A Dead Red Cadillac
Page 23
“I have forgiven her, Dad, I have. I just… I just wish…” I wanted to tell him what I'd done the day of her death, that I'd torn up the note she'd written to him, and that I'd unpacked her suitcase, putting her clothing back into the drawers, shoving the little suitcase under the bed. I'd done everything I could to wipe away her effort to leave us.
His hand tightened on my shoulder. “We all wish she hadn't done it. But, your mother had been sick for a long time, and she didn't want you to be raised under that dark cloud. I suppose she chose her time because she knew, in the end, I wouldn't be able to let her go.
“You were her pride and joy, you know that, don't you Lalla? She wanted you to be happy. Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let's see if we can get a list together for the insurance company.”
“Can we afford to fix up the house, even with the insurance?”
“What my claim won't cover, there's plenty of money in savings.”
“You mean from the land you've been selling? Why, Dad? Why do you keep selling it?”
“Cause money in the bank feels good, that's why. Besides, you'll need it when I'm gone.”
Panic-stricken, I cried, “Noah! You're not sick again, are you? I mean, that triple by-pass worked, didn't it? There's not something you haven't told me about, is there?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. The damned place is worth so much more than when I bought it, well, I thought it will be a burden if you were already moved away by the time I die.”
I waved my hands in front of his face. “I don't need it! I don't want to think about it! So, for crying out loud, quit scaring me to death.”
He chuckled at the ‘scared to death’. “You really think you want to hang around this old place? Not hightail it back to New York?”
“No. So, will you stop selling off my inheritance? Caleb and I might need a place to live someday.”
He grinned. “Is it too late for grandkids?”
“One thing at a time, Noah Bains. I have yet to get used to the idea of having Caleb Stone as more than best friend. And we've got Patience's funeral today. I've still got to find a dress that doesn't smell like it's been roasted over charcoal.”
When we were finished with the list, he hurried to his truck.
“Where are you going?” I called. “You've got to get into your suit.”
“Why, to town of course, to price out lumber. I'll meet you at the funeral home.”
Now I understood his enthusiasm. He was really happy to have something to look forward to.
epilogue
The parking lot of the mortuary was filled to capacity and manned by local police. Spectators were held behind some hastily erected barricades. While a long line of mourners slowly filed through the door of the funeral home, a camera crew from the local TV station was setting up for a shoot. A woman reporter saw me and scurried across the lawn leaving her cameraman struggling to catch up. Curious heads turned as she screeched, “Ms.Bains! Oh, Ms. Bains!”
I flinched. My God! That voice could be heard in the next county.
When she tripped on the trailing mike cord, she jerked around and chewed out her cameraman, as if he was to blame for her clumsy behavior. Then she turned her back on him to shove the mike under my nose. “Is it true you captured the dead woman's killer at your home? Tell us, Ms. Bains, did you know all along retired Judge Sidney Griffin was the murderer?”
I stayed only long enough to glare her down and wink back at the cameraman, then ducked into a side entrance. A suit with an earphone and NRA lapel pin wrote down my name and handed me a pamphlet. Behind me, I could hear the woman reporter reciting her spiel for the camera.
“Lots of friends of the McBride family are here to pay their respects to the much loved, Patience McBride, victim in a murderous rampage that goes back twenty years. Just a moment ago we spoke to ex-model, Lalla Bains, now retired at forty and living in seclusion at her father's ranch. That interview will be on tonight's….”
Oh brother! I knew I would have to pay for that glare. Why didn't she say over-the-hill and get it done. The station would probably show a video of my widening backside with a voiceover detailing my brief modeling and flying careers, two briefer marriages, and, of course, another mention of the fact that I'd just turned forty.
I was led to the front pew where my dad, Roxanne and her family, were all together.
I whispered a greeting and again apologized to Roxanne for almost getting her baby killed.
“That's all right, honey,” she said, as I sat down. “All that excitement and she has yet to step a foot in New York City.”
“You're not mad? You're still going to let her go? After everything that happened?”
“Are you kidding? She had the time of her life. If she can handle everything that went on here, New York sure isn't going to give her any trouble.” She winked to show there were no hard feelings. Then she nodded at the five women to our right. “Notice the excess of flowery hats and veils?”
Leon snickered. “Maybe a little more than the usual amount of chin hair.”
Roxanne added, “Remember what I said about sisters wearing matching everything? Get a load of their shoes.”
I followed her nod and saw matching suits, hats, and bony ankles in pumps the size of bathtubs.
