Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (18 page)

I hand over my car keys, then check my watch. Almost
six. My appointment with Dr. Solomon is at seven, so I have plenty
of time to bathe and get into something comfortable. I hardly
notice the couple preceding me into the elevator until the man
says, “Hello, Allie.”

I look into Duncan’s steady brown stare, then
realize he’s attached to the woman next to him. “Allie, I’d like
you to meet Ellen Anderson.” He turns to her. “You remember my
telling you about Allie, don’t you, darling?”

She smiles and extends her hand. “Of course, I do.
Glad to meet you.”

“
And I, you.” I manage to purr,
while checking out her blonde hair and flawless, glowing
complexion. I glance at her left hand and there it is, the same
ring that once graced mine.

I can’t ignore the surge of bile at the base of my
throat as I realize Duncan has not only speedily recovered from
being dumped, but has happily gotten on with his life.

The elevator stops and the doors glide open, but I
can’t seem to turn away and make my exit.

Duncan’s soft voice gives me the thrust I need.
“Your floor, I believe.”

I nod and push the closing door wide, then scurry to
my apartment and drown in the morass of rejection.

“
So,” Dr. Solomon says, as he
pushes the tissue box in my direction. “You got
blind-sided?”

“
I guess you could say that. I
certainly didn’t expect Duncan to be engaged so soon.”

“
He’s ready to settle down, that’s
all.” “But it’s only been three months.”

“
True, but remember how relieved
you were when you broke off your engagement? He probably suffered a
lot back then.”

“
Then why am I feeling this way
when I was the one who broke it off?”

I tune up again. Damn, I hate to cry. I grab another
tissue and blow my nose, but the tears keep coming.

“
Simple. Nobody likes to lose
control over a situation.” “And I did?”

He nods. “Your reaction is perfectly normal.”

“
Seeing him with another woman
really hurt. I suppose I was jealous.”

“
Maybe you should think about
that.”

“
It’s too late,” I wail. “I told
you, he’s engaged.”

Solomon smiles. “Trust me. When we get you through
this, you will be able to make the right decision... and for all
the right reasons.”

IT’S MID-MARCH. With the Dallas deal successfully
sealed, Perkins, Travis is talking partnership. I should be
ecstatic, and would be if my therapy were producing the results I
hoped for. Of course, Solomon has assured me we would have been
right on schedule if I hadn’t spent all winter in Dallas.

Instead of attending the party for the Dallas group,
I’m taking Friday off to fly home. Solomon has promised to set
aside time this evening, as well as tomorrow, to “explore some
other directions.”

I’ve been on the couch for over an hour, and Dr.
Solomon’s voice sounds like he’s in the well again, but he hasn’t
hypnotized me this time. I’m only in the alpha state.

“
What happens when you and Cotton
leave the ME’s office?” “I don’t feel so hot.”

“
What do you mean by
that?”

“
My stomach is queasy, but Bill
has my arm. We’re walking down the street. His shirt is brushing my
cheek. He’s very tall.”

“
And looks just like Paul
Newman.”

We’ve been here before. Solomon is saying this to
irritate me and he’s been plenty irritating lately.

“
I never said that. Angela did.
She’s the one hung up on movie star look-a-likes. The sheriff
doesn’t look at all like Paul Newman. It’s the bright blue
eyes.”

“
Does he have on the Kryptonite
aftershave?”

I smile. “Yes. Maybe that’s why I’m queasy.”
“Allie?”

“
Yes?”

“
Can you hear everything you’re
telling me?” “Yes.”

His voice is very close and it sounds as if he’s
trying to buffer his excitement. “Please open your eyes.”

I do, and Solomon says, “I want you to look directly
at me when you talk, okay?”

“
Fine by me.”

I go through the rest of that day. Breakfast sitting
across from Bill Cotton. Paul’s sudden disappearance. My trip to
the emptied ranch and how frightened I was until I found the old
wall telephone. Susie’s description of the cocaine and the small
Piper Cub.

Dr. Solomon leans forward. “And what happened
next?”

