by Kit Frazier
Something flashed in his blue eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Well, now, I pissed you off,” he said. “I’m real sorry ‘bout that.’
I shook my head, but my stomach roiled. I was going to be sick. “No apologies necessary. I’ll do what I can,” I said, lying through my teeth. “In the meantime, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Mia has taken photos and we need to go through them to see what we’re going to post on the search website.”
“I’d like copies of all of those photos,” he said, and I blinked. “You’ll have to take that up with Mia.”
His face went hard beneath the smile he flashed me. “You bet.”
I swallowed, looking into his eyes. I wondered if Faith was really missing or if she just left. I wondered if she wanted to be found.
“I appreciate your offer. I have some things I need to discuss with my boss.” I didn’t appreciate his offer; it made my skin crawl. But I wanted to keep this avenue of communication open. I gave him my card and flashed him my second-best smile, careful not to be added to one of his collections.
“So,” I said. “You know anything about Puck’s relationship with El Patron?”
He blinked. “Why would I know that?”
“Just curious. Do you know Selena Obregon?”
He smoothed his hair over his ears. “Of course not. Why would I?” Tension stretched between us as he ushered me to the door, where Mia was already waiting for me with the short chicano major-domo who’d ushered us in.
Tres eyed Mia’s camera.
“I’ll email you copies of the photos,” I said, bumping Mia out the door with my hip. We had a long way to travel to get to the bottom of the drive where we’d parked, and I didn’t want any of that den of snipers to use our butts for target practice.
“You think los asquerosos are going to find her?” Mia said as we hustled down the drive.
I shook my head. “For Faith’s sake, I hope they don’t.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I was way behind on sleep by the time I got to the office. I tossed my purse under my desk and booted up my old, rickety office computer and stared at the blank screen. I had five more obits to write, but I thought I could fall asleep standing up, let alone sitting in front of a blank screen. I was tired. I knew my heart had been pounding, but I hadn’t realized my adrenaline had been pumping like jet fuel. I was coming down from the pitch, and it made my blood feel like sludge oozing through my veins.
I’d called Cantu on the way back to the office and told him about the vigilantes gathering at Tres’s hacienda in the hills, and then I called Dan Soliz’s office and asked to reschedule my appointment for the following day. I called Olivia, who was running third team. She had nothing new to report.
“Cauley?” Tanner came in through the front hall and motioned me into his office.
I went in behind him. My legs felt like they’d been made with a Jell-O mold that’d gone terribly wrong.
He shut the door behind me. “You look like hell,” he said.
“Thank you. I feel like hell.”
“You’re not hurt or anything?”
“No, just beat. It’s been a long day.”
He sat at his chair and listened as I told him about the search mercenaries camping out at Tres’s and about the house, the over-enthusiastic security, the view from the office including what was left of Faith’s trailer and the recording studio, which was still under construction.
Tanner fetched a licorice whip and was chewing it vigorously while he listened.
“Hunters and Killers Club, huh,” he said, and I nodded.
He swiveled toward his computer and did a Lexis-Nexis search. “The sports guy before Shiner did a piece on those headcases about three years ago,” he said. “I’ve seen outfits like this before. Buncha middle-aged men with too much time on their hands. Paintball doesn’t do it for them anymore, and they’re too chicken shit to go for a real hunt.” “That sounds like this bunch. They think they’re tough guys because they’re armed to the teeth.”
I thought about the real tough guys in my life: Logan, Cantu, my dad, and the Colonel. I shook my head. “Tres and his buddies wouldn’t know how to act if they ever got into it with a real tough guy.”
Tanner nodded. “Who you got left to talk to?”
I got out my little red notebook. “I want to talk to Pilar, the mother’s housekeeper, and that minister from the funeral. And I still want to talk to Diego DeLeon and stop by the school Faith was sent off too. The Dawes County cops think Josh did it; the Journal thinks the Syndicate had something to do with it.”
“What do you think?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up. I do know this: if I had her life, I’d sure as hell run for the hills. She doesn’t seem to have any family support and no friends unless you count the strippers at Boners.”
“Her brother seems to be pulling out all the stops to find her,” Tanner pointed out.
“Stepbrother. Tanner, if you’d seen that place. It was like a movie set like a John Wayne flick on steroids. Nothing about it seemed real. If she disappeared herself, I don’t blame her. And if she did, I’m guessing she doesn’t want to be found.”
He nodded. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’ve got four more obits. I’m thinking about taking them home to finish. And I’ve got an afternoon thing with Soliz at the gang unit tomorrow, so I may need to come in late.”
“What else is new?” he said, and I growled at him. “Take the rest of the day and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
I looked up at his clock. “Four forty-five. You get more generous every day.”
He made a lip jerk that might have been a smile. Or it could have been persistent gas. I stuck my notebook back in my pocket and headed for the door.
“Cauley,” he said. “Be careful. And if you get that interview with DeLeon, take Shiner with you.”
My mouth fell open. “He hasn’t even darkened our door since he got on City Desk.”
“Well, he’ll darken it now. Don’t go see DeLeon without him.”
