Desert Rage

by Betty Webb

  She paused and took a breath. “He was gone for a couple minutes, then he came back to the window and he was holding this little scruffy thing. He’d found it eating garbage in the backyard, and said he recognized it from all the flyers tacked up around the neighborhood saying that it got scared and ran away because of the Fourth of July fireworks. Now it was all ragged and limping bad, and like, scared-looking.” She paused for another breath. “Do you know how many dogs run off because of fireworks? It’s terrible, people should keep them, like, inside. Anyway, Kyle said he was going to return the dog to its owner because she sounded real nice on the flyer, and if it turned out not to be hers after all, he’d, like, take it to his house, ’cause Fiona, she’s his foster mom, she lets him do stuff like that.”

  “What did Kyle do then?”

  She flushed again. “I couldn’t talk him out of leaving, so he did. He stayed gone for a while.”

  “What time did he get back?”

  “Twelve-thirty? One? One-thirty?” She shrugged. “I know it was way after the time I usually had lunch, because I remember my stomach was growling and we’d run out of Fritos, so I was getting kinda starved, but I don’t know for sure because I wasn’t exactly checking my watch, you know?”

  I mentally reviewed the case notes. According to the autopsy, the Camerons had been interrupted while eating a lunch of Chinese takeout, then tied up and tortured for at least an hour, possibly two. If someone other than Ali had seen Kyle during that time, it could provide an alibi. “When Kyle he got back, did he say he’d successfully returned the dog?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yeah! He wouldn’t quit ’til he did. It had on tags, and one of them had the woman’s phone number on it, so he, like, called the woman on his cell, and it turned out that she lived about a mile away, so because it was all limping and stuff, he had to carry it there. He said the owner was crying and kept trying to give him money, but he wouldn’t take it.” Another pause for breath. “Kyle never takes money for rescues.”

  “Did he mention the owner’s name?”

  “Alice something, I think. She was old, he said.”

  Remembering Ali’s usual interpretation of the word “old,” I asked, “Old like me? Or old like Minerva McGonagall, in the Harry Potter movies?’

  A look of surprise. “You saw the movies?”

  “The first one.” I didn’t tell her I’d hated it. “Answer, please. Old like…?”

  “Old like Minerva McGonagall. Like, ancient.”

  “Kyle didn’t happen to tell you Ancient Alice’s address, did he?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  No, of course you didn’t. You had other things on your mind, such as having another go-round with the love of your so-far life. “Maybe Kyle remembers.”

  Hope flashed in her eyes. “Yes! He’s good with numbers.”

  Street names, too, I hoped back. If the dog owner could provide Kyle with an alibi, there was a chance his attorney could get him bonded out. I was about to end the interview and rush off to make the necessary calls when I thought of something else. “So let’s get this straight. After Kyle returned the dog, he came back to the party house sometime around one o’clock and you were together for the rest of the day until you showed up at the scene of…ah, at your house, right?”

  The floor drain got interesting again.

  “Uh, mostly.” She didn’t look up.

  I sighed. “Define ‘mostly.’”

  “Well, he, uh, after a while he left again.”

  When she didn’t explain further, I asked, “What time was this?”

  “A little after we, um, we had a fight.”

  “A fight. About what?”

  Her face went red again. “Can’t remember.”

  “Don’t hand me that ‘can’t remember’ bullshit, Ali. What was the fight about? Did you hit each other?”

  “No! Kyle never hit anyone! And I didn’t either. We just, we just yelled a lot.”

  “And what did you two yell at each other about?

  “Dunno.”

  If I hadn’t liked her so much, I would have smacked her upside her lying little head. “If you want to get Kyle out of trouble, you’ll start telling all of the truth, not just part of it. Do it. Now!”

