Reunions Can Be Murder: The Seventh Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  When I looked back in the mirror the man was grinning at his little victory.

  I steadied my course and looked back again. The car was only inches from my bumper. This definitely wasn’t Felix. The thin mustache was there, all right, but the face was thinner and slightly darker. Buckman was right, Rodriquez was proud of his flowing head of hair. He grinned again, showing a gap between his two front teeth. The woman was still with him, laughing with that bright red mouth.

  I returned my attention to the road ahead.

  Rodriquez bumped me.

  I looked again. He had drifted back a few feet but I could still see the grin.

  Buckman had said this guy would kill without a second thought and I believed it.

  I heard his horn, just a friendly toot, right before he bumped me a second time. He’d gotten more of a run at it and this one came with enough force to send me to the shoulder. Gripping the wheel I righted my course again.

  Bam!

  The third bump would have been enough to send me off the side if I hadn’t had a strong grip on the wheel and been ready for it. I was already doing seventy but sped up in hopes of getting some distance between us.

  He matched his speed to mine.

  How far was it to the nearest town? At least thirty miles, I guessed, and I didn’t see another sign of civilization. The road stretched ahead in an almost perfectly straight line. He was right in my mirror again. I debated a couple of plans. A mile or so ahead I spotted a dirt pull-out, hardly a rest area, but large enough for a vehicle to get off the road. Some kind of guard rail flanked the road just beyond it.

  Obviously I wasn’t going to outrun him. The sedan was every bit as fast as my Jeep, probably faster. I did have one advantage, though—height. I looked back at him again. He was backing away to make another run at me. I sped up, putting more distance between us than he probably wanted. I was almost to the dirt pull-out.

  He floored it, racing forward to bash me. When he was less than ten feet away I slammed on my brakes with both feet hard on the pedal. The Jeep fishtailed and I pulled hard to keep her straight. The blue sedan slammed my left rear bumper, taking the corner of it right through his grille. I whipped back onto the road and gave it all the speed I dared. The sedan came at me again.

  He pulled close once more and I repeated my last maneuver, braking and swerving. This time I wasn’t so lucky. I veered off the left edge of the road, kicking up a plume of dust and gravel as the Jeep swerved precariously on two wheels, missing the guardrail by inches. My eyes slammed shut as I wondered where Rusty was at the moment. In slow motion, the car settled back onto all four tires and I wrenched the steering wheel back to guide her straight onto the road. Checked my mirror once more.

  The sedan had slid sideways down the left lane and now sat with its passenger door wrapped around the thick wood abutment of the guardrail. White vapor billowed ominously from its front end. I slowed to a stop and looked back. Rusty had leaped over the seat into the cargo compartment and was barking furiously at the other car. My heart pounded as I shushed him.

  Rodriquez was climbing out the driver’s door, reaching inside for his passenger. He had a smear of red across his cheek. He looked at me and started to reach toward his belt. I didn’t wait. I let two more mile markers go by before I slowed down. At the next wide spot I pulled over and got out my cell phone. I had to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before I could punch in the numbers. Dialed 911 and got a county dispatcher from somewhere I wasn’t familiar with. I told him there was a wrecked car at the abutment and gave the highway and mile marker number. I also told him the man in the car was wanted on drug charges in southern New Mexico and that he was armed and dangerous. I was guessing about the armed part—I hadn’t actually seen a weapon—but better to report it that way than to send an unsuspecting officer to face Rodriquez.

  A howling, flashing squad car zoomed by me heading south as I was entering Holbrook a few minutes later. I pulled off at the first McDonald’s I came to, got out and stood on quaking legs, resting my forehead on the doorsill of the Jeep. The shakes set in then. I opened Rusty’s door and put my arms around his neck, letting him lick my face as much as he wanted. He was content with about five licks before he became more interested in the smells emanating from the restaurant.

  “Wait here,” I said. “We’re both getting treats after that ordeal.”

  I closed his door, grabbed my purse from the floor of the front seat, and walked back to survey the damage. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. My left bumper was bent slightly upward at the corner and the metal quarter panel had a little wave in it. Most people wouldn’t even notice it and it certainly didn’t affect the way the car handled. With body shop prices what they are today it was probably only about a thousand dollars worth.

  With a much lighter mind and a heart that was nearing its normal rate, I strode into McDonald’s and ordered a Big Mac and two cheeseburgers with fries all around—Supersize, please. I sat on a stump of the petrified wood the area is known for, with Rusty at my side and we ate our sumptuous lunch. I watched the highway constantly, the irrational fear nagging that Rodriquez could somehow get back into his car and come after me. He didn’t and we were soon back on the road.

  Home never looks quite so good as when you’ve had a close call. In my case, make it two within twenty-four hours. I was ready to lock myself in and not come out for a week. But I still had Dorothy to face. Tomorrow, I decided. I climbed into bed and was asleep within moments.

  I was back in court with Dorothy, this time in my underwear. She stood again behind her table, I sat behind mine trying to hunch down in my seat.

