Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (33 page)

He looks down at his notes again. “So you
made the assumption then?”

“
No. Not until Mister
Gibbs asked Mister Darden if he’d recently heard a small plane fly
over.”

“
And Mister Darden replied
that he had not?” “Yes.”

“
Since you didn’t see
Mister Gibbs behind the wheel of the Suburban that wrecked your
plane, isn’t it possible that his Suburban could have met with an
unfortunate accident someplace else?”

I shrug.

The Judge leans over the bench. “You have to
answer for the court reporter.”

“
I suppose.”

Smoothy’s teeth gleam like a wolf on his
prey. “And that Mister Gibbs was only paying a neighborly call? And
it’s entirely possible he and his Suburban were never near the
airstrip? And that you’re only supposing the conversation between
my client and Mister Darden was related to your accident?”

The federal prosecutor jumps up. “Objection,
Your Honor, Counselor’s badgering the witness.”

“
Sustained. Counselor. One
question at a time.”

“
My client never referred
to the accident, did he?” “No.”

He raises his hand and smiles his
smooth-toothy grin. “No further questions for this witness, Your
Honor.”

Damn him. He’s left me twisting in the wind.
I check the twelve men and women to my left. Most have their heads
bowed taking notes.

Panicked, I look to the prosecutor, who
stands. “Redirect, Your Honor?”

When the Judge nods, he picks up a large
poster board and places it on an adjacent easel. It is the diagram
of the airstrip, the Darden ranch, and Anacacho.

He traces the dotted line representing the
dirt road that runs from the hangar and airstrip, behind the Darden
Ranch, to the Anacacho barns. “The distance from the airstrip to
the Dardens’ barn taking this back road is approximately?”

“
One mile. Maybe a little
more.”

Smoothy jumps in. “Objection, Your Honor,
we’ve already been through this.”

“
Background, Your Honor,
that directly pertains to and lays the predicate for this witness’s
testimony.”

“
Don’t take too long.
Overruled.”

“
And from the Darden barn
to the Darden back door?” “Half a mile at the most.”

The federal prosecutor then points to the
exit from the airstrip to the county road. “And if one were to
travel to the Dardens’ on the county road, how far would that
be?”

“
It’s at least a mile down
the airstrip road to the county road, then maybe a mile and a half
to the Darden gate and almost another mile to the
house.”

“
That’s approximately
three and a half miles?”

“
Objection.” Smoothy jumps
up. “Puleese, Your Honor. We’ve heard all this before.”

“
Overruled.”

“
Now, Miss Armington, in
your previous testimony you told us that the Suburban backed away
from the wreckage of the plane and exited down the paved road to
the county road. Is that correct?”

“
Yes.”

“
Then you said that when
you discovered the two other people inside the plane were badly
injured, you set off on foot on the back way to the Darden
ranch.”

“
Yes.”

“
It took about half an
hour or so to make the distance.” “Yes.”

“
Very well. Now, once you
arrived at the back of the Darden house. You told us...”

The federal prosecutor flips through the
yellow pad and reads, “I went back down the steps and proceeded up
the side of the house to the front steps. Then I saw the Suburban.
I went over, saw the condition of the grill and felt the hood.”

“
Your Honor? Who’s
testifying here?” Smoothy’s face is jammed with
exasperation.

“
Overruled.”

The federal prosecutor shoots me a smile
before he continues. “And I went back to the living room side of
the house. The windows were open. I could hear Mister Darden
talking with his guest.”

He looks at me and I nod. “That’s
right.”

“
Then you said you
immediately recognized the guest’s voice.”

I nod vigorously. “Oh, yes. It was Mister
Gibbs.”

Smoothy starts to rise, but the Judge
motions him to sit.

“
And you said, ‘Gibbs said
he saw their lights and decided to take advantage of the Dardens’
hospitality. I remember being startled that he said such a thing.
It’s impossible to see those lights from the road.’”

Smoothy jumps up. “Objection. Hearsay.”

“
We will corroborate in
Mister Darden’s testimony, Your Honor. He’s to be called next.”
“Overruled.”

