by R. P. Dahlke
“Listen,” I said. “I’d take ten annoying cousins over having my dad getting grilled like yesterday.”
“You’re right, of course,” Caleb said. “Has he been taking his heart medication?”
“He brought it. I know because I checked his bag, but the altitude here is the problem. I’m still huffing and puffing when I walk, and it must be twice as hard on him. Let’s go get Pearlie, bring her up to speed, and if Dad’s health doesn’t improve, I’ll look for a heart doctor in town.”
Dad came out of the bedroom tucking the clean shirt into his pants. He swiped up the keys to the Jeep and announced that he would drive. “You two can fill me in on the way to pick up Pearlie.”
I was hopeful my cousin’s arrival would help us. It would certainly improve my dad’s mealtime enjoyment.
“So what’s the verdict, Caleb?” I asked. “You talked to Homicide yesterday. Do they have any real leads to these murders?”
Caleb shook his head. “Other than your dad’s jacket at the scene, and the fact that your great-aunt Mae once owned all one hundred and forty acres around here, they don’t have anything.”
“I told you so,” my dad said.
“Detective Tom said he’d keep us updated,” Caleb said.
My dad snorted. “Then we just sit and wait until they find a suspect?”
“We’ll see about that,” I said.
“Where’re we going to put her?” Dad asked.
“Pearlie? If she doesn’t want the couch, we’ll get her a hotel room at the Copper Queen,” I said.
My dad hesitated. “Think we should tell her about the two murders?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? Why do you think I’m picking her up? She’s going to help us find a killer.”
“That’s a great idea, Lalla,” Dad said. “Isn’t it a great idea, Caleb? And she’s a really good cook too.”
Caleb shook his head again. “I don’t know, Lalla, your cousin is notoriously reckless.”
I secretly smiled. Pearlie’s antics in the last murder case were distracting him from my own tendency to circumvent the rules. Still, I didn’t want him to count her out, and we needed her.
“She helped us catch that contract killer from Vegas, didn’t she?” I asked.
Caleb shrugged, “She can always use that bowling ball she keeps in the plane to bring this one down.
.
Chapter Thirteen:
The waiting lounge at the Sierra Vista Airport was empty except for Cousin Pearlie and a uniformed pilot. Pearlie was perched on top of a metal desk, her short skirt hiked up to reveal sleek round thighs and dimpled knees. She was giggling at something the pilot said, and his grin said Pearlie was an unexpected and pleasant diversion for a long wait.
She looked up, saw us, and pushed off the desk. Pulling her skirt down, she winked at her latest conquest then turned her bright blue eyes on us.
“Cousin Lalla, Uncle Noah!” She hugged each of us in turn, then squinted her baby-blues at Caleb. “And that no-account skunk who left my cousin at the altar.”
“Pearlie,” I whispered, “we’ll talk about it in the car.”
“Fine by me,” she said, lifting her chin. “Then he can carry my bags.”
Caleb glanced at the four suitcases, handed the lightest to my dad, and followed us to the parking lot.
Settled in the backseat, I asked about her pilot friend.
“He flies the big shots with some international mining company. After you show me around Nana’s old place, we’ll leave for California, ‘cause I have a date with him in San Francisco tomorrow night.”
“We’ll talk about that. I think after you hear what’s happened you might want to postpone that date.”
I showed Pearlie the house and the barn where a sleek little race car had been sequestered for fifty years. She gasped at the antique race car.
“Dad’s now fixated on restoring it,” I said.
Pearlie laughed. “I heard about this old thang. Granny said he loved it like a baby and it went everywhere they did. Odd, that it’s still here.”
“We thought so too.”
“It’s still Granny’s though, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. “She can have it back. I don’t need it.”
Pearlie’s eyes lit. “I like it,” she said. “Maybe she’ll let me have it.”
