Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (4 page)

Chapter Five

Abilene, Texas

Day Four, Evening

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

I returned the cruiser to my spot in the parking lot behind the county law enforcement facility, then escorted Mrs. Ingels into the building. It took only a few minutes to log in the evidence and lock it up. I was satisfied I had my motive for murder. Drug running in Taylor County. The Abilene police chief would be none too happy to learn us county boys had one-upped them. That's what he gets for assigning a greenhorn detective to the case.

After convincing the lady to let me take her for a bite to eat, I took the bag with her clothing from her so she could more easily climb into my Ram. The drive to the Chuck Wagon was a quiet one. With hands secured at ten and two o'clock, my body relaxed and sank into the driver's seat. I kept a smile off my face to keep my thoughts private. A weight had been lifted, albeit a small one. I was gratified the county had broken open the case, and was thrilled this lady would be having dinner with me. Things seemed to be going my way.

I dropped her off and hurried home to change out of my uniform. The thrumming shower invigorated me. Not a cologne type of guy, I slapped on a palm full of brisk after-shave. Left, then right and I was good to go.

I set my Stetson low on my crown and let my white oxford shirt fall outside my jeans to cover the gun holstered at my back. Then I fired up the Ram for a short drive through the back streets of Arroyo and returned to the Chuck Wagon. I pulled the cruiser next to her mite of a car and honked.

She strode out, a mass of blond hair swirling around her shoulders. Wow! She sported a big shirt I hadn't seen before, this one dusky lavender. It could've very well concealed a weapon. Instead of running shoes, she was turned out in a pair of black leather boots, eastern style.

She slid into the front seat, gave me a once over, and grinned. "You clean up pretty good, Deputy."

I stole a glance at her and grinned back. So did she. "Thank you, ma'am." Smelled good too, like one of those clean and fresh fragrances they have at Bath and Body Works.

The drive east on 20 had Arroyo disappearing behind us, its few streetlights shimmering in the growing darkness. We were heading back toward Abilene.

"I'm starving."

"Well then, ma'am, how about I take you to a gen-u-ine Texas roadhouse?"

She tossed me a wicked grin. "Is that where they serve road-kill?"

"Most of the game around here could take on that little green buggy you drive... no sweat." I chuckled.

"A roadhouse sounds fine. By the way, my name is Veronica. My friends call me Ronnie."

My hands gripped the steering wheel. "What would you like me to call you?"

"Ronnie's fine."

"Yes, ma'am… er, Ronnie." I couldn't hold back a chuckle.

She laughed, then pointed as we approached the intersection of 20 and US 83. "I think that's the wrong turn I made that first night, when I got lost."

I nodded. "That's an easy mistake to make if you're not familiar with these parts."

I made the turn, drove a few miles north on 83, then eased the cruiser into Billy-Joe's Roadhouse.

She turned toward me. "I remember passing this place that first night when I realized I wasn't going right and had to turn around."

I parked the Ram and we got out. The frame building had the traditional rectangular shape with a shingled pitched roof. A sign over the door read:
Get Smoked
.

Billy, a graceful, half-Kiowa brunette, greeted us with two menus and led us to a table with a red and white checked cloth. The aromas of grilled meat and barbecue sauce permeated the dining room.

I pulled out a sturdy wooden chair with a wide, comfortable seat and Ronnie obliged.

"I could eat a bear. No seriously, I can eat." She grinned up at me once she'd settled herself.

"Sorry, no bear, but they got every kind of steak, ribs, pulled pork, fried chicken, chili, and sausage. That guy from Food Network oughta come out here. Food's that good." I sat opposite her.

Joe Junior, a slim, muscular kid with straight, dark brown hair and a hooknose like his pa's, advanced to our table and pulled out his order pad. "Evenin', Deputy Hughes. Ma'am. Get you anythin' to drink?"

"An ice-cold glass of your fine sweet tea." I looked across the table. "I highly recommend their delicious home-brew. They freeze these big old glasses they serve it in. Out of this world."

"I'm sold. I'll have the iced sweet tea and I'd like a few lemon slices on the side."

The young man left for the service bar.

"Since you've got an appetite, I'd like to suggest the T-bone steak. The bone in the meat gives extra flavor and the way Joe cooks it up... you think you died and went to heaven."

In short order, the kid brought our drinks. We both ordered the T-bone steak, skillet fried Mac 'n cheese, and coleslaw.

I extended my hand and touched her fingertips. She already knew about the drugs and my gut told me she could be trusted. "Time for me to 'fess up. I took you to the hotel to collect your husband's personal effects, but there was also another reason. Since the Abilene PD's got a rookie detective on the case, I wanted to see the room for myself. Glad I did too."

