Death in Donegal Bay (14 page)

“I thought you might need some muscle. Have you seen that man I just talked with before now?”

He nodded. “He stayed at the motel last night. I couldn’t get his name. He must be a fighter, or was. Did you notice the scar tissue over his eyes?”

“He was a fighter,” I said. “His name is Chico Maracho. Is this the first time he’s been at Mike’s place?”

“First time here. Mike came over to the motel last night to talk with him, though.”

“Was there somebody with Mike when he came, a young fellow?”

“Nobody. Why?”

“I think Mike’s picked up a couple of partners. You report that to Alan Baker. Aren’t you following Felicia anymore?”

He shook his head. “Anthony is my new assignment. Tell me, guru, am I supposed to know what’s going on—or just follow orders?”

“That would depend on how long you want to live.”

“Hey, Brock! That’s a joke, isn’t it?”

“Mostly. How are you eating? Not at Mike’s, are you?”

“When he’s not there, I can go in. I brought a lot of stuff from home. I don’t like this case. But it pays so well!”

Jeff was now leaving the Anchor and walking up the road toward his shop. I told Corey, “That’s one of Mike’s new partners. His name is Jeff Randolph. His girl friend’s name is Laura Prescott. They run that fishing shop next to the real-estate office. Put that in your report to Baker. He’ll think you’re earning your keep. I’m going to try to talk both of them out of teaming up with Anthony, but don’t tell Baker that.”

“And that Maracho; how does he fit into the picture?”

“That’s what I hope to find out. Is Kronen still in town?”

“I haven’t seen him around his morning. But he stayed at the motel last night. Maybe he changed cars.”

“Maybe. Well, I have to make a phone call. Hang in there.”

“Right! Hey, Brock, we’re partners again, huh?”

I nodded. “I am now on your payroll. I’ll try to keep an honest record of my expenses.”

I left him with that sobering thought and went back to Duane’s office. I phoned Bernie from there. I asked him, “Do you have any cop friends in Tijuana?”

“A couple. Why?

“There’s an ex-pug named Chico Maracho who used to run a boxing gym down there. He now claims to be in land development. I would like the true word on him.”

“Why?”

“That’s private. But it might help to put Farini in the soup.”

“Are you home?”

“No.” I gave him Duane’s number.

Angry words came through the thin wall again between me and the store. Then Jeff went storming out. A minute later, I heard the sound of a dune buggy revving in the soprano range. I walked over to find Laura still sitting in the wicker rocker. But now she was crying, her face in her hands.

“He’ll be back,” I said.

She shook her head. She didn’t look up.

“He’ll be back,” I repeated, “unless he’s a damned fool.”

She looked up. “He is. Do you know what he told me? We’ll use the boat for charter fishing in the daytime. Mike will be using it nights. Not every night, but nights. He must think I’m stupid.”

“Did you ask him what Mike was going to use it for at night?”

“I did. He told me that was none of our business. If a renter brings back a boat in good condition, he said, what he does with it is none of our business.”

“I hope he doesn’t try to sell that story to the narcotic cops. Did you ask him about that man who picked him up in the Cadillac?”

She shook her head. “Will he be their source?”

“He could be. He lives in Tijuana. I’m having him checked out right now. Do you have the boat yet?”

“No. Jeff’s still dickering. The man wants twenty-seven thousand dollars for it.”

“Which leaves twenty-three thousand of extra money. How will Jeff explain that to Felicia?”

“He told her the rest was needed to repair the pier and make it longer, so the water would be deep enough for the boat. That was a lie. The water’s deep enough now for where he plans to moor the boat. He tried to make me believe it wasn’t. Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Couldn’t you appeal to his parents?”

“They’re traveling in Europe. He never got along with them. Uncle Duane is closer to Jeff than they are. And now Jeff’s not even speaking to him.”

“Did Jeff take any money with him when he went to Mike’s?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Because sources like to be paid in advance when they deal with small operators. You keep the faith, Laura. Your Uncle Duane and I will handle Jeff, even if we have to tie him to a post.”

I was in Duane’s office, reading his copy of the
Wall Street Journal,
when he came back.

