Evil Cries

by Lala Corriere

  “There’s not exactly a lot of water around here,” I said.

  Taylor downed his beer. “Not a lot of water,” he repeated. “Just where do you go off sailing?”

  “A lot of locals keep their boats down in San Carlos. A two-hour drive to the border and then another four hours to get to prized blue waters. For about the same drive you can be in San Diego.”

  Gage said, “Four hours to Puerto Penasco.”

  Taylor slapped more than enough cash onto the table to pay our tab, and then rose to his feet. “I’ve gotta go,” he said.

  Chapter 84

  The Trail of a Chameleon

  GAGE PATROLLED OUR HOME and grounds like a wild hungry beast looking for prey. I acknowledged the fact he had purchased two guns. He had every reason to believe he needed to protect his own life. I recognized, if there was a certain Boogie Man out there, Gage would need to be eliminate it. It saddened me that I had brought this into our life.

  THE NEXT DAY SHIRLEY had both Detective Taylor and me on a conference Skype call.

  “There’s not a trace of him here in Tennessee,” she said.

  Silence enveloped all of us as our voices fell.

  “I have a thought,” I said.

  “Tell us, Sterling,” Shirley said. “We like your thoughts.”

  “Again, I’m no expert, but it must have occurred to you. Even with a failing practice here in Tucson, Marcus Armstrong was a practiced surgeon. He would have known precisely where to drive that knife into his body and hit the right spot. He didn’t. He wanted to survive.”

  Sterling giggled. I guess they already knew that Armstrong would be a survivor.

  “Good girl, Sterling,” Shirley said. “Read my mind now, Steve. What’s next.”

  Taylor laughed. A rigid laugh, but laced with dictates.

  “Sterling. I’m sending out round-the-clock surveillance. They’ll be at your home and your store.”

  “We can fire our guns, thanks to you, Detective,” I said.

  “You might be able to fire that gun of yours, but that doesn’t make you competent. I’ve seen you in action. Get over it.”

  “So I guess I should close my blinds,” I said.

  “Only in your bedroom. We want to be able to see in to your main living areas.

  “Shirley, get your butt back here. Zoey’s mother will be arriving here in a few days.”

  “I’m booking my flight home,” Shirley said.

  THAT EARLY MORNING, I visited Zoey in her hospital room. She would come alive to me in spurts. She would tell me or anyone she might have imagined in the room, “I am the light of a thousand angels and my name is Zoey Lane.”

  I loved that Zoey’s mom would be there, no matter the mother’s mental condition. We all had to believe she would be the one to bring Zoey back to us in her full-living color. I also worried. Zoey probably didn’t know about the death of her bonus father, Victor Romero. She would not know that Romero’s family was holding off the memorial service until Zoey was able to attend. What a dreadful thing. To come back to the living and have to bear such loss.

  DETECTIVE TAYLOR DRILLED Junior over the phone. “You have nothing on that so-called chef?”

  “Nothing. There’s no one to question. No one seems to have ever been out at the ranch, but a stable master, and he insists he knows nothing. Says he saw the “chef” serve fine meals at the main house, but he was lucky to get a beer here and there, and maybe some table scraps. He’s pretty pissed about the whole thing. No one’s around to pay him this week, but he won’t stop taking care of the horses. This chef lived in the guest house, but it’s clean. We lifted some prints. There’s not been a match.”

  “Yeah, well you know the saying,” Taylor said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You can date a prince. You can date a princess. But you can’t date a print.”

  “Clever. What do I do now?” Junior asked.

  “Rachel Lee?” Taylor asked. “We have an eye witness that pairs her and Armstrong, engaged in a hot and cold conversation.”

  “She’s like a chameleon. She had a brief affair with Gage Beauchamp years ago, but Beauchamp called it off once he got sight of the chameleon’s true colors. She had been in Chicago, and her visits there did not start up until Beauchamp’s pieces were hanging in a gallery. Her trips seemed to correspond with the one-man art shows Beauchamp had going on. Her credentials as some bigwig in the art world are false, but not necessarily illegal. That much we know. As to her relationship with Marcus Armstrong, it’s a mystery, except for those paintings found in his stables.”

