Dead Red Cadillac, A (19 page)

He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out when we pick him up."

Defeated, I said, "Do you really think he'll show up at the funeral?"

"If he does, we'll find him."

"If you're sure that he'll be there, you'd better look for him in hat and heels." Then I told him everything I knew about Eddy and his cross-dressing tendencies. He nodded, thanked me politely and then silently drove me back to my truck at the pancake house and dropped me off.

Before I got out, I said, "I told you I'd tell you everything, and then when I do, you give me the silent treatment? If that's your way of saying thank you, Caleb Stone, you can just forget about anything else between us." Then I exited his car and flounced back to mine.

Across the road, yellow crime scene tape fluttered at the second-story balcony—mute testimony that someone was a liar.

Chapter Twenty:

Back at the ranch, I told my dad I was home and that another woman had been killed. He shook his head sadly and offered to hire me a lawyer.

"I'm not a suspect this time, Noah, and I'm too tired to eat, so I think I'll just go on up to bed."

But I didn't sleep much. And when I did, my dreams were weirder than Eddie showing up in women's clothes. I woke up at the sound of my alarm. It was three a.m. I stumbled into clothes, gulped down a cup of coffee and shoved myself out the door for the long day of work.

When a hint of sun traces the eastern Sierras, the pilots take off. Unable to see over the nose of tail-dragging Ag-Cats, pilots gauge the distance by aiming the aircraft down the middle until, with that innate sense of timing pilots and gunslingers share, they adjust throttle, stick and rudder. The wheels let go of the earth beneath them, and they're up in the air.

Over the roar of the last plane, I went back into the office with a vague sense of depression. Was it because I wasn't part of them anymore? My license was current and my leg was better than I let on. So why wasn't I "back in the saddle," as my dad liked to call it? Probably because I still carried around the sense of looming helplessness as I plowed through twenty acres of tomatoes. No, I didn't think I was ready yet. Besides, there hadn't been any time, what with people dropping dead every few days.

When I returned to the house and my late breakfast, Noah was already at the table, fork poised over his plate, the morning newspaper in his other hand. He tapped the photo on the front page. "You're in the funny papers again, missy. So what do you know about this young woman killed yesterday? She from around here?"

I looked over his shoulder at what was obviously a driver's photo from her license, the long curls, wide-set and innocent round eyes. "I'm sorry to say, yesterday was our one and only meeting."

"Huh. Alexandra Graham, also known as Autumn O'Sullivan. She puts me in mind of someone. Seems to me I ought to know her," he said, laying down the paper again to pick up his fork. "Caleb said it could've been you as well as this poor girl in the photo. Why can't you leave it to the police, Lalla?"

"Believe it or not, I was minding my own business when she called asking for help. She had some evidence that Garth killed his aunt, and I thought if I could ensure her safety, she would let me call Caleb."

But Noah wasn't interested in murder suspects. "Well, if I'm not going to see grandchildren in my lifetime, I think the least you could do is outlive me."

"Is that why you're selling off my inheritance in bits and pieces, because there are no grandchildren?" His look said I'd struck pay dirt. "And here I thought you were selling off your land because you didn't want to deal with the paperwork. How can I run a crop-dusting business if we're getting pushed out by developers?"

"You don't get it, do you, Lalla? I don't need someone to run the office, I can do that myself if I have to. But I couldn't pass the physical if I wanted to, and if you won't, can't, or don't, this year's profits may not be enough to keep us afloat for next year."

"You mean we'll go under unless I'm flying again? Fine, fine. I'll get the cast off Monday and put myself back into rotation. Will that be enough to keep you from selling off the rest of the farm?"

He shook out the newspaper and turned to the sports page. "I'm thinking about taking a cruise this fall, and I don't intend to have to worry about either the farm or a crop-dusting business."

I stood up and looked at the wall of newsprint separating us. "Was this something you thought up all by yourself? Or was this Caleb's idea?"

The paper rustled angrily as he turned a page. "I don't need Caleb or anybody telling me when I need a vacation," he said. "I can do that all by myself, thank you. Besides, Caleb's idea of a vacation would be you tied to a bedpost."

