Desert Kill Switch ~ a Nostalgia City Mystery ~ Book 2

by Mark S. Bacon

  Kate paused for a response, but Marge just stared down the hall.

  “How long have you known Louise?” she said, attempting a conversational tone.

  Drysdale shrugged. “Several years.”

  “Since Al was on the board?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Did you know anything about sharing RSD with some other city?”

  Drysdale looked down and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  “I’d like to find out if the murder had anything to do with Rockin’ Summer Days.” Kate tried to sound vulnerable--that’s how she felt--and Drysdale was not helping. “I’m kind of in trouble and I need help.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Then you think there’s a connection to moving RSD?”

  Drysdale folded her arms on her chest and again glanced down the empty hall. “I don’t know anything, and we shouldn’t be talking.”

  Chapter 20

  Lyle was not of a mind to wait for Rey.

  The rental agency office hummed with the sound of customers picking up and returning cars. He walked around the side of the counter looking for the manager he’d met the other day. All the clerks were occupied and Lyle started to go into the back office when he saw the manager walk in the building from outside carrying car keys and a sheaf of papers.

  “I came in here Thursday asking you about Firebirds, remember?”

  The man looked hot and frazzled. “Yeah?”

  “Well, I just saw a blue Firebird Trans Am that was one of our rentals. You told me we didn’t have any blue Firebirds.” Lyle finished up with a smile when he saw the manager’s pained expression and realized he sounded like a cop. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

  “I remember, yes, we didn’t have any. If you can give me a minute I can try to check again for you. Is it important?”

  Lyle nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  Lyle watched him talk to one of the clerks, then walk into the back office. Glancing around to the main entrance, Lyle saw Rey come in.

  “So, you found the car?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  Lyle explained seeing the Firebird and talking to the driver.

  “But I thought you checked and there weren’t any blue Trans Ams for rent.”

  “That’s what they told me originally. So now we check again.”

  The manager walked into the main office carrying a binder. He seemed surprised to see Lyle talking with a uniformed officer.

  Lyle introduced him to Rey and the three of them moved into one of the back rooms.

  “I guess this is serious?” the manger asked.

  “Just a routine check right now,” Rey said.

  “Well, I’m not surprised about this. We get new cars in all the time. When the garage has fully restored vehicles ready to go, we register them and put ’em in our rental pool.”

  “So you have a blue Firebird?” Lyle said trying not to sound too eager.

  “Yes. We just got it in and it was rented this morning.”

  Lyle looked at Rey.

  “Possibly we’d like to look at it,” the undersheriff said. “How long is it rented for?”

  “I’d have to check up front.”

  “Why don’t we bring your security into this?” Rey said when they were alone. “Might be easier.”

  “Yeah, if we can get the car into the shop maybe we could check for prints or--”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll see what it looks like first.”

  Lyle didn’t have a problem calling security. Politically correct. Proper procedures, chain of command. The difficulty lay in having to explain everything to the security chief.

  As it turned out, Howard Chaffee had heard about Lyle’s distraction in the desert. The new head of security knew his territory already.

  “But what I want to know is,” Chaffee said as he, Lyle, and Rey walked into the NC garage, “how did the car get from your murder scene into the hands of a guest.”

  Garage was a simplified name for NC’s auto restoration and maintenance facility housed in building slightly smaller than a football stadium. Lyle arranged for a vacant service stall to house the car when they examined it.

  Chaffee had arrived in a tan, lightweight business suit and blue tie. If he carried a weapon, Lyle couldn’t see it. He remembered Lyle from their meeting at the NC car show and had met Rey already. Rey had told Lyle that Chaffee had come to visit him on one of his first days on the job. A good move. Chaffee oversaw a staff of security guards, TSA-type inspectors who manned the park’s entrance gates, and other personnel. Technically, however, the San Navarro County Sheriff’s Office had jurisdiction over everything that happened in the park. Chaffee obviously recognized the importance of a good working relationship with the sheriff, something his predecessor never seemed to grasp.

