Wild Wild Death

by Casey Daniels

  “Maybe.” Jesse’s arms were crossed over his chest. He slid me a look. “Maybe not. Either way, it would be irresponsible of them not to follow a lead.” Since one of the deputies was bustling past, Jesse’s voice was just as low as mine. He stepped forward so that the deputy could sidle through, then stepped back the other way so another deputy with a case full of fingerprint powder and brushes could get past us. Whoever said three was a crowd must have been thinking of Norma’s house.

  And I guess Jesse was, too. He looked toward the kitchen and the backyard beyond. “Maybe you should—”

  “Go wait outside?” I wasn’t exactly as upset about this dismissal as I tried to sound. It wasn’t terribly cheery in there. Especially when I thought about how Norma had been murdered there in her own home and how now the cops were hell-bent on trying to pin the whole thing on Dan. “I’ll wait out back,” I told Jesse. “Only you’d better hope while I’m out there, no one hits me over the head and knocks me out.”

  I decided to believe that the sleek smile that was his only response meant he didn’t want me to get hit over the head, either, and I meandered through the deputies in the living room and walked into the kitchen. That’s when Norma’s bulletin board caught my eye.

  It was one of those French boards, the kind that are covered with fabric and crisscrossed with ribbons. In Norma’s case, the fabric was a tropical print complete with pink flamingos and fiery sunsets, and the ribbons were yellow, orange, and lime green. It wasn’t the colors that caught my eye, though.

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear and closed in on the board. There was a recipe for sloppy joes attached to one of the orange ribbons, and a coupon for some off-brand laundry detergent attached to one of the yellow ones. Small, everyday things, and in light of what had ultimately happened to Norma, strangely moving. Rather than get all slushy about it, I looked at what was hanging on to one of the lime ribbons.

  A photograph. Or at least all that was left of a photograph. Most of the picture had been ripped away, leaving only one corner that was hardly big enough to reveal why Norma prized it. I bent closer for a better look and made out one little sliver of sky with something brown silhouetted against it that might have been a rock. Or a distant mountain. Or a bowl of chocolate pudding.

  No way to tell where the photo was taken or what—or who—might have been in the center of it. No matter. That wasn’t what made my detective instincts tingle. No, that was taken care of by the paperclip that had been used to attach the picture to the ribbon. The one bent into a weird, drunken figure eight.

  Exactly like one I’d seen before.

  “Hey, Jesse.” He was just walking past the door so it wasn’t hard to get his attention. But just to make sure, I grabbed on to Jesse’s arm and tugged him into the kitchen. “Look.” I pointed to the bulletin board and the scrap of photograph. “Brian was here. This proves it. And it proves he had a relationship with Norma, too.”

  Of course he didn’t follow my logic, so I explained. About the first night I came to Antonito, and the aliens over at Taberna. About the one alien mask that had been held together by a weird, twisty paperclip.

  When he still didn’t look convinced, I stepped back, my weight against one foot. “Come on. You have to admit, it’s a good catch.”

  “It’s a great observation. You’ve got a good eye. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Of course it does. Brian was the one wearing that alien mask. It had to be him. You said it yourself, Brian was obviously the spokesperson for the group.” Too late, I remembered it wasn’t Jesse who’d said that at all, it was Quinn. No matter. It’s exactly what Jesse would have said if he’d been part of the conversation. Cop brotherhood and all that.

  As if proving the point, Jesse launched into the same lecture I knew Quinn would have given me if he’d been there. “Even if it’s true that Brian was wearing the mask that day—and there’s no way to prove it, of course—all the paperclip tells us is that Brian was here.”

  Since that was my whole point, I perked right up.

  Until Jesse shot my theory to the ground with, “Or that Brian gave Norma a paperclip. Or that Norma once saw Brian bend a paperclip a certain way and she liked the way he did it so when she needed to bend a paperclip, she did the same thing. See what I’m getting at here? No way this kind of evidence stands up in court.”

