A Dead Nephew

by Anna Celeste Burke

  24 Officer Ridgeway, I Presume

  “Jessica, I’m so glad you’re here!” Bernadette exclaimed the second I walked into the kitchen from the garage. “We’ve got to go. Now!”

  “Isn’t the puppy pool party still underway?” I asked. I took a few more steps through the kitchen and couldn’t believe my eyes. Dogs of all shapes and sizes were running around on the patio. Anastasia was in the center of it all, on point, with her pom-pom tail wagging. When someone tossed a toy into the pool, dogs ran after it and splashed water everywhere. The human guests laughed, watching their dogs have fun. “I see more dogs than people.”

  “Yes, Tina is a foster mom, and she brought four or five. A couple others have more than one. It’s fine—they’re going to leave by the side exit and not bring wet dogs in here. There are towels, treats, food, everything Auntie Agnes needs, so let’s go. I’ve found Timothy Ridgeway, and I’ll explain the rest on our way.”

  “What?” I asked. “Did you call George?” I was stunned but grabbed the keys I’d dropped into my purse.

  “Not yet. Timothy says you have pick to him up, or he’ll run again. He’s sure either Lenny Morgan or John Lugo is going to have him killed.”

  “Why does he trust me?” I asked as I ran for the door with Bernadette leading the way.

  “He says you’ll want to keep him alive to save Louie. Put those keys away,” she ordered. “I’m driving, and we’re taking my car. In my SUV we’re less likely to be followed if somebody’s already watching you.” I ran around to the passenger side of the enormous vehicle she loved to drive. By the time I was in my seat, the engine was running, and the garage door was opening. As she backed out, she waved at Rory at his post in front of the house.

  “I already told Rory where we’re going, and he called Peter for backup if we need it.”

  “You’ve thought of everything,” I said as Bernadette pulled out of the driveway. “Does Auntie Agnes know what we’re doing?”

  “Yes. She said she’s becoming an expert at parties. I told her it isn’t always like this—a party every day. I had this scheduled before I knew we’d be up to our pom-poms searching for more hombres psicópata. How can there be so many crazy bad guys—especially rich ones? Does money drive you mad?”

  “It can, I suppose,” I replied, thinking about my momentary lapse into my shopping obsession. “I don’t believe the Cleaner Man ever had much money, nor does Timothy Ridgeway, and he’s Sacramento’s killer and tried to kill Xavier Oliver. Money was his motive if he was paid to do it. Or maybe he loves his job with all the extra benefits like being able to steal from the casino’s supplies.”

  We’d left the Mission Hills Country Club, and Bernadette was heading to the freeway. When she reached I-10 and headed east, I asked her where we were going.

  “Mecca,” she replied. “My friends have been trying to help us find this guy. I told them he was in trouble and not just with the police. Even after he was shot, I wasn’t sure who believed me. One of his cousins called me this morning, so something must have happened for him to be willing to give himself up to you.”

  “Is he sick from the gunshot wound?”

  “Nah,” Bernadette replied. “He went to a vet who fixed him up right away. There’s got to be a reason he’s hiding.”

  “The news must be out on the tribal gossip hotline about the autopsy report,” I muttered. “Or maybe there are rumors about Valerie Taylor divulging information about the dirty way in which John and Lenny handled their ‘lizard’ problem. There can’t be too many people who know we’re working on that angle.”

  “Let’s find out, Chica.” Bernadette sped up, pushing the speed limits. “I need to listen to the car now, so I don’t make a wrong turn once we get on the grapefruit road.”

  She meant Grapefruit Boulevard, which is the name given to Highway 111 once you leave Indio. I knew better than to argue with her. By looking at the route on the screen in front of us, I could see we weren’t taking that road. If she listened to the instructions, we’d get there.

  I don’t know my way around Mecca, so I’m glad she had the directions. Mecca’s a small, unincorporated area on the north shore of the Salton Sea with a population of fewer than ten thousand people. It’s largely an agricultural area near several food-processing plants.

