Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (2 page)

Chapter Two

South Abilene, TX

Day One, Evening

Veronica Ingels, Private Detective

I hit the gas pedal of the lime green Smart Coupe harder than intended and peeled out of the parking lot. With the car's tires screeching, the headlights swept a sheriff's patrol car as it pulled in.

Red and blue lights atop the sedan flashed and the siren flared for a moment. My foot trounced the brake, causing the miniscule car to violently jolt forward and then rock back as it settled.

The sheriff's deputy rolled down his window, turned on his overhead light, and fixed his piercing eyes on me. A grin played at the corners of his mouth. "Careful there, little lady, 'fore you hurt yourself."

Something akin to red ants racing up my spine took me by surprise. Who's he calling little lady? I'd about had it with men today, but this was the law, so I tossed him the sweetest smile I could muster. "Thank you, officer, for keeping an eye out for me."

He tipped his buff-colored Stetson, raised the window, and drove into the mall parking lot.

Half a mile up the road, I pulled the Smart Car to the shoulder and pounded on the steering wheel, sending fiery prickles surging into my already tender palms. Tears streamed down my face. I fought the plastic covering off the phone charger I'd purchased when I landed and punched a speed dial number while my cell phone charged.

A grating voice, thick with a Brooklyn accent, answered. It was as if he was doing the caller a favor by speaking. "Jack Cooney Investigations."

"Jack, I don't know what to do."

"Slow down, babe. I thought you were taking a week off to clear your head." He was the only one who could get away with calling me
babe
, mainly because I hadn't been able to break the big-lout of the habit.

"I was, but when I got here, I found my loving husband groping my so-called best friend."

"Ouch. Sorry, kid, that's gotta hurt real bad."

"He wants a divorce. The two of them stood there looking at me as if I was nobody. Just wanted me to accept the facts." I switched the cell phone to my other ear, my hand shaking so violently I clonked myself in the head. Not a great idea when I already had a pounding headache.

The piercing stabs nearly thrust me into another dimension, or rather, another time. Emotional or physical, I couldn't tell. My mouth went dry as Jack's voice seemed to fade away. Had my mom felt like nothing?

"If I were there, I'd knock some sense into him for you." His voice brought me back.

"I'll bet you would, Jack. But at this point, I don't know if I could forgive him even if he came back on bended knees." I wasn't my mother. Wouldn't put on a brave front for public consumption. Besides, no matter how good an actress she'd been, I always knew something wasn't right. Then out of the blue, when I entered junior high school, Dad asked for a divorce.

"Hey, I know this guy in Bensonhurst. We could put a hit out on him." Jack's cackling laughter pulled me to the present for the second time.

"Get real, Jack." But I couldn't help chuckling at the thought.

"So, kid, what're you going to do?"

"I can't go home. Can't sit in that apartment while he's here with Cassidy. And I sure can't stay with her like I planned. Guess I'll look for a hotel."

"Listen now, I've got an old Army buddy in a one-horse town just outside Abilene. Bet you could stay with him for a while. Alone at a time like this is not good."

We hung up and Jack phoned his buddy, Hoot Dagney, to make the arrangements. As it turned out, the man owned a diner and his breakfast waitress had just taken leave to tend to her ailing mother. The place could use an extra hand and I needed somewhere to lick my wounds and recuperate.

"Hoot, who ever heard of a name like that? Probably as much of a pain as Jack is," I grumbled, tears streaming down my face as I peered at my GPS.

After a half an hour drive into arid rolling-hills, I discovered I'd taken a wrong road somewhere. Overwhelming darkness engulfed me, something us city gals are not used to, or comfortable with. Still, I managed to backtrack and after another half hour found the Chuck Wagon on dusty Main Street in Arroyo, a tiny village named for the dry creek bed circling it.

The diner looked like something transplanted from an old-west frontier town replete with a hitching post outside. I parked in front and killed the headlights. Getting out I smacked my head on the doorframe of the Smart Coupe.

A man in his late fifties, who had an uncanny resemblance to Gabby Hays, stepped from behind the counter. "Welcome to the Chuck Wagon, Veronica, I'm Hoot." He tipped his beat-up prospector's hat. "Bet you're wonderin' how I figured it was you?"

"Is it because I don't have that western look?"

"Rightly so. You're a smart little lady, ain't ya?"

What was it with this
little lady
stuff? "I can't thank you enough for taking me in."

"Well, now, if you're a friend of Jack Cooney's, you're a friend of mine."

"Actually, Jack's my boss, but a friend as well. And by the way, Jack calls me Ronnie."

"Ronnie it is." Hoot grinned. "There's somethin' about you makes me think you're not Jack's secretary neither."

"Jack doesn't have a secretary. Scared a few away, but no, he hired me as a private eye."

Hoot pushed his hat back on his head and pulled it forward, revealing thinning hair on his crown. "If he hired you, I know you're good."

I settled in. The tiny bedroom, on the second floor, near the back stairs, featured a twin bed with a chintz floral spread and a small window covered with a similar but not matching calico print curtain. Not my style, but it was neat and clean, and the bed didn't sag.

Bertha, the lunch and dinner waitress, who brought to mind the classic war-movie saying
Big Bertha
, occupied the larger middle bedroom. As I settled in for the night, through the wall, I heard her humming some melody I didn't recognize. Perhaps an old folk tune or spiritual. Kinda hokey, but also strangely comforting.

Hoot and his coonhound Rascal had the front room. We all shared a bathroom with a shower in a claw-footed tub that sported a shower curtain around it.

