Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (13 page)

When the sheriff rounds the corner, Del stands and
motions for the car keys. “I’ll get the wagon.”

He waits until Del disappears, then extends a hand
to help me out of the chair. “We’re almost done here. The DEA is on
the way. Want to meet for lunch? The drugstore makes terrific
burgers.”

“
Fine with me. I’ll drop Del off,
then meet you there.”

When I stand, our bodies make contact. Neither of us
moves. I hate the way I feel. Silly, shaky, confused; like some
adolescent on a first date. I scramble to make a flip remark, but
nothing comes.

The sheriff steps away, but not before I feel his
own unsteadiness. He takes a step toward me, eyes signaling a
coming kiss. I’m eager to meet his lips—anything to break the
tension that has been growing between us over the last two
days.

Instead, the kak-kak-kak of an approaching
helicopter breaks it for us.

“
Better scratch that lunch.” He
gives me a sad smirk. “It’s the DEA. Their timing has always been
impeccable.”

AFTER DROPPING DEL AT HIS RANCH, I head for town and
the drugstore. I chose a booth toward the back rather than a
counter stool. To my surprise, the burger tastes as good as filet
mignon. I scarf it and order another.

While I munch on one half of the second burger, I
try to make some sense of what has happened since Reena’s phone
call last January. Now that I know some of the story, it’s plain
Reena hoped to catch Paul and me in a compromising situation. Not
that adultery figures much in divorces these days.

It’s the insurance that puzzles me. How did Paul
think he could cash in? A move like that is much too obvious. A
million-dollar policy in January—a murder in April? He never
mentioned the policy so it could have been part of his frame.

The sheriff slides into the seat across from me.
“Thought you might be here.”

My first impulse is to tell him my plan, but I stop.
He never mentioned searching the lean-to. At least not in front of
me.

“
My, that was quick.”

“
The DEA likes to run its own
show. I just filled them in on the details, asked if they needed
some of my men, dismissed those they didn’t, and here I am.” He
grins and points to the hamburger. “Did I steer you
right?”

“
One of the best I’ve ever had.” I
take a bite and relish the mingle of beef, grease, onion, and
mustard.

He raises his right hand and puts up two fingers.
“Hey, Bruce, ditto the lady’s order, will you?”

A voice floats from the kitchen behind the empty
counter. “Sure thing, Shurff.”

He lowers his hand and places it over mine and I
start at his touch, unsure of my next move. My right hand is poised
in midair, clutching the second half of the burger. I’ve been
managing just fine with only one hand, so there’s no valid reason
for my left hand to rush to its assistance.

When I see the same look on his face that I saw only
an hour before, I realize the table and the burger are my only
saviors. My mind goes completely blank but my hearing becomes so
acute, I can hear the meat sizzle on the griddle, Bruce’s shuffle,
and his low hum of some off-key version of a tune I can’t quite
place.

Bruce’s hip thuds against the kitchen door and I
relax as Cotton’s fingers slide away from mine. After Bruce slams
down the plate, he says, “How’s that burger, ma’am?”

I gratefully focus on his flushed, expectant face
and manage a munchy, “Five-star, for sure.”

He turns to Cotton. “What you drinking, Shurff?”

“
Milk, I guess.” His voice has a
strangled pinch to it. “I’m still on duty.”

“
Coming right up. More ice tea,
ma’am?”

I nod, still chewing on that same bite, afraid to
reveal how shaken I am, knowing that if our eyes meet, there will
be trouble.

After Bruce brings the milk and splashes more tea in
my glass, the sheriff says, “What are your plans for the rest of
the afternoon?”

“
Guess I’ll head for Susie’s. No
point in sitting in that dreary motel room with a dead air
conditioner.”

“
I bet they’ll be happy to see
you. Nothing like sharing good news with friends.” He finishes the
end of his hamburger, downs the last of his milk and stands. “I’ll
catch the tab. Nice to find somebody that likes Bruce’s burgers as
much as I do.”

I’m too flustered to wave the banner for political
correctness, so I do the ladylike thing and say, “Thank you,
Sheriff.”

His voice comes softly from above me. “How ’bout
making it Bill?”

I don’t look up. I’m afraid I’ll betray myself. “I
can do that if you call me Allie.”

