Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  She swiveled her chair to face me and crossed her arms over her belly. "Still workin' on 'em. But I can tell you this, Ava Chandler attended those lectures. According to the roster, she was there Friday evenin', then Saturday for both sessions, as well as the Sunday brunch and session followin' it."

  "It gets curiouser and curiouser." I took a slug of coffee. "Keep on it. Go through those papers with a fine-toothed comb. Everything points to that spa."

  "Okay, slave driver." She laughed.

  "By the way, you're gonna represent us at the community meetin' at the Chimney Rock Senior Center this afternoon."

  She rubbed her belly. "Sure. I'll make you proud."

  I patted her shoulder. "I know you will." She was my best deputy.

  She picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to me. "We haven't heard from the lab yet, but we did get this from the DEA's south central lab in Dallas. They ran a quick gas chromatograph on it to compare it with agent purchases they're receiving and other huge seizures."

  "Oh, yeah?" I took the printout from her and read aloud. "Ninety-three percent diacetylmorphine, six percent adulterants, and one percent inert ingredients." My mouth went dry. "This stuff is flat out kill ya smack. Absolutely lethal until it's cut." Thank God Ronnie hadn't somehow gotten any on her fingers and inadvertently transferred it to her mouth.

  "That'll fetch a pretty penny." She shook her head. "And kill even after it's cut."

  I nodded. "I'll take this with me and put it in the murder book."

  "You goin' down the hall?"

  I rattled the sheet of paper, then tossed a quick glance over my shoulder toward the sheriff's office. "He usually doesn't hound me, but since the city missed the dope in the hotel room, he wants to make sure this department doesn't wind up with egg on its face too."

  "Why don't you convince him to send me to the spa for the maternity special? Then I can do a little nosin' around." Her palms connected as if in prayer as her eyes gazed up at me.

  The soulful look on her face was precious. Maybe if I whipped my cell phone out, took a shot, and showed her beseeching mug to the sheriff, he'd go for that idea. Then again, maybe not.

  "I'm afraid Mrs. Ingels, the PI from New York, has that covered." I jutted my chin toward the boss's office. "I can tell you, he's not too happy about her side investigation."

  "From what I see, the wife's the sole financial beneficiary of the victim's estate. Got plenty of bucks to spend gettin' dolled up."

  "The estate's in probate and she won't get anything that's ill-gotten gains. She's waiting tables at the Chuck Wagon."

  "You don't say? I was thinkin' she's the prime suspect."

  "So did the rookie detective. Probably why he missed the dope."

  She rested a hand on her stomach. "Maybe the girlfriend thought he'd changed his will, puttin' her in and cuttin' the wife out. There's a motive right there could move that sweetie up a notch or two on the suspect list."

  "Yep, it might." I bit back a grin, thinking Ronnie would like that theory.

  "Since I can't get a uniform around my girlish figure, I ought to go nosin' around undercover at that bridal shop in civvies... 'cept for my girlish figure isn't exactly bridal." She chuckled.

  "In this day and age, your condition doesn't mean a thing as far as brides go. And that's not a bad idea. Keep wearing that rock your husband gave you, but put the band in your wallet. Stop in Cassidy Bridal Couture on your way back from the senior center. Insist on dealing solely with Miss Cassidy. Get a take on her demeanor and anything else of note." My stomach approached sour every time I thought of that harridan.

  "Okay, boss. I'll put that on my ever increasin' to-do list."

  I laughed. "Make sure you look at white dresses."

  Then it was down the long corridor to see the sheriff. Time to lay out everything we had, or didn't have. Technically, the Abilene PD's rookie was still lead on the case. Trouble was I had what the rookie probably had... not much.

  Chapter Ten

  South Abilene

  Day Six, Late Morning

  Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

  "Bertha, I'm so glad your girlfriend could cover lunch for you again. I promise to get you back for the dinner shift. And, I'm no moocher, I'll return the favor. I'll do your lunch shift tomorrow."

  "Aw, honey, you don't have to work for me. I'm glad to help you out."

