Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (19 page)

When I gasp, he puts his finger to his lips, then
assembles a wand-like device. Moving from room to room, he scans
the lamps, the tables, the pictures on the wall, and the electrical
outlets.

When he reappears, he waves us into the elevator
hall, and says, “Only a telephone plant. Probably all they had time
for.”

I grab his arm. “Why didn’t you take it out?”

He removes my claw and shoots me a million-dollar
smile. “Look. The thing works only when you lift the receiver. Why
tip them off that you know? The bug at the office could have been
damaged somehow, but if both bugs go...”

The light dawns. “I’ll just have to watch what I
say.”

He nods. “If you need to make a sensitive call, use
somebody else’s phone. Otherwise, just the usual on your own
line.”

Duncan closes the door and turns. “It’s going to be
fine, Allie. Nate gave you some good advice.”

Angered by his glib assurance, I flop on my couch,
arms crossed. “Some comfort that is. I’ve probably been tailed
since I got back from Uvalde.”

“
Probably.” “But by
who?”

When Duncan shrugs, I answer my own question:
Someone’s been in here. Going through my things. Planting a bug.
But how long have I been bugged? And how did they get past Elton?
Then a chill cuts through me—could Bill be in on this?

Duncan looks toward the door and I realize I can’t
let him leave just yet. “Care for a nightcap?”

He checks his watch. “Sure. Want me to open some
wine?”

I’m already halfway to the kitchen. “I have part of
a bottle of Port left. Stay put.”

Once I’ve settled on the couch next to him, Duncan
raises his glass, then says, “What’s your next move?”

“
Well, I’m certainly not going to
sit around and play the damsel in distress. Guess my next move is
to fly to Laredo and get that envelope.”

Duncan puts his hand on mine. “That’s the last thing
you should be thinking about. Not after what happened today.”

I bridle at the remark. “What do you mean by
that?”

“
The last time you made a trip out
there, you were almost killed. Remember?”

Duncan’s concern sounds more like control. I
stiffen. “I have no reason to think that could happen again.”

“
But you don’t know this lawyer or
anything about him. How do you know you’re not stepping into a
trap?”

The gauntlet’s down. I leap to my defense, voice
dripping acid. “Don’t be such an old lady. Gibbs is only interested
in clearing up his client’s estate. I’ve talked with him several
times on the phone. No reason to think the man is anything but
aboveboard. Besides, I have no intention of going near Uvalde or
the Anacacho.” Exasperation fills his words. “Can’t you just wait
and see what Nate digs up before you go off on some cockamamie
mission?” “Cockamamie? What I do, cockamamie or not, really
shouldn’t concern you, Duncan.”

He winces and jerks his hand away as if he’d touched
a red hot poker, then takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. If you’re
so damn comfortable with this Gibbs, then let’s go through the
scenario. You meet in his office and when you open the envelope you
find incriminating evidence in it. What then?”

To my relief the rough patch between us dissolves. I
speak attorney to attorney. “First a question: Since Laredo’s in a
different county, wouldn’t that mean jurisdictional problems?”

“
Not necessarily. Since you
believe this to be drug trafficking evidence, it immediately comes
under the DEA’s auspices. So, in order to save time, I’d ask that
the witnesses be DEA.”

“
I can’t imagine the evidence
would be anything else.”

“
Neither can I. That’s why your
trip could be dangerous.” His voice lowers. “What’s the problem
with Gibbs coming here?”

“
Well, he sounds rather elderly
for one thing.”

“
If that’s what you’re planning to
do, I know a few Feds in the Valley. I’ll be glad to call them and
set up an appointment.” “Thanks, Duncan, you’re a
brick.”

“
Still glad you made the switch to
the private side of the law?” “More than you can imagine. I’ll
always be grateful you steered me in that direction.”

I notice his glass is empty. “Refill?”

“
Thanks, but I better be on my
way.” He stands and looks down at me. “Unless there’s something
else you’d like to discuss?”

I rise to join him, extending my hand. “Nothing I
can think of, right now, but do I have permission to recall?”

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “You bet.”

