8 Sweet Payback

by Connie Shelton

  He went back to the cruiser and punched up the address finder on his GPS, chiding himself for not doing that in the first place. When he entered the name Cayne only one name in Sembramos came up, a Sally Cayne on Pine Street. It had to be a relative.

  Sally Cayne answered the door of her small bungalow, holding a fluffy little brown dog whose high-pitched yipping Beau had heard the moment he stopped the cruiser. The gray-haired woman stood less than five feet tall, with a pronounced hunch to her upper spine, and she had to adjust her hearing aids a couple of times before she got Beau’s explanation of why he was there.

  “Well, come on in, Sheriff. Bitsy won’t bite. She’s just real protective, you know.” She limped arthritically aside to let him in.

  It was usually the protective ones that did bite, Beau thought as he edged into an overly-warm living room. Sally reached into her apron pocket, slipped the dog some little nugget of a treat and deposited the fuzzy creature on the couch.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” Sally asked after he declined an offer of coffee.

  Beau gave the quick version—he was contacting the Cayne family to touch base and make sure there wouldn’t be any problem between them and the Starkeys or the Rodartes. It seemed a more benign way to approach the subject than to start with suspicions about Jessie Starkey’s death.

  “Well, Sheriff, as the young ones might say, I think that boat already sailed.” She sank down onto the couch beside the dog, and Beau perched on the seat of an armchair. “The problems between the three families started on June twenty-second, seven years ago. The night our Angela got taken and killed. My son never recovered. Alan blamed himself for not looking after her better, so badly that he lost his job. Used to teach at the school, fourth grade kids. Loved that job. Tracy was an accountant. She had to cut back her hours to take care of Alan. Then Matthew started having trouble in school. A year or so later, right after the trial, they moved away. Went to Houston, thinking a big city would be a place to get lost in, a place with no memories, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are things better for them now?”

  Sally shrugged. “A little, I think. We’d almost lost Angie once, in a car accident, then only three years later she was really gone. At first you can’t believe it. Then things are never the same.”

  Beau nodded. He couldn’t really imagine. He let a moment pass. “You heard that Jessie Starkey and Lee Rodarte got out of prison, that the evidence which originally put them away was overturned.”

  Anger flashed through the old woman’s eyes. “I heard it. Couldn’t believe it. They confessed! And now they want to take it back? I’ll let ’em take it back when I get to have my granddaughter back.” She begun stroking Bitsy so hard that the tiny dog yipped. Sally eased off.

  “I imagine a lot of folks feel that way, Mrs. Cayne. I can understand. I wonder if you’ve heard any talk about revenge. If there’s somebody in town that would want to get rid of them, would you give me that information?”

  “I could hand you the telephone book,” she said, lifting her chin higher. “Everybody wants rid of those two.”

  Except everyone who was related to one of them. He didn’t say it.

  “Looks like somebody got half the job done right away, didn’t they?” A tiny smile touched her lips.

  Beau didn’t want to get into details about Jessie’s shooting, not the way news flew around this town. Better to keep the fact of the high-power bullet to himself. He couldn’t see Sally Cayne limping into the forest on a cold spring morning to stalk and kill Starkey, but he still had to ask questions.

  “Do you own a gun, Sally?”

  She gave him a hard stare.

  “I have to ask everyone. Rule out the innocent.” He met her gaze and didn’t back down.

  “I’ve got one. An old .22 rifle my husband used to use when coyotes would come around our livestock. Back in the day, we had chickens, a few goats, sometimes a few lambs. It’s a person’s right to protect their property.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.” No point in asking to see the gun. Wrong caliber. “Be sure you keep that gun safely stored now,” he said, rising. “Wouldn’t want some bad person getting his hands on it.”

  Sally looked as if she would love the chance to face off with someone who tried to disarm her. Truthfully, Beau didn’t blame her for that attitude; he just didn’t want to see this situation escalate further. He warned her again about being careful.

  He felt her watching him as he got into the cruiser and drove away, wishing he had a simple fix for the little town that had been hurt so deeply.

  That wish turned into anxiety when he passed Sophie Garcia’s apartment on his way to the Starkey’s house. He’d decided to ask Joe Starkey the same question about what else they owned besides the shotguns he and Jessie had taken hunting. Sophie’s car was gone, but now he saw that something was burning on the front sidewalk. He whipped to the side of the street and got out.

  A hunk of plastic and cloth had melted into a puddle about ten feet from Sophie’s front door. The flames were gone but the rest was smoldering vigorously. When Beau stomped out the fire it appeared to be the remains of a baby doll. It might have been an attempt at sick humor, but Beau got a real feeling that it was a personal warning. Someone threatening to harm her child because of the harm done to theirs?

  He scanned the area. No activity on the street, maybe a curtain falling into place at that house across the street . . . At least no one stood nearby, taunting him. He circled the strip of apartments, making sure no one lurked outside Sophie’s back windows. All seemed quiet.

  He returned to his cruiser and grabbed an evidence bag from the cargo space, bagged the crispy remains and tossed the bag into the vehicle. It wasn’t really evidence of any crime that he knew of, but before all this was over who knew what part it might play in the whole picture?

