Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas) (3 page)

Chapter Four

The dead body in the creek bed sent noxious fumes skyward. Rafe wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to breathe through his mouth. He really needed a cup of coffee. Make that a gallon of coffee. Iced.

On a day like this, he regretted coming home to El Royo. Five freaking police officers for twenty-thousand people. Barely enough even with backup from the county sheriff. Coming off a double shift yesterday—and a brutal second shift—he was running on empty. Plus his leg stung like a son of a bitch, and his shoulder muscles ached from throwing himself over a half-dozen backyard fences. Maybe he wouldn’t be hurting so bad if that sucker hadn’t gotten away.

“Hey, Morales.”

Rafe glanced up from the yellow police tape he was roping to a withered sapling. A tall, skinny cop with heavy lips that never stopped moving, pale eyelashes, and permanent sunburn loped in his direction. His kickass day was complete. Officer Derek Swope.

“What’s up, Swope?”

“Got an I.D. on the body?”

“Teke Cruz.”

“The old guy who ran the garage in town?”

“Seems like it.” Rafe tied off the plastic tape and pulled on plastic gloves, then began his visual inspection, inching forward slowly as his eyes scanned the thick buffalo grass for evidence.

“Must have gotten a belly full at the Beer Hut and taken a tumble off the bridge,” said Derek.

“Someone went at his throat with a knife. Medical examiner thinks it could be murder.” Rafe bent down and studied an empty vodka bottle lying in the grass.

“Think the perp left that?” asked Swope.

Rafe straightened. “Nah.” He nodded at the bridge. “Teke took a tumble off the bridge. That’s where we found his blood and a piece of his shirt that tore off when he went over. Don’t think the perp would hang around and get drunk at the crime scene.” Still, he wouldn’t mind talking to whoever was drinking in the park last night. Might’ve seen something. He snapped a picture of the bottle and popped it into an evidence bag.

“Thought you said it wasn’t evidence.” Swope sounded pissed.

“I said I didn’t think the perp left it. Doesn’t mean it’s not evidence.” Rafe returned to his inspection, and Swope stayed on him.

“Sheriff’s office said you had some trouble a few miles from here last night. Could the two incidents be related?”

Rafe had been wondering the same thing, especially since the kid had a knife. What if he’d shot the kid when he’d had the chance? Would Teke Cruz still be alive? The breakfast burrito he wolfed down an hour ago soured in his stomach. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat and grit off the back of his neck. Forget the coffee; he needed a drink. Preferably whiskey, straight up.

He sure as hell wasn’t sharing with Swope. “The old Pittman place had a break-in, that’s all.” Rafe made the next corner and headed down the crime scene perimeter with Swope barking at his heels.

“Heard the Pittman girl was back.”

“That’s right.”

“So what happened last night? Did the perp run or what?”

“Read my report.” Rafe quickened his pace. He could see exactly where this conversation was going, and he was sick of taking Swope’s shit.

Two joggers slowed their pace and pressed against the tape to get a peek at the body in the riverbed, but it was obscured by the M.E.

Swope waved them on. “Unless you’d like to make a statement, keep moving along, folks. This is a crime scene.”

Speaking of which.
“I got this, Swope. Don’t need any backup.”

“Seems like you could have used some last night.”

Here it comes.

“Should’ve called me. I’d have sent my baby sister over. She could use some target practice.”

Rafe had deep-down hated Derek Swope since Swope caught him at a stolen vehicle stop. Department rules required officers to approach a felony suspect with a drawn weapon, but Rafe couldn’t pull his revolver out of the holster. The perp was unarmed and surrendered without incident, but Swope had seen enough to smell a rat. Maybe it was fortunate Swope was the kind of guy who’d probably tortured small animals when he was a kid. He should have reported Rafe to the chief. Instead he’d been on Rafe about it ever since.

Rafe’s patience was growing thin. He stopped and got up in Swope’s face. “You have a problem with me?” Rafe used every bit of his three-inch advantage and thirty pounds of muscle to jump down Swope’s throat.

Swope’s pale blue eyes bulged nervously. “Not me,” he said, stepping back.

All hat, no cattle. That’s Swope.

“Well, better get back to my patrol.” Swope grinned stiffly, baring his yellowy teeth, and tipped his Stetson. “Maybe I’ll stop by the old Pittman place. Heard that gal was hot and easy. Like to get me some of that.”

