by R. P. Dahlke
“I don’t know. It’s just that if she’s keeping secrets, whatever it is may not be something we can find on the internet.”
Pearlie shrugged. “Folks are going to want to protect secrets even if it has nothing to do with a crime.” She waved at the broad valley as if encompassing all of it into her plans. “We’re just going to have to find ourselves a spy in the sheriff’s office.”
Knowing Pearlie, she would immediately be on the lookout for one that was tall, dark and handsome, too.
I took one last look at the property my great-aunt Mae used to own, seeing it in the eyes of the people who needed a sanctuary for their own reasons: Bethany because of her physical deformity, the enigmatic Reina with her unhappy secrets, and Jason Stark, who may or may not know more than he was saying.
The place did have an air of peaceful serenity about it, if you didn’t count the layer of fear left behind by a cold-blooded killer.
~~~~~~~~~~
At home, my dad came out of the barn wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “Where the hell have you two been?”
I tried to deflect his irritation with a question of my own. “Have you got it running yet?”
“I can’t get the parts I need if you leave me stranded here without the Jeep.”
Pearlie slipped out of the Jeep and gave my dad her most charming smile. “I’ll bet you could use some hot lunch. How ‘bout I heat up the leftovers from last night’s chicken cacciatore?”
At the mention of food, Dad completely forgot why he was annoyed with us and followed Pearlie into the house.
I wasn’t so lucky with Caleb. He leaned on the Jeep, his arms crossed to show he had no intention of letting this slide. “I don’t see any grocery bags.”
“Huh?”
“Food. Groceries. You were going to the store?”
I was happy to have him here, wasn’t I? And hadn’t we promised to be honest with each other? Why would I consider keeping this secret from the one person who could help the most? It wasn’t fun to lie to him anymore, not after all we’d been through, so I told him.
“Pearlie has been hired to investigate Bethany Coker’s murder.”
His sandy brows corkscrewed up in disbelief.
“Scout’s honor,” I said, holding up two fingers.
He reached over and took hold of the fingers. “It’s three fingers for scouts, not two.”
I shrugged. “I’m telling the truth.”
“She doesn’t have a P.I. license and who in their right mind would hire Pearlie?”
“The father of the murdered artist. The poor man is desperate for help, a lead, anything. And the sheriff’s department won’t tell him a thing.”
I tried not to look at Caleb’s face thinking how many ways this could go wrong.
“Naturally, this will go better if you help,” I added.
He groaned. “This is not just Pearlie’s gig, is it? It’s you and your cousin, right?”
“How could we turn him down, Caleb? Besides, you said the detectives might yet try to stick these murders on my dad.”
“On a scale of one to ten, that argument is a two. And that’s only because I don’t want to think about what could happen if they don’t find a better suspect.”
“I know. It just broke my heart to see those detectives grill him the way they did. The poor old guy is a heart patient, for cryin’ out loud. Honestly, Caleb,” I said, letting my hand flutter over my heart. “I think it would kill him to have to go through that again.”
My dad ambled out of the house, a toothpick hanging off his lip. Seeing us, he motioned for me to hand over the keys to his Jeep. “Your lunch is waiting and I don’t have all day, missy.”
Accepting the keys, he hopped in, and without another word, sped off, leaving us in his dusty wake.
Caleb stared after the Jeep, shook his head and turned for the house.
I ran to catch up. “So what do you think? Will you help?”
“I think,” he said, putting an arm around my waist so we could walk together, “that you’re fronting your dad’s heart issues for your own interests. But for Noah’s sake, I’ll help.”
Pearlie was sitting at the table writing in her notebook. “Hey, Caleb. What’s up?”
“I’m in,” Caleb said and went to work on his lunch.
At her perplexed expression, I explained to her how I’d brought him into our investigation. She took it surprisingly well.
Ever pragmatic, Cousin Pearlie then turned her considerable charm on Caleb. “Witnesses are more likely to talk to a couple of women than they are to suits with badges.”
