“Yeah, yeah, I suppose I should do that.” But his eyes were on the doorway where the blonde had disappeared.
The whole time she was telling him about tax payments she had to wonder—if he had this kind of money and connections maybe the other house truly didn’t mean that much to him. He certainly didn’t act like it. She thought of the rumors of big real estate deals, Jen’s story of the man who’d breezed into the gallery to shop for expensive art, the empty white mansion. A completely different world.
The “Cucaracha” door chimes went off again, and Gisner happily floated off to answer. Shouts and enthusiastic greetings attested to the likelihood that the guests had started happy hour somewhere else. Sam didn’t want to get caught up in this odd, artificial place. Being at home and seeing Beau had great appeal right now. She edged to the doorway and when ten lively partiers drifted into the salon she slipped out, pleased to see that their Jaguars and BMWs hadn’t blocked her truck.
The sun sat low in the sky when Sam reached the other end of town and turned toward home. The sight of their comfortable log house and the two dogs on the porch warmed her heart; she’d had a full afternoon of oddball people and situations. Beau rose from the long dining table and held her close.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“Strange day. But then, we’ve had a lot of those recently, haven’t we?” Sam glanced at the pages from the Angela Cayne file where he had been working. “Want some help with that?”
“Later. I’m starving.”
While they prepared a salad for dinner Beau told her he’d met Lee Rodarte’s parents. “They’ve lived with grief for so long; there’s just a permanent air of sadness around them. But not hostility. I don’t ever like to discount the idea that anyone can commit murder, but I just don’t see these as the people who would have taken a high-power rifle out to the woods to get rid of Jessie Starkey.”
“Sure doesn’t sound like it.” Sam set their plates on the kitchen table. “So. Do you feel any closer to figuring this out?”
“Not really. Jessie Starkey was only back in town a couple of days before his killer caught up with him. Someone who harbored the old resentment might have heard the news of his release and started to stalk him, but they would have had to be well organized. I mean, it’s not easy to take a gun on an airplane, so for it to be Angela Cayne’s father he would have had to drive from Houston, which is a day and a half at least, or fly in and risk a paper trail or have someone ready to give him a weapon. You can’t buy one that fast, with background checks and three-day waits and all. So he would have almost needed advance word that Jesse was getting out. I’ve got the Houston police checking his alibi for Easter Sunday morning, but I’m thinking he’s less and less viable as a suspect. Not ruling him out entirely though.”
“And Lee’s killer?”
“Well, we know Cayne couldn’t have done that. We’d already started looking at him, and the Houston cops assure me he hasn’t left the city in recent days.”
“And, from Mr. Cayne’s standpoint, would there be any point to coming out here to get rid of one of his daughter’s killers unless he stayed to get them both?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Beau said, absentmindedly swabbing a lettuce leaf into salad dressing.
“So, if the Cayne family is clear—”
“Wait a second . . . I’m thinking all along about Alan and Tracy Cayne, the parents. But Angela had a brother too. He was in his teens—” Beau dropped his fork and rushed into the living room.
By the time Sam caught up with him he was riffling through one of the paper stacks.
“Someone had mentioned . . . hang on . . . Here it is.” He ran his finger down one of the newspaper article copies Sam had brought home. He quickly read the piece and looked up at Sam. “Matthew Cayne approached Lee Rodarte in the hallway at the courthouse, as the trial was getting started. The brother was only fifteen at the time but he got right in Rodarte’s face and threatened him. Words to the effect that he better not think he could get away with this.”
“So, he may have harbored that anger over the years and when he heard the two men got out of prison . . .”
“Exactly.” Beau tapped his fingers against his thumb, counting. “He’s twenty-two now. I better see what he’s doing these days.”
He dropped the page, picked up his phone and within a minute was in conversation with the detective he’d been working with in Houston. Sam went back to the kitchen, realized that the remaining salad on their plates would never be touched, so she dumped the scraps and put the dishes into the dishwasher. She was measuring coffee into the filter basket when Beau walked in.
“Bits and pieces,” he said, picking up a cookie from the bakery box she’d set out. “Alan Cayne’s alibi for the weekend checks out. He never left Houston. I asked if the son, Matthew, still lived at home. Detective Barnes didn’t recall, but he will check on that. He says he’ll get back—”
His phone rang and he made a dash back to the living room. By the time Sam was pouring from their little two-cup carafe, he’d come back, a gleam in his eye.
“Well, this could get interesting,” he said. “Matthew Cayne no longer lives in Houston. He joined the Air Force. And he’s stationed at Kirtland Base, in Albuquerque. Less than three hours away. He has firearms training and access to the local news. I’d say it’s worth a bit of my time to drive down there in the morning.”
Chapter 19
The miles peeled away, dry desert becoming drier as Beau went south. Without some rain soon, the whole state might be in for a bad fire season again. And typically, if that rain didn’t fall this month, it probably wouldn’t come until after the searing heat of June and July had baked the landscape even crisper. At the outskirts of Albuquerque he adjusted his thinking and his driving to cope with the packed traffic on the corridor of Interstate 25 that ran through the center of the state’s largest city.
