A DEAD RED MIRACLE: #5 in the Dead Red Mystery Series (18 page)

"It's easy to hypothesize when two out of three of the suspects are dead or missing."

"You're right, but Pearlie and I have already come up with totally new leads; Harley Aldrich, Wade Hamilton's ex-bookkeeper and last but not least, Andy Sokolov's accuser. As for Naomi, we only have her word for it—that her husband was abusive and pointed a rifle at her and her child."

"Lalla, if any of this is true, she's not going to admit anything that will incriminate her now."

"But Ron's and Jesse's murders are recent, which brings me to believe that whoever is left is our killer. And there're the dreams. Two times with the water dream. I can't figure what that was about. Then the name Geronimo keeps popping up."

"I think you're stressing yourself out over this case."

"Can't argue with that. Have you heard from the M.E. on the cause of death for Jesse?"

"He was unconscious but alive when he was strung up over that rafter."

"From the gash on the back of his head?"

"More like smashed," he said, touching the spot near the base of his skull to show me. "It takes some strength to do that kind of damage. I think we can safely rule out Naomi."

Someone came up on him from behind, struck him on the back of the head, then carted him into the church and strung him up. Jesse wasn't a big man, but his murder had to be done by a man; someone strong enough to be able hoist his unconscious body up by a rope. "Why bother trying to make it look like a suicide when the M.E. was just going to declare it a murder anyway? What about time of death?"

"Lividity corresponds with an early a.m. death."

"I think it's time we talked to Ian about this. Will you call him?"

He looked at his watch. "It's late. I'll call him tomorrow. Maybe we can meet for lunch, will that do?"

"Yes," I said, wishing I didn’t now feel suspicious of Ian's motives. Did he know or suspect Naomi's involvement with Jesse? What else was Ian not telling us?

"You said Ian was tapping their cell and home phones?" I asked.

"Yes, but unfortunately, Andy has his Google location tracker turned off."

"How convenient for him. Do we have ours on or off?"

He gave me a look that indicated I shouldn't have to ask. "Sweetheart. Better than hanging a bell around your neck, isn't it? If you disappeared it might be the only way I'd have to find you."

"And is yours on?"

"Always, I'm a cop."

.

Chapter Twenty-six:

I awoke tired from a restless night. Sometime this week we'd get a notice from the State Board of Licensing telling us we were out of business. We'd also lose access to the internet tools we needed to continue as a P.I. firm. Dead in the water, a phrase that suited not only our future as P.I.'s, but also my unsettling dreams.

Caleb left for work and I got into the shower. As the hot water streamed over my back, I thought of last night's underwater dream. It was a lake rather than the ocean, wasn't it? Both places have tiny fish and sand on the bottom, but there was something else. Ah, yes, a beer can. Not just any brand, but the popular Mexican Tecate, like what Ian offered us when we first went to his home. Was this just my imagination running amok or was there a clue here I was missing? A lake. Wade Hamilton's last known sighting was at Lake Patagonia. Maybe it was time for me to revisit the place. I would do that right after I went back to see what Mrs. Jefferson had to say about a fourth suspect.

I went to the office, greeted Zelma and Velma and called Pearlie, but when her cell went to message, I looked at my watch. It was barely nine a.m. and Pearlie was a night owl. I left a message, told her where I was going and why.

<><><><><>

Mrs. Jefferson insisted I join her for a cup of coffee. "My morning routine seems to be all that's holding me together. Cream or sugar?"

I thanked her and accepted mine black. When we were both seated, I brought out the photos and spread them on the coffee table. "Do you know any of these people?"

"Well, of course, honey. That's the mayor, Andy Sokolov. He and his missus come to Easter and Christmas services, and this is Ian Tom. Ian and his wife used to come every Sunday until the cancer took her, poor woman. This picture looks like his sister. I think her name is Naomi? Yes, that's it. Nice woman, quiet, rather shy. Ian brought her a few times. Now, Wade Hamilton I know 'cause his face is on a local TV channel every night trying to convince folks that, 'Nobody beats a Hamilton deal.' But since he's not up for re-election I never see him in church."

When she saw my blush, she reached over and patted my hand. "Now, honey, don't you give it another thought. Of course, it looks good for the chief of police to attend services here. Jesse and I knew that and it wasn't so awful bad for our image, either."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jefferson," I said, putting the photos back into the envelope. Then I thought of something else. "You said Pastor Jefferson counseled people in the mornings. Did he ever counsel Ian's sister, Naomi White?"

