Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (3 page)

I handed him both weapons as well as the jeans and the big shirt I'd worn on the flight. "The guns are clean, haven't been fired recently. But, I'm sure you know as well as I do, the test for gun-powder residue is unreliable. Residue hangs around. It's likely on every garment I own. My shoes and handbags might have it on them as well."

"My job is to bag the evidence and have it tested. If it goes to trial, ma'am, you're defense attorney will have to make that argument to a jury."

Chapter Three

 

 

Abilene, TX

Day Four, Early Afternoon

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

 

Three days later, I stood inside the sheriff's department signing a receipt. I returned the Glock to my conceal and carry shoulder bag, pulled up the hem of my GAP straight-leg jeans, and slid the Colt into to its ankle holster.

Crushing the paper bag with my garments to my chest, I got into the front seat of the deputy's patrol car. They'd told me what I already knew, the weapons hadn't been fired and the clothes had gunpowder residue on them. Thankfully, there had been only a small amount of powder particles, which hadn't raised any alarm bells. That kinda trouble a girl doesn't need.

Keeping my facial muscles from sliding into a smirk wasn't the easiest thing, as I fought down the urge to tell the deputy:
I told you so
. Instead, I made a production of slipping my seatbelt into its clasp. When I turned to face him, I'd mustered a modicum of self-control, though now, my unreliable emotions had slipped toward bitterness.

"I had no idea Mark bought a house in Abilene. Some PI, huh? Not a clue what my own husband was up to, and that's what I do for a living. Guess I was in wife mode as far as he was concerned. What is it they say? The wife is the last to know."

The deputy pulled out of his assigned parking spot. "All too often that old sayin' is very true."

"From what you mentioned in the station, I gather it's a house, not a condo." The thought rankled me. Mark hadn't wanted to go for a house in Brooklyn. Of course, houses were very expensive there, and you didn't get much square footage for what you paid.

"It's a three bedroom Spanish-style hacienda with a detached casita. Nothin's in there yet, of course, and the windows are bare."

"What's a casita and who showed you the house?" I couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice.

He gave a soft chuckle. "A casita is a detached bungalow for guests. The real estate broker gave the Abilene PD detective the nickel tour, not me... but I want to see it for myself."

"I see."

"They just closed on the house and a second set of keys for Ms. Renault hadn't been made yet."

I gazed out the car window. Scrappy trees... miles and miles of rolling, arid-hills and plenty of cacti. Devastatingly beautiful, but somehow I missed cement and the smell of exhaust... longed to hear birds coughing in the morning. Of course, they'd be big black pigeons, mostly. Rats with wings, some called them. "I guess after we leave, the agent can give the keys to Cassidy."

"Actually, no. You're still the wife. The house belongs to you."

I swiveled in my seat to face him and laughed. "Isn't that a weird kind of poetic justice in this sad, sorry mess? I get the house Cassidy wanted, only I don't want it."

Hughes pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style home with a tiled roof. A red brick wall to one side with shrubbery in front of it hid a private courtyard. The most interesting feature was a square room jutting out of the roof, reminiscent of a fort's lookout tower. I imagined a conservatory of some type up there.

The real estate broker's Lexus was parked in front of one of the garage doors. When we got out of the patrol car, a woman in a stylish black suit with a pale blue silk blouse opened the front door and greeted us. "I'm Kayla Anderson. I handled the sale of the house to Mark."

"Hmm." I stepped across the threshold, both hands holding onto the strap of my shoulder bag. So, it was a chummy first name basis. "Do you mind me asking how much Mark paid for this house?"

"Not at all, as it's your house now, you're entitled to know. He paid eight hundred fifty."

"Thousand? Of course, thousand." I gave a nervous giggle.

"There's a swimmin' pool in the back. Would you like to see it?" The agent motioned with her hand.

Hughes nodded. "Let's get a tour of the entire property."

Having covered every inch of the house and grounds, we finally climbed the one staircase to the only room I had any interest in... the one I would've turned into a conservatory. That is if I weren't going to immediately dump the place. "Mark's not from around here. How did he hear of your agency?"

