CoverBoys & Curses (19 page)

Chapter
Fifty-Six

A
Change of Names

CARLY
POSH SHOPPED the shops, and especially any with a For Lease or For Sale sign in
front. Demographics didn’t factor in. She’d become the demographics. Her
growing clientele grew along with her reputation, and she knew in her gut the
business would come to her.

           
Although her mission was largely a
secret, she gave Gabriella Criscione a heads-up. Look for maybe two thousand
square feet to begin with, and grow from there. Calculated and most wondrous
baby steps.

VICTOR
ROMERO SAT at his desk and drew in several deep breaths. Again. Again. Upon his
retirement he took
Vinyasa
Flow Yoga classes. Too
damn slow for him. But he had learned to breathe nice and slow. Breathing is a
good thing, he thought.

           
Now he was back swimming with the
sharks. And he had spotted one of them. And his breathing quickened. He liked
that.

           
One more deep breath, if only to
placate his wife, and she was spending the night in Sedona. But like all wives
she had eyes in the back of her head that could see over mountains and count
the pixels in his mind.

Romero
moved to the patio overlooking the Catalina Mountains and placed the call.
“Hey, good old Wray! It’s Vic.
Que
Pasa
?”

           
“You’re the good old fart and I’m
just plain good. And what’s up with you? Pretty early in the day for you to be
calling me in your golden retirement years,” Detective Tom Wray said.

           
“Cut the bullshit and listen up. I
think I have a lead on that missing boy.”

           
“What missing boy?”

           
“It sounds like it’s your mind
that’s taken early retirement. I’m talking about the brother of the friend of
your Lauren Visconti. Ring a bell?”

           
“Oh, yeah. She won’t let me forget
it. That’s why I pawned her off on your fat ass!”

           
“The kid’s last known address was
some shantytown crack house in New York. But funny thing, the kid disappeared
about the time a slew of kids went missing. Some psycho guru doctor lost his
license to practice up there. Something about money laundering, espionage, and
toss in some pedophiliac complications for good measure. Makes for one helluva
recipe. I’m convinced the missing Doukas kid is somehow involved with this guy.
The guru fled New York and headed to Tucson. I still don’t know much about that
fling, right here in my own backyard, but rumor has it that the creep moved to
your neck of the woods and took his favorite followers with him, whatever that
means.”

           
“So you’re telling me that missing
kid may be in my backyard and with some psychotic psychiatrist?”
           
“We always loved working
together, didn’t we, Champ?”

           
“Shit. Shit. Shit. We have a dynasty
of cults and ashrams and guru wannabes. The missing kid might as well have
fallen off that ship with Osama Bin Laden. Better chance of finding him.”

           
“Except I’m damn better at my job
than you. I can give you the name of the place. Damn simple name. It’s called
The Center,” Victor said.

           
“Center for what?”

           
“Hell if I know. It’s your
territory.”

           
“Looks like we’re a despicable team,
again,” Wray said.

           
“Wait. I have more for you. It seems
this doctor’s name changes with the seasons.”

“What
the hell does that mean?” Wray asked.

“Whoever
this doctor was in New York may have changed his name. When they yanked his
license from the state of New York the guy and his records both vanished. Not
sure why. It’s probably under that secret veil of steel red tape called
surreptitious payoffs, but rumors have it he then moved to Tucson and began
scamming bleeding heart victims for money. All their money.”

“So
that’s your turf. What do you have to give me?”

“No name.
Another vanished doctor. The same guy that came here from New York. This shrink
came into town with a bunch of young boys. And the timeline fits with the guy
that fled New York.”

“The
shrink with the disappearing name keeps heading west, and now you think he’s
here in L.A.?”

“Something
like that. Hey, I’m not God. I turned in a lot of chips to get this
information.”

           
“I’ll look into it. What about the
dead girl down there? The sister of this kid. The suicide?”

           
“This is a small town but no cow
town. I’m going through the sheriff’s files now. Clean files. I haven’t run
into a Barney Fife yet. Seems to be a clear cut ruling for suicide but
something doesn’t sit well with me.”

           
“God, if I had a nickel for every
time you said that.”

           
“I’m serious. The ME found bruises
around Payton Doukas’s neck.”

