Desert Heat (16 page)

 
“What makes you think I’ll let you kiss me
again?” She straightened.

 
“Just a hunch.”

She
could hear the smile in his voice. She shivered a little thinking of sharing
another intimate moment with him. “I’ll think about it.”

He
chuckled and the sound sent another tremble through her. When he looked at
oncoming traffic, searching for a spot to jump into the sea of cars, she
touched her lips with her fingertips. She’d let him kiss her again.
Even though she knew better.

~*~

 
“Do you want me to come with you?” Mike parked
in front of the Apache Park nursing home and turned toward her.

 
“Yes.
If you don’t mind.”
She reached for the door and her hand shook.

He
noticed and opened it for her. “You okay?”

 
“Fine.”
She stepped
out and her legs wobbled.

Mike
jumped out and raced around the front of the SUV to her side. “Lean on me.”

What
was wrong with her? She hadn’t been this shaky the first time she came here.
She took his arm and allowed him to guide her into the building. A nurse, busy
talking on the phone, ignored them.

Mallory
let go of Mike’s arm. “I’m fine.” She looked around and saw a water fountain.
After sipping from it, she did feel much better.

The
woman on the phone finished her conversation and graced them with a cool smile.
“May I help you?”

 
Mallory matched her tone. “Yes, I’m looking
for someone who may have known one of your residents. A man named Jim Weeks.”

 
“Gentleman Jim Weeks,” Mike said at her
shoulder.

The
nurse’s eyes widened with recognition.
“Oh, sure.
I
knew Jim. He died last December.”

 
“I’m aware of that,” Mallory said. “I’m
wondering about a visitor that he used to have. A man named Skeeter James used
to come by. Does that name ring a bell?”

She
frowned and shook her head.

 
“An old prospector,” Mike said.

 
“Oh, yes.
Of course.”
She eyed them suspiciously. “What do you want to know about him?”

 
“I’m curious to know if Mr. Weeks and my
father were friends.” Mallory felt foolish for coming to the nursing home. What
had she hoped to accomplish? “Do you know?”

 
“I have no idea,” the nurse said, “but
Clarence
DiMato
could tell you. He was Mr. Weeks’s roommate.”

Mallory
shot Mike an excited glance. “May we see him?”

 
“I think Mr.
DiMato
would love company. No one comes to see him
any more
.
Although you’re his second group of visitors since last
night.”
She pointed down the hall. Fourth door on the left is the game
room. He’s usually in there playing cards. Look for the man in the ball cap.”

They
hurried up the hall and looked for Mr.
DiMato
. As
promised, a short, rotund man wearing a baseball cap sat at a table, playing
solitaire. Mallory touched him on the shoulder. “Mr.
DiMato
?”

He
looked up. “Yes?”

 
“My name is Mallory James, and this is Mike
Malone. May we sit with you and ask you a few questions?”

 
“Surely.”
He waved at
the chairs across from him. “Do you play cards?”

 
“Not well,” Mallory said.

 
“Poker,” Mike told him.

“Gambling
man, eh?” Mr.
DiMato
grinned.

Mike
laughed. “I guess you could say that.”

“If
you didn’t come to play cards with me, what brings you?” Mr.
DiMato
cut right to the chase. He shuffled his cards,
obviously impatient to get back to his game.

 
“We understand you were roommates with Mr.
Weeks,” Mallory began.

 
“Jim? Sure was. Four years we shared a room.
Now I’m stuck with old Raymond
Sharfe
. He snores, he
sleepwalks—”

Mallory
cut him off. “Could you tell us if you remember my father? A man named Skeeter
Davis? He was a—”

 
“Desert rat?”
It was
Mr.
DiMato’s
turn to cut her off. “Sure I knew old
Skeeter. What happened to him? I haven’t seen him around in a good while.”

 
“He died,” Mallory said.
“A
few days ago.”

 
“Died?” Mr.
DiMato
looked at her as if he didn’t understand the term. He shook his head. “No. That
can’t be. He was just a pup.”

 
“Unfortunately, he passed away about a week
ago.” Mike put his hand on Mallory’s shoulder. “And his daughter is trying to
find out some information about him.”

 
“I don’t know what I can tell you.” Mr.
DiMato
fiddled with the edge of his cards. “I usually hit
the road when he came by.”

 
“Why is that?” Mallory tensed. She didn’t want
to hear more bad things about her father.

Mr.
Dimato
looked up. “I wasn’t interested in lost
treasure, that’s why. That’s all those two old fools ever talked about. If I
tried to bring up baseball or something else, they’d cut me right off and go
back to the same old thing.”

 
“Do you know if Mr. Weeks talked of a map of a
buried treasure with my father?” Mallory slid forward on her seat.

