Honeymoons Can Be Murder: The Sixth Charlie Parker Mystery (The Charlie Parker Mysteries)

by Connie Shelton

  Wind whipped the bare branches of the plaza trees as I emerged from the restaurant forty minutes later, the brisk remains of the storm that had passed through last night. I discovered by staying on the covered sidewalks that ringed the plaza, I avoided the bitterest of the chill. I ducked into a couple of shops but found the touristy little things trite, and the pricey galleries held nothing that would interest him. Midway down one side of the square, however, I hit upon the perfect idea.

  At our hasty wedding ceremony the previous October, we’d not exchanged rings. The whole thing was put together on less than two days notice after the investigation I was working on turned ugly. Our joy and relief at being reunited had left little time for a real ceremony, let alone shopping for the extras. All we knew then, and still reinforce daily, was that we wanted to be together forever. In a jewelers window, there was a display of unusual wedding bands, some with distinctly Southwestern looks, others with intricate gold work, and others with precious and semi-precious stones. A tiny card in the corner of the display announced that custom designed rings were their specialty. I went inside.

  “I hear he’s getting a rave from Anton Pachevski,” a blonde woman at the counter was saying to the clerk. “Last night’s showing was a smash.”

  I made a pretty good show of browsing the jewel cases, although my ears had definitely perked at the mention of the show we’d just attended.

  “You were there, weren’t you dear?” It took me a second to realize the woman was addressing me.

  I raised an eyebrow in question, just to make the point that I hadn’t been eavesdropping.

  “At the Dumont Gallery, last night.” She waved a many-ringed hand in the general direction of the gallery’s location down the block. “I seem to remember seeing you there.”

  “Oh. Yes, my husband and I attended.”

  “Lovely, wasn’t it? Just fabulous.”

  I really hoped she wasn’t about to launch into mahvelous. Daphne Dumont had already worn that into the ground. “It was very nice,” I responded.

  “I took Canyon at Sunset. I really do think it was the best piece in the show. And a steal at only ten, didn’t you think?”

  “A little out of our range, I’m afraid.” I didn’t specifically remember Canyon at Sunset, but everything I’d seen that bore landscape-sounding titles looked more like genitalia. I’d gotten the feeling that the artist definitely had a one-track mind.

  She turned again to the clerk, having gotten all the mileage she needed from me.

  I browsed the rings in the display case and found several sets I liked, but decided that this was a decision Drake and I should make together. I opted for taking the card of the jewelry maker and decided to present Drake with a gift of the rings, with the provision that he and I would return after Christmas to choose them. I left the store a few minutes later, leaving the female gusher still in full form with the hapless store clerk smiling woodenly.

  I arrived at the cabin and called the RJP offices to see if there were any messages. One, from the contractor who was doing the remodeling on our house. Since the fire in October I’d been more or less the full-time supervisor of a construction job. One end of the house had been gutted, so the construction included a new master suite for us, a new guest room and bath, and a customized office for Drake. Since the original house was built in the 1950s, we had to keep the exterior look consistent with the original but wanted to update the interior and give ourselves a few of the modern luxuries. I’d learned the finer points of bathroom fixtures and more than I ever wanted to know about drywall texture. Drake was so involved in getting his new business going that I really couldn’t expect him to do mundane chores like picking wallpaper patterns.

  I dialed the contractor’s number and the phone rang twice before a perky-sounding voice picked up.

  “Hi, Ms. Parker,” Cori Smith greeted. “Walt’s got a question about your windows. What was the model number you chose for that area around your Jacuzzi tub?”

  Cori was the daughter-in-law of the contractor and she ran his office quite efficiently. Evidently this was one item she hadn’t written down.

  “Gosh, Cori, I don’t remember. And I forgot to bring my Construction Project folder with me on my honeymoon.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize you were away. I thought you’d be here in your Albuquerque office.”

  “Is it urgent?” I asked.

