Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  It was an old tape I replayed out of frustration— every year my dad sold off another chunk to developers and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Caleb ignored my harangue. “Do you remember the summer we picked grapes? How old were we then? Fourteen?”

  “I’d rather talk about why you chose to bring Spike out here to us.”

  “They don’t have a no-kill policy at the pound, and your dad likes him. Besides, Patience didn’t have any relatives other than Garth, and no friends except you and the bunch at Roxanne’s.”

  I threw up my hands. “So we’re stuck with him?”

  “Maybe Garth wants to take him back to Oklahoma.”

  “About Garth…”

  “Let’s leave him out of this for the time being, okay?”

  Since I had no intention of apologizing for slapping him, it worked for me. “So why else did you come out here?”

  Caleb reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two small baggies, the kind I used to hold Juanita’s leftovers, which were generally better the next day anyway. In Caleb’s case, he used the baggies to hold bits and pieces of evidence; fingernails, hair and little bloody body parts, appetizing stuff police use to connect a long line of pieces that make a puzzle complete.

  He opened one bag and upended the contents into his hand. A chunk of smashed gold glittered in his palm. I took it from him, and holding it up, asked, “What’s this?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me. Is it yours?”

  He leaned back and away from me. I was sorry to lose the nearness of his familiar fragrance and the light whiff of some lemony soap. I held up the remains of what appeared to be a small gold pendant. Turning it around in the light I could make out the tiny pattern veins that must have run through a cluster of leaves.

  “See,” he said, encouraging me to jump in, “each leaf was a different color: gold, pink and yellow. It’s called Black Hills Gold.”

  “I know what it is, but it’s definitely not mine. A wedding band every few years or so, but other than that, you know I don’t wear jewelry. Heck, I don’t even have my ears pierced. I have to keep something virgin on my body. Besides, stuff like this gets caught in machinery. Where’d you find it?”

  “We found it jammed in the door of your Cadillac.”

  I went still. “What was it, an earring?”

  “No, too big, our desk clerk says maybe a pendant. We’re thinking it got jerked off when the person leaned over the door as it was closing.”

  “You mean woman, don’t you? And Detective Rodney asked you to come out here and see if I’d lie about it? Like maybe I was the one who buckled her into her seat, drove into that tree, got out and then pushed the Caddy into the lake?” I was getting hot under the collar just thinking where this was leading.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Lalla, I gotta ask, or would you rather do it downtown with another officer?”

  “Tell him to get stuffed!”

  “Okay, calm down. It was your car, and you’re either going to help me or go back to the police station, your call,” he said, slipping the mangled gold back into its plastic baggie and zipping it shut.

  I folded my arms across my chest and slouched down into my chair. “Anything else?”

  Seeing as I’d conceded this round to him, he held up another bag. “How about this?”

  “A cigar?” I said. “On the record? Tell the detective I made a pact with the Dalai Lama, we both quit cold turkey. No cigars, no thank you, no matter which president offers them.”

  He stood up. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you that you’ve got a major chip on your shoulder.”

  “Not from you, it doesn’t.”

  “I’ll give you a ride to the impound lot.”

  “Great, let’s go.”

  But Caleb didn’t move, apparently occupied with some silent interior musings.

  “Now what?”

  “Well, though the department is still stumped as to why Patience was in your car, we did find something that puts a new spin on the whole thing.”

  He was still quietly gazing at the crepe myrtles. I stood up and glared down at him. “Earth to Caleb, can we do this in the car? I’d really like to leave, you know—excited to get those estimates on the Caddy, get her all cleaned up and shiny again. So, can we go now?”

  “Did you know that Patience McBride wasn’t a widow?”

  “Of course she is—was. She told all of us… Wait, what’re you saying?”

  “I remember that, but I now know where he’s been for the last twenty years.”

  “I’m all ears, where?”

  “In Folsom, twenty to twenty-five for second-degree murder.”

