Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery
Page 9
Chapter 13
THE IMPOSING STONE MANSION with its once-welcoming covered porch now seems stark and sinister beneath the late-morning glare. I park the Anacacho station wagon next to Paul’s Mercedes, enter the dark entry hall and stop to listen. Nothing.
I call out. “Hello?” then tiptoe across the entry hall tiles into the living room and suppress a scream. The paintings are gone, the furniture too. I hurry to the wall. It’s exactly as it was the first time I visited Anacacho: bare, smooth, and cool to the touch, except that mangled picture hooks give evidence of a hurried removal.
I rush through the empty dining room, pausing only an instant to notice the faint outline of the Navajo rug that once lay beneath the long refectory table. Above, naked wires hang where a wrought-iron chandelier had softly lit the room.
The swinging door sighs into the kitchen. Counters gleam. Floor spotless. It’s as if no one has ever been here.
The refrigerator—empty. I think back to the previous evening and the pungent odors wafting to the tower from below while Miguel served drinks as the sun set. Then, dinner under stars, still paled by the gloaming. Now, there’s no hint a meal has ever been prepared in this kitchen.
The pantry, once crammed with cans and boxes and bottles and jars—bare as a bone. Suddenly cold, I shiver from it. In less than twelve hours, the entire first floor of the ranch house has been completely evacuated.
I no longer care about sound and my heels click on the tiles as I race toward the stairs to the second floor, then down the long hall to the master suite.
Reena’s closet. Empty. Paul’s is a carbon copy. I cast caution aside and begin pulling open the built-in drawers, first Reena’s, then Paul’s. All empty. Then, remembering what Paul told me about the combination to the safe in the stable, I pull out the upper left-hand dresser drawer and feel beneath it. I’m trembling so, I barely manage to peel the tape from the wood and stuff it in the pocket of my slacks.
My throat constricts. Deep in my gut I know Paul will never see his beloved Anacacho again.
I turn and run down the hall, down the stairs, out the door. I step onto the wide slate squares of the front porch and check about me for any signs of life. I hear nothing but the wind. No whinnies, no lowing cattle. Nothing.
The stables are empty. I open the door to Paul’s office. The tall safe that once so intrigued Reena has been removed along with the rest of his furniture. I feel for the combination in my pocket and pull it out. The numbers are written in Paul’s distinctive hand. My birthday. Everything he said last night replays. Now, certain I will never see him again, I lean against the wall and sob.
It takes a while to get myself under control. Then, I remember the tack room filled with priceless saddles and bridles and hurry there. Empty. Everything not nailed down has vanished. It’s like some giant vacuum cleaner has sucked Anacacho dry of all its possessions. Only Paul’s Mercedes remains parked in front of the main house.
A gate creaks, sending a fresh trail of ice down my spine. When it bangs on the boards of the fence, I realize the wind is my only companion.
I know I have to call the sheriff, but I can’t make myself go back to that house. Then I remember the phone in Paul’s office and hurry to the darkened room. It’s gone.
I race down the row of doors to the end office and smile. Miguel stepped through that door only the day before, a receiver in his hand.
The wall phone is still attached. It’s an old-fashioned model—black, with a dial—probably one of the first ever made after World War Two. I lift the heavy receiver from the hook. A dial tone. Pay dirt. I search my other pocket for the scrap of paper with Cotton’s cell on it and struggle to drag the sluggish rotary dial from number to number.
I’m sitting in one of the many rockers on the porch of the main house waiting for Cotton to return. He’s planted me here and told me not to move. Since then, it seems as if every policeman, trooper, and patrolman in Texas has descended on Paul’s ranch.
A uniformed man runs out the front door toward yet another arriving patrol car, then directs it toward the stables. That’s where the sheriff is now. The house has already been searched as have all the buildings on the ranch. There’s not a soul to be found. Not a single pet. Not even a feather from a chicken in the once-crowded coop behind Miguel’s house.
