Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 (21 page)

"Brazil,
huh?" McQuaid remarked thoughtfully. "No extradition."

"No
problem," Brian called again. "Don't bother to come upstairs."

Hearing no more noises, I sat back down. "It
looked like a
very
expensive place," I said. "I'll bet you
couldn't buy a condo in that unit for less than a quarter-million
dollars."

"Maybe Swenson was thinking of
renting," McQuaid said with a straight face.

"A couple of thou a week,
easy," I said. "More, with maid service. You don't pick up money like
that selling a few goats. I wonder—"

Brian loped triumphantly into the
kitchen, a lizard in each hand. "See? I found
both
of
them! They were in the laundry hamper."

"Wonderful," I said with
enthusiasm, relieved to know that I hadn't drowned my son's favorite lizard.
"What was that crash?"

Brian looked puzzled. "Crash? I didn't hear
any—" "Brian," McQuaid said.

"Oh,
that
crash,"
Brian said. "Oh, no problem. I'll sweep it up." He found a bowl and
put the lizards in it. I frowned. "Sweep what up?"

"The soap."
Brian put a glass lid on the bowl, put the bowl beside his plate and sat down.
"It was the shelf over the dryer that fell down. Bleach and stuff. But
nothing broke," he added hurriedly. "Just a bunch of soap spilled on
the floor." He looked at me. "What's for dessert, Mom?"

McQuaid sighed. 'Take those lizards upstairs and
put them where they belong. Then get the broom and sweep up the soap.
Then
we
might consider dessert."

"Cookies and ice
cream," I said.

Brian frowned. "Store-bought cookies? Or did
you bring home some from the tea room?"

"Brian!" McQuaid said sternly.

"Okay, okay," Brian said,
pushing his chair back. "Don't get your dandruff up." He picked up
the bowl of lizards and departed hastily.

"Dandruff,"
McQuaid said, rubbing his temples. "Good Lord, that makes me feel old. I
used to say that to my old man when I was his age."

I leaned my elbows on the table.
"So what did you find out about Corinne's car when you went to
Gus's?"

McQuaid looked up. "Nothing. It wasn't
there."

I stared at him. "But she said
Gus was giving her an estimate."

"Just one spoonful, please."
McQuaid held out his bowl. "She didn't give him the chance. She told him
she'd changed her mind and decided it wasn't worth spending money on an old
Mercury that didn't run very well. She'd already driven it away before I got
there. I've told Blackie," he added, taking the bowl from me. "He
said he'd go out to her place and take a look. He asked me to tell you thanks
for your heads-up. It was a lucky thing you happened to bump into her." He
set the bowl on the floor and Howard Cosell began to work on it, tail wagging
ecstatically. He gets plenty of dog food, but it isn't the same as the
people-food that comes from the table.

"That wasn't luck, it was superior detective
work," I said. "I followed her from the bank to the pharmacy, and
then to Gus's." I made a face. "Wish I'd followed her into the body
shop."

But I wouldn't have
been any the wiser, even if I'd got a look at the car. Only an expert could
tell whether the Mercury had hit a human or a deer, and that, after testing the
blood spatters. Still, Corinne had certainly acted suspicious, pulling her car
out of the shop immediately after our conversation. And I hadn't seen it in the
driveway at her house. Where was it?

"Maybe all that stuff about Aunt Velda's
truck is totally irrelevant," I said. "Maybe it was Corinne who hit
Swenson. Or Marvin. By the way, he drives a red Camaro—an expensive vehicle
for an unemployed kid. I saw the car, but the front end had one of those
leather thingies on it and I couldn't tell whether there was any damage. I'll
tell Blackie to check it out, too."

"Speaking of the old woman," McQuaid
said, "what did you learn when you went out to the flower farm?"

I summarized as well as I could. "The bottom
line," I concluded, "is that the sisters claim that Aunt Velda drove
the truck away yesterday afternoon. But she came home on foot, and Terry and
Donna insist they don't know what she did with the vehicle."

McQuaid looked skeptical. "Sounds
pretty far-fetched to me. You sure one of the nieces wasn't driving?"

"I'm not sure of anything at this
point," I said. "I've left a message for Blackie," I added.
"When he phones, I'll update him."

McQuaid sat back in his chair. "What did you
find when you stopped at Ruby's?'

"Absolutely
nothing," I said sadly. "She's gone, her suitcase is gone, and her
house is so clean, you'd think she was expecting a potential buyer." I
stopped, and a horrible thought bit me. "Omigosh," I exclaimed.
"You don't suppose Ruby's putting her house up for sale!"

"Not without
telling you, surely," McQuaid said with a frown. "After all, you're
partners."

"Yes, but she's been acting so strange
lately—maybe she's decided she wants out of the partnership." The thought
made my stomach tighten. What would I do without her? I didn't mean that just
in terms of our joint business arrangement, either. Ruby's my dearest friend.
I
love
her.

McQuaid frowned. "How about her
daughters? Did you connect with Amy? What did she have to say?"

"I stopped at the clinic. Amy
doesn't have a clue, and she says Shannon doesn't either. I fielded a phone
call from Wade while I was at Ruby's. He says he loves her and wants her
back—"

"After six or seven years?"
McQuaid asked incredulously. "Maybe he just found out about the
lottery."

"Whatever, he
claims not to know what's going on with her, and I believed him on that score.
I also had a talk with Hark."

McQuaid frowned. "I hope you
didn't give the guy a hard time about Lynn Hughes."

I made a wry face.
"Sheila and I were wrong about that. He was hiring Lynn, not seducing
her."