At breakfast the next morning, Hoot had me jump right in. I ran a super deluxe pancake special to a cowboy named Pete sitting in the back booth. Five buttermilk flapjacks slathered in butter with a small pitcher of hot pancake syrup on the side, three country sausages and two eggs over easy on a side plate, as well as unlimited coffee. Pete had a scar running the length of his chin. I later found out he was a clown in the rodeo who, when bull riders were thrown, drew the attention of the raging, thousand pound beast to himself.

Pete grinned at me and scratched a chin that needed a shave. "Thanks, little lady. I hear tell they rush around like a banshee's a chasin' 'em where y'all come from, but honest, Hoot'll let you walk with them orders."

That's how it went all morning, with nearly fifty percent of the men dubbing me
little lady
and a fair number of women calling me
honey
. Wouldda been useless to fight it.

Guess waitressing's like riding a bicycle. I hadn't forgotten how from the jobs I'd held during college. I did pretty well, only mixing up one order and was feeling proud of myself when the sheriff's deputy with the piercing eyes came in but didn't take a seat.

He stood in the doorway, his Stetson low on his brow, and his steel-gray orbs focused on me.

Something about his gaze set alarms off in the depths of my mind. I approached him. "Can I help you? Table for one?"

"Actually, table for two. I'd like you to sit with me." The resemblance was uncanny to that country-western star I'd seen on the cover of
People
magazine wearing a black ten-gallon hat and looking fantabulous in a tux.

Hoot strode out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on the butcher's apron tied around his waist. "Well, I'll be. Deputy Dawson Hughes, what brings you to the Chuck Wagon this early? Your fancy coffee maker broke?"

The deputy gave a short nod. "Hoot, good to see you. I need to talk to Mrs. Ingels, if you don't mind."

Hoot frowned. "Since you know her last name, I reckon this is an official visit."

"That it is." The deputy motioned to an empty booth.

My gaze followed his hand, then I walked over and slid onto the seat.

He sat after I did.

I cleared my throat. "How did you find me here? Nobody but my boss knows where I am."

He chuckled. "You'll know anyway soon as you talk to Hoot. I live in Arroyo. Spotted that green go-cart you drive on my way in to work."

"I see." Why did I feel the last thing I needed was Hawkeye in the neighborhood?

He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Ma'am, is Mark Ingels your husband?"

"Ye--es."

"I'm sorry to be blunt, but it so happens he died last night of a gunshot wound to the head."

"No." I gasped. Despite my anger, I couldn't deny my deep feelings for Mark. That's why his betrayal hurt so badly. "Wa... was it a robbery?"

"It doesn't appear to be. On the surface, it looks like suicide, but that could've been staged. On the other hand, it might be a professional hit, as y'all say where you come from."

Jack's joking around yesterday flitted into my mind, and I pushed it away. This wasn't funny. Not at all.

"I can't believe this." I hugged myself as a shiver raced down my back. Was the deputy trying to rattle me? If so, he was doing a good job.

"Cassidy Renault, owner of the bridal shop in the Mall of Abilene, says you're an excellent shot." He removed his hat, revealing a full head of thick, wavy brown hair.

"I'm trained with weapons. It goes with my profession." My mind ran through every possible scenario and immediately ruled out suicide. This had to be a random shooting, a matter of extremely bad luck. What else could it be?

He grinned but the effect was mirthless. "Ah, yes, a New York City lady PI."

Heat flamed my cheeks. He'd obviously interviewed my nemesis and come away with the wrong impression. "Sounds like Cassidy told you a lot about me."

He hiked one shoulder in a noncommittal half-shrug. "You were once sorority sisters in college?"

I let out a sigh that seemed to come up from my toes. "And best friends. Inseparable, actually. Then my family finances took a down turn… mom's and mine that is. I had to leave college here in Texas and go back home."

"Ms. Renault said your parents divorced."

Anger lodged in the back of my throat choking me. I swallowed twice. "She had no trouble airing my family's dirty laundry, did she?"

He offered a wan smile. "By the story she told, I'd guess she's not your biggest fan."

The throbbing behind my eyes intensified. "Let me set the record straight. My dad was a successful stockbroker. He divorced my mom when I was in high school and she got a very nice settlement. I guess he got tired of making payments. During my freshman year at college, he hid his income and declared bankruptcy. I came home, finished my associate's degree in Criminal Justice at the local community college, and went to work first as an armed security guard. Then Jack Cooney Investigations hired me."

He had a way of not breaking eye contact. "Well, that's a might different than the way Ms. Renault told it."

"I'll just bet." I took a deep breath, then clamped my jaws shut. As much as I wanted to turn the tables on Cassidy by telling him about her cheating heart, I put the brakes on my tongue. I'd already told him way too much about my life and broken one of my cardinal rules. During an interrogation, answer only questions asked. Never volunteer anything to the cops.

His eyes bore into me. "I believe it was you I saw barrelin' out of the Mall of Abilene parking lot yesterday. You had quite a head of steam on. Where did you go after that?"

I related the call to Jack, getting lost in the hills, and finally arriving in Arroyo.

He drummed his fingers on the table. "Did you bring any weapons to Texas?"

I shifted in my seat. "I'm licensed to carry here. I brought my Glock and a Colt twenty-two."

He sat back, and his eyes bored into me. "You came after your cheatin' spouse and you brought two guns with you?"

"I didn't come after anyone. This was the last place I thought he'd be. I came to see a woman I thought was my best friend." My voice raised an octave.

"When you got here, you found out Cassidy Renault wasn't the friend you thought she was."

"You got that right."

He leaned forward. "I'm going to have to take possession of your weapons as well as the clothing you wore last night."

Fear ran through me, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth. "You're going to test the handguns to see if they've been fired and test my clothes for gun powder residue."

He nodded. "I see you know the drill."

The deputy followed me upstairs to my room.