  “Well, I know he wanted to get the exterior closed in before weather hits. It’d be a shame to have snow come through on your new flooring.”

  “Um, I see what you mean.” But I wasn’t too inclined to dash to Albuquerque to find my folder two days before Christmas. “He could try calling the window place. They probably wrote down the information. If not, I’ll plan on making a trip to town right after Christmas and I’ll catch up with him then. Would that be okay? Meanwhile, just have the men keep that heavy plastic stretched over the window openings.”

  “Okay, Ms. Parker, I’ll tell him.” She didn’t sound too thrilled about it, but hey, those are the breaks.

  I was just debating the merits of finishing the Christmas tree decorating when I heard Eloy’s white pickup truck lumbering up the driveway. The poor lonely tree had sat in the corner, surrounded by towels, with the box of decorations beside it where I’d left them after finding the silver crosses. With only two days to go, it was beginning to nag at me that we hadn’t hung a single light or ornament yet. Now Drake was home and I decided we could do it together this evening.

  “Ask Eloy to come in with you,” I shouted from the porch as Drake climbed out of the truck.

  Eloy cut the engine and they both clomped up the steps. Rusty pranced around Drake, wagging and rubbing against his human’s legs, excited that he now had three people to beg treats from.

  “I thought you two might be interested in knowing what I’ve learned about your situation,” I said to Eloy. “You guys want some coffee? Beer? Wine?”

  I busied myself getting drinks organized while they shed their snowy boots.

  “How was your day, sweetheart?” I asked Drake, kissing him, when he came into the kitchen.

  “Nice—yours?” He’d slid his arms around my waist and probably would have gone farther if Eloy hadn’t come into the room.

  I handed out beers to the two men, picked up a glass of wine for myself. We carried them to the living room, where Drake set logs in the fireplace and struck a match to them. I settled back into the tartan sofa cushions and put my feet up on the coffee table.

  I filled the two men in on my findings from Father Domingo.

  “So how did the stolen crosses get into my cabin?” Eloy snapped.

  I shrugged, not sharing my speculation that Ramon the saint might have been involved with artifact thieves.

  “I’m just concerned,” I told Eloy, “about how your gun gets connected with all this.”

  He sighed. “I know, Charlie. I don’t understand it. That gun was always stored in my closet. I can’t figure out how it could have been used in a killing, and returned to the closet without my knowing it was missing.”

  “So you didn’t use it often yourself?”

  “No, hardly ever. I took it out to the shooting range three or four times a year, maybe.”

  “And aside from those times, you didn’t actually see it or handle it every day?”

  “No. I put it on the closet shelf near the front door. Always covered it up with a folded jacket, so nobody would see it there. You know, didn’t want anybody who might look in the closet to just spot it.”

  “So it’s possible that it could have been ‘borrowed’ by someone and put back later without your knowing it?” Drake asked.

  “I guess. But I can’t imagine who that would be. I mean, wouldn’t I have seen them carry it out?”

  “Only if you were there at the time. Did anyone else have a key to your house?”

  “No—well, I have this girl come over and clean about once a month. I leave a k
ey out for her. But only on the day she’s coming. It’s not out all the time.”

  We sipped our drinks silently, each of us wondering how this whole thing came together.

  “On a happier note,” Drake said, “a woman called today to book a flight for a couple of her nephews. Introduced herself as Hope Montgomery. You don’t suppose . . .?”

  “Hope Montgomery, the elusive heiress to that microchip fortune?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I remember reading about that,” Eloy said. “The one who showed up and claimed all the stock in Monty Enterprises after Monty was killed in the plane crash.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A couple of years ago. It made the papers because no one knew he had any heirs, but she apparently had all the proof she needed to show she was his daughter. I wonder if it could be . . . Well, I guess she’s got the money to buy helicopter flights for anybody she wants to, huh.”

  “Yep. And I’m gonna make sure they have a good time so they’ll want to do it again,” Drake laughed.

