Hallowed Ground (32 page)

“Then you know Harvey Vai—Tony Martinez’s right hand man with the Hombres—is Rondelle’s brother.”

“Which means Harvey hired you.”

“Umm. No.” For something to do with my restless hands, I broke off a piece of Styrofoam and dropped it in the empty cup. “Martinez hired me on Harvey’s behalf.”

The sheriff didn’t utter a peep.

To pass the time I watched the jagged white chunk floating in my cold coffee. Considered breaking off another piece and having a race.

“With all the personal stuff he’s been going through, is your partner aware you’re working for the Hombres?”

“Yeah. I mean no. I’m working for Martinez, not the Hombres.”

“Same damn thing.”

Not a good idea to argue the differences, especially when I wasn’t precisely sure there were any.

“Tread lightly here, Collins. Dave Tschetter with the Lawrence County Sheriff’s Department hinted there’s been some trouble brewing between the Carluccis and the Hombres the last few months. It could get nasty.”

“I know nothing about that.” I took a chance. “But I would like to know if Red Granger’s murder is somehow tied to all of this?”

“While I’ve always appreciated your insight and instincts, I don’t need your speculation now.

Stay out of this mess or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction.”

I nodded. Sheriff Richards didn’t bother with idle threats.

“Besides. I can’t tell you anything about an ongoing investigation.” His relentless gaze pinned me to my chair. “But you already knew that, so why are you really here?”

Might be petty, but I’d keep the info about the security disk and the missing money to myself for now. I doubted either the Carluccis or Linderman would bring it up. Talk about providing perfect motives for murder.

“I’m here because I’ve failed to find Chloe Black Dog. The favor I need is simple: call me when Donovan regains consciousness. If I can find Chloe, it’ll go a long way in easing Harvey’s grief and closing my case.”

“That I can do.”

“Thanks. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” I tried to ease the tension. “What little hair you’ve got left.”

“Funny. Who’d have thought I’d miss your bizarre sense of humor?”

Flustered by the remark, I stood and pitched my cup in the garbage.

“God knows I could use a good laugh.” He drained his coffee and stretched, his head nearly touched the water-stained ceiling. “You’ve got no idea the crap I’m putting up with this week.”

“How many deputies are working the protest tomorrow?”

“A couple. I don’t expect much will happen.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You going?”

“Probably. I haven’t decided for sure.”

“Hmm.” He rocked back on his heels. “Maybe I oughta send in extra men if there’s a chance you’ll be there.”

“Why would that make a difference?”

“Because, Collins, trouble seems to follow you everywhere.”

No use denying it. I just hoped he was wrong for a change.

SINCE I WASN’T GOING BACK TO THE OFFICE, I REMEMBERED I hadn’t checked out the Smart Start daycare angle. In my notebook, alongside where I’d written
Cindy
, I’d jotted the phone number. I dialed. Luck be my name. Cindy was working.

Don’t know what I’d hoped to find. Because of confidentiality laws I doubted Cindy could tell me much. Still, it’d bothered me that Donovan’s version of how Chloe had come to be in his custody didn’t match Rondelle’s, particularly when they’d eventually worked together to hide her.

Donovan said Smart Start had kicked Chloe out.

Rondelle had claimed she’d gone to pick Chloe up and Chloe wasn’t there.

Who’d been telling me the truth?

Did it matter?

Yes. If it got me closer to finding the child.

It really bugged me to know how Linderman had gotten pictures of Chloe with strange men. And close-ups? Most daycare places had safety parameters in place to keep strangers away. How had Linderman circumvented that?

Did he have grandkids there?

Nah. Smart Start was for low-income families. Linderman’s privileged kids wouldn’t have qualified.

Only one way: someone on the inside. Question was, had it been willingly? I’d seen the lengths he’d gone to, to ensure Rondelle’s cooperation. Couldn’t have been the first time he’d used threats to get his way, wouldn’t be the last.

The Smart Start building had more in common with a welding shop than a school. Prefabricated metal. Zero windows in the front. A steel door with a sun-faded blue and white striped awning and a cartoonish sign propped above it. Two cars in the weed-covered parking lot.

The door was unlocked. Inside the entryway was another door next to a glassed-in reception desk.

