“Today might be a good day to clean out Father Domingo’s room.” The female voice was right outside the door.
My heart stopped, along with my ability to breathe.
Chapter 12
I switched off the flashlight as the doorknob turned. A wedge of yellow light from the hallway cut across the bare tile floor to the bed on the opposite side. My head swiveled around, looking for a hiding place. There was no closet, only a few pegs on the wall with identical black shirts and pants hanging from them. A pair of black shoes sat on the floor beneath them. Priests didn’t have extensive wardrobes, I decided.
The only possible hiding place in the room was under the bed and I calculated my odds of diving for it before the woman at the door saw me. They weren’t good.
A muted voice came down the hall. “First I need the quarterly contribution reports,” Father Ralph was saying.
“Okay,” she answered. “I can do the room this afternoon.”
She closed the door and her footsteps clicked away on the tile floor. I remembered to breathe. My arms felt like jelly as I pushed the dresser drawer shut. I dropped my flashlight into my purse and rubbed both hands shakily down the length of my face. How was I going to get past the two of them and back to my car?
The small window over the bed was beginning to be outlined in gray. I looked at my watch but couldn’t see it without getting my flashlight out again. It felt like I’d been here all day, but it was probably closer to an hour. If I hadn’t awakened Drake when I drove out, he would be getting up soon anyway. I doubted that my note would reassure him, although at least he’d know where I was.
I tiptoed across the room to the door, pasting myself to the wall where I’d be behind it if someone opened it again. Voices drifted toward me now and then, apparently the secretary and Father Ralph conversed between their offices without benefit of an intercom. I never heard a third voice so Father Sanchez must have been occupied elsewhere. The room was growing lighter—the gray at the window turned to pearl white, then to yellow as the sun peaked over the mountains. I fidgeted, wondering whether mine was now the only car in the parking lot and whether someone would notice and question why a lone dog was waiting in it. What if they decided to tow the car? What if Rusty got out and was lost in a strange town? What if, what if.
I knew I had to get out of here soon.
It was almost eight o’clock and I’d left the cabin almost three hours ago. Surely Drake would be getting concerned. As if by ESP, from somewhere deep in my purse, my cell phone rang. Oh God! I fumbled with the zipper and delved my hand down past my stolen booty. It rang again.
“Dora, did I hear a phone ringing?” Father Ralph’s voice came through clearer than before.
I snatched up the phone and clicked the button. “I can’t talk right now,” I whispered frantically. “Call you right back.” I hit the END button.
“. . . somewhere in the building. I’ll go check,” Dora said.
I heard her heels clicking on the tile floor. Oh shit. There was no reasonable explanation for my being in Father Domingo’s room with his diaries in my possession. I had to make a move now. I eased over to the doorknob, turning it carefully and hoping it wouldn’t squeak. Edging the door open a tiny crack, I risked a look. My heart pounded and a rushing sound filled my ears.
No one was visible.
I pulled the door open a few inches more. Dora was walking down the hall toward the chancel, her back to me. No sign of Father Ralph. Presumably he was back at his desk, letting the secretary investigate the unknown noise. The side door, my escape hatch, stood this side of Father Ralph’s office. He wouldn’t see me unless he came out. But I had a lot of distance to cover without Dora spotting me. I moved quickly.
Taking care not to let my rubber-soled boots squeak on the tile, I made for the short alcove by the side door. I had a good ten feet to go when I heard her heels clicking their way back. I sprinted and ducked into the short hallway leading to the outside door.
“Don’t see anybody there,” she said. Her voice sounded about ten inches from where I stood pressed against the wall and doing my best to resemble a coat on the rack.
“Okay.” Father Ralph sounded preoccupied.
The door to Father Domingo’s room. Had I closed it behind me? I couldn’t remember. She would surely notice if it were standing open.
Apparently she didn’t, because I heard her move away from my alcove, in the direction of her own office. I let out my pent-up breath as slowly as I could. Reached for the side door and eased it open. Once I was outside with the door safely closed behind me I dashed for my Jeep. Rusty sat in the back seat, his eyes fixed on the spot he’d last seen me, staring through foggy windows. I was never so glad to see anyone.
I started the car and pulled out of the church’s parking area before I found a spot to stop and take a deep breath. I was getting too old for the life of a cat burglar. I pulled out my cell phone again.
“Charlie! Where are you?” Drake demanded. “Your note said you had an errand in town, but what kind of errand is important at five a.m.?”
So I had awakened him when I left.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll explain when I get there. Are you up for some breakfast?”
“I would be, but I got a flight. That’s what I was calling to tell you. I’ll be gone until about noon.”
“Lunch then?”
He sighed. “Okay. It’s just . . . You gotta . . . Oh never mind.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
I dialed right back. “Drake, I love you,” I said.
“Love you too.”
It was a ritual we performed unfailingly. A few months ago I’d met a woman whose pilot husband didn’t come back one day. A fatal crash. Drake and I had vowed then that we would never part angry at each other and that we’d never fall out of the habit of saying we loved each other. The possibility that any separation could be final ripped through me now and I cursed myself for taking so many chances.
