R.P. Dahlke - Dead Red 03 - A Dead Red Oleander

by R. P. Dahlke

  “I have to stay,” Jim said, “but you should all go home. I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.”

  Pearlie shrugged and pushed out of her chair. “You’re right, of course. Let’s go, Lalla.”

  She was quiet until we got to the entrance to the parking garage.

  “I can’t see Mad Dog with an old bar fly like her, can you?”

  Pearlie was shoring up the image Mad Dog had given to all of us—an alcoholic wife he couldn’t tolerate or live with. Of course, she wasn’t a complete harridan, and the parts of her that a man might find attractive still seemed to be in working order.

  There was nothing I could think of to say that would make Pearlie feel any better. As far as I knew Mad Dog wasn’t divorced, and Mrs. Mad Dog did show up at the hospital. Of course, now I knew why the driver of that Cadillac Escalade didn’t stop to finish us off; he didn’t want to miss his appointment to murder Mad Dog.

  Pearlie stopped walking. “I’m staying.”

  “But you heard the doc,” I said, exasperated with her weakness for the very married Mad Dog Schwartz. “He’s not going to be conscious until tomorrow, and besides, they won’t let you in to see him, he’s under police watch.”

  “I’m staying and nobody is gonna talk me out of it. You can take the rental and go on home.”

  Looking for a way I could convince her to go home, I asked, “What about his wife?”

  “Bet you a hundred dollars she’s not waiting around to see if her husband survives.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “You really want to take me on for that hundred?” She grabbed my arm and pivoted me around to point at a neon sign with a cocktail glass winking like a beacon in the night. “See that? I say she was here long enough to make sure he was breathin’, and now she’s doing her version of a pity party, sucking down piña coladas.”

  “Pearlie, why’re you so angry on the subject of Mad Dog? Can’t you just accept that he’s married and—”

  “No, I can’t! I won’t! No man has ever gotten knifed on account of me. If he dies, I won’t ever get a chance to say good-bye. And if he lives, I want to be the first person to ask him why he did such a stupid thing.”

  “How’re you going to—”

  “Never you mind. I got it all figured out. Now go on home so it don’t look like you’re getting involved.”

  That was low, and she knew it.

  “I’m going to take you up on that bet, Pearlie. Get in the car. If she’s in that bar, I’ll bring you back and say nothing to the marshal. If she’s not there, you come home with me and wait. Deal?”

  Since my cousin loved nothing more than taking a bet, she readily agreed.

  She was also right on the money with Jinx Schwartz. Only it wasn’t piña coladas, it looked to be Johnny Walker on the rocks, and she had her head on the shoulder of another man. Though he wasn’t anything special, and certainly nobody I would give a second look to, he did look up when we walked in.

  <><><><>

  I dropped Pearlie off at the entrance to the hospital and wished her luck. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to see Mad Dog. But don’t do anything stupid, or I’ll have to come back here and whip your butt.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cuz,” she said, smiling at my toothless threat.

  I watched my gutsy little cousin stride for the hospital doors, her short legs almost flying in her determination to see this through with a man who might, or might not, be in love with her. She was also the gutsy little blonde who shook off her own fear to take out a killer after he brutally murdered my dad’s oldest friend. I don’t think I ever really told her how grateful I was that she was quick enough to come up with a ploy that saved our lives. It occurred to me that now might be a good time to show her that I might be worth something as a cousin after all.

  I took my foot off the brake and curved the wheel around till I was back in the parking garage. I locked the rental, tossed the keys in my purse, and punched the up button for the third floor Intensive Care Unit where they’d moved Mad Dog.

  Chapter Twenty:

  I looked through the window into the ICU waiting room where Pearlie sat alone, staring at a fashion magazine. When I opened the door she looked up and sent me a genuine smile of welcome.

  I sat down next to her and picked up another magazine, Bow Hunting, with an editorial on “How to Gut a Deer in the Snow.” “Where’s the marshal?”

  “He took a room in a nearby hotel for the night. I told him I’d call if there was any change.”

  “Jinx?”

  Pearlie looked at her watch. “Gee, I dunno. It’s three a.m., the bars are closed, so where do you think our girl could be?”

