Border Prey

by Jessica Speart

  I didn’t doubt that for a second, what with F.U., Velma, and Mother Krabbs buzzing about like three Grade-A, certifiable wackos.

  “She does seem to be a completely different person from the one I knew in Vegas,” I offered.

  “How so?” Tia Marta asked, popping a slice of chorizo into her mouth.

  “Well, the Lizzie I knew was feisty, and funny, and ambitious. That Lizzie would never have taken guff from anyone. From what I can tell, that spark in her is gone.”

  Tia Marta nodded her head knowingly. “Unhappiness and too much money can do that to a person.”

  Perhaps it was hearing it out loud that helped clarify my suspicion. “Do you really think she’s unhappy?” I asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Tia Marta retorted.

  I was nearly finished with breakfast when a flock of chattering birds flew by, helping to jump-start my memory. “By the way, did you catch the hooting of that owl last night? I swear the thing was perched right outside my window, serenading me for hours.”

  Tia Marta blanched, her skin turning ghostly pale. Her fingers darted with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings to skim her forehead, chest, and shoulders.

  “It’s a good thing I gave you another cleansing this morning. What you heard was an omen of death.”

  I sat in my office filled with paperwork, pondering last night’s dinner and the mysterious Dr. Pierpont. The mere thought of Pierpont was enough to send my scam detector soaring straight into the stratosphere. I’d bet his promise of being able to clone Ten-Karat was as empty as a ruptured balloon. More likely, Pierpont planned to leave F.U. with lighter pockets and Lizzie with a broken heart.

  The other item eating away at me was Fat Boy and his insistence on recovering Timmy Tom’s cell phone. What was that bit of insanity all about? Acting on an off-the-wall hunch, I picked up the phone and placed a call to the Dona Ana County medical examiner.

  “Jack Purdy’s office. How may I help you?” intoned a bored-sounding female voice.

  “I’m a relative of Timmy Tom Tyler.” I threw in the right note of sorrow. “He’s recently deceased. The victim of a terrible crime. Could you please tell me if his body has been sent up to Albuquerque yet for that autopsy they perform?”

  “Who did you say you were again?” the secretary asked, sounding as if she’d rather be anywhere than on the other end of the phone.

  “I’m his sister.” I said, letting the hint of a sob slip out. “Tammy Taylor Tyler.”

  Silence filled the telephone wire. I figured I’d give it to the count of ten and then call back, pretending to be Timmy Tom’s mother.

  “I don’t see anything here about his having relatives in the area,” she finally replied, her tone tinged with a shade of suspicion.

  “That’s right, he doesn’t. Which is why I’ve just flown in from Nashville,” I half sang the info, stirring in a hefty dose of country western twang. “Me and Timmy Tom hadn’t been real close these past few years. I can’t tell you how bad that makes me feel—but I guess it’s just something I’m going to have to learn to live with.” Who said I’d lost my touch when it came to impromptu acting? “That’s why I’d at least like to know if his body is still here. I only pray that his soul is at peace, floating somewhere up there in heaven.”

  “I’m sorry, but we’re really not supposed to give out that kind of information,” Purdy’s secretary responded. However, her voice had begun to waver.

  I moved in for the kill. “I gotta confess that it’s not being allowed to know where Timmy Tom is that’s breaking my heart in two.” If Fish and Wildlife didn’t work out, I could always try my hand at being the next Tammy Wynette. “Then there’s Mama to think of, what with her high blood pressure condition. And to top it all off, she’s about to run out of her cardiac pills!” Move over, Meryl Streep! I’d almost forgotten how good I could be.

  “Well, I don’t suppose it can do any harm,” the voice on the other end crumbled. “His body is still here, but it’s scheduled to be shipped up to Albuquerque after two o’clock today.”

  “Bless you,” I sighed. “By the way, does the medical examiner happen to be in? Just in case I have any questions?”

  “No, he’s out at the moment. But I expect him back within the next hour,” she replied.

