"A Murder In Milburn", Book 1: Death At A Diner (12 page)

“We aren’t here to harm you,” one of the men said. He had a tattoo of a dove printed on his cheek, its beak open to drink a tattooed tear that fell out of his right eye. “Our boss just wants to meet you, that’s all.”

“Your boss has a pretty weird way of inviting people over,” she said. “Get out of my car.”

“That’s not really an option,” the man said.

“Get on with it.” The second man kicked her seat hard, sending a jolt down her spine.

The first man nudged the second, and spoke to her in a calming voice, like a horse whisperer tending to a panicked stallion. “Miss Newberry, we realize that this isn’t the best way to greet you, but believe me, our boss has no intention of doing you any harm. We aren’t some thugs out here to threaten you. Just give him ten minutes of your time, and then you’re free to go.”

“Are all mafia men this polite?” Nora asked him.

“Mafia?”
The first man sounded almost hurt. “We’re good country folk, with a steady decent job as bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards, and retrievers.” The second man said. “We bring back things the boss has lost.”
 

“In this case, quite a bit of money.” The first man said.

They instructed her to drive, and half an hour later, Nora found herself inside a huge dude ranch. This one was newer, fancier, and far more opulent than the cult’s compounds, and yet the modern design felt fake, as if a man with money but no taste had tried his hand at designing it.

The men opened the door of the car for her, and the tattooed man offered her his arm, rather like a 1950s hero might do.

“You never told me your name,” Nora said.

“Archibald Butler,” he replied. “An old-fashioned name for an old fashioned man. I sometimes wish I was born in the 1950s. A better time.”

“That’s debatable,” Nora said as they walked through the ranch. She looked around, and every cliché decoration, from fake ram’s heads to old fashioned metal equipment, hung from the wall. The interiors were a spectrum of earth colors, from deep chestnut paneled walls to adobe red carpets and olive leather couches.

“As you can see,” Archibald said, “our boss is a businessman with good taste. Bankers from Wall Street pay him thousands to spend a week or more in Wyoming, where he teaches them how to live the life of a cowboy.”

The dude ranch/hotel did seem legitimate. The receptionist was a pretty blonde with pink highlights in her hair, and all around lounged men of a type Nora recognized, men she’d seen plenty of in her days in New York. Men with deliberately faded jeans and shiny new leather boots, with $1000 haircuts and steel-toned eyes.

Archibald pressed a button and a wood panel slid open to reveal a small passageway. Nora moved inside and was surprised to find a large maze of passages beyond it. Archibald moved through them confidently, finally pausing at an unmarked iron door, and rapping his knuckles thrice against the wood.

The door slid open, and smoke bellowed out. Nora sniffed and inhaled the aroma of burnt onion and garlic. Inside was a luxurious suite, the interiors completely modern, with one wall covered with a giant TV, a sunken bar to one side, and a door leading to a small kitchen on another side.

A terrified-looking man cowered in the kitchen, where the smoke had arisen, while a large potbellied man struck at him with the heel of his hand. “Fool! Imbecile!”

“Boss,” Archibald called out, his voice nervous. The man who had opened the door for them shook his head at Archibald. “Boss ain’t in a mood to talk, Arch.”

The large man ignored them, striking the cowering man over and over, kicking him a few times for good measure. When he finally turned around, his face was red, the skin seeming to melt in folds against the collar of his expensive denim shirt. Blood trickled from his clenched fist.

“Is this the girl Harvey was with?” the man asked in a raspy voice.

“You’re Santino?” Nora asked. She remembered how an otherwise mild Harvey had seemed scared of this man, and thought that he had good reason. Santino was built like a bison - muscle packed in large doses with fat, his beady eyes as calculating and soulless as a shark. Right now, he had the look Nora recognized, the look of a frustrated man at the end of his chain. It was a look she’d often seen in customers. Customers who’d be cranky before their order was delivered, and at peace after they’d eaten. Hangry, she called it.

