Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (8 page)

“
I’m hungry.” I race across the
highway with Paul at my heels. We don’t speak until the coffee’s
poured.

I dump a packet of sweetener in my cup and say,
“Perhaps we should call Susie before we drop by, after all it’s a
school day.”

Paul pulls out his cell phone, punches in a number,
and hands it to me just as Susie answers. “Hi Suze, it’s me.”

“
Oh, Allie, I’m so glad you’re in
town. I need to talk to you. Alone. I have to tell you about
something I saw...” A screaming argument between little boys erupts
in the background and drowns her out, then, “... this afternoon?
The babies go down around two.”

“
I’ll be there.”

I hand the phone back to Paul. “She wants to see me
this afternoon. Too hectic this morning.” I hesitate before asking,
“Do you have a Jeep or something I can use? If not, I can get a
rental.”

“
No need for that. I’ll be your
chauffeur.”

“
Oh, that won’t be necessary. I
can get...” I see the hope in his face fade and hurry to add, “But
I don’t want to interrupt your schedule.”

“
I have no schedule. I can’t leave
the county, the Anacacho practically runs itself, Del takes care of
the cattle, the oil is pipeline injected, and, as of last night...
well, I guess you now know what my ‘business’ was in
Laredo.”

I ignore his whine. “Your open affair with Fanny
could be construed as motive. If I were you, I’d ship that lady out
of Uvalde until we can find Reena’s murderer.”

He gives me a baleful look. “Fanny went to Laredo
this morning.”

“
That’s a relief. Now, do you have
a car or not?” Paul hesitates. “There’s Reena’s.”

Reena’s car? Didn’t Paul say Reena left in her
car?

It’s almost ten by the time we stop before the
double oak doors of the main house at Anacacho.

Paul gets out and says, “Come on in and pick out a
proper sombrero.”

I follow him into the entry, now quiet as a
cloister. Remembering the sound of Reena’s heels clicking across
the tiles, my throat catches. I’ll never hear that husky
drawl—never see those bright blue... Wait a minute here. I remind
myself what hell Reena made of my life.

Paul heads through the living room toward the back
of the house with me close behind. I stop dead in my tracks.
Reena’s “little” art collection fills the once-empty space above
the refectory table, now covered with fragrant peonies.

The O’Keeffe and the Remington sketches are to the
right and slightly below several Salinas oils of bluebonnets and
wind-twisted oak trees.

“
When did this happen?”

He stops and turns. “What?” “Where did these come
from?”

He glances at the wall. “They’ve always hung
there.”

“
That’s funny. When I was here in
January Reena made a big deal about her collection being
stolen.”

“
Is that what she told you? The
pictures were stolen?” Paul shakes his head. “That bitch never
missed a chance for high drama.”

“
Well, maybe she didn’t say
‘stolen,’ but I remember she jumped all over Miguel about
it.”

“
I don’t know how he put up with
her. It’s true the pictures weren’t hanging in January. Just after
Thanksgiving I sent the collection to San Antonio to be cleaned and
re-appraised. While they were down, I had the living room
re-painted.”

The ride into the Anacacho Mountains is quite
different from our last. This time we’re going to see where Reena
died.

We make our way through the mesquite and low scrub.
Most of the wildflowers are past blooming, but here and there a
bright orange paintbrush waves in the whispering breeze.

The sun beats down and dust curls upward behind
Paul’s horse and settles around me in a loamy cloak. I’m grateful
for Reena’s wide-brimmed straw, anchored firmly beneath my chin by
its leather strap. In the distance a dove calls, answered by its
mate. It’s hard to envision how Reena died amid all this serenity.
Her pale skin burned black, her eyes picked clean by the
buzzards.

Who could have hated her so besides myself? Paul,
certainly, but I can’t or won’t see the murderer in him. Besides,
he wouldn’t be dumb enough to do her in at his favorite hideaway.
It’s obvious someone is trying to frame him—someone who knows him
well.

Could it be Del? The Carpenters took land away from
the Dardens and then discovered oil on it. That’s enough to make
anybody murdering mad, but mad enough to kill the woman he once
loved in order to frame Paul? No. Not Del. And certainly not Susie.
Even if she wished Reena dead, she wouldn’t have time to commit
murder. Not with that string of kids to wrangle.