I drove extra carefully on the way back, but the cabin was empty and dreary when I got back and I roamed around lethargically for awhile before I finally settled in. I fed Rusty his usual scoop of nuggets—the other reason he was awaiting my return so anxiously—then made myself a mug of hot chocolate and toasted a bagel. Finally I pulled the diaries from my purse and settled on the sofa with them.
It was slow going, reading the old man’s wavy handwriting and trying to pick out only the names I was interested in, without getting bogged down in reading everything. I found myself being caught up in the furtive titillation the priest clearly felt as he listened to other people’s secrets. I didn’t want to get into that. I began scanning the pages for the name Ramon. Finally, I found it in an entry dated in the spring of the year Ramon was killed.
The young priest, Ramon Romero, came to me today. He is home visiting his mother. He is very troubled and came to me for confession. I believe he feels more comfortable telling this old priest of his secrets. He had an affair, years ago, with a parishioner in Albuquerque. It is sad, but not surprising. His problem now is that some unscrupulous people have discovered this and have blackmailed him into doing things he did not want to do. He admits that he took many valuable items when he served at the Vatican. Even more when he was in Israel.
So Father Domingo had suspected Ramon’s involvement in the theft of the silver crosses. No wonder he followed the published stories so closely.
Now my young friend is deeply in trouble. The evil men are pressuring him to take more items but he is no longer in a position with access. So they want him to take his mother’s property and get money for them. Ramon knows the knowledge of his sin will kill his revered mother. And he fears that if he takes her property, his brother will kill him.
This was written only a few months before Ramon was shot to death on the steps of his church in Albuquerque, and he specifically named Eloy as someone who would be mad enough to kill him. This wasn’t looking good.
Although I believed th
e men in the theft ring had something to do with it, the police were going after the most available suspect and this would be damning evidence indeed. So, how much trouble was I going to be in if I concealed this diary? I was beginning to feel like quicksand was sucking at my feet.
I started to take a swig of my hot chocolate, but it was like cold sludge. I carried it to the kitchen to reheat it.
What was Ramon thinking? First having affairs, then stealing valuable artifacts from the church, then contemplating robbing his mother of her land, taking his siblings’ inheritance. Ramon the saint. I almost had more respect for a mugger in a dark alley. At least he’s making no bones about his intent. But a man of religion, praying and leading a devout life by the light of day while secretly falling to the depths of deception. Too bad the justice system was only concerned with the man who actually pulled the trigger. Too bad that man was someone who was goodhearted and caring.
I paced the living room with my mug of chocolate in hand, trying to shake off the quicksand feeling. Stop trying to make moral judgments here, Charlie, and just deal with the facts, I told myself. You, who’ve not been above a little larceny this morning.
The file folder of clippings Father Ralph had loaned me was on the dresser in the bedroom upstairs. I retrieved it and carried it to the kitchen table. Spreading them out, I began reading. I lost all track of time until the phone rang.
“Hi, hon, ready for that lunch now?” Drake asked.
Noon already. “Sure, whatcha got in mind?” I rubbed at my eyes to relieve the gritty feeling.
“Why don’t you come by the hangar, I’ll put the aircraft away, and we can go somewhere in town.”
“Do you have anything else scheduled this afternoon?” I asked.
“Want to catch a movie?”
“Maybe something like that. Just something fun for the two of us.” Actually, I had in mind that it might be nice to go pick out our rings at the jewelers. After this morning’s tiff, I was feeling fragile, I guess.
I straightened the papers I’d been reading and stuck the folder, along with the stolen diaries, into a kitchen cabinet. Left a couple of lamps on and convinced Rusty that he’d be happy to stay home and watch over things here for the small payment of a bone-shaped treat.
Over a plate of steaming tortilla and chicken smothered in green chile at Michael’s Kitchen, I filled Drake in on my escapade of the morning, leaving out the heart-pounding moments when I’d nearly been caught.
“Couldn’t you have just asked Father Ralph to let you borrow the diaries?” he asked.
“I really doubt he knows they exist. Or if he does, he probably doesn’t know that the older priest was writing down things people told him in the confessional.” I speared a bite of chicken with my fork. “And if he knows that, he surely wouldn’t let me out of the place with them.”
He shook his head, a what-will-I-do-with-you look on his face.
“I’ll take them back,” I promised. “I’ll figure out a way to sneak them back in so no one ever knows I had them.”
He met my eyes silently.
“Okay, so I shouldn’t be reading them. I really haven’t read much other than the parts where I found Ramon’s name. I have to know that much so I can help Eloy.” I knew I sounded like a five-year-old who’d taken candy from the store.
“You’ll do what’s right,” he said enigmatically. Meaning, you better do what’s right.
We finished our lunch on another subject, but somehow it wasn’t the best day to choose wedding rings. I didn’t even bring it up. We found a movie that sounded good at the Storyteller Theater, then picked up a few grocery essentials before heading back up the mountain. By dinner time we were snuggled together on the couch, a plate of cheese and fruit and two glasses of wine on the table before us, the day’s previous tension gone. Drake turned to me, just about ready to jump my bones when the phone rang.
