Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas)

by Mari Manning

In the distance, a siren began to wail. Red and blue lights pierced the night sky, then a set of headlights bounced into the driveway. A police car roared toward her and squealed to a stop. The car door swung opened, and Rafe jumped out. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “We’re all done, Morales.” The men from the coroner’s office slammed the truck doors.

  “When will we see results?” The coroner’s preliminary finding was suicide, but with the murder of Teke Cruz, his old friend’s sudden death warranted a closer look.

  “Should be a week or so. We’ll call you.” The men climbed into the truck, and it glided away leaving Lonnie’s driveway in the pearly light of dawn. The headlights of Rafe’s cruiser, pointing at the garage, illuminated the narrow rectangle of greasy cement where Lonnie’s car had been parked. Earlier, a police tow hauled the old Buick away as evidence.

  From the back seat of his cruiser, Dinah’s wide eyes gazed at him. Her legs had gotten wobbly while the coroner secured the body and determined the time of death, so Rafe had helped her to the car so she could sit.

  He approached the car and leaned in. “How are you doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What happened? Why were you here?” He tried to be gentle, but his words hung between them like an accusation.

  She turned her face away from him. “I can’t talk about it.”

  A finger of suspicion brushed the nape of his neck. Sure she was hot, and he was definitely attracted, but what did he really know about her? All that crap she’d been shoveling at him about coming back to bury her father could be a flat-out lie. And what about Hollyn? She was a strange one, just showing up like that, clearly afraid of the law, and Dinah took her right in. No questions asked.

  “I need some answers, Dinah.”

  She didn’t move.

  “You can talk to me now, or if you prefer, we can go down to the station. It’s up to you.”

  Her eyes, red-rimmed, flashed with anger. “I don’t have any answers, Rafe. Do you think I killed Lonnie? Maybe I snuck over to the park and did Teke in, too. Is that what you think?”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m asking.” He tried to meet her eyes, but he couldn’t. It was more or less what he was thinking, and she was a goddamn mind reader.

  “Don’t go pissing on my boots and tell me it’s raining, Rafe. You can’t even look at me.”

  “Okay,” he said, “have it your way. You show up in the middle of the night at what is quite possibly a murder, and I want to know why. You have a strong motive to do Lonnie harm. Teke, too. But since you want to get on your high horse about it all, we’ll go on down to the station, and you can answer questions there.”

  Her face crumbled.

  He felt like the biggest asshole in the state of Texas.

  “Hey there, Rafe. Need an assist?” Through the faint light of early dawn, Swope emerged, swaggering down the driveway, thumbs hitched into his gun belt. He reminded Rafe of a gunslinger at a showdown. Swope hadn’t lost his perfect sense of timing.

  “Got it all under control, Swope. The body’s been transported to the morgue for an autopsy, and the car’s in the pound. Everything’s quiet. I can handle the follow-up.”

  Swope drew close to Rafe’s patrol car and peered inside. “What do we have here? That you, Miss Dinah?”

  Rafe put himself between Dinah and Swope and slammed the car door. “I said I can handle this.”

  Swope’s pale eyes narrowed. A wispy, cloud-shaped bruise floated beneath his pale lashes where Rafe’s fist had connected with his face. Swope’s heavy lips widened into a grin, revealing those ugly teeth that looked faintly like a row of buttercups.

  “You sweet on the gal, Morales? Cause if you are, you’ll get a reprimand or maybe kicked off the force for staying on this case.”

  “Why don’t you get back in your car and go on about your business.” Rafe pulled his shoulder back and tightened his hand into a fist, praying the threat of a punch would be enough to send Swope on his way. They’d both be reprimanded if a fight broke out, and Swope would no doubt report Rafe’s shaky gun hand to save his own scrawny neck.

  Swope lifted his hands to ward off Rafe. “I’m going. But mind what I said. Interrogating your own honey pot could get you thrown off the force.”

  “Careful, Swope.”

  “Just reminding you of the rules.”

  “Then you know interrogations must be conducted at the station with witnesses.”