Duncan turns to go, then pauses. “Are you sure you
feel comfortable about making this trip?”

IT’S ALMOST TWO O’CLOCK on a Friday afternoon in
mid-April when the Embraer Turbo Prop touches down on the runway in
Laredo. An unexpected trip to Columbus, Ohio, prevented me from
hooking up with Mr. Gibbs until now. Even then, because the Feds
were involved, it was all I could do to set up this meeting on such
short notice.

Duncan has been a big help with the DEA. He says
they promised at least one agent and hopefully two will be waiting
in Gibbs’s office when I arrive.

It’s hot, the delayed flight on the commuter was
bumpy, and the cab ride through the teeming throngs in the central
business district isn’t helping my frame of mind. I’m particularly
disgruntled because there are no longer creases in my slacks, and
my linen jacket looks like it ran into a mix-master.

I take the wheezing elevator to the third floor and
push open a door reading Jaynes & Gibbs, Attorneys-at-Law. I
smile my way past the secretary, and extend a firm hand to Mr.
Gibbs. He looks nothing like he sounded over the phone.

I pictured sort of a round, Santa-like man, but
though his hair is white as snow, he’s really quite dashing. Dark
complected, indicating some Border heritage despite the Gaelic
surname, Gibbs is medium tall and powerfully built.

He ends the shake and motions toward the nearest
chair, then settles behind his desk. “Well, little lady, we meet at
last.”

I flinch at his lack of political correctness, but
taking his age into account, I cut him some slack.

“
Yes, at last.” Since I saw no one
in the outer office when I greeted his secretary, I wonder what
he’s done with the DEA. “Nice flight?”

“
Very bumpy and late, as you can
see.”

“
Maybe some iced tea? My secretary
makes a pretty mean pitcher.”

“
That would be wonderful, thank
you.”

We exchange idle chat until the secretary slams down
a couple of glasses on the desk and retreats. Gibbs rises and comes
around to my side of the desk, hands me my glass, then sips from
his. “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?”

I have to admit it does.

We stare at each other for a few minutes, then he
retreats to his chair. “Guess you’re looking for this.” He pulls a
large brown envelope from his desk drawer and pushes it across the
desk.

I pull it to me, and stare at Paul’s hurried
scrawl.

The “ie” of my name has been reduced to a few
squiggles with the dot for the “i” almost over the “A” of
Armington.

I turn it over.

The flap is seemingly still intact, though it easily
could have been steamed open and re-sealed.

“
Well?” Gibbs is almost salivating
with eagerness.

It dawns on me that there will be no DEA present—at
least not today. Either Gibbs has headed them off at the pass or
they have chosen to ignore Duncan’s request.

“
I’m sorry, Mister Gibbs, but when
we discussed my trip down here, I requested that at least one
member of the Drug Enforcement Administration be present when I
opened this.”

He studies me for a minute through hooded eyes, then
says, “Yes, I remember, Miss Armington, but I can’t believe you
really meant that. Think of Mister Carpenter and what these
revelations, if any, could do to his good name.”

“
That’s exactly what I am
considering, Mister Gibbs. Paul was...”

I start to add that Paul was murdered in cold blood
and though I didn’t witness it, I overheard plans being made for
his death and mine, but there goes the red flag. For some reason, I
decide to save that piece of news until I get a better picture of
this man.

I stand, lean over his desk and into his face. “I
certainly agree that Paul’s good name is at stake, therefore, I do
not intend to open this until the DEA is represented.”

He raises his hand against my onslaught. “I
sincerely apologize for failing to recognize the urgent nature of
your request.”

“
You told me Paul died of a heroin
overdose. To me that indicates some type of criminal action was
going on at his hideaway. That’s why I insisted on having a DEA
agent present.”

“
Oh dear, this is far more grave
than I ever realized. Of course, I have no idea what’s in that
envelope, so, when they called this morning, my secretary told them
it wouldn’t be necessary to send anyone over.”

“
But I felt it was necessary and I
still do. I thought that was our agreement.”