“Sorry to be calling in the evening,” I said. My brother has always had excellent timing with his phone calls. I think it’s because he has no romantic life of his own.
“What’s up?”
“I got an answer for you on those prints Fred Montgomery sent. The water glass.”
I’d forgotten all about the Montgomerys in the past couple of days. “So what’s the word on Hope Montgomery?”
“Nothing conclusive. The prints you sent aren’t on file with any law enforcement agency I can access. I got Kent Taylor to run them through FBI, NCIC, and the state of California. That’s where you said the lady lives, right?”
“Among other places. But that’s where her primary home is and supposedly where she spends most of her time.”
“Well, they don’t know about her. Criminally, that is.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll see what else I can dig up.”
“Yeah, that would help. If she’s a petty crook, she might have prints on file with some municipality. Just hasn’t made it national yet. See what you can get on her background.”
I told him to thank Kent Taylor, our favorite Albuquerque homicide cop, for his trouble. I’m always surprised at the information I digs out of Kent; I suspect they have some kind of mutual favor-trading arrangement that I don’t know about. By the time I hung up Drake was trailing kisses across my stomach, pushing his head under my loose sweater. I switched on the answering machine and succumbed to his attention.
The bedroom was pitch dark when I woke up—suddenly and wide-awake. The red numerals on the clock said 2:43. Drake snored softly beside me and Rusty snored, not so softly, on the floor at my side. I rolled onto my back and listened carefully, wondering what had caused me to awaken. There was no sound at all. No car sound, no siren, no human voice interrupted the mountain’s deep night.
My mind, however, was active and vibrating. Ron’s phone call replayed and I wondered how I would go about finding more information on Hope Montgomery. I could hardly walk up to her door and demand to see identification, but I would have to get near her to do any snooping. Little did I know that by morning fate would deal me an ace.
Chapter 13
The coffee was dripping into the carafe and I was dragging myself around the kitchen when the phone rang. After lying awake for more than two hours in the middle of the night, I’d had a hard time gearing up for action today. Drake was in the shower and I was in the mood to do nothing more energetic than to sit around in my sweats all day.
“Is this the helicopter service?” a female voice asked.
“Yes, it is.” I’d forgotten that Drake’s business calls were being forwarded here and hadn’t answered with the company name.
“Oh! Is this Charlie?”
“Yes.”
“Charlie, this is Hope Montgomery. Is that wonderful husband of yours available?”
In what sense of the word, I fumed. Why was it that this woman always set me on edge?
“Not at the moment,” I told her, leaving out the part about his being in the shower. “May I take a message?”
“Well, dear, I’ve got a couple more house guests who would love to take one of his tours,” she gushed. “You know the boys just said it was fabulous.”
I willed myself not to growl. “He’s pretty well booked up today,” I said. “An entire tour group. How about tomorrow?”
“Oh. We couldn’t just sneak them on with the others?”
I told her I didn’t think so, but would check with Drake and call her back. She left her number with me.
He emerged from upstairs a few minutes later, all warm and smelling of soap and aftershave. He planted a kiss on me that reminded me of the hot time we’d had the previous night. Pouring two cups of coffee, I told him about the call from Hope Montgomery.
“Not today,” he said. “I’ve got my flight times calculated out to the minute and, if we don’t have any weather glitches it’ll take me most of the day to get this tour group done. Would you mind calling her back and scheduling something for tomorrow?”
“You’ll have to really make it worth my whi
le,” I teased suggestively.
“On a brighter note,” he said, “seeing her again might give you a way of finding out something for Fred and Susie.” He poured cereal into two bowls and sliced a banana over them.
“I’m not sure how,” I grumbled. “But I’ll work on something.” I handed him the milk from the refrigerator. “Is Eloy handling your flight following today, or do I need to stay near the phone?”
“He’ll do it.”
We sat at the kitchen table, crunching on cereal while Rusty stared at me then at Drake. His begging policy includes non-discrimination.
“I may run into town,” I said, dreading the thought. “Or not. I have an idea on this identity thing and need a couple of supplies. Maybe I can find them here in the valley.”
He set his empty bowl in the sink and went to the ski porch to get his jacket.
“Okay, just be careful. I got worried about you yesterday.”
“You too.”
Rusty and I watched from the window as his truck headed down the long driveway.
Now, I just had to figure out exactly how I was going to find out more about Hope Montgomery. One of the other thoughts that had rumbled around in my head during the night was the possibility that Fred and Susie might be the real imposters here. They looked sincere, but that Texas charm could all be contrived and there was always the chance they were wanting to catch a free ride on a wealthy woman’s coattails.
I placed a quick call to Ron and asked if he could get hold of the court records for the case Fred and Susie had brought against Hope. Monty’s will had supposedly left everything to her, but had he specifically excluded them? Had they been mentioned at all? Ron said he would work on that aspect of it and gave me a couple of research projects I could perform myself.
Honeymoons Can Be Murder: The Sixth Charlie Parker Mystery (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) Page 10