  The sarcasm wasn’t lost on me. Jinx certainly wasn’t here waiting to hear if her husband lived or died.

  I smiled gently. “You certainly called it that time. Jinx was right where you said she’d be, in a bar.”

  “I don’t always get what I want. I know that, Lalla.” Her answering smile wavered, but at least she was keeping her chin up.

  I reached over and gave her shoulders a quick hug, then let go and picked up my magazine again.

  We flipped through a few more pages, then sat with the magazines on our laps, quiet in our own thoughts.

  I shifted on the hard cushion of the chair, cleared my throat, and said, “I’ve been thinking—”

  Pearlie nodded. “Me, too. I heard Jim Balthrop say that the house in Merced belongs to Jinx Schwartz.”

  I heaved a sigh. We were back on the subject of Mad Dog again.

  She did a flick of her fingers to indicate I was off base. “That Escalade was just sittin’ there, waitin’. I think she’s in cahoots with the guy that knifed Mad Dog.”

  I blinked. “His wife? That’s kind of harsh. I mean she may be a drunk, but do you really think she would send a killer after him?”

  “Like she said, they’re still married, aren’t they? What do you wanna bet she’s got a million worth of life insurance on him?”

  All I could do was nod. I was stunned to think that any woman could be so callous. Life insurance on aero-ag pilots topped at fifty thousand, but there was workman’s comp, and his social security. That might add up to a million.

  “Jinx may have used Mad Dog’s resentment of Arthur to negotiate a deal with Jack Carton, which led Jack to Arthur.”

  Pearlie flinched. That would mean Jinx had an ear to Mad Dog’s daily life. “I’m prepared to accept whatever comes, but I would still like to get the bastard that knifed Mad Dog. And did you notice? He ran with a limp.”

  “Yes,” I said. “So let’s assume this guy hit the jackpot when he found Jinx, who just happened to know about a pilot her husband didn’t like.”

  “She did it for the money.”

  “Then Clark Sullivan isn’t Arthur’s killer. But why did he kill Burdell Smith?”

  “Soon as we get word on Mad Dog, I want to go back to Merced and talk to Ms. Jinx, I’ll bet she could ID this guy.”

  “I met him too,” I said, “at the barbeque.”

  Pearlie shook her head. “Bet you fifty bucks you couldn’t pick him out in a lineup.”

  “I—no, I couldn’t and I don’t think anyone else could except Mad Dog. It was dark, he wore a cowboy hat. All I got was medium height, white, not fat, not skinny.”

  Pearlie was thoughtful for a minute, then asked, “Who else besides Mad Dog could ID him?”

  “Oh my God! Bud could. He’s the owner of the local bar where Mad Dog said he met him. Bud took a picture of Jack Carton. I turned it over to Caleb but it was so shadowed I don’t think anyone could use it to ID this guy. I warned Bud to be careful, that this guy might come back to try to destroy the picture.” I looked at my watch. “It’s almost seven in the morning. Someone should check on Bud.”

  I woke up Caleb and updated him on Mad Dog’s condition while Pearlie listened.

  “We decided not to go home yet,” I told him. “Pearlie and I are still
here at the hospital. Pearlie? She’s fine, I’m fine too. No, his wife didn’t come back. Caleb, will you do me a favor and call Bud’s home? He took that photo of the guy we think is Jack Carton. Yes, I know it wasn’t much, but I’m worried that this is also the guy who knifed Mad Dog… Are you sure?” I chewed on the inside of my lip, listening to Caleb’s explanation. “Okay, I’m not questioning the experts who judge ballistics, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I wish I were home too, and I will be soon, I promise.”

  When I hung up, I said, “The ballistics from Clark Sullivan’s gun do not match the bullet in Burdell Smith’s head.”

  I noticed Pearlie looked like she’d just swallowed a bad pill.

  “What?”

  “There’s someone else who could ID this guy.”

  I looked at the empty seat across from me—Jinx, Mad Dog’s estranged wife. “One of us is going to have to call Marshal Balthrop and tell him.”