“Leave well enough alone, Pearlie,” he said, digging into the leftovers.
Pearlie tried again, “We’ve already made a really good start.”
“How’s that?” he asked, wiping his mouth on a napkin.
I cringed when she told him how we dodged under the crime scene tape and searched Bethany’s bedroom.
“Homicide already searched it,” I added. “We needed to look around to get an idea of what she was like. When I remarked about the blackout shades in her room, her dad said she had migraines, but there were no meds in her bathroom.”
Caleb shrugged. “I couldn’t say what the detectives would take for evidence. They might collect the contents of her medicine cabinet for fingerprints.”
“We also learned that she had a genetic facial deformity and she had drugs for migraines.”
“It could’ve been a burglar looking for drugs,” Pearlie added. “And when he found Bethany at home, decided to rape and strangle her.”
“You talked to the residents?” Caleb asked.
“No one said we couldn’t,” Pearlie huffed. “There’re only two of them. Reina Schmidt lives in one of the two studio cabins, and she has a suspicious looking boyfriend we’d like for you to check out.”
Caleb put down his fork and pulled out his notebook. “Name?”
“Julio Castillo,” Pearlie said, watching him write. “She said he has a paint and body shop in Tucson, but with the line of tats and his bad attitude, we think he might be trouble.”
Caleb put down his pencil. “I can get DMV records and any convictions off the appropriate data bases.”
“See?” I added cheerfully, “we’re a team already.”
“You said there were two artists?” he asked.
“Jason Stark is the only other artist living there,” I said. “He said he was working when Bethany was killed and I could see how he wouldn’t have heard anything. He was wearing one of those welder helmets and didn’t notice us until we stepped between him and the bronze he was working on.”
Caleb wrote down the name and another notation. “Go on.”
“Jason,” Pearlie said, consulting her notes, “thought the killer might’ve been a Mexican transporting drugs through the property.”
“Yes,” Caleb said. “I’m told this is a corridor for smugglers.”
“They’d be just the type of criminals to think nothing of killing Bethany and a police chief,” Pearlie said.
Caleb crossed his arms over his chest, looking from me to Pearlie. “Then why go to the trouble of moving the chief’s body out of the house and dumping it into an abandoned mine pit?”
Caleb wanted us to see something we were missing.
“Oh. The deputy said the police chief was supposed to be leaving for a fishing trip to Wyoming,” I said. “They wouldn’t have a reason to start looking for him for at least another week.”
“Yeah,” Pearlie said. “Everyone in town would’ve known when and where the police chief was going on his vacation. It’s someone who lives here in Wishbone. It could even be another cop.”
“Yep,” Caleb said, unwinding his arms and dragging me to him. “And that’s why you two have to tell me where you’re going, when you’ll be back, and for God’s sake, stay in cell phone range. And Pearlie, keep that Lady Smith with you at all times, will you?”
Pearlie nodded, eyes wide, suddenly with nothing to sa
y.
When Caleb picked up the lunch plates and utensils, I pointed to Pearlie’s notebook and towed her out the door.
“He thinks best doing the dishes,” I said.
“Really? All the men I know do their best thinking with me under them.”
“We didn’t tell him about the CD we lifted from Bethany’s room or that her laptop might be missing.”
“When we see Mac Coker we’ll ask if that laptop is on the evidence list. If it isn’t, we can talk to Reina and Jason again.”
“And if they don’t know anything?”
She examined her nails. “I think I need a manicure. As a matter of fact, I think my hair could use a touch up and I’m sure you could use some highlights—or do you do lowlights? Yeah, that and a pedicure. That’s what we need.”
I don’t color my hair, but I could tell that she wasn’t thinking hair color as much as she was thinking about acquiring some gossip, and there’s no better place for gossip than the local beauty parlor.
“Let’s look through our brand new phone book for one,” I said.
