I pulled to a stop beside the guard. On closer inspection, he was at least seventy, with a big toothless grin that wasn't the least bit scary. I told him where I was going and he waved me through. His smile remained the same throughout, and I wondered whether he even heard my words.
The North home was about three blocks into the rabbit warren of curving streets. Stacy had given good directions. I found the three story wonder, despite the fact that stylewise it was very much like three-fourths of its neighbors. Light tan stucco, broken by two balconies across the front, long windows, curved at the top, and a mahogany door inset with beveled glass. Every window was curtained in white sheers, which appealed to my sense of neatness, but they also gave the place a sense of separation, of being locked away from the world. I tried to imagine these people having a pathway through the hedge to the elderly neighbor with whom they'd had a lifelong grandmotherly relationship. But their hedges were made of unyielding block walls, perfectly stuccoed to match their perfect houses. Most of the people were high powered two-career families who worked ninety hours a week to afford their affluence.
I touched a button beside the door, setting off a pealing of chimes. Stacy opened the door moments later. She wore white wool slacks and a turtleneck sweater that looked like it was made of cotton candy. Her hair and makeup were perfect, although her smile was a little stiff. I gathered that she had completely recovered from Gary Detweiller's death and now wanted to pretend he never existed.
"Well, Stace, you guys have really made it big." I gazed around at the foyer. Apparently, it was the reaction she expected. Her smile warmed up as she offered to show me around. I oohed and aahed at the appropriate times as she led me through eighteen rooms of mauve carpet, mauve wallcoverings, and mauve tile. The brag wall in the study was covered with framed certificates proclaiming Brad the Outstanding Young Attorney of the Year several years running. Photos of Stacy and Brad standing next to various politicians and movie stars broke up the monotony of the certificates. Wide smiles and cocktail glasses were the prevailing theme and many of the photos were signed by the famous member of the group, usually with some very sincere preface like Love Ya... or Kisses... I found myself saying things like "Well, well," and "Would you look at that" over and over. We did about fifteen minutes of this routine before I got a long enough break to remind her about lunch.
To reach the Tanoan County Club, we exited the community through the guard post where I'd come in, onto Academy Road. Less than a mile up the road another turn-in opened past another guard gate onto a winding lane leading to yet another stucco and red tiled structure. Inside, the carpet cushed under our feet as we mushed our way past a receptionist and up a wide staircase to the restaurant on the second floor.
The maitre d' greeted Stacy with just the right combination of familiarity and genuflection. I stood by, practicing Stacy's slightly drooped mouth and half lowered eyelids, wondering if I'd ever have a need to learn country club protocol. We followed Andre, whose real name was probably Andy, to a corner table where windows on two sides gave the full sweeping view of the city. Right now it was a panoramic display of gray, topped by a frosting of brown air. Well, maybe it was spectacular at night.
We perused the menu and placed our orders before I got a chance to get down to the real reason for the lunch date.
"I guess you figured out that I wanted to update you on the case," I began. "So far, I haven't learned a lot. Apparently Gary was into gambling pretty heavily. I'm going to work on that angle first."
Stacy shushed me briefly while the waiter brought our salads.
"I don't want anyone here to connect me with that man," she whispered. "You know how staff people can be."
I wanted to shake this uppity attitude right out of her but I let it slide. "Do you know anything about Gary's movements on Wednesday?" I asked. "I'm trying to put together a picture that leads to him sitting in his car in the driveway at nine that night."
"Absolutely not." Her voice rose four notes. "I had nothing whatsoever to do with the man after he took my watch."
"Okay, okay." I patted the tablecloth near her hand. "I just have to ask the questions. Stacy, where were you at nine o'clock on Wednesday?"
"Charlie!" A couple of heads turned, and she lowered her voice immediately. "What are you getting at?"
"Stacy, you better face facts. The police might be asking that very question if they ever make the connection with you. You better be ready with an answer."
She chewed at her salad slowly before speaking again. "That was the night Brad got home from his business trip. I picked him up at the airport. The flight came in at nine-thirty. That's where I was."
I fixed a long look on her. I wanted to believe her, but it was entirely possible for a person to be at Detweiller's house at nine, then beat it to the airport by nine-thirty to meet a plane. She sat up very straight and returned my stare.
"Charlie, I'm telling you, I was at the airport."
"Okay." I let it drop. We ate in silence for a few minutes before changing the subject. When I dropped her off at her house thirty minutes later, I couldn't resist adding one more word of caution.
"Stacy, if you have any proof at all to back up your airport story, I suggest you get it ready. I have a feeling the police are going to want to see it."
I glanced back in my rearview mirror as I pulled out of her circular drive. She stood on the front porch, glued to the spot, her face pale.
Chapter 5
At the intersection of Academy and Wyoming, I pulled into a grocery store parking lot. Pulling my yellow sheet of notes from my purse, I reviewed the names I'd compiled this morning. According to my city map, two of the addresses were in the Tanoan Community. I headed east on Academy once more. This time the guard waved me right on through with a little salute, like I was a resident. I found the address for Charles Tompkins with no trouble. The house looked like an elder sibling of Stacy's place. Obviously they'd come from the same gene pool. The place looked deserted and the cascade of pealing chimes brought no one. I got the same non-response at the second address I tried.