  “What is this, then?”

  “I’m taking a statement. Standard procedure.”

  Swope backed up a few steps. “I’m watching you, Morales. Real close.” He began to walk away. “Someday, I’m going to take you down, and I plan to enjoy every minute of it.”

  When Swope’s car finally pulled away, Rafe opened the car door and hunkered down beside Dinah. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong. If you could give me a statement, we can call it a night. What do you say?”

  She nodded, her mouth tightening into a solemn line. “That’s the problem. I just sort of woke up and felt like something was wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “I know it sounds strange, but a worrying kind of thing wouldn’t let me be. I checked the house and peeked in Hollyn’s bedroom, but everything seemed fine.”

  “Why did you come here? To Lonnie’s?”

  “I-I didn’t. Not exactly, anyway. But the feeling wouldn’t go away.”

  “Feeling?”

  “Something was wrong…or something was waiting for me.” He must have looked skeptical. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “Go on, then,” he said. Swope would be howling with laughter if he got a hold of her statement.

  “Last night I took a walk before bed, and I thought maybe it was something I’d seen on my walk but not paid attention to. You know, sort of a subliminal thing. So I traced my steps.”

  “And ended up here?”

  “That’s when I realized what was bothering me. Lonnie’s dog hadn’t barked. When I pass by, she always runs to the fence and barks at me until I pet her, but last night she didn’t. That’s what woke me up.”

  His body relaxed. “You’re not crazy. It happens all the time. People witness a crime or evidence of a crime but don’t realize it.”

  “So you don’t think I’m a nut job?” She tried to smile at him but yawned instead.

  “No.” He stood. “I’ll need to go over everything you saw last night.”

  She yawned again. “I can barely think straight. Maybe I’d be more helpful if I laid down for a bit.”

  Night was ebbing before the sun’s first light. He studied Lonnie’s dark, silent house. Where’s the dog? “Can you wait in the car for a few more minutes while I check around Lonnie’s house real quick? Maybe the dog is inside. Then I’ll drive you home.”

  Dinah bolted upright in the car seat. “I’m coming, too.”

  “Look, Dinah, I don’t—”

  “I’m not sitting out here by myself. Besides”—She lifted her hip and pulled a lipstick-sized canister of pepper spray out of pocket—“if there’s trouble, I can handle it.”

  It wasn’t police procedure to let a suspect help you investigate a crime scene, but when a sweet smile spread across her lips, and she graced him with a perky wink, it was impossible for Rafe to believe she’d wrestled a man into a car and asphyxiated him.

  “Stay behind me and don’t touch anything.” He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

  Lonnie’s kitchen door swung open with a light push of Rafe’s hand. Night lingered inside the house. He groped for a light switch, but another hand beat him to it.

  “What did I tell you about touching things?”

  “Sorry. Wow. Lonnie must have been getting himself ready for World War Three.”

  “And Four.” A dozen canisters of dog food were stacked against the grease-stained kitchen walls. Two freezers nearly
blocked the opening to the next room. They hummed efficiently, and when he opened one, stacks of neatly labeled steaks, roasts, chicken and hamburger were inside. Above the freezers, cartons of paper towels were piled to the ceiling.

  “Lots of dog food,” said Dinah.

  But where was the dog’s bowl and water? Most people kept those in the kitchen.

  A card table and three folding chairs formed an island amidst the provisions. A scrap of blanket beneath the card table still held the imprint of a dog. On the table a mug of tea, filled to the brim, was set on a neatly folded square of paper towel. Another napkin, bearing the outline of a second mug, sat beside it. He lifted a mug and sniffed at it.

  “What is it?” asked Dinah.

  “Tea.”

  “Lonnie must have had a guest.”

  “Seems like a mug is missing.”

  “There are dishes in the sink. Maybe he washed up the other one.”

