time to visit the jewelry storeowner about Robbyn’s work history before I met with her.
The clerk at the store was cordial when I walked in to speak with the manager.
“He should be here shortly. Please feel free to browse.”
Sure, why not? I window-shopped as though I were a rich Texan jetting in for an extravagant weekend. Each counter was devoted to a specific artist. I perused displays of gold and silver necklaces, artfully surrounding expensive rings with marvelously faceted gemstones. Although stunning, the jewelry was several zeroes beyond what I could afford.
When a tall man in a well-tailored suit entered, the clerk nodded in my direction. I walked toward him, but a woman rushed in behind him.
It was Robbyn Fisher.
She grabbed his arm. “You have to listen. I need this job.”
“Not here.” They walked into his office and the door slammed.
I turned to the clerk. “Wow! What was that?”
The clerk made a gesture of disgust.
“I thought we were done with her. Blouses down to there, skirts up to here.” Her hand movements illustrated her words.
She frowned. “Robbyn worked here once if work can be the term. Slept with the boss. Slept with the customers. I think she finally talked one old goat into marrying her. It takes all kinds.”
“I guess so,” I said, trying to be charitable. Maybe Robbyn was just looking after her own interests.
I'd ogled enough rings, necklaces, and objets d'art to fill a good-sized safe deposit box when the door to the inner office opened again. I hid my face in a potted palm, exhibiting a sudden interest in herbi-culture, when Robbyn stormed out of the shop. Guess she didn't get the job.
The clerk spoke to the manager and then gestured to me.
“Mr. Samuelson will see you now.”
He wiped his hands with a handkerchief as I entered as though to rid himself of an unpleasant experience.
“A disgruntled customer,” he said by way of explanation.
I hesitated and then dived into the subject of my visit.
“Was that Robbyn Fisher by any chance?”
He looked startled. “You acquainted with her?”
I handed over my police credentials. He didn't have to know that I was a part-time Family Liaison Officer. I did still work for the sheriff's office, sort of, as long as I kept my nose clean. And stayed out of Chas Doon's way.
“We are investigating the death of her husband. I understand she once worked here.”
“Once, but never again,” he declared.
“What was the problem?”
“She was a mediocre employee, but not bad enough to fire, until she got engaged to Mr. Fisher. Then her behavior changed. She arrived late and left early. Outbursts of temper toward the other staff members.”
“A difficult situation,” I suggested.
“Exactly!”
Not to mention if you'd been sleeping with her as well, I couldn't help thinking. I assumed an eager-to-know expression.
“What do you think caused the change? Stress? Or was she high on something?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? I'd given her several warnings, but the theft was the final straw.”
“What do you mean?”
“A valuable diamond tennis bracelet went missing. We filed a police report. Interviewed the staff, but no results. Insurance covered it, of course. I was convinced that Robbyn took it, although we could never prove it. I'd had enough. I let her go the next week.”
“Good that your policy handled the loss,” I observed.
“You'd be surprised at the shrinkage in a jewelry store, even though we watch everyone like a hawk. Like a hawk,” he repeated.
I shrunk into my chair, feeling a little like a skewered sparrow.
“If you think of anything else that might help, please let me know.” I handed him my card.
“Of course. My assistant will show you out.”
Do not pass go, do not touch the merchandise. I got the message.
***
At the Hidden Garden Restaurant, Beatrix waited for me on the outside patio.
I waved as I approached, but she didn't seem to see me.
“Hey, Beatrix!” I shouted.
She jolted at the sound of her name and then looked in my direction, shading her eyes with one hand. Her brown hair hung in uncombed strings and her clothes were wrinkled and unkempt. She squinted in the bright sunlight.
I slid into a chair and positioned it so that I was in the shade. I patted the seat next to me. “Want to move over here? Get out of the sun?”
“What difference would it make? I'm fine.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“You're not fine,” I contradicted her.
She shook her head, and the tears made wet blotches on her white T-shirt.
“We had hard times when Andy first left the service. He'd have good days and bad, but we finally came together as a couple, ready to start a family and now this.”
She looked at me, grieving. “I sit and stare at the wall for hours. My life is over.”
I could spout the platitudes: time heals all wounds, this is the opportunity for a new beginning for you, cheer up. But nothing would bring back her husband and their dreams for the future.
“Are you seeing a therapist?” I asked.
“Do you mean a shrink?”
“Well, they’re not that bad. I know one, in fact.”
I dug around in my purse for the card I always carried. “Denise Westcott might surprise you.”