We dismount at the lean-to and Paul points toward a
copse of mesquite. “If you’re looking for the murder site it’s
behind those bushes over there. They found her at the watering
trough.”

When we get past the underbrush, I see staked yellow
tape filled with the never-ending print: “CRIME SCENE DO NOT
CROSS,” swaying and flapping in the tiny gusts of late spring
wind.

I try to imagine Reena’s last moments in this
desolate spot. Did she struggle? Try to run? I can almost see her
staring upward into the beating sun since there was little shade to
shield her fair skin or protect her from the ever-circling
scavengers.

Paul stands behind me, hands on my shoulders. “Don’t
waste your tears. Reena was a low-class slut. Slept with every man
that set foot on this ranch. Guest or hand, it didn’t matter
who.”

I step away as indignation jams my craw. “For Pete’s
sake, Paul, we’re standing where Reena was murdered. How can you
say such things?”

“
Because, it’s the truth; bad as
it sounds, it’s the truth.”

He tries to draw me to him, but I turn my face away
from his. “Don’t. Not here.”

“
Okay, okay.” He releases his hold
and starts toward the lean-to. “I’m going for cold water. Want
some?”

I nod, then turn to check around the trough, hoping
there might be something—anything the sheriff ’s men might have
overlooked.

Day-glo pink spray paint marks the outline of
Reena’s body, her arms flung wide and her feet pointing toward the
trough. But she didn’t ride—didn’t have a horse to water. Who drew
her up here? And away from the lean-to? Someone.

“
Puzzling, isn’t it?” Paul’s voice
jerks me around. “Reena didn’t ride and the only way up here is on
horseback.” He hands me a cold bottle of water, then drains
his.

I toss my head back and let the cool liquid trickle
down my parched throat. “Yes, ‘puzzling’ is the perfect word.”

I point in the direction of the lean-to. “How did
you get the materials up here to build a lean-to?”

“
Helicopter. This flat area makes
a perfect landing site.”

I hand him my empty bottle, then roll up my right
sleeve and plunge my arm into the trough.

Paul quickly steps forward to stop me, voice steely.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That water can be pretty gross.
Horse saliva is riddled with germs.”

The look on his face makes me hesitate. I
straighten, wiping my hand on my jeans. “Maybe you should empty it.
There could be evidence.”

Paul gives me a strained smile. “I’ll be sure to
mention that the next time I see the sheriff.” He squints skyward,
then says, “Let’s get out of here before the heat gets us.”

IT’S JUST PAST TWO as I gun Reena’s red Mercedes SL
down the rutted lane and up the hill to Del and Susie’s ranch
house. The Darden spread is small for this part of Texas, about
10,000 acres in mostly scrub. At best it takes a couple of acres to
support one grazing animal.

The rambling, wood house stands beneath a cluster of
old oaks carefully nurtured to maturity by Del’s grandfather. A
wide porch with rocking chairs and tables circles the entire
structure affording an elevated view of the land below.

Susie once complained the house was so old it
couldn’t be air-conditioned. Despite large windows and wide doors,
her only relief was a ceiling fan in every room.

My dear friend exits the front door and runs down
the steps. We hug hard and long, then she says, “I see you’re
driving Reena’s prized possession.”

“
Paul loaned it to me. The other
option was using him as a chauffeur.”

“
Guess he doesn’t have much to do
these days, does he?”

I’m about to say that Fanny Hansen is keeping him
more than occupied when Susie grabs my hand, pulls me up to the
front door and inside the hall.

She points toward the living room, then starts
toward the kitchen. “I made lemonade. Have a seat. I’ll be right
back.”

The sagging furniture suffers from age and the
onslaughts of four growing boys, the only exception being a large
late-model television on a dolly. Beneath the television, toys
spill out of a large, wooden box and several plastic G.I. Joes peek
from beneath two stained easy chairs and their ottomans.