           
“Ligature marks?”

           
“The official finding is that she
tried to somehow hang herself before resorting to the gun. Girls don’t like
guns, you know.”

           
“I guess that makes sense. She
wanted to get the job done one way or the other.”

           
“The blood pattern can pass for
being consistent, but it’s awkward. She would have had to shoot herself
standing up and then fall back into her chair. And there’s something else. I
see here the gun fired a single 38 caliber bullet. That would decrease the
recoil from a .357 Magnum, and the gun residue was a match for recoil.
Something a girlie would do if she wasn’t strong enough for the big bang.
There’s some tattooing to confirm the short range. The ME also reported
bruising on her hands and wrist.

           
“Only one shell casing found?”
Detective Wray seemed to be getting the same bug up his ass. Things weren’t
adding up.

           
“That’s affirmative.”

           
“One bullet. One death. Close range
or not, maybe she had a hard time handling that gun. A .357 Magnum, even with
sissy bullets, is a pretty big toy for such a tiny little lady. Maybe she took
it outside in the boonies for some practice rounds. Build up her courage. Go
check the nearby fields.”

           
Victor let out a guttural sigh. “
Yo
, boy! This
ain’t
exactly like
living in the amber waves of grain down here. We have miles and miles of cacti.
You come down and have a look around with me.”

           
“You can bet your ass that’s not
going to happen. Any other bullets in the chamber?”

           
“No.”

           
“Where’d the gun come from?”

           
“I thought you’d never ask, buddy.
The good old Chief in the Sky must want us working together again. The gun was
reported stolen five years ago, from a home right there in your quaint little
Brentwood neighborhood. Go check your computer. I’ve sent you all the
information I have. You do know how to work a computer these days, don’t you?”

           
“Brentwood? You sure?”

           
“Yup. Why?”

           
“Impenetrable fortresses of money.
And crimes that get forgiven. Think O.J.”

Chapter
Fifty-Seven

More
Worms

CARLY
AND STERLING arranged for the intervention after calling me countless times,
again, for a lunch or happy hour. I kept putting them off. I didn’t want to
lose my two best friends. Some may say I was either stubborn, or dim-witted, or
ridiculously superstitious. I had a good excuse. I was working on the next
cover article. Mostly, I didn’t know what to say to them. And I didn’t want
them to die.

After much
insistence I met them for lunch at
La
Luna Oro
. Only because I had news.

A report
from the detective in Tucson. The cryptic email came in the middle of the
night, but the brief communication read like a thesis.

           
He did not believe that Payton
committed suicide. Finally, someone was on our side.

           
Both Carly and Sterling lectured me
before I could share the news. Lauren Visconti is not cursed. People she loved
had died. Poor little Lauren. Poor little rich girl.

           
“You’re acting like a goddamn
Kokopelli
,” Carly said.

           
“Excuse me?”

           
“You’re the symbol of fertility.
Lively. Vital. But you’re motionless. You’re framed in an archaic history.”

           
“And you’ve given up on us,”
Sterling said.

           
“You’re right. And you’re all wrong,”
I said.

           
Drinks and salads arrived while
puzzlement splayed across the faces of both Carly and Sterling.

           
I had copied the email Victor Romero
had sent me. I shared my news. “He believes in us. He believes in Payton.”

Carly
said, “Now we have ammunition and we can get the sheriff’s department to reopen
their investigation.”

“We
can’t rely on them. Not after they’ve closed the case once. I think we need to
get our butts back to Tucson and find those three saguaro skeletons.”

           
“Good god,” Sterling said. “I have
to admit. I was the one giving up on that. I thought it best if we all just
move on.”

           
Carly nodded, “Me, too. Lauren, if
it weren’t for you hiring this guy no one would ever get to the bottom of this.”

           
“It’s also digging up an old can of worms.
Worms that none of us need,” I said.

           
“It’s the snakes that scare me,”
Sterling said.

           
“I’ll make the reservations”, Carly
said.

Chapter
Fifty-Seven

Foreign
Grapes

ARRIVING
LATE AT Tucson International Airport, we headed directly to Starr Pass, a
resort near Saguaro National Park.

