by Sylvia Nobel
I turned away in disgust and stomped back to the main room. It looked deserted, except for Doug at the bar, and a sandy-haired man, apparently asleep, his head lolling on the back of one of the plush sofas.
My feet hurt from the four inch heels, so I dropped into a nearby chair and kicked off my shoes.
“Are you a pooper too?”
I jumped and turned toward the man on the couch I’d thought was asleep.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A pooper. Party pooper?” He yawned widely.
I laughed. “Is that what you are?”
“God, yes,” he groaned, stretching. “At least that’s what my wife always calls me. I’m a tennis widower actually.”
“Is that like a golf widow reversed?” I asked.
“Yes. My wife, Marcie, drags me to every event within a five hundred mile radius. She hangs around with the pros and talks tennis while I sleep wherever I can find a quiet spot.”
I smiled at him. “Don’t you like tennis?”
“Oh, sure I do. I even took her to Wimbledon last year. But I get tired of talking about it constantly. Marcie’s totally obsessed. Not only does she watch, she plays too. She’d have me on the court day and night, but someone in the family has to work.”
“What keeps you busy?” I asked, massaging my aching toes.
“I almost hate to tell you.” He sighed, sounding apologetic. “I’m one of those people everyone makes jokes about.”
“What? You’re in politics?”
“Close. Lawyer. We are the object of great ridicule until we’re needed.” He reached into his jacket and handed me a card. “Just in case you ever require my services.”
I read the firm name. “Well, Mike Scott it’s nice to meet you. You’re the second attorney I’ve met this evening.”
“We travel in packs at social events,” he said with a wry smile. “Like coyotes. Predators, get it?” He bared his teeth and I laughed again. Then he said, “So, who’d you meet, my partner Aaron Hamilton? He’s around here somewhere.”
“No. His name is Eric Heisler.”
“Heisler?” He blew out a sigh. “That guy is one lucky son of a bitch.”
Surprised at his tone of resignation, I asked, “Why do you say that?”
“Because, while the rest of us are all fighting over the same rotting carcass he’s become a millionaire.”
“I thought most lawyers were.”
“Hardly. Right now there are more of us than there are clients and we’re all sweating receivables. Except him. Five years ago he was just one of fifteen of us at the firm,. Now, he’s out buying up property all over the place, he’s furnishing a huge place on Camelback Mountain down there in Phoenix, and flying all over the place in his private plane.” He shook his head in silent envy. “I tell you there’s no justice in the world, pardon the pun.”
I cocked my head at him. “So, what makes him so special?”
He shrugged. “Apparently he’s picked up some lucrative cases as of late and managed to get some major settlements.” He threw me a curious look. “Say, how come you ask so many questions?”
I smiled. “It’s my job. My name is Kendall O’Dell. I’m a reporter for the Castle Valley Sun.”
We both paused in our conversation and looked up as Claudia Phillips swished by. I could smell the sweet scent of her Shalimar perfume. When I called out “Hello,” her gaze flickered toward me. For an instant, a look of malice blazed in her eyes, then just as quickly vanished. She nodded, dispensed a tight smile and continued on, disappearing into the ballroom.
“Va va voom!” Mike breathed. “Who was that?” He had an odd expression on his face.
“She runs a girl’s shelter here in town.”
“What’s her name?”
“Claudia Phillips. Why?”
His eyes held a faraway look. “I know I’ve seen her somewhere before. The name is different…and her hair…” He threw up his hands. “It’ll probably come to me at four in the morning.”
“Well, if it does, would you give me a call? Here’s my number.” I tore a sheet of paper from my notepad and handed it to him.
He glanced at it briefly and stuffed the note in his pocket. “Ah, here comes Marcie,” he announced brightly, standing to greet a petite, yet athletic-looking blonde. We exchanged introductions, chatted a few more minutes and then they left arm in arm. He’d given me a lot of information and it reminded me that I still needed to get a quote from Eric Heisler. As I squeezed on my shoes, I pondered over Claudia’s puzzling behavior.
