Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Abilene

Day Twelve, Morning

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

I'd worked ten days straight and Hoot decided I needed time off. He wanted to regularly schedule a couple days off after I'd worked the first five days. I declined. He suggested again a day or two after that, and now he insisted. Trouble was, I didn't know what to do with myself.

So, I fell back to default mode. I trained. And that's how I found myself at the Armadillo Flintlock Paradise to get in some shooting. This time Todd Peterson had a definite cold edge to his greeting. Hughes must've asked him a few uncomfortable questions about his relationship with Ava Chandler and he'd put two and two together and come up with me.

"Ma'am, I'm awful sorry but this is a private gun club. Members only."

"Mr. Peterson…"

"It's Todd, ma'am. My pop was Mr. Peterson."

I had been a Girl Scout where the motto is be prepared.

Raw boned, curly haired scout leader, Mrs. Gosner had repeated lines from the manual so often they still resonated in my head,
A Girl Scout is ready to help out wherever she is needed. Willingness to serve is not enough; you must know how to do the job well, even in an emergency
.

"Ma'am… "

"What… oh." I dug into my shoulder bag and came out with paperwork. "I believe my husband Mark paid for an entire year's membership the day before he died. I'll bet he bought that fancy gun, but never did any shooting here, did he?"

"I'll be glad to refund the entire membership fee."

"That won't be necessary. Just transfer the membership to me."

He shifted from foot-to-foot, pulled his shoulders back, and peered at me intently. A slow smile overtook his lips. "You've sure got moxie."

"I've heard some-such thing before."

A low chuckle emanated from his throat. "I'll just bet."

"So, are you going to transfer membership to me or not?"

I can do that." His eyes held a satirical glint.

I pushed the paper toward him and gave it a swift tap with my knuckles. "Good."

He laughed. "Hughes said messin' with you would be like takin' on an alpha she-wolf."

"Hughes said that?"

"Uh, huh," He said it slow, then took the membership agreement and disappeared into the back.

After he came back with the new contract in my name, I walked to the shooting range avoiding the ladies' room this time. I took the last lane… the one where the businessman had been shooting the day of my match with Hughes. I placed my shoulder bag on a bench, removed my Glock, and started firing.

I shot my first clip with a vengeance. The next clips were shot methodically and with control.

Twenty minutes later, Hughes walked in, minus his uniform, carrying the Kimber Todd had loaned him before. The slight bulge at his back, covered by a plaid shirt probably concealed his service weapon. He took the lane next to me and commenced shooting. After he expended his clip, we both took a break.

"Hicks phoned to let you know I was here again?"

"No, Todd did."

"You have a veritable web of informants." I gave him my most pugnacious scowl.

"I do." A grin threatened at the corners of his lips, but he contained it.

"And you think I'm like a raving alpha she-wolf."

"I didn't say raving." The grin broke loose.

"I stand corrected." I almost stuck my tongue out at him, but by some miracle restrained myself.

"Todd said you're a new member."

"At first I sensed Todd didn't want me here, but he relented and transferred Mark's membership over to me."

"He's not the kind to hold a grudge. If he did, I'd hate to be the one his resentment was aimed at."

"He's that dangerous?"

"Yep."

"You served with him in the Army. That must make you pretty dangerous as well."

He shrugged. "I'll do in a pinch."

"Speaking of danger, I'm wondering what had Mark so frightened he bought a fancy gun and a membership here the day before he was murdered."

"What makes you think he was frightened?"

I took a deep breath. "I was conducting a little side investigation and took a cooking class Trudy Bobkirk might've been intending to take. It just so happened to be taught by Dorothy Chandler."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How much trouble did you get into this time?"

"Trouble, little old me? None, thank you very much."

A couple walked in dressed in business attire. They selected lanes at the far end of the gallery. He pulled a Beretta out of his briefcase. She removed from her purse a
double action only
revolver with its hammer shrouded.

Hughes leaned toward me. "Let's mosey on outta here, so we can talk in private."

I nodded and we walked to the front. He returned the Kimber to Todd, sliding it across the glass counter. "It seems some people have a tendency to repeat things."

Todd chuckled. "Only the good stuff."

Out in the parking lot, Hughes turned to me. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Just coffee."

He waggled his eyebrows and on him it looked cute. "Me too, and I could use some sustenance."

Corny as it was, to keep the humor going, I rubbed my tummy with a circular motion. "Eating sounds good."

'I know a little place with terrific pancakes where I think we can get a back table that would be fairly private. How's that?"

Private? And what was with the Groucho Marx eyebrow moves? Could this be a bit more than getting some grub, as they said in this locale? Or was I reading something into it that wasn't there?

"Let's do it." I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging, yet noncommittal tone. Who can figure men out? Certainly not me, as my track record showed.