“Lookers,” he said. “Looky-lous, we call ’em. They’re all lookers today, but nobody can afford to buy since the interest rates went crazy. Where is it going to end?”

“According to this tip sheet I’m reading, no end is in sight.” I gave him the story of my adventures during his absence.

He frowned. “Maracho. The last I read, he was running a crummy gym for club fighters down in Tijuana.”

“Not anymore, according to him. He claims to be in land development now.”

“Chico Maracho in land development? He’s even dumber than Mike! Hey, wait, you’re not thinking narcotics? Not Jeff. No way!”

“Let’s hope not. I phoned a cop friend of mine in San Valdesto. I’m waiting for his return call. He has police friends in Tijuana and I asked him to get me a line on Maracho.”

Duane said quietly, “Not Jeff. Dear God, not Jeff! Not if he knows what he is getting into.” He picked up the needle-pointed letter opener from his desk. “If Mike gets that kid involved in narcotics, he’ll wind up with this in his throat.”

“Easy, Duane. Remember what your doctor told you.”

He took a deep breath.

I said, “I have some trivial good news for you. Jan is cutting her profit to the bone on you.”

“Of course,” he said. “She’s
Jan.
Felicia thinks I’m a tightwad and so does Daphne. I’m doing okay, but I’m no Rockefeller. And if this ticker of mine runs out, I don’t want Daphne to have to go back to erotic dancing.”

“Is your heart that bad?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Doctors make everything sound serious. How else can they con you into believing they are earning their exorbitant fees?”

The phone rang. Duane picked it up, said “Hello” and then “Yes.” He handed me the phone.

It was Vogel. “About this Chico Maracho, he’s had two arrests for assault, no convictions. He had one arrest for statutory rape with no conviction. And one for possession of cocaine, three months in the can plus three months’ probation.”

“Thanks, Bernie.”

“There’s one more tidbit that might interest you,” he added. “Max Kronen was down there a couple of days ago asking around about Maracho. Is that how he’s tied up with Farini?”

“I think so,” I lied. I knew Bernie wouldn’t have any interest in Allingham.

“You keep me informed, Brock.”

“Don’t I always?” I said, and hung up.

I
REPEATED THE ITEMS
on the rap sheet to Duane.

“Those could apply to a lot of pugs today,” he said, “including the cocaine. But I’d better warn Jeff.”

“Wait until you cool off,” I suggested. “There’s no rush. He hasn’t bought the boat yet. Maybe you should talk with Mike about it.”

He shook his head. “I’ve said my last word to him. I’ll talk with Laura. She’s got more brains than Jeff and Mike together. Are you going home now?”

“After I talk with Corey. Stay cool now. Remember what the doctor told you.”

I was on the porch and about to turn toward Duane’s parking lot at the back of the building when I saw a gray Volvo parked about a hundred feet down the road.

Had Max been watching us? I went down there. He looked embarrassed when I reached the car.

“How was your trip to Mexico?” I asked. “Have fun?”

He glared up at me. “Who told you about that?”

“Farini,” I said. “He had you followed. You never should have dumped him. Once he learned that you didn’t have a wife, he turned really mean.”

“Who told him that?”

“I did.”

“What is it with you?” he asked. “Do you get your kicks out of bugging me? Jesus, there has to be some kind of sickness in you. I’ll bet you’re one of them pathological liars. You lie even when you don’t get paid for it.”

“It’s the chronic disease of our trade,” I explained. “Good hunting, Max.”

Corey was still sitting in his car when I pulled up on the other side of the street from him. He looked weary.

“This is the boring part,” I told him, “this sitting and waiting. You should have brought something to read.”

“I listen to the radio,” he said. “Kronen’s in town. I saw his car go past about half an hour ago.”

“I know. I’ve just finished talking with him. Why don’t you get that taillight fixed? It’s a dead giveaway.”

“They want too much for those lenses.”

“What do you care? Put it on the expense account.”

“I never thought of that! Are you going to stay in town tonight?”

“Nope. You don’t need me. Kronen won’t bother you anymore.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me,” he said. “I have this feeling that I’m in over my head.”

