8 Sweet Payback

by Connie Shelton

  “I want a lawyer! I’m not saying a thing.” He kept this up until he was in the backseat of Rico’s cruiser. The two cars began their descent toward the highway.

  Beau let out a shaky sigh and wiped his forehead. He pulled Sam close to his chest and she felt his heartbeat against her cheek.

  “You had me pretty scared there,” he finally said. “If he had pulled you over that balcony . . .”

  From below, she could see that the balcony depth appeared much narrower than it actually was. It would have seemed to Beau that Gisner could reach her with one step.

  “I wouldn’t have fired at him anyway,” Beau was saying. “Not with you right there.”

  “At least, with three murders to his credit, he won’t be out—I hope—ever.”

  “Three?”

  “He admitted to me that he killed Angela Cayne. The reasons will sicken you. And Jessie Starkey. I’m also pretty sure that he killed his wife and that her body was buried in the woods somewhere around here.”

  Beau gave her an incredulous look. “I’m glad he admitted it to you—but now that he’s screaming ‘lawyer’ we’ll have a hard time building a solid case.”

  “Come with me. There are some facts he can’t argue with.” She took Beau’s hand and led him to the wine room.

  Her flashlight lay on the floor, the beam shining uselessly into a corner. If only she’d had the heavy object with her when Gisner faced her on that balcony. She picked it up and aimed the light around the room. Against the base of the shelving that had slid outward, tiny flecks of yellow showed.

  “I never swept or dusted this room. I’d actually forgotten, so I started to do it this morning.” She bent down and picked up one of the yellow strands. “I think this might be nylon rope. It looks like it.”

  “Where Gisner cut a length off a bigger roll of it or something— If this matches the piece that was on Angela’s body . . .”

  “I have something else to show you downstairs,” Sam said, leaving the yellow evidence where it lay.

  She and the flashlight led the way downstairs and she sent the beam onto the rifle leaning against the wall in the corner. Beau walked over to it and looked down the barrel without touching the weapon.

  “Looks like the right caliber for the Starkey killing. Hopefully, we’ll get prints from this and be able to ballistically match it to the bullet. This alone should be enough to lock him up for a long time.”

  So many unanswered questions, even yet. Gisner must have been keeping close track of Jessie Starkey, in order to track him to the woods that fateful Sunday morning. But when she asked Beau about it, he said it was possible they would never know those types of details now that the man was refusing to talk.

  He brought bags from his vehicle and while he gathered the evidence, Sam told him what Gisner had said about his attraction to Angela Cayne and his anger over the accident that had killed Molly. “It fits with some of the things Angie said in her diary, about how after Molly’s mother went away her dad starting paying the girls more attention. The man is unbalanced, Beau. You should have seen his face—crazy. He was angry with Angela both for rejecting him sexually—even though in his twisted mind he thought she was coming on to him—and for being responsible for the accident that killed his daughter. Remember how Angie described the Cokes the girls drank that evening as tasting really sweet and like vanilla? I think he slipped liquor into hers. Being inexperienced at drinking she probably didn’t know what she was getting.”

  “It looks as if he harbored that grudge quite awhile. Three years later, he probably went to the Cayne house and found Angie unguarded. He either walked in or she may have let him inside since she knew him, but then resisted when he tried to take her away. That accounts for the disarray at their house, but I’m guessing he brought her here—possibly unconscious—and strangled her.”

  “What kind of a nutcase are we dealing with?”

  “One that, I hope, won’t even think of trying to use an insanity defense. Even though his behavior back then was definitely crazy, he’d have a hard time substantiating that seven years later.”

  He bagged as many of the small rope fragments as they could find, and took fingerprints from several places along the railing that led to the hidden basemen—just in case Gisner tried to contend that someone else had discovered the secret place and put the murder weapon there. You never knew what angle rich men and their lawyers would try to work.

  “So, are you done here?” Beau asked as Sam locked the door on the big white house for the final time.