I followed his Dodge Ram south until we left the city limits and entered the village of Buffalo Gap. A sign proclaimed:
Welcome to Buffalo Gap
. The next sign said:
Population 463
. I blinked twice, then laughed. There were apartment complexes in Brooklyn with more people than that.

Hughes parked in front of a cheerful little place called Patti and Pansy's Pancake Place. A little heavy on the
P
s, but I wasn't going to try to say it fast three times.

He held the door for me and we walked in.

A petite blond thirty-something woman, with a thick braid down her back, greeted us. "Good mornin', Deputy, Miss."

"Mornin', Patti. We'd like the table for two in the back alcove if it's available."

She gave him a knowing smile. "Yes, sir, it is."

We followed her and she set two laminated menus down on a table abutting a flight of stairs going to the basement. This gave the table the appearance of being tucked away from the others.

Hughes picked up his menu. He gave one side a glance, then the other. "Would you like to share an oven baked pancake? Though the way you eat, you could probably manage one all by yourself."

"What's with the observation of my eating habits?" I went for faux-contentious, and a laugh slipped out.

"It's a comment on how good their oven baked pancakes are." The light in his gray eyes flickered, then good-natured amusement took over.

"I've never had them oven baked. Never even heard of that."

"They're classics, and they're fantastic."

"Why don't we order two and go halvzies?"

"Mighty fine idea." He tapped the menu. "I've had 'em all and my favorite is the one baked with bananas and caramel sauce, but you have to be hungry."

"I'll bet the more authentic one is the Dutch apple or the maple bacon one. I think I'll go with the Dutch apple. But I notice they have Swedish pancakes which seem a bit lighter."

He rubbed his hands together. "It's a stack of the sourdough flapjacks for me. Of course, I'll give you half. I think we'll enjoy this. Would you like fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee?"

We agreed on beverages and they were summarily brought to the table.

Hughes sat back and studied me. "Now, how about you tellin' me why you think Mark was so frightened."

I scrutinized the pulp in my OJ, took a long sip, and peered at him over the rim of my glass, while I gathered my thoughts. "Mark wasn't a gun lover. In fact he was nervous because I kept weapons in the house. Made sure we had a top of the line lock-box in our bedroom closet."

"So you think buying that fancy gun was out of character for him?"

"Yeah, though since becoming involved with Cassidy, he did quite a few things I never thought he'd do. Still, something Dorothy Chandler said makes me think Mark was worried."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"She said Mark and Cassidy left the spa late one evening with Reece Morgan and the next day Dorothy thought Mark seemed edgy, worried. That was two days before he died."

"So, then, he bought the gun the day after that… one day before his killing. Could be something had spooked him." He rapped his fingers on the table. "Dorothy doesn't know what that might be?"

"She said she had no idea where they went or what they did, but she also said she saw a very scary Hispanic dude at the spa one evening. She thought he might be the guy who works for Cassidy, but then decided it wasn't him. But what if she's wrong? What if it was him? That could put Cassidy in this up to her fake eyelashes."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Buffalo Gap

Day Twelve, Moments Later

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

As soon as Patti appeared with our order, the pangs of a man-sized appetite hit me. I poured a humongous amount of syrup on my flapjacks, so they seemed to float in the golden liquid. The yeasty, buttery aroma wafted up and I inhaled deeply. Couldn't get more satisfying than that, in my opinion.

Ronnie stared at her Dutch Apple baked pancake, the size of a Frisbee, and a huge smile erupted across her face.

I cut through the stack of four, and syrup oozed over my fork. There was no way I'd postpone my first bite just to tell what I'd found out. So I dove in. The flapjacks and syrup on my tongue were like a symphony to my taste buds. Finally, I swallowed. "It might interest you to know Ava Chandler was shootin' with that businessman, not with Todd."

Ronnie winked at me as she shook powdered sugar on her pancake. "I'm glad to hear your friend's honor is safe."

"The man she shot with… his name's Ray Geary. Ava Chandler's cousin."

She pinged the metal shaker with the nail of her index finger and put it down. "A kissing cousin?"

"No, 'fraid not, but here's the deal… Ray Geary is tight with Reece Morgan. Todd says they've been shootin' together a lot lately."

She cut into her pancake with such ferocity, powdered sugar sprayed onto the table. "Maybe I've been looking at this thing all wrong. Could be it's Ava Chandler who wormed her way into helping Cassidy sort through Mark's hotel room."

"That's a possibility." I reached across the table to pat her hand, but only touched her fingertips as she pulled her hand away. Her swift motion said she didn't want sympathy, the hurt in her eyes proclaimed otherwise.

