Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  No sooner had I topped off the last geezer's cup, the phone next to the register rang, and I turned back to answer it. "Chuck Wagon."

  "Is Mrs. Ingels there?"

  I took a breath. The voice sounded familiar, yet I couldn't place it. "Speaking."

  "Mrs. Ingels, this is Trudy, from the spa. I really need to speak with you, but I don't want anyone in Abilene or Arroyo to see us together. Could you come to my apartment?"

  "Sure, no problem." The hairs on the back of my neck prickled against my skin.

  "I live in the Silverado Apartments in Tuscola. That's about six miles east of Abilene on Route 20." She gave me driving directions. My hand trembled writing them down. I didn't want to let myself hope for a break in the case.

  Bertha emerged from the kitchen, carrying a covered dish. "Ronnie, are you all right? You look as pale as a wanin' moon."

  I turned my hip away from her, leaned against the counter, and gave her my best smile to distract her. At the same time, I slipped the phone number into my apron pocket. "I'm fine, just tired is all."

  "Honey, you gotta take care of yourself and make sure you get enough sleep."

  "I will. I promise."

  She lifted a covered dish in my direction as she walked toward the door, a large sack handbag flapping back and forth on her arm. "I'm takin' this here casserole over to Dixie Watts. Can't have her gettin' outta bed to cook. Not in her delicate condition. Be back before your shift is over."

  I gave a little wave of my fingers. "Give her my best wishes."

  "I sure will, honey." And she was out the door, casserole and all.

  Deputy Thunder was right, Word traveled fast in Arroyo.

  Though I checked about every five minutes, my eyes on the clock didn't make the time pass any faster.

  Bertha returned, as promised, to take over the dining floor. As soon as she donned an apron, I hopped into the Smart Car, drove east toward Abilene on 20, skirting the northern border of the city. Then I turned south on 83. It would not be more than another ten minutes to Tuscola.

  Trudy had been the only one at the spa who extended herself to have an honest connection with me. She'd offered what appeared to be heartfelt condolences and then later, when she checked Bertha and me in for the yoga class, had exhibited genuine warmth. Even cracked a few small jokes and laughed with us. Everyone else offered professional smiles, barely disguising they'd rather Bertha and I not be there.

  I made the turn off the highway where she'd instructed, and within minutes pulled into the driveway of the Silverado Apartments. The complex was a two-story poured-concrete jobbie, and like every other building on the street had a red adobe-tiled roof. The second floor units had balconies.

  I parked in front of the unit number she'd given me, next to a white Ford Fiesta with an Estella Guest Ranch and Spa bumper sticker. After a short walk up the cement path to the apartment, I was about to ring the bell when I noticed the front door slightly ajar. Couple that with the worry I'd heard in Trudy's voice over the phone, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose again. My head dropped, and my shoulders hunched… fairly decent likeness of Rascal when he's wary.

  I stepped away from the door so my body would be protected by the building's outside wall, pulled out my Glock, and nudged the door with the barrel. The door swung open but nobody fired at me. I took that as a good sign and inched my way into the apartment.

  Trudy lay in a pool of blood on her living room floor, a bullet wound to the chest.

  Nausea threatened. The only other time I'd witnessed gunshot wounds had been when I worked as a bank security guard to support Mom and me while I finished up my final year at the community college. That was after Dad started pleading poverty and his checks stopped coming.

  A man in line who'd been waiting for a teller, thrust his body in front of his wife during the robbery. The punk in a zombie Halloween mask, his body twitching as if he were coming off some drug, wheeled around and shot the man in the gut.

  It just so happened, Jack Cooney was in the same line to make a deposit. He took down the zombie guy and another who'd come as the Joker. I nicked the third robber as he ran out, and the cops picked him and the driver up as the getaway car careened down the avenue. The next day Cooney came back to the bank and offered me a job at double my salary.

  Trudy was dead, but still, I took another long look to be sure, maybe hoping to see some sign of life. Anything.

  Sorry, Hughes... I couldn't recall a topic in the front of that Gideon volume for the senseless murder of innocent people.