  “Dig deeper. One of these two persons knows where that asshole is hiding,” Taylor said. “Follow any money trails. In Armstrong’s sick mind he may seek comfort from one of them. In the meantime, give me everything you have On Rachel Ray. At least we have a face and a name for that one.”

  Taylor had hope. He had an idea, at least. He just wanted to see the facts in writing one more time.

  SCOURING OVER THE PILES of documents they had amassed on Rachel Lee, Detective Taylor found what he was looking for.

  Rachel Lee’s father had passed away two years earlier. He didn’t leave her money. He didn’t leave her his house. He left her a boat docked at a harbor in San Diego with slip fees and maintenance paid for in perpetuity. Or, at least, through the life of his beloved yacht.

  Taylor paced the tile floor until his call finally went through to Shirley, just boarding her connecting flight to Tucson. He told her to redirect.

  Chapter 85

  The West Coast & Waters

  THE DRIVE WAS AN easy six hours, especially since Marcus Armstrong wasn’t behind the wheel. Rachel Lee agreed to drive him to San Diego for a quick five-thousand dollars. Peanuts. She negotiated hard for another twenty-thousand to rent her boat for a month. Marcus held back his desire to smirk. She had no idea he would have gladly paid her one-hundred thousand or more.

  “Damn,” Marcus said aloud as Rachel led him toward the slip. He tossed his cell phone back into his chest pocket.

  “You’re scaring me,” she said. “First of all, I thought you said you didn’t have your phone with you. What is it?”

  “It’s a disposable, Silly Girl. And my captain just cancelled on me. I guess I’m going to have to renege on the rental.”

  “Not so fast,” Rachel said. “We had a deal.”

  Armstrong counted out the five grand. “Not in writing, Sweetie.”

  “You can’t mean I drove all the way over here for a measly five-thousand?”

  “Really, I want to honor my commitment, but I can’t sail this thing of yours by myself. Do you have any other bright ideas? Maybe you know someone that’s hungry around here and wouldn’t mind picking up some serious money just to have some fun out on the water for a month.”

  Rachel pursed her lips, her hands square on her small waist. “Hell, no. I don’t even know the name of the harbor master.”

  “Well, you can’t expect me to pay you for a yacht I can’t use.”

  Armstrong grabbed his duffle bag. “I’ll go hail a cab.”

  He turned and began ascending the boat dock. He got further along than he had anticipated and shortened his stride.

  “Wait a minute,” Rachel yelled.

  Armstrong kept walking.

  “Wait! Marcus!” she yelled out louder. “I’ll go with you.”

  For a price, Marcus thought.

  TAYLOR CAUGHT A FLIGHT IN time to meet Shirley at San Diego International Airport.

  “What’s up?” Shirley said. “Not that I don’t love San Diego, but I’d rather be home with my daughter and Zoey.”

  “Here’s our escort,” Taylor said, shooing Shirley into the unmarked police car.

  “You know where we’re headed?” Steve asked the officer.

  “Yes, sir. The Marina del Sol. It’s about an eight-minute drive.”

  “Steve. What’s going on?”

  “I took your kids out for brewskies after the firing ran
ge and joked with Gage that we’d be best going fishing on our next outing. Gage guffawed at the notion, but said he loved boats. So read my mind.”

  “I’m totally lost on this one. Chalk it up to jetlag and family that matters. So what?”

  “My mind was tight as a chastity belt on an ox that afternoon. I thought about this creep out there in the middle of the desert on a damn boat he had claimed as his.”

  “More,” Shirley said.

  “It was either a fluke or an epiphany. A shockwave of blurred facts. I remembered rifling through the files on Rachel Lee. I thought I remembered that she had inherited a boat in San Diego.”

  “And?” Shirley prodded, her arms now clamped behind her head and speaking from behind clenched teeth.