She clasped her hands. "If Ava and her cousin Ray-Ray are involved, that casts suspicion on Winslow Chandler. They all could be in this together. I hate to retreat from my totally over the top suspicion of Cassidy, but it's possible Ava was the one looking for the dope in Mark's room."

"It's just Ray." This time I grasped her hand before she could think to pull it away and held it in both of mine. "That doesn't make Cassidy innocent. Maybe she's just not guilty of murder."

I released her hand.

"Whatever." She crumpled her napkin and tossed it onto the table.

"There's more."

"What?" She snorted out a short
let's hear it
laugh.

"The thing is, every two months, Winslow Chandler imports veterinary supplies for his ranch from Mexico."

She gave a low whistle. "That's suspicious."

"If it weren't for the murder and the dope, I wouldn't think anythin' except that a man of his wealth could well afford to buy American. But then a good businessman wants to pay the lowest price."

"Good and cheap."

"He's known for makin' shrewd and calculated deals, no emotion involved. He once cut a fella, who'd been his childhood best bud, out of a state-wide project to publicize Texas beef."

She sat back in her seat and narrowed her eyes. "A real sweetheart, isn't he?"

"Yep."

She leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at me straight on. "Chandler accosted you when we had dinner at the Roadhouse. I don't think I've ever mentioned this, but he came to the Chuck Wagon, trying to intimidate me. Comes on like he's protecting his good name, but me thinks the man protests too much."

I took a moment to swallow the anger flaring at the back of my throat. I had no use for that man. "Holdin' out on me?"

"Not really. The shooting in the hills behind the diner happened that day, right after his oh, so lovely visit. I guess with all the excitement, his bullying slipped my mind."

Something prickly crawled up my back. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "He could've been the one shootin' at you. The shooter disappeared into thin air. Chandler knows these parts like the back of his hand."

She grimaced and nodded. "I've wondered about that disappearing act."

After taking another bite of flapjacks, I pointed my fork at her. "I contacted the DEA. They'll find out what's in the shipments he's gettin' bi-monthly."

"And if it's drugs?"

"The murder's still our jurisdiction. Nobody's takin' that away, but they'll handle the drug angle. That would most likely involve Mexican drug cartels. They're street hoodlums, gangbangers. Nothin' at all glamorous, but lethal."

"If Chandler's bringing in drugs that could be the tie-in with that scary Hispanic dude Dorothy Chandler saw at the spa but couldn't identify."

"I'll contact the DEA about him. Could be any number of mean hombres." I stared past her for a moment and gathered my thoughts. Guys that scary usually got their jollies generating fear. Whoever he was and whatever his game, the fear at the spa and bridal salon were palpable.

"Dorothy adores her cousin Winslow. Wouldn't it beat all, if it turned out he was the ringleader on the American side?" She signed wistfully.

*****

Buffalo Gap

Day Twelve, Mid-Morning

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

"Speaking of visits to the Chuck Wagon I haven't told you about… the mayor of your fine little burg stopped by for breakfast yesterday." One woman can always size up another, and I hadn't liked that dame. The image of red-framed glasses sitting on her perky button nose made me grimace, but did nothing to spoil my appetite. I took another bite.

Hughes eyebrows knit together. "Faylene Hunt? She's not a regular at the Chuck Wagon. Too low brow for her, I suppose."

"I'd hardly call a place that uses only fresh ingredients common. But then again, Hoot and Bertha don't put on airs."

"It's not just the atmosphere of the diner. It's that Hoot openly supported the guy who ran against her in the primary election." Hughes punctuated this in the air with his fork.

"I haven't known Hoot long, but it seems he has good instincts about people. If the way she talked to me is any indication of how she treats people, it's too bad the other guy lost."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hoot may look backwoods, but you're right, he's a good judge of character."

"Who was the loser? The guy who ran against her?"

"You know him quite well. Doug, the bank manager."

I slumped back in my seat. "In my estimation, the voters made a huge mistake."

"I think Hoot might've said somethin' like that publicly."

"Bet that didn't go over so good with La Mayor." I went for my sweet look to diminish the cattiness.

Hughes chuckled, "I don't think Hoot is tryin' to win any brownie points. He's bold in sayin' what he considers the plain truth. Has no fear. He runs a top notch eatery and good people flock to him."

I laughed. "Does that include me?"

"Yes, ma'am, it sure does." He tossed me one of his most appealing, boyish smiles. My sinew and marrow would've gone to mush except for the memory of the mayor's warning.

"Truth be told, Mayor Hunt didn't come in for the fried eggs. Let's see, how did she put it? She said the sheriff wasn't as taken in by my cute little tom-boy act as a certain deputy seemed to be and that influential people weren't convinced of my innocence in my husband's murder."