It smelled like an elementary school. Dirty socks, ripe bananas, sour milk, and the underlying hint of cleaning products trying to mask those scents.

A young brunette with rodeo queen hair glanced up from the computer keyboard. God. Her boobs were so huge I wondered how she could see over them to type. “We’re closed for the day,” she said.

“Good. I’m here to see Cindy.”

Her cherry-colored lips pursed. Made her mouth look like a piece of red licorice. “I’m Cindy.

Who are you?”

I pushed a business card under the partition.

She snagged the card with a crimson claw. “What do you want?”

“Information on Chloe Black Dog.”

“Sorry. All our information is confidential.” She set her hands on the keyboard again, but her fingers didn’t type. Pretty sure she’d stopped breathing, too.

“You do know that her father, Donovan, was shot recently?”

She didn’t move.

“And her mother Rondelle is dead?”

Her gaze reluctantly slid to mine.

“I was hired to find Chloe before any of this happened. She’s still missing and there are some really bad men after her, hoping to find her before I do.”

“I don’t know how I can help you.”

“Okay.” I plucked the guilt card from midair and played it. “Then why did you help
them
? For money? How much did Bud Linderman pay you to get those pictures of Chloe?”

She recoiled and sent a petrified look behind her. “Nothing! Omigod. You
know
about that?”

“Yeah. But I’ll bet your boss doesn’t.”

Horror twisted her face, virtually cracking the caked on makeup.

“Your choice. You talk to me or I talk to your boss.”

Five seconds later she angled back in her chair and yelled through the open office door,

“Charmaine? I’m going out for a quick smoke break.”

“Okay,” echoed back.

Cindy grabbed a set of keys and a saddle-shaped purse.

I followed her outside, prepared to tackle her if she attempted to run.

At the corner of the building she plucked out a pack of Salem’s and lit up. Tipped her head back and exhaled.

I performed the same ritual. Let the silence slide for about a minute. Then I said, “Talk.”

“I didn’t do it for the money.”

“Why, then? How did you get involved with a scum bucket like Linderman?”

She coughed. “Not by choice.”

Blackmail. No surprise.

“About six months ago I started seeing PeeWee, guy that works on his security team.”

I frowned. PeeWee? Didn’t fit the description of either of the guys I’d seen with Linderman. “He a cowboy?”

“Bullrider.” She puffed. “
Ex
-bullrider. Got injured and couldn’t compete any more. Linderman was his sponsor and made him his personal security. Been doing it about a year.”

“You still with, umm . . . PeeWee?” The name sounded strange tripping off my tongue, dirty somehow.

Cindy chuckled. “Trust me. The name don’t fit. See, ‘PeeWee’ is a joke from other cowboys because the man is hung like a bull. Nickname stuck.”

More information than I needed.

“Son of a bitch is mean as an old bull too.” She crossed her purple ropers at the ankle. “Being with a bullrider wasn’t as exciting as I thought. He was all kinds of jealous. Would start a fight with any guy who so much as looked at me.”

Sounded like Martinez.

“And he drank like a fish too. We broke up. End of it, right? Wrong.

“Month or so ago, PeeWee calls me, all sweet-like, and says he needs a favor. When he tells me what it was, letting him take those pictures of Chloe, I said no way. Told him to go to hell.

“The next day, old Linderman himself shows up. Said if I didn’t do exactly what he wanted, he’d evict my granny from the nursing home.”

Martinez had told me about Linderman’s various businesses. Tossing out an old lady went beyond cold. I’d think Cindy was telling a big fat lie if I hadn’t met Linderman first. Nothing was beyond the scope of possibilities with him.

“Sounds like a buncha shit, I know, but it’s true. My great-granny is ninety. She lives on subsidies. She’s lived in Meade County her whole life. Stuck in a wheelchair she ain’t got no place else to go.”

“So you agreed.”

“Not proud of it, but yeah.”

She took the last drag and flicked the smoking cigarette butt into the gravel. “Three men showed up one day when Charmaine was at lunch. Made me tell Chloe we were gonna play a secret, special game. She was supposed to act scared. Then happy, then scared again. They snapped pictures of her with all three guys. Made me want to vomit when I watched, but I wouldn’t leave her alone with them for a second.”

“Didn’t she think it was weird?”

