by Dovie Ruth
Delaney did her best to speak in spite of her emotional state. “He’s trying to get in through the slider at the back of the house.”
“I can hear him.” Officer Preston drew her service revolver. “Is he armed?”
“I didn’t see anything, but ...”
Deputy Preston eased down the short hallway, which led to the back of the house. She stopped at the end to peek around a corner and into the kitchen nook where the sliding glass door was located. She turned to whisper to Delaney. “My partner has gone around to the alley behind your property. He should be able to catch this sucker if he takes off that way.” She motioned for Delaney to stay put.
From her position, all Delaney could see was the officer’s back. She could hear nothing but the hum of the air conditioner. “What’s the creeper doing now?”
“He’s out wandering in your flower garden.”
“What?”
“I think he’s looking for a big rock … YEP! YEP! YEP! Here he comes … He’s fixing to throw through the glass door.” Deputy Preston stepped into full view of the suspect. “Stop right there!” she commanded as she rushed toward the slider.
Delaney peeked around the corner just in time to see the intruder drop the rock on the patio. Then he turned tail, and sprinted toward the back fence.
“Subject is heading toward alley fence,” Officer Preston spoke into her handheld mic. Then she sprinted across the backyard lawn in pursuit of the spindly trespasser.
The dark wisp of a man hurled himself to the back fence. His legs dangled momentarily as he struggled to clear the cedar planks.
The head of a male deputy popped up on the other side of the barrier. “It’s time to give it up, sir,” he boomed. “You’re under arrest.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Detective Travis was the first to congratulate the two officers. He had arrived at the Fox residence not long after the arrest, eager to interview the suspect. His second task was to introduce Delaney to the officers who had come to assist her. “Did you three get a chance to meet?” he asked.
The female officer offered her strong hand. “I’m Deputy Bea Preston. Pleased to meet you.”
Delaney shooked the deputy’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Delaney Fox. Thank you for showing up so quickly.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’m Deputy Ronald Diggs.” The gentleman gave Delaney a curt nod. “I was the one who was standing on the other side of your back fence.”
“You were exactly where you needed to be,” Delaney assured the officer. “Thank you for catching that horrid man before he got away.”
Chad arrived in a dither. “I’m going to have to seal you in a bubble, Delaney, if you don’t stop having these adventures. You’re scaring the daylights out of me.”
Delaney was never so glad to see her husband – except for the previous time when her escapade at The Tilted Plume had landed her in the hospital. “You’ve got to believe me, Chad, when I say I don’t plan these things.”
“What was in the box?” Detective Travis asked.
“Nothing,” replied Deputy Preston. “It was all a ruse.”
“Mrs. Fox, do you recognize that individual?” Deputy Diggs asked as he motioned toward the squad car where the suspect was sitting in the back seat of the paddy wagon.
“Perhaps he’s one of your coven friends?” Detective Travis lifted his eyebrows at Delaney.
“No, of course not. I’ve never seen him in my life.”
“Are you absolutely certain he wasn’t part of that group up on the mountain?" the investigator asked. "Don’t be too hasty in making up your mind. Remember, you didn’t recognize Grant and Grantham as being one and the same.”
“I don’t believe he was there — unless he was one of the guests who came just before midnight. I didn’t get a good look at everyone.”
The detective caught Delaney’s eye and tapped the cover of a leather portfolio he carried under his arm. “I’ve got some information for you. Is there a place we can sit down?”
After bidding Sergeant Diggs and Officer Preston goodbye, Chad escorted Delaney and the detective into the Fox’s dining room. He gestured for their guest to take a chair.
Delaney offered iced tea all around.
The officer opened his portfolio. “I made a call to Avenal State Prison.”
Chad and Delaney leaned forward in their seats. “Go on,” Chad urged.
“No one with the legal name of Conin has ever been incarcerated there. But with a little nosing around, they identified our man. His real name is Bucky Dobbs.” Detective Travis placed a mug shot of the inmate on the table. “He did some hard time for armed robbery and was released about three years ago. Of course, he soon disappeared.”
“Conin?” Delaney clarified. “Armed robbery?”
“And you were riding around with that crook in his pickup truck?” Chad bellowed.
“Well, look at him! Is that the face of a criminal?” Delaney countered. “He came across as a big wholesome outdoorsman.”
“A true con artist,” Detective Travis confirmed. “And the clincher is that Conin got married while he was incarcerated. And, of course, his bride was twenty-four years his senior.”
A horrified look spread over Delaney’s face. “Mavis?”
“I don’t believe so. He’d been corresponding with a gal named Rhonda Buffalo. They’d met through a mutual friend. After a few months of writing back and forth, she started making regular trips to the prison on visiting days. One thing led to another, and they finally got married. Not long after that, he was paroled.”
“Why in the world would a young dude like him want to marry a much older woman?” Chad challenged.
“It happens more often than you’d think,” Detective Travis affirmed. “When you’ve got a lonely gal with no prospects of a relationship and an incarcerated male with no place to go when he gets out of the slammer, unlikely combinations happen. Of course, most of those relationships don’t last long after the parolee gets out of prison. The man ditches the woman as soon as possible. Or far worse.”
