A Treasure to Die For

by Richard Houston

  Watching her walk back to her truck reminded me of Julie again. My melancholy quickly faded when Bonnie broke the spell. “Is this what we came for?” She was examining an oil slick in the space next to where Appleton’s truck had been parked.

  “Stay, Fred,” I said, letting go of his leash and walking over to Bonnie.

  She stuck her index finger in the oil then rubbed it between her finger and thumb. “It’s not engine oil, that’s for sure, and it is red. I wonder if there is any test they can do to match it to the Datsun?”

  “How do you know that, Bon?”

  “Greg never let anyone change his oil. I remember it was a lot thicker than this. I had a devil of a time getting his clothes clean.”

  I bent down and did the same test, only I had to grab Fred with my free hand before he did it too. I’d have to work on that ‘stay’ command later. “Yep, no doubt about it. Only I don’t need a lab test to confirm it. I’m sure it was the Datsun.”

  She stood up slowly, making me realize she was in no shape to walk back to my Jeep. “And how did you come to that conclusion, Sherlock?”

  “A couple clues, Miss Watson. First, the oil spot is close to the parking curb. That tells me the oil leak isn’t from a transmission, which would be further back, it’s coming from a power-steering pump. Second, it’s fresh. Notice Fred’s paw prints. He didn’t leave any prints when he walked on the other spots. Those oil stains look like they’ve been cleaned by a street sweeper, so they must be much older.”

  Bonnie took Fred’s head between her hands, giving him his favorite treat, an ear rub. “Good boy, Freddie. You just cracked another case.”

  Fred ate it up. I doubt he knew why he was getting the attention, but he loved it anyway. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the case wasn’t cracked. All he had done was confirm, at least to me, that the Datsun had been here.

  Bonnie didn’t argue when I insisted she wait on the bench while Fred and I went back to get the Jeep. I turned around to wave at the first bend in the trail before we would be out of sight. She was too busy lighting a cigarette to notice us.

  “You going to call him and tell him about the Datsun, Jake?” Bonnie asked after I picked her up from the park.

  “Not yet. Maybe when we give our statements, but then I doubt if Deputy White will be there.”

  She gave me her blank look then must have realized I misunderstood. “Not White, silly. Paul Wilson. You said he asked you to call him if you got any new information on the kids.”

  “I forgot all about him, Bon. No. I suppose I’ll help him out if the parents sue him, but I don’t see how keeping him in the loop is to anyone’s benefit. We need to concentrate on finding more evidence to keep White off our backs.”

  “And Margot. Don’t forget that lawyer of hers,” she added.

  “Who can forget Margot?” I said, in a sarcastic tone as I pulled into Bonnie’s drive. “I’ve got to go into town on some personal business. Why don’t you give that sister of yours a call in the meantime and tell her you don’t need the lawyer? He’s going to be nothing but trouble for us.”

  Bonnie looked over at Fred who had stuck his big head between us. “I think Fred would have a better chance of telling Margot to back off. Wouldn’t you, Freddie?” she said before giving his head one last rub before heading for her house.

  ***

  I felt bad for bringing up Margot and the statement again. It obviously ruined Bonnie’s mood, but at least she didn’t ask why I had to go into town. An idea came to me on the way back from the park that I didn’t want to share with her, for I knew she would want to tag along. It was bad enough Fred would be in danger; I didn’t need to take a chance on getting Bonnie hurt too.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cory and Jennifer’s house was less than a block from Colfax. The old saying about birds of a feather came to mind. I saw beggars, drunks and prostitutes on almost every corner, despite the newer stores trying to reclaim the area.

  I parked across the street from their house, and pretended to read a map. The yellow police tape and crime scene signs I expected to see didn’t exist. Nor were there any police cars parked in the driveway. I even checked up and down the street thinking the house might be under surveillance by an undercover team. Nothing. There were no unmarked cars, no vans, nothing that television cops use during a stakeout. Maybe real cops used cameras or satellites instead.

