R.P. Dahlke - Dead Red 04 - A Dead Red Alibi (12 page)

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Chapter Twenty:

The
windows were caked with dust and visibility was zero, but at least it felt like all the wheels were on solid ground again.

I was
bruised and my jaw hurt from tightly clenching my teeth with every roll, but I was glad to be alive.

Pearlie’s eyes were closed and blood trickled down from a wound somewhere in her scalp.

“Pearlie. Wake up!” I yelled, terrified that she was dead.

She opened her eyes and whimpered, “Are we there yet?”

“If you can call it that,” I said, relieved to see that she was alive and able to joke about it.

“Thank God for the
roll cage Dad installed,” I said. “Or we would’ve been crushed. Don’t unbuckle just yet. It might not be safe.”

“Why is it so dark in here? I can’t roll down the window.
Ow, ow. I can’t move my arm.”

“It’s the dirt clogging everything and don’t move your arm. Wait a minute and I’ll—”

“No! I have to get out!” she shoved against the door.

“Wait, Pearlie. Something’s not right. Let me—”

Pearlie threw open the door and dangled a leg out of the passenger side, fished around for something solid to stand on, and screamed again.

“What is it?” I asked.

“There’s nothin’ out here but air.”

“Get back inside,” I said, yanking her
into her seat.

I pushed
my door open, crawled out, and argued my way through the fangs of another Mesquite tree.

Hanging onto the corner of the Jeep, I peered over the ledge. We were still on the hill, but the passenger side w
as wedged up against a boulder.

“We’re okay,” I said. “It’s just that
your side is jammed up on a boulder.”

The Jeep rocked and her dusty, tear-stained face peeked at me from the driver
‘s side. When I signaled that it was okay to come out, she swiped at her wet cheeks, and dragging our purses behind her, crawled out, cautiously leaned over, slipped and she landed on her fanny.

I offered her a hand up. “Are you okay?”

Giggling, she pointed at me and laughed. “You should see yourself. Your hair is standing on end, and you look like you’re wearin’ brown makeup.”

Her laughter had a touch of hysteria to it, but at least she wasn’t cussing at me for rolling the Jeep.

She touched the oozing wound on her head. “My shoulder hurts,” she said, gingerly moving it around. “But nothin’s broken, I guess. Boy howdy, I never realized how heavy my purse was until it came flying at me. Where are we?”

“Not where we need to be,” I said, pointing down
at a rooftop. “But I’ll bet that farm house has a phone we can use.”

“How about you?” Pearlie asked. “Anything broken? I mean besides your driving skills?”

“I’m fine, fine,” I said, but I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.

“How far do you reckon we’ll have to walk?”

“Maybe a mile. At least it’s downhill,” I said, and pulled the cell phone out of my purse. “Before we go, let’s see if we can get a signal.”

I shook my head in defeat. “You?”

Agreeing that neither of us had a signal for our cell phones, we started the downhill trek to civilization.

With the adrenaline leaking out of my system, the only thing left was self-pity. “I’ve just ruined my dad’s brand new Jeep. But then I suppose it goes with letting me drive anything of his.”

“Wasn’t your fault. That idiot came outta nowhere, and tried to knock us off the road.”

“This isn’t the first vehicle I’ve ruined. I suppose you and Mad-Dog have had some good laughs about all my
screwups.”

Not interested in my pity party, my cousin grunted and went back to carefully selecting her next footfall.

“I thought you were going to nurse Mad-Dog back to health,” I said. “What happened to that idea?”

When she didn’t answer, I figured she’d discovered his little black book. “Did he get late night calls from old girlfriends or what?”

She sucked in a quick breath and stopped walking. “It was nothing like that,” she said, her voice quivering. “We-we just needed some time apart, that’s all.”

I felt like a heel. I’d found his phone book in his locker and enjoyed teasing him about it, but why was I trying to bait
my poor cousin?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was uncalled for.”

She lifted her chin and picked up her speed, putting some distance between us.

I caught up with her and snagged her arm. “Wait up, Pearlie. I said I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, jerking away from my touch. “We’re both a couple of screwups. But you know what the difference is between us?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“At least I’m not stuck in the past. You get all het up about your two failed marriages—then run off from your third wedding because you think Caleb jilted you, when it wasn’t even his fault. The man followed you out here, gets carjacked and left to wander around in the desert. It’s just dumb luck he made it out alive. All because he wouldn’t,
couldn’t
give up on you. You know what I’d do to have a man love me like that? Jeez, Lalla.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s a treasure and—”

“Oh put a sock in it, will ya?”

Shocked, I missed my footing and slipped. My arms
wind-milled but thankfully Pearlie reached out and yanked me back onto solid ground.

“Sorry I yelled,” she said. “But sometimes you’re just so darn self-absorbed.”

My anger popped up again. “Look who’s talking? You were so set on Mad-Dog that you couldn’t tell he wasn’t going to sit, much less stay.”

She chuckled at my dog metaphor. “Granny says you and I are more alike than we know. She says we just can’t see it. In spite of ourselves, our
screwups, our bad record with men, you and I have a real talent for solving crimes.

“It must be in the genes ‘cause keeping books for my granny’s ranch sure don’t give me the same thrill as I get solving a murder case. You’re the same, I know it. Besides, what’re the options for an out of work aero-ag pilot these days? Working as a receptionist in a dentist’s
office? Walmart customer service? The thought makes your skin crawl, don’t it?”