“
Allie.” It’s almost a croon. “I’d
like that a lot.” His hand finds my shoulder, then falls
away.

I hold my breath until the door jingles shut, then
relax against the cushion, relieved to have made it through another
close encounter.

At the motel, I move to another cottage, then change
into jeans and boots. The new accommodation is positively frigid
compared to my former digs, and I’m sorely tempted to fall on the
bed and pass out for a couple of hours. If my mission weren’t quite
so serious, I would.

I step into the heat, then remember my Beretta,
retrieve it from the bottom of my fold-over, and slip it into an
inside pocket of my light twill vest.

It’s almost three by the time I arrive at the
Dardens’. They are sitting on the east porch, holding empty
glasses, a Champagne bottle jammed in a galvanized water pail
between them.

Del stands as I mount the steps. “We’ve been
celebrating. Join us?”

There doesn’t seem to be any background ruckus and I
ask, “What have you done with the kids?”

He laughs. “It’s their night in town with Susie’s
mom and dad. Only Little Allie’s home, so come help us
celebrate.”

“
I’d like that, but what I’d like
better is the loan of a horse.” His grin dies. “What
for?”

I slip into the chair my host scoots into the group,
and lie. “I thought a ride might relax me.”

“
In this heat? Hell, Allie, you
must already be sunstruck.”

I wonder why Del seems to be stonewalling me and
counter with, “It doesn’t seem that hot.”

Susie chimes in. “That’s because we’re under trees
and on a hill. It’s almost ten degrees cooler up here than down at
the barn.” She points to the champagne. “C’mon, Allie, help us
celebrate. We’re going to be rich.”

Del settles next to his wife. “Get Allie a glass,
will you, Suze?” When she disappears, his demeanor changes. “That
mountain is no place for you to be right now.”

I shiver. Is Del in this, too? I study him,
searching for anything that will make a liar out of me. But it’s in
his face. Did he take Reena to the hideaway for a tryst? Did they
argue? Did he slit his “true love’s” throat and leave her to die? I
think back to Susie’s tale of the cocaine and Del’s reaction. I
read it as surprise, now I realize it was shock. His wife was
opening the biggest can of worms in Uvalde County.

I have to get out of here.

A small voice inside my head whispers, Cool it, and
my attorney mode kicks in.

“
Mountain?” Then I let the light
dawn. “Oh, you mean the hideaway? That’s much too far from here.
Besides,” I lie, “I have a dinner date with the sheriff if he gets
off in time.”

His wariness dissolves. “You and Cotton? Sharing
dinner? I’m sure glad to hear you say that. It’s not safe to be
roaming around by yourself while those people are still at
large.”

Del’s right. It certainly wouldn’t be safe, now that
I’ve telegraphed my intentions. I curse myself for being so mouthy.
Fortunately, Susie’s return saves the day. I gladly take the glass
of champagne and sip. No use to seem in a hurry.

Precious minutes slide by as we finish the bubbly
and exchange idle chatter until I’m saved by my namesake’s
squeal.

When Susie rises and starts toward the door, I
stand. “Thanks for the drink. I know you two have things to do, so
I’ll head on back to town and wait for Bill.”

Susie gives me a quick hug, then hurries toward the
baby’s cries.

Del guides me down the steps, in an unnecessary show
of chivalry. When he helps me into the car, he says, “I’m telling
you. Don’t even think of going up there.”

He means business. What happened to my old buddy?
What if Del is in on this?

“
I’m going back to Houston as soon
as Reena’s buried.”

“
Take my advice. Don’t wait for
the funeral. I don’t think there will be one.” With that he turns
and walks away, leaving me trembling and speechless.

It’s a little after four when I pull away. In my
rearview mirror I see Del climb to meet Susie at the top of the
steps. They hug. It’s the last glimpse I have of my two friends
before I make the turn in their drive.

The Anacacho station wagon is much too visible for
my purposes, so I turn onto the road heading for the hangar and
park on the far side. Hopefully, no one will be able to spot the
car before I can put my plan into action.

Actually, it was Susie’s description of her walk
from her house to the ranch that gave me the idea. Her mention of
the swale between the properties is the perfect way to get to the
Darden barn without being seen.