The federal prosecutor flicks his free hand
in Smoothy’s direction. “In his cross, Counselor suggested to you
that Mister Gibbs might have been paying the Dardens a neighborly
call.”

I nod. “He did.”

“
What do you term
‘neighbor’ to mean?”

“
Someone who lives next
door, or down the street.”

“
But, as we know, some
Texans will travel miles to visit a neighboring ranch. Is that not
so?”

“
Yes.”

“
Knowing where the Dardens
live, would you consider Mister Gibbs a neighbor?” “No.”

“
And why is
that?”

“
Mister Gibbs lives in
Laredo.”

I see Gibbs redden. He’s forgotten about my
little visit. The prosecutor grins as his brows arch. “I believe
you were once an overnight guest of Mister Gibbs and his wife.”

I smile. “Yes. April of this year.”

If Elvira could shoot, I would be dead.

Smoothy’s mouth pops open, then he leans
into Gibbs, his back to us. He shakes his head, then turns to write
something on his legal pad.

The prosecutor glows a “we-got-him” look.
“Thank you, Miss Armington.” He smiles at the jurors as he passes
in front of them and resumes his seat. He turns to the defense.
“Your witness.”

Smoothy doesn’t look up from his scribbling.
“No further questions.”

“
Thank you, Miss
Armington. You may stand down.”

I nod and make my way down the center aisle
toward the exit to the hallway as the bailiff calls Del to the
stand. Just as I push through the swinging doors, Del meets me and
gives me a “thumbs up” look as we pass.

As I head for the room that’s been
designated for the U.S. witnesses, talons clamp my arm, and I look
into Elvira Gibbs’s anger.

She mutters, “Paul Carpenter is dead. You
can thank yourself for that.”

My heart falls away as my last hope dies,
but I recover enough to spit back, “I’m not surprised. Paul was
dead the minute he sniffed his first line.”

Her eyes widen, then narrow as a mean smile
begins. “You’re a tougher bitch than I thought. But don’t think
you’re done. If my man goes to prison, you will pay.”

I smile back. “Oh, he’ll go and so will his
cousin. And if the Feds can get some more goods on you, you’ll be
next.” With each word I speak, her talons relax.

When she turns to go, I grab her arm and
pull her toward me as I jam my right hand into my purse and close
it over the grip of my Beretta. “Don’t move quite yet. I have a
message for you to deliver.”

She pales as I push the concealed barrel
into her ribs and whispers, “You’re crazy. You wouldn’t dare shoot
me in here.”

I step away. “Of course not. I just want you
to thank Ramón for returning my weapon. Tell him I plan to carry it
with me. Always.”

Elvira studies me for a few seconds, then
brushes by, leaving me to enjoy my small triumph.

One of the guards touches my shoulder. “Miss
Armington? The car is waiting to take you to the airport.”

Virginia Abercrombie and Guida
Jackson Laufer, who first believed in me. With a special nod to my
paternal grandmother, Alice G. Brogniez, whose handwritten
manuscript became the 576-page published novel
And Yet They Were Brothers
.

The Tuesday Writers Consortium, who
listened, critiqued, and nurtured. Dear friends who read and
encouraged. John Duncan for invaluable information on the Piper
Cub. Attorneys Jack Campbell and Tom Martin Davis for legal
expertise. Joan Cramer Wilson, MSW, for technical assistance with
the psychological issues. Vanessa Leggett for “pace and place”
editing. Patsy Burk for suggesting Dan Poynter’s Publishing
Workshop, where I met Ellen Reid of Smarketing. Ellen, together
with Dotti Albertine, Laren Bright, Brookes Nohlgren and Bill
Frank, transformed my dream into reality.

LOUISE GAYLORD is the
award-winning author of
Xs,
second in the Allie Armington
Mystery series, and the novel
Julia
Fairchild.
A world traveler and oper a
buff, Louise divides her time between Houston, Texas; Santa
Barbara, California; and Old Forge, New York, in the Adirondacks.
She is currently at work on the third book in the Allie Armington
Mystery series.

Photo of the author by Priscilla

www.santabarbaraseen.com

www.louisegaylord.com