Just a few minutes ago, one of the patrolmen standing by the driveway said to his buddy, “Aliens, you suppose?”
The other man shrugged, then a voice crackled on his walkie-talkie and they headed toward the stables.
The cattle guard rattles and I look up expecting to see another blue-and-white, but it’s Del’s truck and Susie is with him. I wait until they make the porch, then rise to greet them. The three of us huddle together.
“Thank the Lord you weren’t here, Del. I think they’ve all been kidnapped.”
“I haven’t been over here since last Friday, but Susie and I heard several helicopters about six this morning. We thought it was the Border Patrol.”
Were Miguel and Adelena, and all the rest of the ranch personnel, herded into those giant front-loading maws, then flown to heaven-knows-where?
I point to the house and then the stables. “Everything is gone. And I mean everything. Even the livestock.”
The sheriff appears out of nowhere. “They phoned to say the jet’s still in the hangar. That’s good news. There’s also a small Piper Cub. Know anything about that?”
Susie’s face drains. She looks at Del, then at the sheriff and stammers, “I—I know something about that little plane.”
She grabs my hand. “I was going to tell you about this yesterday, but...” Her voice trails.
The sheriff bends forward, notebook in hand, pen poised.
Her hand trembles in mine as she begins. “I started taking walks as soon as I could after Little Allie was born.” She glances at Del, then says, “Dad paid for a teenager to come in every afternoon for a few hours, so I could get back in shape. By the middle of last month, I was walking almost a mile—half a mile down the road that runs between our property and Paul’s to the end of the Anacacho airstrip and then back home.”
Del tenses but remains silent.
“I was just past our barns when I saw Paul’s jet take off. I knew Del wouldn’t be home for dinner, so I phoned home to say I’d be a little later than usual. From there it was a little more than half a mile to Reena’s. I thought I could make that easy and be back by dark.”
Now, Del’s face is not only strained, but red as he realizes what Susie’s mission was. His voice is sharp when he asks, “Just how did you phone home from the middle of the pasture?”
“Dad gave me a cell when the baby was born so I wouldn’t be out of touch.” She gives him a sly smirk. “Now, we both have one.”
The sheriff clears his throat to get their attention. “Never mind about that. What happened next?”
“I came in sight of the Anacacho barns when I saw a lot of people going in and out of that long metal shed. They were loading something in white sacks into the back of one of the trucks.”
“You mean feed sacks?”
“No.” Susie makes a smaller square with her hands. “About as big as a piece of notebook paper, but really fat.”
I don’t need to hear any more. It’s cocaine. Is that what Paul regretted? His words echo: There’s been a lot going on in my life. A lot I’m not very proud of.
The sheriff barks into his walkie-talkie, “Get a lab team down to the long metal building behind the stables and another one to sweep the Piper. We’re talking cocaine.”
Del breaks in. “Hey honey. Remember those helicopters we heard early this morning? They sounded louder than usual. Had to be big ones—two-rotor jobbies.”
Cotton hits his forehead. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s what happened. There are no towns between here and the border except El Indio.”
He snaps his notebook shut. “Got some checking to do.”
Susie looks up at Del. “You we
re lucky. You could have been here. I’m glad you were in Uvalde this morning.”
“I haven’t been here since last Friday when I quit.”
“Quit? You quit? Delman Darden, you never said a word.”
He ignores the sting in her voice. “I guess I just forgot to tell you. I’ve been real busy down at the courthouse.”
“Just forgot? You just forgot to tell me there won’t be any more paychecks coming in?” Susie’s fists are jammed into her hips, her face crammed with anger. “And what the hell have you been doing at the damn courthouse when you should be out looking for work? Have you forgotten you have seven mouths to feed?”
Del whispers something to Susie and her squeal pierces my ears. “The property is ours? Oh, Del.” She throws her arms around her husband’s neck and plants a kiss on his lips. When it becomes obvious that the kiss means more than just a kiss, I look away. Susie deserves a few rainbows in her life.