  “But—”

  “Like I said, great observation.” Something told me if he thought he could get away with it, he would have given me a pat on the head. Big points for him for knowing he couldn’t get away with it. “So weren’t you on your way—”

  “Hey, Chief!” The sheriff stuck his head into the kitchen. “Got that call from the crime-lab guys in Albuquerque.” Shaking his head, he tucked his cell into his pocket. “You’re not going to believe this. They finished up examining the evidence, you know, from Norma’s murder. Turns out they found some skin under her fingernails. You know, like maybe she fought with her attacker. They ran it through a database and it’s Brian Reynolds’s DNA, all right.”

  “That proves it.” It wasn’t polite to gloat, but let’s face it, I had every right. I did restrain myself, though, and didn’t give Jesse a boff on the arm. Not in front of his fellow cops. “It’s just like I said. Brian must have been the killer.”

  “A killer without a rap sheet.” Jesse wasn’t convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”

  Whatever Jesse was going to ask, the sheriff apparently had the same questions for the guys in Albuquerque. He was ready with the answers and nodded knowingly. “Turns out Reynolds was down in Daytona Beach, Florida, back in 2008. There was a serial killer on the loose down there, and the police were taking DNA swabs from everybody they detained. Reynolds wasn’t their guy, of course. In fact, he was picked up for nothing more than a drunk and disorderly after some spring training baseball game, and they never did charge him. But since the cops were swabbing everyone, they swabbed him.”

  “He’s our killer.” Yes, I sounded thrilled, as thrilled as I suddenly felt. And relieved, to boot. Maybe now Jesse would stop looking to prove that Dan was somehow implicated in this crazy business. “All we have to do—”

  “Is get our hands on him.” Jesse sounded certain, but not particularly pleased at the prospect. And the deputies never stopped doing what they were doing, which told me that though they knew they had a solid suspect in Norma’s murder, they weren’t completely convinced Dan wasn’t involved.

  “Humph.” That was me, grumbling as I turned to push open the back door with one shoulder so as not to leave any fingerprints. I walked outside, and from where I stood, I had a clear view of the cemetery next door, and I ambled over that way. “Boy, Goodshot, I could sure use some help.” I waited for an answer. Or a little twinkle of light. Or anything that might prove that some of the old magic was still at work, and when I didn’t get it, I grumbled on. “They think Dan is involved. And they know Brian is for sure, only they don’t know where Brian is, and if you were around, I could send you out on a sort of scouting party and maybe you could locate him for me. Then Brian could admit the whole thing. You know, about kidnapping Dan and about the excavation at the pueblo…” A shiver scooted over my shoulders and I shook it away.

  “Okay,” I said to the thin air around me, “so I don’t understand what the excavation has to do with Brian and it does sound like Dan was the mastermind there and I don’t know how the whole thing can be connected, but still…”

  I was getting no answers from the dead, so I kicked my way through the dust over to the lopsided building behind Norma’s house. Too small to be a garage. Too big to be a toolshed. My guess was that she used it for storage and I had no doubt the cops had been through it the first time they came to the house to investigate Norma’s murder.

  “You know, Goodshot…” Too antsy to stand still, I kicked the toe of one boot against the door of the shed. “They’re being pigheaded about this. Even Jesse. I’m sure they’ll
look for Brian. I mean, now that they’ve got his DNA and all. But I think at this point, Jesse’s more worried about what happened over at that old pueblo than he is about Norma. I guess that’s his job.” I sighed. “Norma’s murder is the sheriff’s problem, but still…”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see if anything was happening in the house—anything that didn’t look like a Dan Callahan witchhunt, that is—and when there wasn’t, I made up my mind. The motel wasn’t far away, and my car was parked there.

  “If they’re not going to start right now and look for Brian…” I said into ghost-less silence.

  “Then you know what? I’ll just find him myself.”

  Just to show I meant it, I gave the shed door another kick.

  And I guess that did the trick.

  Because the shed door plopped open and I found what I was looking for when Brian’s body dropped into the dirt at my feet.