As I walk, flashes of past conversations filled with
half-truths and Paul’s last words echo. I don’t want to believe
that Del is involved in what seems like a major drug distribution
setup. For the first time since her death, I curse Reena for
introducing drugs to Paul and luring Del back into her treacherous
web.

Regardless of Del’s warning, my mission is to find
Paul and the only place for me to look is on the mountain. If Paul
isn’t there, I don’t know what I’ll do next. Pack my bags and head
for Houston? Or stay?

I’ve never been in the Dardens’ barn before. The
musty mélange of hay and oats, mixed with the pungent ammonia of
fresh manure, brings back childhood memories.

I spend some time to locate the tack and then choose
a horse that seems fairly gentle. Susie has often mentioned how
well the boys ride, so I figure there must be a start-up mount for
the toddler. After checking all five horses in their stalls, I pick
a wide-backed sorrel.

“
Mr. No-Name” is carved over the
entry to his home. When I call his name sotto voce, he sends back a
low whinny and takes some oats from my open palm.

I’ve made an excellent choice. He almost helps me
put the bridle on, stands patiently while I tighten the cinch
beneath his soft belly, then nuzzles me gently as I pause to listen
for approaching footsteps.

Not a sound, but I can’t afford to be caught this
far into the plan, so I walk him almost a half-mile, before I swing
my leg over his back, then urge him toward the mountains.

IT ISN’T DIFFICULT to pick up the trail to Paul’s
hideaway, since the path has been well-traveled over the years.

It’s past four when I reach the last fork in the
trail and recall Paul’s, “Just remember, right is wrong and left is
right.”

After tethering Mr. No-Name to a nearby mesquite, I
make my way through the narrow cut and up the trail. Halfway to the
top I realize that I’m a sitting duck. Anyone could pick me off
with a single shot from any number of locations. I clutch the
pocket of my vest. The gun is exactly where I put it. That makes me
feel better.

Though the climb is steep, I’m not particularly out
of breath, but because I can’t hear any sounds other than my
footsteps and my breathing when I walk, I stop every few steps to
listen. So far, my stops have netted only the breeze whispering
through the rocks.

I don’t know whether to be disappointed or elated
when I arrive at the summit. Not a soul to be seen. I strain to see
the lean-to, then remember I won’t be able to see the platform
until I approach from the south.

Now sure no one is here, I pick up my stride. One
brief check of the area and I’ll retrace my steps, pick up Mr.
No-Name and be back at the Dardens’ barn well before dark.

The moan stops me short. I hurry forward to see Paul
curled on his side. He is bound and gagged. The terror in his eyes
sends my hand for the Beretta stashed in my jacket pocket just as
the lights go out.

The pain is excruciating. I peer into darkness, then
realize I’m blindfolded and my mouth has been taped shut. I’m lying
on my side, arms tied behind me, legs trussed. My head feels like a
poleax is buried in the back of it.

The horror in Paul’s face still burns front and
center in my brain. I hear voices and struggle to concentrate on
the conversation, but the deafening throb in my head takes
precedence.

A male voice says, “Are we going to take her with
us?”

“
Don’t ask me. I’m not calling the
shots.” It’s Fanny. Why am I not surprised?

“
What do we do with her when she
comes to?” the man asks.

“
I don’t think we have to worry
about her for a while. You were very efficient with your rifle
butt. She’s going to have a helluva headache.”

“
Serves the snoopy bitch
right.”

I feel weight settle next to me as a hand pushes my
face into the mattress and it’s all I can do not to scream from the
pain.

It’s the man. “Not much blood.” His hand slides down
my back, then across my rear. I struggle not to flinch. “I want
this one, Fan. That okay with you?”

“
Dammit, Luke, let’s get the
business part of this deal done, first. Then, as far as I’m
concerned you can do whatever you want.”

He squeezes my buttock, then tries to slide his hand
between my legs and whines, “I want first dibs, Sis. Just promise
me that.” Fanny is Luke’s sister? Anything to take my mind off the
thundering ache. I try to reconstruct the events. Did Fanny meet
Paul, set him up, then send Luke to the ranch? Or did Luke size up
the deteriorating relationship between Paul and Reena and call his
sister?