The three of us stand there grinning and silent, then Susie says, “It’s time to feed Little Allie. I’ve got to get home.”
Del starts to go but I catch him and turn to Susie. “Would you mind letting Del stay with me for a while? I have the Anacacho wagon with me and can drop him off.”
Susie looks at Del, then offers an unwilling, “Well, sure, but—”
“I promise not to keep him too long. Sheriff Cotton wants me to wait until he’s done. I sure could use some company since things are so weird around here.”
Susie smiles. “No problem. Don’t be too long, we have big plans to make.”
After the dust from the Darden truck fades, I settle into one of the rockers.
Del grabs another and drags it close to mine. “Thanks for asking me to stay. If you didn’t, I would have gotten back with you this afternoon.”
“About?”
“I just might need your help.” He hunches toward me. “I may be operating a little outside the law since I didn’t come forward with this information sooner.”
“Let’s hear what you have to say, then I’ll tell you whether you need my help.”
“For starters, Paul hasn’t really been up on his businesses since I’ve been foreman. A trader in Houston handles the oil spots and a CPA in Laredo handles his taxes. Paul just deposits the checks.”
“That’s not the Paul I remember. What do you suppose changed him?”
“Mister Snow can take credit for that.”
Paul’s obvious weight loss, his abrupt mood swings, and his total lack of interest in what he once cared so much about. I can’t avoid the truth any longer. “You’re telling me Paul’s into cocaine?” “Big time. Reena said she could take it or leave it, but Paul needed more and more.”
My stomach wrenches. An addict. “What about those people Susie saw? Is Paul working with them?”
“I don’t know. But Luke Hansen has been up to no good from the minute he stepped on the ranch.”
Luke Hansen. The ugly cowboy. The man Reena sent to spy on Paul and me. “When was that?”
“About the time I split with Reena last summer. She was real mad and said she’d tell Susie about us, but I threatened to tell Paul she was filching money out of the ranch account and that shut her up. She’s been taking funds ever since she offered to do the books.” “Paul let her handle the books? What’s with the CPA?”
Del gives a rueful laugh. “C’mon, Allie. The CPA’s a man. You know Reena and men.”
How could I forget? “Maybe Reena was the one involved with the trafficking. She seemed very friendly with that cowboy when I was here in January.”
“Reena knew Paul was seeing Fanny and was terrified he would dump her without a cent. She told me she had no money of her own.”
The January lunch at Rudi’s replays and I remember Reena’s tear-filled eyes when she told me about the pre-nup. “Reena told me Paul made her sign a pre-nup before he would marry her.”
Del gave me a crooked smile. “Oh, yeah. The one she signed left her with something like a quarter of a million. Guess that sounded huge back then. Peanuts.”
“So, it is possible she could have been in collusion with Luke?” “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? Still a little soft on Paul?”
“Just cutting him a little slack for old time’s sake, I guess.” “Yeah. That’s what I did for a while. It didn’t pay off.” “Then who hired Luke?”
“Not me, that’s for sure. When I finally complained about Luke not attending to his chores, Paul said he was reporting directly to him and to lay off.”
“So you quit?”
“I couldn’t afford to quit. Not until last week. That’s when I told Paul I had all the proof I needed to get the oil property back and was planning to hire a lawyer if he wanted a fight. You know, he didn’t even flinch. He said I deserved the property. Then we shook hands and I left.”
Del leans forward. “Paul and I may be on the outs, but we go back a long way. I hate to think what’s going to happen to him now that the oil property is gone.”
“And that’s the last time you were at Anacacho?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the end of the story. I ran into Reena just as I was about to climb in my truck. She looked awful and you know Reena never looked awful. She grabbed me. Told me she was in deep shit. Said she had a monster by the tail and couldn’t let it go. Then she begged me to drive her to Uvalde so she could catch a bus.”