“What about transportation?” Pearlie asked.
“Dad will be back soon,” I said. “He’s anxious to get Uncle Ed’s race car in working order.”
We went inside and thumbed through the listings for beauty parlors.
There were two in Wishbone. “Which one?” I asked.
She grinned. “Let me,” she said, dialing a number.
When someone answered, Pearlie did what she did best—sound like a ditsy blond. “Yes, my cousin and I are visitin’ her new place here. Would you have any openings for this afternoon? What? Well, a touch up of our roots, and a pedicure for her and a mani for me—if you could squeeze us in? But not today, huh? Our names? It’s Pearlie and Lalla Bains—if you think—well, sure thing, sugah. Bye now.”
“No luck?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Let me try another shop.”
Pearlie went through the same spiel, and with the same results, she smacked her lips. “I need ice cream. Think there’s any left?”
She took one step toward the fridge and the phone rang. Pearlie smirked and answered the phone.
“Hello? Yes, this is she. Tomorrow? Both of us? Well, now ain’t that sweet of you. Yes, we’ll be there.” She hung up and this time made it all the way to the fridge. Opening the freezer compartment, she took out a container of Chunky Monkey.
“Well?” I asked, getting the bowls and spoons.
“Told you, didn’t I? It’s the same in small towns everywhere. The minute I told them our names I knew she’d call back.”
As Pearlie and I were licking the last of the ice cream off our spoons, Dad strolled into the house and dropped the Jeep keys into a bowl on the side table.
“Any of that ice cream left or do I have to turn around and go back into town?”
“No one has to go into town,” I said. “There’s plenty of Chunky Monkey to go around.”
.
Chapter Eighteen:
Pearlie handed the breakfast dishes to the men and said, “We’re going to the beauty parlor. See you in a few hours.”
In the Jeep, Pearlie gathered up her loose hair and inspected it. “I guess I better get a trim, too. Suddenly my ends are splitting.”
“Haven’t you noticed how quickly our towels dry? It’s really easy to get dehydrated here. Between the altitude and the dry air, the weather here is tough on everything.”
“Rattlers, coyotes, scorpions and dehydration—I guess there ain’t no such thing as paradise, is there?”
“Tell that to all the snowbirds who flock to Arizona every winter so they don’t have to shovel snow.”
“We’re not staying long enough to find out if they have snow here, are we?”
“It’s still September, we have plenty of time to solve this case and clear out before it gets cold.”
~~~~~~~~~~
At Darlene’s Cut and Curl, we were met by enthusiastic rock-n-roll and a petite redhead in bright yellow lipstick. She reached over and turned down the music. “Welcome to Cut and Curl,” she said. “I’m Suzi and this here’s Darlene.”
Darlene, a pretty, green-eyed brunette attempted to match Suzi’s welcoming smile but her grasp the back of her salon chair couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her hands.
“Let’s sit you girls down and you can tell us all about it,” she said.
“You mean—my color?” I asked.
“That too,” she said, a little too quickly.
Pearlie squealed with laughter at some witty comment of Suzi’s, and soon the two were easily chitchatting.
Draped with a towel tucked around my neck, Darlene picked up a hank of my long hair and examined it. “Not bad. Someone’s given you a nice cut recently.”
“Yes,” I said, “for my wedding. And my great-aunt Mae gifted me some property nearby so we decided to visit Arizona.”
Darlene and I locked eyes in the mirror. “And you brought your cousin instead of your husband?”
Okay, so this wasn’t going exactly as planned, but I could turn it around.
“Well, of course my husband is here, but there’s supposed to be a gold mine on the property, so Dad was all for a road trip. Unfortunately, the first time he went to look for it he fell into a mine pit.”
Darlene picked up a brush and went to work on my hair. “Oh dear. Was he hurt?’
“No, no. He’s fine. But there was another man at the bottom of the pit. I’m sure you’ve heard about it by now.”