  He decided to cruise by the Starkey place, get a feel for things there, see if someone holding a can of lighter fluid opened the door. He’d just put his SUV in gear when his cell phone rang.

  Sam’s name showed on the readout.

  Chapter 7

  Sam’s first hitch in her cleaning project came when she plugged in her vacuum cleaner and discovered the huge house had no electricity. She uttered a little curse, mostly at herself for not thinking of that. Obviously, if no one had ever lived in the place and if the taxes were in arrears . . . well, she should have planned better.

  She owned a generator that she’d used on more than one occasion in these situations, but it was in the barn at home right now, not on her utility trailer where it might have done her some good. She stood at the open front door, staring toward her vehicle and estimating the distance across the long front courtyard to the driveway. With her longest extension cord she might—might—be able to reach the outlet nearest the door. There was no way she could piece together enough of them to cover all areas of the ten-thousand-plus square feet inside. It would have to be manual labor.

  She groaned at the thought and strode out to the truck to retrieve her brooms and dustpan. Giving the house a critical eye as she returned, her idea of finishing this off in a few hours disappeared. Every doorjamb and window frame was filled with an accumulation of years’ worth of dirt and she now noticed that the windows themselves were a grimy mess. She sighed and attacked the first of the window sills with her whisk broom. An hour into it she’d finished the master suite’s numerous windows and doors, deciding on a change of scene downstairs before tackling the acres of tile floors.

  Humming helped fill the silence and when she discovered that the great room had the acoustics of a concert hall, well, she couldn’t resist breaking into a medley of Patsy Cline tunes. She’d finished ‘walking after midnight’ and ‘falling to pieces’ and was about to think she was going ‘crazy’ when she caught a flicker of movement outside. Down on the highway, far below the house, a white vehicle cruised slowly past. For an instant she thought it might be Beau’s department SUV. But it didn’t have the bro
wn logo and lettering as far as she could tell at this distance, and it definitely didn’t have the light bar on top. She turned back to her work but found herself really wishing that Beau had come by. Her back was aching and his company would have provided a welcome break.

  Once the idea of taking a break entered her mind she couldn’t let go of it. Lunch would be a good idea. There was a café in Sembramos. It would probably be open now and she could order a sandwich to go. She leaned her broom against the wall and locked the house, dropping the shiny new key into her pocket. There would be paperwork to do later, signage to install, and a lockbox for the key—but for now she just wanted food.

  She guided her truck carefully around the looping circular drive; despite the ample space, a crew cab truck with a utility trailer was too large a rig for some places. Since she wouldn’t need the lawn mower or garden tools for this job maybe she would just take the trailer home and leave it before she came back this afternoon.

  At the highway she paused to look back up at the large white house, a mansion by any standard and unique in design compared to everything else in this county. Hard to believe she’d never known the place was here. She looked both directions but there wasn’t a single car in sight as she made the left turn and headed toward town.

  The acres of cultivated fields ran from the edge of the roadway all the way to the forested foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range. Somewhere in those woods was the spot where Beau said the suspicious hunting accident had happened. Ahead, she came to the north end of the little community, marked by another set of speed limit warnings and a few little businesses.

  Two men stood outside a taxidermy shop, their conversation punctuated by gestures; one of them pointed toward something, which drew Sam’s attention. The front window of the shop was broken out, with violent-looking shards of glass hanging menacingly from the frame. Looked as if a brick had gone right through the middle of it. Below the broken glass, something had been painted in vivid red.

  She couldn’t read it, if indeed the red lines were words, and she realized she’d nearly steered off the roadway. She corrected and drove on. In the next block a white-coated man stood outside his barber shop, arms crossed, eyes darting nervously. Across the road, Sam caught sight of three figures ducking between two buildings. What was going on here?

  She spotted the café ahead and edged off the road, looking for a large enough place for her truck and trailer. Picking up her phone she hit Beau’s cell number. He’d mentioned coming up here today to ask more questions. If he was in town maybe he would meet her for lunch. If not, she would definitely order something to go and take it back to her job. Things in town felt a little too edgy for her taste.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he said. Was there a tightness to his voice? “How’s your job going?”

  “I decided to take a break for lunch. Forgot to bring anything from home this morning and my aching back was screaming for a break. This one is all manual labor. I’m near that little café in Sembramos—I thought I’d grab a bite. So, where are you right now?”

  “I’m in Sembramos too, interviewing witnesses. Ran across something real strange awhile ago.”

  He said something else but suddenly her driver’s side door flew open and a hand grabbed her sleeve, jerking her sideways.

  “What!” she shrieked and her phone went flying.

  A tall man in a dirty flannel shirt and jeans held a fistful of her jacket. “Tracy, what the hell are you doing in town?” he demanded.

  “I’m not Tracy! Let go.” Sam yanked her arm out of his grasp, grabbing the steering wheel to keep from falling out. “What do you want?”

  He seemed momentarily at a loss—clearly he’d thought she was someone else—but his bravado returned. “I asked what you’re doing here.” He leaned toward her.

  She sat up straight. Whoever this was, he wasn’t going to intimidate her. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. I simply want some lunch. This is a restaurant, isn’t it?” She nodded toward the wood-sided building.