  “I’m done.”

  She followed his cruiser back to Taos, where a few hours passed as Sam gave her statement, for the record, about the morning’s events and the things Gisner told her. Much as she didn’t relish it, she agreed to testify to the whole exchange later in court, if it came to that.

  “Now, what about his wife?” Beau said. They sat at his desk, eating sandwiches he’d had brought in from somewhere.

  Sam first told him about her vision the night of the lightning storm and how she’d felt there was something very familiar about that unknown face, but that she hadn’t made the connection with the likeness of Heather Gisner they’d gotten from her sister’s wallet photo.

  “In the dream, this terrified woman was backing away, a look of horror on her face. There was a wooded area behind her, deciduous trees, like the ones that grow along riverbanks.” She picked scraps off her bread. “I wish I could describe it better. I woke up immediately after I saw her face.”

  Beau set his sandwich down and picked up the phone, speaking to someone for a few minutes. He ordered special cadaver dogs and a team trained in looking for old burial sites, explaining that the suspected death had happened at least a dozen years earlier.

  Sam found that she was no longer hungry.

  Chapter 31

  It took four days but the team finally located a set of bones less than a half-mile from the white Gisner house, in a wooded area along the stream running by the magnificent house that had never been a home. The post-mortem revealed the bones to be female and of the same height as Heather. Death had come from violent blows to the head. Althea Brooks came forward to give DNA so that a more certain match could be made.

  And so it was that Sam and Beau found themselves standing in the cemetery in Taos, where Heather’s remains were being laid to rest beside those of Molly.

  “It’s so sad they didn’t get the chance to know each other better,” Sam said. Whenever she thought of herself and Kelly and how close they’d become as adults, it brought tears to know this mother and daughter would never have that. It also reminded her to be more appreciative and to savor the times she and Kelly did have.

  Althea Brooks, standing a few feet away, must have had the same thoughts. She’d already broken down when, in a conversation with Sam, she lamented the fact that she hadn’t done more for Heather, hadn’t remained closer in their adult lives. She could have offered sanctuary, or at least encouragement to the sister who might then have been able to stand up to her psychotic husband and find the nerve to get herself and her daughter out while there was time.

  As for the Cayne family, the new discoveries might offer a bit more closure. They might also only reopen the old wounds.

  “I’m going to Sembramos before I head home,” Althea said as they walked away from the graves. “Sally Cayne and I have been in touch since my last visit. We both feel that Angie and Molly would never have wanted to see the town torn apart the way it’s been recently. They were sweet girls, the kind who got along with everyone. They would want to see us all getting along now.”

  Sam nodded. Small towns themselves were a lot like families. When there was strife, everyone felt it.

  “So we’ve planned a ‘peace party.’ Everyone in town is invited, so long as they come with a desire for peace.”

  “I think that’s a beautiful idea,” Sam said.

  “You and Beau are invited too,” Althea said. “And if Beau wants to be i
n uniform, that’s fine. Peace, with a peace officer to back it up, you might say? But no lawyers—we don’t want anyone later finding themselves being sued for admitting to their guilty feelings.” She gave a rueful smile. “We’ll be at the town park at two o’clock.”

  When Sam passed the invitation along to Beau he opted to remain in the Western-style dark suit he’d worn to the memorial service. She knew the jacket was cut well enough to allow a concealed holster under it. She didn’t ask whether he was actually wearing it when they left the house.

  The small park was crowded when they arrived; many faces were familiar now, others were not. Bright cloths covered the concrete picnic tables and bowls of homemade food were everywhere. Beau spotted Helen Starkey and Sophie Garcia at one of the tables and offered to formally introduce Sam to the residents she’d mainly known through police files and his stories. They walked over to add her contribution of a chocolate sheet cake to the abundance on the table.

  “Helen,” Beau said. “How are you?”