  “Tell me what?” he said, walking into the small waiting room.

  “Caleb just told me that the ballistics from Clark Sullivan’s gun didn’t match the bullet in Burdell. So that means Clark Sullivan wasn’t the hit man.”

  “We never thought he was, Miss Bains.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Because Clark Sullivan doesn’t fit this guy’s profile. This is a professional. He’s gets his job done, wiping out any and all who can connect him to the murder, and then he disappears. He’ll have two plans in play, two escape hatches, in case one doesn’t work out. You saw Sacramento as a possible connection, while I and my team have been working Fresno. They aren’t totally unrelated, you know. Burdell Smith’s house—we think he sent Clark Sullivan to look for something that might incriminate him. You two girls showed up and interrupted Clark. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a lowlife, but he was probably following orders to look for something that would incriminate his boss.”

  “Alright, then here’s something you don’t know. We think the killer found Mad Dog through his wife, Jinx.”

  He looked from me to Pearlie and connected the dots. “In a bar, right?”

  “That’s where Mad Dog met him, too,” Pearlie said.

  “And his partner,” I said, “the one he left behind when they broke into my house to kidnap Nancy, said he met him in a biker’s bar in Riverbank.”

  Pearlie was fairly spitting, she was so mad. “Jinx played poor Mad Dog for a sucker and then set him up to be murdered.”

  “There’s also the owner of Bud’s Place, in Turlock,” I added. “He took a picture of Jack Carton on his cell. I sent it to Caleb.”

  “That Jinx,” Pearly mumbled. “She probably did it for the life insurance, or just for fun. That bitch.”

  I put my hand over hers. “We don’t know why she did it, but it’s likely for some kind of payoff.”

  Jim Balthrop fluttered out an impatient breath. “Back up a minute. What makes you think his wife set him up?”

  Pearlie said, “That address Lalla gave you was her house, right? We followed Mad Dog there, and the white Escalade was parked one house over, just waiting for him to show up.”

  “It was Jack Carton driving that Escalade,” I said. “He sideswiped us at the convalescent hospital to keep us from interfering with his rendezvous with Mad Dog.”

  Jim’s eyes flashed. “That wasn’t in the report you gave the agent.”

  “If we hadn’t followed him,” Pearlie sniffled, “Mad Dog would be dead now.”

  A nurse stood in the doorway. “Family of Robert Schwartz?”

  We all stood, and she nodded as if she’d already been alerted to the fact that there might be a conflict on the subject of wives. “Which one of you is Pearlie?”

  Pearlie grinned. “He’s askin’ for me?”

  “Yes,” said the nurse, “you’ve got five minutes, so no upsetting him.”

  Pearlie, unable to keep the grin off her face, hurried after the nurse.

  I said, “I hope she gets what she needs, she deserves it.”

  “I got the impression you two weren’t big fans of each other, Miss Bains.”

  “It’s a truce which may or may not last, but for now—”

  Ten minutes passed, and then Pearlie flew into the room and whooped. “He’s gonna live!” When she came up for air, I saw happy tears in her eyes. “Remember when he said he did it for us? He didn’t snitch on Arthur for the money, he only wanted you to see that Arthur wasn’t on the level.”

  Jim Balthrop held up a hand. “Want to run that by me again?”

  “Sorry, Jim,” Pearlie said, smiling widely. “Mad Dog was suspicious of Jinx, too. When it became clear that he’d been played by his own wife, Mad Dog knew he had to make it right. She said he had to give her money in exchange for the guy’s phone number. He gave her five thousand dollars, and the lyin’ bitch set up her own husband to be murdered. That woman hasn’t got one speck of moral fiber.”

  “Still, you two are lucky to be alive.”

  Pearlie snorted. “He’s got a bum leg courtesy of Lalla, then I kept him from killing Mad Dog. I’d say he’s found his match in the Bains women.”

  In spite of Pearlie’s bravado, I knew this whole experience would shade her nights with a terror she would live with for some time to come.

  The marshal stood. “I’d better call someone to check on the wife. The marshal’s service will want to take her into custody, see if she’ll roll on the killer. You ladies staying, or going home?”