  What was I thinking? I could feel my heart racing and blood pressure rising. Who would take care of Fred if I got caught or had a heart attack? “Calm down, Jake,” I said aloud.

  Fred turned his head at an odd angle when I spoke. He had taken Bonnie’s seat after we dropped her off, and had been sleeping up until I had turned off on Colfax. I’m sure he would tell me I was a fool if he knew what I had in mind, for my plan to check the kids’ driveway for power-steering fluid started to look really dumb. Was it even necessary?

  I had reasoned that since the Datsun was sitting in an impound lot and I couldn’t check it for a power-steering leak, the next best thing was to look for indirect evidence. My chances of getting away with snooping were much better here than in some impound lot, but I couldn’t simply walk over there and look for oil spots. Someone would surely see me, and my Jeep wouldn’t be hard to trace. I doubt if there were fifty of the old Wagoneers still registered in Colorado. And what if the police did have the house under surveillance?

  When Fred started whining to be let out, I had my answer. I drove back to Colfax and parked in Casa Bonita’s lot. Fred and I could walk the three blocks back to the kids’ house, pretending to be locals out for a walk.

  We hadn’t gone a block when an older couple stopped us. “What a good looking doggie. What’s your name, big fella?” The old man was bent over like a cartoon caricature and wasn’t much taller than Fred. He surprised me when he stuck his hand out to pet him, but then, Goldens seem to have that affect on people.

  “Say hello to the nice man, Freddie.”

  “That’s an odd name for a dog.” It was the old guy’s partner, who I assumed was his wife. The grip on her purse told me she still didn’t trust me.

  “My ex named him. My daughter had her heart set on a Ginger, so when I brought home a male instead of a female puppy, my ex called him Fred, after Fred Astaire.”

  She relaxed the grip on her purse and a smile began to form on her lips. “Now that was when they knew how to make movies, wasn’t it, Bill?”

  Her husband looked up from shaking Fred’s paw. “Huh? Who’s moving?”

  She ignored him and directed her answer to me. “Are you new to the neighborhood? I don’t think I’ve seen you before?” So much for being inconspicuous. Unless these two had a severe case of senility, they wouldn’t have any problem whatsoever picking us out of a police lineup.

  “No. The wife wanted to browse one of those second-hand stores on Colfax, and Fred needed some exercise.”

  “Well, be careful, young man. I’d hate to see that beautiful dog get hurt. The neighborhood isn’t what it used to be. There was a time we didn’t even lock our doors and knew all our neighbors. Now they come and go so quickly, we don’t even know half their names.”

  “Like those kids who got killed down the street,” Bill cut in. Obviously, his hearing was selective, like my father’s used to be when he would tune out my mother’s nagging.

  I tried to act shocked. “Two kids on this block were killed?”

  “On the next block, but it wasn’t here they were murdered. Up in the mountains somewhere,” said his wife, who evidently realized I wasn’t a purse snatcher by now, as she no longer held onto hers with both hands.

  “Cops all over the place,” Bill said before his wife could finish. “They went door to door asking all kinds of strange questions.”

  Oh, how I wanted to ask what kind of questions. Luckily, I didn’t have to. “Yeah, like had we noticed any suspicious activity,” Bill’s wife said.

  “Any activity on this block is suspicious,” Bill a
dded before his wife had time to speak again. Like my own parents, these two must have been married forever. Either that or they were Siamese twins at one time, because they answered each other’s questions like they were joined at the hip.

  “Well, they were wasting their time, and that’s exactly what I told the detective,” the wife continued. “I told him it had to be somebody like that lady Mr. Renfield says did it because Shelia killed her daughter.”

  “Now, June, we don’t know that. How could someone our age dump those kids in a mine?”

  The wife, I now knew as June, gave her husband a look before continuing, the kind of look my sister used to give when she knew something I didn’t. “She had an accomplice, that’s how. Mary at the beauty parlor says she’s been hanging out with a younger man who must have helped her. And Mary should know. Her son is a Jeffco deputy.”