“No.” Her chin trembled. “Chloe trusted me because I was her teacher. God. I never felt so low in my life.

“I kept waiting for Linderman to come back and make me do something else. He didn’t. Thought he’d be an asshole and call Charmaine and I’d lose my job anyway. About two weeks later Rondelle lit into me when she picked up Chloe. She’d gotten those damn pictures the SOB had taken. She knew it was Linderman and was scared I was helping him.”

I ground out my cigarette.

“So, I told her everything.”

“What’d she say?”

“What could she say? We were both fucked.” Her eyes gleamed. “Until we figured out a way to fuck that bastard over.”

“How?”

“Rondelle left Chloe here. I waited until the end of the day to call Donovan. Told him Rondelle hadn’t shown up, knowing he’d blow a gasket. They always fought about custody stuff. Anyway, when he got here, I acted all pissed off. Showed him fake records of how many times Rondelle had been late, how she’d given all these other people access to Chloe. I threatened to call Social Services. I let Donovan convince me not to contact them by telling him Chloe couldn’t come back. Ever. That was the best way to keep her safe, because she sure as hell wasn’t safe here.”

Her risk, her bluff had paid off. “Has Linderman been back?”

Cindy nodded. “But by that time Chloe was long gone and I wasn’t of any further use to him.

Been wondering if I ought to go to the police with it, now that Rondelle is dead. Even if it means I gotta find Granny another place to live. Even if it means my job.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t make that decision for her.

“You really don’t know where Chloe is?” she asked.

“No.” I faced her. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

Her hairdo didn’t move when she shook her head, but the turquoise chandelier earrings swung into her cheek. “She’s a great kid. Rondelle may’ve acted as if she didn’t care, but she wasn’t a bad mother. Not like some I’ve seen around here. She’d have chewed through glass to keep her kid safe.”

Or taken a gun blast to the head. The horror of it hung on the fringes of my subconscious every damn day.

“Since I talked to you will you do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

“When you find Chloe call me and let me know she’s okay.”

“I can do that.”

Cindy had made it halfway to the door. The lace petticoats beneath her denim skirt swished when she turned. “Linderman will get away with this, won’t he?”

I couldn’t lie. I said nothing.

Without another word, she went back to work.

GREASY EGGS, FATTY BACON, WHITE TOAST SOAKED IN butter, hash browns fried in lard. When I craved the breakfast of cardiac patients, I went to The Road Kill Café.

I’d arrived late, in hopes of avoiding the ranchers’ morning coffee klatch. No such luck. Several guys who knew my dad gave me that imperceptible nod, which meant they’d seen me, but didn’t want to talk to me.

Maurice, Dale, and Don didn’t bother with the ol’ tip of the Stetson.

I caught snippets of conversation regarding the protest. However, the main topic of discussion was Red Granger’s murder.

I’d left Martinez a message on his cell. He phoned back, but I could scarcely hear him over the din in the café. The call lasted a minute, at best.

Misty, a gorilla of a woman with five kids and no dental plan, lingered while she reheated my coffee. Chattered about her second cousin Hal, who’d hired a PI in the early 1980s to track down his good-for-nothing wife.

Evidently the wife had skipped town with his Chevy truck. Good riddance, according to Misty.

The one-sided dialogue stretched into a detailed dispute about a doublewide trailer, seersucker curtains, and ended with an anecdote about an incontinent Pekinese named Mumbles.

I listened, mostly because I doubted anyone else ever did.

Plus, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Someone hollered for more coffee.

The salt and pepper shakers rattled on the Formica counter as Misty sashayed away.

A steady flow of men entered and joined the group in the back room. Ranchers, business owners from Butte City, the Lutheran minister from up in the northern corner of the county.

When Bud Linderman and his gang loped in, I knew I’d stayed too long. What was he doing here? He didn’t live in the county and this café wasn’t renowned for culinary delights.

I lit up, fascinated with how he’d shouldered his way into the close-knit group. Within minutes he’d tried to wrest control. He hadn’t seemed compelling enough to pull it off, judging from our only meeting. Then again, he did own a boatload of businesses. Somewhere along the line he had to have perfected the art of the schmooze.

What did he want from these guys? To prove he was just another simple working class man, who shared their concerns about problems surrounding the new casino? Offering his support?