Maybe my great-aunt Mae hadn’t meant to leave her husband’s Bugatti to me. I would have to ask her, but right now, I had to bring Pearlie’s attention to the events of the last few days: my dad’s disappearance down an abandoned mine pit, the two murders, and lastly how I really needed her to be here to help me find suspects.
“So,” I asked Pearlie, “what do you think?”
She laughed and wiped her dusty hands off onto her pants. “Didn’t I tell you to wait until I got back to get into trouble again?”
“Trust me on this,” I said. “This was not as much fun as you might think. Someone murdered two people; a young woman who owned the property behind us and Wishbone’s police chief.”
“Well then, time’s-a-wastin’. What’s next?”
“Let’s go into the house and talk to the men.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“The only problem might be how you introduce yourself,” Caleb said.
“How’s that?” Pearlie asked. “Oh, you mean me being a Bains and all. This family does tend to become suspects in murder cases, don’t we?”
She moved her plate aside, opened her purse and fanned out four business cards for us to choose from.
I picked up two. One said Georgia Smith, Private Investigator and a cell number. The next one said Pearl Bains and a listing for an internet floral company. She handed me a third for my inspection. It said, Crime Scene Cleaners with the same cell phone number.
She put a pink-tipped nail on each card and explained. “All the numbers are the same, flowers are a good opener for when you want to talk to the family of the deceased, and a crime scene cleaning goes hand in hand with murder, don’t it?”
“What about the fake names?” Caleb asked.
She shrugged. “I can say I accidently picked up my business partner’s card. It’s just a card. I’ve been studying up for my P.I. license and learning all sorts of great ways to get suspects to talk.”
“About that,” Caleb said. “You can’t represent yourself as a private investigator until you’re licensed.”
“Oh please,” Pearlie responded. “Anyone can call themselves an investigator and I ain’t so dumb that I’d wave around a fake license.”
She eyed me when she said it. The intent was to remind us that she knew all about the fake police badge I used to get information out of witnesses. I’d retired the badge, but Pearlie was on a roll.
“Besides,” she said, “I’m a sight better looking than you are, Caleb Stone. You got cop-walk, whereas I’m just a cute lil’ blond from Texas, new in town, looking for a job or a place to rent or a haircut,” she said, primping her blonde locks. “We’ll start at the local beauty parlor. They always have the best gossip. Besides, Lalla and I need our roots done, don’t we, Cuz?”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed in warning. “You and Lalla will have to stay out of the way of the sheriff’s department.”
Pearlie patted the outside zipper on her purse. “Sure we will. An’ I got my Lady Smith, don’t I? I checked and I can carry it on my hip if I want. I’m cautious, so there’s no need to worry, now is there?”
~~~~~~~~~~
That night, Caleb and I lay snuggled together under the sleeping bag, the bedroom window open to the cool night air.
An owl hooted, then a chorus of coyotes yipped and sang, and a dog barked.
“That was awfully close,” I murmured, sleepily.
“Doors are locked, sweetheart,” Caleb said, snuggling up to my bottom, “and the window’s too high for him to crawl in and join us.”
I reached behind me to smack his naked thigh. “You’re making fun of me again.”
Another co
uple of barks brought my eyes wide open.
“Why is he barking?” I said.
“Because he can,” Caleb whispered, tickling my ear.
“Well he should go home before some critter gets him,” I said pulling the covers up over us.
Caleb’s hand drifted possessively to my hip. “I’ll protect you, little lady.”
That got a chuckle out of me. I was little for about the first five years of my life, after that, I didn’t stop growing until I’d surpassed every boy in my class except Caleb. I took it for granted that his growth spurt would keep up with my own. His six-foot-one-inch lanky frame was exactly three inches taller than my five-foot-ten. A short stint at modeling in New York, two bad marriages, and one ugly divorce for him, and we were together at last. I sighed happily, closed my eyes and slept.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the morning, I took my coffee to the patio and promptly swore when I stubbed my toe on a plastic bucket full of water.