"I met Mark at the Estella Guest Ranch and Spa. He was doin' a series on leadership and I had signed up for weekly yoga lessons. We hit it off and he said he was lookin' for a house because he was goin' to get married." She covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, this is terribly awkward."

Hughes cleared his throat. "If you'll give me the keys, Mrs. Ingels and I will be on our way."

Before we left, I pulled the agent aside. "I want the house back on the market as soon as it's out of probate."

*****

South Abilene

Day Four, Moments Later

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

 

Suspicion comes with the territory for a lawman, and I had been suspicious of Veronica Ingels. The fact that she hailed from New York City had not been a plus in my book.

I drove farther along the barren highway, keeping the cruiser at a steady fifty-five miles per hour until I spotted the arched sign over the entrance of a long driveway leading to a sprawling Spanish-style villa. The sign read:
Estella Guest Ranch and Spa
. I slowed and turned into the driveway, I'd had occasion to navigate the previous spring for a charity function. What a lavish soiree that had been. All the stops pulled out.

Horses grazed in paddocks on either side as I proceeded toward the house. Palominos, bays, a spotted appaloosa, and a few buckskins. I spotted an elegant liver chestnut.

Mrs. Ingels twisted this way and that in her seat to get a better view of the acreage. "My, he was living quite the elite lifestyle." Stunned disbelief transmitted from her brilliant-blue eyes. It hurt my heart, yet I knew showing her pity would further belittle her.

The Abilene Police Department had worked the crime scene, but since I'd found Mrs. Ingels, the sheriff decided we'd question her ourselves. He had pretty much cleared her, but I wasn't sure. I'd taken her to the house and now the spa to gauge her reaction. Her obvious distress made me feel small.

I parked my vehicle in front of the house and waited for the lady to get out. I cupped her elbow and guided her up the steps of the palatial front porch and into the mansion. Being from New York City, I thought she'd resist what she might see as male chauvinism, but she must've been overwhelmed by all the information coming at her about her husband. I gave her elbow a squeeze. "Quite the set-up they have here."

A wagon wheel chandelier with vintage hanging lanterns was the focal point of the lobby. Plush carpeting, soft chairs and matching sofas in desert tones designed for weary bodies to sink into set an opulent tone. A series of impressive ceramic bowls dominated the fireplace mantle. I'd heard they'd been created for the spa by a Native American artist of some repute. On one side, a ceramic tipping jar fountain bubbled over polished rocks, its gurgles soothing. On the other, an automated glass sliding door led to a courtyard with a fire pit, not presently in use, as the temperature had to be over eighty, normal for May.

A young woman in a bright-pink feminine-cut tee, butterfly earrings, and a pair of black yoga pants offered a ready smile from behind the main desk. Her nametag introduced her as
Trudy
. "Good day, can I help you?"

I stepped forward and braced myself for a not-so-welcome trip down memory lane. "Yes, thanks. I'd like to see the director."

Her smile wavered as she picked up the phone and pressed a few digits. "There's a sheriff's deputy here to see you."

Reece Morgan materialized as if from thin air.

Nothing had changed. The guy had a way of creeping up on other students when we were at Texas State Technical College-Abilene. Interesting that after two years, we both transferred out. I went to study criminology at Abilene Christian University and Reece to the more prestigious Hardin-Simmons University where he majored in Athletic Training and Sports Medicine. It was obvious he'd put his college education to good and profitable use.

Morgan walked directly to me. His razor cut blond hair feathered at his ears. All in black, he seemed like some western-wear designer's softer version of Johnny Cash. Still, I couldn't help but admire the man's hand-tooled boots.

"Long time no see." He gave what had to be his standard professional smile, as there was little warmth in it, and extended his hand.

I took the proffered hand then inclined my head. "Reece, this here is Veronica Ingels, widow of one of your members."

He placed two fingers on his chin and gazed at the ceiling for a moment, as if struggling for recollection. "Ah, yes, there was somethin' in the news about Mark Ingels committin' suicide a ways out beyond Kirby Lake."