I was thinking of yesterday's fiasco, not really paying attention. "I know."

He mumbled something else I didn't quite hear.

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'If Caleb had his way, the bedpost would be his.'"

"His bedpost—why, Noah Bains!" I gasped.

"What?" he grunted, putting down the paper. "You didn't know that boy has designs on you? I thought by now he'd have told you his intentions."

"Well, yes, but not exactly in those terms, at least not yet." We hadn't had the time to have that exact sort of conversation before. Oh, hell. What was I really thinking? We hadn't had the time to pull off each other's clothes yet. Of course, after yesterday's confession, maybe he didn't want me anymore.

He snorted. "He better hurry up, before you run off and marry some other fool."

I grinned. "I think I can manage to stay single until then. You like him, don't you?"

He moved the paper up between us. "You could do worse, and have. He's here all the time anyway." He put the paper down and scratched at the back of his neck. "Okay, that's not fair, and it's not what I really meant to say. I like him; he's a good man, Lalla, and I think he'd be good for you, though I don't know what you'd do for him, other than drive him crazy."

I smiled at the off-center recommendation on Caleb's behalf. Then I noticed the front page photo of Autumn staring at me, telling me to find her killer.

"I have some stuff to do."

"What stuff?" he asked, his face now behind the paper.

"Work stuff." I wasn't about to tell him I was determined to see if I could either prove or disprove Garth Thorne murdered his girlfriend. Eddy was innocent; he had to be. Or I might yet have to hire a lawyer for this family.

Cathy Thorne-Levorwosky was Garth's excuse for his trip to California. It took three tries before I located her phone number. When she cautiously acknowledged that I'd reached the right person, I asked to see her. "I'm part of the investigating team," I said, and still holding the phone to my ear, I fished around into my purse to make sure I still had my fake police badge.

"Make it snappy," she said. "I start work at noon, and I still gotta get my kid to summer school."

Stepping into Cathy Thorne-Levorwosky's neighborhood felt like crossing the Prozac county line. I could almost hear the faint sound of quiet desperation as anxious mothers dealt with kids who must be schlepped everywhere and dads who commuted three hours round-trip to work. Her one-story ranch had newly installed landscaping. Outside a three-car garage was a Chevy truck with a Louie's Electric decal on the side. A Mercedes 450SL coupe with a ragtop held together with duct tape sat next to it.

I walked up the brick steps past a well-manicured yard with bright green plants and flowers strategically placed amongst newly spread redwood chips, and a real estate sign leaning against the side of the garage.

A barefoot and sturdy tyke in a scruffy jam-dyed T-shirt and shorts answered the door.

I looked down at the towheaded boy and said, "Hello. Your mom is expecting me."

"Mom!" he bellowed in a husky voice. "Someone's at the door for you!"

I had every confidence he had a great future in the pros and could effectively insult any batter to distraction. A minute passed while we stood eyeing each other like two stray alley cats, until the slap of sandals on the entry tile signaled the approach of an adult. The kid eyed me one last time, then eased back toward the cacophony of morning cartoons.

The sandals held narrow feet with long red toenails, like the talons of a predatory bird. I wasn't surprised to see that the rest of her was as predatory looking as her feet. Caleb's description of her was right on, as she looked like she could eat small, feathered birds for breakfast.

She even held her head to one side like a quizzical bird. "What? Jehovah's Witness? Soccer pool? Hurry up, I'm busy," she said, irritation showing on her narrow, pinched face.

"I called this morning? About the investigation?" I said, holding up my fake badge.

She looked me up and down, at the neatly pressed slacks and conservative white shirt, and through lips thin as knives, said, "Oh. Yeah. Okay, come in."

She opened the door wide enough for me to slip inside without letting too much of the interior cold out. "The living room's that way," she said, pointing a long, red-lacquered fingernail at a distant beacon of light. "I'm going to get my husband, Dan."

Before she turned away, I noticed the telltale lines around her mouth saying she was a smoker and had been for some time, but not in this house. This house smelled like fresh paint.