 
“Sure, sure.
Jim gave
it to him right before he died. Said Skeeter was the only one who believed in
it.
Even more so that he did.”

 
“What about Mr. Weeks’s daughter? Did she
think there was a treasure?” Mike asked.

 
“That hell cat.
Course she thought there was a treasure. She grilled Jim like a trout, but he
didn’t want her to know a darn thing.” Mr.
DiMato
shuffled his cards again. “Sandra was more interested in gold than being a
daughter. She threw Jim in this place and forgot all about him except to come
by and ask for the map. But Jim wouldn’t give it to her.”

 
“Did Mr. Weeks tell anyone else about his
map?” Mallory held her breath.

 
“Nope.
He was pretty
tight lipped with anyone but me and Skeeter.” Mr.
DiMato
lifted his John Deere ball cap and scratched his bald head. “Let me think. I’d
guess the staff might have known about it. Nothing’s private in this place.”

 
“Anyone in particular?”
Mike’s hand on her shoulder tightened.

Mr.
DiMato
took on a faraway look. “I just can’t think.”

 
“That’s all right,” Mallory said. She leaned
back in her seat. “Did Mr. Weeks look forward to
Skeeter’s
visits, or dread them?’

 
“Huh?” Mr.
DiMato
pulled his bushy white brows together. “Haven’t you been listening, gal? Jim
lived for the days Skeeter would drop by and shoot the bull about treasure.”

Her
throat tight, Mallory nodded.

Mike
squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “If you happen to remember anyone
in particular who was interested in Mr. Weeks’s map, would you call us?” He dug
in his wallet and handed over a business card.

Mr.
DiMato
took it without looking at it and stuffed it
in his pocket.
“Will do.”

After
thanking him, Mike and Mallory walked outside into the bright sunshine.

 
“Feel better?” he asked.

 
“A little.”
She
nodded. “I hope Skeeter wasn’t just using Mr. Weeks to gain information.”

 
“I doubt that’s the case,” Mike said. “You
heard Mr.
DiMato
. He said Jim loved to have Skeeter
visit him. If he didn’t want him to have his map, he wouldn’t have given it to
him.”

 
“Sandra said Jim knew it was worthless.”
Mallory’s voice went flat.

 
“I don’t think she was telling the truth, do
you?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, pulling the denim tight over this
thighs and crotch, creating an enticing bulge.

She
flushed and looked away. “I don’t know what to think.”

Chapter
Sixteen

 
“Oh no,” Mallory said.

Sheriff
Bodine
leaned against his Blazer, deep creases
outlining his downturned mouth.

 
“I completely forgot we were supposed to meet
him this morning,” she said.

Mike
rubbed his neck.
“Yeah, me too.”

 
“I think we’re in for it,” she said as he
parked. She opened the door, ready to face the music.

Mike
stepped out and they walked toward
Bodine
together.

“Out
for a joyride?” Sheriff
Bodine
asked.

 
“No.” Mallory looked into his sunglasses and
saw only her own reflection. “We went to visit an acquaintance of my father’s.”

 
“Why?”
Bodine
continued to frown.

 
“Because we wanted to find out if someone who
was once an employee here gave Skeeter a map.” Mallory stared at herself
reflected in his dark glasses. The sensation was oddly disturbing.

 
“And what did you find out?” The sheriff
crossed his ankles, leaving about a two-inch line where dust hadn’t covered his
cowboy boots. “Anything you didn’t know?”

 
“Yes, actually.”
Mallory glanced at Mike. “We met a woman named—”

 
“Sandra Weeks,” the sheriff said. “And she
told you she found a lost treasure.”

Mallory
and Mike exchanged glances.

 
“And she told you her dad hated Skeeter, but
he gave him the map anyway.” The sheriff grinned, but it wasn’t a nice smile.

 
“How did you know?” Mallory asked. “And are
you aware that Mr. Weeks actually did like my father?”

Sheriff
Bodine
nodded. “Yes, I found that out, too when I
interviewed—he looked at his notebook—Clarence
DiMato
last night. He told me his roommate at Apache Park Nursing Home, Jim Weeks,
gave Skeeter James a map on his deathbed.”

 
“Yes,” Mike said. “You knew about that last
night. We told you and you thought Dianna Lewis might have had something to do
with Wendell Wallace’s death.”

 
“That’s right,” the sheriff said. “I couldn’t
find a connection between Miss Lewis and Jim Weeks. Plus she’s got a stone cold
alibi for the night he went missing. But I did find out a couple of interesting
things.”

 
“Such as?”
Mike
crossed his arms over his chest and spread his feet.