“Where is he, then?” Santino growled. “You’ve got five minutes-”

“Your food is still burning,” Nora said. “The smoke alarm will go off any second now.”

Santino turned and glared at the wok that stood smoking on the stove, then picked it up and threw it against a wall. It smashed a few tiles and went clanging to the floor.

“Kick that cook out,” he said to Archibald. “I don’t want to see his face again.”

“Yes, boss.” Archibald grabbed the cowering man by the scruff of his neck, hefted him up and ran out of the room, clearly glad to be out of his boss’ angry glare.

“I can make you something if you’re hungry,” Nora said. “I’m a chef.”

Santino stared at her as if she were mad, and Nora continued. “As a matter of fact, I’m hungry myself.” Pushing past the flabbergasted guards, she walked to his fridge and looked inside. “This is really well stocked,” she said, impressed. “I haven’t seen ingredients this expensive in some of the fanciest restaurants I worked in.”

Santino puffed his chest. “I demand the best, always,” he said.

“Do you feel like eating Chinese or Mexican?” she asked.

“Chinese.” Santiago said.

“All right, then.” Nora picked out a jar of pickled plums, soy sauce, and fish oil, placing them on the counter. She found herself some garlic and ginger and proceeded to fry them.
 

“I’m going to make you some fried rice,” she said. “Maybe after we’ve eaten we can talk.”

“Make all the food you like,” Santino said. “My hunger won’t be satisfied until Harvey’s paid back what he owes me.”

“What does he owe you?” Nora asked, as she shook and stirred the rice in the wok. In another pan, she deftly cooked the pork and sliced carrots, peppers and broccoli. She’d sliced shallots too, on the side.

“He owes me his life,” Santino said. “That’s the payment I want.”

Cooking calmed her, centered her even in the midst of a threatening situation. Santino, so angry when she walked in, was pacing around her now, trying to see what she was doing as she threw in spices and mixed them in. These men might be dangerous, but they would not harm a woman who was about to feed them.

She hoped.

Minutes later, she’d plated the food–stir fried pork with a sour plum sauce, and ginger fried rice with vegetables. Santino swallowed it in huge bites, and his face lit up as he made appreciative grunts.

“You’re welcome to a job on this ranch,” he said. “Just in case that diner of yours doesn’t work out.”
 

“You know about the diner?” she asked. Silly question, really. A man like him would know everything that went on in town.

But he surprised her by reciting the names of the last three places she’d worked in, the name of the bank manager who had given her the loan, and the name of the construction crew who’d built the diner.

“There’s not much I don’t know,” he said, smiling as she looked at him, mouth agape. “Then again, it’s Raquel who told me, you see.”

That shocked her more than anything he’d said before.

“She was involved?” Nora asked. “With you?”

Santino shrugged.

“You need to tell me!”

“Didn’t you find it the slightest bit odd that your dear friend had half a million dollars saved up?” Santino asked. “On that meager salary of hers?”

“She told me she earned really well as an accountant,” Nora protested.

“Oh she did,” Santino said, “just not from that straight-laced firm of hers. Raquel always helped me – personally – with taxes. I always rewarded her for it.”
 

“Did you harm her?” Nora asked, her hand tightening into fists. “Were you the one who did it?”

“Why would I?” Santino asked. “My interest in life is to make money, not to go about doing vulgar things like killing people. Plus, Raquel had said she was done helping me. She planned to focus on the diner in the future. No,
I’m
not the one that killed your friend, as you well know, though the money I gave her probably had a hand in her death.”

Oh, Raquel. Nora’s heart sank. What had her best friend gotten involved in? Santino was right - she knew it from the confidence with which he spoke, but she also knew it from her own knowledge of Raquel. Raquel would never do anything that caused harm to a person, but the idea of earning a lot of money by editing an excel sheet or two? That would appeal to her.