“Who left this stupid bucket out here?” I yelled to no one in particular.
My dad poked his head out of the door to see what all the commotion was about. “What’s your problem? Oh, the water. That’s for the dog.”
“What dog?”
“Stray, I guess. Saw him when we first got here. I started leaving him water, now I put out leftovers, and it’s working.”
“What’s working?”
“Got to hand it to him, he figured out right away that if I whistled, his dinner was here.”
“What about other animals? If you leave out food at night, we’ll have coyotes and other critters in our back yard.”
“I know that. I usually bring it in before bed. He knows if he doesn’t come when I whistle, he has to wait until the next day.”
“But he could be a neighbor’s dog.”
“I doubt it. I called our rescue maven and neighbor, Karen. She said most folks keep their dogs fenced or in the house at night.”
“Coyotes?”
“Mountain lions, rattlers and drug runners are more trouble for dogs than coyotes.”
“Drug runners—oh, they would shoot them to stop the barking, wouldn’t they? Are there many mountain lions around?”
“Karen says this used to be a regular animal migration corridor. The Mexican gray wolves wander in every once in a while, even the elusive jaguar has been spotted here.”
“Really? I thought they were only in Central and South America.”
“She has photos. Offered to show me next time I come by.”
“But what if your dog is a wolf?”
He shrugged. “Nah. Looks more like an Australian cattle dog. Short coat with standup ears the size of Kansas. Or maybe that’s because he’s so skinny.”
I cut my eyes at him. “What if he’s got rabies?”
“I’m not going to corner him to find out,” he said. “But if he doesn’t try to bite me, I’m going to see about getting him to the vet.”
He wiped up the water stains on the patio and dragged the pail over to the faucet to refill it. “It’s going to be hot today, so I’m leaving his bucket full, but I’ll move it out of the way. You see him, don’t scare him, okay? He’s spooked enough as it is.”
I could add wolves and jaguars to my growing list of dangerous animals. No wonder that dog was nervous.
I went inside, topped off my coffee and joined Caleb at the breakfast table. “You have a shower yet?”
“I will as soon as your cousin vacates the one and only bathroom.”
“I’m out,” Pearlie said, wrapping a towel around her wet hair. “And because I’m considerate of others, I’m not even going to use the hairdryer. Now how about I make y’all some biscuits and eggs?”
I privately smiled. She was lining her virtual pockets with good deeds for when she needed the men to be amenable to her own requests.
Sure enough, when Pearlie and I announced that we were taking the Jeep to go to the store, only Caleb took notice.
“Which one?” he asked. “In case I need to call you?”
Knowing he just wanted to keep tabs on us, I said, “I have my cell. You can call me if you need anything from town.”
Grabbing my purse, I picked up the Jeep keys before my dad could object.
I shouldn’t have worried. Dad was already on his way to the barn where he’d spend the day on his new pet project, getting the race car in running order.
I kissed Caleb and hurried after Pearlie before he could think of any more questions.
Pearlie was waiting by the passenger side. “I suppose I’ll need a boost.”
I reached below the passenger seat and attached a strip of nylon with a stirrup on one end and a hook on the other to the ledge of the passenger door.
Pearlie stuck her foot into the stirrup and hopped into the seat. “What’s the point of having to use a stirrup if you don’t have a saddle to go with it?”
Pearlie simply adored a good ol’ fashioned Texas roundup, but so as not to destroy the illusion that she was roughing it, she also had someone pulling her twenty foot trailer at a discreet distance.
“Dad says the height is to avoid getting stuck when driving over rocks,” I said.
She shook her head. “I think I’ll stick to driving on paved roads. Let’s go into Wishbone.”
“What for?” I asked.
“So’s we can get the lay of the land. Size up suspects. That sort of thing.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Pearlie and I dawdled at interesting items in the downtown gallery windows. I pointed out pottery, paintings both western and modern, glass art, and bronze sculptures. One bronze in particular drew my attention. It was a horse pawing the air, nostrils flared in defiance of a lasso just out of the scene.
