The Good, the Bad and the Guacamole

by Rebecca Adler

  He shot a glance my way. The truth was there for all to see.

  Not thinking, I grabbed his arm. “Are you crazy? Why did you arrest her?”

  He reached out with both hands as if to calm a nervous filly. “Whoa. It came down to evidence, clear and simple.”

  “Circumstantial evidence, you mean,” our new lawyer said with grit.

  “You can’t arrest her if you only have circumstantial evidence.” I was not a complete idiot. I knew my courtroom dramas.

  His chest expanded and he drew a deep breath before replying. “It’s not all circumstantial”—he cast a suspicious glance at Gretchen Cruz—“which I’m sure her lawyer will be more than happy to explain.”

  “Did you tell them to let her go?” Senora Mari walked right up into the deputy’s personal bubble and tilted back her head to meet his gaze. “Or did you do whatever that foolish sheriff told you to do?”

  In spite of his deep brown complexion, I could see his cheeks flush. “I’m not in charge, if you haven’t noticed.” His phone buzzed on his belt and he checked the screen with a frown. “I’m sorry.”

  He turned to me and I read the honest regret in his eyes. “It’s out of my hands.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, but as I watched him exit the building, I knuckled them away.

  “Now what?” I asked in a tone that set Gretchen Cruz back.

  She recovered quickly. “We try to get her out.”

  “But what evidence could they possibly have against her that’s not circumstantial?”

  “You tell us. Right now.” Senora Mari’s hands clutched the handle of her purse so hard, I thought she was about to knock Gretchen out with it.

  With a quick glance over her shoulder, she led us outside to a wooden bench that rested in the shade of a nearby live oak. “For starters, they have her fingerprints.”

  “Of course they do. She lives there, for pity’s sake.”

  Senora Mari grabbed her knees for emphasis. “Did you tell them that?”

  “Yes.” She spoke quietly and slowly, as if trying to infuse the older woman with her calm demeanor. “Jeff Clark was killed with Patti’s guitar.”

  Chapter 12

  I grabbed the bench on either side of me to keep from flying into a rage. “Patti’s had that same electric guitar since she was twelve. It’s been in the corner of her living room since I’ve known her. Anyone could have walked in and bashed him over the head with it.”

  Gretchen raised an eyebrow and then lowered her gaze to the leather-bound notepad she held.

  I continued. “This guy had enemies. A line of folks would have paid to bash his head in. Did the sheriff and his deputies mention that?”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile. “No. Can’t say that they did.”

  Senora Mari and I glanced at each other. “What do they have?” The older woman’s voice was calm and deadly.

  “Did you know that Patti and Clark had a past?” the lawyer asked.

  “Sure,” I murmured, “but they broke up years ago.”

  “If that’s the case, why do you think she agreed to see him Thursday night?”

  I leaned forward for emphasis. “It was all his idea. He supposedly regretted the way he tomcatted around on her. Said he wanted to apologize and get together for old time’s sake—”

  Cruz interrupted, “You don’t think he was telling the truth?”

  “Does a dog lie under the house in the summer?”

  She shook her head in confusion.

  I continued. “Patti wasn’t a hundred percent positive she wanted to see him, but he wore her down.”

  “That’s what she told you.”

  “That’s the truth.” Patti and I had no secrets between us.

  Senora Mari nodded in agreement. “That is the truth. The two of them, they are like sisters.”

  With a quick glance around, Cruz continued. “Don’t tell anyone else—I’m only telling you because you hired me—but they have a witness who says she heard Patti threaten to kill Clark on the night of the murder.”

  “Lies!”

  I placed a hand on Senora Mari’s arm. “I don’t believe it. They left Two Boots that night hand in hand, like two lovebirds.”

  Gretchen studied her notes once again. “A Britney Kincaid overheard them fighting in the parking lot of Lula’s Lizard Lounge around one o’clock in the morning on Friday.”

  “Who?” Senora Mari demanded, as if the young lawyer had dared to utter an unbelievable name like Rumpelstiltskin or Frida Kahlo.

  I made a small calming gesture, which only seemed to infuriate her more.

  “Who is this B-Britney person?” She jabbed a finger into the air. “What does she know, this girl no one has ever heard of?”

  Cruz spoke up. “She’s the girlfriend of one of Clark’s band members, a Clay . . .” She ran her finger down the report in front of her, “Conley.”

  Senora Mari slammed her hand on the wooden seat. “Lots of folks say that and don’t mean it. I say it at least twice a day.” She pointed to her chest. “Am I a murderer?”

  Gretchen dropped her notepad into her briefcase. “It’s not much in the way of evidence, but it’s enough to prosecute when there’s pressure from higher up.”

  “From whom? Cogburn?” I asked.

  “Wallace, I bet.” Senora Mari poked me in the shoulder with a bony finger.

  “My guess would be the mayor’s office, but I don’t know enough to form an educated guess.” Cruz squared her shoulders. “And that’s what I have for a hundred dollars.”

  “Oh,” Senora Mari and I said in unison.

  “Unless you have decided you want me to take the case.”

