A Revelation of Death

by Alexa Padgett

  “Call me Chanel. Chanel Jordan.” She extended a leathery hand with long nails painted neon green. Sam shook it. Raynor did the same. That was what Sam saw in him—the ability to look past the superficial and see to the root of the person. He needed to get Raynor to believe in that ability in himself.

  “So, Chanel, did you see anything interesting around here the past few days?”

  She leaned against the door frame, a clear message Sam wasn’t welcome in her house.

  “Oh, I seen lots of things.”

  “Maybe something to do with Patti Urlich’s death?”

  “I can tell you about the cat and the man who followed her inside.”

  “That would be exceedingly helpful, Chanel.”

  Chanel smiled. “I said I could. Doesn’t mean I will. I mean, it took you two days to come and see me, but Glenn said you visited him yesterday.”

  “Glenn?”

  “Neighbor on the other side, across the street.” Chanel waved her hand. “He said the coppers think Cooper killed his wife in a jealous rage.”

  Glenn must be the neighbor Raynor talked to. Raynor straightened to his full height, clearly ready to give Chanel a piece of his mind.

  Sam raised his hand to stop both of them from starting a war of words. “I can tell you we do not think that. In fact, we’re certain Mr. Urlich had nothing to do with his wife’s death. That’s why I’m here—and I’d greatly appreciate any information. Seems like the same guy might have gone after another victim. I’d really like to bring him in, question him, before more people die.”

  Chanel’s face paled. “He found himself another lady?”

  “What are you talking about?” Sam replied.

  “The guy who showed up here a couple of days ago, he waltzed right into their house like he owns the place. He must have been Patti’s lover, don’t you think? No one’s so brazen to simply walk in.” Chanel shook her head. “I can’t imagine flaunting my lover to my community like she did.”

  Cooper must have heard the chatter—either directly from Chanel or from another neighbor. The poor man was taking emotional blow after blow—and it was all hearsay and gossip.

  “Do you have any other reason to think they were lovers?” Sam asked.

  Chanel pursed her thin lips. They were still smeared with the remnants of dark red lipstick. The uneven coating made her look sickly.

  “Well, no. I just—”

  “And the cat?” Sam asked.

  “Big tabby. Orange and gray. He’s been hanging around the area for weeks. I feed him sometimes. So do the folks across the street—nice couple, have two boys in college.”

  “Did the Urlichs feed the cat?” Sam asked.

  “Heavens, no. Patti’s desperately allergic. She has one of those pen thingamabobs she has to stick herself with whenever the cat got too close. Said it was costing her a fortune to keep up her stock.”

  “What can you tell us about the day Patti died?” Sam asked.

  “Patti brought the big ole cat out through the garage right after Cooper left in that boat of a vehicle of theirs. This was…lunchtime, I guess. Patti had her arms straight out to keep the cat as far away as possible. She sneezed a couple of times and tossed the cat down the driveway.

  “The Tom got the last laugh because he zipped right back in the garage before Patti managed to press close the garage door. Same way her lover walked in—right through the garage.”

  “So the cat and the guy both went in through the garage after Patti pressed the button?”

  Sam waited for a nod before he asked, “Did you get a look at the guy? Can you give me any kind of a description?”

  “Let’s see…he was tall. Broad. With a gut. Not huge but like those football players.” She looked up at her porch ceiling and Sam noted her dried on clumps of old mascara.

  “He wore a gray sweatshirt,” she continued. “The kind the kids like today. With a hood. He pulled a ball cap low. I assumed so he was incognito. Jeans. Baggy ones. I don’t like that look any more than the hooded sweatshirts. Wear clothes that fit, for God’s sakes.” She curled her lip, showing off the lipstick on her teeth.

  “Anything else?” Sam asked.

  “He drove an SUV.”

  “What kind? What color? Did you catch the license plate?”

  Chanel shrugged. “Gray. And nope, I don’t care much about cars. But you might want to check the doorbell cameras I heard about on TV. This is a nice neighborhood and I bet some people have paid for those gizmos.”