  “Eloy, you wanna stay for dinner?” I asked.

  He glanced at his watch. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got a date tonight. A Christmas party for my girlfriend’s company. She’ll shoot me if I don’t take her. Sorry.”

  He set his glass down and headed for the door. “Oh, Charlie.” He turned. “Thanks for all you’re doing to help me out.”

  Drake rose and showed Eloy out, watching as he navigated the snowy driveway.

  “I’m kinda glad he didn’t stay after all,” I admitted. “It’s nice to have you to myself.”

  We spent the evening trimming our tree and snuggling on the couch by the light of the Christmas tree and fireplace. Murders aside, I was determined not to let the world’s problems ruin our honeymoon.

  Chapter 8

  “Hon, that was Eloy,” said Drake, hanging up the telephone and rolling to face my side of the bed. “Guess he had a bit too much fun last night at that party. He can’t make it to the hangar to help me today.”

  “And you’re wondering if I might be able to come with you and load your passengers . . . and maybe help out . . .?”

  “Well, if I were really, really good to you later, would you think about it?”

  “Show me what really, really good means,” I teased.

  Trailing his lips across the soft inner skin on my arm and heading toward even more enticing locales, he smiled up at me. “That’s a little sample,” he grinned.

  “And what time are these passengers going to show up?” I asked.

  “Ugh. In about an hour. We better get going.”

  We shared a quick shower in the cabin’s tight fiberglass stall, teasing each other with little accidental brushes against sensitive places and promising each other that our first Christmas Eve together would be memorable.

  “You know, I was thinking . . .” Drake said, thirty minutes later as we were driving down the mountain toward the hangar in the ski valley, Rusty fogging the back windows with hot doggy breath, “. . . that it would be much handier if we had two vehicles here. You or Eloy wouldn’t always have to drive me to work each day.”

  “I don’t mind your using the Jeep anytime you want,” I told him. “I’m doing most of my work from the cabin anyway. Or I was until I started running all over town trying to gather evidence to help Eloy.”

  “Exactly. So, maybe now it would help if I had my truck here. I was thinking that, next time you want to go to Albuquerque, I’ll ride along and bring my truck back.”

  “Okay, sometime between Christmas and New Year’s Day I told the contractor I’d come down and settle a question he had over some windows. Can you get away then?”

  “We’ll see what the flight schedule looks like, but I can probably squeak out a day off.”

  Our passengers were waiting in a dark red Suburban when we arrived. Drake unlocked the door to the office, then headed into the hangar section of the building to do his preflight check before rolling the aircraft out to the concrete pad behind it.

  Two young men were taking the flight, carrying snowboards that they planned to ride back down. The woman with them was none other than the blonde lady I’d encountered at the jewelry store yesterday, the one who’d gushed over the paintings at the art show. So, she was Hope Montgomery, heiress to a fortune. She recognized me immediately.

  “Did you find something nice at the jewelers?” she asked.

  I shook my head and made a little Shh motion with my mouth. I didn’t want Drake to have a clue about the gift.

  “Are you enjoying your painting?” I changed the subject abruptly, while I directed the two young men to step onto the scale with their snowboards so I could calculate the weight and balance for the flight.

  Ms. Montgomery went on about the gallery showing and how she just knew the young artist would go far, while I processed her credit card.

  “Okay, I think we’re set,” I said briskly. “Do you gentlemen have a check-in plan after you make your run?”

  They held up a tiny cell phone.

  “Okay, we require that you call this number,” I handed them a business card with Drake’s cell number written on it. “At the end of your run. We’ll expect to hear from you within an hour after we drop you off. If we don’t hear from you within two hours, we’re required to notify search and rescue, and there’s a six hundred dollar per hour charge for the helicopter to go out looking for you.” I directed this last bit to their aunt, since it was her credit card I’d be putting the charge on. “These releases you’ve signed authorize us to do this, so it’s very important that you check in.”