  The gray-haired woman looked up, her lined face more tired than before. “I’m okay. JoNell is helping a lot. And Bobby says he’ll get started soon on fixing up my house.”

  The fact that she talked in the singular tense made it apparent that she knew, down inside, that Joe wouldn’t be coming home for a very long time, if ever. He would remain in custody until his trial, and so much would depend upon whether the jury believed that beating Lee Rodarte was a flash of uncontrolled temper or a premeditated event.

  “I’m so sad that it has come to this, so sorry about Heather, shocked by that husband of hers,” Helen said. “You meet a newcomer, think you’re getting to know them. One thing leading to another, all of us torn apart by it.”

  Sophie Garcia rounded the table and put an arm around Helen’s shoulders. “I know. I know.”

  Helen pulled a tissue from the pocket of her sweater-jacket and quickly wiped at her eyes. “I said I wouldn’t do this today. The party is about making friends, getting ourselves over the hurt.”

  Sally Cayne stepped over in time to hear Helen’s words. “Sometimes, friends cry together, Helen. As long as we’re not judging each other, then sharing our sorrows will bring us all back together.”

  Sally set a big bowl of potato salad on the food table, then took Sophie’s hand. “I want you to introduce me to Lee’s cousin over there.”

  Only one of the Rodarte cousins had come. It would take awhile for some of the others to become friendly with the people of Sembramos; luckily most of the other cousins didn’t live in town but in other parts of the county.

  When they were alone again, Beau turned to Helen Starkey. “I’m going to recommend leniency for you when your case comes up. Obstruction of justice is a charge that can go many ways, depending on the amount of involvement. Since you readily admitted your part and you led me to the crucial evidence, I’ll tell the court that you helped us tremendously with our case.”

  Helen nodded, dabbed with the tissue again. When Althea Brooks approached, the tissue got tucked back into the pocket and the two women smiled at each other.

  Beau and Sam left them alone, wandering among other clusters of people who were chatting quietly. As they walked up to the group that included Sally Cayne and Sophie Garcia, Sally noticed a group of Starkey men hanging toward the edge of the park, staying to themselves.

  “Come on, Sam, let’s see if we can get these guys started eating!” She picked up a plate of fried chicken and Sam grabbed some paper napkins.

  “There’s lots more over there,” Sally said to Bobby as he took a drumstick from the platter. “Make yourself a plate, load up on all the goodies.”

  One by one they filtered toward the table, and Sam saw JoNell’s husband talking to Lee Rodarte’s cousin as they both piled food on their plates. Maybe this would work out after all. She noticed a woman, middle aged with perfectly coiffed hair, speaking with the two men.

  “The mayor, Consuelo Brown,” Beau said when she asked. “I don’t think she ever thought her job would include near-riot control, like we had that one night. I notice she looks a lot happier today.”

  Yes, Sam thought, surely being mayor of a tiny town like this more commonly involved socials in the park than the type of strife her small community had endured.

  “Now this is more like we used to be,” Althea Brooks said, standing beside Sam. “When Heather and I were kids here, there were lots of community events. I remember running around, playing tag, like that bunch of kids over there. The moms would bring food, just like today.”

  Sam noticed that little Nathan Garcia hung back until Sophie came over and knelt beside him, saying something quietly. Poor kid, Sam thought, he’d barely begun to know his father and now had lost him. No wonder he looked a little stunned. He tagged along behind Sophie until she gave him a chocolate cupcake. Then his smile brightened. He turned to watch the other kids while he ate it. Little steps. He would eventually be fine.

  “It’s amazing how one man can have such an effect,” Althea was saying. “Linden Gisner, coming in here, a newcomer when he married Heather, thinking that he was somehow better than everyone else when he started making all that money with his big real estate deals.”

  Consuelo Brown had wandered by and joined them. “It seems like things changed when he began building that mansion. Like he’d had enough of us and didn’t want to be part of the town anymore.”

