Dog Gone Lies (Pacheco & Chino Mysteries Book 1) (19 page)

It hadn’t been two hours, but Betty decided she would go back to the room anyway. She hated for Monica to wake up alone. Once inside, she heard Monica in the shower. Betty sat down and just stared into space. Monica was out in a few minutes. She only had on a towel, so Betty found her a robe.

“What should we do now?”

“Not sure, Betty. I’m sorry to get you involved in this—I just didn’t know what to do. Thought about calling Mike, but I don’t know what he can do. At this point I just want to hide for a while until I’m sure who I can ask for help.”

“Well, the people at the hotel in T or C are going to know you’re missing. And the place with your car will know you didn’t show up—so they’re going to contact the police, which means there’ll be some kind of investigation, right?”

“Yeah. It’s the sheriff’s department in T or C. But they’ll know I’m gone and that I wouldn’t just leave without my stuff and my car, so they have to assume there was foul play, right? Do you think they’ll find bodies in the woods? Mrs. Richards, and maybe at least one of those goons?”

“Well, if they find bodies, will they figure out that you escaped with her car? If they think you got away, they might figure you headed to El Paso, and that could lead them right to this hotel. But that could lead the bad guys here, too. Maybe staying here isn’t a good idea.”

“Betty, the first thing is you need to go home. You aren’t connected with this and you need to stay away from me.”

“No way am I leaving you alone. Look, I can go to the bank down the street and cash a check. We can make a reservation for two under assumed names right here in the hotel. We pay cash and just stay more or less in our room for a few days. I think that’s safer than trying to figure out some place else to be.”

“Oh Betty, I don’t know. I’m so worried I just can’t think straight.”

“Look, nobody in this hotel will pay any attention to us. Tomorrow, after all of the dog show people leave, we’ll just blend in—nobody will bother us. After a few days we can decide what to do next, okay?”

“I guess so.” Monica smiled a weak smile and began to cry again. She felt like such a baby.

They put their plan into action and everything went smoothly. They had a new room on the tenth floor and just stayed in the room watching TV and reading. They talked a lot about their lives and about how things hadn’t gone as they’d planned. Betty called her daughter and told her she was staying an extra couple of days in El Paso to do some shopping and sightseeing. She hoped her daughter didn’t hear the fear in her voice.

Monica called Mike, but got his voice mail and decided not to leave a message. Maybe it was best if she was missing. She hated that her family wouldn’t know what had happened to her, but she was too scared to call anyone. They fell into a routine over the next couple of days and it started to feel normal, the hiding.

They went out one day and Monica bought some clothes and personal items. Being away from the hotel made them anxious—it felt like everyone was watching them—but nothing bad happened. No one seemed to pay them any attention at all, but that didn’t lessen the overpowering fear—it never seemed to stop.

“I think we need to leave. Don’t ask me why. We have to get out of here, now.” It might have been claustrophobia talking, or some blind instinct, but the feeling was real.

Betty agreed, but she wanted to call her daughter and let her know she was okay and Monica agreed that she should. Betty would tell her she was taking a little trip and not to worry. She would call her during the day and more than likely wouldn’t get her—she’d just leave a message. She was afraid that if they talked she might start crying. They’d been crying a lot.

They debated about what to do afterward. Betty thought they should contact the local police, or maybe even the FBI. Monica said she wanted to talk to her son first before she contacted anyone. She suggested that they drive back into New Mexico. She knew a place in Cloudcroft, outside of Alamogordo in the Sacramento Mountains, called The Lodge.

“This place is beautiful. I was there once for a wedding. The best part is it’s remote, and not a common destination. It’s probably about two hours from here and completely isolated. We can take a direct route from El Paso to Alamogordo without getting on any interstates or main highways. I can’t imagine anyone finding us there. We’ll need to get some more cash, and then call to make reservations—maybe get traveler’s checks. Do they still have those? We can use our own first names and say we are sisters having a retreat. Pick a last name like Smith. I know that sounds stupid, but Smith is a common name. So we would be Betty and Monica Smith, sisters from Houston having a family retreat.”