  “That’s cool.” One of the young dudes answered while the other gazed around the room, not paying any attention at all.

  “Do you also have a plan about meeting up with them somewhere?” I asked Ms. Montgomery.

  “Oh, yes. But I’m not staying up on that mountain all day,” she said. “I have some shopping to do in town and they’ll stay up there with their snowboards until four o’clock. Hear that, boys? I’ll be back to pick you up at the base of the ski lift at four.”

  They waved her off as she turned.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said, turning back to me. “I’m have a little ‘do’ at my place on the twenty-sixth. You know how the day after Christmas always feels like such a letdown. Like all the fun’s over? So I always like to stretch it out with a party. You and Drake plan to come, will you? Seven-ish?” She pulled a card from her purse. It was a printed invitation with a map to the house printed on the back.

  “I’ll check with him and let you know,” I said.

  Drake had the aircraft out of the hangar by now and I helped the two passengers into their seats, buckled belts, placed headsets on. We slipped the two snowboards onto the floor of the backseat.

  “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes,” Drake said. “Then I’ll take you out to breakfast if you’d like.”

  I nodded and stepped back as he fired up the turbine engine. Even though I was also a pilot now, I still watched with some trepidation every time he took off, especially when flying into the mountains.

  The helicopter lifted off, creating a flurry of loose snow that whipped around me. I waved to them and went inside to wait where it was warm. Rusty and I rooted around and came up with a fairly clean mug, a tea bag, and a box of dog treats. I nuked some water in the microwave for tea for myself while he got a couple of the treats. A few minutes later we heard approaching rotor noise.

  “Helicopter,” I said.

  Rusty perked up his ears and raced to the front window. He was already learning that this was a sound we anticipated with joy.

  It took another thirty minutes for Drake to shut down and to wheel the aircraft into the building. We were nearly at the Thunderbird Lodge, where we planned to have breakfast, when Drake’s cell phone rang.

  “Okay, thanks. Have a good one,” he said.

  “I’m kinda surprised they remembered to call,” I commented. “They both seemed distracted when I gave the
briefing.”

  “I sorta turned them into mission commandos while we were on the flight,” he chuckled. “They seemed like the kind of kids who’d respond to that. Told them I was dropping them off at a top-secret location; their mission was to ride down to the base lodge and check in with their unit leader. That’s me.”

  “Good thinking. I had the feeling that reporting to Aunt Hope was not among their priorities for the day.”

  Over breakfast I told him about the invitation to Hope’s party the day after Christmas. “Normally I’d be bored stiff at something like that,” I said. “But she seems connected in the art world. I’m thinking there’s a remote chance that I might pick up some tidbit about Eloy’s case, although I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly.”

  “Sure, anything’s fine with me.”

  “As long as we get tonight and tomorrow together alone. I want our holiday to be special.”

  And it was. Starting with a romantic candlelit dinner, followed by another romp on that fur rug and a night of ultra sound sleep as the clouds let go with another round of huge flakes. We made eggs Benedict for Christmas brunch and opened our few gifts by the roaring fireplace. Drake got me a lovely, delicate pendant, a gold helicopter on a chain, and he loved the idea of our choosing rings together. We read books, cooked a turkey dinner, and ventured out once to trek up the hill on our snowshoes while tiny snowflakes swirled around us, clinging to our jackets and beading our hair with crystals. Which, of course, had to be followed by another warm shower together, and afterward we bundled into sweats and feasted on the turkey. A perfect day.

  The problem with perfection is that it could only go downhill from there.

  Chapter 9

  “Darlings! I’m so glad you came,” Hope Montgomery gushed as we walked through the foyer of her spacious hacienda, after a uniformed maid had taken our coats. Set in the foothills above Taos, the huge adobe could be seen from miles away. I’d noticed the house on previous trips into town, but didn’t realize who it belonged to until we’d begun to follow the little map she’d given me.