Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas) (2 page)

Chapter Two

A fist pounded the front door, shaking the walls of the old clapboard house. Dinah’s half-eaten peanut butter cracker slipped from her fingers and landed face down on the cracked linoleum floor.

“Dang it all.” Only a few crackers left. Silently, she cursed the no-good S.O.B. boyfriend she’d been living with for disappearing with her nest egg. It was only six hundred bucks and change, but it sure would have come in handy right about now. A heavy fist rattled the door again.

“Hold your horses.”

She muttered the words as she blew out the candle sputtering on the table. Darkness dropped around her like a cloak. Beyond the screen door crickets screeched and a dog barked. The moist east wind shifted north, pushing up the yellowed curtain over the sink. Blessed cool air hit her face, then the curtain stilled, and the heat closed around her again. Through the screen mesh, her eyes searched the shadowy backyard. Nothing stirred in the thick air.

“Silly girl.” She’d been jumpy since that photographer followed her to the quarry.

She lifted her unruly curls off her damp neck, securing them with an elastic band. On her way through the dining room, she dug into her backpack, still laying on the table where she’d dumped it this afternoon. Her fingers closed around the pepper spray. She really missed her old snub-nose .32. It was a damn shame her only faithful friend for going on eight years was gathering dust in an L.A. pawnshop. But a girl had to have gas money if she was heading home.

The pounding grew more impatient.

“Hold your dang horses.” She pressed her cheek against the front door. “Who’s there?”

“Hey, Dinah, it’s me. Teke Cruz.”

She didn’t want to see Teke. She didn’t want to see any of them.

It’s all of ‘em, Dinah. They did it together and pinned it on your daddy.
Momma had been right.

Before the trial, while Daddy sat in an El Royo jail cell, her momma had been a furious pest on the town streets, declaring to anyone who’d listen—and some who didn’t want to—that her husband had been framed.

Like hell.
He’d done it sure enough. But the others had turned him in and walked away free. That was the real injustice.

Maybe, wherever she’d run off to, Momma was still fuming over the unfairness of it all. Dinah had never tried to find out.

“Go away, Mr. Teke. I don’t want to see you.”

“Come on, girl, let me in.”

She flipped the top off the pepper spray. “Just so you know, Mr. Teke, I’m armed. Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Open the door, and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

He cleared his throat.

He’s up to something.

“I-I-I, uh, came for a reading. You can’t very well tell my fortune with a door between us.”

She
did
really need the cash. She was down to her last three crackers and whatever peanut butter was still stuck to the sides of the jar. “It’s fifty dollars.”

“Okay.”

“I want the money upfront.”

“Come on, Dinah, let me in.”

She left the chain in place and opened the door a crack. A short, heavy-set man in faded jeans and a sweat-stained T-shirt stood on the porch. His eyes shifted nervously.

She pointed the pepper spray at his face. “Let me see the money.”

“
That’s
your weapon?”

“You won’t be laughing if I use it. Now show me the money or get.”

“For chrissake.” He fumbled in the back pocket and produced a roll of bills. “You satisfied?”

Dinah stuck her hand through the crack in the door. “Give me the fifty bucks, then I’ll let you in.”

“Twenty-five now, the rest when you let me inside.” He peeled a twenty and a five from the roll.

Dinah took the money and unlatched the door. “Fifteen minutes, and the clock starts now.”

“Can we talk before you read my cards? Seeing as I’m the customer and all, and it’s my fifteen minutes.”

“After you let my daddy take the blame for the robbery, consider yourself lucky I didn’t pepper spray you and slam the door in your face.”

Teke’s eyes narrowed. “He deserved to go down after he took off with the money. Left us high and dry. I had plans, you know. Wanted to get myself a cabin in the hills.”

“That’s a real shame,” she said dryly. “Let’s get this over with. Follow me.” She gestured toward a small table covered in a red and gold batik cloth nestled in the living room shadows.

“Can we turn on the lights?”

Electricity was a luxury she couldn’t afford. “I can’t concentrate if it’s too bright.” She pointed at a ladder-back chair. “Set yourself down, Mr. Teke.”

She took the other seat, struck a match, and lit a pillar candle on the table. “How’s that?”

Teke pulled calloused, blackened fingertips through his gray hair. He’d been a mechanic all his life, and the grease had soaked clear through his skin. “All that does is show our exact location in the house.”

She’d been fighting the feeling all day that someone was watching her. Someone besides that journalist or the cop. She didn’t need Teke spooking her worse than she already was.

“Who would care, Mr. Teke? Unless you have some real facts, keep your paranoia to yourself.”