On the way toward the ballroom, Ginger stopped me to say she was leaving. I told her I had a few more interviews and then I’d corral Bradley for a ride home. “Wait,” Ginger said, grabbing my arm. “I saw you talking to Eric Heisler earlier this evening. Well? What do you think? Is he the yummiest thing you ever laid eyes on, or what?”
Amused, I said, “Yeah. He’s yummy all right and if it hadn’t been for Bradley butting in when he did, I’d have had dinner with him.”
“Good lord! You mean to tell me you got the two of them fighting over you already?”
“I don’t think they were fighting over me.”
Ginger’s eyes widened. “Wait. I remember now why Tally don’t like him. I heard tell it’s ’cause…” Her voice trailed off and I turned to see Bradley coming toward us. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. She waved good-bye to both of us and left.
“I’ve saved the last two dances for you,” he announced benevolently, flashing me a winning smile. “Why should I dance with you?”
“Because you want to.”
I did want to. I hadn’t danced for over a year, but I was still irritated with him for embarrassing me in front of Eric Heisler. “Thanks, but I’m tired.”
“No. You’re still pouting.”
“I’m not pouting,” I said evenly and tried to get around him. He blocked my way.
“You certainly have a funny way of showing gratitude.”
I glared at him. This wasn’t doing either of us any good. “Look, I am grateful for your help tonight, but…what was that little scene with Eric Heisler all about?”
His eyes hardened. “It would take too long to tell you now. Let’s dance.”
Ignoring my lame protests, he pulled me into the ballroom and onto the dance floor. I’d never danced to country western music before and he patiently walked me though the steps. The second dance was better. It was fairly fast and as he whirled me around I was very aware of his touch. It ignited emotions in me I thought I had well under control.
When he held me tighter, I didn’t pull away. Did I dare let my growing attraction surface? There were so many things I still didn’t know about him. I wished again that I could just ask him point blank if he had anything to do with his wife’s death and get it over with. But I couldn’t.
The crowd was thinning as the last song ended. Bradley thanked me for the dances and said he’d bring the truck around front in a few minutes.
When I retrieved my camera bag from Doug, he said, “I’m supposed to give you this note.” Puzzled, I accepted the envelope and opened it while I waited outside for Bradley.
It read: Our first encounter was pure enchantment. Will you have dinner with me on Friday? I await your call. It was signed Eric Heisler. His business card was enclosed.
Pure enchantment? Was this guy for real? As Bradley’s truck pulled up, I hastily stuffed the note in my camera bag.
On the drive home, I sat quietly while a warm nighttime breeze blew through the open window. Was it just my idyllic mood, or did the desert look particularly beautiful tonight? The moonlight traced soft silver borders on the saguaro cactus and illuminated the distant mountains.
I tried not to think about everything that had happened, but a whole host of unanswered questions lay like a coiled spring at the base of my mind.
“So, why don’t you like Eric Heisler?” The question leaped off my tongue before I could stop it.
In the dim
light of the cab I saw his features harden. “He’s not a man to be trusted.”
He can’t be trusted? I thought incredulously. And this coming from a man suspected of murdering his wife?
“Oh, come on. In what way? I’ve heard nothing but glowing reports about him.”
“If you must know,” he said gravely, “he’s one of the men in Castle Valley my dear departed wife chose to sleep with.”
11
Scrunched low in the seat, barely able to see over the dashboard, I sipped the last of the lukewarm coffee from the Styrofoam cup. Morton Tuggs would be expecting some answers from me soon, so I had planned the Monday morning stakeout of the Ocotillo Apartments in hopes of cornering Yolanda Reyes. Like it or not, she was going to talk to me today. I’d already been there for over an hour, and now with dawn breaking, I was about to lose the cover of darkness.