  “It’s a leap, but the only lead we have. Armstrong may or may not have had an affinity for boats, much less the blue waters. Rachel Lee has a seaworthy vessel. Armstrong has to know this may be his only way to Mexico. Or anywhere out of the states, for that matter.”

  “Damn. You are good, but my mind is calculating the odds. It’s only a six hour drive from Tucson to San Diego. Give another hour or two to pick up provisions and get to this marina. He’s probably already throwing back shots of tequila under a palapa somewhere.”

  “Then do your magic FBI thing,” Taylor said. “I don’t think they could have gotten that far.”

  Within the half hour, the Coast Guard would be engaged in the search, and the Mexican Port Authorities had been alerted.

  Running both siren and lights, it took them less than five minutes to arrive at The Marina del Sol, where the harbormaster stood to greet them.

  “Anything you need. Anything,” the man said.

  “The owner?”

  “I don’t know the daughter well. She keeps to herself, but for her loud parties. I can tell you, she’s a competent sailor.”

  “Let’s start by you taking us to the boat,” Taylor said.

  “I would if I could. It’s an empty slip. I double checked it not ten minutes ago.”

  “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “It was here last night on my midnight watch.”

  Shirley said, “We’ll need a description of this boat, including any name on it. Any flags it flies. Whatever you have.”

  “I can do better than that. The boat bore the name, The Rachel, in big blue letters. And I keep photographs of all of our boats. All of them. I’ll get you one.”

  “One more question. What’s your best guess as to how far down the coast they could have sailed.”

  “The Rachel is a forty-five-foot sloop with a sixty-seven horse power diesel engine. It’s going to motor-cruise at about 8.3 knots per hour.”

  “What does that mean? How far could they have gone?” Shirley asked.

  “Within two hours of casting off she can be in Mexican or international waters.”

  Chapter 86

  Planting for a Future

  GAGE AND I SAT ON the ground next to the earth he had tilled and we started planting the bulbs he had gifted me, plus another couple dozen annuals and three jasmine bushes.

  “You’re far too quiet, Sterling,” Gage said. “Are you okay?”

  “Physically I’m not one-hundred percent, but I’m fine. I’m worried about Shirley and Detective Taylor. I’m worried that they’ve found this monster and I’m terrified they haven’t.”

  He passed me a water bottle and said, “And I’m selfish. I’m worried you want to live with a dead-beat artist.”

  The Earl of Éclair starting digging up a bulb I had just planted, and we both reached to pat it back into the ground.

  “I was wrong to ever doubt you, but I’m right about a couple of things.”

  “Seriously?” He laughed.

  “I lost sight of our love and commitment. That was wrong. You’ve lost sight of where you were before all of this happened. You’ve had good sales here in Tucson, New York, Santa Fe, Denver, and San Diego. If I’m not mistaken you even shipped two pieces to Guadalajara earlier this year.

  “We’re paying our bills and we have a fabulous lifestyle.”

  “Oh yes. You feed me the labulous fife line.”

  “Gage! I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” he said. Already on his knees, and with Harry between us, he proposed.

  “I don’t have a ring for you. I mean, that would be the hardest thing you could ever ask me to do, unless you want me to take you into your store and buy something at full retail. I can do that.”

  “Pffft,” I spitted out. “I’m thinking maybe we tattoo our rings on our fingers.”

  “So you’ve been thinking about it?”

  I shook my head adamantly.

  “I’ll take that as a whopping yes, Sterling style.”

  Chapter 87

  This is Getting Fun

  SHIRLEY RECEIVED THE CALL and put it on speaker phone.

  “This is United States Coast Guard Aircraft Commander Jake Windsor. Helo HH-67. The vessel, The Rachel, has been spotted and positively identified. I repeat, The Rachel has been spotted. She is in international waters. Coordinates to follow. Two Coast Guard Cutters are in the vicinity and responding.”

  Shirley and Taylor heard, felt, and then saw the Black Hawk lowering down to the empty school parking lot in front of them.

  “This time our transportation is on me,” Shirley winked as they ducked down for their approach.