  “I’ll be damned. We all thought she was a widow.”

  “Not any more, she isn’t,” he said, stepping off the porch. “What I can’t understand is why, with just barely a month of his sentence to go, he escaped.”

  “The husband? He escaped?”

  “Well, more like walked off the premises. It’s not that hard to do. That’s why they call it an honor farm.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said, suddenly aware of who called me girly and held a gun in my back. Maybe staying up on the porch where I could feel the safety of home under my feet wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “He was in for murder? Maybe Spike and my dad’s shotgun will need more backup.”

  “There’s a twenty-four-hour patrol here, but since everyone’s looking for him, I think you’re safe for now. C’mon, let’s go.”

  I stood, opened the front door and called back into the cool recesses of the house. “We’re going into town to pick up my Caddy!” I closed the door quickly to keep out the rising heat and any requests for groceries… or dog food.

  Driving into town, we sat in silence, thinking our own separate thoughts, sentimental things, like guns, drowned cars, dead bodies in the lake, and appropriate murder suspects.

  Caleb said, “I’m going to stop by the office and pick up the old boy’s police record. Then we’ll see what’s up with his trial and conviction.” He put a little more foot to the pedal, and in no time at all, we pulled up and parked in front of the county offices.

  While Caleb was getting his information, my stomach spoke to me in no uncertain terms. In my worried state, I’d forgotten to eat breakfast. And since I get all wobbly and disjointed when I’m low on blood sugar, I went looking for a quick fix. I vaguely recalled someone saying being in love is much the same feeling. Nothing, I had decided, that a candy bar wouldn’t cure.

  I stood in front of the candy machine outside Caleb’s door, trying to come up with enough change. Finding none, and knowing Caleb frequently kept snacks in his desk, I asked in a voice loud enough to be heard all the way through his office, “Hey, Caleb! You got anything good to eat in your drawers?”

  Caleb’s head shot up liked he’d just been goosed. He blushed crimson and then ducked again to hide behind the folder he’d been reading at his desk.

  I stood there wondering why he was ignoring me and his office mates were chuckling behind their papers. He stacked the pile of messages, came around the desk, handed me a wrapped, if slightly crushed, candy bar, and pushed me out the door. I wasn’t sure, but I thought our departure was accompanied by the muffled laughter of his co-workers.

  I bit at the wrapper to get at it, grumbling about its doubtful heritage and biting around the stale candy bar when Caleb grabbed my arm and propelled me down the hall and out of the building.

  He shoved me into the cruiser, got in, and buckled up.

  “Hey,” I said, “what was that all about? You were kinda rough there, chum.”

  Caleb, with a bland expression on his face, said, “Fasten your seat belt.”

  “I know that look! It’s your Batman-laser-beam stare. Garth and I got it last night, and I gotta tell you, I didn’t appreciate it then, and I certainly don’t now.”

  He harrumphed and, turning on the air-conditioning, gunned the big engine into reverse,
then slammed the gearshift into forward and we tore down the street.

  “You going to put your siren on?” I asked sweetly.

  Nothing.

  Well, two can play this game, I thought silently. I sat munching stale peanuts in the candy bar and ignoring his lead foot while the scenery whirred past in a blur.

  In a few minutes we were out of the city limits and turning onto a country lane. He pulled over, shifted into park, unbuckled the seat belt and eased around to face me. In his best Officer-Stone-voice, he said, “Lalla, we need to talk.”

  “Now what? I thought you said we weren’t going there,” I said, prodding at a nut lodged between my back teeth with a fingernail.

  I could see Caleb was working up to a temper tantrum. That’s when his iceberg blues go a shade colder and the side of his neck looks like somebody with rosy red lips had taken a swipe at it. It obviously wasn’t my idea of a temper tantrum. No knives thrown, no doors torn off, not so much as a dewdrop of sweat broken.