He stared at her, his forehead furled, his eyes unsure.

“What is it? Tell me,” she said.

“Be careful, Dinah.” He spoke under his breath, and she leaned over the table to catch his words. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes were deep, sightless wells. “It’s not over. Not until the money’s found.”

A small shiver vibrated down her spine. Nodding at the deck, softened by age and her mother’s hands, she said, “Nonsense. Go on now. Shuffle the cards.”

Sweat and the scent of fear rose from his skin. “Just once?”

“I can’t tell you. Whatever feels right.”

His thick hands cut the deck and shuffled them. One, two, three times. He straightened the cards and handed them to her.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” She laid out the cards in a cross exactly as Momma had taught her and flipped the center card. Lightning threaded toward a medieval fortification as two ill-fated figures flung themselves from the ramparts. The Tower of Doom.
Shit.

Teke was studying her. “What is it? It’s something bad, ain’t it?”

“Are you sure you shuffled those cards good?”

“Come on. Let’s hear it.”

She rubbed The Tower with her hand. “It looks like you’re being warned, that’s all.”

“About what?” Teke asked.

“Don’t know exactly.”
Keep it positive, Dinah. Folks get the wrong idea, they may throw themselves out a window or something.
Momma was right. Besides, this was supposed to be entertainment—and a quick way to earn cash. No right-minded person wanted to see into life’s shadows. Not really.

“Have you been feeling okay, Mr. Teke? Maybe you need to see a doctor. Or…or what about your old truck? It’s been on its last leg forever. You should look it over before you take a long trip.” She dug for another fixable possibility. “Are you still driving like a maniac? I ran into the new cop today.”

“Rafe Morales?”

“Yeah, Rafe Morales. Seemed like a by-the-book cop to me. You might end up with a ticket or worse if he smells liquor on your breath.”

But Teke had his own interpretation. “It’s got nothing to do with no damn traffic ticket. Now that your daddy is passed and you’re back in El Royo, the money’s going to turn up. Old Ben might’ve even left a clue right here in this room or under your feet or up in the attic. I expect you’d notice if something was different. That’s why I came by tonight.” His dark eyes studied her closely.

“I’m not a thief.”
Like you and Daddy and the others.

“The reward’s still out there. Fifty thousand. You’d be rich.”

“The cops tore this place apart eight years ago. If there was anything to find, they’d have found it.”

Teke shook his head. “Your daddy was a careful man. He wouldn’t die without telling someone where it was.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me.”

She flipped over the card above The Tower. The Hermit lay sideways, his light hanging at an unnatural angle.
Double shit.
If she believed in this stuff, she’d say Teke was in danger. She hated this spooky old house and this town with all its ghosts hanging over everything.

Teke’s finger stabbed at the bearded figure peering into the darkness with only a lantern to guide him. “What’s that?”

“That’s the Hermit.”

“Yeah?”

“Look here, Mr. Teke, you shouldn’t be alone. That’s what it means. With Miss Susie passed, maybe you should drive down to Austin and stay with your daughter for a while. Being upset like you are isn’t healthy.”

The candle smoke, hanging heavy in the still air, stung Dinah’s eyes. She leaned over and pushed up the window beside the table. A hot, moist breeze swirled past her. She wiped sweat from her upper lip. Rain was close.

“Eyes and ears are everywhere.” Teke pushed the window back down. He met her gaze straight on. “The money is cursed, Dinah. If you have it, get rid of it. Give it to me.”

Her self-control slipped. The wildness born inside her that last day in the courtroom crashed through her.
We find the defendant, Benjamin Jon Pittman…guilty.
With those words, she’d lost her innocence and become the daughter of a thief and a convict. From the courthouse, she’d gone straight to the quarry, pulling off her clothes one piece at a time and dropping them behind her as she walked past her drunken classmates. She’d stretched her arms over her head and jackknifed into the black quarry water. When her head broke the surface, the boys jeered, and the girls turned their backs. She was the daughter of a thief. It was what she deserved.

She pushed away from the table. “Go on home, Mr. Teke. Your time is up.”

Teke stood. “If you know anything about the money, tell me. Put the curse around my neck. I’ll pay you the reward money myself.”

She wanted to throw something heavy at him. “Would I be begging for fifty dollars if I could get my hands on the reward? Maybe Daddy told Momma. Did you ever think of that? Maybe she’s off living high and mighty on the whole quarter million. Always said she wanted to see Paris before she died.”

The blood drained from Teke’s face. “I better go. You lock the door as soon as I leave, and if you change your mind about the money, call me.”