Chad let out a long breath. “Well, it seems like I learn something new every day.”
“I have a photo of the woman he married.” Detective Travis reached into a pocket in his portfolio and took out another mug shot and handed it to Delaney. “This is Rhonda Buffalo. She’s had some minor scrapes with the law. Shoplifting. Embezzling. No violent crimes.”
“That’s Mavis!” Delaney declared.
One corner of Detective Travis’ mouth drew back. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“That’s interesting, Mrs. Fox. We’ve been entertaining the possibility that this woman assumed Mavis Beasom’s identity about three years ago.”
Delaney was horrified. “Then whatever happened to Mavis?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Detective Travis returned the photo of Rhonda Buffalo to his portfolio. “We are a little stymied, though, because there so few photos of Mavis Beasom floating around. Most of the ones we’ve located were taken when she was much, much younger. She really did enjoy the lifestyle of a hermit.”
“What about her driver’s license?” Chad prompted.
“Ahh … the photo on her driver’s license is not a good one — lots of makeup — but definitely no cherry red hair.”
“Don’t publishers usually post author portraits on the backs of books?” Chad suggested.
“Nope, that’s not something that’s mandatory. Not one of Miss Beasom’s books has an author portrait on the cover.”
Delaney’s impatience had gotten the best of her. “So, how about those teeth I found? Do they belong to Mavis?”
Detective Travis closed his portfolio. “At this point, we really don’t know. The report still isn’t back from the lab. We’ve contacted dentists in the Three Rivers area to see if any dental records are available for the real Mavis Beasom. So far, we've had no luck. If we can locate some records, we mig
ht be able to match the teeth to those — especially the one with the gold filling. But like I’ve said before, those teeth could belong to someone who’s not even on our radar. We do know one thing for sure though …”
Chad frowned while he waited for the officer to continue. “Excuse me, sir, but will you move on with your story?”
The investigator grinned like a sated cat. “We poked around in that fire pit quite a bit more. We not only found more teeth, but a bone fragment from a jaw. There is no doubt the individual is deceased.”
“What other samples do you have?” Chad asked.
“Do you mean from the suspects at The Tilted Plume?”
“Samples of anyone who might be related to this case. Fingerprints?” Chad heckled.
The detective shifted in his chair. “We’re working on that.”
Chad’s lean body tensed. “I’m confused. Are Rhonda Buffalo and Mavis Beasom two separate people or not?”
The corners of the detective’s mouth pulled backward and down for a long second. “Common sense would tell you that’s the case,” he acknowledged, “but we don’t know for sure. Perhaps Mavis Beasom is just a pen name that was invented long ago to cover up the dubious deeds of Rhonda Buffalo. All that needs to be checked out.”
“Sounds like a mess,” Chad agreed.
“We’ve been trying to find living relatives of Mavis Beasom, but that’s been tough going. It seems that the author really had cut herself off from almost everyone.”
“What about her publisher?” Delaney urged. “It seems like they would have some information …”
“Possibly.” The investigator sounded disinterested.
“Well, I’ve been doing a little sleuthing of my own,” Delaney announced.
“Oh, no you haven’t!” Chad was clearly exasperated. “I’ve already warned you about meddling.”
Delaney rolled her eyes. “It’s not what you think, Chad. I’ve just been poking around at the big library in Fresno. I was looking for some information about Miss Beasom’s publishing history.”
Chad scowled. “That trip you made to Fresno two weeks ago was supposed to be for shopping. You said you needed more things for the nursery.”
“And guess what!” Delaney proclaimed, ignoring her husband. “It seems Mavis hasn’t published anything for almost four years. That’s a big change for an author who’d been pumping out a romance novel every four to six months for almost a decade.”
“Romance novels.” Detective Travis shook his head. “It’s hard to believe an isolated woman could write that stuff – and be successful to boot.”
“It sounds like she got tired of being alone, though,” Delaney argued. “Maybe that's when she decided to make that daring leap and began writing Bucky Dobbs.”
“If you compare Mavis' publishing record to when the marriage occurred, her writing seemed to dry up after that.” The gumshoe scribbled a note to himself. “Who knows if Mavis and Rhonda are the same person? I think it would be a good idea for me to give Miss Beasom’s publisher a ring — even if I have to make a toll call to New York.”
Chad pressed his thin lips together. “So you’re obviously not making any headway tracking this gal down – whoever she might be? Or is she still on the lam with Bucky Dobbs?”
“Probably in my Mustang,” Delaney sulked.
Detective Travis averted his eyes from the frustrated couple and gathered up his belongings. “Sorry, I have to get going,” he said as he stood up and pushed his chair under the Fox’s dining room table. “I know things are rough, but there is some cause for hope today.”
Chad crossed his arms over his chest. “How so?”
“The individual who was trying to get into your house today might be able to tell us something. He obviously had inside information about the fire at Miss Beasom’s place.”
Delaney frowned. “I wish I could tell you whether he attended the Ostara ceremony. The thing is, most of the coven didn’t even show up until almost midnight. By then, it was pitch black outside.”