  A bowl with cereal clinging to the sides rested in the sink. Beside it sat a dirty frying pan and a plate with congealed meat juices. Dinah squealed and grabbed Rafe’s arm as a cockroach skittered across the plate. Her breasts pressed against his bicep, and his body tightened with pleasure. Would she be up for a fling? Just to get it out of his system. Maybe hers, too.

  He cleared his throat, and she released his arm.

  “Sorry about that. I have this thing about cockroaches.” She shuddered.

  “Yeah.” The word came out raspy sounding. He forced himself to concentrate. “Lots of dirty dishes, but no mug.”

  A rusty pan rested on a narrow gas oven. The paper tags of two tea bags hung over the side. Dinah’s finger brushed one of the tags.

  “Don’t touch.”

  “Right. I keep forgetting.” She leaned over the pan. “Hollyn uses this brand for sweet tea. It has a hint of orange.” She breathed in and wrinkled her nose. “Smells like Lonnie was cooking something garlicky before he brewed the tea. Maybe his guest dumped the tea out.”

  “Maybe Lonnie finished his in the living room after his company left.”

  “Maybe.”

  Rafe squeezed past the freezer and pushed into the living room. A single easy chair and a dog bed faced the newspaper-covered front window. The front door was secured with four thick bolts. Between the door and the window, was a big-screen TV.

  Behind the chair, a gun rack holding a dozen rifles and handguns was mounted on the wall. Open boxes of shells sat on a large generator, still in its box.

  “Mr. Lonnie surely was going nuts.” Dinah followed his gaze. “Looks like he was expecting the Apocalypse to rise up in El Royo.”

  Or more likely, he was just afraid. But Rafe didn’t say that.

  Behind a wall of canned vegetables, a door rattled and a high-pitched whimper broke the silence. He pushed Dinah back. “Go in the kitchen.”

  She evaded his arm. “Really, Rafe? It’s probably Daisy. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “That’s why I’m here. You’re here because you won’t stay put.”

  “It’s just a dog. A friendly dog.”

  He sighed. She was probably right, but rules were rules as Swope had pointed out, and he’d already broken a slew of them this morning. “Police. Come out with your hands up.”

  Behind his shoulder, Dinah snorted.

  “Stay by the wall,” he whispered, pushing her flat against the cracked plasterboard. He pulled out his flashlight and cautiously moved forward. Keeping as close to the wall as possible, he peered around the cans. A folding chair had been jammed under the knob of a rattling door.

  “Police. Identify yourself.”

  Another whimper.

  Rafe kicked away the chair and ripped open the closet door. Inside, Lonnie’s greyhound lay hog-tied, a bandana wrapped around its snout. Its dark eyes pleaded with Rafe.

  “Oh, Daisy!” Dinah rushed past him and fell to her knees. “She’s probably been in the closet since last evening, poor thing. Hurry, help me get her untied.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” He lifted her to her feet. “I told you not to touch anything.”

  “But the dog—”

  “The dog is tied up with possible evidence that might have fingerprints on it. Besides, we should wait for Animal Control. She might be crazy with fear or maybe injured.”

  “Come on, Rafe. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning. It will take at least an hour to rouse someone out of bed and get them down here. We can’t leave her all tied up. Look at those eyes.”

  She was right. “Okay. But you are going to stand on the other side of these cans, and if the dog starts to growl, you are going to run like hell. Are we clear?”

  She saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

  His loins stirred. He’d bet she liked games in the bedroom.

  He hunkered down beside the dog. “Hey, girl. Let’s get you out of this closet.”

  Dinah spoke from her lookout. “Untie the snout first.”

  Good idea.

  “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m going to help you.” He talked softly to the animal, gently rubbing its back as he reached for the bandana. He pulled it off the dog’s snout and jumped back. The dog began to pant and cry.

  Dinah appeared at his side and stooped down. “See? I knew she wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Didn’t want to take any chances. Hate to lose a bite of you, Miss Dinah.” He met her eyes.

  Her lips curled into a sleepy half-smile. “I believe we’ve got a dog to rescue, Officer.”

  True enough. And an investigation to complete. After that…who knew? But he was definitely going to give her a try.