Kirtland Air Force Base, which actually housed soldiers from several branches of service, was simple to get to. Stay on the freeway all the way through Albuquerque. Exit at Gibson, near the airport, which shared its runways with the base. He’d called ahead and gotten the name of Matthew Cayne’s commanding officer who, by the time Beau got there, should have arranged a meeting. Two soldiers who looked as if they shouldn’t even be shaving yet stopped him at the gate, asked for ID, checked his name against a list, and made a phone call before issuing him a guest pass.
His own military stint was twenty-five years in the past but the layout and procedures still felt familiar to Beau. Some things were indelibly imprinted on your mind, he supposed. Either that, or some things never changed. There were more women walking around and the base housing looked nicer; those were about the only differences Beau noticed. He followed the set of turns described by the guard and pulled up in front of a two-story generic tan, concrete block building. A young man with a shaved head, wearing fatigues and staff sergeant stripes, met him and eyed Beau’s uniform. After no-nonsense introductions, SSgt Lopez showed Beau into a depressing square room with shiny beige paint, a rectangular table and four metal chairs. Beau stared at posters touting equal opportunity and warning what-all constituted sexual harassment these days. Five minutes later the staff sergeant was back, leading a young man with two stripes and a spine made of rebar.
Matthew Cayne addressed him as Sir and stood at attention until Beau suggested they sit at the table that ran the length of the small room.
“I’m looking into a couple of recent incidents in your home town,” Beau began.
Cayne’s eyes scanned the insignia on Beau’s uniform, apparently thinking he meant Houston.
“Taos County. I need to know if you’ve left the base here in the last week.”
“Yes, sir. We were on maneuvers.”
“Where was that?”
“In the desert near Holloman, sir.” The other military base was near the southern end of the state, at least a six-hour drive from Taos, each way.
“Were yo
u ever away from your unit?”
“No, sir.”
Beau made eye contact with Lopez. “Can we verify that?”
The man gave a curt nod and left the room. In the silence behind him, Cayne waited without a word, hands clasped on the table top. Beau leaned back in his chair, hoping Matthew would relax a little.
“Have you been back to Sembramos at all since your family moved away?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
Had the young man been briefed to only provide yes and no answers? Beau felt as if he were up against a brick wall.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard about the problems up north, but we think these incidents go back to your sister’s death, seven years ago.”
“I’ve heard the news reports, sir. I don’t know anything beyond that.”
The staff sergeant returned. “Sheriff Cardwell, it looks like Corporal Cayne’s statement is true. His unit was on a training mission—ten days under desert conditions, reporting to and from Holloman.”
“Thanks.” Beau tamped down his frustration. It felt like every lead was coming to a dead end in this case. “Matthew—could we chat informally for a minute? I have to admit that we’re looking for ideas now. Do you remember, back when Angela died, anyone who had reason to kidnap her? Just tell me anything you remember from that time.”
Now that his own alibi had checked out, Cayne’s shoulders relaxed. “My parents worried that question constantly, sir. They talked about it, over and over. Myself, being fifteen and more concerned with what my buddies and I were doing, I started to tune them out after awhile.” His spine finally touched the back of his chair and the tight jaw became less rigid. “It was scary when it happened, sir. I was in my room, headphones on, music mix blasting away. Grandma Sally was staying with us. I don’t remember if she was recovering from some kind of surgery or just hadn’t been feeling well. Mom was taking care of her, but Grandma went to bed early so Mom and Dad went to something at church. They wanted me and Angie to go along, but then they decided it would be smart for someone to be home in case Grandma needed something. We both talked our way out of doing the church thing, so we were both there with Grandma.”
He picked at a shredded cuticle now. “So, I’m in my room with the door closed—what can I say? You know teenagers, I wanted my privacy. Next thing I know Mom’s coming in, all freaked out, asking where Angie went. And I have no clue. I’ve been in my own zone the whole time. But then I go out to the living room and it’s a mess. There’s a glass of Coke tipped over on the table by the couch and Angie’s fashion magazines are all scattered on the floor. The couch is kind of crooked and the coffee table is tipped over.”
“And you never heard this happening?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “I used to turn the music up to where my brain would vibrate. Stupid, I know. Between that and working here, around turbine engines and loud machines, the doc says I already have pretty bad hearing loss. I’ll probably be one of those deaf old men you laugh at, except that I’ll be thirty when it happens.”
“What about Angie’s friends? I suppose your parents checked with all of them?”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t have a lot. Her very best friend was always Molly Gisner, but she got killed in that accident. Her dad went all weird over it, so our two families really weren’t friends afterward. Angie, she was, you know, popular in school but she was also kind of distant. She wanted to wear cool clothes and all, but she mostly read books and kept to herself. And she’d graduated a couple years before all this happened. Most of her classmates had scattered.”
Beau gave an understanding nod. “Were you or Angie friends with either Jessie Starkey or Lee Rodarte?”