  I hung up, knowing I’d have to act fast if there was any chance of retrieving the information I wanted. Approaching Sheriff Bill Hutchins with my request would only impede my investigation. Quickly deciding upon a course of action, I jumped into my pick-up, set my mental fuzz buster on high alert for cops, and sped off.

  At the medical examiner’s office I tried to veer into one of the few available parking spaces, only to find none was large enough to for a pick-up. This was one of those times when there was no choice but to redefine what handicapped spaces were for.

  I walked inside the medical examiner’s office and came face-to-face with Purdy’s secretary. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, and looked exactly the way she’d sounded—bored and indifferent. The girl sat behind a desk littered with up-to-date issues of Cosmopolitan, Elle, and In Style Magazine, along with a hefty disarray of papers. The set-up was perfect.

  “Hi, I’m Shirley Bassey. I have a ten o’clock meeting with Jack Purdy,” I said. I figured she was too young to ever have heard the song “Goldfinger.”

  She looked at me curiously, one tweezed eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Hey, weren’t you the one who called on the phone a few minutes ago?”

  “Wasn’t me,” I replied innocently. Damn! I was going to have to work on my accents.

  Purdy’s secretary continued to gaze warily at me. It was time for my New York roots to kick in. I took a deep breath and got pushy.

  “My appointment? Ten o’clock? Remember?” I prodded.

  Miss Cosmo’s reaction was one of annoyance. She pushed her magazines about in no apparent hurry. I decided to help move things along by pulling the date book out from beneath her stack of reading material. The girl’s gratitude couldn’t have been more subliminal. Her press-on fingernails crawled through the calendar pages like a sloth on valium. My foot tap, tap, tapped an impatient beat, hoping that the rhythm might be catching.

  “There’s nothing scheduled here,” she smugly told me.

  “Hmm. That’s odd. Jack left a message on my answering machine that he urgently needed to speak with me this morning. In fact, he specifically said he’d placed a note on your desk concerning our meeting.”

  Miss Cosmo’s fingers rifled through the mess for another nano-second before she gave up and shrugged. “Well, since Mr. Purdy’s not here right now, it doesn’t much matter, does it?”

  “It seems this place could use some better organization.” I flashed a patient smile. “In any case, the rest of his message was that I should wait in his office if he hadn’t yet arrived.”

  Our Gal Friday pointed toward two chairs standing on either side of a beat-up end table. “Feel free to sit over there. It’s our waiting room.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll just go into Jack’s office as he suggested, since there are some calls I need to make,” I countered.

  The girl tugged at the hem of her skirt, as if some length would give her more authority. “Why don’t you just make your phone calls from out here?”

  My expression hardened into grim determination. “Because what I have to say requires total privacy.” I pulled out my badge, quickly flashed it in Miss Cosmo’s direction, and just as swiftly tucked it away again. “I’m a federal agent and the calls are highly confidential. So, if you’d just point the way to Jack’s office, I know he’d appreciate it.”

  She silently nodded, having fallen for the bait. I felt bad about conning her, but figured it would teach Our Gal Friday an important life lesson. When you’re a woman in this world, the one thing you can never do is to let hell, high water, man, beast—or in this case, another female—get the better of you.

  I followed her down the hall and entered Purdy’s o
ffice, shutting the door behind me. Clearly there wasn’t a moment to lose, and I began to search for a roll of the same tape which had been used to seal Timmy Tom’s body bag closed.

  My pulse raced as I spotted a box that promised to hold the motherlode, my fingers fumbling as they opened the lid. But instead of tape, it contained magnets, key chains, and other knickknacks, all designed to resemble the chalked outlines of dead bodies. Great. A guy with a sense of cadaver humor.

  I moved on to the filing cabinet, but it held nothing but files. The only item left to be exhumed was a free standing locker in the corner of the room. Naturally, it turned out to be locked.

  “Is everything all right in there?” Purdy’s secretary called from down the hall, apparently dubious as to what I was up to.