I nailed him with my best
I mean business
look. "Mr. Ingels gave a leadership lecture series here. I'm goin' to need the names, addresses, and phone numbers of everyone who attended."

"Well, um... let's see. Yes, he did speak here." He searched the ceiling again.

"A printout of the roster will do, plus all registration forms."

"Certainly, no problem. I'll have to get that info to you."

"I want the originals. I'll send a deputy out tomorrow afternoon to pick them up."

As if coming back from some distant place, Mrs. Ingels pivoted toward us. "Mark wouldn't commit suicide. He's not the type and besides, he had too much to live..." Her voice quavered.

The smarmy look I remembered from college overtook Morgan's face. "Unfortunately, those closest to the victim often don't have the clearest judgment in the matter. I'm sorry to say."

I wanted to wipe that air of superiority off the man's face... real bad. "The medical examiner doesn't think it was suicide. The angle of trajectory isn't right. Besides, Mark Ingels had enough barbiturates and alcohol in his system to knock out a bronco. The ME doubts he could've driven to where he was found in his car. There's also a question as to whether he was capable of pullin' the trigger."

Mrs. Ingels piped up again. "Sounds like someone slipped him a Mickey."

I nodded. Smart lady.

Morgan squinted, peered down his nose at her and scowled.

Chapter Four

 

 

South Abilene

Day Four, Afternoon

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

 

If a gal who felt like a total fool had to be
schlepped
around west Texas, I guess I could do worse than Deputy Hughes as my guide. Next stop was the Hilton Garden Inn. In no way shabby, still the lobby was a far cry from that of the Estella Guest Ranch and Spa. I ran a hand over the top of one of four sand and taupe low-backed easy chairs positioned in a cluster around a coffee table.

A group of businesspeople carrying briefcases and laptops rushed by in earnest conversation. Women in ready-to-wear designer suits and heeled pumps. I smoothed the front of one of the three big-shirts I'd brought from Brooklyn. At the spa, there was no doubt I'd been underdressed... plebian, even. Not so much in terms of style, which was relaxed there, but quality. My working stiff status was never in question with my big shirt, a poly-cotton blend, not linen or silk, and my jeans minus a designer label.

Here I didn't stand out the way I had there. The women coursing through the lobby were more tailored than I. A few sported jeans, all different styles of plaid shirts tucked in, and fancy boots. My big shirt marked me as eastern, most likely, especially the way I had the sleeves rolled up due to the heat. It could've concealed my Glock. Only this morning I'd elected to leave my weapons at the Chuck Wagon. I wasn't working and was in the company of an armed law-mam. My personal safety couldn't be more assured.

Hughes ushered me to one of the easy chairs and then approached the desk. He spoke to the clerk, and obtained an electronic key.

I rose and walked toward the elevator, preferring to get there under my own steam. The courtesy he showed might be pure Texas gentlemanliness, but it only accentuated how pathetic I felt, loving to pieces a man who had made a fool of me.

We rode up to the third floor in awkward silence.

I searched every recess of my mind and could only come up with a lame, "At least the elevator isn't too slow."

He held the button and I exited first. He passed me and held up the key-card. "I'll get the door, then if you prefer, I'll wait in the lobby until you're finished packin' his things?"

"Um... yes, I think that's best."

The tiny green light on the lock glowed and he pushed the door open.

Cassidy and another woman stood by the king-sized bed. Mark's brief case lay on its side and appeared to be empty. Next to it lay a
GQ
and an
Esquire
magazine.

Hughes strode into the room. "Ladies, can I be of assistance?"

The shock on Cassidy's face was priceless. I wished I could've whipped out my cell phone and taken a picture to capture her wide eyes and well glossed gaping maw.

She ran perfectly polished red claws through her voluminous frosted blond hair. "I came to gather Mark's things."

Hughes nodded without a smile. "That's what I brought Mrs. Ingels here to do."

Cassidy flipped her hair over a shoulder. "I see."

I tried to speak, but no words came. My knees trembled, but I willed myself not to stumble toward a chair to sit. I tried to stealthily steady myself by resting a hand on the long bureau holding a high def television, when actually the piece of furniture held me up.