  I said, “Are you ready to go home, Pearlie?”

  “It’s eight,” she said, looking at the clock on the wall. “Mad Dog’s sleeping, poor baby. There’s a guard on him and lots of nurses in the ICU, so I will go home, get a change of clothes, and come back.”

  <><><><>

  We got as far as Merced when Pearlie said, “Let’s stop and see if she’s still there, I want a word or two.”

  “Not a good idea, Pearlie. What if the marshal shows up?”

  “Bet you a hundred bucks he’s still doing the paperwork. Here’s the turnoff.”

  I reached for the doorbell but stopped when Pearlie pushed the open door inward and stepped inside. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  “Pearlie, let’s not do this,” I said, pulling on her sleeve. “The marshal has probably picked her up already.”

  “Then why didn’t he lock the door after him?”

  “We don’t need to be inside her house.”

  Pearlie narrowed her eyes. “I want to see if she left behind any incriminating evidence,” she said, and walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

  Jinx’s body lay on the floor. Blood pooled out as far as it was going to go from a head wound, a bright beacon to the swarming houseflies.

  I put out an arm to stop Pearlie. She came easily enough, but then halted. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we s-see if she’s s-still breathing?”

  “Out. Now. Right now. Come on,” I said, clutching her to my side, lock-stepping for the front door, and to the rental car. Seeing Pearlie wide-eyed and shaking, I said, “Give me the keys, I’ll drive.” When we got into the car, I said, “She was already dead.” I didn’t add that the pool of blood said she’d been dead for a while. “The marshal will find her when he gets here.”

  “We should’ve called him from her house.”

  I’d felt too close to the killer to remain in that house for one more minute, much less the time it would take for the authorities to get there. I looked at her hands clasped tightly together, the knuckles white. “What is it?”

  “He—he looked at me,” she whispered, staring at the line of traffic as we approached the north on-ramp for the freeway. “I sort of take it for granted when men look, especially in a bar, but this time—I wish I’d been invisible. That was him with Jinx last night in the bar, I’d bet on it. He’s moving north, picking off the last of the people who can ID him. We should stop and call your house. Warn them. Call Caleb.”

  I felt my heart trip and thud in my chest. “I know. I know, but we’re alm
ost home.”

  “Think he’s still driving that Escalade?” Pearlie asked.

  “I’m sure the marshal has put out a BOL on it by now.”

  She nodded. “He’s smart. He would ditch it and steal another one.”

  Suddenly, nothing mattered but to get home. I punched the gas and the rental car hit seventy, then seventy-five, then eighty-five.

  “How far do you think we can get,” she asked, looking at the speedometer, “before some CHP pulls us over?”

  “I’m not thinking about that right now.” I was thinking about my dad, her granny. “You still have your granny’s pistol?”

  “I feel really bad about taking it, too. It’s her favorite, you know.”

  “There’s my dad’s shotgun. He keeps it in the TV room behind the door.”

  Pearlie didn’t respond. It wouldn’t matter, not if the killer got there first, and was waiting to finish off the two meddlesome women who were continuing to cause him trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-one:

  Caleb’s cruiser was parked up close to the front of our house, as if he’d exited in a hurry.

  Pearlie and I cautiously approached, hoping we weren’t walking into a scene where all our loved ones were bound and gagged… or worse.

  Stepping through the front door, I heard the radio in the kitchen playing the local country western station. Somewhere over my head, a toilet flushed, and as we walked toward the kitchen, low voices rose and fell in the give and take of easy conversation.

  Caleb was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee and talking to my Aunt Mae.

  “There you are,” said Aunt Mae, opening her arms to engulf the two of us. “I’m so glad to see my girls home, safe and sound.”

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding and accepted her tight, warm hug. Where was the sense of urgency, and why was Caleb looking so relaxed? This all felt surreal, my Aunt Mae warmly smiling at us, Caleb, his long legs crossed over as he sipped his coffee. I could feel the walls shift and the floor under my feet tilt. I flushed, sweat breaking out on my upper lip, nausea rolling over me. I was finally losing it, and unable to do anything to help myself, I slid to the floor.