  “Good tip,” Sam said. He’d already requested this and reviewed the images from the day in question. The largest maker of the doorbell camera, Ring, now worked with over four hundred law enforcement groups around the country, meaning officers had access to video taken at private residences. Raynor shifted as if he wanted to point out this new partnership. Sam ignored him and instead, finished writing his notes.

  Chanel preened, clearly enjoying the attention.

  “Not many people on your street have those yet. We don’t have any video of the vehicle in question or the cat. Though the guy down there—” Sam waved.

  “Glenn,” Chanel said.

  “Glenn has images of the big tabby hanging out on his porch for a while.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought he liked cats,” Chanel said, tapping her chin. “He doesn’t seem to like anything.”

  “Anything else you can tell us about the day Patti died?”

  “Well, I never saw the guy leave.”

  “You think he might still be around?” Raynor asked.

  Chanel shrugged, making her bony shoulders protrude further. “I said I never saw him leave. That doesn’t mean he didn’t. The house next door has four exits, two are on the other side. And you’ll note the huge box of a vehicle isn’t still here.”

  “Where was it before?”

  “Almost in my driveway,” she said, clearly affronted by the nerve of the driver.

  “When did it disappear?” Raynor asked.

  Sam was glad the other man took the initiative and asked some of the questions they needed.

  “Before the police showed up.”

  Two days ago, then, which meant he could be anywhere by now.

  “Boy, that was a mess.” She glared at Raynor before turning her displeasure on Sam. “So loud. I couldn’t have watched one of my shows if I wanted with all the hubbub.”

  “Did Patti talk to you about her video gaming?” Sam asked.

  Sam wasn’t surprised when Chanel shook her head.

  Sam held out his hand again and shook Chanel’s claw. “Thanks for your time, Chanel. We might stop back by soon if we have more questions.”

  “Oh, sure.” She smiled at them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “One more thing,” Sam said as he put his pen away. “What do you know about the Urlichs’ other neighbor?”

  Chanel pursed her lips, her eyes darting over in that direction. “The only other one I’ve met is Glenn, who I told you about already.” She pointed to the house on the other side of the Urlichs’ house. “There are the Rosens. Nice family. And that’s Ken Reaby’s place. He’s not around much.” She tossed her thumb at the house next to the Rosens’.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She sniffed. “We don’t speak.”

  “Does he have a cat?” Sam asked.

  Chanel stared at Sam for a long moment. “I’ve never seen one,” she said. “And he didn’t feed the Tomcat neither. He’s not nice. A big, mean old fart, if you ask me.”

  25

  Cici

  No day is safe from news of you. ― Sylvia Plath

  Mrs. Sanchez swiveled around in her chair when Cici reentered the office area after Sam kissed her goodbye and left to canvas Sol y Lomas.

  “He is a good man, your Samuel.”

  Cici smiled. “I believe so.” Her heart stuttered as she considered the horrors Sam would be exposed to before this case was solved. She swallowed down the bile as a faint remembrance of the
pain the girl had felt slither over her nerve endings.

  Mrs. Sanchez leaned forward, her gaze drilling into Cici’s. “Then, tell him to put a ring on your finger.”

  “What?”

  “I drove by last night and his vehicle was in your driveway. After eleven at night. That’s not the way clergy acted in my day.”

  “It’s still your day,” Cici said. She waited to feel some level of embarrassment or judgment. None came—not because Mrs. Sanchez quit judging. Nope, that woman was the glasshouse. But because Cici’s relationship with Sam felt right. Cici turned away and walked into her office. Mrs. Sanchez’s chair creaked as she rose and followed, unable to drop the subject. Cici closed her eyes for a brief moment, needing to remember that Mrs. Sanchez’s meddling was done from a place of love. She’d been expecting this point to come up and she gave the older woman her prepared speech.

  “Sam’s been staying with me, yes. After my time in Chaco, we were cautious, making sure I had someone nearby in case I fell or was hurt…or…” She licked her healing lip, her heart fluttering. “The men I met there tried to hurt me.”