Mallory
wanted to pinch him to get him to take the testosterone down a notch. “What,
Sheriff?”

 
“Well,” he began. “I found out that Wendell
Wallace worked in a nursing home as a CNA. Want to lay a bet on which one?”

 
“Apache Park?”
Mallory knew the answer before he nodded.

 
“Yep.”

 
“What does that mean?” she asked. “Did you
find a map on him?”

He
smiled again. “Now, you know I shouldn’t tell you that. But, I will. No, he
didn’t have any kind of map or any other papers with this body.”

 
“But Wendell must’ve seen Mr. Weeks’s map or
heard him and Skeeter talking about it,” Mike said. “But that still doesn’t
give us a clue as to who killed him or why.”

 
“There’s more.” The sheriff smirked. “Guess
which environmental agency our DB belonged to?”

 
“The Salt River Protection League,” Mike said
flatly.

 
“Bingo.” The
sheriff made a
gun with his finger and thumb
and fired it into the air.
“Right on the first guess.”

 
“But aren’t they against tearing up the land?”
Mallory shot Mike an apologetic look. “And he was out digging holes in the
desert.”

 
“That piece doesn’t fit,” the sheriff agreed.
“So, I’m betting he heard about the map from the old coots at the home, knew
right where to look from hearing about The Cholla from his cronies—hell he
might’ve even stuck in one of those signs in himself—and when greed got the
better of him, he snuck out here in the night and dug around.”

 
“So one of them killed him for being a
traitor,” Mike said. “I already thought they might’ve killed him for destroying
the desert, but
him
being a member makes it even
worse.”

 
“There’s that theory,” the sheriff agreed,
“and there’s still the chance that one of you did it.”

 
“For what purpose?”
Mike asked. “Only Dianna and I knew about the map. And you said she has an
alibi. I called you when I found the body. If I killed him, would I lead you to
the scene?”

 
“See, that’s kind of what I thought.”
Bodine
spat on
the ground.
“So, we’re back to square one, aren’t we? If you didn’t kill
Wallace,
and your friend didn’t do it, who did?
A member of this nutty tree-hugging group?
I don’t know.
Just seems too easy. Maybe I’ve been reading too many mysteries, but I kind of
think the killer’s right here under my nose and I just can’t see him.”

 
“Such as?”

 
“Take you, for instance. You have the most to
gain by keeping Wallace off your land. One, he was digging for gold you thought
only you, Miss Lewis, and Miss James knew about. That alone would be enough to
send you over the edge. But, two, add in that Wallace was part of a group bound
and determined to shut you down all permanent like, well, that kind of makes
you worth looking at again.”

 
“I knew the map was worthless,” Mike said.
“And I had no idea Wallace was part of the Salt River group.”

 
“Can you prove that?” Sheriff
Bodine
looked closely at him.

Mike’s
shoulders sagged. “No.”

 
“I didn’t think so,”
Bodine
said. “So we’re kind of at a stalemate aren’t we?”

 
“Isn’t there
any one
else who might’ve wanted Wallace dead?” Mallory felt her cheeks darken as she
tried to help Mike.
“Maybe a mad girlfriend or coworker?”

 
“You’re not too good at this, are you?”

 
“What do you mean?” she asked. Of course she
wasn’t adept at crime solving. She was a professor, not a cop.

 
“Those are the first people we eliminate,” the
sheriff told her. “Then we dig a little deeper.”

 
“Then keep digging. Mike didn’t kill that man.
That makes no sense. He had to know the wrath of the SRPL would come down on
him if he did in one of them.
And the map.
Mike didn’t
even know about it a month ago. Skeeter only died a few days ago. Wendell
Wallace has been dead over a month.” Mallory didn’t know why she jumped to
Mike’s defense, but she wasn’t going to stand by while the sheriff made him out
to be a killer. Yes, he’d lied to her. She wasn’t happy about it, but she knew
he wasn’t capable of killing Wendell Wallace either.

 
“Nice speech, Miss James.” Sheriff
Bodine
clapped once, the sound bouncing off the corral
posts. “But how do you explain this?” He reached in his car seat and drew out a
Baggie.

 
“What is it?” She reached for it.

Bodine
held it out of her reach. “No you don’t.”

 
“I have no idea what that is.” She stared at
the object in the plastic bag. “Oh, wait. I see now. That’s my father’s map.”

 
“Yep.”
Bodine
wagged it in front of her nose.

 
“Why do you have it?” She couldn’t understand.
“Did you bring it back from last night?”

 
“Nope.”
He swayed the
bag again.

 
“I don’t understand,” she said.

 
“I do.” Mike sounded strangled.

She
looked away from the Baggie and directed her attention to Mike. His lips were
pinched together in a tight line. “Mike?”