  She shrank back at the sound of my raised voice, the mysteries of the floor drain forgotten as the words spilled out of her between gulps. “It was all my fault ’cause I yelled that I was starving, I mean…I mean all I’d had to eat since breakfast was the Fritos and Mountain Dew and…and why had he been all that worried about a dog when I was there starving to death, so why didn’t he stop at the Circle K on the way back and…and get me something, like, some more Fritos and Slim Jims or Twinkies or something. And he yelled back that I was selfish and never thought about anything but myself and I…I…I told him I was going to leave him there in that nasty old house all by himself and go home and get something to eat so he said all right he’d go get me something and…and then he left.”

  She hung her head, a perfect portrait of misery.

  “This Circle K, where is it?”

  “Corner of Scottsdale Road and Indian Bend. It’s kind of halfway between the party house and mine.”

  “And?”

  “And, what?”

  “How long was Kyle gone this time?”

  Silence.

  “Ali?”

  “He, uh, he didn’t come back.”

  Not good news, that. “So what did you do then?”

  “I felt really bad for the things I said to him and…and when he didn’t come back in a long while I was afraid he was so mad at me we’d break up so…so I went looking for him to tell him tell him I was sorry and that I promised not to ever be selfish again.”

  “Did you find him?”

  Eyes back to the drain. “Yeah.”

  “Where did you find him, Ali?” As if I hadn’t figured it out already.

  A tiny voice. “At my house.”

  There was little more to say after that, so I stood up. “Thank you, Ali. And don’t worry, you’ve been a big help. If everything works out like I think it will, there’s a good chance you won’t have to spend much more time in here. If I don’t see you again before then, I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  She blanched. “Funeral?”

  Oh, hell. She didn’t know. I sat back down and softened my voice. “It’s Tuesday, Ali. Your attorney is arranging for you to be there.”

  She looked at the drain, studied it for a while. I waited, let her take her time. Several shoulder heaves later, she faced me again. “Okay.” That was all she could say.

  I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and stroked her hair. “I’ll be there, in case you need me.”

  Maybe it was my imagination, but before I got up to leave I thought I saw a hint of relief on her face.

  As the Jeep pulled out of the detention center’s parking lot, I reflected on what I’d learned so far. Dr. Cameron was nobody’s Dr. Feel Good. Ali probably hadn’t killed her family. Kyle had the beginnings of an alibi, but hardly an iron-clad one. And Alexandra Cameron, the good and beautiful woman everyone so admired, a woman who had had so much difficulty getting pregnant that she needed the services of egg donors in order to have children? She kept a stash of condoms. The only reason an infertile woman needed condoms was to protect herself from STDs, but Dr. Cameron’s autopsy showed him to be free of sexually-transmitted disease. Being infected by her own husband wasn’t what Alexandra worried about.

  It sounded to me that the good and beautiful Alexandra Cameron wasn’t so good, after all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kyle

  I’m going to die in here. I know I am. I’ll die without ever seeing Ali again, but that’ll be okay as long as they let her go. I’m going to keep saying I did it did it did it as long as it takes because nothing matte
rs anymore without Ali. As long as I know she’s all right and they let her go I’ll let anything happen to me that needs to happen. Maybe I’ll even write a note saying again exactly how I did it and then kill myself. They’d have to let her go then, wouldn’t they?

  Ali is all the goodness in the world and no matter what she did to her folks, nothing’s going to change my mind. For her, I’ll keep saying I did it until the day I die and if I’m lucky that’ll happen soon. Maybe one of the bangers in here will do it for me.

  If I could only see Ali one more time. Just one. I’d die happy.

  Life is a lonely place. I’ve always known it, even before I came here, but I didn’t know it like I know it now. There’s all this noise, all this pain, all this hate and fear, and so many people walking around all the time shouting mean things at everyone, just shouting and shouting and shouting. I didn’t think anybody could be lonely in a loud place like this but it’s true. The louder it gets the lonelier I feel.

  I miss Ali.

  I miss Mom Fi and Daddy Glen.

  I miss Aunt Edith.

  I wonder if Aunt Edith feels as lonely as I do? But if I let her visit it’ll upset her and she’s so old and sick she could die if she gets upset and then they’ll take Pit Bull away and put him to sleep and I can’t let that happen.