“Take Shiner, my ass,” I muttered, grabbing the file folder of obits and my purse from my desk.
“I heard that,” he yelled.
But he yelled it to my back, because I was already on my way down the hall and out the door.
*
At home, I’d written the obits, emailed them to Tanner, got myself a cold Corona with a lime, and taken a bubble bath, which would have been a lot more relaxing if the dog and cat hadn’t sat in the bathroom and stared at me. Olivia would be handing the search over to Cantu by now, and Cantu told me to stay home.
Doing what I was told for a change, I slipped into the white Turkish robe Aunt Kat had sent me from Istanbul while she’d written The Turk and the Temptress and ordered a pizza. I called the cop parked out front that a pizza guy was coming so he wouldn’t mess with my Canadian bacon. I tipped the delivery boy extra to take half of it over to the kid in the cruiser. From the window, I waved and he waved back.
I settled in on the sofa, where I shared my feast with Muse and Marlowe. I should have been going over my notes, but all I wanted to do was veg out and forget about the world whirling around outside the window. I thought about Tres and his mercenaries, Incubus, the recording studio, and Faith’s ineffectual mother. I kept getting the sneaking feeling that Hollis might be right. Faith didn’t want to be found.
Turner Classics was doing a Bogey and Bacall tribute, and the two simmered in the tropical setting of To Have and Have Not.
“Perfect,” I told the dog, who, having finished his slice, was eyeing mine with his dark almond eyes. I shook my head. “Bogey’s got nothin’ on you, does he, boy?”
The dog looked confident, so I tore off the crust and said, “Want a pizza bone?”
He woofed, causing Muse to slink off the back of the sofa to claim her share. I tore the crust in half, and both animals looked as though they’d been tr
ansported straight to fast-food heaven.
Onscreen, Bogey was minding his own business when the island leader of the French resistance tried to recruit him to save a boatload of refugees.
At home, someone pounded at the door.
I yelped at a sudden vision of the canary guy, sneering, brandishing a steak knife and a Polaroid camera.
Outside, a young, masculine voice snapped, “Hey! Let go! I’m a friend!”
Jostling the dog and cat, I peeked through a clear piece of stained glass at the front door and found the young cop holding Ethan by the scruff of his neck. Ethan was squirming like a pup caught peeing on the carpet.
I swung open the door and shook my head. “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s with me.”
The cop looked at Ethan, then back at me, and said, “You’re kidding.”
“Hey!” Ethan said. “I’ve kissed her before.”
The cop’s brows rose so high they disappeared into his hairline.
I shrugged. “Tequila.”
The cop grinned and nodded. “Been there. You need any help, just holler,” he said, and gave Ethan one more warning glare, snapped me a little salute, then headed back to his cruiser.
“Ethan, what are you doing? You look like hell.”
He bustled into the house with a stack of files and a handful of mini CDs and a palm-sized computer. “I’ve got phone and bank records, credit card reports, insurance info, and old man Ainsworth’s will. I thought maybe we could go over it see if any of it helps.”
Gazing around the living room, he spotted the box of pizza on the coffee table. “Hey, food!”
Sighing, I said, “Let’s see what you got.”
He grabbed a slice and, juggling sustenance and research, made for the kitchen table. I said, “There’s more room on the floor.
“Won’t the animals bother us?”
I looked at the puncture wounds on his neck. “Did Puck’s cat bite you on the neck?”
“I tried to pry him off the curtains. That cat is the spawn of Nosferatu.”
I thought of the decrepit vampire from old German horror flicks and said, “Yeah, kind of looks like him, too. I can get Bug the pet shop guy to take him until Logan gets back.”
“Nah. Let’s find Faith first.”
I smiled. “Look’s like the cat’s not the only thing that bit you.” Ignoring me, Ethan spread out the papers on the rug. Muse promptly hopped onto a stack, turned around, and pawed it into a suitable nest, then curled up and sent us a smug look.
“She’s wrinkling my reports,” E said. “At least she’s not drawing blood.”
He nodded and sighed. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got.”
Ethan had organized his research and cross-referenced it all, using a program he’d created specifically for the purpose. I trotted back to my office to get the timeline and my own file I’d created.
After deciding that no one was going to eat more pizza, Marlowe stretched out and laid his head on my lap.
Ethan and I dug into our piles of paperwork. There was nothing remarkable that I could see about the phone or bank records, and none showed activity since Faith disappeared. He pulled out a credit report.
“No loans at all. And I couldn’t find any life insurance, but look there’s no health insurance, either,” E said, and I frowned.
“A lot of people don’t have health insurance. It’s not great news, but it’s not unusual, and she’s eighteen. How many loans did you have when you were eighteen?”
“Did you see her teeth?”
“Well dang, Ethan, I left my dental probe at home that day.”
“All of her front teeth are too even. She’s had work done.”
I shrugged. “So?”
“It costs almost three thousand a tooth. Where’d she get the money?”
“Her family’s got money. Maybe they have a family doctor.”
“Her family doesn’t have money.” He pushed a ream of paperwork under my nose. “Old man Ainsworth left half his money and all the land and holdings to Tres. The rest is in a trust monitored by a group called Lone Star Investments. Kimmie gets an allowance, but she doesn’t even own the house she lives in.”