“You’re an ass.” Her cheeks burned with indignation.

“Is that what they taught you in California?”

“I was a victim, too. I lost everything.”

He had the shame to bow his head. “Didn’t mean otherwise.” He shoved a hand in his pocket and extracted the roll of worn bills. “Here.” He thrust the money at her. “Get the utilities turned on, and buy yourself a little tea and sugar.”

She hated herself, but she took it. “I’ll pay you back when I sell the house.”

He nodded. “Good night, Miss Dinah. You be sure to lock that door now.”

She shot the bolt home as soon as his steps faded away and leaned against the door. Over her head, a dense cobweb, still and spiderless, reflected the glow of the streetlight. Something flickered beside the web. A gypsy moth fluttered past her and danced toward the candle in the living room. Somehow it seemed fit that her only companion would be a moth flying too close to the flame.

Her fingers found the bolt. Why bar the door? They’d already taken everything that mattered—family, reputation, future, self-respect. She drew the bolt back, then stumbled over the tattered carpet to Momma’s tarot table. She flung open the window.

In the sputtering candlelight, the Tower and the Hermit gazed up at her like two haunted eyes. Her fingers brushed the Future card.
This is silly
. But she flipped it over anyway. The High Priestess hung by her feet. Dinah snatched her hand away as if she’d been burned.
Beware of a woman.

Was it her? Was she the High Priestess? But how could she be? She didn’t have the stolen money, and if she did, she’d give it back. Besides, she hadn’t spoken to her father since they dragged him off to Beeville, so he couldn’t have told her where the money was even if he wanted to.

With her fingertip, she turned the High Priestess upright, but she didn’t feel better. She was worn out. Eight years of struggling to get back to who she was before the robbery, and she was still alone, still afraid to imagine a real future.

Her eyes scanned the shadowy blue walls. Blue was Momma’s favorite color. A memory flickered. Daddy pacing the room until he grew too impatient and shouted upstairs:
Hurry up, Ginny. We’ll miss the hors d’oeuvres.
Then the rustle of taffeta, and Momma in a shiny blue dress twirling in the hall. Daddy giving her the loudest wolf whistle Dinah ever heard, and Dinah feeling happy and loved.

Bam!

A deafening crash roared through the house. The front door nearly flew off its hinges. A dark figure hurled through the opening and barreled toward her.

Chapter Three

The front door rebounded and clipped Rafe’s shoulder. He kicked it closed with his boot before raking his flashlight beam across the unlit entryway. The hall was clear. His heart thumping against his ribs, he burst into the living room. His light hit the figure of a woman, and his feet froze. He tilted the beam up and framed Dinah Pittman’s expressionless face.

Most girls would have screamed or hid when he kicked in the door. Not this one. She had balls, he’d give her that.

Her forearm lifted to shield her eyes from the light. “Who are you? What do you want?” She sounded tired. “I already told Teke, I don’t know where the money is.”

Rafe lowered the flashlight and rolled his shoulder to loosen a tight muscle. There were about two-dozen abandoned bungalows in this part of town. When he saw a candle flickering in the window, he’d expected a confrontation with teenagers or maybe a squatter.

He stepped into the candlelight. “Officer Morales, ma’am. Got something against electricity?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. The pink flyers. She’d needed money to turn on the lights.

Her mouth tightened. “Get out.” Turning to a small table by the window, she gathered up scattered cards, probably her tarot cards. Had she found customers already?

He studied her as he summoned up an appropriate apology. She wore cut-offs and a white T-shirt. His eyes swept down her slim legs to her bare feet and red toenails before he could stop himself. Why were pain-in-the-ass women always hot?

“I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“That’s tough to do with you around.”

Her hand stilled for a moment, then returned to its task. “You could have knocked.”

“Sometimes we get squatters in these abandoned houses. They’re more likely to be discouraged by a show of force.”

“I could have been a mass murderer. Aren’t you supposed to call for backup?” She glanced down at his flashlight. “If I was a bad guy with a gun, you’d be dead, Officer Morales.”

“Rafe.”

She’d read him right. He’d tried to pull out his service revolver when he broke down the door, but—predictably—his hand had turned to Jell-O. After two years, he still couldn’t get past the night in Dallas when his beautiful, daring Sam’s luck ran out, and he’d avenged her but failed to live up to his own lofty ideals. So he relied on the element of surprise and big fists.

Gathering up the cards, she set them in a neat stack. “As you can see, I am not a squatter.” Her gaze flickered to his flashlight, then back up to his face. “There’s an empty house about two blocks down if you’re determined to rescue one.”