My mouth formed an appreciative O. “All of them? You think they're all guys in drag?”
“Or actors. He's thrown the cops more than a few red herrings. It'll keep ‘em guessing.”
Apparently, the police weren't entirely through with Garth Thorne. Something to do with the Internal Revenue wanting to have a serious chat with him about taxes. He sat across the aisle, staring straight ahead and wedged between two stout and grim looking detectives.
A bearded priest took the podium above the open casket, said a prayer for the dead, and as no one else offered, gave the eulogy. I didn't even know she was religious, much less Catholic.
When he was finished, he encouraged everyone to come forward to say good-bye and then he stepped back from the podium, and sweeping through the heavy velvet draperies, disappeared. A sliver of light, a sudden breath of air billowing the drapes, then I heard the soft click of a door closing. Hoping to have a word with him, I followed his example, and exited the same door.
I hurried around the corner in time to see him, head down, hands in his pockets, walking away. Although he didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, I matched his steps with my longer stride and caught up with him as he was getting into a gray sedan. Just as he was putting the key into the ignition, I knocked on the passenger side window. Startled, he looked up, then smiled, leaned over and rolled down the window.
“I thought that might be you behind me, Lalla. I'd just as soon not attract attention, so if you don't mind getting in, we can talk here.”
I opened the door, looked around to make sure no on was watching, and slid into the seat.
“You did a really nice Irish Priest, Eddy.”
“Did I now? Your own brother wouldn't have known me. Best performance of my lifetime and I'm not even Catholic.”
“Caleb says the judge will be behind bars for the rest of his life. What are you going to do now?”
“I'm not going to stick around while the law decides if I should spend some more time in jail, if that's what you mean. I did what I came to do, see justice for my dear Patience. I got a friend in Mexico who has been waiting for us to show up. I think I'll head down there. That is, if you don't have to tell your sheriff friend.”
His quirky little smile was back, and the tilt of his head said he was willing to bet I wouldn't have to tell anyone.
I gave him a quick hug, got out and watched him drive down H Street for the freeway that would take him south to Mexico and freedom. Then I turned back to make my way through the milling crowd to Caleb.
Caleb, awkward in his dark dress suit, put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me gently. “The wake will be at Roxanne's.”
“Your car or mine? I
got the Caddy back. It's still primer gray and I'm kind of thinking I should paint it something besides red.”
“Of course you'll paint it red. What would you be without that bright red Caddy?” He smiled down at me, then grinned at the news people lined up like racehorses at the starting gate. “They're going to mob you the minute you get in that car, red or not.”
“After this week, I can handle anything, even turning forty.”
“By the way, what are you doing tomorrow?”
I looked up into his warm friendly face, and said, “Well, after I get out of your bed, I'm going to fire a pilot.”
“Isn't it a bit late in the season to replace a pilot?”
“That's what Brad thinks. But, I'm going to replace him with somebody who doesn't need drugs…me. Then, I'm going to serve breakfast at Roxanne's.”
“Uh-huh. Something special I presume. Like, an order of crow to Boyd Lincoln and Marlon Whittaker? You planning on working up an appetite for that breakfast?” He kissed my mouth once, and then again, taking my breath away. We ignored the stares, and with our arms around each other, watched plainclothes detectives nervously sidle up to elderly matrons in big shoes and picture book hats. In the next few minutes, more than one detective got slapped for manhandling an old lady.
Caleb laughed softly. “Somehow, I don't think they'll find him, do you?”
I thought of Eddy McBride, heading for Mexico and freedom. “Nope. Don't think so.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rebecca Phillips-Dahlke ran her father's crop-dusting business near Modesto, California for several years during the early 1980’s. Her son and muse for writing this series, John Shanahan, was a career Aero Ag pilot until his accidental work related death in Feb. 2005.
The Lalla Bains Mystery Series
A DEAD RED HEART
A DEAD RED OLEANDER
A DANGEROUS HARBOR
A contemporary romantic mystery set in Ensenada, Mexico featuring Katrina Bluementhal will be out in the fall of 2011.
Memberships
Sisters in Crime, National
Society of Southwestern Authors, Tucson, AZ.
Arizona Mystery Writers
Public Safety Writers
1st chapter Pres. of Cochise County, AZ chapter of Sisters in Crime from 2003-2005.
www.rpdahlke.com
e-mail: rp@rpdahlke.com
Facebook: RP DAHLKE
Copyright Page
A Dead Red Cadillac Dedication
Credits
A Dead Red Cadillac one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
epilogue
About the Author