“
I went back to the motel and
changed rooms. The air conditioner was on the fritz,
remember?”

He smiles. “And after that?”

“
I put on jeans and riding boots
and drive out to visit Susie and Del. They’re celebrating the
recovery of the Darden oil property. They ask me to join them on
the porch and Susie starts inside.”

I shiver as fear shoots through my innards and my
two friends freeze-frame.

Poor Dr. Solomon, he’s so close—just inches away
from getting me over that last dark hurdle. I guess he can’t stand
it any longer because he says, “Didn’t you ask them about something
before Susie left to get you a glass?”

I realize I’m wringing my hands. “Did I?”

“
You were on a
mission.”

I shake my now-throbbing head. “No. No. I went out
to the Dardens’ for a drink because I was having dinner with the
sheriff if he could get away in time.”

“
What happens next isn’t that bad,
Allie. You already know how it ends. You survived the blow to your
head and you’re sitting here talking to me. What is it that
frightens you so?”

My head is splitting. I thread my words through
clenched teeth, “I don’t want to know the truth.”

“
Now we’re getting somewhere. Can
you tell me why you don’t want to know?”

“
Can you?” I look away, searching
for my purse, which I hope contains some aspirin.

“
Oh, yes. I’ve known the reason
for your reluctance for several months. And if you’ll allow
yourself, you will too.”

Eureka. I find the bottle, throw two aspirin in my
mouth and wash them down with water from the glass on the table
next to me, hoping that will be enough to dull the pounding.

Solomon’s voice weaves through the ache. “I thought
you were using the relaxation technique to solve your headache
problem. Too much aspirin can tear up your gut.”

“
It’s my gut, dammit, and these
are my memories. Besides—” I grab my purse and stand, relieved he
didn’t hypnotize me this session. “That’s enough for
today.”

Solomon stares up at me, then says, “You’re afraid
Cotton is involved with the drug trafficking operation, aren’t
you?”

I lose my middle and crash back to the couch as the
scenes I couldn’t face replay. Del’s veiled threats. Stealing Mr.
No-Name. The journey up the mountain. The terror in Paul’s face.
Every detail of those last moments on the mountain flashes before
me.

Tears stream down my face. “Satisfied?”

Dr. Solomon nods sympathetically. “There are a
couple of questions you need to ask yourself, Allie. The first
being, if you’re so sure Cotton’s involved, why didn’t he kill you
then? He couldn’t possibly have known you were amnesic. For all he
knew, once you recovered, you could’ve gone straight to the police
and exposed the operation implicating him.”

I brighten. “I didn’t think of that.”

He frowns, then says, “But, there’s also this to
consider: If there are no obstacles in his life, why hasn’t he
tried to contact you?”

My euphoria fades as quickly as it bloomed.

HOUSTON’S BRIEF BUT GLORIOUS spring is over, but
thanks to daylight savings time, I’ve been able to get in a
late-evening jog on the cinder track at a high school near my
apartment.

Unfortunately, this evening I’m still at my desk,
re-reading the final paragraph on a contract before I head for
freedom.

When I hear, “Miss Armington?” I look up to see the
firm’s security officer, standing in my door, a paper-filled
clipboard in one hand.

The ex-CIA agent is trim and fit, but about as
exciting as a wet mop. He gives me a dry, thin smile and says, “Do
you have a minute?”

I motion him in, surprised and slightly annoyed that
he’s barring my escape. “What can I do for you?”

He closes the door behind him and settles in a chair
across from me. “I think the shoe is on the other foot, Miss
Armington. It’s more like what I’ve already done for you.”

I push the contract to one side. “Pardon?”

He fishes in his jacket pocket and pulls out a small
round metal disk. “Do you know what this is?”

“
Looks like a battery of some
sort, for a watch or a camera?” “But it isn’t.” He gives me a
triumphant smirk.

“
This is a small transmitter—a
bug, if you will. I found it in the mouthpiece of your telephone
Saturday.”

“
I beg your pardon?”