  No one seemed to think the Bratva would come after Cici again but it was as good a reason to get Mrs. Sanchez off her case as any other. And it worked because Mrs. Sanchez glanced around, wide-eyed as if both perversely excited and terrified by such an action. Not that Mrs. Sanchez knew the men Cici met there were Russian mafia—at least, the older woman hadn’t heard that from Cici or Sam. But Mrs. Sanchez knew about the kid standing in the back of the church, looking to skim some of the collection plate before he even moseyed his way back there.

  “Oh.” She pursed her lips, then nodded her head. “Well, that makes sense. But you know the older generation would prefer you and your young man to follow the Scripture.”

  Cici raised her eyebrows.

  Mrs. Sanchez sighed. “That means a wedding before a baptism, Cecilia.”

  Cici’s lips twitched but she managed to wrangle her facial features under control. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Any word on the new offering plates?”

  Mrs. Sanchez leaned back in her seat. “You can change the subject but that doesn’t change the fact you’re not making godly choices.”

  Cici bit her lip to keep from admitting she was no longer sure she believed in godly choices—or that they mattered all that much. Look at Patti: she’d been a devoted and devout member of the congregation but her devotion hadn’t stopped her death.

  Same for her twin. Anna Carmen tried to help one of her students, and she died.

  No, no, Cici didn’t really think that. She couldn’t because if she did…well, then her entire adult life—her life’s work—would be worthless.

  Mrs. Sanchez studied Cici’s features. She must have been sure she’d made her point because she said, “I’ll talk to your Samuel for you. Explain the situation.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Cici said. But Mrs. Sanchez was already out of Cici’s office. The woman’s selective hearing annoyed Cici no end.

  26

  Sam

  I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me. ― Anaïs Nin

  * * *

  Sam and Raynor talked to the neighbor Ken, a doddery, ornery gentleman with a lavish belly and cane. He didn’t fit the description of their murderer, but he did recall the kind of vehicle Chanel mentioned: an eighties SUV. But Ken recalled it with a Ford decal and a hideous faded red that now appeared almost orange.

  In fact, Ken, the car enthusiast, was a treasure trove of information related to the vehicle.

  “The right taillight was out,” Ken said. “And a dent in the front passenger panel. About sixty percent of the way back.”

  Sam jotted down the information.

  “License plate?” Sam asked.

  Ken shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Sam said as Raynor led the way to the next neighbor’s door. This house was spotless, with a newly-painted black door and some flowers in pots. Two small silver dishes sat at the end of the portal—one held dry cat kibble, the other fresh water.

  A burly man with a bushy beard answered.

  “Yeah?” he grunted.

  “Are you Glenn Elvering?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Sam and Raynor pulled out their badges and held them up for Glenn’s inspection. “Agent Samuel Chastain. I’m helping Detective Raynor with his case. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

  Glenn’s eyes flashed to Raynor’s and lit with annoyance. “I thought the gal’s husband killed her—that’s what he said.” Glenn pointed his finger at Raynor, whose jowls trembled in indignation.

  “The conjecture was premature and has since been debunked as invalid,” Sam said, his tone smooth and easy. He didn’t like the guy’s abrupt and gruff personality much, but not many people looked kindly at police showing up at their door.

  “May we come in?” Sam asked. “I have some questions.”

  Glenn scowled, but he held open the door. Sam entered the neat foyer—and noticed the NMSU cap hanging on the hook next to a closet.

  “You a basketball fan?” Sam asked, gesturing to the hat. “Did you happen to play? You’re definitely tall enough for the squad.”

  Big, too. At least a few inches taller than Sam, who stood over six feet. With added gut padding.

  Excitement flared through Sam. The man met the description and he lived near Patti—that might be enough for a rapist in need of a fix. He was intent on blaming Cooper…to throw the trail from his actions?

  Glenn’s scowl deepened. “No, I didn’t play college ball, and I don’t watch it. I collect caps.”