Deputy Hughes raised a hand toward Cassidy. "If you would give me the room key."

"But Mark gave it to me," she whined.

The deputy nodded. "This room is part of an on goin' police investigation."

"Fine." She handed it over.

The other woman picked up the briefcase and clutched it to her chest. Even though I thought I might be violently ill, the private investigator part of my brain registered this behavior as odd.

The deputy turned his attention to the woman. Swathed in a coral-color summer-suit and a crème silk blouse, she proclaimed elegance. "Ma'am, and you might be?"

She dropped the briefcase onto the bed and extended a hand with long tapered fingers. A large silver cocktail ring with a carved sun motif adorned the fourth finger. A silver bracelet with a geometric design hung from her wrist. "Ava Chandler... Big Sky Ranch. The pleasure is all mine."

I couldn't help blinking twice. Her tone had said:
the pleasure is all yours
.

"Deputy Dawson Hughes." He shook her hand. "How did you know Mark Ingels?"

I needn't have been there. The conversation swirled around me. I wanted to shout about my rights as a wife. I longed to disappear into thin air.

The woman pushed a lock of auburn hair away from her face, revealing deep-set brown eyes. "I can't say I knew him well. We were both members at Estella Ranch."

"If you didn't know him well, why are you here?" I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but it seeped in.

The Chandler woman gazed at me, with a kind of
noblesse oblige
reserved for the masses. "Why, honey, I came to assist Cassidy, of course."

I lifted my chin and met the woman's eyes. "It seems you had a particular interest in my husband's briefcase."

The deputy took a quick step toward me and touched my wrist.

I said no more.

The woman smiled and ran buffed but unpolished fingers through lush burnished tresses. A diamond the size of Dallas sat next to a platinum band on her left hand. "Oh my, y'all surprised me, flingin' the door open. When I'm all nerves, I'll pick up anythin' and fiddle with it."

The deputy adjusted his stance, so his shoulders squared and he looked directly at them. "So, you know Cassidy quite well?"

"Mercy, yes. Cassidy and I became friendly two years ago when I married Winslow Chandler. My gown and the dresses for my retinue came from her store."

Cassidy took a step toward the door. "I think we'd best be on our way."

The woman glanced at her watch. "Oh my, yes. Look at the time."

I shifted my gaze to the windows. Shadows would soon be getting long.

The two women rushed to leave, trotting across the room on spindly high heels.

In my mind's eye, I tackled them both and handcuffed them back-to-back. I shook my head to dispel the image.

When the door closed behind them, I stepped into the bathroom and gave it a good once over. "They were looking for something. How well did the police search?"

"Your husband's body was found in a barren area, but still within the city limits. So, the Abilene PD handled the murder scene and the hotel search. Went through all his personal possessions, took his papers, but didn't toss the place."

"Deputy Hughes, we need to toss it." Without waiting for an answer, I reached for the top drawer of the bureau.

He stepped in front of me, preventing me from touching anything. He unsnapped the outside pocket below his right thigh and withdrew two latex gloves. He handed me one pair and put on the other. "This way our prints will be confined to the immediate area by the door."

"Right, and if we find something we won't have contaminated the scene." I worked my hands into the gloves.

"I'm not carryin' booties, but whatever our shoes bring in has most likely also come in with everyone else. I had a sneakin' suspicion this mornin' that gloves might come in handy."

That explained the cargo pants. I'd never seen him wear them before. Not that I'd seen him a lot, or even particularly noticed what he wore, much.

I pulled the drawers out of the bureau and turned them over. I pushed the heavy piece away from the wall, and got down on one knee to examine the inside backboard. Nothing taped anywhere, or to the back of the television.

I was on my way to the end table when the deputy started groping the pillows and said, "Give me a hand with the bed."

I ripped the quilt off, gave it a shake, and threw it on the floor.

He did the same with the top sheet and I pulled the bottom one off.

He pointed. "Grab that end and let's look under the mattress."

We stood the mattress up on end. Nothing.

