Sedona Sunset

by Tanya Stowe

  “She admitted taking the checks?”

  “Yes. She said she didn’t want Troy or Brett to know she was borrowing the money. I understood Eliza well enough to know she was protecting one of them, most likely Troy. I suspected he had financial troubles.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve known Troy for thirty years,” Fallon said with a slight smile. “He’s a brilliant artist, but a lousy business man. I suspected he’d overextended his finances with this masterpiece.” He gestured to their surroundings.

  “Did you give Mrs. Madrigal the money?”

  “I asked her to wait. Said I had to rearrange my finances. She said it would give her time to finish some glass work and as soon as it sold, she would pay me back.”

  “What did you do afterwards?”

  “Just what I said. I looked over the school’s books and realized there was trouble. Brett had lost control and the school was over budget.”

  “That was three weeks ago, yet you did nothing to correct the situation.”

  Fallon shrugged his shoulders. “Brett is one of my finest young employees. The school was a training field for him, the opportunity to learn. I wanted to give him the chance to pull it together and make it work. I didn’t realize at the time there were outside influences working against him.”

  “What outside influences?”

  “Permits being slowed and in some cases denied.” Fallon features hardened as he said the last. “It takes a lot of money to influence government officials. Then when I arrived here, I found out someone had tried to force Troy into receiving unmarked shipments.”

  “How?”

  “An unscrupulous dealer arranged the sale of Troy’s valuable antiquities with an anonymous buyer. It’s not unusual for a buyer to want to remain unknown and the papers on the items were all in order, so Troy didn’t suspect anything. But then the seller offered Troy a deal. The seller agreed to carry a loan for Troy until after the opening of the school. Troy was short on money and thought the opportunity was perfect. Once the deal was made, however, the seller sent men to collect the money early. Of course, Troy didn’t have it, so they suggested a way for him to pay the seller back. He refused to discuss it so he didn’t even know what they were suggesting.”

  “Mr. Madrigal’s statement coincides with what you’ve just said,” Bowman stated.

  “Later, they pressured Troy into agreeing by threatening his daughter and mine. A car almost drove them off the side of a cliff, as you well know, Summers,” Fallon said with a nod toward Alex.

  “Yes,” Bowman said. “We were lucky he was there and got the license plate.”

  “Well, you probably won’t be able to trace them to a man named Louis Ferone, but I’d almost bet he’s behind it. He’s the dealer Troy used, and I don’t doubt he sent the men to meet with Troy.”

  “You know Ferone?” Bowman asked.

  “I’ve been very careful not to know him. On the surface, he seems legitimate, but he’s been involved in too many mysterious operations for my taste, although nothing has ever been proven out in the open. Still, enough rumors exist to convince me he’s not on the up and up. If I’d known Troy was going to use his services, I would have advised against it.”

  “Do you know who did suggest him?”

  “You’ll have to ask Troy. All I know is after our mail clerk disappeared, Brett found discrepancies in some shipments…unmarked crates we couldn’t identify. I realized immediately that our mail department had been used as a conduit for the Chaco pottery circulating on the black market.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course. It’s my job to know what’s being sold and where, so I pay sources to keep me informed.”

  “Sounds like we need to know your sources.”

  “If I revealed them, no one would talk to me. Besides,” Fallon said with a smile, “I only deal in information, not goods. A lot of what is told to me is just hearsay, not fact, but I still pay. When I saw those crates, I knew the info on the pottery was true.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. If they had your mail clerk on their payroll and it was so easy to slip the pottery through his department without your knowledge, why did they need Troy’s buy-in?”

  “I should think it’s obvious, Agent Bowman. They wanted to implicate Fallon Enterprises in the crime. They needed someone in management involved to make it viable.”

  Fallon’s conclusion was the same one Alex had come to. Nothing else made sense. The anonymous tip. The shipping manifests and crates left right out in the open. It was all too easy, too obvious. The system would be easily discovered and exposed. It was not a long-term covert operation. Someone had spent a lot of time and money to implicate and drag Fallon Enterprises into the scheme.

