Balloons Can Be Murder: The Ninth Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  I pushed aside at least six fast food bags and took his passenger seat. “You ought to be ready to spend an hour at the gym.” I stared pointedly at his stomach. “Getting a little gut on you there, buddy.”

  “I’ve always had a gut on me and an hour at the gym isn’t going to change that.”

  He had a point there. He quickly filled me in on Fairfield’s activities for the day (no sign of him since he’d come home from work at eight this morning), the location of his apartment (third window from the left, second floor), and his vehicle (a white Nissan that was easily ten years old) parked directly under his apartment window. I shifted back into my own vehicle and watched Ron drive away after I promised that I’d see Fairfield safely off to work at eleven tonight.

  I diligently watched the building and parking lot for a good, solid fifteen minutes to get the feel for the pace of life here, the comings and goings of the people. There wasn’t a lot going on in the middle of the afternoon and face it, I got bored pretty fast. I opened one of my bottles of spring water and pulled an apple from my stash of goodies. I’d brought the morning paper from my front porch so I decided to give the headlines a quick glance. Nothing about Rachael or her record attempt, thank goodness. Maybe Grayson had taken us seriously after all.

  A full page ad about a huge shoe sale at Mervyns had pretty well grabbed my attention when I realized that Bill Fairfield’s car was on the move. Yikes! I jammed the newspaper aside and wedged the water bottle between my thighs as I reached for the key and started the Jeep. He’d turned left out of the driveway by the time I’d managed to start rolling and was nearly a block away before I reached the street. That was fine. With little traffic at this time of day, I could easily keep an eye on him. I let two cars pass me before I entered the street and I stayed a block or so back as I watched his moves. He signaled a left onto Candelaria and a few blocks later, another left on Carlisle. When he made another left on Montgomery, I realized he was probably heading for the freeway and I closed the gap slightly. He surprised me by pulling into a gas station instead. I hung back, not wanting to be the only other person standing at the pumps while he fueled his car. A parking spot opened up beside the convenience store portion of the building and I took it.

  Fairfield got out of the Nissan and went into the store, presumably to prepay for his gas. Through the windows I saw him hand over some kind of bill and come back out. The pictures I’d seen of him didn’t really convey the essence of him at all. I knew he’d be tall, slender, with hair that was mostly gray. His face was thinner than before and there was a sadness around the eyes now. He moved with graceful smoothness. Even pumping gas, there was a fluidity of motion, a certain style. If I’d ever imagined Fred Astaire pumping his own gasoline, he might have done it like this. I could easily see how the man might have become a huge political success. The charisma was still there, despite all he’d been through.

  Careful, Charlie. The guy molested his own daughter and may have had a hand in his wife’s death. He’s spent twenty years in prison and surely is no Fred Astaire.

  He’d finished pumping his gas now and was in the process of replacing the nozzle onto its slot on the pump. I cranked my ignition and got ready to move. But when I glanced up he was walking straight toward me. His eyes met mine and he signaled for me to roll down my window. My foot hit the brake and the Jeep rocked. I slid the window down two inches.

  He ambled up casually and stopped a polite distance away.

  “I thought, since you’ve been following me, that I should introduce myself. Bill Fairfield.” His voice came out smooth as honey and the smile that followed could make female hearts feel like warm butter.

  I felt totally flummoxed. My mouth flapped a couple of times but no sound came out.

  “I figured you’d show up sometime. The chubby guy had to get tired at some point. You must be Charlie.” Again, that smile.

  “Uh, yes.” Witty, I know, but it was all that came out.

  “I know you’re private investigators and I know you’re following me because there’ve been threats against my daughter.” He reached out and rested a hand on the top of my car, but his body language was casual and not at all threatening.

  Thanks a hell of a lot, Grayson. For a banker, his sense of discretion was completely lacking.

  “Look, I understand why you’re doing this,” Fairfield continued. “I can tell you all day that I haven’t sent any threats. I didn’t do the original crime, either, but that didn’t stop the system. I paid the price. I have no reason to want to get into trouble again.”