“Okay. Let’s get going before we change our minds.”

“Great. First, I’m going to the bank downtown and get some cash or traveler’s checks. We don’t want to use a credit card, since they—whoever in the hell
they
is—might be able to track us. I’ll be back in an hour or so. You get us packed.”

Monica left and quickly walked the few blocks to one of the large banks in downtown El Paso. She wrote a check for about everything she had in her checking account. Luckily, when she had left the room in T or C she had grabbed her wallet so she would have her ID, and she had some emergency checks in the wallet. They verified her identification and called her bank to verify her balance. She thought that might leave a trail, but it would only point to El Paso. She requested some in cash and the majority in traveler’s checks—which were still available, and didn’t seem to be an unusual request, at least at this bank. She thought it might have something to do with being close to the border.

Monica headed back to the hotel. Feeling a little like a thief with all the money in her purse, she chuckled at the thought that she was stealing her own money. Back in the room, Betty had everything packed. Monica got a cart and loaded the luggage, mostly Betty’s. They exited the hotel into the parking garage and found Betty’s car, a fairly new Honda minivan. Betty wanted Monica to drive since she wasn’t familiar with El Paso and didn’t know how to find the road to Cloudcroft.

They didn’t check out of the hotel—didn’t need to since they’d paid in advance. In fact they had another day paid for, but thought it was best to just forget the money and leave. Fear was driving all of their decisions. Mostly they wanted to get on the road and feel safe again.

Betty found a map of the area in the glove compartment. She told Monica the road they were looking for was Highway 54. They had gotten onto I-10 at the downtown on-ramp, and almost as soon as Betty mentioned the highway they needed they saw a sign for their exit. In a matter of minutes they were on the right road, headed north to Alamogordo.

As they proceeded on Highway 54, they began to relax and smile a little. Each mile away from El Paso made them feel safer. In a strange way, it started to feel like an adventure. The drive to Alamogordo was faster than they’d anticipated. They drove straight through town, stopping only to refuel. Their next objective was Highway 82, which would take them up the mountain to Cloudcroft, and they found the turnoff easily.

If it had been a direct shot up the mountain it probably wouldn’t have taken long, but with all of the turns and switchbacks it took some time to reach the top. Once they arrived, they found a small village with a few shops and restaurants and a prominent sign pointing the way to The Lodge. Their climb had taken them up to about 9,000 feet elevation. There were large pine trees and the air was cool. They were in the mountains—safe.

When they pulled up to The Lodge it seemed even more impressive than Monica had remembered. It was a large Victorian structure with many windows, reminiscent of a ski lodge but with more refinement. Obviously a historical structure, it had beautiful landscaping, lots of large trees, and a golf course behind the main building. The main lodge had smaller outbuildings scattered around it. Both women felt immediately comfortable with their choice.

The interior was inviting, too. There was an old world charm that made them feel welcome and, more importantly, safe. They checked in using their new identities, and several staff members commented that they had been able to tell immediately that they were sisters. This amused Monica and Betty, making them laugh and feel very welcome. They had requested only one room—sisters needed to be close—and were surprised at the attention to detail they found inside. There were two beds and a small sitting area. The furnishings appeared to be period pieces, either very good reproductions or actual antiques. It was all so charming. They unpacked and went downstairs to have something to eat. There were several areas where food was served: a bar, the main dining room, and a less formal lunch area. They went to the lunch area, mostly because of the large windows and streaming sunshine. The view was of the area behind the lodge, which included a portion of the golf course—it was beautiful.

Monica ordered a chicken salad sandwich and Betty had a grilled cheese with ham. While they hadn’t starved, this was the first day since Monica had arrived at Betty’s hotel room in a frenzy that either of them had felt hungry. Maybe it was the mountain air. Their lunch was delicious and they ordered coffee and lingered at their table.