Darlene laid the brush down, and without a warning, gave the chair a whirl, jerked the lever on the backrest, and suddenly my carotid artery felt terribly exposed.
Why did I think I needed to come in here? Haircut, wasn’t it? Did we talk about a haircut? No we did not.
“Your dad,” she said, lathering on some nice smelling shampoo. “That must’ve been terrible for him. Was—the man alive when he found him?”
“No,” I squeaked. “Dead. Sorry.”
She nodded, reached up to a shelf and I got a whiff of underarm odor. Did beauticians go au naturel in Wishbone, or was this a sudden case of nerves? Squirting some conditioner into her hand, she silently went to work on my scalp.
How was this supposed to be a fact-finding mission if she wouldn’t talk to me?
More laughter from Suzi’s side of the room. Pearlie certainly wasn’t having any problem in that department.
“I need to let that conditioner soak for a few minutes.” Darlene patted my shoulder and disappeared.
She spoke to Suzi and the door to the shop opened and closed.
Taking her at her word, I closed my eyes and tried to relax.
Pearlie tapped my shoulder, her hair in alternate layers of foil. “What’d you say to her?” she whispered.
“Are they gone?”
“Yes, now talk.”
“I told her that it was my dad who found the body.” I whispered back, “I dunno, Pearlie, I think I upset her.”
“Well, of course it upset her. The police chief was her husband.”
“Her husband! Wow, that sucks.”
“Are you kidding? We hit the jackpot. Kinda makes me wonder ….”
When the bell jingled on the door, Pearlie scurried back to her chair, grabbed a magazine, and stuck her face in it.
I, on the other hand, lay with my head soaking in conditioner, feeling like an idiot. Surely Darlene had been told how her husband was found, but talking to the daughter of the man who found him must be a shock. Still, hadn’t we made the appointment hoping for some gossip on the murders? But I also wondered why she would be here at her shop so soon after her husband’s murder, and what she might have in store for my hair.
Darlene put her hand on my shoulder. “How you doing, hon?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Then let’s finish up.”
She rinsed and towel dried my hair, and without asking how I wanted it, proceeded to style it.
“Hair spray?”
she asked, holding up a can.
“Uh, no thanks. I never use the stuff.”
She nodded, and started spraying and only stopped because the can finally fizzled and died. Waving away the noxious cloud, she turned me around to face the mirror.
I suppose if I had the right makeup, and wore something from the year nineteen sixty-five—maybe an Op-Art dress and go-go boots, I’d be ready for a photo shoot draped over a Corvette.
“You don’t like it,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Not wanting to be the cause of making this poor woman any unhappier, I stuttered an excuse. “It-it’s just different, that’s all.”
She removed the drape and lowered her wet lashes. “It’s on me, anyway.”
I looked at Pearlie, sitting under the dryer, her magazine in front of her face. Her shoulders were shaking with laughter, so no help there.
“No, no,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “You did a great job.”
Darlene stayed my hand. “Please, just hear me out, will you?”
I waited, the wallet in my sweaty hands.
“The man in the mine pit, the one your dad found, was my husband.” Seeing I was going to apologize, she put up a hand, “No, that’s okay. There’s no way you could’ve known.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, now feeling like a jackass for coming here.
“The Sheriff said my husband was the one who answered Bethany Coker’s distress call.”
I nodded. “I heard that too, but I don’t know much more than that.”
Her pretty green eyes misted with tears. “The real problem is that the sheriff is looking for likely suspects. And as always, they look real hard at the spouse first.”
“If it’s any consolation, they’re also looking at my dad and he never met the man before he landed in that pit.”
“Then you understand how I feel. My husband was supposed to be on his way to Wyoming for his annual fishing trip, but instead, he detoured for a 9-1-1 call and died a damn hero.”
“He has a police radio in his personal car?”
“It’s always on. He was all about duty, honor and all that crap. It’s the reason I fell in love with him, but it got him killed, too.”