  I caught Senora Mari’s eye and raised a brow. She lifted a shoulder. We nodded in agreement.

  “How much?” Senora Mari asked.

  I placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll pay it.” We had no room to barter, but somehow I’d find the money to rescue Patti Perez, Goth Princess and best friend.

  * * *

  After dropping Senora Mari off at Milagro, I jumped into the shower and forced myself to relax. The hot spray drove out the panic, allowing me to formulate a plan. I’d drive around town until I spotted Lightfoot. Once we were alone, I’d plead for more information on Patti’s case. If that didn’t work, I’d pry it out of him with a crowbar. Metaphorically speaking.

  I found him outside the local Laundromat, settling a dispute between an old, wizened gent and a young teen or preteen—it was hard to know for sure. The young preteen turned out to be the diminutive Lily, one of our bus girls.

  “He says I broke his machine and stole twenty dollars in free washing.”

  “What happened?”

  “The crappy machine was already broken.”

  Lightfoot was standing in the doorway with the owner, nodding occasionally as the man gave his side with wild gestures toward Lily.

  The deputy called Lily over. The three of them discussed it. Lightfoot had her turn out her pockets. The old man began to yell. Finally, he sent them both on their way.

  “She’s banned for life,” the old man yelled after her.

  “Old goat,” she muttered between her teeth.

  I placed an arm on her shoulder. I wouldn’t stake my life on the fact she was telling the truth, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Her scruffy appearance made her appear more than ready to steal if the opportunity arose to support her family. Her brother Anthony would have her head if he found out. As he functioned in lieu of parents, Anthony was strict with his younger brother and sisters.

  “You okay?”

  “Our laundry’s in that flea hole.”

  She followed me over to where Lightfoot stood next to his sheriff’s cruiser, writing a report.

  “Hello again,” I said.
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  Perhaps it was the angle of the sun, but the deputy’s countenance was different from earlier in the day. In his gaze I discovered a camaraderie and respect between equals. For the first time, I stared into his dark, fathomless eyes and believed that he would do his utmost to free Patti. Could it be that Lightfoot was sentimental?

  “Lily needs to retrieve her clothes from inside,” I said with a nod toward the Laundromat.

  “Dale,” he hollered in a loud voice, “the gal needs her laundry.” I wanted to laugh. Not once in the few months since I’d met the taciturn deputy had I heard him raise his voice.

  The old man spat on the asphalt and nodded his head. “Then she better git in there and git it, han’t she?”

  As Lily ran off to gather her things, I started in on Lightfoot. “I can’t believe you’d listen to some woman named Britney.”

  “I see Patti’s lawyer filled you in.”

  “She told us the evidence against her is circumstantial.”

  He checked the screen of his phone and returned it to his belt. “True.”

  “Why’d you arrest her? And don’t tell me you’re not in charge.”

  He glanced at the Laundromat’s windows and motioned for me to follow. We stopped at the far side of his cruiser. “Cogburn’s gunning for a quick arrest and sentencing.”

  “Why?”

  A frown line appeared above his winglike brows. “Tourists don’t want to visit a town where they stand a chance of getting killed.”

  “Shoot. You know tourists are safe in this town—safer than in their beds at home.”

  “He’s trying to get the independent chili-contest folks to hold a competition here next year.”

  “And they care about two murders in one year?”

  “What do I know?” Lightfoot kicked a rock across the parking lot with the side of his boot. “And there’s something about the Texas Artists’ Guild wanting to visit to evaluate whether or not to hold their annual art show at the university.”

  “I hate to sound stupid, but why would they choose Broken Boot?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Let’s see. Maybe the beauty of the land and the national park? Or maybe West Texas University?”

  The scenery in Big Bend County was without compare, but last I heard, we had more cattle in the area than students at the university. “Again, why would they care?”

  “Seems the artists’ guild has already called about the murder. They are asking lots of questions that lead Mayor Cogburn to think we’ve lost our shine.”

  If Lightfoot would simply throw me a bone, he could go off and do his investigative thing and I would do mine behind his back. “Have you guys discovered any leads so far? Any clues to speak of?”

  “Don’t forget Deputy Pleasant.”

  “Excuse me. Guys and gal.”

  With a thumb and index finger, he carefully tipped his hat back from his forehead. “The pieces are beginning to fall into place.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say the good deputy was stretching the truth by a city block.

  “Have you questioned the neighbors?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Uh-huh. You didn’t question all of them, did you?”

  “Three out of four.”

  “Well, let’s go question number four.”

  “Why don’t you leave it to us professionals and go home and help your dog write his blog or something?”

  I beamed. “You read Lenny’s blog?”

  “I’ve read it a time or two.” He turned away abruptly to watch Lily exit the Laundromat with an overfull black trash bag thrown over her narrow shoulders. “Need some help?” he called.

  “Do I look like an invalid to you, Officer?” Lily spat.

  “No, ma’am.” Lightfoot tipped his hat.

  “Bye, girlfriend,” I called after her.

  Without dropping a hand from her makeshift laundry bag, she gave me a thumbs-up and a wink. One thing Lily didn’t appreciate was charity. She would rather help her brother support their younger brother and sister than take a handout, or a hand with anything she was strong enough to manage on her own.