As he watched Swope’s back disappear across the lawn, Rafe’s fists tightened, then he shook them loose. What did he care? If Dinah wanted to screw every guy in El Royo, it was nothing to him. He was going to get himself a sweet girl and settle down.
He was.
He just needed more time to work through a few things. He turned back to the tape.

Swope shouted across the park. “Hey, Morales, how about we get together at the shooting range next week. Bet you got yourself a sharp eye.”

Rafe didn’t look up until Swope’s cruiser pulled away from the curb. What could he say? Everything Swope said was true.

“Rafe? Can you come down?” It was the M.E.

Rafe pushed past a knot of gapers. They’d gathered beside the roped-off bridge where they had an excellent view of the stewing corpse and the M.E. As he hurried past them, a sweet voice called out to him. “What happened?” Rafe turned. A pregnant girl he’d never seen before pressed against the tape. She wore pink shorts and a thick Dallas Cowboys jersey. Probably a high-school kid.

Rafe addressed the small crowd. “The body of Teke Cruz was discovered this morning in the gulley. Were any of you here earlier? Did anyone see anything suspicious last night or earlier this morning?”

A wiry man with a long, greasy ponytail stepped forward. Lonnie Bigsky. He fidgeted with a heavy chain attached to the collar of a narrow greyhound. “I was with him last night over at the Beer Hut.”

“Did you see him leave?”

“Nah. I went home first. But he was real nervous all night. Told me someone was watching him. I wish I’d paid more attention.”

“Did you see anything suspicious when you left? A strange car or maybe someone loitering around the Beer Hut?”

Lonnie shook his head. “Don’t recall. But I’d had a few drinks, so maybe I didn’t notice.”

Rafe handed him a card. “Call me if your memory comes back.”

Lonnie stared at the card but didn’t take it from Rafe. “Think this has something to do with Ben Pittman dying?”

“Don’t know, Lonnie. But we’ll be investigating every angle, including that one.”

Lonnie pushed the card away. “I don’t remember anything.” He patted the greyhound’s head. “Come on, Daisy, let’s go home.” He forced his way out of the knot of gapers.

The M.E. had finished his field inspection and was pulling off his rubber gloves as he climbed the embankment. He was a heavyset, older man who’d been sent up from Austin to investigate. Despite his broad-brimmed hat, his face was perspiring and red.

“Hot out here, ain’t it?” said the M.E. His dark blue shirt was damp and sweat ringed the armpits.

“Yeah.” Rafe pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the back of his neck again. “Thought the weather might break with the storm last night.”

The M.E. dropped his gloves in a biohazard bag. “Looking forward to my air-conditioned car.”

So was Rafe. “What do you think?”

The M.E. shook his head. “Didn’t even break a toe in the fall. That’s the benefit of a few drinks. Relaxes you.”

“So what killed him?”

“Someone nicked his carotid artery. The victim probably got knocked unconscious in the fall and bled out.”

“What was the time of death?”

“I’d say after midnight. Maybe one, maybe two. Not much later, though. From the spread of blood on the ground, I’d say it took awhile for him to die, maybe an hour or so.”

“Anything else?”

The M.E. nodded at the bridge with his chin. “The victim has wood slivers in his belly and chest area as well as the hands. It would indicate someone pushed him.”

Rafe nodded. “Fibers?”

“Some black wool in the victim’s hair. Could be the killer wore a ski mask.” Sweat poured down the M.E.’s cheeks and dripped from his jowls. He swayed in the hot wind like a Texas Blue Bonnet. “If he was, he had to be hotter ‘n hell.”

Rafe didn’t want two bodies on his hands. “Let me walk you back to your car.”

He crossed the park beside the M.E., piecing together a probable chain of events. The killer could be anyone, but it felt like the intruder from last night, and the motive for the burglary and this murder were linked. The link was Dinah. Was she an innocent victim, or had she knowingly put in motion the actions that led to Teke’s murder?

They’d reached the M.E.’s car, and the M.E. was patting his pockets for the keys. His hands stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot. Found this in the victim’s back pocket.” He reached into his kit and pulled out an evidence bag with a pink flyer inside. He handed the evidence bag to Rafe.

Rafe held the bag up and inspected the crumpled paper inside. It was a Tarot Card Readings by Shira notice. Someone—probably Teke—had written across the top
Dinah is back
and underlined
back
twice.