"Is there rivalry between the two departments?"

"Not really. Everybody's got to start somewhere. I missed a few things in the beginnin'. I'm pretty sure that detective went with the odds. Figured the soon-to-be-ex-spouse did it. So, he wasn't lookin' for other possibilities."

"He had me as the shooter?" Her voice squeaked.

I nodded and took a long, slow swig of the tea hoping to forestall further questions. Rivulets slid down the frozen glass. "It goes without sayin'... mum's the word about what we found there. We don't know who's behind this. It's best they don't know we found his product."

She arched an eyebrow. "We know Cassidy and Ava Chandler are involved."

"We think we know that."

Early on, the rookie connected all the dots amazingly well. Discovered Mark Ingel's spa membership and his relationship with Cassidy Renault. Then when he interrogated her, she'd tried to implicate Ronnie, resulting in an APB out for the wife of Mark Ingels and that little green bug she drove. That's how I found her.

I reckoned Ronnie was under the misimpression I'd been the one who'd first interviewed the
lady
... a term I wasn't sure aptly described Cassidy Renault.

The front door swung open and three middle-aged men walked in sporting jeans, expensive boots, and Stetsons.

The slim one with a cleft chin was Judge Aaron Withers. By the book in the courthouse, he didn't put up with nonsense, but was fair. The hat sat low on his head. He was a real cowpoke and had even done some roping on the rodeo circuit in his youth.

Judge Withers said something and a slow easy grin spread across his lips.

A broad shouldered rancher with some gray at the temples nodded and laughed.

The oldest one, with a few broken veins in his cheeks, favored his right leg. He spotted Billy and waved.

She waved back, snagged three menus from the register, and approached them. "George Daniels, howdy. Good to see you again."

He took two uneven steps toward her. "You sure do get purdier every time I see you. If I was a few years younger, I'd steal you away while that husband of yours toils in the kitchen."

She gave him a wide smile and placed a hand on her hip. "You know he's mostly Comanche and half crazy. I like ya, George. Don't want him comin' after you with a carvin' knife."

All three men laughed, and she led them into the dining room.

When they passed our table, the judge nodded at me. "Deputy Hughes." He tipped his hat to Ronnie.

After they were seated, voices raised at their table.

Broad Shoulders stood, tugged on the bottom edges of his walnut hued, leather vest, and strode directly to me. "Deputy Hughes."

I rose. "Yes, sir. Is there a problem?"

"I'm Winslow Chandler. Big Sky Ranch." He didn't offer his hand. "My wife tells me you gave her a hard time when she was tryin' to help out a friend."

"Sir, I'm conductin' a murder investigation. I asked her a few pertinent questions."

Pink rose from his neck above his collar and by the time it hit his cheeks it had turned red. "I assure you, my wife's not mixed up in any murder."

Ronnie stood, her eyes shining as if ice crystals were reflecting moonlight. "Well, she and her friend, Cassidy Renault, were in my dead husband's hotel room."

He blanched. This obviously was news to him. "
Your
husband?"

I touched Ronnie's elbow. "I brought Mrs. Ingels to the hotel to gather up her husband's things. That's when we ran into your wife."

Chandler shifted from one foot to the other. "And Cassidy Renault, his... his..."

Ronnie met his gaze. "His hoochy-mama."

The big man took a step back, then composed himself quickly. "Isn't the spouse always a suspect?"

"The Taylor County Sheriff's Department doesn't consider Mrs. Ingels a suspect."

"It's so nice of you to comfort the widow." He sneered.

I pulled at my collar fearing color had risen making a beeline for my cheeks.

Ronnie lifted her chin. "Even widows have to eat."

Chandler turned on his heel and walked back to his table.

Joe Junior brought our food.

Ronnie pushed coleslaw around on her plate. "I guess nobody out here knew Mark was married."

"He didn't wear a weddin' band?"

She put the fork down. "He did, but then after one of his trips he said he'd lost it... that he'd got a wad of soap glommed to it and when he tried to clean it up, the ring went down the drain. Something like that."

"And you believed that?"

"Yeah. Dumb, huh?"

"You loved him. Wanted to believe him." I couldn't meet her eyes. She could be so tough, almost aggressive, and yet so vulnerable.

"I did love him, maybe even still love him... or love what I thought he was." She raised her tall icy-glass but didn't drink.

I took a swig of my tea. "When you're deeply committed, that doesn't just evaporate into thin air."

"Sounds like you speak from personal experience."

I took a prolonged breath. "I'm divorced. I'll tell you about it some time, but not tonight. Let's try to enjoy dinner."