  “I—”

  “You’ve got a job to do. I know that. Just wanted to get acquainted.”

  With that, he flashed the smile again and turned. He went into the convenience store and came out five minutes later with a jug of milk and a sack. He raised his chin toward me as he climbed back into his car. I let out a huge breath. This was definitely the weirdest surveillance I’d ever done.

  I followed him back to his apartment where I watched him get out of the car and climb the stairs to the second floor. At dusk, a light came on in his window. From five o’clock until around eight, cars came and went, but nothing more happened with Bill Fairfield until ten thirty when he came out, lunch sack in hand and I followed him to Wal-Mart. He gave me a little wave as he walked into his workplace.

  Once Bill had been safely in place for thirty minutes, I phoned Ron and he released me to go home. I told him how Fairfield had approached me at the gas station but didn’t mention the effect his smile had on me. No one would ever know that.

  Chapter 15

  I got home feeling restless and agitated. Too many encounters with strangers and too much time in the car left me wanting to run, to exercise, to punch something. I wanted to talk to Drake, to let his strength and even disposition make me feel centered again. But it was way too late to disturb him. On these jobs he was always up well before daylight and bedtime came correspondingly early. I settled for exercising to a thirty minute video of aerobics followed by thirty more minutes of Tai Chi.

  By this time it was so far past my usual bedtime I knew my internal clock would be screwed up for days. I showered and fell into bed.

  When the alarm sounded at six, I slapped the button and went right back into a deep sleep. Insistent prods from a dog nose finally got my attention around nine and I groaned and rolled off the edge of the bed. I’d probably missed my window of opportunity to talk to Drake but I dialed his cell anyway. Sure enough, the voice mail came on and I left him a message.

  Next, Ron. I knew he’d spent the early morning hours staking out William Fairfield’s apartment and I really didn’t want to end up having to take over that duty, although it would have been the right thing to at least offer. I’d try the office first, then his cell phone, but only if necessary. With any luck I could stall him by letting him know that I’d be at Rachael’s tonight as we’d discussed.

  “Charlie, where are you?” he demanded. Sally’d said he was on the other line, but he’d obviously put that call on hold long enough to share some stress with me.

  “I’m home now, Ron, you know that,” I said in my calmest, sweetest voice.

  “Yeah, well. I need you to get to Rachael’s.”

  “What’s going on that can’t wait until this evening?”

  “There’s been a new threat on Rachael and she’s pretty shaken up.”

  “What happened?” I visualized sabotage to her balloon or a near-miss in traffic.

  “Another letter like the last one.” He paused for effect. “But this time they left it on her doorstep, along with the body of her dead cat.”

  I felt my stomach do a high flip. “Oh, geez.” Poor little Misty.

  “She found it when she returned from Sam’s this morning. I can’t tell if she’s more shaken by the note or the cat. She needs company right now and I’ve got a deposition at two o’clock that I can’t miss.”

  “Do you think it was her father?” Could he have left his job afte
r I’d watched him check in?

  “When I got there at six this morning he was still on the job and I followed him home.”

  “Could he have left during his dinner break?”

  “Supervisor says he didn’t and his time card wasn’t punched out.”

  I tried to come up with other possibilities and the only thing that came to mind was Ryan Tamsin.

  “Plus,” he continued, “we don’t know when the, uh, message was left. Rachael hadn’t been home in about twenty-four hours.”

  “So, basically, anyone could have come and gone.”

  “Guess so. I’d like to canvass the neighbors on the cul-de-sac to see if anyone saw anything.”

  “I can do that,” I said. “I’ll go to her place, see how she’s doing.”

  I hung up and decided to call Rachael before driving out there. I had a hard time picturing her hysterical. Anyone who was willing to pilot a big piece of fabric over 30,000 feet in the air was no wimp. Rachael’s voice got a little shaky when she answered but she sounded in control.