"Leave your shoes by the front door," she said, and left.

I did as she instructed and inched along the dark hall till I stumbled into a room flooded with morning light. The room reeked of new paint, and I was standing on a traffic lane of plastic. From a mirrored wall, a tall blond woman in pants and white shirt gawked back at me. I could hear my dad say, "A closed mouth gathers no feet," and snapped my mouth shut. I chose a fat leather sofa, the newness of it squeaking under me as I sat down.

She was back in a minute, towing Godzilla.

"This is my husband, Dan," she said, meaning the oversized man filling the doorway. "Our last name is Levorwosky, in case you need to write it down," she said, eyeballing the purse sitting next to me in case I wanted to start acting like an investigator and take some notes. "You said your name's Lila?"

She twitched her head at Mr. Dan and he immediately sat. She took the other chair facing me and waited.

"You—you have a lovely home," I said, stumbling in my attempt to find an opener. "I saw the sign outside. Are you selling? Or did you just move in?"

The two of them exchanged meaningful glances. Then Cathy squinted doubtfully at me. "The cops've already been here. You doing some kinda follow up? I mean, like since Garth's latest whore got whacked?"

The shock of hearing someone else speak of Autumn's murder vibrated through me. "Oh," I said lamely. "You knew about that?"

"Well, duh. It was in the papers."

I reddened at the obvious hostility but, determined not to let her rattle me, crossed a leg and returned her aggressive stare. "I don't believe her relationship to Garth was mentioned."

She folded. "Well, he said he had a girlfriend. Autumn, right?" Then she looked to her husband to back her up, but Godzilla just shrugged. "Mind you, I never met the bitch, but they're all the same, Garth's girlfriends; young, stupid, and their bra size bigger than their pea-brains. So are the cops going to arrest him for her murder?"

Using a line from Caleb, I said, "I'm not at liberty to say. I'm sure he's being questioned. I wanted to ask you about something else: Apparently someone turned him in on an outstanding warrant. I think it was child support." I knew the answer to that question, but I had to look like I was hoping she'd make a slip and tell me something different.

"Don't look at me. Knowing that alley cat, he's probably spawned half a dozen li'l bastards, and they're all trying to collect." She narrowed her eyes at me and then sniffed. "So, what are you here for? If he's looking for an alibi, I sure ain't it."

I said, "You told the detectives that he hasn't been here to see his daughter, is that right?"

She gave me a hard-eyed squint. "I already told the last one everything I know. Garth called Friday, said he was pulling into Reno and wanted to see his daughter when he got here. Reminded me he had a right to see her, now that he was paying child support. No notice, nothing. I could have refused, but what would have been the point, you know? The bastard hasn't even had the decency to call."

"Not before Friday?"

A thin eyebrow lifted. "We got an echo in here? He's not in jail, is he? So why doesn't he come for his kid?" I thought her husband was either a saint or a knucklehead to put up with this bird. "But now, I don't think I'll let him see her." The bitterness glittered cheerfully in her eyes, and her voice picked up an edge as words spit out of her mouth like BBs. "We both work all the time so we can raise these two kids. The boy's Dan's and mine. But do you think Garth would lift a finger to help his daughter? She's had dental work, school clothes and skating lessons, but he's never contributed a dime 'cept his court-approved child support. Eighteen hundred a month doesn't go very far these days, you know."

"Then he's been paying his support check on time?" I asked, wondering what it'd be like to have eighteen hundred a month tax-free.

"For the last six months, but he still owes me a bundle. He ran my dad's shop into the ground, you know, and I had to go through bankruptcy just to keep this house."

Dan's ham-sized hand patted her shoulder in time to her diatribe.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking down at the spiral notebook. "Did he promise to pay you all of the back child support?"

"Sure did. All seventy-five grand."

That confirmed what Caleb said. "And did he pay it?" I asked.

"Didn't I just tell you he hasn't been here?"

"No direct deposits?"

"Not a penny. The bank called and said your people already checked. So why're you asking again?"