  I’m beyond screaming when I find a body. I mean, really, been there, done that. But I’m human, after all, and I do have a certain sensitivity when it comes to things like bloated flesh and bulging eyes and gaping, bloody wounds.

  I might have shrieked. A little.

  Like anyone can blame me?

  The result, of course, was that everyone who was in the house came running, and ten minutes or so later, they were engrossed with this new turn of events. For my part, I think it’s safe to say that I was just grossed out.

  “How you doing?” I was standing at the wooden fence (badly in need of painting) between Norma’s property and the cemetery when Jesse came over. “If you need to go back to your motel—”

  I cut him off with a quick shake of my head. “Not the first time,” I confided. “Hope it’s the last.”

  He followed my gaze over to where the deputies were emptying Brian’s pockets and searching the area around his body. “Every time, we hope it’s the last time. But finding that body…” He swung his gaze back to me. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

  “But Brian, he’s dead and—”

  “And you were out here trying to communicate with Spirit.” If it were me, I would have taken credit for a little hocus-pocus mind reading. The flush that darkened Jesse’s cheeks told me that as much fun as that would be, he was more honest than that. “Norma’s house isn’t all that well insulated,” he said. “I don’t think anyone else was paying much attention, but I heard every word, loud and clear. Did you get an answer?”

  Another shake of my head.

  “So my question stands. Damn, Pepper, it’s such an awesome ability. To be chosen by Spirit for such important work…” He tipped his head back, obviously considering my Gift with far more reverence than I ever had. But then, he wasn’t the one who’d spent the last few years dealing with annoying people of the not-so-alive persuasion. “Now that it’s gone… I mean, your whole life has changed. How does that make you feel?”

  I shrugged, then remembered this was the man who that morning—it seemed a hundred years ago—had confessed that he was jealous because he didn’t know me as well as Quinn did. Well, if he wanted the whole package, this went with the territory.

  “I was happy the other night when I first found out. Today…” I looked toward the cemetery. There wasn’t even a hint of a supernatural sparkle there. Not for me. “I sure could use Goodshot’s help,” I admitted. “And…” I don’t know why I bothered to lower my voice since it seemed obvious nobody on the Other Side could hear me. “I actually kind of miss him. He was a great guy.”

  “Taopi.” Jesse nodded like the fact that Goodshot was great and the fact that he was a Pueblo Indian were one and the same. For all I knew, they were. “Maybe you can get your Gift back.”

  This time, my shrug wasn’t as helpless as it was unsure. “I’m not sure I want it back. I mean, a life without ghosts…” I drew in a deep breath of sage-scrubbed air. “No more trouble, no more hauntings, no more investigations. At least that’s what I told myself when I first realized I couldn’t see the ghosts anymore. But I’m still investigating, huh? I guess I just wish—”

  Even though it was my wish, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, so I was glad one of the deputies came scrambling up. “Sheriff wants you to see this,” he told Jesse. “Dead guy’s got a thousand bucks in his pocket. Cash. And this.” He handed Jesse one of those plastic evidence bags with a scrap of paper inside it.

  Jesse took a close look, and I did, too.

  “Phone number,” Jesse said. “We’ll have to check it out.”

  And I knew they would, too. And that it wouldn’t take them long to find out who the phone number belonged to. Which is, honestly, the reason I kept my mouth shut. I mean, besides that, Jesse never asked if I recognized the phone number so, technically, I wasn’t obligated to tell.

  “I think you’re right,” I said, pushing away from the fence and heading out to the street. “I am going to go back to the motel for a while and rest. Finding a dead body…” I looked over to where Brian lay in the dust, daring Jesse to tell me I shouldn’t be upset. “I’m going to…” I poked a thumb over my shoulder. “I dunno. A shower and a nap maybe.”

  “I’ll call you,” Jesse said, and he headed over to help out the other cops.

  Just as well. It would keep him busy, and right now, I needed him busy for a little while.

  At least until I could figure out what Brian was doing with Dan’s cell phone number in his pocket.

  Charming bistro tables and chairs. Terra cotta–tiled floor. Pots overflowing with flowers in every shade of a New Mexico sunset.