Chapter Five

“Stop! Come back here,” Dinah hollered.

A young girl in pink shorts was trotting down the street with a sack of Dinah’s precious groceries. Dinah’s eyes went to the two vulnerable bags still sitting in the trunk, then to the vanishing strawberry-blond ponytail and plastic grocery sack.

“She’s got my peanut butter.” Bounding off her front porch, Dinah went after the grocery thief. She’d spent nearly everything Teke gave her on utilities, and the remainder—about fifty bucks—on food. She wasn’t going to let ten dollars run off without a fight.

“Stop! Someone stop her. She stole my groceries.” Unfortunately, the neighborhood appeared to be deserted except for a butterscotch tabby that arched its back and hissed when Dinah slapped by in her flip-flops.

The girl veered off the sidewalk and slipped behind a blue bungalow. Dinah’s legs pumped harder, fueled by one all-consuming goal—get her peanut butter back. She closed in on the blue bungalow, angling over front lawns, then ricocheting off a magnolia tree. Hurdling into a narrow walkway beside the bungalow, she nearly tripped over a pair of torn sneakers. “Gotcha, you little varmint.”

The girl, huddled against the house and raised her head to Dinah. Her blue-green eyes were round and frightened, and a delicate spray of freckles stood out against her pale skin. Her mouth, a pale slash under a turned-up nose, was hard.
She’s hiding something.

The girl held the bag out to Dinah, her hand curled into a tight fist around the handle. “Is this yours?”

Dinah snatched the bag from her. “Of course, it’s—” She swallowed her words. The girl was pregnant. A lot pregnant. Dinah’s indignation softened and shifted.

She followed Dinah’s gaze down to her belly. “Got knocked up.”

Hunkering down by the girl, Dinah studied her mud-streaked legs and stained, oversized football jersey. “I can see that. How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen.”

“What’s your name?”

“Hollyn. Holly with an ‘n’ on the end. People always get it wrong.”

“Do you have a last name?”

Annoyance flickered across Hollyn’s face, then her expression smoothed. “Hollis.”

Hollyn Hollis, huh? Not likely.

“My name is Dinah. Dinah Pittman.”

“Sorry about taking your stuff.”

“Forget it. Do you live around here?”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

Hollyn buried her face in her hands. “Nowhere.”

“You have to be from somewhere, don’t you? Unless you fell out of the sky.”

“Then I fell out of the sky,” she muttered.

“Come on, you can tell me. I’m a great listener. Besides, I’ve had lots of crappy things happen to me, so I’d never judge anyone else. Swear.”

Hollyn raised her head. “Like what?”

This girl sure wasn’t from anywhere close to El Royo if she had to ask. “Like when I was your age my dad robbed an armored car and went to prison, and my mom ran away.”

Hollyn studied her. “You don’t seem very sad about it.”

Dinah turned away and stared at the street. Heat was already rising from the pavement in shimmering waves, and it was barely eleven o’clock. A car door slammed, and she thought of the vulnerable groceries sitting in her trunk and how when she was growing up here, she’d never guessed her life would become an exhausting, never-ending scramble for food and shelter. She met Hollyn’s eyes. “Why should I be sad? It happened eight years ago.”

“If you’ve moved on, why are you here?”

A twinge of discomfort passed through Dinah. Where had it come from? She glanced back at the street, but the narrow slice she could see was quiet.

Maybe Hollyn sensed Dinah’s uneasiness because she came clean on her story. “My boyfriend ditched me at the gas station off the highway yesterday. I don’t have anywhere to go, and even if I did, I don’t have any money.”

Me, too.

“What about your parents? Where are they?” Maybe she could shame a little more cash out of Teke for a bus ticket.

The girl shook her head. “They threw me out. Called me a slut, and my daddy hit me in the stomach.” The girl rested her hands on her belly. “Thought I was going to lose my baby.”

A self-righteous anger exploded in Dinah. This girl—barely more than a child, really—should be with her family, not wandering the streets. What kind of parents treated their child like this? Then she remembered her father was a convicted thief and her mother had abandoned her right after the trial, leaving Dinah to fend for herself. Her own parents were the kind.

She and Hollyn were sisters under the skin.

A single tear shimmered in Hollyn’s innocent blue eyes. “If I could find a place to stay. Just for a week or maybe less. I know I can find a job or something.”