  I plastered on a smile. “Hey, why don’t you let me go with you? I’d be an awesome resource, like that writer on that television show.”

  He started for his cruiser. “You aren’t a famous crime novelist, and I’m not a detective.”

  With a skip and a gallop, I caught up to him as he opened his door. “Please. For Patti?”

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to break the rules, willy-nilly, just because you want to ride along.”

  Instead of being offended, I had the sudden urge to laugh. Willy-nilly sounded odd coming out of his mouth.

  “Fine. When are you going to question Patti’s other neighbor?”

  Without answering, he slid into his seat and raised his hand to close the door. “After I head on over to Two Boots to question all the members of Clark’s band I can dig up.”

  While I argued with myself about whether or not I should share my information with him, he shut the cruiser’s door and started the engine. I knocked on the window until he lowered it. “I’ve interviewed two of them.”

  “Two what?” he asked, his mouth twisting in derision.

  I swallowed back my nerves. “Members of Clark’s road crew.” I watched in silence as his jaw clenched and unclenched. “I would share with you what they told me in confidence, and then you and I could go together to interview Patti’s neighbor.”

  Without prying his lips open, it was hard to be sure, but I could have sworn he was grinding his teeth.

  I smiled at him, making sure to give him a dimple.

  Like a mirage in the desert, his gaze was empty, and then something magical appeared, something that made me think he had finally come to his senses. He leaned in, real slowlike, gestured for me to move closer, and eased his mouth close to my ear.

  My shoulders tensed at the smell of pine air freshener and spaghetti. The hair on the back of my neck jumped to attention.

  “Hell, no,” he whispered.

  I backed away, madder than a turkey on Thanksgiving. “You just wait. You’ll be begging me for information.”

  He chuckled, but it contained no humor. “You stay out of my investigation.” Giving me a dead-eyed stare, he demanded, “Am I clear?”

  * * *

  After he drove away, I pondered how long it would take him to drive to Two Boots, find Wilhelmina and Heather, and piece together what information they had given me. An hour, maybe less. What if he couldn’t find them? Then again, what if there was no one at Two Boots to interview? He might head over to Patti’s neighborhood in fifteen minutes or less.

  I promptly drove over to Patti’s house. I didn’t think the good Lord would mind as long as I stayed out of the crime scene and the path of the sheriff and his deputies.

  The Big Bend County Sheriff’s Department had successfully covered the porch in crime-scene tape from floor to ceiling. But as no cops were around, I parked in the driveway.

  As I didn’t know exactly who Lightfoot had spoken to, I started with the houses on either side. I knocked on the door of a white split-level ranch, decked out in sky blue shutters with a front door to match. The front flower beds boasted white azaleas, which went a great deal in the direction of softening the strange shade of blue. A woman in a Cowboys football jersey, which could’ve been worn as a dress, it was so long, answered the door while jogging in place.

  “Yes?” Several dark wavy strands had escaped her ponytail, which was coming undone. Sweaty tendrils of hair stuck to either side of her face.

  “Hi. I work for the Bugle.”

  “I know who you are. You’re Josie Callahan.” She continued to jog in place, but managed at the same time to look me over with blatant curiosity. “Where’s Toto?”

  “Yes, wel
l.” I swallowed a bit of nerves. “I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about the night of the murder.”

  “Listen, I don’t mind answering your questions, same as that deputy, but you’re going to have to ask while I continue my workout. It won’t stay on pause forever.” She turned and jogged down the hall.

  I followed, happy to find someone willing to allow me to snoop to my heart’s content. I found her in the great room that adjoined a state-of-the-art kitchen. On a giant-screen TV played a martial-arts workout video that she was just restarting. The instructor’s voice blared through her giant speakers before she hit the Mute button.

  “Go ahead, ask away,” she shouted, as she followed the instructor in a series of kicks and punches.

  “Were you home Thursday night?”

  “I went to the grocery store for eggs about six o’clock.” She paused to spin and aim a kick at the screen. “But I was home after that.”

  “Eggs?”

  “Omelets.” She didn’t look at me as she answered.

  “Did you hear or see anything next door?”

  The instructor on the screen took a drink of water and she followed suit. I realized I didn’t know her name. Even though Romo was on the back of her jersey, something told me that she and the famous quarterback weren’t related.

  “I heard Patti’s jeep drive up around midnight.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I heard two doors slam.”

  “Two?”

  “Yeah. She always slams the door to her jeep when she gets home. I remember there were two doors that slammed that night, so I figured she finally had a date.”

  This made no sense to me. “If she had a date, wouldn’t she be riding in someone else’s vehicle?”

  “Not necessarily. Her jeep’s a nice one.” More huffing and puffing. “She purchased it after her parents died, out of her inheritance, I imagine.”

  “Did you see them?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Not even a glimpse out of curiosity?”

  Even though the instructor began to kick and punch at a faster pace, my hostess stopped again to drink water from her water bottle and wipe the sweat from her brow with a dish towel. “I saw the back of his head.”