A covey of quail scuttled across the dirt road and disappeared underneath one of the dilapidated cars parked along the side of the street. I hoped one of the junkers belonged to Yolanda because it would certainly be easier to follow her on wheels than on foot.
I shifted to a more comfortable position and then mentally sifted through the myriad of unanswered questions that had become my constant companions.
Foremost in my mind was Bradley’s bombshell announcement that linked Eric Heisler with his late wife. When I’d pressed him for further details, he admitted he’d never really had proof of her infidelity, but had strongly suspected it. When confronted, he told me Stephanie hadn’t denied seeing Eric, saying she’d consulted him only professionally about divorce proceedings. But she’d been unable to explain why she had stayed overnight in Phoenix several times at Eric’s plush home.
While he talked, his eyes had grown cold and distant. I was stunned. After all these weeks of wondering about him, he’d handed me the opening I’d been waiting for. I was all set to plunge ahead with questions when he suddenly clammed up, saying perhaps we’d talk more at the dinner I’d promised him, although no firm date was set.
After he’d left, I wondered if I should have told him that I knew all about how Stephanie had died. But something stopped me. I hated to divulge the fact that I’d been gossiping about him with Ginger.
Waves of revulsion washed over me again as I remembered the spider invasion. I’d been jumpy in the house ever since. My antipathy toward Lucinda, my prime suspect, had grown tenfold. I’d also had time to speculate on the odd behavior of my only neighbor, Dr. Isadore Price. On Sunday, I’d watched from my kitchen window as the black Mercedes, followed again by the white van, sped by. I couldn’t understand why the doctor had been so taken aback at my innocent suggestion that we talk sometime. Perhaps I’d best do a little research on Serenity House.
And then there was the problem of what to do about Eric Heisler. He was just about the sexiest man I’d ever met. I wondered if I should let Bradley’s accusation that he’d been one of Stephanie’s bedmates interfere with the fact that I really wanted to see him again.
A movement at the apartment gates caught my attention. Elated, I watched Yolanda Reyes, clad in blue jeans and a checked shirt, walk toward and unlock the battered Datsun two cars ahead of me.
She wasn’t difficult to tail. Her car belched a trail of blue smoke for blocks. I jotted down the license plate for future reference. Two miles later, she swung into an alley adjacent to Sierra Laundry & Dry Cleaning. I pulled up behind her and leapt from the car calling, “Miss Reyes, I need to talk to you.”
Her eyes registered blankness first and then recognition, followed by fury. “¡Puta!” she spat.
She broke into a run, but I sprinted and grabbed her arm. “Wait! Listen to me. I never knew John Dexter, okay? I’m the reporter who took his place.” She paused, looking uncertain, so I quickly added, “All I’m trying to do is find out where he went.”
I watched the rage fade from her eyes, and with a feeling of relief, I released her arm.
“So…you were not one of his…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Your apartment manager said John purchased bus tickets to Nogales. Is that correct?”
“Sí. He says he does this for her,” she said with a thick Spanish accent.
“Her?”
“The girl on the phone. And now…he is gone.”
Her deep brown eyes misted. “I know sometimes he will see…the other girls. But he tells me it is nothing how do you say?…so serious.” She wiped away the tears on her cheeks and said in a cracked voice, “He says he loves me and we will soon marry.”
“Yolanda, who called him the night before he van…er…left?”
“I do not know her name. She calls two…three times, maybe.”
“How do you know?”
“I was with him.”
“You didn’t ask who she was?”
“Sí. But all he says is, ‘I will tell you when the time, it is right.’”
“I see.” We were silent for a moment. “Did the police question you about John?”
“Many days later. I can tell them little.”
“Did they ever check back with you again?”
“No.”
I paused while she yanked a wad of tissue from her pocket. “Listen, John supposedly got a speeding ticket the afternoon he was last seen. If he went to Nogales on the bus, what happened to his vehicle?”
She looked blank. “Vehicle?”