The corner of his mouth inched up. She’d be a handful…for the right man, which sure as hell wasn’t him. Not anymore. “Thanks for the tip.”

Thunder lowed in the distance. Heavy raindrops sputtered through the screen behind her. She bent and shut the window. In the sudden silence, her soft breath emerged. Raindrops trailed down the window, reflecting the streetlights like a wall crusted with diamonds. With his eyes, he traced the dark swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the curl of her hips against the shine.

She straightened. “See something you like?”

She sure wasn’t shy. “Nope.”

A long tongue of water dripped from the ceiling and puddled at her feet.

He tore his gaze from her body and studied a wet stain over her head. “Are you sure you’re okay here?”

“I’m fine.” More water dripped from the ceiling.

He hated to leave her alone in this dark, leaky old house, but she seemed hell bent on staying put, and he had a patrol to finish. “Better get yourself some buckets. We’re in for a wet night.”

“Maybe I will as soon as you get out of here.”

His good humor drained away. “There are a couple things we need to straighten out first. The fine for littering in El Royo is twenty-five dollars per item. Let’s see.” He pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “We’ve retrieved forty-three flyers so far, which brings your fine to just over a thousand dollars. A thousand, seventy-five to be exact.”

Her smart-ass attitude disappeared faster than his mother’s Sunday supper. Those intriguing green eyes grew round, and her mouth popped open. “Look, uh, Rafe, you can’t fine me. Please.”

“Why is that?”

She bent her head, and her ponytail slipped forward, exposing a long neck. “I’m broke right now.”

Rafe’s annoyance eased. He’d made his point, but he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. “Are you asking me to break the law?”

Her head jerked up, and the pain he’d seen at the quarry filled her eyes.

Why was he being such an ass? She was just a down-on-her-luck girl with an edge to her. But he knew why. Because she reminded him of Sam.

Outside, lightning flashed through the trees followed by a crack of thunder. Rain fell from the sky in a steady stream and dribbled from the ceiling. Dinah Pittman had enough on her hands without him piling on. He took a step forward. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

Crunch.

The sound came from the kitchen. “What was that?” he asked.

Her eyes widened, and she brought her face closer to his. “I dropped a cracker on the floor,” she whispered. “Someone or something just stepped on it.”

He raised a finger and looked hard at her. “Stay here.”

She had the brass to arch an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to use your gun this time?”

Good question.

He spun away from her. He’d been through enough of these old bungalows to know their layout. The kitchen would be across the entryway, behind the dining room. He switched off his flashlight and felt his way around the dining set.

The kitchen door yawned like the gates of hell, and the day’s humid heat lingered at its threshold. He pushed his shoulder against the doorjamb and flattened himself against the wall. He should have his weapon drawn. His hand drifted down to his right hip. His throat squeezed, and a faint tremor started in his arm. God help him, he’d have to go in unarmed.

He tightened his grip on the flashlight. The tension in the air dropped like a hundred-pound weight on his shoulders. Sweat ran down his forehead and blurred his vision. His damp undershirt clung to his chest. He inched his head close to the frame until he could see into the kitchen with one eye.

Despite the heavy rain, a thin light from a neighboring house seeped through an open door. Framed against the screen was the slight figure of a teenager or maybe a small man, dressed for burglary in head-to-toe black. Rafe’s flashlight slipped in his sweaty fingers and tapped against the wall. The kid shifted. A hunting knife glittered in his gloved hand.

“Rafe?” Dinah’s whisper came from close behind him.

His throat constricted, and he struggled to breathe.
What is she doing? I told her to stay put.
He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not like Sam. He waved Dinah back and felt her move. His breathing eased, and he risked another quick scan of the kitchen. The boy was creeping closer, one soundless step at a time.

Dinah’s body heated his arm, and the scent of soap filled his nostrils.
Puta madre.
Then her mouth was at his ear.

“Your gun.” She breathed the words into him.

His hand groped for her shoulder and shoved her behind him roughly. He twisted and pushed his face into hers. Her eyes, wide and startled, stared at him, and her lips brushed his chin. He pressed a finger to her lips. They were soft. She nodded, though he could still read the question in her eyes.
Your gun.

Not this time.
Raising the flashlight, he flipped it on and stormed the kitchen.

“Police. Drop the knife and put your hands up.”

The intruder leapt backward and pushed a chair into Rafe’s path. Then he banged open the screen door and flew into the rainy night. Rafe scrambled to get past the chair, but it was wedged between the wall and the table.

“Here.” A slender arm pulled it free.