  “Your Honor,” she was saying, “I submit that the defendant knows my father’s whereabouts and refuses to tell me.”

  The judge, who had been smiling indulgently at her, turned and glared at me.

  “I hired her to find him and to give me the results of her investigation.” Her gray curls dipped dramatically as she spoke in her characteristic slur.

  All eyes in the courtroom turned to me. I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing I’d at least put on a lacy bra instead of the utilitarian white one I wore.

  “Well?” the judge said. “How do you answer the allegation?”

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

  “As I told the court,” Dorothy butted in, “she refuses to answer.”

  “So I see,” said the judge. He slammed his gavel down. “Bailiff! Lock her up and figure out a way to make her talk.”

  This time when the bailiff grabbed me I fought back. I swung around and caught him in the face with my right fist. He flinched backward and I seized the moment and ran, giving Dorothy a final “so there” parting stare before I hit the swinging door leading to the corridor.

  I ran and ran, but couldn’t reach the elevators. My legs were mired in something like Jell-O and I couldn’t breathe. I could hear shouts behind me. Dorothy and my pursuers were catching up. I reached for the elevator button but it was way beyond my grasp. My legs pulled harder and harder, trying to get me there but I wasn’t moving fast enough. The crowd was about to reach me. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “No!” My scream woke me.

  I lay there for a full minute, gripped in the paralysis of the after-dream. My face was buried in my pillow. Gradually I turned my head to get some air. Movement returned slowly to my limbs, like frost receding from a tree once the sun hits it. I stretched to break free from the last of it and sat up in bed, pulling the covers around me and running my hands through my hair.

  Could Dorothy really force me to tell Willie’s whereabouts?

  I got up and went into the bathroom where I ran cool water in the basin and splashed it onto my face. Felt my way to a towel and patted dry. Took a few deep breaths to rid myself of that suffocating feeling.

  Could she?

  I slipped back into the warmth of my blankets and noticed the bedside clock said it was only two-fifteen. Not exactly a decent hour to call anyone for
advice. Huddled in bed wearing nothing but a pair of panties I felt vulnerable. I got up again and slipped on my terry robe and slippers.

  One thing about living in a city is that you’re never in total darkness, not the same kind of deep velvet black you find in the country. By the light of the streetlights I padded my way through the house to the kitchen without turning on lights. I poured a mug of milk and set it in the microwave to warm. The back yard was bathed in moonlight, the same moon that had shone over a tiny campsite in Arizona the night before. The same moon that was now watching over Willie and his little mule tonight.

  “Why should I tell her?” I whispered aloud.

  Only Willie and I knew his exact location. Drake was the only other person who knew I’d actually located him. I didn’t have to tell Dorothy anything. I stood up straighter. No, I didn’t have to tell her anything at all.

  I pulled the mug of hot milk from the microwave and added a packet of hot chocolate mix.

  But should I tell her? I stirred the hot chocolate slowly. If I told her I hadn’t found him, would she simply hire another detective?

  I sipped at my cocoa and stared out into the yard. If I told her I’d located her father, that he was alive and well and didn’t wish to come back, would she accept that? How far would Dorothy and Felix go to get those papers signed? The whole thing rattled around in my head but I decided I couldn’t stay up all night thinking about it.

  I yawned deeply, rinsed my mug and went back to bed. Rusty hadn’t budged from his rug, a testament to the depth of his sleep. I fell asleep eventually, still without answers.

  The phone startled me awake while I was still in that peaceful no-dream state a few hours later. The clock said it was six-thirteen.

  “Charlie? Randy Buckman here.”

  “Geez, don’t you ever sleep?” I grumbled.

  “Sorry, I apologize for the early hour. Just wanted to bring you up to speed and give you a big thanks.”

  “What’d I do?” I mumbled, still only half awake.

  “Caught Rodriquez for us, that’s all,” he said. I could hear his big smile at the other end of the line.

  “I guess the Arizona police brought him in then?” I asked.

  “From what I hear, he wasn’t going anywhere with whatever you did to his car.”

  “Hey, I didn’t touch his car—well, only a little bit. Would it be fair if I yelled, ‘He started it!’?”

  He actually chuckled out loud that time. “There’s more good news,” he said. “We came across evidence that Rory is the one who murdered Bud Tucker. We’d just about put together a case good enough to take to the DA. Somehow, information about the evidence leaked out of this office—and I could kill the person who did it, if I just knew for sure—and Sophie found out. Looks like she decided not to wait for the courts. Looks like she followed Rory up to the mine and tracked him inside. There was a Smith and Wesson .357 beside her body. And a bullet in his. Burned as they were, we at least got that much. Chances are her shot is what set off the explosion.”

  “Oh geez,” I said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. My mind flitted back to Willie’s confession.

  “Then things really started to get sticky.”

  This wasn’t sticky enough?