"Oh, yeah?" McQuaid shot me a triumphant
look. "Maybe next time you won't be so quick to accuse a guy."

I ignored that.
"Hark's theory is that Ruby's seeing somebody new. Amy agrees, and thinks
maybe she went away for the weekend with her new lover. That seems to be the
best guess, but it's just a guess. We don't have anything to go on."

"Ruby's an adult," McQuaid said
reasonably. "She's certainly entitled to a Utile R and R every now and
then. And there's no law that says she has to tell her kids or her business
partner every little detail of her life." He stood up. "I'll check on
Brian, then I'm going to the university. There's a book in the library I need,
and some notes I've left in my office. I may be late. Can I help with the
dishes before I go?"

I shook my head. "That's okay." At our
house, the cook usually does the dishes—that way, he or she isn't tempted to
dirty every pan in the cupboard. "Is the writing going any better?"

McQuaid shrugged.
"I'm into the section about Bill Sterling, the Ranger commander who was
tried for murder in 1915. He put a bullet in the back of an unarmed South Texas
rancher. It's ugly, but the facts are undisputed. What's more, nobody can
accuse me of making it up. It's in the archives—along with the story about Tom
Horn, the guy who captured Geronimo. He was hanged for murder in 1903."

"Police
brutality," I said.

"It
was a brutal era," McQuaid replied. "Not even the ordinary citizen
had any respect for the law."

"How can citizens respect the law when law
enforcement officers behave like hooligans?" I shot back.

McQuaid grinned. "You'll have to read the
chapter when I've finished it, Counselor. I think you'll approve." He came
around the table and bent to kiss me. "Thanks for the dinner. Sorry about
the lizards and the soap. The kid is getting out of hand."

"The kid is fine," I said,
and grinned. "Especially considering that most of his friends wear
earrings and nose rings and are hard-wired for rap. Compared to that, a few
lizards and tarantulas are a picnic."

"Yeah. Come to think of it, he's not so
bad." He kissed me again and left.

I cleared the table and was rinsing the plates
when Blackie called. I told him what I'd found in Swenson's mailbox and gave
him a quick report, conveying as much as I could of the flavor of the
conversation at the flower farm—admittedly a difficult task.

"I told them to
call you if they find the truck," I concluded. "I don't think
there's much more I can do, at least at this point. The sisters' stories don't
jibe, and Aunt Velda can't or won't confirm that she concealed the truck. Maybe
you should talk to them again and see if you can sort it out."

"I'll give it
until midmorning," Blackie said. "Could be that they'll come up with
the truck before then. I plan to be out that way first thing tomorrow, anyway.
I'm going to drop in on Corinne Turtle. I want to take a look at her car and
talk to that nephew of hers." He paused. "Thanks for the lead, China.
Turtle sure didn't give me any indication that she was hiding a damaged
vehicle. Or an unemployed nephew with an expensive red car."

"You probably scared her," I
said. "Maybe it was the uniform. Are you going to follow up on the
brochure in Swenson's mailbox?"

"I'm not sure
what bearing it has on the hit-and-run," he replied.

"I'm not sure, either. Maybe I've
just got a case of idle curiosity."

Blackie chuckled
dryly. "Yeah, well, I've got a couple of other investigations going on
right now. I don't have time for anything idle—curiosity or otherwise."

We said good night and I went back to my work. I
was loading the plates into the dishwasher when Howard Cosell raised his head
and gave a low, throaty growl. Basset hounds aren't much good as watchdogs, but
Howard is fiercely possessive about what he regards as his personal property.
When he hears a step on the path outside, he lets you know that there's an invader
out there, and that he is preparing to take matters into his own hands. He
hopes, however, that you will stand by with the broom, just in case the
marauder is larger and more aggressive than expected. Howard is not as brave
as he would like you to think.

I went to the kitchen
door, turned on the porch light, and looked out. It had started to rain again,
and the slanting drops shone silver in the light. Someone was standing on the
steps, shoulders hunched under a heavy wool cape. Raindrops were shimmering in
her red hair.

I flung the door open.
"Ruby!" I exclaimed, astonished and delighted. "Come in!"

"Is it okay?" she asked in a small
voice. "I don't want to interrupt your dinner. I know I should have called
first, but—"

"Of course it's okay,
silly," I said happily, pulling her into the kitchen. "I'm so glad to
see you! Where have you been, for heaven's sake? I've been calling and calling,
but your answering machine was turned off."

"I've been
...
away," she said, and shrugged out
of her cape. I hung it on the peg by the door and turned. She was wearing jeans
and an old green sweatshirt, and she looked haggard and weary. There were dark
circles under her eyes, and her gingery freckles stood out against her pale
skin. She clasped her arms around herself, shivering.

I frowned. Something was definitely wrong here.
Ruby was in some sort of serious trouble. "You need a cup of hot coffee.
Have you eaten dinner?"

She collapsed into a
chair. "Dinner? I don't think I—" She frowned, as if she were trying
to remember when she had eaten last. "I'm not hungry, China. Let's just
talk, if you've got a few minutes."

"I have all
evening," I said briskly. "And yes, you
are
hungry.
You're having a bowl of sausage soup." I ladled some of the still-hot soup
into a bowl, added the last two pieces of garlic bread, and put it in front of
her.

Rubbing her forehead,
Ruby looked down at the bowl. "Honestly, China, I don't think I can—"

"Eat," I
commanded sternly, pouring coffee. "No excuses. What's more, you're not
allowed to say a single word until it's all gone. Every drop, down the hatch.
Now."