"Well now, Jesse kept his own appointments. Let's go to his office and look at his calendar."

Mrs. Jefferson led me along a walkway until we came to a modular trailer with a sign on the door that said,
Pastor's Office
. She unlocked the door and ushered me inside. "We got robbed once, can you imagine? We don't have a lock on our own house, but Jesse had to lock his office."

She walked around his desk, muttering at the growing pile of mail. "Jesse didn't hold with fancy appointment books. He made all of his on this here desk calendar," she said, handing it to me.

I looked for the day of his murder, but this month's page had been ripped off. "Did the police perhaps remove this month's sheet for evidence?"

She shook her head, looking around the office as if seeing it for the first time. "Honey, I don't rightly know. It's all been a blur since he died. I-I can't hardly stand coming in here no more."

"We can leave," I said, gently guiding her out of the office. Taking the key from her hand, I locked the door and noticed that there were scratch marks on the keyhole.

Someone had broken in. Before or after Jesse was killed? I remember the morning we were called to the church. Caleb was beside himself trying to secure a crime scene that was getting out of hand. Way too many people coming and going; police, Mrs. Jefferson's church ladies, reporters and the TV vans and last but not least, Ian Tom.

<><><><><>

It was still early. I had plenty of time to get to the lake where I would sort out my theory, but I needed just one more visit to ask Harley if he would confirm one last identity.

He was working in his garden, hat on, shirt off, the bushy beard recently barbered. Now all of his handsome face could be seen. I only hoped Pearlie appreciated the concessions he was making for her.

He wiped his hands on his faded jeans and smiled. "Hello, Lalla Bains," he said, looking past me to the Jeep. "Pearlie not with you this time?"

No wonder this man had so many friends. Harley's inability to hide his feelings was so endearing that I was tempted to hug him. "Hello, Harley. No, sorry, too early for Pearlie."

"Well, maybe later today," he said. "Coffee? I still have a pot on if you like."

"I'm good, but thanks," I said, pulling out the photos I'd shown to Mrs. Jefferson and spreading them out on the kitchen counter. Harley remembered our last meeting, so I separated the photos I'd shown him a few days ago from the new ones.

"Okey dokey," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Andy Sokolov and several other men I know were sheriff deputies and they were at the shooting, but not the shooter." He pointed to a figure in the photo."This is the sheriff of Cochise County." At my look of surprise, he laughed. "I don't remember the face but I know the uniform."

"It's Sheriff Ian Tom. He moved back to the area to be close to his family about eight years ago."

"Thanks for that. I'll write down his name so I can greet him properly when we meet. And this is…," he said, thoughtfully tapping the publicity photo of Naomi White. "She's older now, but this is the woman I saw running away with Jesse Jefferson."

I smiled my thanks and put away the photos.

"What does it mean?" he asked, as I prepared to leave. "Does the woman have anything to do with your murder investigation?"

"That's something I'm going to have to find out, Harley."

<><><><><>

I drove from Wishbone along Highway 92, passing the falling down buildings that had been the scene of Cochise County's fatal interaction with a religious cult. I took the Buffalo Soldier Trail, by-passing Sierra Vista and then it was a straight shot north on Highway 92 until a left turn onto Highway 82. Now it was all open range, fenced at the highway, homes and ranches dotting the dry and rolling landscape. I passed through the little town of Sonoita where Santa Cruz County fairgrounds held the state's oldest horse races and then slowed again at the small artsy town Patagonia and then made a right turn into Patagonia State Park.

I paid the fee and parked in the day use parking lot. Since it was Monday, only a few fishermen stood along the deep end of the lake, their lines dipping under the calm surface of the water. Two nodded a greeting as I passed, lifting me out of my somber mood with the pleasantries. I had made the right decision, coming out here where I could sort through the facts about this case.

I hiked uphill to the day camp area. A skinny old man smelling of stale cigarettes and old fish, climbed out of the bushes and passed me. He glanced up in surprise at my friendly greeting then tugged the brim of his hat down over his face. I guess not everyone at the lake was happy to greet a newcomer.

I got as far as the path went before it ran out of macadam and into a wall of rock. While I considered going back or climbing over, I heard someone calling my name.