  As they waited for the Firebird to show up, Chaffee explained that he asked the rental manager to contact the person who rented the Trans Am and see if he would let them borrow it for a few hours in exchange for another car.

  “You might have scared him, just a little,” Chaffee said, looking at Lyle. “The guy seemed to think there was something wrong with the car, so he gladly exchanged it for the rest of his stay. The rental manager also gave him a coupon for a discount next time, and a free dinner. Just trying to keep our customers satisfied.”

  “That’d make good lyrics for a song,” Lyle said.

  Rey gave him a blank look and Howard Chaffee puzzled over it for a second or two, then smiled.

  When Lyle saw a rental agent drive the car into the garage, he realized he should have told them to tow it in to minimize additional fingerprints. Lyle noticed the mag wheels again, something he hadn’t remembered from the desert.

  Lyle stood back and let Rey and Chaffee open the car doors and look inside. Rey put on latex gloves to open the passenger door. He opened the glove box and looked through the contents, then ducked down and peered under the seat. As he knelt, he looked up at Lyle. “This the car you saw?”

  “Or an exact duplicate. It had the blue interior, too.”

  Howard Chaffee used a handkerchief to open the trunk and Lyle wandered around to the driver’s side. He peered in expecting, or even hoping, to see bullet holes, blood or some type of damage. The car looked immaculate. No dust anywhere, inside or out, except what it could have picked up in the last day.

  “You guys workin’ on Saturday, too?” asked a plump woman in a flowing dress that would have been too large for Mama Cass. “How y’all doin’, Lyle honey.”

  Gayle LeBlanc was the operational brains behind NC’s restoration program. Her heavy make-up and teased hair gave little indication of her automotive experience, particularly in body shop management. Lyle knew it was her eye for detail that oversaw the resurrection of dozens of vintage automobiles.

  “Whatchall looking for?” she said.

  “Well, Gayle, it’s kind of a long story. I saw a blue Firebird like this in the desert, then it disappeared. Now it’s on the street as one of our rentals.” He paused to introduce her to Howard and Rey.

  “Lyle, I heard a rumor about that,” Gayle said in her Louisiana accent. “NC’s a small town, ya know what I mean? Sumthin’ ’bout a dead body in the desert.”

  Lyle grimaced as he nodded his head, then walked around and knelt down to look at the Firebird’s split grill at eye level. Chaffee pulled out a penlight and continued to look into the trunk. Rey pushed the front passenger seat forward and looked around in the back.

  “This car went for a ride outside the park,” Gayle said.

  All three men stopped what they were doing and looked up.

  “Funny, ya know. It was restored and road tested and sitting in our prep lot. That’s where we park cars before we give them a final detailing.”

  Lyle got up from the front of the car and walked slowly toward the garage manager as she talked.

  “We were all ready to give birth to this bird Thursday,” she said, “
and that morning one of our mechanics found it sitting just outside an employee parking lot. The keys were in it and it looked in perfect shape.”

  Lyle stood in front of Gayle and motioned for her to continue.

  “That’s the whole story. Fuh shore.”

  “So the mechanic found the car Thursday morning,” Lyle said. “What did you do with it?”

  “Jes what I said. We detailed it inside and out--”

  “Did you vacuum it?” Rey asked.

  “’Course, honey. We clean the bejesus out of the cars ’fore we send ’em out, even if they have new carpeting. They can pick up metal shavings, plastic bits, other stuff from restoration. And we wax ’em, polish ’em--the works. We make these old jalopies look new as possible.”

  “So much for fibers, prints, and desert sand,” Howard said, looking at Lyle.

  And we don’t have tire impressions to match, or any other evidence, Lyle thought.

  “Could be why you didn’t notice a plate,” Martinez said. “It didn’t have one.”

  “What about GPS?” Lyle said. “Could you track this car?”

  “No way,” Gayle said. “We don’t activate the GPS tracker until just before we send it for rental.”

  “Does that prep parking lot have cameras?” the security chief asked.