  “When it came out that it was their two bodies in the mine, people just started to build this story about an affair between them.” He sighed deeply. “It ain’t the real situation, but the real one ain’t any better so I’m just letting the rumors fly. I can only hope it all dies down pretty soon. Her funeral was yesterday and she’s buried right beside her dad. Rory’s got no people here so he’s been taken to west Texas where some cousins live.”

  “And why was Rodriquez tailing me?”

  “He’d seen your Jeep several times near the mines and knew you’d been snooping around up there. Assumed you’d found the drug stuff and he was keeping an eye on you. He told us he knew you’d met with me several times and thought we were planning to use you as a witness against him in court.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I sputtered. “I didn’t know about the drug stuff and I certainly couldn’t have tied him to it.”

  “But he didn’t know that,” he pointed out. “let’s just say this guy isn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He focused on you and that was that.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m too unhappy about wrapping his car around that bridge abutment then,” I said. “So, does that tie up all three of your cases now?”

  “Looks like it does,” he said. “You got any news about Willie McBride for his family?”

  “I’m . . . I’m still working on that one,” I said. He didn’t exactly ask whether I’d found Willie, did he?

  “Well, guess that’s about it. Except that there’s a friend of yours here in my office who wants to say hello.”

  I heard the phone being shuffled around. Buckman’s voice in the background said something about getting some coffee.

  “Hey there, Charlie-gal!”

  “Keith?”

  “That’s me.”

  “What are you doing there?” I asked. “You didn’t get dragged into this whole drug-dealer arrest thing, did you?”

  “What? Aw, hell no. I just come by with some fresh donuts for the guys and heard Randy say you was on the phone. Just wanted to say hi.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did. Looks like things in White Oaks are all wrapped up now,” I said. I hesitated. “Keith?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Know that item from your cash drawer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I found the X. What you thought would be there, it was.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I haven’t decided yet whether to tell his family yet. So don’t say anything.”

  “You bet. You stop in now if you ever get back out this way,” he said. “And drop me a card at Christmas.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter 26

  I spent most of that day wondering exactly what I’d tell the McBride family members. In the end I decided that Dorothy and Felix would have to work harder to realize their selfish dreams. I wasn’t going to hand anything to them. Dorothy threw a fit when I gave her my final report and refused to pay our bill, but Bea held true to her word. I called Bea in Seattle and told her the full truth, including Willie’s and my wild ride in the flash flood. She’d followed through on having a notarized statement added to the new unsigned will, proving that it had never been validated by her father. She would let Melanie know that her grandfather was alive and well, nothing more.

  Willie had told me he didn’t want anything more to do with his family, but I had managed to persuade him to do one little thing. If he sent a Christmas card to Bea each year, it would prove he was still alive, which would leave Dorothy and Felix fuming if they tried to have him declared legally dead after he’d been missing seven years. That little clock couldn’t begin ticking until seven years after the last card came.

  Bea called me about a month later to let me know that her father had actually called her. She’d convinced him that if he planned on never moving back to Albuquerque he should sell his north valley property. The money could be banked and would leave him financially set for the rest of his life and preclude any dirty tricks by Felix. He’d agreed and she wondered if I could recommend a good Realtor in Albuquerque. Of course, I did.

  Drake had a busy fire season, which put his fledgling company on much firmer financial ground, although I didn’t get to see much of him until the seasonal monsoon rains began in August.

  Willie’s confessing to shooting Bud Tucker bothered me from time to time. It was the only part I’d never told another soul, except Drake. I had a nagging feeling I should have told Randy Buckman about it. But since I didn’t do it right away, the opportunity just sort of slipped away. It wasn’t really a murder, I justified. From Willie’s account of it, I was sure it had been an accidental shooting. Buckman had wrapped up his case file anyway. Sophie was the only one to whom it might have ma
de a difference and she, bless her heart, was gone now too. Even if she’d lived, that bit of news couldn’t have made her life happier. So I couldn’t see much point in bringing it out.

  It’s a secret I’ll just have to live with.

  Books in the Charlie Parker series:

  Deadly Gamble

  Vacations Can Be Murder

  Partnerships Can Be Murder

  Small Towns Can Be Murder

  Memories Can Be Murder

  Honeymoons Can Be Murder

  Reunions Can Be Murder

  Competition Can Be Murder

  Balloons Can Be Murder

  Obsessions Can Be Murder

  Gossip Can Be Murder

  Stardom Can Be Murder

  Holidays Can Be Murder: A Charlie Parker Christmas novella

  Books in the Samantha Sweet mystery series:

  Sweet Masterpiece

  Sweet’s Sweets

  Sweet Holidays (December, 2011)

  Subscribe to Connie Shelton’s free mystery newsletter at www.connieshelton.com

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  Reunions Can Be Murder

  Published by Secret Staircase Books, an imprint of

  Columbine Publishing Group

  PO Box 416, Angel Fire, NM 87710

  Copyright © 2002 Connie Shelton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of information contained in this book we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein. Any slights of people, places or organizations are unintentional.