Sheikh Surrender

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Mrs. Welford nodded. “He’s so friendly, you don’t mind having him around.”

  “I must talk with him.” With a smile that he hoped didn’t betray his impatience, Zahad rose from the depths of his cushioned chair. “Perhaps he has observed something useful.”

  “He’d have been at work on Monday, when this terrible thing happened,” she said, getting up at the same time. “Although I don’t think he leaves until after nine. Maybe he passed someone suspicious on the road.”

  An elementary-school principal probably departed earlier, Zahad thought. Ray would have had time to do his dirty work after Jenny left. He’d had the means and the opportunity. Only the motive remained unclear.

  After thanking his hostess, Zahad made his escape. Outside, he sucked in the cold, clear air.

  From atop the small rise upon which Mrs. Welford’s home was situated, he took in the lay of the land. Mountain peaks rose to the north, emphasizing the alpine quality of Jenny’s neighborhood.

  Straight across the street lay Ray and Ellen’s modest house. There was a carport directly across the driveway and a garage on the far side of the house. The garage faced a rock retaining wall about three feet high.

  Farther up the driveway stood a second home. Dolly’s, obviously. An irregular line of snow-dusted greenery and rising terrain connected her property with Jenny’s.

  A man of peace might find it difficult to believe that Fario had been slain in such a picturesque setting. But having seen sunbaked villages smashed by tanks and colorful city markets dynamited, Zahad knew the swiftness and ruthlessness of death.

  Once he had taken stock of his surroundings, he descended to the street. Several times he slipped in the snow and, although he avoided a fall, his shoes and pant cuffs became soaked. Zahad made a mental note to buy winter clothing.

  He followed Dolly’s driveway uphill. In the window of the first house, a little girl with light brown hair held her teddy bear to the glass. They both swiveled solemnly to watch Zahad go by.

  He stopped outside the open garage, which was only wide enough for a single vehicle. It housed a classic car with shiny paint and a restored bumper. The occasional clanking noise from within drew his attention.

  “Mr. Rivas?” Zahad called.

  “You bet!”

  The brown-haired man who ducked around the car had a typical American openness to his expression. Only slightly below Zahad’s height, he had the kind of pudgy physique that bears testimony to too many pints, most likely consumed in front of televised rugby matches. Make that cans of beer and football, he reminded himself.

  “Hey, you must be that sheikh fella my wife mentioned.” Ray wiped his hand on a rag and stuck it out. “Sorry about your brother. That’s a real shame.”

  His grip was firm and scented with motor oil. It occurred to Zahad that he might be shaking hands with Fario’s killer. Before anger sharpened his tongue, however, he reminded himself that if Ray Rivas was innocent, he could be useful. He’d probably visited most of the neighbors’ houses and ought to know who was fixated on Jenny.

  “As you may have heard, I am making a few inquiries,” Zahad said.

  “Inquire away,” the fellow replied cheerfully.

  “Did you see anything suspicious on Monday morning?” It was a relief to get right to the point. With Mrs. Welford, he’d tried to behave more sociably.

  “Afraid not. I already told the police everything, not that there was much to tell. But I’ve got my theories.”

  “Theories?” Zahad asked.

  “You know, about Jenny. I mean, she’s such a babe,” Ray told him. “All the guys notice her but the one that might be motivated to go off the deep end is her ex-husband. I watch cop shows and the criminal is almost always somebody like that.”

  “I see.” To forestall any more unhelpful guesses, Zahad said, “Do you know why the lady who was carjacked dislikes her?”

  “You bet!” He put one foot up on the bumper. “Tish is just plain jealous. One time her husband said right in front of her that she looks a little like Jenny but Jenny’s more glamorous. How’s that for a poke in the eye?”

  “Is her husband after Jenny?”

  “I don’t think so.” Ray grinned. “Hey, we all like to look at the scenery and Jenny’s easy on the eyes. But that’s as far as it goes.”

  “What about Parker Finley? Does he like to inspect the scenery?”