"Hughes, gotta look under the box spring. Something could be taped to it."

There wasn't. I paced back and forth and adrenalin seemed to surge upward through me from my toes. I yanked the headboard off its mounts on the wall and it crashed to the floor. Not a thing.

"Hey, take it easy. Don't want you hurtin' yourself." He tossed the cushion off the easy chair and turned the thing upside down. Zilch.

I checked the desk drawer, turned its chair over, and ran a hand across the underside of the desk. Zip.

As I went to get up, I banged my head exactly where I'd smacked it on the frame of the Smart Car. Now my goose egg had a goose egg.

Hughes turned toward me. "Are you all right?"

"Just fine." I wanted to kick the desk's leg, but didn't.

"O-kay."

I pointed to the end table closest to him and walked toward the other one. "Gotta find what those two dumbos were looking for."

His head jerked up and his eyes widened.

"Sorry, that's my Brooklynese showing. It's not a gender reference. Guys can be stupid, too."

He grinned. "Understood."

I yanked the small drawer out and a Gideon Bible flew across the room. After dropping the drawer, I pivoted and retrieved the black bound volume. Stood there for a second, then took it by both covers and shook.
Nadda
. "I've spent enough working hours in motel rooms to get to know this book a bit."

"The Bible won't do you wrong."

"Not like people will." I placed it on the desk.

He nodded, removed the drawer, and turned the bedside table on its side. "Nothin' here."

With the tip of my black leather running shoe, I turned over the drawer I'd dropped. There was nothing taped to the bottom. When I upended the end table, a block of a dark brown powdery substance wrapped securely in cellophane was affixed there. I rubbed my nose due to the sour, vinegary smell emanating from the block. "Not that strong, but still a nauseating smell."

"Step away! Don't touch it. I want to establish a pure chain of possession from the onset."

I leaned against the wall and slid down until my butt hit the floor. "Mark changed and I never recognized any of the signs. The man who did this is not the man I married."

Hughes stared at me and then averted his eyes. "By the dark brown color, that's Mexican heroin... no China White in Texas. And it's gotta be a kilogram, a little over two pounds."

I gulped and my knees literally knocked together, twice. "We're talking about a few bucks here."

Hughes jerked his chin toward the brick. "Dependin' on the purity, anythin' from a hundred fifty-thou to a quarter of a million dollars."

"Yikes, no wonder so many are seduced by it. Mark sure was."

He paced once across the room and back. "We might be dealin' with somethin' much larger than we'd supposed."

I pushed off the floor and stood. "We know it extends to New York. Mark would've returned, presumably bringing this brick with him into our home. Sweet, real sweet."

There must've been a blindness-in-marriage-gene running down the female line in my family. My mom certainly turned a blind eye to my dad's cheating.

"I've got a box of Marquis test kits in my car, but I can't leave the product to go get it. I've got to be on top of the chain of evidence. I'll test it back at the station. Have to send it to the lab anyway. The results of my test won't hold up in court."

First Hughes took photographs of the taped block of dope with his cell phone. Then with great care, he separated the brick of heroin from the bottom of the end table and placed it into one of the hotel's unused plastic laundry bags.

He phoned housekeeping and explained the room was in disarray due to an ongoing investigation. After tossing my latex gloves and his into the trash, he snapped the fancy leather latch on the briefcase closed. "Don't know what Ava Chandler's interest in this thing was, but I'll take it along with me."

A maid came right up and he gave her two crisp twenty-dollar bills which brought a smile to her face.

"Would you like me to call you a cab... or I could take you with me to the station, then drive you back to the Chuck Wagon?"

I was exhausted, but for some reason my fragile world seemed to hold together around this way too chivalrous guy. Besides, I wanted to see the reaction at the station to this dope find. "I'll go with you."

"I can wait downstairs while you gather up your husband's things."

"No, I can't handle that chore tonight. Give me the key. There's nothing left here that's pertinent to the investigation. I'd like to get his stuff tomorrow."

Laundry bag and briefcase in one hand, he handed over the key with the other, then opened the door. "After you, ma'am. Let's vamoose."

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