  My eyes must have come close to popping out of their sockets. I prayed my blood pressure didn’t complete my exposé by making my face red, too.

  “This young man doesn’t want to hear your beauty shop gossip.”

  Oh, but I did. I almost said so when her cell phone went off. She pulled out an ancient phone from her purse and flipped it open. I bit my tongue, waved goodbye, and left before I said something to incriminate myself.

  ***

  My blood pressure was back to normal once Fred and I were within sight of the kids’ house. I stopped to let Fred sniff a telephone pole between the street and sidewalk. I casually looked back up the street in time to see the couple turn the corner onto Colfax.

  Fred spotted a stick on the grass and nearly pulled me off my feet when he jerked the leash to get the stick. That’s when my plan came together. All I had to do was let Fred off his leash and pretend to play fetch. I’d throw the stick up the kids’ driveway and follow Fred so I could check for oil leaks. It should look innocent enough to any nosy neighbors who might be watching as they’d think it was a badly aimed throw.

  Unfortunately, my toss was way off. Instead of the stick landing in the driveway, it sailed over a short, chain-link fence, separating the drive from the backyard. Like the rest of the house, repairs were long overdue. The gate to the yard had been torn off and lying on the ground, so Fred ran past the spot I wanted to examine and into the yard when he went after the stick. He didn’t seem to care that he was trespassing.

  Pretending to tie my shoe, I stopped short of the fence, and kneeled down. Sure enough, there was a puddle of fresh, red oil less than a foot ahead of the darker spots left by the engine.

  “Come on Fred. Get out of there,” I called out, now that I found what we had come for. He ignored me and began rolling around on the ground.

  “Get your butt over here right now!” This time I said it loud enough that the next door neighbor peeked out between her broken Venetian blinds.

  Fred picked a great time to let his instincts take control. I knew there was either a dead animal or something that came out the rear of one. He could be totally disgusting when he wanted. I made a display of showing his leash, for the benefit of the neighbor, and went in the backyard to get him. That’s when I saw he wasn’t the creature I’d accused him of being. It wasn’t a dead animal or some by-product of one. Fred had the evidence Bonnie and I needed to avoid lethal injection.

  He found a plastic garbage bag that had been torn open by a scavenger. The rotting garbage must have been irresistible to Fred. Rolling in foul-smelling feces might have been great to cover his ancestor’s scent when hunting, but the only animal Fred hunted was a squirrel he couldn’t catch, no matter how bad he smelled.

  Instead of scolding him, I ended up giving him praise when I saw the green tee-shirt with a Marine Corp label and the name, Appleton, printed on it. It looked like it had been used to wipe up blood. I no sooner picked it up when Bonnie’s manicure kit fell out. It had been wrapped up in the bloody shirt. At least I assumed it was hers. I noticed the initials, BMJ, printed in gold cursive on the case when I opened it. Inside the case were a small pair of scissors, a couple nail clippers, a tweezer, and some other tools I didn’t recognize. It looked like everything a woman would need to trim her fingernails, except for a file.

  ***

  Fred and I hadn’t gone a block on our way back to my Jeep when I saw the neighbor who had been watching us, leave her house and knock on Renfield’s door. It was time to start jogging. My mind screamed, run, but that would really make me look guilty, so I pretended I was giving my dog some exercise with a leisurely jog.

  No one seemed to be following us, so when we got to Colfax I stopped jogging to catch my breath. Only then did I realize my charade had backfired when I saw several people waiting at a bus stop watching us. I realized no serious jogger in his right mind would be caught running in long Levis and hiking boots. The onlookers were probably wondering what I was running from. I prayed their bus would show up before the police did.

  Fortunately, we only had another two blocks to go before we could get in our Jeep, and be out of there before Renfield or the police came looking for us. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. I spotted a Lakewood police car blocking my Jeep once we passed the bus stop. The officer was standing by my car saying something into his portable radio.