“
It was, it was. But I got to
thinking. What if there’s nothing in that envelope? Then we would
have wasted one or maybe two valuable men and their time. The DEA
is short-handed as it is with all this border mess.”

Though Gibbs has made a valid point, I’m not giving
an inch. “No DEA, no open. Sorry.”

He hides his surprise rather well by raising his
brows and offering a broad smile. “It is I who am sorry, Miss
Armington. I shouldn’t have tried to think for you.”

I check my watch. Still ample time to make the last
flight to Houston. I start to stand and he motions me back to my
chair.

“
I’d like to make this up
somehow.” He shoots me a toothy grin. “If you’ll be a guest in my
home this evening, I promise you will have someone from the DEA to
witness the opening of that envelope first thing in the morning.”
Before I can answer, he says, “My wife, Elvira, is not only a fine
cook, but a wonderful hostess and we’d be honored to have you stay
with us.”

Though it’s not too late to make the last flight,
what would that accomplish? I’d just have to reschedule and, as it
is, I’m booked on a Sunday flight to New York to begin negotiations
with a Dutch group interested in another tank farm on the ship
channel. Fortunately, I always carry the bare necessities in my
briefcase.

I hand the envelope back to Gibbs, still leery of
his hospitality. “I’d rather not impose, thank you. However, I
would like to get this handled now. I have to be in New York by
Monday. If you don’t mind, I’ll get a room at a hotel. I hear La
Posada is very nice.”

He laughs and moves toward a wall safe that is open,
deposits the envelope, and slams it shut. “Fat chance you’d have of
getting a room there. It’s spring and a weekend. I’d be willing to
bet they’ve bussed every other cost-conscious woman in Texas down
here to shop ’til they drop across that damn river.”

Gibbs yells to his secretary to call the hotel and
we stare each other down until she calls out, “Booked solid.”

After Gibbs instructs his secretary to call his wife
and contact the DEA, we take the elevator to the first floor and
head down a darkened hall to the parking lot at the back of his
building. When he points me toward a shiny black Suburban, I can’t
help but smile. Mr. Gibbs is anything but old-school.

Gibbs inches the Suburban past the crowd and away
from the center of the city to a pleasant, upscale neighborhood.
After winding through a few streets, he turns into a circular
driveway and stops in front of a two-story stucco with a walled
patio in front.

He escorts me through the wrought-iron gates,
beneath a large elm to double doors that open into a commodious
entry hall. To my surprise the decor belies the exterior of the
home. I assumed Elvira was a Latina and would have such tastes, but
the furnishings and art are highly sophisticated.

The aromas wafting through the house invite us to
the kitchen, where I fully expect to see a woman near Gibbs’s age
bustling over a hot stove. Instead, a tall, curvaceous woman with
jet-black hair turns away from the wall-oven to face us.

Gibbs plants a long kiss on her lips. “Miss
Armington, my wife, Elvira.”

Her engaging smile reveals a row of even, white
teeth. “I’m glad to meet you, Miss Armington. You’re just in time.
The margaritas are in the freezer and the nachos are a minute away
from perfect.”

I warm to her immediately. “Thank you for going to
all this trouble on such short notice.”

“
Not at all. Ray’s secretary
explained the small glitch in your meeting.” She turns to check the
oven. “I hope you’ll take advantage of the delay by enjoying our
guest room and a good, home-cooked meal.”

The Gibbses prove to be lively conversationalists,
well-versed on Valley politics as well as the latest shows in
Manhattan. An unlikely connection since they are practically in
Mexico.

The meal turns out better than billed. No doubt the
margaritas before dinner and the fine bottle of Cabernet to
complement the most delicate cabrito I’ve ever put in my mouth have
something to do with it.

Blaming an attack of sciatica, Ray leaves the two of
us to finish our Port. Since Elvira seems in a chatty mood, I take
advantage of the opportunity to do a little sleuthing. “You two
seem like newlyweds.”

She smiles. “Well, thanks. We’re going on five
years. But it’s the first marriage for both.”

My guess is Ray is pushing sixty-five and, on closer
inspection, Elvira could be in her early forties. Still, it’s
almost a twenty-five-year gap.