  “No. Guess we thought we didn’t need ’em.”

  “I’ll send somebody over to see about installing cameras in the lot.”

  Too late for that now, Lyle thought.

  Chapter 21

  Burning barbeque sauce smells sweet, sour, and acrid all at the same time. The sugar turns black and crispy. Kate was hungry, but Ted’s Tasty Tennessee BBQ didn’t appeal to her. Ted’s occupied a corner of an exhibit area just off Virginia Street in Reno. Hundreds of cars filled the street: coupes, custom cars, and low riders, a shiny assortment of automobiles manufactured when Detroit ruled the American roads. Hoods on all the cars were raised, as if in a salute to glory days gone by. Crowds of gawkers stared at the engines and plush interiors. Many wore retro clothes spanning several decades: from poodle skirts, leather jackets, and tie-dyed dresses to polyester bell-bottoms. The past held allure.

  Either the summer heat, now somewhere near 100, or jumbled thoughts--that included Lyle’s predicament--made Kate stroll unhurried toward the NC booth. Amanda expected her. Marge Drysdale had been so skittish, Kate had not been able to get anything more out of her. Did she think Kate was a murderer, or was she afraid of someone or something else? Kate had helped roll Louise in a wheelchair down to Drysdale’s car and heard her again express concern for her son’s emotional state. Watching the two drive away, Kate noticed Drysdale’s guarded look.

  A block away now, Kate could still smell the BBQ. At the next street corner, a Rockin’ Summer Days welcome booth spread out under a white awning, offering chairs and tables for people who visited the nearby food stands. Two people in RSD shirts stood behind a counter stacked with programs, maps, and brochures. One of them was Marshall Jacques, the RSD board member Kate had met her first day in Reno. Just three days ago, but it seemed like weeks. Remembering attorney Mauser’s advice, Kate knew she should keep walking, but she thought Jacques was looking at her. When she made eye contact, her decision was set.

  “I’m actually here waiting for Patty Crawford,” Jacques said when Kate greeted him with a smile. “She’s going to be signing copies of her book this afternoon.”

  Here was a nostalgia star Kate remembered. Crawford, a modestly successful singer who charted in the ’70s and ’80s, played at a Vegas hotel when Kate worked there. Kate recalled that she’d just released a book about her conversion from acid rocker to evangelist.

  “I have to help RSD keep on track,” Jacques said, “in spite of everything. Of course it must have been a bigger shock for you.” Jacques lowered his eyes.

  Had Kate found someone who actually mourned Busick’s passing? “That’s an understatement,” she said softly, trying to match Jacques’s apparent mood. “I hope the police find out who did this, soon.”

  “Yes,” Jacques said pursing his lips.

  “This idea of moving or sharing Rockin’ Summer Days. Do you know where it came from?”

  Jacques shook his head. “No.”

  “You think it’s a bad idea?”

  Jacques looked around him before he spoke. “So we’ve maxed out in Reno. Revenue from somewhere else wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You know about this?”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head again. “No one here would like it.” Jacques said, his voice low, but emphatic.

  He sounded a little like Marge Drysdale. “What’d you tell the police?”

  “The same thing. Nothing to tell.”

  “You and Alvin were close?”

  Jacques looked out to the street. “We worked together.”

  “You’re in advertising. I remember your name,” Kate said. “I was in PR in Vegas for ten years. You run the Sparkle Agency and you handle the Busick Motors account.”

  Jacques nodded slightly. “Yes, I said we worked together.” He paused, then his expression brightened up when he said, “There’s Miss Crawford. I have to go.” He put a hand on top of the counter as some sort of parting gesture and stepped out of the booth.

  Kate didn’t know where to file Jacques’s remarks in the case folder in her head. She stopped briefly for a couple of tacos and a bottle of water before meeting Amanda at the booth.

  “Lots more sales today,” Amanda said, looking as perky as Kate felt tired. “People who have heard of us, or been to the park, bring their friends to see the booth themselves.”