  “I’ll be there in a couple of hours,” I assured her. “Lock everything and stay back from the windows.” She assured me she would.

  Meanwhile, I needed to check a few things here and secure the place for another overnight away. I heard the mailman’s truck and stepped out the front door to meet it. I remembered that I hadn’t checked the mail the previous day either. Somehow time kept managing to sneak away from me.

  The neighborhood, with its streets lined with tall, old trees, conveyed peace and serenity. The cottonwoods and sycamores were beginning to turn, fall shades of yellow and orange against the vivid October sky. Cicadas thrummed in the distance and a late robin darted over the lawn, poking around for stray bugs. I exchanged hellos with the mailman and took the little stack he handed me, went back inside and found Rusty nosing toward the kitchen trash. He jerked back guiltily when he saw me.

  I’d just begun fingering through the mail when a tentative tap sounded at the back door. I jumped, even though it could only be Elsa.

  Her small face and puff of white hair showed at the glass panes. She smiled broadly when she saw me turn toward the door.

  “Hi,” she greeted. “I didn’t know if you were still home.”

  “Just for a minute, I’m afraid. I have to get out to Rachael’s again and stay with her tonight.”

  Her smile faltered just a fraction but she didn’t let the disappointment make it as far as her voice. “I was hoping you could come over for dinner.”

  I made a disappointed sound. “Balloon Fiesta is done on Sunday and Rachael’s record attempt will be in the history books by then. How about dinner over here Monday night? If Drake’s home by then it’ll be something really good. If not, it’ll be something quick and easy.”

  Her wide grin said all. Despite my lively neighbor’s many interests and friends, I knew she got lonely at times. She considered me her granddaughter and loved time we could spent together. Now that she was well into her eighties I couldn’t afford to wait for “someday” to include her in our activities.

  “What’s going on with this lady balloon pilot?” she asked. “Charlie, is this going to be dangerous?”

  “Um, I don’t think so. I really don’t know.” I laid the mail on the table and opened the door for the dog, who’d begun his subtle way of whining. He dashed out and ran to the woodpile. “Someone has threatened her and Ron wants me to spend the night at her house, just to scare off any potential intruders, I guess. That’s why I thought it would be a good idea to take Rusty. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep if he’s there to alert me to anything serious.”

  “Take care of yourself?” She said it tentatively. Even though she’s spent a good portion of her life worrying about me, I guess it never gets any easier for her. I crossed the room and hugged her. She rubbed my back, making circles with both hands and I wanted to stay there for the next week instead of leaving again right away. With a tight feeling in my throat, I finally pulled back.

  “I will,” I said.

  We each made some it’ll-be-all-right noises and she headed back through the hedge to her kitchen door. I gathered food and water bowls for Rusty and locked up. He was thrilled to hop into the back seat of my Jeep.

  By the time we were on the road again, heading across the river, the rush hour traffic was already beginning. An accident on the bridge brought two lanes to a complete stop and the others to a crawl. As I inched along, I pulled out my phone and called Drake again. This time his voice mail came on; he must have been out on a flight. I left a message that I’d be at Rachael’s tonight and gave her number. I dialed her and suggested that I could pick up a pizza on the way. I envisioned something with thick crust and every topping known to man. She agreed and gave directions to the place nearest her house. She said she’d call in the order now. Finally, the traffic began to move. It took me twenty minutes to negotiate the drive to the pizza place, but having the fabulous scent as company for the final six minutes of the drive made it all worth it. Rusty was drooling heavily by the time we arrived and parked in Rachael’s driveway.

  Rachael’s appearance, when she opened the door, clearly showed that the week was taking its toll. Her complexion had faded, her hair lay limp. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and grief at the loss of her pet. Although it seemed an effort, a smile worked its way to her mouth as she greeted us at the door.

  “I’m so glad you had the idea to bring your dog,” she said, reaching out to pet Rusty, whose complete attention rested on the pizza box I held shoulder high.