           
I called Victor Romero and confirmed
breakfast the next morning. Perpetual party girl Sterling surprised us by
saying she’d meet us at the outside bar later. She elected to plop herself down
at the desk and set about getting her computer online.

           
Carly and I took seats overlooking
the enormous meandering pool designed to flow like a river. The weather
cooperated with a gentle breeze. Though decidedly cooler than our last visit, I
still doubted we would be in need of the sweaters all three of us had packed.

           
“At least we aren’t in Aspen, or
Ruidoso,” Carly said. “It could be snowing on us.”

           
Carly. Always the one to find the
silver lining on a cloud of rust, or the sugar rim on the glass full of castor
oil. I smiled and took in the warmth of the sun and the breathtaking views.

           
“What exactly is Sterling doing?”
Carly asked.

           
“She’s looking at the trail map
again. And I think she’s intent on talking to a forest ranger.”

           
“I love her, but I swear I thought
her only talent was in bobbing along with her baubles,” Carly laughed.

           
The waitperson arrived with a wine
stand, a chilling bottle, and three glasses.

           
“We didn’t order this,” I said.

           
“And you will love it,” she said.
“Compliments of another guest.”

           
“Who?” I asked.

           
“I don’t know. The order came from
the inside lounge.”

           
“Wait here,” I said to Carly, and stumbled
in my heels as I dashed toward where the waitperson had pointed. I didn’t think
of the practicality of wearing flip flops.

           
Wedging myself between patrons at
the bar, I apologized and begged for the bartender’s attention.

           
“Who sent this to us?”

           
“I wish I could tell you,” he said.
“Impossible. We have three conferences going on right now.”

           
“But it must have been charged to a
room. You must have records,” I demanded.

           
“I’m pretty sure the guy paid cash.
Said he didn’t want to charge it to his room, at least.”

“What
did he look like?”

“Old
guy. Dapper, I guess you could say. Seemed real friendly.”

“That’s all?” I asked.

He
shrugged, turning to reach for the back cabinet and a bottle of Petron tequila
as he poured the next order.

I forced
myself to accept the situation. I apologized once again to the other guests and
returned to the outside table.

The
decanted wine now filled two of the three glasses.

Carly
said, “Why are you freaking out? It’s not the first time we’ve been offered a
free drink. I find it charming.”

No way was
I anywhere near charmed.

“Look!
It’s produced locally,” Carly said. “An Arizona vineyard. Didn’t even know they
could grow grapes in this dry heat. That’s a foreign grape to me.”

Where
had I sipped an Arizona wine before? It didn’t surprise me like it had Carly.
Arizona had regions with vineyards. Whatever the nagging feeling, I had to
agree it seemed out of the ordinary.

“Let me
worry,” I said. “A nice guy buys a bottle of wine for two women without
evidence of male companions. A bottle? And why did he send three glasses over?”

“Good
lord,” Carly said. “He spent good money on a full bottle and hoped to join us
and partake, but then you go into the bar and scare him away.”

A bright
flash of color headed our way. Sterling’s halter dress popped with orange
poppies. Her long blond hair caught the full attention of the breeze.

“This
place is drop-dead gorgeous, but I
gotta
tell you, I
think we’re at the wrong resort”, Sterling announced.

“What
the hell do you mean? We were lucky to get rooms here,” Carly said.

Sterling
swiftly filled the third wine stem. “Turns out I think we may be on the wrong
side of town. There’s a Saguaro Park West and it makes sense we’re looking there.
It’s the larger of the parks and it’s nearby Payton’s home. But there’s another
one on the opposite edge of town. Saguaro Park East. And it has a trail named
cactus-something or other.”

“And you
know this how?” I asked.

“Talked
to a smooth talking ranger named Jeremy. He’s walked every square inch of both
parks.”

I sat
staring at the table. Maybe my vision seemed obscured by the glowing sunset
evidenced by the light it shed on the mountains. Or Sterling’s shiny attire. I
winced and squinted, focusing on the sparkling glasses of wine.

Had our
host ever intended to join us or did he know there were three of us?

Then it
hit me.

The old
man at
Catrozzi’s
Restaurant. A gift of wine born
from the fruit of an Arizona vineyard.