I notice a bassinet placed near one worn arm of the
sofa and tiptoe over to see my namesake. There before me is a
perfect round head shrouded in dark curls, one thumb jamming a
rosebud mouth and a diapered rear poking toward the ceiling. Little
Allie is a vision to behold. I touch one tiny toe, then watch as
she draws her knees more tightly beneath her and sucks hard on her
thumb, until she drops into deep sleep.

Susie’s at my side. “Allie’s been a love from the
beginning. It’s Donny that’s driving me bonkers. Fourteen months
and he’s not sleeping through. Misses my breast, I guess. Thank the
Lord he’s still crawling. If he could walk I’d be a goner.” She
shoves a glass of lemonade in my hand. “I just got him down when I
heard the car. That gives us a good two hours.”

We settle on the couch, Susie closest to the
bassinet, and sip our drinks in silence. The breeze floating gently
though the open doors and windows seems almost chilly and she leans
to pull a coverlet over the baby. “Del tells me you went up to the
murder site. How bad was it?”

“
Grim. They outlined her body in
Day-glo pink. You remember how Reena hated the sun? She was up
there days before they found her.”

Susie shudders and hugs herself. “I hear they beat
the buzzards away. Who do you think killed her?”

“
Could have been anyone.” “Well,
it wasn’t Del.”

“
Of course it wasn’t. Del wouldn’t
hurt a fly.” I decide to press. “You said you wanted to tell me
something?”

She shoots me a veiled look. “Did I?”

“
Well, I might have misunderstood.
The boys were making such a racket...” I think back over our brief
telephone conversation. I need to talk to you. Alone. I have to
tell you about something I saw... I’m sure that’s what she
said.

“
I was probably speaking to the
boys. They can make such a ruckus.”

No use in pursuing. Susie won’t give it up, at least
not now. “So, how is Del?”

She turns away to fuss with the baby’s coverlet. “On
overload. I’m afraid little Allie is the last straw.”

Their first son, Darrell Royal Darden, was named for
the well-known Longhorn coach Del worshipped. He was followed by
Dawson. It seemed for a while that the two boys were enough, then
after a brief production hiatus, David and Donald arrived in quick
succession and, now, little Allie.

Five children in seven years. Reena’s sarcastic,
“You’d think she’d figure out what causes them,” echoes.

Susie turns toward the bassinet, spends more than
enough time straightening the coverlet over Allie’s bottom, then
her body lurches.

“
Del never really loved me.” She
chokes on her words. “It was always Reena.”

I scoot to circle her with my arms. “Oh, Susie, I’m
so sorry.” “He never looked my way until Reena dumped him.”

“
And you were wonderful to him,
Suze. I think he might have ended his life if you hadn’t taken him
under your wing.”

“
We were happy in the beginning.
Darrell Royal was the light of Del’s life. Luckily, Paul and Reena
were gone most of the time.

“
After our second son was born,
Del said he didn’t want any more children. Said he would never be
able to make ends meet. He made me promise.

“
Everything was fine until Del
started skipping dinner whenever Paul was away. I don’t know why he
thought I wouldn’t figure it out. You can’t miss the sound of that
jet.”

She sees the shock on my face and says, “I know
adding three more mouths to our pitiful existence was stupid, but
it was the only way I knew to keep him.”

The baby’s cry pulls Susie to her feet and over the
bassinet. “You awake, Little Allie? Come meet your godmother.” She
lifts the baby and places her in my arms.

The warmth of my namesake’s tiny body against mine
makes me ache with longing for my lost baby, but I manage to say,
“She’s beautiful.”

I rock her until her tiny mouth begins to nudge my
breast while her free hand joins in the search. My thready voice
betrays me. “You better take her, she’s hungry.”

Susie retrieves Allie, and in one quick motion,
releases her breast to her daughter, then coos, “This makes it
worth it all.”

I see peace replace sorrow with each suckle until
the face of a Madonna looks up. “Don’t you feel like you’re missing
out not having children?”

Her question is a heat-seeking missile. Steel bands
cut into my chest making it impossible to breathe and I lower my
head to conceal my anguish.

“
Allie? Are you all
right?”

“
Indigestion. I ate too many of
Adelena’s tacos for lunch. Big mistake.”