Still only two o'clock. I didn't particularly feel like sitting around another three or four hours until the residents came home. Plus, I imagined anyone sitting in a car in this neighborhood, day or night, would attract attention from the roving patrol I'd seen cruising the area.
Detweiller's place was sort of on my way back to the office, so I thought I'd see if I could catch Josh Detweiller at home. I got half-lucky. His mother's car was also in the drive. Jean was sure to question me more closely if I showed up twice in two days. That wouldn't do. I cruised past the place and stopped about four houses away. Rearview mirror surveillance is neither easy nor inconspicuous, requiring a person to keep their head and neck in one position for hours. After about twenty minutes I decided I had to turn around. I started the Jeep and drove to the next driveway where I could make a turn. Just as I was getting positioned again, this time facing the correct way down the street, I noticed activity at the Detweiller house.
Jean Detweiller emerged from the front door, turning to speak back to it. Last minute instructions for Josh, I imagined. She proceeded toward her car, rummaging in her purse and not paying much attention to anything else. She started the car, gunning it loudly while a puff of gray smoke whoofed from the tailpipe. The car clunked into gear with a jerk and she backed out carefully, turning in my direction. I ducked down in my seat until her car passed me, praying she didn't remember my vehicle from yesterday.
When the coast was clear I drove up to the house, hoping Jean had left for work and not some quick errand. Rock music thumped heavy bass clear out to the street. Obviously Josh didn't expect his mother right back. I pounded on the door twice, realizing the futility of it. I waited for a break between songs, then pounded again. The music came back on, about a hundred decibels lower this time, and the door opened.
Josh Detweiller was almost a double for a very young Elvis. Except for the hair, which he wore ch
in length, the sultry face was nearly identical. He wore faded blue jeans, nothing else, and the sight of his smooth muscular chest was most distracting.
"Josh?" My voice finally began working. "Hi, I'm Charlie."
"Hi." His grin reassured me that I'm not completely over the hill.
"I'm investigating your father's death," I explained, flashing one of RJP Investigations' business cards. I didn't offer to leave the card with him.
"Oh. Come in." He pushed the screen door outward and stepped back. He was pulling a t-shirt over his head when I got in.
"This must be hard for you," I said. "Your mother said you stayed home from school for a few days."
He shrugged.
"Look, I don't have a lot to go on, but I'm trying to find out who did it. Can you tell me what happened that night?"
"I dunno," he said. He disappeared into his room for a minute and shut off the music. "I wasn't even here when it happened. I came home about midnight and Mom was all shook up and she was crying and all, and that's when she told me."
"You'd been out with your friends?"
"Yeah, a coupla guys from school."
"Your dad had been out of town, right?"
"I think so. Coupla days, I guess." His face contorted with anger. "Hell, I don't keep track of him. Nobody did. He was probably out with some chick in some fancy hotel someplace. I don't give a shit." He slumped and turned his face slightly. "Sorry."
"It's okay, Josh. You gotta say what's on your mind."
He flopped down on the couch, oblivious to the pile of newspapers he was crunching. I perched on the arm of the vinyl recliner.
"Did you and your dad get along pretty well?" I tried to ask the question kindly.
". . . Oh, okay, I guess. Dad did a lot of macho image shit. You know, he bragged all the time, played the ponies. He always, you know, dreamed about hitting it big. Couldn't just have a job like everyone else's dad, bring home a paycheck every week. He was always chasing some gold mine. Always thought he'd make a million next week. It just gets old hearing it, you know."
"Your mom was pretty tolerant of all this, wasn't she?"
He huffed a sharp breath out his nose. "What choice did she have? My mom works hard." He pointed his index finger, stabbing at the sofa cushion. "But she still doesn't make enough to get us out of this rat trap."
"Can you think of anyone with a reason to kill your dad?"
He shrugged again. "Maybe lots of people. Hell, I stayed away from most of his friends. Well, his one friend really. This guy Larry Burke. A slimeball. Just like Dad."
He stood up and disappeared into his room again. I thought he was coming right back, but the music came back on loud again and I realized that was all I'd get from Josh Detweiller. I let myself out.
I keep a set of phone books in my car, so I checked out Larry Burke. His address was only a couple of streets away. It was still a little early for anyone who worked a nine-to-five job to be home, but I decided to take my chances. The Burke house was a little larger than the Detweiller place, but in about the same condition. A gum-popping redhead answered the door. She wore black Lycra pants and a luminescent pink top that might have been applied to her model-thin body with a vacuum sealer. Her makeup looked freshly done, like the "after" in one of those makeover ads. Unfortunately, she was made over to look twenty when she was really closer to forty.
"Mrs. Burke?" I asked.
She gave me a blank look.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Larry Burke. Is this his residence?" The smell of frying onions wafted out around her.
"He ain't home." More gum action.
"When will he be back?"
Her eyes narrowed as she checked me out head to toe. "Who wants to know?" Oh, please. She couldn't honestly believe I was after him for personal reasons.