Hughes pushed his plate away. "That's ridiculous. If you were any kind of a suspect, I wouldn't be sittin' here havin' breakfast with you. Fayleen loves to play games."

"Hmm." My superlative private investigative instincts speculated Fayleen Hunt had a major crush on one particular deputy sergeant. The question was, did she have enough pull in the county to make trouble for me?

*****

Buffalo Gap

Day Twelve, Late Morning

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

I waved Patti down, got a check, and paid with a credit card. After one last sip of coffee, I grinned at Ronnie over my cup. "It might interest you to know I've got somethin' up my sleeve this mornin'. Today happens to be the day of the Buffalo Gap Cross-Country Trail Competition. It's sort of an endurance test for horse and rider. If we hurry we'll see a few of them cross the finish line."

She grinned. "Wouldn't want to miss this."

I ushered her out and guided her toward my Ram. "Why don't you leave that baby buggy here and ride with me, then I'll bring you back later?"

"That would work."

I drove down side streets, just beyond the edge of the village, and found parking in a field turned into a makeshift lot for the event. Then we walked an eighth of a mile down a dusty road to the Bar None Stable, a low whitewashed rectangular structure with a huge red and white sliding door in front. It was the starting and finish line for this competition.

Horse trailers pulled by SUVs and pickups dotted the parking area in front as well as the small knoll sloping down to paddocks where several horses grazed.

Desmond LeBlanc greeted us, looking every bit the surfer dude. Matthew McConaughey had nothing on him. Todd and I went way back to Iraq with the man. Fifty something, but didn't look a day over forty-five. After a distinguished military career, he grew out his dirty blond hair and spent some time in Hollywood as a stunt double, then transplanted to Texas and opened the stable. LeBlanc's baritone carried on the breeze.

He planted a hand on his hip. "Look who's deemed to grace us and brought a fine young lady with him. You know something, Hughes, she's way
outta your
league." He slapped me on the back while a wicked grin ate his unlined face.

The thought struck me he might've gone under the knife when he was in tinsel town. Might've tinted his hair too. Not a speck of gray.

I made introductions. "Ronnie, when Todd and I first got over to Iraq, we had to take crap from this guy. He was a sergeant without mercy and hasn't let up since."

LeBlanc kicked a rock in the parking lot with the toe of his dusty boot. "Well, it's been awhile since Iraq."

I nodded. "Who won today?"

LeBlanc chuckled. "You know him pretty good too. Pete, the rodeo clown."

Ronnie broke out into a smile. "Pete won?"

"Yes, ma'am. A lotta ladies rode in the competition today. It came down to Pete and Janie West, the champion barrel racer. They were neck 'n neck when they came outta those trees 'n into the clearing. Pete showed her no quarter and crossed that finish line in a break-neck gallop. That was something to see, all right. I got it on video. Show you later, if you want."

A silver haired lady entered the clearing, spurred her mount and rode across the finish line at a trot. LeBlanc excused himself and helped the woman dismount.

I nudged Ronnie. "Let's go into the stable and see if we can find Pete. They'll have a farrier in there takin' care of any shoe or hoof problems. Some'll be hosin' off their horses out back."

Riders who rented stalls, carried pitchforks laden with fresh hay for their horses to nibble.

As we continued walking toward the back, we heard LeBlanc call out, "The last rider has crossed the line."

A cowboy, with burnished tones in his brown hair, darted into the stable, took his Stetson off, and bowed as a woman rider entered. "Ava Chandler congratulations on finishin' third from the bottom. 'Course my wife finished right after you and right before that girl who fell off and her horse run away." He slapped his hat on his thigh and cackled.

I wheeled around and Ronnie pivoted with me.

Ava Chandler dismounted an outstanding Arabian mare. "Gus, I suppose that passes for humor in your book?"

Gus balanced his hat on the back of his head and splayed both palms out, facing the Chandler woman. "Now, there were no insult intended."

She stared him down. "None taken." It seemed she hardly moved her lips.

The man's shoulders slumped at her rebuke. He rocked from boot-to-boot as he made his way out of the stable.

"Deputy Hughes, are you followin' me? That would be a violation of my rights and my husband won't like that." Her glare had not softened.

I approached her, Ronnie at my side. "Mrs. Chandler, good day. We came to see what Desmond LeBlanc had goin' on here today. Had no idea you were competin'. This is a public place. There's no expectation of privacy."

Her auburn hair sailed over her shoulder as she spun on her heel and stormed away, pulling her horse by the reins, none too gentle on the mare's mouth.

I leaned over and whispered to Ronnie. "She's just this side of a loose cannon. That woman bears watchin'. Winslow Chandler isn't the type to make too many mistakes, but his lovely wife might make a few. Would be nice if we had eyes and ears there to catch her when she does."