  Wouldn't contaminate the crime scene any more than I already had, so I didn't take a step farther. Still, out of habit, I scanned the L-shaped living room with its dining area and snapped a few photos with my phone.

  No desert colors here. The walls were a light, yet bright yellow. Much like the blouse Trudy wore, now covered in her blood. I recalled the girl's tendency to wear pastel silk tees at the spa, but until now had not given it much thought. A framed decoupage collage of colorful butterflies dominated the wall behind her mint-green sofa. Off to the side, a small blond-wood dining set for four stood with a milk glass swan as a centerpiece. A light green ceramic lamp lay in pieces next to her. I hadn't known Trudy at all. With a twinge of guilt, I acknowledged she'd been inconsequential to me.

  A flier, for an organic cooking class, on top of the coffee table caught my eye. Reaching and bending over as far as I could without moving my feet, I took a photo of it. Then I retreated outside the unit and called 911.

  Within minutes, a sheriff's department cruiser pulled up in front of the apartment. A burly deputy, with ruddy cheeks, killed the engine, got out, and hoisted his belt over an ample, but firm waistline. His nametag identified him as: Deputy Ornis Hicks. Thunder's usual partner looked exactly as I'd expected.

  Thunder got out of the passenger side. He walked over to me and nodded. "Ma'am, are you the one who phoned this in?"

  "I did."

  He told Deputy Hicks who I was and about my connection to a previous murder, which brought on raised eyebrows and a snort from the thickset man. No doubt he and the deputy I'd met in the church parking lot were vying for the Mr. Congeniality award.

  A second cruiser pulled up. Dawson Hughes got out and hurried over to me. "You're a trouble magnet. What brought you out here?"

  I gave him the short version.

  Hicks jutted his chin at me. "Mrs. Ingels, bein' a PI and all, you wouldn't happen to be armed, would you?"

  I handed him my Glock, knelt and unholstered the banker's special at my ankle. "Neither has been fired."

  "The lady feels the need to wear two guns." He smirked. "Our ballistics department will determine whether they've been fired."

  Hughes motioned to the younger deputy. "Thunder, would you escort Mrs. Ingels to my cruiser and wait there with her while Deputy Hicks and I enter the apartment?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Hughes motioned to Hicks. "After you bag those weapons, put on a pair of booties, and be careful where you walk in the apartment. Don't want to hear any howlin' later from the DA about how we contaminated the scene. And don't touch the body until the medical examiner's seen it."

  *****

  Silverado Apartments

  Day Ten, Ten Minutes Later

  Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

  Some cops allowed themselves to feel nothing at a murder scene. I always felt something, often disillusionment. I needed to remember the deceased was human in order for me to continue feeling human.

  It ripped right through my gut, remembering this victim in life... so young, so many things yet to experience. I hadn't known her well, but could recall her coy smile greeting guests at the spa, and how flustered she got finding out Ronnie was Mark Ingels' wife. Trudy Bobkirk shouldn't have been reduced to this... on her back with a gaping hole in her chest, and medical examiner Manny Alvarez kneeling at her side.

  Someone from Crime Scene Investigation walked by, with a video camera, shooting every inch of the
cheerful apartment. His partner scraped evidence from the light green area rug and off the type of pale wood furniture the ladies like.

  There was no sign of a breakin. Trudy had let whoever killed her into the apartment. However, the shattered pieces of a ceramic lamp littered the floor near her body, its cord pulled out from the wall socket. When she realized her guest meant her harm, had she grabbed it and attempted to fend off the assault? A futile move. Perhaps she intended to throw it at her assailant, hoping to knock the gun from his or her hand but wasn't fast enough. CSI would bag all the pieces and check for fingerprints, though most likely nothing much would come of that. Any number of people could've touched the lamp for a variety of reasons.

  Deputy Hicks emerged from the back of the apartment, waddling in the booties covering his shoes. "A bedroom, kitchenette, and bath. Nothin' out of place back there."