  I pulled the driver's visor down, flipped the mirror open, and checked my look. The brown wig flipped under at my shoulders into a pageboy. I hoped I could keep it straight on my head. It wasn't a perfect fit. I'd used an eyebrow pencil to draw a mole over my left upper-lip large enough to be seen half a mile away. In addition, I'd picked up a gaudy sapphire ring surrounded by fake diamond chips and donned a pair of glitzy rhinestone, oversized-framed sunglasses. Multicolored crystal earrings dangled practically to my shoulders. The store had called them candy-toned jewels.

  I slid out of the car and tugged on the hem of the indigo kimono top I took everywhere, in case I needed a more put-together look. "Ready?"

  "Honey, she might wonder what in the world is walkin' into her store, but she'll never guess it's you behind that getup."

  "You don't think she'll be jealous of my totally tasteful look?" I twirled in the parking lot.

  "I'm not real sure about the jealous part." Bertha giggled.

  I gave the wig a few tiny pats, as glamour girls do, and it slipped to one side. I quickly righted it. "Okay, let's do this."

  Inside the store, I flitted from one display to the next, rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet, not knowing what to do with my hands. And who could've guessed there were so many shades of white?

  Thankfully, Cassidy was distracted, helping a pregnant customer attach a voluminous wedding headdress with a veil to her strawberry blond hair.

  Bertha came up beside me, took a gown off the rack and held it up in front of us, then lowered her voice and jutted her head toward the pregnant, prospective bride. "Bless her heart. Looks like Texas hill-country is catchin' up with this day 'n age. She's gonna wear white. It wasn't long ago in Arroyo, they hurried up the weddin' before the gal showed. If she was big, like that, they'd have the ceremony real quiet-like, in the pastor's office."

  I glared at Cassidy. "If big hair's the indicator, I'd say some are still back in the nineties on a pageant runway."

  "Be nice, hon. You're better than that."

  I folded my arms across my chest and pouted. "No, Bertha, you're better than that."

  A seamstress with a pincushion fastened to her wrist as a corsage would be and a cloth tape measure around her neck, careened around the back counter. She waved a telephone message slip. "Cassidy, Stanley Fishburn wants you to call..." She slowed to a walk and pushed a mass of coppery curls off her face. "Oh, didn't realize you had customers." She turned on her spiked heel and retreated into the back.

  When the pregnant customer turned around and lifted the veil off her face, Bertha pulled me down to a squatting position behind the rack of gowns. "That ain't no bride. That's Deputy Dixie Watts... works for Dawson Hughes... lives in Arroyo too, just like him."

  Keeping low, I did a modified sideways crab-walk toward the prom dresses displayed in the front of the store. "She's not in a deputy's uniform," I whispered.

  "Where you gonna find a uniform for a belly like that? They say she's havin' twins," Bertha whispered back.

  Deputy Watts took the veil off, thanked Cassidy and walked toward the front door. When the deputy got to the prom dresses, Bertha bent and examined the hem of one of them with her back turned. Watts nodded to me.

  I stood tall and threw her my most confident smile. The only thing is I could swear the wig changed position on my head.

  The deputy left and I tried to set the wig straight.

  Cassidy approached us. "May I help you?"

  Bertha nearly leapt in front of me. "I want to look at weddin' dresses."

  "Cassidy glanced at the rack. You're in prom dresses. You're not
going to wear white?"

  "Well, it's my second weddin'. I'm not gonna wear a prom dress, but I was lookin' at colors, is all."

  "I see." Cassidy stared at me for a moment, then motioned toward a display of mother-of-the-bride dresses. "We have a few reprise weddin' gowns over here."

  We followed her and she showed us a scoop neck, ankle-length, white-satin gown with tulip sleeves. It was A-line with a pink sash circling the waist and there were tiny pink flowers at the hem. I couldn't keep from gasping. It was perfect for Bertha.

  Bertha hesitated and then gently touched the fabric as if it had been spun by fairies. "Do you have it in my size?"

  Cassidy bestowed a benevolent smile. "Of course. We'd order it custom, just for you."

  "Can you get it with a yeller sash and teeny yeller flowers?"

  "I'd have to phone the manufacturer, but in all probability we can."

  "I think Hoot will be tickled pink... um, I mean tickled yeller, by this dress."