  I carried our dinner to the kitchen counter, while Rachael pulled plates from a cabinet.

  “Hes Neeis a great alarm system,” I told her. “Once he settles in and isn’t completely focused on ways in which to lay claim to spare pizza crusts, he’ll alert us to any noises from the outside. I’m sure you can use some sleep by now.”

  “I know, I look awful today.” She touched at her hair. “Give me a second.” She scurried off to her bedroom before I could assure her that I didn’t really care whether she combed her hair or wore makeup at dinner. Heaven knows, I certainly didn’t.

  She came back in under three minutes. A fresh dash of lipstick added color to her face and she’d pulled her hair up into a clip. The transformation had actually made her smile, too.

  “Okay, dinner,” she announced. First things first, which was good with me. I’d poured wine from an open bottle, into the two glasses she’d obviously set out for the purpose.

  We sat on stools at the kitchen counter bar and each polished off two slices before another word passed between us. Rusty perched strategically between us, mouth at the ready to catch anything that might accidentally drop. I aimed a small segment of my crust toward him and he made a neat mid-air catch. By the time I’d picked up my third slice, I was able to pace myself and speak too.

  We made idle chit-chat about the weather and the forecast for the rest of Fiesta week while we finished eating. Once the prospects of more people-food had ended, Rusty became interested in his surroundings and began to explore the house. He picked up my scent in the bedroom I’d used a few nights ago and seemed content with that. I took him briefly out to the back yard and we walked the perimeter of the house. He initiated a few bushes and sniffed closely at the places jackrabbits like to hide, thick shrubs and a pile of firewood. He paid special attention to the front doorstep, where Rachael had made her grisly discovery this morning. I noticed a fresh mound of earth with a single chrysanthemum lying on it, in a corner of the back yard. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  I left Rusty closed inside the courtyard as I heard a car pull slowly into the driveway next door. This would be my chance to follow up on my promise to Ron. I walked over to the house across the cul de sac to the south of Rachael’s. A woman had pulled her white Subaru into the garage and was just stepping out of it.

  “Excuse me,” I called out.

  She jumped as if I’d shouted the words right in her ear. H
er eyes went wide and she tugged her short jacket down over generous hips.

  “It’s okay.” I stayed at the end of her drive, as non-threateningly as I could, but had to raise my voice. “I’m staying at Rachael’s. Across the street?”

  Her eyes flicked toward the other house and back at me.

  “I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions, if I could.”

  A look of impatience, one of those not-another-survey attitudes flashed across her face but she didn’t bolt. Yet. I approached carefully.

  “Rachael Fairfield, your neighbor over there, had some strange notes slipped under her gate during the past few days,” I said. “We’re just wondering if you might have seen anyone over there, any strange vehicles on the street?”

  A look of irritation creased her brow. “There are strange vehicles over there all the time,” she said. Her voice hinted at Midwestern, conservative middle class. “Trucks, young kids, that whole balloon contraption.”

  “Rachael’s crew. Those are normal. Have you ever noticed a black motorcycle there, one of those noisy Harleys?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She closed her car door and started toward the connecting door to the house. “But then, I’m not always here. Can’t say who comes and goes when I’m at work.”

  I started to ask whether anyone else was home, a husband or kids who might’ve noticed something, but she’d made it to the safe haven of her door and pressed the button for the garage closer. I hopped back to avoid being closed in.

  No help there. I looked at the other two houses on the street. One had a For Sale sign in the yard and appeared to be uninhabited. At the other place no one answered my rings or knocks so I gave up and headed back to Rachael’s.

  By the time Rusty and I got back inside, Rachael had stored the leftover pizza, rinsed the dishes and made coffee. She offered a plate of bakery cookies to go with it and we sat in the living room facing the wall of windows with that fabulous view of the Sandias. Rusty surprised me by visiting his own bowls, which I’d set up in a corner of the kitchen, rather than pestering us about the cookies.