  Instead, he used words that cut right through the quagmire of preamble, like right now when he said, “You take me for granted, Lalla. I’m just another useful appendage for you. You’re selfish, self-absorbed, and vain.”

  “And your point is?” All I could hear was “selfish, self-absorbed and vain.” It cut me to the core, but I wasn’t about to let him know it.

  “Back there in the squad room, that was just embarrassing.”

  I didn’t know, or realize, I’d embarrassed him. I asked softly, “How’d I do that?”

  “Let me see if I can spell it out for you—’Do you have anything good to eat in your drawers?’”

  “Oh,” was all I could manage. I was mortified and tickled at the same time. I rolled my eyes and bit at my lower lip to keep the two opinions from outright collision. My eyebrows wormed up and down in counterfeit anxiety as my voice quaked with all of the mirth I didn’t dare show. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. You’re right, you know. On every count.”

  I could see a crack of a smile zigzagging its way up his face to lift the tired pouches under his eyes. Finally, humor won out, and he chuckled. “You—you…” He waggled his finger at my nose, trying to get the words out, but I’d gotten to his funny bone, and it was impossible for either of us to hold a straight face.

  We grinned, giggled, and laughed outright until we collapsed against each other from the strain. Then we fell away to point at each other and laugh again.

  “It’s all your fault,” I said, wiping away the tears of mirth. “You know I can’t be taken out in public without making a fool out of one of us.”

  “Never a dull moment, I’ll say that for you.”

  I reached across the seat and lightly touched his cheek. “I’m sorry. Truly. Sometimes I just open my mouth to change feet.”

  He surprised me by catching my hand and kissing the knuckles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Suddenly embarrassed, I snatched back my hand. His words were those of brotherly affection; it was the delivery that left buzzing sounds in my ears.

  Then Caleb’s expression changed again, and he seemed to search for something else he needed, wanted, or had lost. He looked down at our hands lying on the seat between us. Lifting a finger of my hand as it lay on the seat and rubbing his thumb along the edge of my nail, he said, “I do love you, you know.”

  One minute we’re fighting and the next, oh boy! Could Garth have been right that he’d seen jealousy on Caleb’s face? Whatever this was, I wasn’t going there, not yet, not now. Anyway, I wasn’t ready to let go of my mad, so I said, “You think that’s going to make up for why I slapped you last night?”

  “Not working for you, is it? Come on, you can’t stay mad at me, can you? Besides, I’ve already forgiven you for last night.”

  “Well, I haven’t forgiven you! You were way out of line, buster. There I was, my nerves slinging five ways to Sunday, but did you care?”

  “What’re you talking about? Of course I care!”

  “You set me up with damn Detective Rodney. You got what you two wanted, and then you didn’t like what you saw? You weren’t thinking of me at all. All you could see was Lalla having a good old time with Patience’s nephew.”

  He jerked back as if I’d slapped him again.

  “You’re denying it? You called me and told me when to come in for my scheduled appointment with Homicide. You were there to show me the car, see my reaction to it, and you told me Garth was asking for me and where I should go to find him.”

  “It’s not like that, Lalla.”

  “Until you can prove to me otherwise, I can’t see it any other way. Now, if you please, I’d like to pick up my car.”

  He silently put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. Then his radio scratched on with a call from the office.

  “Let me call you back on the cell phone, Judy,” he said, switching off the radio, picking up the handset and auto-dialing the office. I knew he did it to beat the snoops listening on police scanners. But I also think he just didn’t want me to hear. He scribbled down what Dispatch said, then asked Judy to repeat it, and looking at me, wrote again. Tearing off the small note from the clipboard, he slid it into a breast pocket.

  I felt sure it had something to do with me, and if not me, at least Patience’s death, which had a lot to do with me. “Well? What is it?”

  “I’m going to Stockton. Garth’s ex-wife has agreed to an interview. I’ll drop you off at the impound lot.”