I drew Pearlie’s attention to the window. “I’ve seen this artist’s work before.”
Pearlie murmured a comment, but was busy admiring a hand-blown glass vase.
I insisted she look at the horse. “This is exactly like one a guy was working on at the art compound.”
Pearlie nodded. “That’s the place where the owner was murdered, right?”
“Yes. Since Deputy Dumb-Ass ordered us to stay in the patrol car while he went off to secure the murder scene, there was nothing to do but look around. That’s when I noticed a man in the barn working on a huge bronze horse just like this one.”
“And it’s the same artist?”
“I’m sure of it,” I said. “I thought it was odd that he wasn’t hanging around waiting to talk to the deputies, but maybe the police already interviewed him.”
“Or maybe he had a deadline on the sculpture.”
“Or maybe he’s a killer.”
“Puts a whole new twist on the word deadline, don’t it? See? I knew coming into Wishbone was a good idea. Let’s start at the art compound,” Pearlie said. “I read the front page news about the owner’s murder at the airport. There were no pictures of her in the paper, but the article said she was only in her twenties and already a recluse. Now why would a young girl like that want to live like a hermit?”
“I don’t know yet, but I can’t help but think there was only one killer for both of these murders.”
“Where’s the artist’s place?”
“We would have to go back home.”
“Why?”
“Because, as far as I know, the only way there is the road to Aunt Mae’s place.”
“I guess it’s giddy-up time then.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Since top speed beyond Great-Aunt Mae’s property was barely twenty-five, I allowed my mind to wander back to when Mad-Dog took it upon himself to track down a contract hit man and got knifed for his heroics.
It looked very heroic to Pearlie, but knowing Mad-Dog as I did, I was sure it had more to do with why his ex-wife, who still had a hefty life insurance policy on him, was keeping company with a contract killer.
“How’re Nancy and Marshal Balthrop doing?” I asked.
“They’re just a regular pair of
love puppies.”
Pearlie might’ve sounded a tad jealous but neither of us could fault this couple’s happiness. Jim had given up his hard won career in the U.S. Marshal’s office to be with the woman he loved, just as Nancy had given up a career to marry a man she didn’t love, only to be accused of his murder, then be vindicated when the killer was caught.
“Sorry it didn’t work out with Mad-Dog,” I said, “but I did warn you, you know.”
Pearlie flicked me a sideways glance to see if maybe I was gloating.
“It wasn’t anything we couldn’t fix with enough time and effort, but I’d rather be my own boss as a P.I. than someone’s housewife.”
“You don’t miss him?”
She swiped her tongue around her front teeth as if checking for a lost sweet. “Not yet I don’t. We can always pick up where we left off, should I change my mind.”
We topped the hill to the art compound and turned left onto the private road, Pearlie gawked at the multiple No Trespassing signs.
“Think it’s to keep Jehovah’s Witnesses out?”
“This far out? I doubt it. But I forgot to tell you,” I said. “It appears that Great-Aunt Mae used to own this property.”
“What? You mean my granny used to own all this?” she asked, waving at the pretty tree-lined property.
“That’s what the homicide detective said.”
She sat up a little straighter, a slight smile on her lips. “I wonder why she sold this place and kept that ol’ dumpy place you’re in?”
“What difference does it make?” I tried to shrug off the insult, but it still galled.
“Not one little bit,” she said, smiling. “By the way, have you had a chance to see the gold mine yet?”
“Not yet. We got as far as the barn and the race car.”
The big two story white house stood in stark relief behind a line of trimmed privets, their dark leaves glistening from a recent watering.
“Someone’s taking care of the place.” Pearlie said, rolling down her window. “Hey. I’ve seen this house before. Yeah, now I remember. Nana has a picture of it on her mantel. Of course, it was before the windmill and cabins, but it’s the same house. I wonder why she sold it?”
