by Lynne Hinton
Megan had made a list of some items she wanted, so Eve packed a suitcase she found in the main bedroom’s closet with the desired clothes and shoes and then added the few things from Cheston’s office. She did find a gun in a shoebox on the top shelf while packing the bag, but she knew she would not be able to carry that back on the plane so she simply made a note for herself to tell the Captain and to ask Megan whose it was and what it was doing in her bedroom.
“There were no bank statements?” the Captain asked.
“Wait, how did you get to your office?” She had tried to reach him at home when she first called and there was no answer. On a whim, she had decided to call his office, and he had surprised her by picking up the phone. “Tell me you didn’t drive.”
“Marcie came by,” he answered.
Eve knew he meant Marcie Lunez, the owner of the Mineshaft. How thoughtful of her to check on him, Eve thought.
“Bank statements,” he said again, trying to get her back to the subject at hand.
“No bank statements, no files about money or wire transfers, no credit card information, no bills, nothing like that anywhere,” she replied.
The absence of such day-to-day paperwork surprised her at first, but then again, she knew the police had confiscated anything related to the victim’s business records. She still wasn’t sure she understood that as being necessary to the prosecution, but the Captain had explained that sometimes what was necessary to the district attorney included anything that might be helpful to the defense.
She heard a long breath pouring across the phone lines.
“I did find some files about his latest movie project,” she said, hoping that might be something interesting he would like to hear.
“Any budget information?”
She sighed. “No, just location stuff.”
“How about an address book or phone log?”
She hated having nothing substantial to report. Surely paying for an unnecessary trip to L.A. would not help the Captain’s financial situation. She felt guilty.
“Oh, just never mind,” he said, reading into the silence. “Why are you calling me from the airport anyway? Why aren’t you just heading home?”
“I wanted to let you know that I was back in New Mexico,” she replied, thinking she should have known her polite act would not be appreciated. “If you don’t need me right away, I’ll go to Santa Fe and drop off the things Megan wanted. I won’t be back to Madrid until a little later this afternoon.”
“Oh,” he growled. “Okay, then, I’ll see you when you get home.”
Evangeline wanted to know about his work and was just about to ask how his conversation had gone with Mr. Biltmore when she suddenly noticed John Ewing walking past her toward the security area. She wondered if he was taking a trip, but could see that he was not carrying any bag or holding a ticket in his hand.
“Did you talk to Ross Biltmore?” she asked.
“His plane was delayed,” came the answer. “Comes in today. He got stuck in Chicago, snowstorm,” he added. “Daniel is supposed to come by for supper. We hope we can get to him then.”
“You talk to the travel agent again?”
“You know, I kind of like her. She’s very knowledgeable about international travel. And she has been very helpful in getting flight information.”
“You planning on making a trip?” she asked. She glanced around but couldn’t see the old rancher any longer.
“You never know what the future might bring,” he said.
It was then that she noticed a flight had arrived and the airport was filling up with passengers coming off a plane. She thought she saw Ewing again. He was standing in the waiting area.
“What time today?” she asked.
“What time today what?” It seemed he was not following her.
“What time today was Biltmore coming in?”
But before he could answer, she asked another question. “Is Biltmore kind of short, keeps a beard, long hair, wears glasses?”
“What?”
“Biltmore,” she repeated his name. “Do you know what he looks like?”
“Mid-fifties, I guess. From a photograph I saw he has salt-and-pepper hair, keeps it in a ponytail. He did have a beard, and yes, he wears wire rims. And according to your friend Madeline, he’s usually in jeans and a brown leather jacket, the kind hippies are always wearing.”
“With fringe,” Eve noted.
“What?”
“Fringe.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right.”
There was a pause.
“Why are you asking about him anyway?”
“Because he’s here,” she said, watching the very intimate greeting between the Cerrillos rancher and the man the Captain had just described.
“What?”
“Ross Biltmore just flew in. You’ll never guess who is welcoming him home.”
And she lowered her head and turned her back to the crowd so that the two men would not notice her as they passed.
FIFTY-ONE
“Sister Evangeline, how was your trip to Los Angeles?” Ron Polland answered the door to the house where Megan was staying.
“How did you know I was in L.A.?” she asked.
“Megan tells me everything that’s going on with her lawyer and her detective.” He paused. “Or should I say detectives?” he asked, emphasizing the plural. He stepped aside so that she could enter.
“Is Megan here?” She didn’t really like being around Polland.
“Of course she’s here, Miss Divine, she’s under house arrest.” He turned and walked into the kitchen. “I’m having a drink. Can I fix you something?”
Eve stood at the door, deciding what to do. She certainly wasn’t interested in having a drink with the producer, but she put down Megan’s bag and followed him. “It’s not Divine, it’s pronounced Diveen.” She was pretty sure she had told him this once before.