 
“I’ve been trying to tell you, but I just
haven’t been able to find the right way.” His forehead had
a
sheen
of sweat over it.

 
“Tell me what? I don’t get it.” He looked ill.

 
“Spit it out,”
Bodine
ordered.

 
“He searched my suite. That is the other half
of
Skeeter’s
map. It was in his knapsack. I found it
when I looked for the name or number of a relative.” He looked like he might
throw up on her shoes. “I held on to it because I thought it might be worth
something. I found out it wasn’t when I put the two pieces together.”

A
million questions swirled around, but the only words Mallory found were, “Why
didn’t you give it back before?”

 
“I wanted to,” he said. “I tried to tell you
last night.”

 
“There were a million times you could’ve told
me,” she said in a quiet voice. If she let herself, she would burst into tears.
She’d let him kiss her, twice, and she’d believed in him. That he wasn’t like
Skeeter. But he was, only worse.

 
“Still think your boy here is all sunshine and
light?”
Bodine’s
voice echoed in her ear like a pesky
gnat. She reached a hand to swat it away before she realized he was talking.

 
“No,” she spun away. “He’s a liar and a cheat
and a . . . a . . . big jerk.”

 
“Is he a killer?”
Bodine
held the map up.

She
wanted to say yes, to stick it to Mike. But she couldn’t. “No.”

Then
she fled.

Mike
had never wanted to punch somebody in the mouth as much as he wanted to hit
Bodine
. “Happy?”

The
sheriff frowned. “Not really. I know this piece of paper is worthless. But I
had to know if she’d turn on you. And, by the way, I don’t think you
offed
Wallace. Nobody at the nursing home ever saw you
before. I’m leaning toward the Salt River bunch. Just got to do a bit more
looking to find out
who
.”

 
“Thanks,” Mike said from between clenched
teeth. “Now, I’ve got a fence to mend.”

“Good
luck.” Sheriff
Bodine
turned and climbed into his
car. With a little wave, he drove away.

Mike
almost sprinted for the lodge.

He
found Mallory lugging her suitcase down the hall. She wouldn’t look at him or
speak. He stepped in front of her. “Mallory, wait.”

She
attempted to dart by him. “I should’ve left last night.”

 
“No. You shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t go now.”
He moved in front of her again. She stepped to the right. He moved, too. She
stumbled right. He moved faster. They collided.

Finally
she stopped. “Please move.”

 
“Not until you hear me out.” He reached for
her hands but she curled them around the handle of suitcase with a death grip,
her injured fingers sticking out in a nasty gesture. “I wanted to tell you. I
meant to from the beginning but things kept happening. When I thought of it,
the time wasn’t right. When the time was right, I didn’t think of it. Please
believe me when I say I didn’t keep it from you for any devious reason.”

She
smiled a little but she wasn’t amused.

 
“I mean I did in the beginning, but not the
whole time.” He was making a mess out of this. All he wanted was to tell the
truth and apologize. He ran a hand over his aching neck. “I admit when I first
saw it I thought it might be the answer to my problems. But I never would’ve
kept it from you if it turned out to be worth something.”

She
snorted and studied a spot over his right shoulder.

 
“I mean it, Mallory. I put the two pieces
together and found out they didn’t have any value. I meant to give them back to
you, but I didn’t get it done. I started to last night, but you were tired and
hurt. I decided another day wouldn’t matter.” He didn’t know how to get through
to her. He’d made too many mistakes.

 
“You kissed me.” Her voice was flat. “Why?”

 
“I wanted to.” He ached to touch her, to
somehow transmit his feeling to her through his palms into her skin, into her
body. But he let his hands hang at his sides. “More than you know.”

Something
flickered in her eyes.

 
“Mallory, I—”

 
“I can’t stand liars.” She blinked at him.

 
“I know. I messed up.” He wouldn’t make up
excuses. He’d screwed up.
Period.

 
“But I want you to know I don’t think you
killed that man.” She wrinkled her nose and her chin trembled. “You wouldn’t do
that.”

His
own throat worked. “Thank you for telling
Bodine
that,” he said. He had hurt this beautiful, loyal woman, and for what? A stupid
myth he didn’t even believe in.

 
“It was the truth,” she said.
 

 
“You mean it?” He forced himself not to touch
her.
“Even after everything?”

 
“Yes,” she whispered.

 
“I’m sorry.” He had nothing else.

 
“Do you promise not to do it again?” She
looked up and her big doe eyes were damp.

 
“I promise.” He wanted to cross his heart like
little kids did, but settled for the next best thing. Taking her uninjured
hand, he lifted it, turned her palm up and smoothed his lips over it. “I
swear.”