  My eyes made a quick scan of the room. Damn! I’d forgotten to lift the phone off its hook! “Fine, thanks. I’m just organizing my notes. I’ll be making my calls in a minute.” I placed the phone’s receiver on top of the desk and punched in the number to the twenty-four hour nationwide weather report. That ought to tie up the phone for a while. Then I pulled my ever-trusty Leatherman multi-tool out of my purse, walked back to the locker, and went to work.

  I initially attempted to use the drop point blade, but the lock stubbornly refused to budge. Next, the screwdriver failed to pass the test. Heck, I even gave the awl a shot. My time was running out, and I hadn’t had one iota of luck. I was almost ready to bite the proverbial dust, but there was no way some damned piece of hardware was going to screw me up. Grabbing the file, I steadied the blade and plunged its tip straight into the tumbler’s heart.

  Click! The lock released and sprang open.

  Gotcha! I gloated, my spirits soaring on a high-octane current of toe-tingling exhilaration.

  I victoriously grabbed the handle and pulled, only to have the locker door eject a loud creeeaaak. I held my breath and froze, but all remained quiet on the secretarial front. I continued on with my mission, trying to keep the door’s squeaks to a minimum as I coaxed it open.

  Eureka! Inside was the Fort Knox of evidence tape, with Purdy’s name boldly emblazoned on each roll. All were neatly stacked in piles. A stash of his special magenta Magic Markers lay precisely lined up on the shelf below. I grabbed a roll of tape from the furthest stack, and filched one of his markers. Mission accomplished, I closed the locker and made a beeline back to my purse. I had just finished hiding my cache when the door to the office flew open. Purdy’s secretary scrutinized me narrowly, her acrylic nails curling around the door frame ominously.

  “Excuse me. But what did you say your name was again?” she asked. Her tone screamed that the time had just run out on my meter.

  A glimpse at the phone provided the clue. The hold button for the second line flashed a warning red. Its message, “You’ve been caught,” flickered over and over.

  “Angela Massey,” I quickly improvised.

  She scurried out the door. I grabbed my bag and ran after her, determined to cut her off at the pass before she picked up the receiver.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay any longer; there’s another appointment I need to get to.” I did my best to appear cool, calm and collected, considering that two pilfered items were burning a hot little hole in my purse.

  “You’re leaving so soon? But, Mr. Purdy’s on the line. In fact, I was just about to tell him that you’re here.” A smarmy smile flitted about the corners of Miss Cosmo’s mouth, while her hand hovered above the phone as if it were a bomb waiting to be detonated.

  I leaned in towards her, prepared to do whatever was necessary to defuse it. “That’s something you might want to reconsider. I’ve decided not to mention this little incident to Jack, but let me give you a word of advice. It’d be best if you cleaned off that desk so you can find the messages he leaves. And the next time I have an appointment? Make sure to write it in Mr. Purdy’s date book. Otherwise, I guarantee that what spare time you have won’t be spent reading magazines, but out hunting for a job.”

  I quickly turned on my boot heels and hauled ass out the office door. The first thing I did was to jump into my Ford. The second was to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Only then did I place a call to Sonny Harris.

  “Border Patrol tracker at your service,” growled a voice with all the warmth of a pissed-off grizzly bear. “And make it snappy—I’m about to eat breakfast.”

  I heard Sonny take a large gulp of something that most likely wasn’t a protein drink.

  “Hi. It’s me. Rachel.” My greeting was answered by a distinctly loud slurp. Not a good sign. I needed Sonny bright-eyed and sober to set the rest of my plan into action. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee?” I offered.

  “I’ve got a better idea: save that dollar for your retirement fund. Believe me, you’re gonna need it. Why don’t you just cut the crap and tell me what you’re after?” he countered.

  I’ve always had a soft spot for men who don’t like to spend my money. “I need your help. Remember that dead informant I found yesterday? Well, I want to pay him another visit. The catch is that it’s got to be done without anyone knowing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I didn’t exactly hit it off with Sheriff Hutchins yesterday.” I was counting on the fact there was no love lost between Sonny and the local sheriff’s department, either. Especially since they’d rejected his recent offer to serve as a tracker. “I’m sure he’s spread the word that I have no business getting involved in the case.”