  I can’t let anyone else die because of me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lena

  On the way to the Newberrys’ house, I called Kyle’s foster mom and told her to get from him the name and address of the woman who lost her dog during the July 4th fireworks. She promised to visit Kyle later that day and would call me immediately thereafter. Next, I called Ali’s attorney and updated him on my progress so far, then did the same with Juliana Thorsson. Unlike Zellar, whose end of the conversation was hurried and brief, the congresswoman seemed inclined to keep me on the phone, even though from the clamor behind her, she was at another fund-raiser. Not that she was running for Senate, of course.

  “My money’s on one of those Hoyt creatures,” Thorsson said, after I described the Queen Creek family’s bat-wielding performance.

  “Didn’t know you were a gambler, Congresswoman.”

  I was temporarily diverted from her questioning when a red pickup truck belching oily exhaust swerved in front of me, almost clipping the Jeep’s bumper. Only the fact that he immediately ducked onto an off-ramp kept me from giving him the finger.

  “I never mind taking a flyer on a sure thing, Ms. Jones,” Thorsson said, bringing my attention back. “By the way, pretend you don’t know me at the funeral Tuesday.”

  “What!?” My turn to swerve, but at least I stayed in my own lane. More or less. “Surely you’re not going!”

  “Dr. Cameron and his wife were my constituents.”

  I doubted that she went to all her constituents’ funerals. “Need I remind you that if the press happens to be there, you’ll be spotted? Besides that, do you really think attending is a good idea, given your, ah, electoral situation and all?”

  “If the press is there, I’ll give them the same explanation I gave you, that I care for my constituents. As for whether it’s a good idea or not, that’s my business, not yours.”

  No one can talk politicians out of doing something they want to do, whether mismanaging campaign funds, hiring call girls, or sneaking peeks at biological daughters, so I didn’t try. “Just don’t try to talk to Ali.”

  “Give me credit for at least minimal brains, Ms. Jones.”

  With that, she hung up.

  Twenty minutes later I pulled into the Camerons’ cul-de-sac. Parked in front of their house were two vans, each bearing the legend, COYOTE CLEAN-UP: DISASTER TO DELIGHT. Regardless of their motto, I doubted things would ever be delightful again at the house.

  I climbed out of my Jeep and walked over to the Newberrys’. Margie didn’t appear happy to see me.

  “Make it quick,” she said, looking less lawyerly in a ripped tee-shirt and baggy jeans. “I’m in the middle of packing.”

  “Changed your mind about attending the funeral, then?”

  “I’ll be there, along with the rest of Alexandra’s friends. But Monty and I are flying out right afterwards, and I expect I’ll be upset, and so I…Ah, I’d like to point out to you that we’re letting the air-conditioning out, so if you must talk to me right now, step inside.”

  I stepped. “Could you spare me a drink? Water, whatever, anything will do. I’m roasting.”

  She made an exasperated noise, but innate Arizonan courtesy made her head for the kitchen. I followed, entering a large kitchen/family room combination brightly lit by a wall full of sliding glass doors that led out a park-sized backyard. The Newberrys sure weren’t hurting for money.

  “Must be a hundred and ten out there,” I said.

  “July in Arizona, surprise, surprise.” She opened the refrigerator and poured me a tall glass of trachea-freezing tea.

  When I chugged half the glass, she poured some more. “Where’s your husband?” I asked.

  “Down at some camping gear store buying things we don’t need.”

  No chugging this time, just a sip because I wanted to make the refill last. “As long as I’m here, there are a couple of questions I’d like to ask.”

  “ As long as you’re here,’” she mimicked. “Oh, please. I wasn’t born yesterday. What new information have you garnered that brings you back to interrogate me on this balmy summer day?” She motioned toward the breakfast bar. “We might as well sit down so we can both be comfortable during the interrogation. And set your digital recorder on the bar so I can make sure its precious little red light is off.”

  I did as I was told and sat down on one of the tall bar stools grouped around the granite counter. Looking longingly at my now nonfunctioning recorder, I asked, “What makes you think I’m going to interrogate you?”