“Oh, right,” he replied. “Megan’s getting a massage,” he said, finally getting around to answering the question. “She’ll be available in an hour.” He got a few ice cubes from the freezer and put them in a glass. “I’m having scotch and soda,” he announced. He turned to face Eve. He seemed to be waiting for a response.
“No, nothing,” she said. “I just had a Coke on the airplane.”
“Did you fly out of Santa Fe?” He seemed surprised.
She shook her head. “Albuquerque.”
“Then that had to be over an hour ago.”
She nodded.
He took a sip. “You can have something else to drink, if you like.” He studied her. “Are you only allowed one drink a day?”
The question confused her. “No.”
He shook his head. “Never mind.” He walked past her toward the large living room where she had visited with Megan previously. “Let’s go in here,” he said.
Eve paused. She hadn’t really intended to stay, and she certainly hadn’t planned on having a conversation with Ron Polland.
“Sister,” he called out.
And she headed in his direction.
He was already seated on the sofa. She sat in the chair opposite him.
“How did you find things at Megan’s house?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I guess everything is fine.”
“Yes, I sent my assistant over there a few days ago. She said that the police had confiscated a few things, but they hadn’t made a mess.” He brought the glass to his lips for another drink. “You never know,” he added.
Eve chose not to comment.
“Did you find anything helpful to the case?”
She waited, thinking about the question and the one who was asking. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give Polland any more information than he seemed to have already. She knew that Megan was grateful to him for posting her bail and getting her the house to stay in, but Evangeline wasn’t so certain about the man’s motives. “I thought Cheston’s calendar was interesting.” She decided to put it out there
just to see a response.
“His personal calendar?”
She shook her head. “A calendar pinned to the wall beside his desk. It had a few notes on it for the months he was in New Mexico.”
He perked up. “Like reservation information for a car or the rental house?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Confirmation numbers?”
She hadn’t thought of that.
“Passwords?”
That was exactly what it could be, she thought. But she also thought she didn’t need to tell him. She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s anything,” she replied.
He took another swallow, nodding his head.
“I didn’t see a car in the driveway,” she noted. “Did you drive here?”
He stretched out his legs in front of him. “No, I use a car service when I’m in town.”
She nodded. “Los Angeles seems like a hard place to get around, so much traffic. Do you drive yourself when you’re there?”
“I have a driver,” he answered.
She was thinking.
“But I like to drive,” he answered without a prompt.
“Yeah? Me too.” She offered her best fake smile.
“Get to drive a lot at the convent, do you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Well, we don’t have a popemobile, but yes, I get around.”
He grinned.
“So, what kind of vehicle do you have?”
She was still interested in the report of the dark SUV with California plates seen on the dirt road the day Cheston disappeared, the one near the librarian’s house. Maybe she’d get lucky and that’s exactly the kind of vehicle he drove. She waited for the answer.
FIFTY-TWO
Polland eyed her as if he knew the question was more than just a chance to make small talk. “Porsche,” he replied. “I like sports cars.”
She nodded. It was not the answer she was hoping for.
“You don’t trust me, do you, Sister?” He finished his drink, setting the glass on the table beside the sofa.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I mean, you think my relationship with Megan isn’t just about me looking out for her. You think I have some hidden motive for all that I’m doing.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Well, do you?” She locked eyes with him.
He grinned and sat back, throwing one leg over the other and dropping his hands in his lap. He seemed relaxed, comfortable. “I warned Megan not to get involved with Chaz. I’ve known the man a long time. He was no good for her.”
“Then why did you send her here to try and find him when he disappeared?”
“Because I thought she would have a better shot of locating him than I would.”
“Because the two of you were fighting? Because he owed you money or you didn’t think he was going to get the script finished on time?”
Polland gave a chuckle. “You think I killed Charles Cheston? You think I paid Megan’s bail and got her this house, medications, a massage therapist, because I want to see her fry for a murder she didn’t commit?”
Eve didn’t answer.
“Tell me, Sister, did they teach you this demeanor of suspicion, or is this the vice you’re trying to overcome at the convent?”
“I didn’t become a nun to overcome a vice,” she said.
“No?”
“No,” she answered.
He shrugged. “When I was in seminary, I met a lot of young men joining the priesthood in an attempt to run away from something.”
She didn’t respond. “I suppose there are people who take vows to remove themselves from the things of this world.”
He smiled.
“That was not my reason,” she added.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe not, but still, you strike me as having a bit more going on than just a desire to help the poor.”
“Maybe there’s a desire to help those being exploited as well as the poor,” she responded.
“And that’s what you think about Megan?”
“You do seem to have quite a hold on her,” Eve noted.
“I’ll answer your questions about Cheston, Sister.” He cleared his throat. “Charles was a talented writer and director. I needed him to finish this project. We had a lot of money riding on this film of his, and I had given him way too much room to do things his way. But time and money had run out, and I’m pretty sure Cheston was stealing from me.” He said this with an angry tone.