  “So, Mr. Fallon, do you have a lot of enemies?” Bowman’s tone was full of irony.

  “Unfortunately, I have many competitors who would love to see my company go under.”

  “Any of them with Southwest connections?”

  “One,” Fallon said with a shake of his head. “It always amused me that Rupert Townsend had such a superior attitude when his family’s fortune came from robbing Indian graves. His grandfather was an expert at finding and pillaging Chaco sites before the 1906 Antiquities Act protected them. Some say his grandfather never stopped, just went underground, but Rupert always denied it.”

  “Does this Townsend have a grudge against you?”

  “Rupert Townsend would like nothing better than to destroy me and take credit for saving my wife’s school.” Fallon gave a small laugh. “In fact, I’d bet it’s his life’s ambition.”

  Bowman gestured to one of the men standing at the back of the room. “Get Townsend’s address and send a car out there. We need to talk to him.”

  “I doubt you’ll have any luck. He probably already knows his scheme has failed. My daughter said he was supposed to attend the event last night but he never showed, and Townsend owns a jet and homes in half the countries of the world. I doubt you’ll ever find him.” Fallon gave a rueful shake of his head.

  Fallon’s statement puzzled Alex. He’d known Townsend had a grudge against Fallon. But would Townsend go to such lengths? If so, somehow, someway, Townsend and his group had been tipped off. The plot unraveled, the mail clerk disappeared and everyone scattered long before Agent Bowman and company could take action…and all because Alex insisted they wait.

  Bowman posed more questions to Fallon, about his security company’s past experience, the camera system located outside the residence but not inside, and asked if Fallon knew information about private collectors seeking instruments such as La Guitarra.

  Fallon shook his head. “I wracked my brain and I can’t think of any relevant information. In fact, I can’t find any connection whatsoever between my company and La Guitarra. I have no idea who could be behind this or why they did it—and certainly not how.”

  The weight that had settled in Alex’s stomach sank even lower. The helpless, hopelessness of Fallon’s tone mirrored his own feelings…and time was running out.

  Soon, La Guitarra would be lost forever.

  15

  Lara spent several fruitless hours trying to rest. She dozed off and on and prayed continuously. Still her mind ran in a vicious little circle.

  Alex had used her to get information about her family.

  Why didn’t he tell her Fallon Enterprises was under investigation? They could have followed all of these suspicious trails and resolved this long ago.

  He didn’t trust her…yet he’d demanded she trust him and talked about their true selves and her “awakening” as if it were a special gift to him.

  Even now, she could hear his voice when he left her in front of the school. “Promise me, Lara, no matter what happens, you’ll remember these last few days have meant more to me…”

  She wanted to believe…wanted to keep her promise.

  Bowman was right. If they’d called off the ceremony, La Guitarra might still be here.

/>   But still…Alex lied.

  After a sleepless hour, she’d had enough. What she needed was a workout. She dressed in tights and a leotard. She threw on a filmy skirt, slid into a pair of loose shoes, and grabbed her sweater. Her father had returned just an hour ago so she slipped through the guesthouse as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake him.

  The air was still crisp with an early morning chill and the grounds were quiet. No servants moved about. The I.C.E. cars stood empty and still. It was as if everyone and everything—even nature—waited, held its breath for what might come next.

  Lara shuddered. She was surprised to see someone walking toward her from the main house carrying a guitar case. Carlos. Last night’s news that he and Alex had severed their partnership had come as a shock. Something about his vehement outburst about La Guitarra and his obvious resentment had given her the feeling Carlos believed Alex had somehow caused this tragedy. Did he feel betrayed too? The question poised on the tip of her lips.