“The Rodartes lived next door—you probably already know that. I looked up to Lee because he was older, a cool guy with a motorcycle. You know. At fourteen, fifteen, all that seemed important to me. My dad wouldn’t let me hang out with him though. Later, when I heard that Lee was doing some drugs, I guess I could see my dad’s viewpoint.” He gave a little shrug. “The whole Starkey family was sort of intimidating. We were this conservative, church-going family and they always seemed on the wild side. I think Jessie had a crush on my sister when she was in high school. He’d be over at Lee’s and I’d see him really giving her the eye.”
“Did she show an interest in him?”
“Angie? No way. She used to wrinkle her nose when she’d see him down the street, like she could smell him from far away. She dated a few guys in high school, but nobody like Jessie Starkey.”
Beau’s antennae rose. “Did Jessie ever push it? Come on strong to her?”
Matt shook his head. “Not that I ever saw. Seriously, I doubt he ever even asked her out. He was enough older that he’d have probably gone for girls his own age anyway. I really don’t know.”
Beau could see that Matthew Cayne had run out of information; how much could he expect a younger brother to remember anyway? He pulled out a business card. “If you can think of any names, friends of Angie’s who might remember something from that time, could you give me a call?”
He walked out to his cruiser, feeling the buzz of electricity from the new revelation. Jessie Starkey, interested in Angela Cayne? Not one of his other witnesses had mentioned that. He needed to get back into that case file at home; maybe someone had been named and questioned at the time, someone who might have made the same connection that Matt had noticed. He left the base and found a McDonald’s a block away where he indulged in the rare treat of fast food.
A half-hour later he was on the road northbound, mulling over everything since he’d received the call about Rodarte and Starkey being released from prison. Less than a week, and yet so much had happened. He barely remembered driving through Santa Fe or Espanola and, shortly, he was arriving at the outskirts of Taos.
Clouds had begun to build, heavy and dark over Taos Mountain. Maybe that rain would come after all.
* * *
Sam had awakened, feeling half tempted to ride along with Beau to Albuquerque and the interview with Matthew Cayne, but her own duties nagged at her. She’d been stalling—she knew this—about going back to the big white house, leery of a repeat of the weird auras she’d encountered last time. The place was beginning to give her the creeps, especially since she’d met its owner face to face and didn’t exactly get warm vibes from him either. However, until she finished, the responsibility would continue to hang over her. Eventually, she had to face up to it and just go there. She sighed and began cutting carrots and potatoes into stew-sized chunks.
Looking at the situation with an analytical eye, she reminded herself that she’d never encountered the strange colors except the one time she went there with the wooden box in her possession—had, in fact, used its power to get through her work more quickly. Today, she would leave it home and simply wash windows under her own steam. Tired arms, yes. Unexplainable happenings, no. Tired seemed like the better answer. She dumped the vegetables into the slow-cooker. At least dinner would be ready when she got home.
She cruised through Sembramos, the way becoming more familiar with each trip. Patterns had begun to emerge. The blue Explorer at the bank meant that its owner worked there. Same with the white sedan at the variety store and the Moped at the ice cream shop. Depending on the time of day, kids might be at the crosswalk aiming their attention toward those afternoon treats. School buses from Taos would be delivering the high-schoolers home later in the day.
The police presence, too, was beginning to feel normal. Sam waved at Rico when she passed his cruiser.
Linden Gisner’s house—it felt odd to attach a name and image of the man to it—stood majestic as ever on its hill. Now that she’d witnessed the man’s lifestyle, his casual party-mode attitude, she puzzled more than ever why he’d never moved in. The kitchen and great room and the large suites were perfect for that sort of entertaining. Maybe this location was a little too remote, too far
north for the Taos crowd. And maybe Sembramos held too many painful memories; reminders of losing both his wife and his daughter would be right in his face every time he drove down the hill for a gallon of milk. She gave up trying to guess, parked her truck and went inside.
A little tentatively, she peered from the foyer into the great room. The air was clear and bright through her freshly washed windows. The earthy tans of the flooring and the deep browns of the fireplace and granite counters—all looked absolutely normal. No weird colors. She let out her pent-up breath and carried her window-washing supplies down the hall toward the guest suite and library where she’d left off.
The hours passed—guest suites done, library done, sewing room and nursery (although since learning his story and meeting Mr. Gisner in person she would have to rename those last two). She emptied her water bucket a few times and refilled from the supply she’d brought. When she came to the wine cellar she was happy to skip it—no windows in there. Finally, she declared the job finished. She was rechecking the rooms, making sure she’d left no dirty rags behind, when her phone rang. What did Delbert Crow want now? She took the call.
“I’ve emailed you a document,” he said without preamble. “Did you get it?”
“I’m on the job right now.” She felt a testy attitude creep into her tone and she tamped it down. “I’ll be sure to check for it when I get home.”
“You said you’d located the owner of that property out by Sembramos, right? Well this is something he needs to sign. Since he doesn’t answer mail, I need you to take it in person. Get him to sign it and then put it in the mail to me.”
Sam gritted her teeth. Once in awhile a ‘please’ would be nice. She’d hoped that doing the windows was the last of this commitment for awhile, but she agreed to get the document and the signature. Then she could be done.
8 Sweet Payback Page 15