  I turned up Pierce Street and kept walking past the parking lot. I couldn’t believe Renfield had called the cops already. How had he known what I was driving?

  We stopped once we were out of sight behind the Dollar Store, hoping no one at the bus stop had seen me park the car half an hour ago. I wasn’t too worried about the street people. Most of them probably had warrants of their own and wouldn’t want anything to do with the police. Other than the bus people, my fear was that a customer, or staff member in one of the stores, would recognize me or Fred. They might deem it their civic duty to tell the cop they had just seen me walk by.

  I waited a few minutes then peeked around the building. The cop was placing a ticket on the car next to my Jeep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I’ll bet you were ready to wet your pants, Jake.” Bonnie said when I told her about the Lakewood police officer the next morning. We were sitting on her deck drinking coffee, or I should say, I was drinking coffee. I had slept in and Bonnie already had her quota for the day, but insisted on making coffee, even though she didn’t want any more, and Fred preferred water.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I did say a prayer.”

  “A prayer?”

  “Yes, I promised God if he got me out of this one that I’d go to church every Sunday.”

  “And you’ve already broken your promise. Do you want to go to hell? You can’t do that, Jake. You don’t want to fool with the Lord.”

  “I’ll start next week, Bon, I promise. Just as soon as I find a church that allows pets.”

  “Jake!”

  “Okay. How about I join the church of C and E?”

  “I never heard of that. Is it Christian?”

  “Christmas and Easter, of course it’s Christian.”

  Bonnie laughed. “You’re incorrigible, Jake.”

  “You win, Bon. Wake me next Sunday and I’ll go with you. I wouldn’t want to spend eternity in hell when Julie’s in heaven. I just hope Saint Peter lets Fred in, too.”

  Bonnie poured me more coffee from the carafe on the table then lit a cigarette. “Well, I’m glad Fred got my manicure kit back before the police found it.”

  I had told her how Fred found her kit, and about my paranoia about seeing the cop by my Jeep, but I never mentioned the conversation with Bill and June. I didn’t want to upset her with beauty parlor gossip. It could have been from before Appleton confessed, for all I knew, and telling Bonnie that we were both suspects could wait until I checked it out.

  “We need to tell them, Bon, or we will be guilty of withholding evidence. The fact that it was wrapped in Appleton’s shirt should prove you had nothing to do with the murder.”

  Bonnie looked like she’d just felt a spider crawl up her leg. “Have you f
orgotten it was missing a file? What if it’s my file that was used to kill Shelia? Please don’t tell them about it, Jake. Please?”

  “What if there are prints they can trace to the killer?”

  “Oh my God! I never thought of that. Can they get prints off of glass?”

  “Glass?” I asked, wondering what she was talking about.

  “The file, Jake. It’s glass.” She stopped long enough to roll her eyes. “And my name, now that I think of it.”

  Suddenly her eyes lit up like one of those new LED light bulbs. “That means it wasn’t my nail file that killed Shelia. My name is on the plastic handle. Margot had it ordered special for my sixty-ninth birthday. If it were my file, they would have arrested me by now.”

  Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. I needed to tell the cops about the shirt before someone cleaned the garbage from the kids’ yard and destroyed crucial evidence. It was against my better judgment, but I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  “Okay, I’ll call in an anonymous tip telling them where to find the shirt, but I think we’re making a big mistake by not telling them about the manicure kit.”

  “You left the shirt?”

  “Of course I left the shirt. They would never believe I found it there otherwise.”

  She seemed to consider my statement before she spoke again. “I would have never thought of that. Are you sure you weren’t a crook in a different life?”

  When I only smiled and didn’t say anything, she continued. “But why tell them anything? I don’t see how that shirt proves anything.”

  “Remember when I thought Craig had an accomplice who must have picked him up from Three Sisters after he left Appleton there?”

  “So?”

  “There’s a very good chance Cory was that accomplice. He practically lives next door to Craig, so they must have known each other. I’m sure forensics will match the blood on the tee-shirt to that on Appleton’s deck.”