  There are some amazing hikes in the area. I’d love to do them if I could be sure I wouldn’t die trying. The Ladder Canyon hike requires that you use ladders and ropes to climb up and down in some areas of the canyon after you’ve squeezed or crawled through narrow passageways.

  When we arrived at the small-town center, Bernadette made several turns before we ended up on a street not far from Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church. She pulled into a low-rise apartment complex that couldn’t be more than a few years old. When she slowed to park, I surveyed the area, hoping there weren’t other cars already on the street. There weren’t any, but I still felt uneasy once we got out of the car and walked to the nearest door. We didn’t have to knock before someone opened the door.

  “Thank goodness you’re here!”

  “Officer Ridgeway, I presume.” The man standing in front of us was barely recognizable as the one George had arrested at the crime scene. He’d shaved off almost all his dark black hair, had added a bushy mustache, and some padding to his belly. Although the hood was down, he was dressed in the proverbial hoodie and baggy jeans.

  “Get me out of here, please. It’s only a matter of time before they come for me. They’ve already visited my friends and relatives in Indio.” It felt too exposed to be standing in the doorway. I stepped inside and shut the door. Hanging back behind Timothy Ridgeway, saying nothing, was a young woman. Bernadette greeted her.

  “We’re going to do that, but we expect you to give us the scoop on what happened to Sacramento, how you framed Louie, and who’s behind it all. That includes what you know about the letter and the fraud going on with the proposed Soaring Hawk Resort development.”

  “How do you know about that?” Then his eyes widened. “That’s why he wanted me to watch Sacramento and ask around to see if he was seeing anyone—you know as in a lady friend. I told him Sacramento only liked boys.”

  “Geez! What made you believe that since Auntie Agnes tells us otherwise?” I was tempted to let Officer Ridgeway fend for himself or to punch him in the nose. “You know what? It doesn’t matter now since you killed his son.”

  “What are you saying? He wasn’t Lenny’s son, and if I killed him, I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Are you saying Lenny Morgan’s the one who ordered you to find the letter?”

  “Yes. He said Sacramento gave a letter to someone who would put us all out of work and into prison. Tango was watching Sacramento too.” Timothy paused, fidgeting as he peeked out the front window. “I was sure Sacramento was dead with that needle lying there next to him. He wasn’t moving, and he didn’t answer me when I shook him and tried to wake him. I even turned him over to see if he was breathing and he wasn’t.”

  “That story might get you a second-degree murder charge when you also tell them you didn’t bring the knife with you. Your lawyer could argue the murder wasn’t premeditated when you tell him you left the scene to go help yourself to one at the outdoor shop after you were convinced Sacramento was already dead. That probably won’t matter to John Lugo, though, will it? He must have believed Louie killed Sacramento when you told John they’d fought earlier that night.”

  “Did he tell you that? That’s what John thought, not me. He told me to make sure it was clear as day that Louie was the killer, so he’d pay for what he’d done. I started to pick up a rock and hit Sacramento on the head, but I was worried it would look too much like an accident.”

  “He can’t be too happy now that he knows you killed his son either because you lied to him or were too stupid to know that Sacramento was still alive. Lenny Morgan can’t be too happy with you either. Not only haven’t you found the letter, but you also managed to get shot
trying to find it. Lenny knows you’re not going to get out on bail now. I’m sure he’d love to shut you up before you do what you’re doing now.” While I quizzed Timothy Ridgeway, Bernadette was engaged in a serious discussion with his cousin. Maria appeared to be petrified, and her husband was speaking to Bernadette, gesturing wildly.

  “We’ve got a problem, Jessica,” Bernadette said, speaking loud enough to bring Timothy and me into the conversation. “Maria says she got a call asking if she was one of Leona Ridgeway’s students. Leona is Timothy’s mother. Anyway, when Maria asked who wanted to know, the man on the phone said she was the first one they’d called who didn’t say yes or no right off. Her husband wants us to take her with us. They’re also afraid whoever called is on his way over here. Could she be right?” Maria’s husband wasn’t pacing around like Timothy, but he had an agonized expression on his face.