Evangeline was about to ask a follow-up question about why he thought such a thing and whether or not there was proof of the theft, but he kept going.
“This was going to be my last title with him. He was too much trouble, cost me too much money. And let me tell you one thing: He may have cleaned up for a couple of weeks, but I know, excuse me, I knew Charles Cheston better than anyone.” He sat up and pointed his finger for emphasis. “If he hadn’t yet, he was going to fall off that wagon, and I told him that I was done rescuing him. This was his last chance.”
He sat back, sliding his hands through his hair.
“Why did Megan stay with him if he was such trouble?” Eve wanted to know his take on the relationship between the young woman and the victim.
Polland laughed and shook his head. “Well, you’re right about her. Megan is naive. She’s a gullible, credulous child. She believed him when he said he was divorcing his wife. She believed him when he said he stopped using drugs. She believed him when he said he loved her. And none of that was true. If she committed this murder, believe me, I’m sure he deserved it. As far as I’m concerned, she shouldn’t have to suffer one minute if she did kill him. He was a junkie and a thief. And his Hollywood merry-go-round was about to come to an end one way or the other, and she shouldn’t have to lose her career just because he was losing his.”
He stopped.
Evangeline had turned away and was no longer watching him.
“What? Am I not interesting enough to hold your attention?” He glanced over to where she appeared to be looking.
“Megan,” she called out.
But it was too late. The young woman had heard everything.
FIFTY-THREE
“So, let me get this straight …” The Captain was sitting in the wheelchair with Trooper on his lap. He had explained that his arms were tired from using the crutches. “You saw John Ewing meet Ross Biltmore at the airport.”
Eve nodded. She was slicing a roast she had bought in Madrid after returning from Santa Fe. It was dinnertime, and she had prepared a meal for them both.
“And it was friendly?”
She looked up at him as she placed the slices of meat on the two plates. “I’d say it was more than friendly.” She spooned some green beans next.
“I don’t understand,” he replied.
“It appeared as if Mr. Ewing and Mr. Biltmore were extremely happy to see each other.”
He still appeared confused.
“They looked like a couple,” she said.
“Ewing is a homosexual?” He was shaking his head. “How could I miss that?”
She pulled two slices of bread from a bag on the counter, placed them on the plates, and walked over to the table to set them down before heading back to the kitchen. “It’s not usually anything people advertise, especially out here.” She poured two glasses of milk.
“What does that mean?” He wheeled himself over to his place at the table and nudged Trooper. The dog scooted off his lap.
She set down the drinks. “It means there are a lot of gay people in our lives—they just don’t go around making it public.” She took her seat.
“Yeah, but that’s something I usually get right away. I’ve known John Ewing for forty years.” He put his napkin in his lap.
Evangeline bowed her head and prayed. She crossed herself and took a sip from her milk. “Does it matter?” She reached for her fork.
He shrugged. “Nah, not to me.” He took a bite of
his supper. “What do I care about somebody’s personal business? Does it matter to you?”
Eve hesitated. She hadn’t really thought about whether or not it mattered to her. There had been more than a few conversations at the convent about homosexuality. She had been given lots of rules and read doctrines on the subject. She had even heard the confessions of a few nuns who were gay. Ultimately, she had decided it wasn’t really her place to judge anyone else, but she hadn’t expected that she would land at the same place as her father. She just shook her head and kept watching him.
“What?” he asked, chewing.
“Nothing,” she replied. “You just surprise me is all.”
“You think I’d cause trouble for Ewing knowing this about him?”
She shrugged.
“Then you don’t know me very well,” he added.
She nodded, even though she had a hard time believing that statement. She was pretty certain she knew the Captain better than anyone else.
“Okay, so what if Biltmore and Ewing are a couple?” He wiped his mouth. “Why would they want Cheston dead?”
“Well, maybe it’s a love triangle,” Eve guessed.
“I suspect Megan would have a hard time believing Cheston was gay,” he suggested.
Evangeline remembered how Megan looked when she had heard all the things that Polland had to say about Cheston, about her. She wondered if the two of them had made up, if Polland had gotten her to unlock the bedroom door and talk to him, something that hadn’t happened before Eve had left the house.
“Maybe the couple didn’t murder Cheston. Maybe Biltmore and Cheston had a fight about the book or the story that we’re guessing Biltmore was writing for him, he killed Cheston, and Ewing is just helping him cover it up.” She was trying to figure out another motive for Biltmore to murder his old college roommate.
“Could be,” the Captain responded. “If I recall, John did act very nervous when we visited him at the Silver Cross. I wouldn’t be surprised at all that he helped Biltmore get out of town and has been in touch with him ever since.”