  He patted Daisy’s soft head. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  The dog licked his arm as he untied the rope. It was thick and new. Must have been bought just for this occasion. As she felt the rope loosen, Daisy began to wriggle around. Rafe undid the last knot, and she sprang up, barking and leaping for joy. She landed on top of Dinah, who fell back, giggling.

  “Stop, girl.” Daisy lapped at Dinah’s face.

  Rafe sealed the rope and bandana in evidence bags and straightened up. “Sit.” He used his no-nonsense voice. The dog rolled off Dinah and sat.

  Dinah righted herself and peered up at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Civilians. He should never have let her come into the house. “This is an investigation. You’re disturbing the scene.”

  Dinah stood. “We rescued the dog. What else is there to find?”

  Rafe peered down a short, narrow hallway. “If a paranoid and probably loco man was going to commit suicide, where would he put the note so it would be found?”

  “Next to his body?”

  “Not there.”

  “Well, it’s not on the kitchen table or in the, uh, living room. That pretty much narrows it down to the bedroom.” He leaned over and scratched the dog’s neck. “Where did your master sleep, girl?”

  The dog yipped and squeezed past him. At the end of the hall, she turned back and barked once, then disappeared. Rafe followed, rounding a mountain of boxes with Marlboro emblazoned on them, and discovered Lonnie’s rumpled bed.

  In the early morning light glowing through a paper-covered window, a pillow indented from Lonnie’s head lay on the bed, and a pair of pajama bottoms were crumpled on the floor where Lonnie must have kicked them off. One drawer had been pulled out of a dresser. Inside were neat stacks of white underwear and bandanas.

  “Something bad happened here,” said Dinah.

  “Are you having a feeling?”

  “No.” She snapped the word at him. “It looks like he was woken up and dressed in a hurry. Then someone pulled out the dresser looking for something to muzzle the dog.”

  It did. “We better get out of here until forensics can get some pictures.”

  Daisy barked. He reached down and patted her head. “Come on, girl.” The dog’s bark turned into a deep, menacing growl.

  “Look, Rafe. There’s someone watching us in the window.
” In the papered window beside the bed, a shadowy figure watched them.

  He pushed his way out of the bedroom, squeezing past the cigarettes, racing through the house. The kitchen door was wide open. He leapt outside and sprinted around the house, but the narrow passage between the fence and the bedroom window was empty.

  “Rafe.”

  He looked up. Dinah stood behind him. Her eyes were huge, and the blood had drained from her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Come see for yourself.”

  He followed her into the kitchen and took inventory while she watched him. Dirty plate and bowl in the sink. Check. Blanket on the floor. Check. Mug on the table. Check. Empty paper towel on the table. He stopped. Where was the paper towel?

  “The paper towel is gone.”

  “And something else,” said Dinah. “The pan.”

  His eyes slid to the stovetop. Empty.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What’s wrong, Momma?”

  A child’s voice, high and clear, rang out in the Francisco shelter parking lot.

  Jamey Brenner spun around and watched Esmeralda Morales stomp toward him.

  He’d been with exotic, exciting women all over the world, but none could outshine Esme, a genuine Texas beauty from the toes of her Old Gringo boots and worn jeans to her gauzy, embroidered shirt and the silver bracelets that tinkled when she moved her arm. Her dark hair had been brushed until it gleamed and hung down her back in a shimmering sheet. When he dreamed about Esme, she looked exactly like this, except for the frown that marred her honey-colored skin and the angry slant of her otherwise perfect mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Beside her, a little girl, the miniature of her mother, studied him solemnly. Her dark hair hung in braids, and she wore a bright pink tutu over her shorts. She slipped her hand into Esme’s and sidled close.

  Damn. He should have realized she might bring her daughter. The script he’d practiced hadn’t included a half-pint audience. Rattled, he began to crumble with his first line. “I c-c-came t-t-to adopt a d-d-dog.” Real smooth, Romeo.

  The little girl tilted her head and studied him. “You scared my momma.”