It seemed unlikely anyone in town would hire a girl about to give birth. But Dinah couldn’t leave her. She rose to her feet and held out her hand.

“Come on, girl. You can stay with me until we figure out what to do with you.” Two mouths to feed. She’d have to come up with a legal, but free, way to advertise ASAP. But she’d manage. She always did.

Hollyn scrambled to her feet and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Thank you, Miss Dinah. And don’t you worry, I’m used to working hard. I can cook and clean, do laundry, pull weeds, feed the chickens, you name it.”

Dinah laughed. “That’s a lot for a girl who’s about to have a baby. When are you due?”

“About a month, I think.”

“Come on, then. Let’s get some lunch in you, honey lamb.” Dinah followed Hollyn along the narrow walkway. “There’s a free clinic in town—” She stopped as the street came into view. “What the hell?” Dinah’s quiet little neighborhood was quiet no more. She had visitors.

The color drained from Hollyn’s face. “Looks like the police are at your house, Miss Dinah.”

Not just the police. Rafe Morales was leaning against a police cruiser, arms crossed, gazing at her house as if she’d emerge if he stared hard enough. Parked in front of the cruiser was a familiar white pickup.

“Are you in trouble, Miss Dinah?”

“No.”
But someone is about to be.
“Come on.”

Dinah stormed home. When Rafe saw her, he straightened up. His open expression faded into a frown as she closed in on him. But Rafe wasn’t Dinah’s target. It was the man unhitching the white pickup with
Brenner Engineering & Construction
emblazoned on the side.

“Uh, Dinah. Wait—” Rafe tried to stop her as she blew past him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

A head covered with brown curls lifted from a toolbox. Twinkling blues eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses smiled at her. Jamey Brenner. The only boy—no, the only kid—in El Royo who’d helped her that awful day. Hoots from her classmates had greeted her when she emerged from the quarry, her head clear, her pain temporarily in check. Hoots and Jamey Brenner holding a blanket up. He’d wrapped it around her and walked with her through the crowd to her car. He’d been kind—too kind—to the newest bad girl in town, and she hated that she’d needed him that day.

“Hey, D-d-dinah. How ya’ll d-d-doin’?” He’d always stuttered when he was nervous. She could smell it on him now. She hated herself, but she didn’t want his charity. She was just fine on her own.

“Why are you here, Jamey?” Against her will, Dinah’s voice softened.

He nodded at the roof. “Had some extra t-time, and I heard that—”

“I asked him to take a look at your roof.” Rafe’s voice was low and close. It held a cut-the-crap warning. “Seemed like there was more rain inside than outside last night.”

She spun on him. Stress pulled at the corners of his eyes, and his tongue worried the inside of his cheek. Dark stubble covered his face.

“I never said—”

“I said. Unless you want me to call the village and have your house condemned.”

“No!” It was the only thing of value she had in the world. If it was condemned, she’d be out on the streets stealing food with Hollyn.

“In that case, kindly apologize to Jamey for your poor manners and allow him to get on with his work.”

How was she going to pay for the patched roof? She couldn’t afford to buy a box of nails.

“And while you’re at it,” said Rafe, “you might as well thank him, too, since he is doing this as a favor to a
former
friend.”

When had she turned into such a bitch? “I’m sorry, Jamey. I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes.”

Jamey shrugged. “It’s okay.” But she’d let him down. He bent over his toolbox again.

“I really am sorry. Honest. Look, I’d be grateful if you’d come on in after you look at the roof. I was just about to fix up a pitcher of sweet tea.”

“Mayb-b-be.”

Hollyn, who was half-hiding behind an overgrown catclaw bush caught Rafe’s attention. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he called out. “Come on over.”

The blood drained from Hollyn’s face. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she baby-stepped slowly and reluctantly toward Rafe. Poor thing. She probably thought he was going to arrest her for stealing groceries.

Dinah rode to the rescue. “She’s my housekeeper.”

Hollyn’s eyes flashed with relief.

Rafe’s mouth curled up. “Really.” She liked the way he looked when he smiled.

“Is that against the law, too, Officer?” The corner of her mouth quirked up. She’d bet a jar of peanut butter he had a good sense of humor.