  A flash of red, then Beau’s cruiser bounced off the edge of the pavement and skidded to a stop on the dirt. He was out of the SUV, hand at his holster, in one smooth move.

  “Bobby Starkey—you just simmer down. What’s going on here?” Beau demanded.

  The grizzled man dropped his hands to his sides, not quite meeting Beau’s stare.

  “I asked you a question,” Beau said.

  “Uh, nothin’ really. Thought I recognized this—”

  “He grabbed me and called me by someone else’s name.” Sam tugged her jacket straight. “Someone named Tracy.”

  “Are you all right?” He looked her up and down for verification.

  “I think so. Just surprised.”

  Beau gave her another long look. “Okay, then. Move along, Starkey. I better not hear about any more trouble from you.”

  He stood firm until Bobby Starkey shuffled away, sending malicious glances back at Beau. When the man turned the corner at the end of the block, Beau turned to Sam.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. It was just so weird. I’m talking to you and all at once my door flies open. I never saw him approach.”

  “I warned you about being in town—remember? I don’t know how this will go down but things are really tense.”

  Confirming that, Sam caught someone staring out a window at the small motel across the road.

  “What is going on, Beau? Who was that man who grabbed me?”

  “I don’t have time to go into the whole thing now, and I don’t want you out on the street. That was Jessie Starkey’s uncle. Some in that family are blazing mad and more than a few pints of whiskey have now begun to figure into the equation.” He glanced around inside her truck. “Get your phone—I want you to have it on you at all times. I’ll escort you to the edge of town so no one else starts something, then I want you to go home and stay there. Don’t come back up here.”

  “But—my work—”

  “It’ll keep. And if that USDA guy of yours gives you any trouble, I’ll speak to him personally.”

  “Beau—?”

  “Not a good time. This town’s a powder keg right now and I can’t have you in the middle of it.”

  Sam clenched her teeth. “I only wanted to say that I don’t like you being in the middle of it either. Do you have backup?”

  His expression told her that up to this moment he hadn’t believed he would need it. Now that Sam had been accosted, he wasn’t so sure. “I’m a radio call away from my deputies. If it gets out of control, State Police will assist.”

  He stepped in close enough for a quick hug.

  “Beau, you smell like something burnt. Has there—”

  “Nothing major. I was just on my way to have a little chat with the Starkeys. Now, I think I’d better find Lee Rodarte instead. I’ll fill you in when I get home this evening.” He opened the door of her truck and waited until she got behind the wheel.

  “Do you think we’re in danger in Taos, too?” she asked as she clipped her seatbelt in place.

  “I doubt it, but please don’t take chances. If Bobby Starkey mistook you, then so could someone else. Can you just sit this one out at home? Jessie’s funeral is tomorrow—after that things should calm down.”

  Another quick kiss and Sam started the truck and steered onto the highway, glancing back in the direction of the big white house she was supposed to be tending. But Beau was in his cruiser now, only a few feet from her bumper. No way was she going anyplace other than home. For the time being. She chafed but drove, slowly and carefully, with him behind her. In her rearview she saw that he pulled over at the edge of town, then made a U-turn after she was a mile or so down the highway.

  * * *

  Beau let Sam’s truck get nearly out of sight before he turned around to face the rest of his day. He would have loved to go home with her, settle in with a game on TV and let this whole mess in Sembramos work itself out. But he couldn’t do
that. It’s what his predecessor would have done. Padilla’s lack of attention to detail might have been what led to the sloppy police work that created today’s situation in the first place. Beau drove back toward Sophie Garcia’s apartment, hoping she would tell him that Lee had followed advice and left town.

  Even if that were the case, Beau knew he needed to verify Lee’s alibi. Until it could be corroborated that he’d spent the night at Sophie’s, he was still number one on the suspect list for Jessie’s death. Arresting Lee would probably calm the Starkeys, but it would surely inflame the half of the population who believed in his innocence. This was getting stickier all the time. Maybe he should put the State Police on alert, just in case.

  He zigzagged a couple of streets and stopped across the street from Sophie’s apartment. Her car was in the drive now and a bicycle rested against the wall near it. No sign of Lee’s motorcycle. This could be the news he wanted.

  As Beau was getting out of the cruiser a white Volkswagen passed him slowly and turned in at the drive of the single-family home where he was parked. The driver—a woman with blonde hair up in a bun, wearing dark blue scrubs—walked toward him, looking concerned.

  “Is there a problem, Sheriff?” she asked. “My son—”

  He asked her name—Claudia MacNeill. “No, it’s nothing to do with your son. I’m looking into the death of Jessie Starkey.”

  She nodded, weary lines settling over her features. “Sorry,” she said, yawning widely. “I just finished a double shift. It’s been a crazy week.”

  “You work at Holy Cross?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Night nurse in the ER. Usually nights—twice I’ve had to pull the seven-to-three as well. And then a couple days ago the whole schedule got messed up when Kathy went home sick and now I’m doing a half shift on what was supposed to be my day off.” She smiled and shifted the purse strap that hung on her shoulder. “But you don’t care about all that, do you?”