  “Sure, and he’s single. But would he set Jenny up and harass her? And then fix a gun to kill whoever walked through the door? Man, I don’t see it. Whoever did this has to be crazy.”

  “Have you met a teacher named Lew Blackwell?” Zahad might as well run through his list of suspects. “He loaned Jenny his cabin.”

  “Naw. My daughter doesn’t start kindergarten till next year, so I’m not up on the teachers. I mean, none of it makes sense. Jenny gets along with everybody. Heck, we all get along.”

  Perhaps a bit too well. Dolly, for example, had a key to Jenny’s house and, apparently, a finger in everybody’s pie. Taking an oblique shot, Zahad said, “It can’t be easy living next door to your mother-in-law.”

  “Aw, she’s the salt of the earth,” Ray replied. “You wouldn’t believe how patient she is with Bill. He’s getting senile and he’s got some kind of muscle disease, too. He’s so tightfisted he goes over their credit-card slips with a fine-tooth comb. She says he’s always been that way. If you ask me, she should have stayed married to her second husband. He won the Florida lottery.”

  “So I heard.” The topic seemed to fascinate the neighbors.

  “You know what? You ought to stick around and protect Jenny. I hate to think about her and Beth being at that house by themselves.”

  “You wish me to remain here?” Ray had surprised him, after all. It began to seem less likely that he was the killer.

  “Sure.” The man scratched his scalp through his short, light brown hair. “The women around here might stop giving Jenny the evil eye and the men could quit tripping over their tongues. Maybe you’ll even catch the guy who did it. You seem like the watchful type, if you know what I mean.”

  He couldn’t resist mimicking the man’s phrasing. “You bet.”

  They shook hands.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have one of my cards on me,” Ray added. “I saw you at the bank the other day. I’d be glad to assist you any way I can.”

  “Thank you.” Embarrassed to have been caught spying and finding it hard to believe Ray was as guileless as he seemed, Zahad gave him a nod and headed for Jenny’s house.

  He could feel ice crystals forming in his socks. Time to take himself indoors.

  JENNY WAS GLAD she’d turned up the heater when she saw how pale Zahad looked. If she’d needed further proof that he was chilled, it came when he accepted her offer of a pair of oversize sport socks.

  “You can borrow my SUV and run into town if you’d like to change into some of your warmer stuff.” She’d straightened the house but still wanted to wash the dishes and pots from the cabinets.

  “I fear I have no warmer stuff,” Zahad replied, his innate dignity unmarred even by the clunky socks. “Also, perhaps I should rent a more suitable vehicle.”

  “You can buy chains at the hardware store.” When he didn’t respond, Jenny explained, “You wrap them around the tires to get traction in the snow.”

  “Ingenious,” he said.

  From outside came the grumble of a car in the driveway. Zahad grimaced. “I suppose I should put on my shoes in case I have to perform kung fu.”

  “You know kung fu?”

  “I learned a variation in military camp.”

  She glanced through the window. “Don’t bother. It’s Parker.”

  “He will not be pleased to see me.” Zahad’s mouth twisted.

  “He’ll love the socks.” Jenny went to the door.

  When she opened it, the detective was stamping his boots on the mat. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right. After you told me that sheikh w
as hanging around, I got—” He stopped, having spotted Zahad.

  “As you can see, I am still hanging around.” Her guest lounged on the couch with his sock-clad feet prominently displayed.

  Parker grimaced. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  Jenny raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. “Language, please.”

  “Sorry,” the detective muttered. “No, I’m not sorry. I found out a few things about you, Mr. Adran.”

  “I have a lengthy résumé. Which part has aroused your interest?”

  “The part where you were a suspect in a murder-kidnap in Orange County about three years ago.”

  Jenny’s heart flipped into her throat. Zahad certainly hadn’t mentioned that.

  “Please note the use of the past tense,” the sheikh told her. “I am no longer a suspect. The case was solved and my name cleared.”