“You know. His car or whatever he was driving.”
“I too wondered that. His pickup was new.”
“Do you know what make it was?”
She shook her head.
“Color?”
“Red. It has the big, big tires.”
“Did he pack his apartment the day he left?”
She shook her head.
“Did he come back for his stuff?”
“No.”
I raised a brow. “Who cleaned out his apartment?”
“Days after, two men come driving a big truck. I ask them, ‘Are you going to Nogales?’ but they do not answer.”
“Do you remember the name on the truck?”
She thought for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other while absently pulling on strands of her long, dark hair. “It was one of those…you know…trucks for rent...” She glanced at her watch, looking anxious. “Oh! I am late.”
“Just one more thing, Yolanda, and I hate to ask you but…do you have a recent photograph of John?” She hesitated, and I added, “I just need it for a few days.” I gave her a reassuring smile. After another moment’s hesitation, she hurried to her car and returned clutching a photograph showing the two of them entwined in each other’s arms.
“The picture. You promise to give back?” she asked, handing it to me. It was much better than the blurry photo Tugg had shown me. The face of a good looking young man with dark hair and eyes smiled back at me.
“You have my word on it. Here’s my number. If you think of anything else, would you please call me?”
She nodded, started to walk away, then turned and gave me an anguished look. “He did not tell me good-bye. Why does he do this when he promises he will come back?”
“I don’t know, Yolanda, but I’ll sure try to find out.” She flashed me a teary smile and ran inside the cleaners. Yolanda’s parting statement definitely didn’t jibe with what Roy Hollingsworth had said, that John Dexter had simply gotten bored and taken off for parts unknown. And the fact that she had been questioned only once following his disappearance certainly demonstrated Dexter’s allegations of sloppy investigating.
While the information was fresh I made copious notes and then headed to the sheriff’s office. I had to cross my fingers and hope that Roy would buy my reasons for wanting to look at the files of the dead teens.
As luck would have it, Roy wasn’t there. Instead I dealt with Deputy Duane Potts. I smiled to myself. The last few times I had been in to check the police log, his fawning demeanor and thinly-concealed lust had made it rather obvious that
Deputy Potts had the hots for me. Perhaps I could use that to my advantage.
“And how are you this fine morning, Miss O’Dell?” he asked with an ingratiating smile as he smoothed what was left of his limp blonde hair with one hand while thumbing his shirt tighter into his trousers with the other.
I forced a dazzling smile. “I’m just great, and you?” As I studied the log, he told me how busy he’d been with Roy out of town the last three days. “I hope he’s got some money left when he gets back,” he cracked, imparting a knowing look in my direction.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, you know how it goes up there in Vegas,” he laughed. “Sometimes you win big, sometimes you lose big.”
“Does Roy gamble a lot?”
“I guess you might say he’s addicted.”
“Must be nice to have money to burn.”
He was studying his own reflection in the window glass and repeatedly smoothed his pencil thin mustache. Returning his attention to me he said, “Well, I guess we can’t all be millionaires like Roy.” He laughed heartily at his own joke and I pretended I didn’t see him mentally undressing me. The fact that he had a wife and four kids at home sure didn’t stop him from gawking.
I rounded my eyes with innocence. “Really? I had no idea Roy had that kind of money. His salary certainly must be a lot better than mine.”
“Mine too. But then, we can’t all have a rich aunt die and leave us a fortune.”
“Oh, I see. Well, Duane, I need a favor. I’ve been assigned to do a series on runaway teen-agers and in my research of the area, I came across two cases you guys have investigated during the past year.”
“Oh, sure. You mean those poor little gals we found in the desert? Yes, siree. We finally got a positive ID on the second girl, but Roy’s still workin’ on the other one.”
He appeared relaxed, talkative, and not the least suspicious. Might as well strike while the iron was hot. “Could I see the files on those cases? I’d like to see if there’s anything I could use in my story.”