Beatrix accepted the name cautiously, as unbelieving as I had been when the therapist was first recommended to me.
I'd been in a blue funk after I shot a killer several years ago. The depression fog didn't lift until I'd gone through the counseling mandated by the sheriff's office. I'd meant to go back and thank the therapist. I never did. But maybe she could help Beatrix.
“What have you got to lose?” I asked the woman sitting across from me.
The waitress arrived, and I looked at the menu with interest.
“What are you having?” I asked.
“Just coffee. I look at food and my stomach turns.”
And I'd been saving room for my favorite double-layer chocolate-filled tiramisu. Oh, well.
“Just coffee for me, too,” I said.
“Do you have any news regarding Andy's death?” Beatrix asked.
“Still ruled a suicide by the sheriff's office.”
“I don't believe that!” she exclaimed, startling several nearby patrons.
I patted her arm. “Hey, it’s okay. I didn't say I accepted that verdict either. At the very least, somebody had to supply the drugs that were found in Andy’s system. Let's start there. Who were his acquaintances?”
“Well, the people at the Park, I suppose.”
I immediately discounted Grady. Not her! But maybe he had a beef with other volunteers? I’d check.
“And I wouldn’t count his father as a friend, either, that's for sure.”
“What about the father’s wife, Robbyn?” I asked.
“Andy mentioned her once,” Beatrix admitted.
“That she'd made a pass?” I needed confirmation of the shop clerk’s assessment of Robbyn’s charms.
“Andy said she'd tried, but that he wasn't interested when he had me. No, it was something else.”
“Could she be a drug connection, though?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that woman.”
“So Robbyn might be a source.” I pulled out my notebook and recorded her words. “And the father, Henry Fisher?”
“He and Andy weren't even talking, so I don't see how he’d give Andy drugs. I'm glad that old man is dead!” Her skinny hands knotted into fists.
I took quiet note of her anger. It might be possible, even as Rory and I had discussed, that Beatrix killed the old man.
“Did Andy have any friends?”
“Just one.”
“Name?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Wilfred—Wolf—Brandeis. They met overseas during the conflict there. We didn’t see Wolf for several years and then he just showed up here.”
“Showed up,” I prompted.
“Strangest thing. One day when I went out to fix breakfast, he was there in the kitchen petting the dog. Our dog hates strangers, and I lit into Andy for leaving the door unlocked so anybody could walk in.”
“What did Andy say?”
“He swore he checked the door before he went to bed. That was just like Andy, never accepting responsibility.”
“Had Andy been in touch with his friend?” I asked.
“No, that's what's odd. Wolf said he got a sense that Andy needed help so he came.”
She pushed her coffee away abruptly. “Some help! After he arrived, Andy died.”
Could be a coincidence. Could be more. But why would Wolf harm Andy? The man swore Andy was his best friend. If I ever talked to Wolf again, I'd not let that one go.
“What did Andy tell you concerning Manresa Snow?” I asked.
“You mean the woman up in Mingus, the potter?”
“That's the one,” I said. “She and Henry Fisher were once married. She told me she raised Andy.”
“And deserted Andy, too, once she hooked up with that partner of hers.” Beatrix's voice held scorn. “Andy totally disowned her, and I can understand why.”
I reviewed my notes. “So Andy was isolated, didn't have a lot of friends. That’s not good for someone with serious depression.”
“He had me. That should have been enough. I did everything for him.”
We were going in circles, and I was no closer to a solution than before.
“I'll keep trying,” I promised.
The waitress brought the check for our coffees, and Beatrix grabbed it.
“The least I can do,” she said, shoving a credit card in the ticket folder and handing it back to the server. But the server returned a moment later.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “The card was declined. Do you have another you want to use?”
Beatrix blushed and dug in her purse. Then she dug deeper. It appeared that the woman not only didn't have another card, she was out of cash as well.
I pulled a ten out of my pocket.
“Here, take it out of this.”
“I am so embarrassed,” Beatrix began.
I stopped her. “Been there, done that. My turn to pass it on.”
I rose. “I'll keep trying. You need to know what happened that night, and I do, too.”
I walked back to my Jetta. Our conversation strengthened my hunch that Andy Fisher had committed suicide. But Beatrix’s look of utter panic and loneliness stopped me from calling it quits. That meant instead of firing this pro bono client as I had intended to at this café meeting, I was still connected.
And there was the further problem that I had withheld information from Rory. I knew I should have told him about Wolf's possible witnessing of the argument between Henry Fisher and his son. It had a bearing on Andy's last hours, and also, possibly, on the death of his father.