  “I talked to a detective down there.” The officer braced himself with his feet apart. “He says you may have pulled off a few things they never nailed you for, like breaking and entering.”

  To Jenny, Zahad said, “My cousin Sharif had a son by a surrogate mother in Orange County. She was murdered and I assisted him in recovering the boy and identifying the perpetrator.”

  “There was another woman involved,” Parker warned. “The victim’s sister.”

  “Her name is Holly and she is now Sharif’s wife,” Zahad replied. “In addition to Ben, they have a one-year-old daughter and another baby on the way.” He didn’t mention the breaking and entering, Jenny noticed. But in the course of rescuing a child and catching a killer, something like that seemed minor.

  “Well?” she said to Parker. “It sounds as if he was more of a hero than a villain.”

  The man looked as if he’d bitten into something nasty. “It’s a bad idea for people to take the law into their own hands. Innocent people get hurt that way.”

  “So do guilty ones,” the sheikh countered. “You know, Sergeant, your suspicions of me lack logic.”

  “How so?”

  “If I had arranged to kill my brother, why would I come here and risk arrest? You would have had a devil of a time extraditing me from Alqedar.”

  “Criminals return to the scene of the crime. And here you are.”

  Parker had a point, Jenny reflected reluctantly.

  The sheikh didn’t rise to the bait. “Speaking of criminals, do you see a connection to the carjackings?”

  “Unlikely,” Parker said. “They’ve all taken place near the ski lodge on the far side of town. We think it’s an L.A. gang targeting women, taking their cars and purses, probably shipping the cars down to Mexico or selling them to a chop shop.”

  “If they’re from L.A., why come here?” Jenny queried. It was a two-hour drive.

  “Easy pickings. People are more trusting, plus we don’t have the resources of an urban police force.”

  “How many robbery-homicide officers are there in Mountain Lake?” Zahad asked.

  “Two,” Parker replied. “And usually we’re so under-utilized we help out with burglaries. Right now, we’re a bit overworked, but that doesn’t mean we need help.”

  “I commend you,” the sheikh said. “But clearly you do not have time to guard Mrs. Sanger. That is why she has invited me to stay with her until my brother’s body is released.”

  I did not! The protest never made it to Jenny’s lips, probably because she dreaded remaining here alone. Besides, she didn’t want to embarrass Zahad by contradicting him in front of Parker. Instead, she said simply, “Mr. Adran is a trained security officer.”

  “He’s a trained killer,” Parker retorted.

  “A revolutionary,” Zahad corrected. “One who must adapt to living in civilized society. I admit my manners have rough edges, but who better than a school principal to give me pointers?”

  The situation did not call for humor, yet his cheekiness lifted Jenny’s spirits. As if the sheikh would accept lessons in comportment from her!

  The detective frowned. “I’ll check with the medical examiner and see what’s holding up your brother’s release. Usually he finishes his work within forty-eight hours.”

  “He mentioned incomplete ancillary studies,” the sheikh said.

  “What kind of studies? Your brother died from a bullet wound.” Jenny had assumed the cause of death was obvious.

  “The M.E. has to make sure there isn’t something else going on,” Parker told her.

  “This is a high-profile case,” Zahad added. “No doubt the coroner wishes to avoid mistakes.”

  “By the way, your stepmother was pretty steamed when she called,” the detective said. “I gather autopsies violate your customs. But our law requires them in a homicide.”

  Zahad inclined his head in agreement. He held his silence until Parker, realizing the conversation was over, excused himself and left. Jenny purposely hung back as he went out, to avoid giving him a chance to lecture her again about the sheikh.

  One way or the other, she’d given her guest permission to stay. She turned to face him. “Well, what happens now?”

  He arose fluidly. “I must go into town for supplies. Thank you for the loan of your vehicle. I will purchase chains.”

  Jenny hesitated only a moment before making a further decision. “I’d better give you a house key, too, and the alarm code.”

  “I know the alarm code.”

  So he had memorized it the other day. “I changed it.”