  “Take me with you. It’ll go better with a woman’s touch.” But from Caleb’s stiff posture, I thought maybe I’d already screwed up any chance of a ride-along.

  “I’m picking up a female officer downtown.”

  “Please, Caleb? I’ll wait in the car,” I said, hoping he would find it too troublesome to take me all the way to the impound lot.

  “No,” he said, his expression void of anger, amusement, or anything that might be mistaken for affection. “You’re not a suspect, remember?”

  “There’s still my reputation to consider,” I pleaded, watching him for a sign he was even considering the idea.

  But he held onto his poker face, avoiding any further conversation until he pulled into the police impound lot and ordered me out of the car. “This is as far as we go.”

  I did as I was told and got out, then leaned down to talk to him through the window. “But I didn’t tell you what I learned about Patience’s nephew, Garth.”

  “What for? We already know that the guy’s a drunk, mooched off his aunt, and that he’s a pathological liar.”

  My breath caught in my throat. The first of it sounded a little over the top, but it was the last part that caught my attention. “What do you mean, pathological liar?”

  “Get your car fixed, go home. I’ve already heard all I want to know about Garth.”

  “He couldn’t have done it. He wasn’t the one sticking the gun in my back.”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t Garth? He was conveniently out of the room, wasn’t he? That house is like every other farmhouse in the Valley; the back door goes right out through the kitchen.”

  I was ready to pull out my hair—or what was left of his. The man could be so damn exasperating. “Impossible! He’d have to be the quickest multiple personality in the West. I’m telling you, there was nothing alike about those two voices.”

  He tilted an eyebrow at me. “Whispered, didn’t he?”

  I sucked in a breath. Satisfied to have had the last word, he looked over his shoulder and put the big cruiser into reverse.

  “Not fair, Caleb!” I yelled at the hood of his car as he backed out of the driveway and onto the street.

  What was that little hand kiss all about?

  NINE

  Sonny, my mechanic, was having a hard time holding onto his delight.

  “Don’t worry, Lalla, we’ll have her right as rain in no time,” he said, grinning so wide I could see his back teeth. “You got insurance, right?”

  “How much, Sonn
y?” I asked, thinking of the deductible.

  “Well now, besides the obvious fender problem, you got some major damage to the underbody.” He took a minute to bend over, giving me his opinion along with a good deal of butt-crack. “We’re going to have to work the kinks out of the frame or she’ll dog-track.” He cocked his right elbow in front of the other to demonstrate the serious responsibility of a proper repair. His jeans were in danger of falling off, but it was pointless to tell Sonny. He was a hell of a mechanic with the fashion sense of a raccoon.

  “How much?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Well now, why don’t you let me give you a ride to the car rental agency and I’ll tell you.”

  Sonny was enjoying himself. Between McHenry and 17th Street, he came up with a number. It was the most expensive three-mile ride I’ve ever had.

  ~*~

  The car rental company had only one medium-sized car left on their lot; the rest were compacts. “Last one,” the teenager at the counter said, handing me the keys to a Ford Tempo. His hair was spiked orange with black at the roots and he smelled faintly of patchouli and something else I couldn’t quite recall at the moment. Next week the hair would probably be green. I thought of telling him if he kept dyeing it strange colors it would fall out, but if the pierced eyebrows were any indication, what would be the point? I took the keys and went to look for my ride. It was an unwashed blue Ford Tempo, looking shabby, dented, and all alone in the big empty lot.

  Opening the door, I noticed the seat was smeared with something that looked suspiciously like dried blood, or maybe it was ketchup. This was customer service? I did a U-turn and pulled into the rental lot.

  In the office, Mr. Customer Service met my complaint with a slow shrug. “Sorry, the cleaning crew has gone for the day, and that’s all we got left.”

  “I had a reservation for a full-sized sedan. This can’t be all you’ve got.”

  “They all went for some winery hotshots.”

  “I had a reservation too.”

  “Last clean one went to a redhead. She was younger and prettier, you know?”