“What’s the plan now?” Betty broached the subject first, but this was in a different tone then when they’d last discussed their plans—if anyone had been listening, it could have been mistaken for vacation planning. Much of the tension of the last few days was gone.

“I think we just wait a few days. I need to talk to Ed, and also to Mike, then make a decision about who I can trust to help. But for the time being, I think it makes us safer to just wait. Plus this is such a lovely place I’m not anxious to disturb the good feelings.”

“I agree.”

That night the ladies went down to the bar for a couple of drinks before dinner. Betty wasn’t much of a drinker and was talking a little too loud, although Monica didn’t notice much since she was feeling no pain. The next morning they slept in—until almost noon.

The days started to run together. They’d developed the habit of walking most of the golf course in the morning. Neither played, but the views were impressive. And they’d fallen into the habit of having a few drinks before dinner—although not as much as that first night—and being very open with the friendly staff. They started being treated as regulars and receiving special service. They had never felt so important.

On the fourth or fifth night they finally had the “are we lesbians” conversation. This was necessarily preceded by several nightcaps after dinner, which helped inspire an “oh fuck it” attitude. They knew they cared about each other as much as two people could. If there’d been any doubt it had been dispelled by the way Betty had taken care of Monica during her crisis. After a little crying and a little hugging, they realized that they didn’t want to confuse their friendship and love with something romantic. Both women confessed that they would still like to be with a man. This brought many giggles and an occasional all out laugh. It also seemed to lift an unspoken tension that they’d been feeling ever since this aspect of their friendship had first been rumored by the dog show morons. They were the best of friends and knew they could always rely on each other.

The next morning was another sleep-in morning. Betty remarked “a person could get use to this lifestyle pretty quick.”

That day, to break out of their rut, they drove over the mountains to Ruidoso to look around—there were lots of small shops full of useless stuff to look at. They enjoyed the day, but felt somewhat exposed and were happy to return to their hideout.

They’d been at the Lodge for well over a week now. All of the staff knew their names and treated them in a solicitous way. If the money could have never run out they might have just stayed there forever. Of course that couldn’t be. Each of them had family to be concerned about. They each had their dogs to care for and, in Monica’s case, she had to decide how to keep from getting killed. It was time to make some more plans and start dealing with reality.

“You know when I was in T or C right after the tires were slashed, I met a deputy sheriff who seemed very nice. He also was very concerned about my safety. I ignored him because of my concern about who might be involved—but he gave me his card. I’m thinking that maybe a small town sheriff might be the best option to find someone who could give me advice about how to protect myself. What do you think about my calling him?”

“Monica, I don’t know anything about this stuff. What I do know is that you’re going to have to trust someone. We can’t hide out here forever, although it’s a nice thought—the rest of the world won’t let us do that. I’m sure there’s already all kinds of concern about where we are and whether we’re alive or dead—we can’t let our families live with this much longer.”

“Yeah, we’ve kind of stretched this beyond a reasonable time. I think that’s what frightened people do—I believe it’s called acting irrationally. Well, it’s time to end this.”

They smiled at each another. They’d done what they thought was right, and now it was time to move on to the next step. While they were talking, Monica had been digging around in her stuff.

“You know what. That card was in my purse. When I went out to walk Bruce that morning, I grabbed my billfold and put it in my pocket but I’d left my purse in the room. Shit, I don’t remember his name—other than Deputy.”

“Well, you know its T or C sheriff’s office. Just call the main number and describe the guy. Can you describe him?”

“Yeah. He was very handsome. I remember him in some detail.” Monica was grinning.

“Good gracious, Monica. I know there’re nasty old men—are there nasty old women, too?” They had a good laugh.

Monica called information and got the number for the T or C sheriff’s department.

“Sheriff’s department. This is Cindy. How may I help you?”

“Cindy, a few weeks ago a young deputy helped me after I had some car trouble. He gave me his card, but I’ve misplaced it. I’d like to talk to him. He was very handsome, about six-one, with light brown hair cut pretty short and he had blue eyes. Do you know who that would be?”