  A fleeting smile marked his approval. “Very wise. People rarely change their codes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have sometimes found their carelessness useful.”

  Jenny could see why the police in Orange County hadn’t caught him breaking and entering. Well, he wasn’t going to have to break into her house. Whatever happened now, she would have no one to blame but herself.

  IN TOWN, Zahad found that the main roads had been cleared and the stores were open. He was surprised by how many vehicles filled the streets and parking spaces, most of them bearing license frames with the names of other counties. Apparently skiers had arrived en masse to take advantage of the fresh powder.

  He ate a late lunch at a café, after which he bought boots, a brown suede coat and groceries. At the hardware store, he purchased a set of chains to fit his rental car and a combination lock for Jenny’s toolshed.

  Before checking out of the motel, he hooked up his laptop and reviewed his e-mail. There was a message from Sharif, promising to do his best as an advocate, and another from Amy.

  In a style sounding like her speech, she wrote:

  I’ve been nosing around. Listen to this! Hashim flew to London about two weeks ago. Supposedly he was partying hearty, but nobody knows the details. It isn’t even clear exactly when he got back. I’m looking into it. For all I know, he could have flown from London to California without anyone noticing. Will send more info when I have it.

  Zahad wrote back with his list of suspects.

  Please advise Numa, if she will listen to you without screaming, that I am doing my best to avenge Fario’s death. She would do well to trust me.

  He did not, of course, mention he planned to stay with the temptress herself. This would not play well in Alqedar. Thanks to cell phones and e-mail, no one needed to know his address.

  He copied the message to Sharif and added a note of thanks. Then he typed up his recollection of that morning’s interviews.

  As he transferred his suitcase and computer to the SUV, it occurred to Zahad that it would be inconvenient if anyone attempted to carjack Jenny’s vehicle at this point. He would be forced to defend it, possibly with lethal results. Sending another body to the M.E. might further delay the release of Fario’s remains.

  He took a moment to survey the busy sidewalk outside the motel for loiterers or thugs. There was no one of that description, only a steady flow of males and females who appeared almost interchangeable in colorful jackets, knitted caps and ski pants.

  From the pharmacy
next door emerged a figure oddly out of place among the physically fit masses. Thin and wiry with disheveled white hair peeking from beneath a hunting cap, the man moved with the aid of a cane. Although his coat hung unevenly, it was made of a fine herringbone tweed that matched his cap.

  “Mr. Blankenship!” A young woman ran outside, waving a bag. She had thrown a coat over her white smock. “You forgot your medicine.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve got it right here.” Grumbling, the man reached inside his coat and patted his shirt pocket. “Where the devil did it go?”

  “Here it is.” The clerk handed it to him. “Isn’t there someone who can drive you home?”

  “I may be old but I’m not senile.” He snatched the bag from her hand. “I’m taking the bus.”

  “I heard you ended up in Crystal Point last week.” The clerk hugged herself against the cold. “Why don’t you come inside while I call your wife.”

  “They changed the durn bus route, that was the problem,” the man said. “I’ll be fine.”

  This must be Dolly’s husband. Zahad had no interest in playing Good Samaritan to such a disagreeable figure, but he needed to interview each of the neighbors. Getting Mr. Blankenship alone in a car might be the only way to gain his cooperation.

  He approached, keeping one eye on his loaded vehicle. “I am driving to Mrs. Sanger’s house. I would be happy to give this gentleman a ride.”

  The clerk surveyed Zahad suspiciously. “Do you know Mrs. Sanger?”

  He realized she suspected him of being one of the Internet creeps. “Yes. I am her houseguest. My name is Sheikh Zahad Adran.”

  “Oh, wow!” Her face lit up as if she were meeting a movie star. “I’ve heard about you! I mean, I’m sorry about your brother. Bill, this nice man is going to give you a ride home.”

  “He don’t look so nice to me,” the old man growled.

  “I will ensure that he gets home safely,” Zahad told the woman.

  “Do you ever wear those robes and that head thing?” she asked.