  Ah, signs of the good life!

  All set to step onto the outdoor patio of the Taos Inn, I paused, pulled in a deep breath fragranced with salsa and limes, and smiled the smile of a person too long relegated to dry desert air, dust—and murder.

  Soft music playing in the background, the purr of voices out on the sidewalk just on the other side of the iron fence that surrounded the patio, the artistic vibe of Taos with its galleries, shops, and boutiques… after all I’d been through since I arrived in the Great Southwest, this was exactly what I needed, a real city with people and elegant hotels. Oh yes, and running water, too.

  For a moment, I stood in the sunshine, drinking in the warmth and the atmosphere, enjoying what felt like a moment in the spotlight.

  I was so ready for it! Yes, I was a tad overdressed for a weekday evening. No matter. There is, after all, no value that can be placed on self-confidence, and in my good jeans, sandals with five-inch heels, and a spaghetti-strap lace cami the color of a blush, I not only felt on top of the world, I looked good, too.

  And later that night when we got back together, I was counting on Jesse noticing.

  For now, I had other things on my mind. I snared the nearest waitress, ordered one of the Cowboy Buddha margaritas I’d heard the inn was famous for, and made my way over to a table by the fence where Caridad Valenzuela was waiting for me.

  In a lemon-colored tunic top, she looked like a pretty little canary. She apparently ate like one, too. Even as I gratefully accepted my margarita and ordered nachos with the works, I watched Cardidad pick at a plate of orange slices.

  “We’ve got a problem,” I said, but not until after I took a sip of margarita and sank back in my chair, quenched and satisfied. “How does Dan know Brian?”

  “This Brian, he is the one the police have asked about, isn’t he?” Her voice was husky, and when Caridad looked up at me, I saw that her big brown eyes were rimmed with gray. This was not a smoky-eyed fashion statement, but a testament to sleepless nights. Though she tried to cover it with foundation, her nose was red, too. Her trembling hands? That was something she couldn’t disguise. They fluttered over the orange pieces. “I am so…” She pulled her hands onto her lap. “I am confused.”

  “You and me both.” Another sip of margarita and maybe I couldn’t feel the confusion clear completely, but I could at least imagine there must be an answer to all this craziness. “Truth is, I think the cops a
re, too. You know what that means, don’t you? If we don’t help Dan, nobody will.”

  I hadn’t meant to get the waterworks going again, but then, I guess a woman whose husband is facing as many serious questions as Dan was could hardly help herself. She sniffed delicately and plucked a tissue from her purse. Like a heroine in some old, mushy movie, she dabbed it to her eyes.

  “You are a good friend to Dan. When I see him again…” The words caught in her throat and she coughed, and took a sip of water. “He told me. How in Chicago, he thought he was making love to you. How Madeline, she ruined this for the two of you.” Caridad reached across the table and patted my hand. “I am embarrassing you. I am so sorry.”

  “Not embarrassed. Honest.” It was true so it was no big deal admitting it. “Dan and I…” Since there was no easy way to explain, I simply shrugged and took another sip of my drink, and when my nachos were delivered—glorious, steaming, and cheesy—I offered some to Caridad. She refused, so I got to work on them myself. I scooped up cheese and salsa with one perfect chip.

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” I said, “And it’s not like I’m brokenhearted about it or anything. I’m glad Dan and I are still friends. Only, I’ve got to ask, when he told you about me and Madeline’s ghost and all…” Another bite of nacho gave me the strength to go on. “Didn’t you think—”

  “He was crazy to be talking so of ghosts? Oh, yes!” Caridad threw back her head and laughed, and I’d bet anything it was the first time she’d allowed herself to let go and relax since that day on Wind Mountain when Jesse and the elders closed the excavation and Caridad’s world came crashing down around her. “But he is Dan. And Dan is…” It didn’t take her long to find the words. “Dan is honest and genuine and so serious when it comes to his investigations. It was not long after we met that he trusted me enough to confide this information about Madeline and how her spirit occupied your body.”

  “And you believed him.”