  “We’d better get a move on. If they’re not already hanging around waiting for us to leave, company’s coming.”

  “What should we do?” Bernadette asked.

  I was trying to figure that out when I suddenly got an inspiration. I called Peter to check in and get his input on my plan. In a few minutes, Bernadette drove the SUV to the parking lot behind the apartment complex. I rushed outside with our hoodie-wearing passenger and Maria. They slid into the backseat and buckled up.

  After we left, it wasn’t long before company arrived. At first, the driver hung back, following at a distance. Once we were on the freeway and Bernadette sped up, the car tailing us did too and stuck to us like glue. When Bernadette slowed down, our tail did too. When she changed lanes, our shadow followed.

  My heart was thumping loudly, but we moved quickly, and in fifteen minutes or so, we pulled onto our exit off the freeway. Bernadette got testy at one point when she thought our companion went from tailing to tailgating. She hit her breaks a couple times, and the driver backed off a few inches.

  The dark-haired man in the driver’s seat had leaned over his steering wheel, trying to peer into Bernadette’s SUV. Bernadette’s windows are tinted, but not as dark as the SUVs Peter and his crewmembers drive so the driver could see that we had passengers.

  We weren’t far from home when a second car joined the first. The second car pulled in front of us and slowed. Sandwiched in between the cars, Bernadette had no choice but to slow down. Cars behind us began to honk and pull around us as our little convoy moved slowly. Bernadette tried to change lanes to get around the driver in front of us, but the car behind us cut her off, and she had to stay in the right-hand lane. When the car in front stopped abruptly before pulling completely off the road and onto the berm, it made Bernadette mad. She leaned on the horn as she pulled off the road and stopped. Under her breath, she was spewing a litany of unkind words in Spanish.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted as she rolled down her window. “If you’re having car trouble, I’ll call the police to bring you those little orange cones.” She went back to muttering as I recognized the second man who joined us from the car behind us. He tapped on my window.

  “Geez, Tango, can’t your boss come up with easier ways to deliver messages to me?” I huffed as soon as I rolled down my window. “John promised me no more games!”

  “This is no game, Attorney Huntington. We’re here for a pickup, not a delivery. Unlock the doors in the back.” When I did that, the guy from the car in front of us, who hadn’t said a word, opened the door to the backseat on the driver’s side. Tango opened the one behind me.

  “What the… who’s this?” he asked.

  “Our lunch guests,” I replied. “Maria, Victor, meet Tango and his buddy to whom I haven’t been introduced.” Tango took a step back, looking confused and troubled.

  “Now, who’s playing games?” Tango roared.

  “Mr. Lugo ain’t gonna like this,” the second man said, speaking in a high nasal voice that seemed incongruous given how big he was.

  “Where is he?” Tango asked and shook the SUV with such force that for a second, I was afraid he might tip us over.

  “He who?” I asked.

  “You know who I mean. I’ll ask your lunch guests.”

  “Where’s Cousin Timothy, Maria?”

  “I honestly don’t know where he is. I’m sorry you went to so much trouble to ask me that question. You could have called.”

  Maria was telling the truth that she didn’t know where Timothy Ridgeway was—now. When I’d called Peter, help was already on the way. As soon as we left and were sure we were being followed, I’d texted him. He already had someone waiting, who picked up Timothy Ridgeway and transported him to safety.

  “Jessica, what is your friend Tanko doing?” Bernadette asked. “Is the heat getting to him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s been drinking too much cerveza to keep cool. Mr. Lugo ‘ain’t’ gonna like that either.” This farce had gone on long enough as far as I was concerned. Besides, Mr. Lugo wouldn’t like it if his goon, still standing on the edge of the road, got run down. Cars had already honked at him as they whizzed by.