“
One of my jobs is to make a sweep
of the offices every six months or so.” He riffles through the
pages on his clipboard. “The one before this was done in September.
This office was empty then.” “That’s the month I joined the firm.”
The reality finally sinks in. “You say you found a bug in my
handset?” He nods.

We sit staring for a few minutes as my mind races
back through the business transactions I’ve made. Nothing
sensitive. All negotiations up front and aboveboard.

Just as I open my mouth to say as much, a red flag
pops up. I am an officer of the court who has known about a drug
trafficking operation for almost a year.

“
I can’t imagine why anybody would
want to bug my phone.” He gives me an oh-really look. “Gee, me
either.”

“
What should we do?”

Again, that thin smile. “It looks like your recent
international transaction has been successfully concluded and the
contracts you’re covering now are local and don’t include sensitive
material, but I did notify Mister Perkins.” He pauses, then puts
the clipboard on the edge of my desk. “Since your phone is the only
one that was bugged, it doesn’t look like the tap is
business-related. Anything personal I should know about?”

When I don’t answer, he rises. “I’ll keep a watch on
things. Easy to do, now that I’ve pinpointed the problem.”

Despite the laundry room gossip that Duncan has just
dumped his fiancée, my decision to contact him is purely
professional. As Assistant DA he offers the easiest access to that
side of the law. I reach for the phone, then hesitate, wondering
what he’ll say. I dumped him plain and simple and when I found that
he was going on with his life, I wasn’t happy about it at all. Am I
using this latest development as an excuse? Reason overcomes my
guilt. I need his help.

Duncan seems genuinely happy to hear my voice and
after catching up on careers and carefully skirting anything of a
personal nature, I say, “My office phone was bugged. The security
chief found it Saturday while making a routine sweep.”

After a long silence, he says, “Do you think it
could be about that mess in Uvalde?”

“
Maybe.” I hesitate only a second
before saying, “I remember everything.”

There’s a second long silence on his end, then,
“That’s really good news... isn’t it?”

“
I suppose. Frankly, I hoped this
was all behind me, but...” He interrupts. “I think I can get hold
of someone who’ll help you. Can you leave work now? I’ll meet you
at the Capitol Grill.”

I forgot how handsome Duncan is and to my surprise,
I feel my heart skip a few beats when he clasps my hand. We manage
to get through the greeting and seating, then he orders two
martinis. Mine “up” with three olives. He hasn’t forgotten.

We are halfway through our drinks when Duncan’s
buddy Nate Fallon pulls out a chair and slides into it. A private
investigator who often works for the county, Nate is a man who gets
a job done—fast.

“
So?”

With that one question asked, Nate stirs his lime
and Perrier furiously until there are hardly any bubbles left,
while I fill him in on the discovery.

He nods agreement. “Something’s out of whack.
Bugging’s mostly corporate espionage stuff.”

Duncan interrupts. “Tell him, Allie.”

I know I have to, but the thought of revealing my
knowledge of drug trafficking in the Valley gives me pause.

Nate gives me a gentle urge. “I can’t help you
unless I know the facts.”

“
I know.” I take a large draw from
my martini and launch into the story, carefully omitting anything
personal about Bill Cotton.

Nate’s low whistle is echoed by Duncan’s, “Wow.”

For the next few minutes the three of us are silent,
surrounded by the buzz of low conversations and the clink of
flatware against china.

Finally Nate says, “I’m not going to soft-pedal
this, Allie. Somebody must be afraid you know too much about what
went on, or is still going down, out there.”

“
If there is a bug in my apartment
and you remove it, what happens then?”

“
If I yank it, they’ll find
another way to keep tabs on you. You might not want to go
there.”

After dinner, which the two men inhale and I pick
over, we head for my apartment. Once inside, Nate opens the small
black bag he retrieved from the trunk of his car and heads for the
telephone.

I watch as he twists off the mouthpiece and smiles.
With a pair of tweezers he picks up the twin to the disc in my
office and, to my horror, replaces it.