"I'm looking into Gary Detweiller's death," I explained. "Larry was his best friend, wasn't he?"
"I don't know when he'll be home," she said. "He don't answer to me." She closed the door in my face.
Some help that was. No answers, and I was getting hungrier by the minute. My nine dollar salad at lunch sure wasn't sticking with me. There was a McDonald's about three blocks away, so I set my course in that direction. The driveup window yielded a Big Mac, Coke, and fries, which I sampled on my way back to Larry Burke's house. That floozy didn't honestly think she'd get rid of me that easily, did she?
I parked two houses south of theirs and proceeded with my little picnic. By the time I'd licked the last of the special sauce from my fingers the temperature had begun to drop. My ankles were really feeling it. Wearing a dress, pantyhose, and heels is not my usual style. I kicked off the shoes and tucked my legs up under me, wrapping the wool coat securely around myself.
Lights came on in the surrounding houses, and one by one cars pulled into driveways. A streetlight glowed almost a block away. I snuggled deeper into my coat. I thought about Rusty, waiting at the office, which would now be dark. What was I doing here anyway?
I had just decided I was being foolish and had reached for my shoes when a car pulled into Burke's drive. It was a sports car of some kind, flashier than anything I'd seen so far in the neighborhood. The brakes gave a little squeal as he stopped about six inches from the garage door. I came out of my car before he had a chance to disappear.
"Mr. Burke? Could I talk to you a second?" I was almost breathless from dashing the length of two houses. He stopped in his driveway and looked at me curiously.
Larry Burke was about five foot six, slender, wearing a pair of dark slacks and plaid polyester sports coat. His blond hair looked like it had been molded from polystyrene. When he moved, it stayed in place. He had straight capped teeth, which showed through a well-practiced grin. I was reminded of a TV evangelist or a cookware salesman. In the time it took me to cross his driveway, he had checked me over twice.
"Hey, babe, what can I do for you?" The voice was like thick grease.
I do not take well to being called babe, honey, sweetie, or dear by someone I do not know intimately. My teeth clenched and my smile became a straight line.
"Charlie Parker, RJP Investigations," I said as officiously as I could manage. "I've been asked to look into the death of Gary Detweiller."
Burke shifted his weight from one foot to the other, backing away from me a couple of feet.
"Yeah, that was a shame about ol' Gare."
"You were his best friend, I understand."
"We hung around, yeah." He implied nothing as sentimental as real friendship, I noted.
"When did you see him last?"
"Prob'ly just before it happened. We'd gone to Vegas for a coupla days, got back Wednesday night, and he dropped me off here. Guess it was right after that somebody got him."
"What were you doing in Vegas?"
"Just fun stuff. Gary'd come into some money, so we celebrated. Went to the races, ate in some good restaurants, partied with a couple of babes." He glanced toward the front door as he revealed this last part.
"Where'd he get the money?" I asked, wondering just how far he'd let me go with these questions before he closed up.
"Said he managed a big score. I don't know, I wasn't his mother. Gary and me was like that. We shared the wealth. When one of us got lucky, we took the other one along."
"So, who'd want to kill him?"
"Hell, I don't know. Gary was a good guy, you know, liked to have some fun. He didn't mean nobody no harm, though. I mean, you know, he'd get involved with some chick from time to time. For him it was just fun, somethin' to do with somebody new. I guess sometimes they got a little pissed when he didn't stick around."
Or when he ripped them off.
He kept glancing toward the front door, probably wondering how long until the redhead came sailing out with claws extended. No doubt she'd heard his car arrive.
"Look, thanks," I said. I gave him one of my business cards and asked him to call if he thought of anything else.
Back in the car, I started the engin
e and let the heater warm up. I wondered again how many women Detweiller had robbed over the years. Was Stacy only the latest, or had he kept several going at once? I wished I'd asked Burke a few more questions. Maybe later.
I drove as quickly as I could to the office, where Rusty greeted me like I'd been gone years. We headed home, where I rewarded his patience with a bowl of nuggets followed by a rawhide chew. For myself, my reward was to strip off the pantyhose and slip into snugly sweats. I made a cup of hot chocolate, prepared to sink into the sofa cushions and ponder all the new information I'd gathered today. Until I remembered that I'd have houseguests sometime around midnight.
I dusted the guest room and put extra towels in the guest bath. My office required a little more screening. Everything that might appeal to kids, such as calculator, computer, and stapler either went into locked file drawers or got covered up. A box of games and puzzles, which I keep in the closet for such occasions, came out. I hoped it would provide enough distraction to keep the little critters out of my own stuff. I checked my supply of extra blankets and pillows, just in case they forgot to bring their own sleeping bags. I took one last look around and hoped I was ready.
Chapter 6
By two a.m. I had dozed off on the couch, having watched all the TV movies I could handle. The magic hour of midnight had long passed, leaving me grumpy at this interruption of my schedule. Going to sleep knowing you could be awakened at any moment does not exactly make for restful slumber. Three hard raps at the front door, followed by giggles, snapped me awake. I rubbed at my grainy eyes and ran my fingers through my hair on the way to the door.
Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery Page 4