I flipped through the document. “That’s bizarre. I wonder why he did that?”
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know, but look at this: Kimmie Ray doesn’t even own her own family’s ranch.”
“What?” I stared at the deed he’d handed me and read aloud, “Deeded to Cullen Ainsworth II for the amount of ten dollars plus other consideration.”
Ethan scowled. “Other consideration.”
“This is dated seven years ago,” I said, tapping my pen to my lips. I reached under Muse for a file marked Ainsworth Family Members.
“Look,” I said, thumbing through the articles until I got to the society page. “Cullen Wallace Ainsworth II weds Kimmie Ray Puckett’ mother Puckett married into the Ainsworth empire seven years ago.”
Ethan frowned. “What do you think it means?”
“It means she signed over her children’s inheritance seven years ago and got married.”
We sat there, staring at the documents, trying to figure out why Kimmie would do such a thing.
“Maybe she thought he’d take care of her kids?” I offered. We were quiet.
“Do you think El Patron has anything to do with this? Like a vendetta or something?” Ethan said.
“I don’t think so. Their quarrel was with Puck, and they’ve been off the radar in the United States since Obregon got sent to the slammer.”
Ethan frowned. “But you don’t know?”
“I have to believe whoever is leaving me nasty-grams is connected with El Patron everyone else stays under the radar. Who else do you know who grandstands like this?”
Ethan shook his head. “Could Puck have had a friend or something like that? Someone he confided in? I mean, we already know he was thick with El Patron and the Argentineans, so he could have been privy to the ear and panty threats. And we know he liked to brag.”
“Good point,” I said. “I don’t know. That’s something else we’re going to have to check on.”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Do you think someone is trying to kill her?”
“You mean do I think someone mistook Tiffany for Faith?” I said, and Ethan nodded.
I shook my head. “I don’t know that either. I’ve got the report on Wylie’s trailer fire,” I said, skimming through my own paperwork.
I handed Ethan the report. “Wylie’s fire was an arson kerosene and matches. Not sophisticated. Cantu said they should have a report on Faith’s tomorrow.”
“You sure Faith’s fire is arson?”
“Yes.”
“Because her brother’s was arson?”
“No,” I said. “Because Marlowe alerted on it when we were there.”
“Alerted?”
“He’s cross-trained in search and rescue and arson,” I said. “He circled three times and did this weird little barking noise he does. He did it when Van Gogh tried to set my house on fire.”
Marlowe lifted his head at the sound of his name. Finding no one had broken out a bag of peanut butter cookies, he laid his head back in my lap.
“Do you think someone kidnapped her?” E said, and I shook my head.
“I don’t know. Tres asked me out to his house to take a look at the search op he and his hunting buddies started. I gotta tell ya, E, it was like a parody of an old Rambo flick. If she did disappear herself, I’m guessing she doesn’t want to be found.”
Ethan reached over and scratched Muse behind the ear. “If we find her and she doesn’t want to be found, what are we going to do?”
“We have to tell people we found her. I don’t think we have to tell them where.”
Ethan and I were both quiet.
In the background, To Have and Have Not continued onscreen, casting dark, shifting shadows on the walls.
“This is one of my favorites,” Ethan said.
“I thought
geeks were all about Star Trek.”
“I like to diversify my obsessions,” he said.
We were quiet as we watched Bacall, playing a nightclub singer-slash-pickpocket, get slapped in the face by a Gestapo hardcase. She didn’t cry, didn’t even flinch, and I thought about Faith and wondered if she was more like the nightclub singer than I’d thought.
“Did you know Bogey and Bacall were married?” Ethan said.
“I did know that,” I said, scratching Marlowe on his chin.
Ethan absently stroked Muse, who was in such a purring stupor that she actually slobbered. “You know they supposedly fell in love at first sight?”
I smiled, still watching the movie. Ethan was trying to say something, and I knew he’d get around to it.
“Hey,” he finally said. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
I knew he was talking about Faith. His eyes were wide, and there was pain there, pain and fear, like whatever I said next would be the key that unlocked a door he’d always hoped to find but didn’t dare believe existed.
I thought of the first time I’d seen Logan, when every cell in my body seemed to leap toward him. I sighed. “Last year if you’d asked me that, I would have laughed in your face.”
Ethan waited.
I looked out the front window while I scratched Marlowe between his ears. “Now,” I said, “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Ethan wound up sleeping on the sofa amid a flutter of papers. Muse, the little traitor, slept with him. Granted, she slept on his face, but still.
He hustled out of the house at the crack of dawn to go do whatever it is that computer geeks do to get ready for work, and I cleaned up the pizza mess, showered, blasted my hair, and got dressed.
Since I had an appointment to speak with Dan Soliz at the downtown cop shop, I went for a short black skirt, a fitted white shirt, and a pair of black stilettos that have been known to make men beg for mercy.
I was going to need as much mercy as I could get he’d already warned me off Diego DeLeon once. Soliz was a two strikes and you’re out kind of guy.