  “Is that where you went to school?” Sam asked.

  “Why do you want to know?” Glenn led them into a den, which held a large brown leather sofa and a matching armchair. A cobalt wool rug, dotted with charcoal geometric patterns lay beneath a teak coffee table—on which lay an open laptop and a can of soda.

  “Sorry to interrupt your game,” Sam said, gesturing toward the computer screen.

  This just got better and better. Almost like the guy was handing him the evidence.

  “I wasn’t doing much,” Glenn said. “Do you want a drink?”

  “I’m good,” Sam said.

  “Me, too,” Raynor piped in.

  Sam settled on the couch and Raynor joined him. Glenn took the remaining chair and sat forward, his large hands clasped between his spread knees.

  “And, uh, yeah, I shouldn’t have left you with the impression that, uh, Mr. Urlich, in any way hurt his wife.” Raynor’s face was so red Sam worried the man might pop a capillary.

  “Do you have a cat, Mr. Elvering?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

  “Nope. No pets. I travel a lot. But there’s been a big tabby hanging around. I’m pretty sure someone dropped him a few days ago.”

  “Oh?” Sam asked.

  Raynor shifted in his seat, his gaze darting between Sam and Glenn.

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Raynor said.

  Glenn set down his soda on the coffee table with a soft clink as glass touched glass. “You didn’t ask.”

  Raynor scowled. Sam asked, “You think the cat was dropped here—like in the neighborhood?”

  Glenn shook his head. Some hairs on the crown of his head danced before settling back against his head. “Nah. The street. I saw some dude toss it out of the car. A Bronco.”

  Sam tugged out his notebook and jotted down the details. His flare of anticipation cooled but didn’t dissipate fully. “Any idea on the license plate or year?”

  Glenn shrugged. “Older. Probably eighties. It had that boxy shape people bought then.” Glenn’s curled lip expressed his opinion of eighties cars. “Silver bumper. Maybe white? Light gray? Don’t know the color. The guy opened the door and the cat trotted off, tail up. Kinda like it was annoyed.”

  “Why didn’t you call animal control?” Sam as
ked.

  “I thought about it,” Glenn said. “But I didn’t want the guy to be put down. He’s a pretty one. Big. I’m pretty sure he has a collar, which doesn’t make sense with the ditching. So, I left out bowls of food to make sure he got enough to eat even if I ended up feeding the gophers and mice and squirrels, too.”

  “Are you sure the cat was a male?”

  “Nah. Just what I assumed by its size.”

  “And were you traveling this week?”

  “Yeah. Got home yesterday afternoon. Chanel caught me up on all the hubbub. Walked all over my grass.” He scowled. For most people—in the rest of the country—walking on grass was no big deal. But grass required a lot of water, and the city of Santa Fe didn’t allow for the planting of full lawns. The fact that Glenn Elvering kept a patch of grass was surprising. The fact that he was protective of it was not.

  “I feel bad for Patti, of course, but mainly for the kid. He’s cute. Sucks he lost his mom.”

  “What about Mr. Urlich?” Sam asked. “What’s your relationship like with him?”

  Glenn shrugged. “Don’t really talk much. Patti was the friendly one. And, as I already told you, I’ve been out of town.”

  Before Sam could ask, Glenn said, “I work for BLM, surveying potential sites for renewable energy leases. Stuff like that. This week, I was down near White Sands.”

  “And you didn’t notice anything strange at your house when you arrived home?” Sam asked.

  “Nuh uh. Why?”

  “Because one of your neighbors witnessed a man who entered the Urlich house around the time of Mrs. Urlich’s death. He wasn’t seen leaving again.”

  Glenn’s eyes widened. “Damn. You sure the husband didn’t kill her out of jealousy? That’s what he implied.” Glenn dipped his head toward Raynor, who opened his mouth but then snapped it shut, looking down, abashed, to be called out.

  Sam hoped the feeling stuck so the fool, Raynor, didn’t do something so rash and ill-conceived again.