I turned and saw Damian and Pearlie in the parking lot. I waved back and cupped my ears to hear what she was trying to say. Why didn't she just call me on her cell? And why was Damian with her? I looked at my cell—oh. No bars, no cell phone service. I took a step in their direction and felt the business end of a gun stick into my side. "Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t try anything."

My hands instinctively jerked into the air while Pearlie's hands dropped down to her sides.

I turned and looked at the man with the gun. The grubby old fisherman I'd surprised was Wade Hamilton. He was thin to the point of emaciated, unshaven and looking every bit as if he'd been living rough. The shock of seeing him here didn't do much for my attempt to deceive him. "Mr. Hamilton? Where have you been? People are looking for you."

Wade reached out and shoved me toward Pearlie and Damian. "Shut up and keep moving." He walked me along the edge of the road, keeping me in front of him and Pearlie in his line of sight.

"Wave to them. Smile," he said.

I did as I was told, but changed tactics. "Your wife will be thrilled to hear that you're alive, sir. You can call her with my cell, if you like."

"My wife is the last person I'd want to talk to right now," he growled. "Besides, reception sucks."

He had that right. "Then why are you hiding out here?"

Wade's high-pitched cackle was pretty far off his usual swaggering TV persona, but a week without decent food or shelter could do that.

"You really don't know, do you? She followed you here. I saved her and this is the thanks I get. We'll take your car."

I looked to where Pearlie and Damian stood waiting. Pearlie had her hand in the zippered compartment that held her pistol. Wade would have to be delusional if he thought my cousin was going to let him get the better of her.

"You don't have to be afraid of your wife, Wade."

"Shut up and walk," he said, shoving the handgun into my ribs again. There was no mistaking his anxious need to keep moving.

With my eyes on Pearlie and Damian, I was hoping for a way to distract him so that Pearlie could shoot him in the leg, or shoulder―as long as she didn't shoot me, but then I heard the sharp report of a rifle.

I felt Wade stumble against me, his eyes wide as he grabbed for me. I tried to shove him away, but he wouldn't let go.

We fell off the path and rolled downhill toward the deep end of the lake. Seeing the water come up on us, I grabbed a lungful of air, squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the impact. I kicked and flailed to get him off, but Wade's heavy body stubbornly remained on top, driving the reserve out of my lungs, forcing us under. Deeper and deeper until I felt the useless air slip out of my mouth. I fought to stay conscious, but my limbs were now numb and my vision was closing into a small circle of light. I struggled to get my feet under me so I could push off, but I was so weak. A Tecate can lay next to my hand and above me a dead man floated away.

That's when I heard the old Apache speak to me. "Save the boy."

.

Chapter Twenty-seven:

Someone was beating on my chest and calling my name, but when I tried to tell them to stop, it all came out in a rush of water. I rolled over on my side and threw up again and again, relieved laughter following the purge.

"It's rude to laugh at a drowning victim," I muttered.

Pearlie snickered and pulled me up into a sitting position. "Good thing Damian was quick to dive in and pull you out when he did. His CPR ain't so bad, either."

Damian. The boy. Three words. The words I couldn't get right,
Save the boy.
That's what the old Apache said as he went over the cliff, and Damian was the old man's grandson. Ironically, I didn't save the boy, the boy saved me.

"Wade," I coughed. "Where is he?"

"Over there," Pearlie pointed to where Damian, in T-shirt and white Jockey shorts, was tugging Wade's heavy body up onto the sandy bank.

I shivered and clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. "D-did you shoot him?" I asked.

"I'm good with a pistol, but not at that range. It had to be a rifle and it came from behind those trees. And don't bother to ask if we saw him, we were too busy trying to save you."

Damian looked up and waved.

I pushed my wet hair out of my eyes and struggled to get on my feet.

"Easy does it," Pearlie said, giving me a hand up. "You almost drowned, you know."

"But I didn't," I said, wrapping my arms around myself to keep from shivering. "Wade said
she
followed him out here. I thought he meant you."

"About the same time I got your message, Damian showed up at the office and I decided to bring him along. I was thinking you might be looking for Wade," Pearlie said, "but it never occurred to me that he'd find you first. Someone else was looking for him, too?"

"Yes," I croaked and coughed. My voice was painfully scratchy from my near drowning.

She looked over her shoulder at the trees behind us. "Bet you five bucks it was a rifle."

"Yes. I thought so, too." The pieces were starting to come together. "Steve said they're the best trackers in the West."

"You are not making any sense. Did you crack your head when you went under?"