  “Tango,” I said, resisting the urge to call him Tanko as Bernadette had done, “please tell your sidekick not to play in the road. I assume we’re free to go. I suggest you play ‘where’s Timothy’ with John’s lawyer, who’s been quite successful at keeping me from being able to interview him.”

  A passing car swerved and leaned on its horn. The guy in the road finally got the message, slammed the back door, and joined Tango on my side of the road. Tango was on the phone.

  I was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. The longer this went on, the more likely it was that something would go wrong with the plan we’d come up with on the fly. I was about to tell Bernadette to floor it. We were close enough to the country club that we could probably beat them to the gated entrance. I turned to check the traffic and saw Frank pull off the road in his four by four. His police lights were flashing as he climbed out of his vehicle and walked toward us. I breathed easily for the first time in almost an hour.

  “Which one of you is having car trouble?” he asked loudly as he approached. “The vehicle that’s having trouble can stay put. The other two need to move on to make room for a tow truck. There’s plenty of room in the parking lot if you want to wait.” He pointed at the lot less than a hundred yards ahead of us. Tango ended his call.

  “Sorry, no one needs a tow. It’s just a mix up. The old lady was riding my tail, and I stopped to warn her,” Tango said.

  “That’s a job for the police. If something like that happens again, don’t stop. Call 911 and report her tag number.”

  “Who are you calling an old lady, basura mentiroso?” I could tell Bernadette was getting irritated, but her sudden outburst caught me off guard.

  “Who are you calling a lying piece of garbage?” Tango charged the SUV as he asked that question.

  “Step away from the SUV,” Frank ordered. “I’m running out of patience. This is the last chance for all of you to get out of here before I start taking names and writing tickets.”

  Tango gritted his teeth and returned to his car parked behind us. His nameless sidekick returned to his car, too. Tango accelerated, kicking up dust as his wheels spun, spraying Frank’s vehicle as he sped away first. Frank moved around in front of our SUV, waiting for the other car to leave.

  “Is everyone okay?” Frank asked, leaning in a little at my window once the guy had left. I didn’t wait for anyone to answer.

  “Do you and George have Timothy Ridgeway?” I asked.

  “We do, Mata Hari. Well played. Let me escort you home, just in case those bozos circle back around. I have more news for you too.”

  “We’re not really lunch guests,” Maria said.

  “Are you hungry?” Frank asked.

  “Yes,” Maria replied. “We’ve been too scared to eat since Timothy showed up and begged us to help him. I’ll never be able to thank you, Bernadette, for spreading the word about how to contact you if we heard from him. As
soon as I told him he could get help from Louie’s lawyer, he was happy for me to call.”

  “That’s settled!” Frank said. “Bernadette’s a wonder in the kitchen. We’ll all give her a hand. Let me get out on the road ahead of you. No tailgating, Bernadette.” He flashed her his killer smile that had her shaking her head but smiling back at him.

  “It’s lucky for him he’s so charming,” Bernadette replied. I was relieved to hear Maria giggle at Bernadette’s remark. I hoped we were done dealing with John Lugo’s minions for the day. I still had work to do.

  At lunch, Frank passed on his news. He and Denise Austin were in town for an appointment with the probation officer who handled Christian Cursor’s case. The officer had recently been transferred to the Indio Detention Center to assist with the planned expansion of the facility that would include their probation and parole services.

  Once he had Timothy Ridgeway, Peter called Frank and George about the situation. George took off to speak with Timothy Ridgeway and passed along the update about the poor guy in the hospital. Frank headed straight to my house to make sure Bernadette and I were safe, which was fortunate, given our run-in with Tango.

  When Frank and Denise had arrived in town, the first thing they’d done was visit the burnt-out date palm grove. Frank wanted to see the scrawls on the wall for himself. When he and Denise searched around the burned buildings, he was certain he’d found remnants of a more recent fire. The crime lab investigators, who made a second visit, found mostly ash. They also found a medical alert bracelet issued to Xavier Oliver’s missing friend in the ash.

  25 Angry Women