  Cassidy stepped closer and peered intently at me. "Can I show you something? Perhaps a matron of honor dress?"

  I shook my head vehemently in the negative while turning the wedding ring on my finger round and round. My left shoulder jerked involuntarily and I immediately smoothed my hair to make sure the wig hadn't fallen to the side again.

  Bertha managed to drag herself away from the dress, finally. And when we were safely back in the Smart Car, she sighed. "Too good to be true. I could never buy that gown from that woman, even though I love it. Not after what she done to you, Ronnie."

  I grinned. "Not to worry. You're in the company of an ace private eye. I memorized the manufacturer's name on the tags. Shangri La Bridal Gowns. There has to be another bridal store in Abilene, and if there isn't, we'll go to Fort Worth.

  "Hon, Hoot hasn't even proposed to me yet and here we are fixin' to get a weddin' gown."

  "Well, what's taking that man so long?" I made a hard left out of the parking lot.

  "Ronnie, we've only been on but one date."

  "Yeah, but you know he's gonna pop the question. Right?"

  She blushed crimson. "When I saw he'd all but took off his shaggy beard, I knew in my heart he was fixin' to marry me."

  *****

  Abilene, TX

  Day Six, Afternoon

  Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

  My office décor could easily be termed retro law enforcement. Most likely, the desk had been recycled and the file cabinets definitely had seen better days. I leaned back in my swivel chair and it squeaked.

  Phone to my ear, I gazed out my office window as the Abilene rookie detective's faltering voice half justified, half apologized for messing up.

  "Listen, everyone has his first case as lead detective. All that counts in the end is you catch the killer." I meant every word.

  "I had the victim's New York City PI wife as my main suspect, but I've backed off that. Only problem is now I have nothin'."

  "I hear you. We haven't come up with anythin' either. If we had, we would've passed the info on to you."

  "Well, deputy, I appreciate that."

  Deputy Watts leaned through my open door. "Sorry, Hughes, I'll come back in five."

  I motioned for her to enter and sit. Then I got off the phone. "So, what did you find out at the bridal shop?"

  "Not much. The seamstress came flyin' out from the back with a message for Cassidy Renault to call some guy named Stanley Fishburn. Who he is or what it's about, I don't know."

  "Give this bit of info to the lead dick at the Abilene PD. They've got a court order for the victim's phone records. Maybe he can figure out who this Fishburn is."

  She nodded. "Oh, there was somethin' curious."

  "What's that?"

  "Hoot's lunch 'n dinner-shift waitress, Bertha, was in there with some rhinestone diva. Seemed like they were hidin' behind the prom dresses. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why."

  "This rhinestone queen... what'd she look like?"

  "Average height, trim figure. Looks like maybe she runs or works out. Wore a wig she couldn't keep straight on her head and a pair of huge rhinestone-framed sunglasses."

  "Veronica Ingels." I sat up straight in my chair.

  "The victim's wife... the PI?"

  "The very one." I didn't know whether to burst out laughing or to head for Arroyo and hand the meddling female's head to her.

  *****

  Arroyo

  Day Six, Late Afternoon

  Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

  A manila envelope from real estate agent Kayla Anderson and a piece of junk mail awaited me at the Chuck Wagon's register. I tossed the envelope offering a great deal on a credit card and ripped open the larger one.

  Bertha adjusted the ties of the apron around her waist. "Hon, what ya got there?"

  I pulled a small white envelope out of the larger manila one. "It's from Armadillo Flintlock Paradise." I held the letter-size envelope at arm's length. "What on earth is that?"

  "It's a small, but kinda swanky gun club in south Abilene."

  "It's addressed to Mark at the new house." My hand trembled. Mark had never been a gun enthusiast. Not the Mark I knew. Then again, had I really known him?

  Bertha waved her hand in a hurry-up motion. "Open it, Ronnie."

  I did and pulled out a slip of paper, which was a notice of a special order. "Someone wrote on top that they've been trying to reach him by phone."

  "Of course he didn't answer, hon, we know that. What did he order?"

  "A Desert Eagle .50 AE in brushed chrome with Hogue grim reaper engraved grips in black aluminum." I crushed the order receipt to my chest. "Pretty sexy."