  Let this bear of a man loose at the site of a five-car wreck with bodies strewn across the highway and he could handle it in his sleep. Put him in charge of rounding up stray livestock and he'd be able to face down a longhorn steer. But we didn't get many murders in Taylor County, so I kept my eye on him. So far, he'd performed admirably, a good choice to temporarily replace Dixie Watts.

  Alvarez stood, brushed off his pants, and smiled ruefully. "You can have her. I'll make a determination after autopsy, but I'm sure it'll be death due to gunshot wound to the chest."

  I nodded. It was what I expected him to say.

  Hicks gave the body a wide berth, careful not to step in the blood, as he advanced toward me. "Find anythin' of interest?"

  "Not yet." I put on a pair of latex gloves, knelt beside the body and searched her jeans' pockets. Nothing.

  Hicks bent to examine the broken lamp.

  "Don't touch that. We're gonna bag the pieces and take them to the lab," one of the CSI guys yelled.

  Hicks raised his gloved hands, palms out. "No problem."

  I stood and nodded to my deputy. "As soon as Alvarez takes the body, and CSI leaves, you and I are gonna tear this place apart, piece by piece. I don't want to overlook anythin'. This girl knew somethin', or had somethin' in her possession that got her killed."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Arroyo

  Day Ten, Early Afternoon

  Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

  I knew Hughes needed to take my statement, but sitting in a cop-car after seeing Trudy's traumatized body, brought on waves of claustrophobia and ragged breathing.

  Deputy Thunder had the cruiser's a/c running. Still, sweat rolled down my back. Had to be nerves. My palms were clammy too. I leaned over and set the controls so the cold air blasted.

  The smell of drying blood would not vacate my nostrils. Instead it seemed to take over my being. After licking my lips, they still felt parched. What I wouldn't give for a bottle of water.

  I wracked my brain to figure out what Trudy could've known that got her killed? She'd worked the front desk, an entry-level position, and wouldn't have been privy to decisions made in the director's office. Perhaps she'd seen or overheard something she shouldn't have?

  My parched throat began to close and I sucked in a ragged breath. My eyes burned. I quickly turned my head away from Thunder and stared out my side window to hide my raw emotions. I hated when innocent people got caught in the crossfire. I took a long breath and let it out. I was also a bystander trapped in this mess Mark had made. That I still had feelings for the guy further infuriated me.

  Dawson Hughes emerged from the apartment and beckoned with his hand.

  "Excuse me, ma'am." Thunder got out of the cruiser and trotted over to his boss. The two talked for a few minutes. Then, the young deputy returned to the car and opened the passenger door.

  My mind raced. Were they going to arrest me? What could they have possibly found that would point to me? "Is there a problem?"

  A flush rose from his collar and encroached upon his tawny face. "Sorry, no. Deputy Hughes said I should drive you back to the Chuck Wagon in your car and wait for him. He'll take your statement there."

  I pulled the car keys out of my jeans pocket, handed them over, and followed him to the Smart Car.

  He opened the passenger door and held it while I got in. After trotting around the front of the vehicle, he stooped, and whipped off his Stetson. He tucked the hat into the tiny space behind the driver's headrest, pushed his bucket seat all the way back, and folded himself in with difficulty. His legs bent so his knees nearly touched the steering wheel. His head grazed the roof and he smoothed his dark, neatly trimmed hair, glanced at me, and grinned. "Whatever possessed you to rent this thing?"

  I shrugged. "Wasn't paying too much attention at the rental desk when I arrived."

  "And they stuck you with this beauty." He threw his head back and laughed.

  I tried to stare him down but wound up grinning. "So far, it's gotten me where I needed to go."

  He fired up the engine and we pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot. I took this time to observe the ruggedly handsome young man. He drove at the speed limit, signaled at every turn, and stopped for lights while they were still on yellow. "Setting a good example for the community with your careful driving?"

  "Naw, just afraid this pile of junk will fall apart if I go any faster." He shot me a shy grin, as if checking to see if his wisecrack had gone too far.

  "Everybody seems to know everyone around here. Did you know that girl? Trudy?" My gaze met his and my mouth went dry thinking how appalling and inexcusable this murder was.