“Go easy on yourself, Mrs. Fox. He might not have even been there.”
“Then what’s he doing here?” Delaney wailed.
“My guess,” the officer surmised, “is an attempted burglary. But he has no vehicle, no driver’s license, no ID, and is refusing to give us his name. Hopefully, we have his fingerprints on file.”
Delaney screeched. “This whole thing is freaking me out!”
The investigator’s dark eyes softened. “If all goes well, we’ll have some information real soon. I can’t imagine this guy will have the wherewithal to stand up to any kind of interrogation. He seems confused and generally unhealthy like he’s been living on the streets. But we’ve got to work fast. There will be an arraignment scheduled for him in a day or two.”
“A court hearing?” Delaney clarified.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s going to happen?”
The charges will be read against the accused. He will enter a plea, bail will be set, and an attorney will be assigned to him. I doubt he can afford to hire one on his own.”
“What will the charges be?” Chad asked.
“Oh, there’s a laundry list: Attempted burglary, trespassing, refusing to give his name, possession of methamphetamine –”
Chad blanched. “That dude was on speed?”
“He had some in his pocket. He’ll have blood drawn at the station, then it will be sent out to the lab. From the looks of it, the tweeker was looking for things he could steal and sell for drugs. The package he tried to ‘deliver’ to your wife was just a prop to make him look like he had legitimate business at your house. When Delaney didn’t answer the door, the suspect probably thought no one was home.”
“What if he was after me?”
Chad wrapped his arm around Delaney.
“Try to remain calm, Mrs. Fox. The stress isn’t good for you or your baby.”
“Detective Travis is right.” Chad squeezed his wife’s shoulders with his gentle hands. “I’ll tell you what, Laney. Let’s get out of town for a day or two.”
“But what about the arraignment?” Delaney argued. “Aren’t we going?”
“Do we even need to show up?” Chad asked.
“Not unless you want to be there.” Detective Travis nodded his sharp chin and turned to leave. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Then Delaney and I are going to try and forget about this for a while. Come Saturday morning, we’ll be on the road out of town.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Delaney did her best to distract herself from thinking about the arraignment. “What if the perp escapes on the way to court?” she asked Chad.
“I wouldn’t worry about that too much. The jail is on the bottom floor of the courthouse. They won’t even have to transport him.”
“What if the judge kicks him loose on a technicality? I can just see that tweeker showing up on our doorstep again.”
“Oh, I think he’ll be locked up for a while. He hasn’t got two nickels to rub together, so he won’t be making bail.”
“I wonder if they ever figured out his name?”
Chad kissed Delaney on the cheek. “We’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, let’s try to have a nice little vacation and forget all of that.”
Delaney smiled. “You’re right. I need to finished getting ready to go.”
“Me, too. I need to find my tennis shoes.”
Delaney packed her suitcase with care. She focused mostly on folding her cotton blouses and capris with neat creases. She scowled as she considered whether she should pack her favorite denim jacket. She turned toward her husband. “I can’t button this over my tummy anymore, Chad.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Laney.” Chad’s eyes softened. “We’ll get you a sweatshirt at the beach – maybe with a picture of a seascape on it.”
Delaney pitched her jacket in Chad’s direction. “In my condition, I think a whale would be more appropriate.”
&nbs
p; “Are you about ready to go?” Chad gestured toward Delaney’s suitcase. “I have the SUV pulled out of the garage.”
Delaney frowned. In the past, they had always driven her Mustang to the beach. The fond memories stung as she pondered what had become of her car. “Not so fast there, Chad. Can you get the phone? I hope it’s not your dad calling you into work.”
Chad picked up he phone on his nightstand and stood with the receiver pressed to his ear. His emotional response was difficult to read. His facial expressions shifted all the way from deep wrinkles in his brow to dancing lights in his clear blue eyes, then everywhere in between. After three or four minutes, he covered the receiver and whispered Delaney’s way. “It’s Detective Travis would like to speak with you.”
With a sinking feeling in her gut, Delaney agreed. She detested early morning calls, especially on a Saturday. “How about we just use the speakerphone?”
Chad nodded. “Detective Travis, we’re putting you on the speaker phone on so all three of us can hear the conversation.”
The officer grunted his approval. “Good morning, Mrs. Fox.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Are you sitting down?”
Delaney settled onto the edge of her bed. “I am now.”
“Good. I thought you might like to know that our suspect has some really good information for you.”
“If it’s good news,” Delaney pondered, “then why are you having me sit down?”
“Some of what I am going to say might be upsetting, Mrs. Fox.”
Delaney sighed. “Can we just get through this?”
“Of course,” the investigator agreed. “First of all, it turns out that the perp’s name is Dylan Rouster. He lives on the streets most of the time. The department has arrested him several times for possession of methamphetamine. Like most con artists, Conin recognized the meth-addled sucker for what he was and offered Dylan a job in exchange for drugs.”
“Conin?” Delaney clarified.
“Despicable!” Chad growled.
The investigator clucked his tongue. “Oh, he’s done worse, but stay with me on this story.”