I can’t help but snort at that news.
Del smiles. “Yeah, I know. Reena on a bus. No way. As a matter of fact, I was just about to offer her my truck when Luke Hansen appeared out of nowhere, and said she had a phone call. They walked toward the stables, but it looked more like he was forcing Reena to go with him. I started to follow, then decided not to mess with that bastard since he packs a gun.” “Wise move.”
“I hate that snake. I’m almost positive he’s the one who brought the drugs to Anacacho.”
“Are you admitting Reena was in on it?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. But what other explanation is there? Reena needed big money and drugs is about the fastest way to get it.”
Things begin to fall into place. Anacacho has the perfect setup. A remote ranch with precious little between it and the border. A landing strip. A jet. A Piper Cub. Plus an owner into drugs. Perfect on paper, but something must have gone horribly wrong. I think back to the photos and the gaping slit beneath Reena’s chin. A necktie killing. Professional. Was Reena in too deep to get out?
When the sheriff rounds the corner, Del stands and motions for the car keys. “I’ll get the wagon.”
He waits until Del disappears, then extends a hand to help me out of the chair. “We’re almost done here. The DEA is on the way. Want to meet for lunch? The drugstore makes terrific burgers.”
“Fine with me. I’ll drop Del off, then meet you there.”
When I stand, our bodies make contact. Neither of us moves. I hate the way I feel. Silly, shaky, confused; like some adolescent on a first date. I scramble to make a flip remark, but nothing comes.
The sheriff steps away, but not before I feel his own unsteadiness. He takes a step toward me, eyes signaling a coming kiss. I’m eager to meet his lips—anything to break the tension that has been growing between us over the last two days.
Instead, the kak-kak-kak of an approaching helicopter breaks it for us.
“Better scratch that lunch.” He gives me a sad smirk. “It’s the DEA. Their timing has always been impeccable.”
Chapter 14
AFTER DROPPING DEL AT HIS RANCH, I head for town and the drugstore. I chose a booth toward the back rather than a counter stool. To my surprise, the burger tastes as good as filet mignon. I scarf it and order another.
While I munch on one half of the second burger, I try to make some sense of what has happened since Reena’s phone call last January. Now that I know some of the story, it’s plain Reena hoped to catch Paul and me in a compromising situation. Not that adultery figures much in divorces these days.
The sheriff slides into the seat across from me. “Thought you might be here.”
My first impulse is to tell him my plan, but I stop. He never mentioned searching the lean-to. At least not in front of me.
“My, that was quick.”
“The DEA likes to run its own show. I just filled them in on the details, asked if they needed some of my men, dismissed those they didn’t, and here I am.” He grins and points to the hamburger. “Did I steer you right?”
“One of the best I’ve ever had.” I take a bite and relish the mingle of beef, grease, onion, and mustard.
He raises his right hand and puts up two fingers. “Hey, Bruce, ditto the lady’s order, will you?”
A voice floats from the kitchen behind the empty counter. “Sure thing, Shurff.”
He lowers his hand and places it over mine and I start at his touch, unsure of my next move. My right hand is poised in midair, clutching the second half of the burger. I’ve been managing just fine with only one hand, so there’s no valid reason for my left hand to rush to its assistance.
When I see the same look on his face that I saw only an hour before, I realize the table and the burger are my only saviors. My mind goes completely blank but my hearing becomes so acute, I can hear the meat sizzle on the griddle, Bruce’s shuffle, and his low hum of some off-key version of a tune I can’t quite place.
Bruce’s hip thuds against the kitchen door and I relax as Cotton’s fingers slide away from mine. After Bruce slams down the plate, he says, “How’s that burger, ma’am?”
I gratefully focus on his flushed, expectant face and manage a munchy, “Five-star, for sure.”
He turns to Cotton. “What you drinking, Shurff?”
“Milk, I guess.” His voice has a strangled pinch to it. “I’m still on duty.”