“It’s a feeling we share,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Driving home, I thought back to Max’s complaint. He had a point; I had gone out of my way to bug him. I was sure he had cut more corners in the trade than I had. But with four employees on his payroll, he was forced to cut more corners. To maintain a reasonable standard of ethics in this sordid profession, office expenses must be cut to the minimum.

It was almost noon now and I hadn’t had lunch. My stomach was stronger today; I consumed two cheeseburgers and a malt at Hannah’s without distress.

And where now? Felicia might be able to talk some sense into Jeff. She was his benefactor. There was also the possibility that she was his partner. Duane was our best hope to save Jeff.

Lucy, Lucy, where was that missing link? She had sent money to Luther and corresponded with him, but had not come down to arrange his funeral. Perhaps that decision had not been hers.

If what Luther had known about Farini had caused his death, Lucy had been his informant. The knowledge she had must have implicated Allingham. Why else would he have sent her away? And as the judicial assemblage at Rubio’s Rendezvous had decided, the motive for the untimely demise of Luther Barnum was not his secret knowledge of complicated financial shenanigans.

The biggest threat to a man so obsessed with his pseudo-Puritan morality would be an attack on his own morality. Where was Lucy?

I was driving up Reservoir Road, heading for home, when I realized that only one person in town might know about Lucy’s background, and I was about to drive past his house. I turned in at the Baker driveway.

Alan answered the door and looked at me coldly. “If you came to see Felicia,” he said, “she isn’t home.”

“Why would I come here to see Felicia? Make sense, man!”

“She told me about the tête-à-tête at your house. She told me about that lie you told her.”

“What lie?”

“That I had hired that Kronen character to check out Mike Anthony.”

I said calmly, “The lie was hers, not mine. I told her Farini had hired Kronen and that Kronen had switched to Allingham. I told Farini the same thing—and I am sure he told you.” I smiled at him. “That’s not why you’re miffed. There was no hanky-panky, Alan. Our housekeeper was home.”

He said stiffly, “The thought of hanky-panky never entered my mind.”

“Like hell it didn’t. I am a happily married man and I intend to stay that way. I came here for only one reason. I am trying to locate Lucy Barnum. I hoped you might be able to help me with that.”

He looked surprised. “Did she quit her job?”

“No. She is supposed to be vacationing in Hawaii, but I have reason to believe that isn’t true. My only interest in this stinking mess is to find out who killed Luther. I thought you might know of some friends or relatives she might have gone to.”

He was quiet, possibly considering how much truth he could reveal without self-incrimination. Then: “Both her parents were killed in an automobile accident while she was still working for us. I don’t know of any other relatives, except for Luther. Her parents lived in Florian. She had one friend she used to write to down there.” He frowned. “What was her name? It was a weird one. I remember now; it was Delilah. I’ve forgotten her last name. She was a school librarian.”

“Thanks,” I said. “How is Corey working out?”

“Satisfactorily. I’ll say this for him, he’s got something more than muscle going for him.”

“True,” I admitted. “But it was cruel of you to say it. You don’t realize how sensitive I am. Take care, Alan.”

Delilah somebody. Florian was a settlement of about twelve hundred citizens in the Ojai Valley. How many school librarians could there be named Delilah in a one-school town?

It was less than an hour’s drive from here, but school was out for the summer, and it might take some lengthy and discreet questioning to learn Delilah’s last name and her address. The next day would serve as well. The morning would be cooler in the Ojai Valley.

Jan had to attend a Children’s Home Society meeting that night. I spent the evening reviewing on paper all the things I had learned or suspected since Alan’s initial phone call.

The adversaries were more distinct now, their animosities more evident. But the motive for the murder of Luther Barnum was still shrouded. There was always the off chance that it had no connection with the Allingham-Baker feud. Murder for a wide variety of reasons was not uncommon on lower Main Street.

A heavy fog rolled in that night; a hazy overcast lingered when I took off for Florian. The gloom of the overcast was a welcome change. The Ojai Valley has been setting new heat records this summer.

The town was only about three miles from the freeway exit. The homes were small, but not tract houses. The original inhabitants had migrated from New England and were immune to the California mass merchandising disease.

I drove to the school first to learn if there were summer sessions. There weren’t. From there, I drove to the only filling station in town.