  "Taylor County ain't as small as you might think. I didn't know her. Don't run with her type." He made the turn onto Main Street in Arroyo and pulled to a stop in front of the Chuck Wagon.

  "You mean the holistic gang. The tree huggers?"

  "Nobody loves the earth more than my people. We just don't try to turn it into a designer label." He grabbed his hat and got out. Once he was standing beside the car, he stretched to get the kinks out.

  The Chuck Wagon's heavy wooden front door with its window of light amber glass swung open. Doug hurried out carrying his early afternoon fix of caffeine in a container. He waved and headed in the direction of the bank.

  I entered the eatery, frustration dogging my every step. This investigation was now more complicated than ever, and much sadder.

  Bertha rushed toward a table, with a hamburger order in one hand and a basket of fried chicken in the other. She tossed me a huge smile but it faded when she saw Deputy Thunder on my heels. After making sure the men at her table had what they needed, she rushed over to me. "Hon, is everythin' all right?"

  Thunder stepped between us. "Mrs. Ingels, you shouldn't be talkin' to anyone until you've given your statement to Deputy Hughes."

  "Oh, no, somethin's happened. Oh, lordy."

  I squeezed Bertha's hand and walked past her, leading Thunder to the back table the staff used for their meals. It was situated right in front of the ice machine and the rest rooms.

  Bertha followed with two heavy ceramic cups and a pot of coffee. She filled both and turned to Thunder. "Can I get you a burger or bowl of chili? On the house."

  "Chili sounds good." He removed his hat and placed it on the empty chair beside him.

  She nodded and turned her gaze toward me. "Ronnie?"

  "Nothing for me. Just coffee."

  "Oh, hon, you can always eat. This ain't good, is it?"

  "No, it's not."

  Thunder cleared his throat.

  Bertha blushed. "Sorry, Deputy. Would you like your chili topped with shredded cheddar?"

  "Thank you, that would be real nice and I'll be payin' for it ma'am."

  "Well, nobody can stop me from pilin' it high with a mountain of cheddar." She turned on her heel and raced to where we put in orders.

  He grinned at me across the table. "Think she's tryin' to butter me up so I'll go easy on you?"

  "Yeah, like if she feeds you enough you won't resort to a rubber hose." I chuckled.

  The front door opened.
Hughes strode in and walked straight back to our table.

  *****

  Arroyo

  Day Ten, Noon

  Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

  I pulled out the chair next to Thunder only to find his hat there. He reached to remove it, but I put up a staying hand. After placing my Stetson half on top of his, I sat next to Ronnie.

  Bertha approached with a bowl of chili smothered in shredded cheddar, a pile of saltine crackers on the side, and a large cruet with a heap of sour cream. She placed them all in front of Thunder then set her focus on me.

  "Would you like a menu, Deputy Hughes?"

  "I'll have your basket of fried chicken with fries."

  "Coffee? We don't have the fancy kind."

  "Coffee's fine."

  "Very good." She turned on her heel.

  The kid dug in. "Thi--sh is good." His cheek bulged like a chipmunk's with a nut tucked into it.

  "Think you've got enough food there?" I grinned at him.

  "This'll hold me a while." He took another bite.

  I removed a miniature voice recorder about the size of a flip-top cigarette lighter from my pants pocket and placed it on the table. "Ronnie, do you mind if I record your statement?"

  She nodded her assent. "Dandy little piece of equipment."

  "This little baby is high powered and has a voice activation mode. My deputies got together and gave it to me for Christmas."

  Thunder pointed his fork at the device and grinned. "That right there is proof of the presence of mind and good intentions of your deputies."

  Ronnie burst out laughing. "Nothing like buttering up the boss."

  I rapped my knuckles on the tabletop a couple of times and glanced down while I contained my amusement, then clicked on the device. "Let me get your statement while I'm waitin' on my order. How about you start by statin' your name for the record?"

  She told me everything she knew, from receiving Trudy Bobkirk's phone call while working the Chuck Wagon's counter to calling 911 after finding the body. "Deputy Hicks thinks I'm a suspect in Trudy's murder, doesn't he?"