His smile deepened, revealing his dimples, and his dark eyes warmed as they met hers. “Not yet, Miss Dinah.” Then he turned away from her and studied Hollyn. “Weren’t you at the crime scene this morning?”

“Crime scene?” asked Jamey.

“Crime scene?” Dinah echoed his shock. Despite the hot day, she shivered.

“An old drunk guy fell over this little bridge in the park,” said Hollyn.

“What were you doing there?” Rafe asked her.

“I saw a crowd, so I went over to see what happened. It was horrible.” Hollyn pressed a hand to her chest. “I almost fainted from the terrible smell.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You ever seen that man before?”

Hollyn shook her head. “No, sir. I just got into town this morning.” She studied her torn sneaker and the toe poking out. “Heard one guy say he fell off the bridge ‘cause he was drunk. Is it true?”

“It’s still under investigation.” Rafe fished a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. “In the meantime, we’re interviewing everyone who might have seen something suspicious. Can I get your full name and date of birth?”

“What for?” Hollyn’s eyes widened with alarmed. Not surprising. Today’s grocery caper was probably not her first. “I told you. I just got here this morning.”

“Just routine.”

Hollyn pressed a hand against her forehead and swayed. “I’m feeling a little faint. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Dinah scrambled over to her. “How stupid of me. Let’s get you inside. It’s cool in the living room. You can lie down while I fix you a sandwich.”

“Dinah.” It was Rafe..

“Don’t you want to know who died?”

“Does it matter?”

“You tell me. It was Teke Cruz.”

Jamey’s eyes widened in shock. Dinah staggered backward. The world began to spin around her.

Hollyn’s arm slid around her waist. “Are you okay, Miss Dinah?”

Dinah shook her head. “No.”

Teke was dead? He’d been as nervous as a cat in heat last night, looking over his shoulder, jumping at every sound. She’d told him he was crazy. If only she’d taken him more seriously, asked a few more questions. But she didn’t have the stolen money. Of course, he hadn’t had the money either. At least not when he left her house. So why would anyone want to kill him? Dumb question. At least one person in El Royo had a motive, maybe the best motive ever: Dinah herself, and it was a doozy—revenge.

…

“Teke Cruz, huh?” Jamey whistled softly. “You think it has something to do with Dinah?”

“Maybe.” Rafe studied the Pittman bungalow. White paint peeled off the sides in long sheets and the dark blue shutters, which had crescent moons carved into the panels, hung askew. Gaps where shingles had blown away dotted the sloping roof where it extended past the dormers. Buffalo grass sprang from the front lawn’s hard-packed dirt. Why had she come back?

El Royo’s other police cruiser rolled past Rafe and parked at the curb. Swope poked his skinny head out the window.

“Heard you call in the Pittman place and thought maybe you could use some help.” He grinned at Rafe. His teeth looked buttercup yellow in the sunlight.

“Just conducting routine interviews concerning Teke Cruz’s death, Swope. Don’t need any assistance.”

“Think she offed him?”

“I just started the investigation. It’s too early for conclusions.”

Swope glanced up at the house. “Is she in there?”

“Why?”

“Told you this morning. I plan on getting me some of that. Have you seen her in those jeans? That’s some fine ass.” He flashed another yellowy grin.

Jamey’s ladder clattered to the ground.

“Get back to the business district, Swope. Before dispatch starts looking for you.”

The cruiser door swung open, and Swope got out. He hitched up his pants and adjusted his gun belt. “How about you help a buddy out, Morales? You take the business district. Let me interview her. I swear I’ll have her singing like a canary before we get down to personal business.” He winked at Rafe.

“Fuck this.” Jamey muttered the words as he launched himself at Swope.

Rafe managed to grab his shirt collar and pull him back.

Swope raised his hands in the air and feigned shock. “Whoa, whoa. You just threatened a police officer.”

“I’m defending a great human being and a good friend.”

Swope stepped back. “Hey, I’m just looking for a little action, Brenner. I bet there’s plenty of her to go around.”

Jamey strained against Rafe’s hand. “Let me go. I don’t c-c-care if I go to jail.”

“Get back in your cruiser, Swope, and get out of here.”

Swope’s eyes swept past Rafe to Jamey’s flushed face, then up at the bungalow. “Maybe I’ll come back tonight after my shift. Lonely gal like that will be glad for some male company.” He slid into the cruiser. “I’ll let you all know how it goes.”