  He paused on the pathway, awkwardly silent. At last, he gestured to the guitar case. “Christy and I were to have a lesson this morning. I thought it might help to pass the time since I am not allowed to leave.” He glanced back at the house. “But she is still asleep. Perhaps later.” He gave a half smile, and then continued on his way.

  Was this how it was going to be? All of them awkward, suspicious, waiting for something else to happen?

  They’d been interviewed privately and were given no information. She didn’t know why the I.C.E. was investigating Fallon Enterprises or what connection it had to La Guitarra. Throughout the evening her father had been calm, confident. He knew more than he had told her and she was certain, when he woke, he’d share with her what he could. Maybe then, some of these strange, uncomfortable feelings would ease. In the meantime, she needed a workout to push aside her disquiet.

  She entered the main house. Agent Bowman’s voice came from the room to the right. Several of the I.C.E. men were in there, too. Alex was seated close to the door. He looked exhausted. Red rimmed his eyes. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and he rested his head in his hand as if he could barely hold it up. Life sparked in his gaze as she crossed the entryway, his expression hopeful, alive.

  Lara turned her head and hurried up the stairs. As soon as she closed the dance room door, she sighed in relief. Everything was as it should be. Christy’s guitar rested on its stand with the empty case on the floor beside it. The disc player and several CDs were close by. Sunshine poured into the room from the large windows and dust motes floated in the air.

  Lara needed the peace. Throwing off her sweater and skirt, she jumped into her stretch routine. Her stressed muscles were tight and cramped. A twenty-minute warm up didn’t do enough so she launched into another. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t get Alex’s wounded, hopeful look from her mind.

  “Promise me, Lara, no matter what happens, you’ll remember…”

  How would she ever forget that tortured look? Alex was suffering. Was it from the loss of his guitar or the loss of her trust?

  Alex said he couldn’t reveal his purpose. No matter what his feelings for her were, he had a duty to perform. But how much truth had he spoken? How much had he used her attraction to him to get information?

  “Promise me, Lara, no matter what happens, you’ll remember these last few days have meant more to me…”

  Was it true?

  If not, would he have worked so hard to make things right with the school? Would he have stalled the investigation for the last ceremony? Would he have looked at her with such hope in his gaze?

  Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind? Music. What she needed was music to dance him away. She pressed the button on the CD player and hurried back into position. As she straightened her back and lifted her shoulders, the strums of Alex’s guitar drifted over the air. Flamenco music immediately gripped her soul.

  Oh, no. Not that!

  Lara lunged across the floor to punch the off button. Her foot accidently kicked the empty guitar case. The notes dropped out of the air and she grasped her stinging toe as something registered. She’d stubbed her toe on the case hard enough to hurt, but the case had not budged. Puzzled, she bent and lifted the case with her fingertips. Heavy. Not empty.

  Heart pounding, she flipped the silver snaps and lifted the lid to reveal a round, polished-to-perfection guitar. If she was not mistaken the one Carlos played in their performances.

  His guitar was here…so what had he carried away from the house?

  ~*~

  Alex was exhausted and numb, had been numb since La Guitarra disappeared.

  Whatever he’d expected, the theft of his guitar was a shock. It made no sense…had no connection with the scheme to implicate Fallon in a black market trade. No matter how he turned it, the theft of La Guitarra had to be a totally separate crime.

  “However we look at it, the last person to touch the guitar was Carlos.” Bowman stood at the front. A team still scoured the guitar room for fingerprints and evidence. But most of Bowman’s immediate team surrounded Alex. Seated in chairs, they seemed as exhausted as he. Even Bowman’s shoulders drooped as he covered the information one more time.

  “By the book, the last person at the scene has to be our first suspect.” Bowman rubbed a hand around the back of his neck.

  “But McGraff was with Carlos the whole time. He watched him place the guitar on its stand. Then they locked the door,” Alex said.

  Bowman was silent for a moment. “Yes, but they came back and opened the doors again. What if ’they’ didn’t lock it? What if Carlos locked it and with the cloth wrapped around his bleeding hand, managed to switch the keys?”