  “I love our cat-and-mouse game,” Taylor said as they climbed aboard.

  With his passengers strapped into their seats and headphones on, the pilot lifted off and said, “My name is Captain Morgan. I don’t want to hear any jokes about that because I’ve heard them all. Now I’ve been told I don’t have any sissies on board and that’s a good thing because we’re taking this baby to maximum speed. That’s about one-hundred seventy-five knots, or for you landlubbers, about two-hundred-one miles per hour. Just to give you a little perspective, that boat of yours down there is a real beauty, but she’s only got 8.3 knots in her. She’s no match for us.”

  Shirley and Taylor both responded with a resounding yes.

  Shirley held on to whatever she could grab, while Taylor mouthed the words to her, “This was your idea.”

  “We’re getting close,” Captain Morgan said. You both should have some binoculars near your seat. Pull them out and let’s find that filthy bastard.”

  Captain Morgan had pulled down our altitude. It didn’t take long for us to spot the activity on the blue waters. Two Cutters with a single boat trying to defeat them. The civilian skipper appeared to be trying to out-pace them, or defeat them.

  Morgan couldn’t contain himself, but of course, we already knew the man had a wit about him.

  “Lookie! Lookie there! There’s our guys closing in on her right now. They’re going to slow her down, cut her off, and stop her. You two can just sit tight and enjoy the show.”

  “Oh boy! This is getting fun,” Captain Morgan said. “The Rachel isn’t going to give up easily. Those Cutters are armed with .50 caliber weapons that will tear the sloop to pieces.”

  Chapter 88

  Good Medicine

  WE CLEANED UP FROM our massive garden planting effort and I told Gage I wanted to go see Zoey. It would get my mind off of whatever may be happening on the west coast with a new/old mother, a new friend, and a maniac.

  “Mind if I go with you?” Gage asked.

  “Of course not. I didn’t want to bother you. Our entire family can go.”

  “Am I missing something? You’re not preg—”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “No. I mean Harry is coming with us.”

  “In to a hospital? I don’t think that’s allowed.”

  “You watch me. If I get into trouble, he’s Zoey’s therapy dog.”

  THE SAME GUARD PRESIDED outside of Zoey’s room, now out of the ICU.

  He recognized us and probably saw a couple of ears hanging out of my hobo bag. He smiled and waved us in.

  Zoey wa
s back with us! She wailed, “It’s about time. I need a chocolate milkshake.”

  Gage made sure it was okay, and then ran off to a nearby fast-food place.

  “Why is it your bag is bouncing?” Zoey said.

  I pulled out Harry and laid him on her stomach.

  “Oh my stars. This one is good medicine,” she said.

  I pulled him back only when the Earl started tonguing her lips and she didn’t have the ability to reach up and move him away.

  “I can watch the news now. I know about Victor, in case you’re thinking about walking around egg shells,” Zoey said.

  “Crunch. Crunch,” I said.

  “He died saving me,” Zoey whimpered, trying to choke back tears.

  “No, Zoey. He died loving you.”

  She closed her eyes for a few moments. “I also know where you mother is right now. And Steve Taylor. Help me here. What’s going on?”

  “They’re closing in on the madman that tortured you, Zoey. That’s all I know.”

  “He tortured you, too. Forgive me, but I get the man going after you. Why me?”

  “I really don’t know. Maybe it was a crime of convenience. He needed something—”

  “He coveted your alabaster skin, but he needed my black skin.”

  “He might have worried that you would make him. You were at his ranch and that barn. He realized, thanks to me, that you’re smart and tough as nails. He saw you with me and maybe I brought this all down on you.”

  “Let’s go with a crime of convenience,” Zoey said. “I’ll go with karma or fate or judgment. You had nothing to do with this.

  “Oh, and did I ever tell you about some magazine lady writing a story on me, way back when?”

  “Sure. You gave me a copy. I read it and I love it.” And it makes me sad.

  “She’s wrapping it up. Seems I finally gave her her get-over-it ending.”