She remembered one sunny morning when she and Raquel had been lounging with cups of coffee and Nora’s homemade jam biscuits. Raquel had been helping Nora do her taxes and had scornfully pointed out the hefty chunk the government deducted. “If a gangster or thief took that much, you’d call it hush money. When the government does it, it’s called taxes. I’d never pay a cent if it was up to me.”

“Well, I figure if I enjoy the country, I got to pay the taxes,” Nora had said with a smile.

“That’s the difference between us and the truly rich,” Raquel had replied. “We follow the laws, the rich follow the loopholes hidden in the laws.”

Nora used to Raquel’s sudden rebellions, had ignored her, finished filing her taxes, and never really thought about it again. Her mouth turned downwards now, as she wondered what Raquel had done. Surely,
surely
Raquel had never done anything that would break the law. Had she? Ten years of being away, of only speaking to Raquel on the phone, suddenly seemed like a gap of knowledge that nothing would ever fill. Nora had considered Raquel, her best friend, had told her every detail of her life. But had Raquel done the same?

“You say you didn’t kill Raquel,” Nora said.

“I didn’t,” Santino agreed. “’Course there’s no way to make you believe me, but honestly, between me and Harvey, I’d say he had a lot more to gain from keeping her mouth shut than I did.”

Nora nodded, but inside, a slow ravine seemed to form in the bleeding trenches of her heart.

Santino spoke again. “So, here’s the thing,” he said. “I’m a reasonable man. I just want my money, and I’ll let Harvey live in peace. Five million dollars is all I ask for.”

“Five mill…” Nora spluttered. “What--”

“Since I can’t catch hold of Harvey, I guess you’re the one I’ll catch hold of,” Santino said, his voice cold.
 

“I have nothing to do with this,” Nora protested. “Santino, I wasn’t involved.”

“Sure,” Santino said, his face serious, almost apologetic. “But I have a reputation to maintain, you see. If I don’t teach
someone
a lesson, my men will lose all respect for me. So, as bad luck would have it, you’re the one who better pay up, or tell me where Harvey is.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Nora said, frustrated. “He could be in Antarctica, or Mongolia or outside your front door. He certainly didn’t bother to leave me a forwarding address.”

There was a series of raps on the door behind them. “It’s Archibald, boss,” a voice said.

Santino motioned his man to open the door, and walked up to Nora. “Maybe I’ve been acting too cute,” he said to her. “Maybe I made you look at me and think,
well, here’s a big puppy of a man
.” Grotesquely, he rolled his head about and stuck his panting tongue out the side like a dog. Straightening, he gave her a look that would have melted diamonds. “That isn’t the case, and if you keep playing dumb, you’ll find out that I’m not as kind as I look. You were Raquel’s business partner, and you’ve dated Harvey. It’s a little too convenient that you’re claiming to be totally innocent.”

“She
is
innocent, you brute,” a voice said from the door.

Nora sprang around, and saw Harvey at the door, a gun in his hand, an apologetic looking Archibald held hostage in front of his body. His face was a mask of anger that turned to concern. “Nora, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Santino didn’t look ruffled at all. “Innocent? Is that right? Either you like the girl, or she’s mixed up in it. You wouldn’t come all the way here to visit me otherwise.”

“Nora, let’s get out of here,” Harvey said. “Santino, we’ll talk soon, but I’ll be the one choosing the time and place.”

Santino sauntered over to a nearby closet, and Harvey gave an exclamation as he opened it.

“Relax.” Santino said, taking out a cigar. “It’s just something to chew on.”
 

“Nora. Come on.” Harvey’s voice was urgent now.

He didn’t need to tell her twice. Nora ran out the door, and Harvey shoved Archibald inside.

“You’ve got three days to get me the money before I get real mad,” Santino said, puffing his cigar. “That’s all I wanted to say to you.”

“I’ll get you what you deserve,” Harvey said, his voice mild. “That’s a promise.”

*****

Chapter 19

Somehow, in a blur it seemed, Nora was seated in her car again, and Harvey next to her. His jaw had clenched tighter with every step they took as if he expected men brandishing guns to jump out of hidden alcoves in the walls.