  The men in the room straightened, considering the possibilities.

  “He could have had a key similar to the original and McGraff wouldn’t have known the difference,” Altman, Bowman’s second in command, agreed.

  Bowman nodded. “Then while McGraff was checking out the thermostat and the power, Bertoleo opened the door, switched the guitars and locked up again. Then he fetched Mike to open the doors one last time so he’d have the perfect alibi.”

  “But Bertoleo had the original key. If Mike tried to open the door, he would have discovered his was not the right one,” Altman said.

  Alex shook his head. “All Carlos had to do was reach for the key again. Mike wouldn’t hesitate to allow him to open the door. Carlos is above suspicion…or he was before everyone discovered I fired him.”

  Bowman studied him for a moment. “Does that mean you no longer trust Bertoleo?”

  “He has a motive for stealing La Guitarra. Vengeance is a powerful motivator. I can’t think of any other reason.”

  “Money is just as powerful, my friend,” Bowman said. “We were about to break up the pottery scheme. Maybe the perpetrators decided La Guitarra was good enough compensation.”

  Altman nodded his head. “Besides, we searched all of Bertoleo cases and we went over your guesthouse with a microscope. There’s no way he hid the guitar there.”

  Bowman was silent for another moment. “Perhaps, when he made the switch, he hid it here, somewhere in this house.”

  The men looked at each other.

  “We searched this house, too.” Altman’s tone was dismissive.

  “But there’s a lot more hiding places here,” another man said. “What could it hurt to search again?”

  The new thread energized the group.

  “Let’s get Mike in here again,” Bowman said. “I want to know exactly who opened the door and if Carlos could have switched the keys. Then we’ll do another sweep of the house.”

  Lara rushed into the room so fast her flimsy skirt flowed around her. Her face was pale, washed out. Her wide gaze sought Alex.

  “Can…can I speak to you alone?”

  Her voice brought energy back into his lethargic limbs. She was here, talking to him. That had to be a good sign. He rose to his feet and followed her out. “Lara, I’m so sorry. I�
�”

  “Can we talk about this later? Right now I need to show you something.” She took his hand and hurried to the stairs. As she took them two at a time she said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Agent Bowman and his men. I could be wrong…I don’t know. I just…” She was breathless, shook up.

  “Slow down. You’re not making any sense.”

  She tugged him inside the dance room and closed the door. “I saw Carlos a while ago, leaving the house with his guitar case. He said he was supposed to have a lesson with Christy this morning. But it’s not true. Christy always has lessons at eight. All of her other activities start at ten. He lied, and I didn’t realize it until I saw this.”

  She lifted the lid of Christy’s empty guitar case.

  “Am I right?” she breathed. “Is this Carlos’s guitar?”

  Alex could only nod. “How long ago did you see him?”

  “Twenty minutes…no. Longer. I’m so sorry, Alex. It had to be almost thirty minutes.”

  Alex’s pulse leapt. Long enough to get away!

  He spun and hurried down the back stairs. The foot of the stairs stopped near the kitchen and the back door, closer to the guesthouse. He ran across the compound, heart pumping, weary legs burning. To his relief, his small sports car was parked in its usual place. He burst through the front door into an empty living room. He raced up the stairs, slamming through bedrooms and closet doors. Carlos was nowhere to be found. All of his guitars cases were there except one.

  Alex ran back downstairs. “He’s gone,” he told Lara. The car keys were still on the sideboard and he touched them, his mind racing. “He didn’t take my car, so where did he go and how does he plan to get away?”

  His gaze landed on the sliding glass door. Immediately a shadowy image flashed in his mind. Carlos had been walking in the forest behind the guesthouse. He’d returned that day just in time to hear Alex’s conversation with Bowman. They had their fight, and Alex fired him. Shortly after, Chang disappeared. And Rupert Townsend hadn’t shown up, either.