The adrenaline was pumping through him now. He turned on her. “Get in the other room and stay there.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“And phone a friend. You’re not staying here tonight.” That would keep her busy.

“Lost my phone.”

Mierda.
Shit. A hot girl, a dark house, locks made of tin foil, and no phone. He wanted her to be safe.

He thrust his cell into her hand and pushed through the door just as the burglar sprang over a chain link fence into the next yard. Rafe followed, clearing the fence, but tearing his uniform trousers and losing his flashlight as he hoisted himself over the top.

Blinded by the rain, his damn knee beginning to ache, Rafe brushed the water from his eyes as he half-ran, half-limped after the intruder. They cleared two more fences. The boy leapt over each one like a show horse, and Rafe fell farther back. The chain-link openings were too small for him to gain a toehold, and the tops were sharp enough to slash palms when he grabbed them. He flipped on his radio and tried to call for backup as he ran, but his words came out as soundless huffs. After he cleared the third fence, he gripped the gun.
This time is going to be different.
But when he tried to pull it out, his hand refused to move.
Not yet, not yet, not yet.
The words looped through his head.

Then, his luck finally turned. In the next yard a five-foot stockade fence loomed. He picked up his pace. He was going to get this little sucker.

“Police. Drop your weapon!” He managed to holler the words without sounding breathless.

The intruder sped up, flung himself over the last chain-link fence and barreled toward the five-foot barrier as if it was a mirage.

“Stop! Police.”

Still running, the black figure lifted his arms and raised his gloved hands. The knife gleamed from a leather thong around his waist. A few feet from the fence, he sprang up, flinging himself on top, then executed a graceful somersault before disappearing.

That little sucker!
Mentally Rafe rifled through the list of local criminals. Grizzled barflies, punks, and petty criminals made up El Royo’s jailhouse regulars. None could have outrun him, much less executed that last move. A chill ran down his back. This guy had targeted Dinah.

There was not much crime to fight in El Royo, which suited him just fine. No gun required. As he called in the incident to the station, he wondered if his luck had run out.

…

The rain had eased to a drizzle. Dinah waited on the back steps, enjoying the cool, misty air against her skin. She stepped forward as Officer Morales came into view, dragging himself over the back fences. He breached the final fence and limped toward her, mud-spattered and rain-soaked, his pants torn and bloody. His misery and frustration were palpable.

Sympathy welled up in her, and she opened the back door for him. “Looks like you got banged up out there. Better come on in.”

He pushed dripping hair off his face and shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

There was something about wounded creatures that got to her every time. “Sit down and rest a minute, Officer Morales. I’ll get you a bandage for your leg and a washcloth for your hands. They look a little scratched up.”

He snorted impatiently, then surrendered and pulled up a chair. “Only if you call me Rafe.”

“Call me Dinah.”

He studied her through sputtering candlelight.

“Of course, you can call me The Notorious Dinah Pittman, if you prefer. Everyone else around here does.”

She meant it as joke, but he didn’t crack a smile. “Why do they call you that?”

“You must not have been around when my daddy got hauled off to jail.”

He shook his head. “I heard about it from my sister, and my ma. What your daddy did is on him, not you.”

Dinah turned away. Esme had been her best friend, and his ma, Miss Peppie, like a second mother. The emptiness inside her throbbed.

“Besides, Dinah is a fine name. Be a shame to ruin it with all that nonsense.” He winced and clutched at his knee.

“Bad knee?”

He shrugged. “Football injury. It just aches now and again.”

Yeah, right
.
Turning away from him, she rifled through the cabinets for bandages. She hated cops, so why did she want to help this one? Behind her, he shifted in his seat, and the atmosphere in the kitchen grew heavy with melancholy.
That’s why.

“When did you lose your nerve?” She spoke gently so she wouldn’t upset him.

“Huh?”

She pulled out the bandages and iodine and wet the washrag by the sink. “I’m an ex-cop’s daughter. I know a little about the game. You walked into two dangerous situations tonight without drawing your weapon.”

He took the washrag from her and dabbed at the nasty-looking gash on his thigh before scrubbing his palms. After setting the bandages and iodine down, she sat and waited for him to answer. Through the tear in his pants, she could see a firm, tan leg feathered with dark hair. She averted her eyes.

He finished cleaning his wound and stuck the bandage over it. “Thanks for the supplies. I better get along.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment she was positive he was going to tell her. Then he grinned. “It’s complicated.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

“And not very interesting. Can I drive you somewhere?”

“I’m staying put.”

The chase had taken the fight out of him. “Be sure to lock up after I leave. I’ll drive by and check on you later.”