Seeing my mouth drop open, she said, “Shut it
Lalla, you’re letting out good moisture and we didn’t bring water.”

“Oh crap. I left the water bottles in the back of the Jeep.”

“Yeah, so stop talking.”

“You’re doing all the talking.”

“And you better start thinking on what I said.”

It was a long walk down that hill.

And once again, hot, sweaty, out of breath, I knocked on a stranger’s door.

The door was opened by an old man in overalls, house slippers, and a shotgun in the crook of his arm.

“Injuns!” he yelled, raising the shotgun at us.

Our hands flew into the air and we stumbled off the porch.

“Wait! Sir, we’re not Indians,” Pearlie pleaded.

I stepped forward. “We’re just covered with dirt because …”

The old man mumbled something, and leaving us standing on the porch, disappeared inside.

Pearlie and I looked at each other.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“We were in an accident!” Pearlie shouted into the dark. “And we’re not Indians,” she finished with a sniff. “What is
wrong
with folks around here?”

“He left the door open,” I said, putting one foot over the threshold.

She put her hand on my arm. “You saw that shotgun. We’re filthy dirty strangers who look like Indians to a nearsighted, deaf old man. You really want to take the chance he won’t shoot us?”

I leaned into the cool interior. “Could we use your phone, sir?”

He shuffled back to the door, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “Phone?”

“Yes sir,” I shouted. “We need to call a tow truck.”

“I ain’t deaf. Wipe your feet,” he said, backing up to let us inside.

We did as he said, leaving a good amount of Arizona dirt on his welcome mat.

Except for the spiffy new sixty-inch flat-screen TV and surround sound, the living room looked to have been furnished out of a 1950’s Sears catalogue.

“Lemonade?” he asked, bringing in a sweating pitcher tinkling with ice.

I stopped Pearlie from accepting the pitcher. “Water, if you don’t mind,” I said. “He looks crazy. Let’s not argue about this, okay?”

“About that phone?” I asked.

He avoided my question and invited Pearlie to help him pour the lemonade.

She stuck her to
ngue out at me, but brought me a lukewarm glass of water.

I
got to watch her happily chug down the iced cold lemonade and smack her lips. She winked while I upended my water.

I pointed to his old desk
phone. “Can I use your phone now, sir?”

“Help yourself. I suppose you’ll be
needin’ a tow?”

“A tow?” I asked, the phone in my hand. Maybe he wasn’t
crazy after all. “Yes, sir. Do you have a recommendation?”

He wheezed out a laugh. “You aren’t the first person to break down this far out. Grandson has a tow truck. I’ll go get him.”

Relief washed over me. Now I could honestly tell Dad I had it in hand—well, if you didn’t count the fact that I’d rolled his new Jeep.

Caleb answered the phone, anxious to know where we were. I told him the truth. “Pearlie’s got a scratch on her head, and her shoulder is sore
and bruised, but I’m okay. We’re at a house at the bottom of the hill, and the owner says his grandson can give us a tow.”

“Give me the address, and I’ll come pick you up.”

I put my hand over the phone and called to Pearlie, “Where’s our host?”

“He went to get his grandson’s tow truck.”

“Well, that’s really nice of him. Caleb wants to know where we are.”

“I asked. You know the mailbox we saw on Red Mountain Road? That’s where we landed.”

Oh, the irony. We’d turned onto Red Mountain road as a short cut, and we’d ended up at the house at the end of the one lane road.

“The best way to get here,” I told Caleb, “is to take the turn off Highway 92 next to
Aldolfo’s Mexican café. We’ll meet you on the bluff. And Caleb, watch out for a big white Ford F350 with a shiny chrome grill. He was gunning for us today.”

The screen door slammed and our host came in trailing tall, slope-shouldered, beady-eyed Deputy Dumb-Ass.

When he saw me, he blushed and snarled, “Why’d you bring
her
here?”

“I
din’t bring ‘em,” the old man said. “They
walked
.”

“Dang it, Granddad, this one might be a suspect in a murder case.”

Though I’m sure it was hard to imagine me as anything except dirt-smeared and caked with Mexican take-out, I stood a bit straighter and said, “My dad and I have been cleared of all suspicion, Deputy Abel. And why aren’t you at work today?”

“As you can clearly see, lady, I
am
working.” Then he turned on his heel and slammed through the open door, leaving us behind to wonder what we were supposed to do next.

The old man nodded at his grandson’s sulky departure. “He’s awful sensitive for a lawman,
ain’t he? Just can’t seem to find his way around women either, and worst of all, I’ve yet to see him catch any criminals.”

I nodded politely and tugged at the smile begging to crack into a grin.

“You best go now,” he urged, “before he drives off in a huff.”

Pearlie lurched to her feet, and with a groan, handed her empty water glass to the old man. “I’ll be black and blue by tomorrow.”

“We’ll get home and put some ice on your shoulder,” I said, tucking my arm through hers. “Thanks for the water and the use of your phone, Mr. Abel.”

His wrinkled brow lifted in confusion and as we left, I heard him say, “The name’s not Abel.”

Outside, the deputy sat in his truck, engine running, fingers impatiently drumming the wheel.

I tapped on the window.

He rolled it down enough to speak. “Get in.”

“I’m sorry Deputy, but it’s not going to be that easy to retrieve my Jeep.”

He cranked the window all the way open, his frown indicating we were taking way too much of his precious time.

I pointed to where the top of the
bright red Jeep showed above the boulder on the hill. “It’s half-way up that hill behind your house.”

“We
still have to get there. Now get in.”