  “The look on your face. Want a peach?” After sitting across from me, Margie gestured toward the filled fruit bowl on the granite bar. “I’ll have to throw them out before we leave, anyway.”

  “Is it poisoned?”

  “Try one and see.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” I picked the largest and fuzziest and took a big bite. Juice ran down my chin. “Yum”

  “In around twenty minutes, you’ll die in agony.”

  I took another bite. “It’s worth it. Why did Alexandra Cameron keep a box of condoms in her sweater drawer?”

  She looked away. “For the usual reason, I expect.”

  “Not to prevent pregnancy. Alexandra couldn’t get pregnant on her own, remember.”

  “There are other reasons to use condoms.”

  “The autopsy showed that neither she nor her husband had contracted STDs”

  “Worked, didn’t it?”

  I took a final bite of the peach, then dropped the pit into a half-filled trash container by the counter. “Let’s stop dancing around, Mrs. Newberry. Who was Alexandra’s lover?”

  She looked me straight in the eye. Unlike when Ali did it, I knew she was revving up for a lie. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said.

  “That’s interesting. Alison described you and Alexandra as, ‘besties.’ If I’m as up on teen-speak as I think, that means ‘best friends.’ And best friends tell each other everything. After all, you’ve already admitted that she and Dr. Cameron were having trouble.”

  “Yup. But I still don’t know who her lover was, mainly because there was no ‘lover’ in the commonly accepted sense of the word.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Have some more iced tea. And another poisoned peach.”

  There being no point in pushing my luck, I declined both. “What aren’t you telling me, Mrs. Newberry?”

  “Oh, what the hell. Poor Alexandra is dead, so it hardly matters now.” She reached over, took a peach, and
bit into it. After swallowing, she snapped, “And cut the ‘Mrs. Newberry’ crap. My name’s Margie, as you well know. By now you and that sly hacker partner of yours have found out the brand of syrup I like on my pancakes and which color I prefer for my mani-pedis. What I’m telling you, Lena, dear, oh ye of the suspicious expression, is the God’s honest truth. I have absolutely no idea who Alexandra was sleeping with. Alexandra didn’t know, either, since she never learned their last names. But if the names ‘Tony,’ or ‘George,’ or ‘Stu’ or whatever will help in your investigation, have at it.”

  I tried to keep my eyes from boggling. “Multiples?”

  “Gee, you can count.”

  “But…”

  “But what?” She took another big chaw of the peach. Hers was even juicier than mine, and she had to dab away the juice running down her chin.

  Outside, two emerald-colored hummingbirds were fighting over the rights to a feeder, while from a nearby olive tree’s top limb, a red-tailed hawk watched intently. From its posture, I figured one or both hummers had seconds to live. A sudden, brown-flashing dive and a subsequent explosion of green proved me correct. Dinner secured, the hawk flew away with its prize, leaving the surviving hummer fleeing in the opposite direction.

  “Was Alexandra moonlighting as an escort?” I asked Margie.

  She brayed a laugh. “You’ve been watching too many art flicks. Or porn. No, my ‘bestie,’ as you so charmingly call her, was no escort.” The harsh humor on her face disappeared, replaced by solemnity. “She was a normal woman trapped in a marriage with a man who either couldn’t or wouldn’t return her affection, so she took her pleasure where she could find it, mainly when she was travelling for BKDB.”

  I’ve always had trouble with acronyms. “What’s BKDB? I never heard of it.”

  “Big Kids Dream Big, a charitable organization to which Monty and I are major contributors. BKDB does for healthy but financially-strapped children what Make-A-Wish does for sick ones, helps them achieve their dreams, which in some cases, means paying school fees, or in other cases, funding trips to summer camp. As you might imagine, keeping such a large organization going entails a lot of bookkeeping, among other things, and that’s where Alexandra’s background as a CPA came in handy. She pre-audited their books on a regular basis, while I watched Ali and Alec whenever she was out of town. Along with Eldora, of course.”