  “It was sort of like drawing a line, wasn’t it?” Althea said. “Heather felt it, wanted to leave him.”

  Everyone thought she had found the fortitude to go, never realizing what had really happened to her. The group got quiet for a long moment.

  “Linden Gisner is undergoing psychiatric evaluation now,” Beau said. “He has a ‘charmer’ personality that he uses to bring women into his life, but he can turn on a dime and become abusive in an instant. It’s the radical change, from super friendly to wildly psychotic that keeps people off balance. Heather succumbed to it; Angela might have. Unfortunately, the outcome wasn’t good for either of them.”

  Sam thought of the young woman who’d been living with Gisner in recent times, Amber. She had to wonder if reopening Angela Cayne’s case and capturing Linden Gisner might have saved Amber’s life.

  “We’re past that now,” said Consuelo Brown. “I’m so happy to see everyone moving on. Payback is never as sweet as we might think.”

  Althea gave a contented nod.

  Sam doubted that Althea had come to town with the idea of acting as peacemaker, but it had worked out that way.

  Sam glimpsed a familiar face, a woman taking a bite of the chocolate cake from Sweet’s Sweets. She walked over to say hello, briefly wondering whether she should say something more about the wooden box. She’d not gotten the hoped-for results in finding more information about it, but for now maybe that was the way things were meant to be.

  “Mary, hello. Are you from Sembramos?”

  The witch was dressed in a similar manner as at their first meeting—soft pastels, sandals and her long gray hair flowing freely.

  “My husband is. He grew up here, and we live just a little way out of town now, between here and Taos.” She lifted her paper plate. “This cake is amazing. Such a richness to the chocolate.”

  Who knew a witch could also be a chocoholic?

  “Listen, Sam, I was wondering if I might ask a favor? This thought just came to me.”

  Sam felt her smile freeze in place. If this was about sending a few more fledgling witches her way . . .

  “My neighbor is on a Chamber of Commerce committee that wants to organize a chocolate festival in Taos. She’s asked me to help with it but, other than loving to eat it, I know exactly nothing about baking it or shaping it or, really, anything. Would you consider talking to her about the festival idea?”

  Without really waiting for an answer, Mary reached into a tiny purse that hung by a long strap across her shoulder. She found a scrap of paper and jotted a number on it, pressing it into Sam�
��s hand.

  “I know your reputation for great chocolates, Sam. I know this will be a wonderful match. She’s elderly—I have a feeling she would have known your Bertha Martinez. Call her?”

  Sam started to ask about Bertha and this neighbor, but Mary had turned away and Sam’s attention was diverted by the happy shouts of children who were racing back and forth across the grass, a seemingly boundless source of energy. One day, some scientist would become rich if he could figure out a way to charge batteries or run automobiles from that power.

  “Sam?” Althea Brooks was back at her side. “I’m leaving now. It’s a long drive. I’m glad everyone seems to be getting along again.”

  “Thanks to you.” Sam gave Althea a hug and watched her walk to her car.

  Sometimes, all it took was one person. Big changes come from small acts, Sam realized, and the caring concern of this one woman had helped dissolve years of hurt and resentment and pain. There would still be trials; old hurts could flare again. A sunny afternoon in April wouldn’t fix the world . . . but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could.

  As always, my undying gratitude goes to those who have helped make my books and both of my series a reality: Dan Shelton, my partner in all adventures, who is always there for me, working to keep the place running efficiently while I am locked away at my keyboard. My fantastic editing team—Susan Slater, Shirley Shaw, and proofreader Kim Clark—each of you has suggested things that help me see something new in my writing. My daughter, Stephanie, you are a huge inspiration to me and I think we will do great things together. And especially to you, my readers—I cherish our connection through these stories.

  Thank you, everyone!

  Sweet Payback

  Published by Secret Staircase Books, an imprint of

  Columbine Publishing Group

  PO Box 416, Angel Fire, NM 87710

  Copyright © 2014 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.