  “Are you hungry?” Kate said. It was past noon. “Why don’t you get something to eat?”

  “Okay. Oh, someone dropped this off for you this morning. It was on the table. I’m sorry I didn’t see who did it. I’ve been so busy.”

  Kate took the small manila envelope with her name written on the front in plain block letters. “Thanks. Now, relax and have lunch.”

  “I told our temp she could have the afternoon off since you were going to be here,” Amanda said. “It’s been pretty steady all day.”

  As Amanda left, a baby-boomer-age couple wandered into the booth. “See, it’s just like I told you,” the husband said. “Reliving the good old days.” Kate smiled and went to work.

  An hour later, during a momentary lull, she remembered the envelope she’d stuck in her purse. Inside, she found an unlabeled DVD and one sheet of white paper. The brief message was printed in black, Times Roman typeface. As Kate read it, she could feel the Mexican food in her stomach and wished it wasn’t there.

  The note read: “We want $50,000 in cash or this video goes to the police. Get the money. We’ll contact you.”

  Chapter 22

  Howard Chaffee was right. He, Lyle, and Rey scrutinized the blue Firebird Trans Am with no result. Lyle didn’t press Rey to bring in criminalists to go over the car. He was satisfied this was the Firebird he’d seen in the desert. Now all they needed was the body.

  When other duties called Rey back to the sheriff’s station, Lyle and Howard questioned the mechanic who found the car and talked to several employees who had cleaned it prior to it becoming a rental. Like so much police work, it told them nothing. Lyle offered to buy Howard a drink after work.

  “I didn’t know this place existed,” Chaffee said when he and Lyle were sipping beer at Gilligan’s Island.

  “You’re new to the park. I like this place mainly because it’s a half mile from my condo. And the decor of course.” Lyle swept an arm indicating the bar’s faux South Sea island atmosphere created with reedy wallpaper, lighted fish tanks, palm fronds.

  “We live in Polk. Nice little town, but--”

  “Culture shock from San Francisco?”

  Howard smiled. “Just a little. But I don’t mind the crime profile here. Shoplifters, fender benders, the occasional bar fight. But you know. You were on the force in Phoenix. This is the quiet life, by comparis
on.”

  “Why do you think I’m here? I maxed out on murders and assaults. Driving a cab in a quiet theme park seemed like a good escape--at the time.”

  “Did you retire?”

  “Not exactly. Long story. I’ll tell you sometime.” Maybe I really will.

  Howard nodded slowly. “This Firebird thing is a puzzle. And no body’s turned up yet.”

  Maybe Chaffee actually believes me, Lyle thought, but then the misplaced Trans Am substantiated his story. “It’s a big desert out there.”

  Howard was about to reply when Lyle’s phone buzzed. Kate.

  “What’s going on?” he said. “Are you behaving yourself and selling more NC vacations?”

  “I’m in trouble. I tried calling you earlier, but you were in the park and probably didn’t have your phone on.”

  Kate’s voice wavered. He heard the urgency. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m being blackmailed. Remember I told you about Busick when he came over to the booth and swore and threatened us? Well, somebody videotaped it. Shows me shoving Busick to the ground. They want $50,000 or they’ll send it to the police.”

  “Holy--” Lyle was aware of Howard right next to him. He seemed a dependable, honest guy, but Lyle didn’t want to share this. “Kate, what you--”

  “It looks bad, like I attacked him.”

  “Let me go home and we can decide what to do. I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Problem?” Howard asked when Lyle hung up.

  “Sorry, I have to go. I don’t think it’s too serious,” he said, though it sounded like a catastrophe. “We’ll do this again.” Lyle took a long swig of his beer and was out the door.

  Back in his car, driving home, he called Kate.

  “Sorry, I was at Gilligan’s with the new security chief. I’m on the way home. Tell me you’re not in danger.”

  Kate explained receiving the envelope and said she’d left the booth early to view the video on her laptop.

  “And you haven’t heard from them?”