"Wade said he
saved
her and this was the thanks he got. I think Wade Hamilton is the deputy who shot Damian's father, thinking he was protecting a woman and a child running for their lives."

"You talking about Ian's sister, Naomi? What makes you think she's the shooter?"

In spite of the warm day, I was still wet. That and the shock of discovery was making my teeth clack like castanets. "I-I'll tell you later. N-no time. Call 9-1-1, then Caleb."

"You're shivering. Come with me to the Jeep and get warm."

"N-not yet. Bring back a blanket to cover the b-body. I have t-to talk to Damian." Seeing she was about to argue, I gave her a shove. "No time. Go. I'll meet you in the parking lot, I promise."

Pearlie reluctantly agreed, stopping long enough to congratulate Damian on a job well done, then fast walk for the main parking lot and a clear cell phone signal.

Damian had managed to pull on dry pants over his wet legs, but he had his cross-trainers in one hand. "We heard the shot that got him," he said. "Who did it?"

If Wade hadn't fallen into me, forcing both of us into the lake, she might've chanced another shot. I would have to keep my suspicions to myself a while longer. I certainly couldn't have Damian think he should go after the shooter. "My cell phone went into the water. Can I borrow yours?"

Damian looked at Pearlie disappearing around a bend. "To call the cops? I thought that's what Pearlie went to do."

"I need to get someone to bring out my air scent dog to track the shooter."

"Your dog can do that? That's cool, can I come too?" I still had to work out how to get him out of the way. This was not the time to tell him I thought his mother was a cold-blooded killer.

He reluctantly handed over his cell phone. "You're not going to call my Uncle Ian, are you? I'm supposed to be at the gym today."

"He'll need to come get you, but I'll explain that your CPR saved my life," I said, holding his cell phone to my ear. "There's no reception out here and I need to bring a blanket back for the body. Stay here and keep the curious away from the body until someone relieves you. Think you can do that?"

"Sure," he said, spreading his feet and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Good. By the way, have you seen your mom lately?"

"I haven't talked to my mother in a week or so. Why? Pearlie said that the man who had the gun on you was one of the suspects." Damian's main interest was on the murder case, not his mother.

"Yes, Wade Hamilton. He confessed to killing your father."

Damian stared down at the body. "Really? Then it's finally over. Uncle Ian and my mother will be glad to hear it."

I patted him on the shoulder. "Just promise me you'll stay here until you're relieved by a sheriff's deputy or the EMTs."

"Okay, but tell 'em to hurry. I’m not crazy about hanging out here with a dead body."

"I'll be back as soon as I can and trust me, Damian, he's not going anywhere."

Dead bodies aside, I would do just about anything to keep him away from the conversation I was going to have with Ian Tom about his sister. Knowing Damian, he would go ballistic and run off to try to find his mother, adding another innocent person to the mix.

There was only one problem with my plan. At the parking lot, Pearlie's Jeep door was open and her purse was on the driver's seat.

My heart rate spiked. No. No. Don't go there. She'll be back in a minute. Probably went to the bathroom. And leave her purse on the seat and the door unlocked? Damn!

I should've known better. Naomi was no fool. She'd backtracked to the parking lot and waited for one of us or all of us to show. She knew her son was with Pearlie. Was she hoping she could work some fairy tale on him to get his help? Or maybe she preferred one of us women, thinking we would be easy to intimidate. Even without her own weapon, my dimpled, chubby little cousin would be a handful, looking for a weakness, some way to get an advantage over her captor.

I looked up at the hills behind the lake. Wade may have been able to sneak into the showers at night and fish during the day, but he had to be sleeping somewhere close by. The rangers would check overnighters for their paid camping tags, so he couldn't stay in the park. He had to have someplace safe but near the lake, and if Naomi took off on foot it was because she knew about Wade's hidey-hole.

I used Damian's cell to make the 9-1-1 call that Pearlie obviously didn't get to make, then called Caleb and told him everything, including my theory that Naomi shot Wade Hamilton. "I only wish I'd confided my suspicions about Naomi to Pearlie before she was kidnapped. We'll need Hoover, so bring something of Pearlie's. No, wait. Bring Harley Aldrich too. Yes, I know what I'm saying."

Even with their sirens blazing a trail through traffic, we would have an hour's wait until they got here and I had Damian, aka the loose cannon, just itching to do something. This could go wrong in so many ways.