  “And have you?”

  Damn! “First off, Timmy Tom was my informant. I’m the one he woke up at five A.M. And I’m the one who fought off a band of vultures while Hutchins took his good old time getting there after I called him. So, yes. I think I’ve got every right to know what’s going on with this case.”

  “You’re quite the little spitfire when it comes to marking your territory, aren’t you?” Sonny chuckled in amusement. “Okay. You’re probably gonna have to break into the morgue. Must be you’ve chosen me to play the part of the patsy who gets to wield the crowbar.”

  “Sonny, do you really think I’d ask you to do something that was illegal?” I pretended to take offense.

  “Only if you couldn’t figure another way to get whatever you’re after. Why don’t you fill me in on the game plan?”

  Sonny knew everyone at the morgue from his thirty years with the Border Patrol.

  “I need your natural talent as a charming escort,” I told him.

  “Boy, are you ever desperate,” he snorted.

  “Personally, I prefer to think of myself more as relationship challenged,” I countered. “So what do you say? Will you do it?”

  “Sure. What the hell else have I got to do with myself all day? Besides, I can think of worse ways to spend my time than with a not-so-bad-looking redhead.”

  “Yeah. I know. You could be that black cow standing out in the sun in the middle of the desert,” I said with a smile.

  “You got it,” Sonny replied.

  I knew that was his way of saying he was totally looking forward to our adventure. We agreed to hook up at Memorial Medical’s parking lot in half an hour.

  Sonny arrived on time, swerving alongside me in his Mitsubishi pick-up. He was dressed in his usual attire of jeans, a blue flannel shirt, and dingy suede vest.

  “How do I look?” Sonny asked, giving his bolo tie a slight tug.

  “Like you’re the John Wayne answer to my prayers,” I replied, amply stroking his ego.

  “Good,” he said gruffly.

  We walked inside and Sonny ambled up to the reception desk. Behind it sat a woman with a body the shape of a pear.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t Sonny Harris. You’re looking mighty handsome these days.” She bestowed a smile on him.

  “Howdy there, Miss Mae. And aren’t you the pretty sight to behold walking into this place? I swear, if I were sick, I’d be feeling better already,” he purred, piling on the charm.

  Miss Mae�
��s complexion turned candy apple red, and a girlish giggle came from her lips.

  “This here’s my niece, Clara Sue. She’s visiting from back East, so I’m showing her around town.”

  Clara Sue? I flashed him a dirty look, and saw his mustache twitch.

  Miss Mae pulled her gaze away from Sonny long enough to throw a bone of a nod my way.

  “It’s funny you should stop by today. It just so happens I’ve been thinking about cooking up a pot of that chili you love.” Miss Mae paused, and coyly batted her eyelashes. “The problem is, I always tend to cook too much. It’s near impossible for one person to eat it all by her lonesome.”

  The keyword here was “near.” All it took was one look at Miss Mae’s waistline to know she’d managed to overcome the impossible.

  “Why, Miss Mae. If that’s an invitation I hear, I’ll be over quick as a longhorn steer heading for the cow pasture, spurs on and ready to do it justice,” he bantered.

  Miss Mae’s gaze slid my way, and she gave a half-hearted simper. “Of course, you’re welcome to come for dinner, as well.”

  Sure. I was about as welcome as a flock of disease-ridden vultures. “Thanks anyway, but I’ll be heading back home real soon,” I told her.

  Miss Mae instantly brightened, warming up to me like a long lost cousin. “Oh, that’s too bad! What a shame! How soon did you say you’d be leaving?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” I responded.

  She turned and zoomed in on Sonny with the intensity of a heat-seeking missile. “How about coming to my place the day after that?”

  Sonny reached over and patted the dimpled flesh of her hand. “I’ll bring the wine. You’re in charge of dinner. By the way, you don’t mind if I take Clara Sue to the morgue and introduce her to Harry Walters, do you?” he casually inquired.

  “Why, of course not! You go right on down. And don’t forget. Six-thirty Friday evening at my house.” She blushed.