  Pete placed his check on the counter along with a twenty-dollar bill and let out a low whistle. "Cost a pretty penny too. That one'd have to be at least two thousand dollars if it's a dime."

  I read the receipt again. "It also has a gold base."

  Pete shook his head. "That'd add a little color and a little more to the bill, but don’t help ya shoot any better."

  The Mark Ingles I knew couldn't shoot at all.

  Bertha rang up his check and handed Pete his change. She scowled and a quizzical look crossed her eyes. "That's what you get when a city feller decides to play cowboy."

  "Nice to have that kinda money." He shook his head, and walked out.

  The questioning look returned and Bertha knit her eyebrows. "Are you responsible to pay for it?"

  I showed her the slip of paper. "It's paid for. I'm going to go pick it up."

  "You are?" A frown spread across her face and her eyes narrowed.

  "You bet. Maybe somebody there will remember something significant about the day Mark ordered it."

  Chapter Eleven

  South Abilene

  Day Six, Late Afternoon

  Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

  My first stop was the post office nearest to Mark's villa. There hadn't been much of a line, and filling out the change of address forms had been a breeze. What took much longer was the clerk's enquiry as to how my day was going. Although I'd been in Texas hill-country nearly a week, these conversational exchanges with service workers always took me by surprise. In Brooklyn I was used to a grunt and if not a hostile glare, a disinterested tone from my server.

  After that, my GPS took me to the Armadillo Flintlock Paradise in ten minutes flat.

  I didn't know what I expected to find behind those gray granite walls, but it sure wasn't like the shooting ranges back home. First off, there wasn't a single individual covered in tattoos and nobody sported heavy silver chains around their neck... and we're talking the men.

  Bertha thought this establishment was snazzy.

  I gave the place a once over. A framed oil painting of a stagecoach with a cowboy riding shotgun dominated one wall. Beneath that, three dark brown leather upholstered chairs surrounded a rectangular coffee table displaying copies of RifleShooter magazine, Guns and Ammo, and Field & Stream. The front showroom displayed every kin
d of gun or rifle that might be desired. The shooting gallery was probably in the back. No telltale signs of gunfire, but all these places were sound proofed.

  A sandy haired fellow greeted me, filling out his fringed leather vest rather nicely. He leaned on the gleaming glass counter and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. "Can I help you?"

  I showed him the receipt for the Desert Eagle, my identification, my license to carry, and Mark's death certificate.

  "Ma'am, I'm sorry for your loss."

  "Thank you."

  "Do you want to try her out to see how she shoots, or'd you rather I box 'er up?"

  "Wrap it and I'll take a box of ammo for it too."

  "Yes, ma'am." He took the gun into the room behind the counter.

  The front door opened and a familiar voice called out, a chuckle in his tone. "It must be my lucky day. Imagine finding New York's premier lady PI gettin' herself another weapon."

  I pivoted. "Hughes. How'd you know I was here?"

  "Deputy Hicks saw that green bug you drive and radioed me."

  "Oh, so now the Taylor County Sheriff's Department is tailing me?"

  The gun shop guy came out carrying a large plain brown bag and threw a suspicious look at me. "Dawson, is there a problem?"

  "No, not at the moment, Todd, but this here's Mrs. Mark Ingels and trouble seems to dog her tracks. I'm just here to protect and serve." Hughes tipped his Stetson and grinned.

  Todd's eyes lit up. He glanced at me and then at Hughes. I wasn't sure I liked his grin. "Well, since you put it that-a way."

  Hughes motioned with a quick tilt of his head. "Ronnie, I'd like you to meet Todd Peterson, an old Army buddy of mine. We served together in Iraq."

  I extended a hand and we shook. "Nice to meet you Todd."

  Hughes leaned against the counter. "Todd, the other day this lady challenged me to a shootin' match."

  Todd gave a deep chuckle. "Did she, now?"

  Hughes nodded. "I think I'd like to see what kinda stuff she's made of."

  "That's doable. I'll take you two to the shootin' range." Todd walked from behind the gun cases with an easy gait, across the showroom, and turned down a short hallway.