She took a bite of the Mac 'n cheese and swallowed. "I think Winslow Chandler will go to great lengths to protect his somewhat younger wife. It's his ego. She's a bit of a trophy, but more than that, she's an extension of himself."

Around these parts, I'd heard it said often enough, the boss of Big Sky Ranch had an exaggerated opinion of himself. I lifted my glass to her. "You're perceptive. That's exactly how I figure it."

Chapter Six

South Abilene

Day Five, Late Morning

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

Bertha hauled herself out of the Smart Car and slammed the passenger door. "Ronnie, I can't thank you enough for treatin' me to a day at the spa. I want to look extra special tonight when me and Hoot go to the church social. It's our first date."

I clicked the key fob to lock the vehicle's doors. "Really? I thought you'd been working for him for a few years."

She nodded. "Maybe it's that
familiarity breeds contempt
thing, but I just recently noticed how durn cute he is."

They were a remarkable couple. She stood a head taller than him, and had to outweigh him by half.

I smiled at her. "Enjoy all the wonderful feelings."

She frowned. "You mean 'cause they might not last?"

"No. I didn't mean that at all. It's just the beginning of romance is so special. Savor every bit of it."

"I will, every single minute." She paused and giggled. "And I'm thankful too for my good old faithful friend from church who's subbin' for me at lunch today. She can use the money. So it all works out."

We walked into the Estella Ranch and Spa, and I approached the desk. This time, Trudy wore a tangerine silk tee with her black yoga pants and enamel swan dangling-earrings. She tossed us a huge smile. "Good morning, ladies. Can I help y'all?" The swans danced beneath her earlobes.

"We have a reservation for the BFF Day Spa Deluxe Package. The name is Ingels."

The girl brushed wheat blond strands out of her face and pouted. "I'm awfully sorry. The person who took this reservation must've made a mistake. Are you a member here?"

I drew myself up to stand taller and handed over the membership card. "I'm using my husband Mark's membership. I read the agreement he purchased for husband and wife."

The color drained from her face as she scooped up the desk phone and dialed. She turned her back and whispered into the receiver, but her voice carried. "There's a woman here says she's Mark Ingels' wife."

She stood there listening. "Really?"

Trudy cast me an abashed look and began shuffling papers. "I'm so sorry, really. Just one moment and I'll have y'all processed and good to go."

Bertha placed her hand on the counter. "That's all right, honey. You didn't do nothin'."

The girl let out a short breath. "Just the same, I'm terribly sorry."

I felt as if she truly was, that it wasn't just profuse professional courtesy.

Two young women emerged from a long hallway. They wore black silk tees, yoga pants, and black ballet slippers.

Trudy motioned toward them with her hand and offered a timid smile. "Ladies, these are your spa-experience guides. Marjean and Nellie. They both have advanced experience in several specialties."

Reece Morgan materialized out of nowhere behind my back and I nearly jumped. "Marjean, Nellie, this is Mrs. Ingels, Mark Ingels' wife. I'm sure you'll provide her and her guest with a wonderful afternoon at Estella Ranch and Spa."

Marjean, the older of the two, paled and Nellie stared. They both recovered quickly.

Marjean stepped toward the hallway and motioned. "Ladies, follow me."

We followed with Nellie behind us. The aroma of eucalyptus increased the farther we walked down the hall.

Marjean led us into a women's dressing room and handed each of us thin sand-colored cotton sweat suits with the spa's name on the right shoulder. "Change into these and we'll begin with an exercise session."

"Exercise?" Bertha yelped. "I do declare, Ronnie, what did y'all get me into?"

Marjean's face became a poster for concern. "Don't worry. We tailor all of our exercise routines to your body type and physical condition."

Bertha planted both hands on her expansive hips. "Well, if it's for me, it'd best be a routine where you don't move nary a muscle."

Both spa-experience guides looked at each other, but said nothing.

The dressing room had a mirrored wall above a built-in vanity set out with hair spray, hand and body lotion, disposable combs, razors and the like. A large painting in a heavy gilded frame was mounted on one wall, of a cowgirl of the old west astride her appaloosa horse. Two rust-colored, low-backed, upholstered chairs sat in front of the vanity.

Nellie handed us keys to our lockers, which were among a line of them spread across the back wall. There were two changing rooms and two showers.

I found my locker, and when I turned around both of our guides had disappeared. "Bertha, you must be fit as a fiddle the way you run around that restaurant."

"I could lift a five pound bag of flour in one hand and one of sugar in the other and sling 'em onto a shelf. Then follow that with a twenty pound sack of rice, no problem." She shrugged.

"Got it." I smiled.

She shook her head. "When I visited my sister, she took me to some class where they had me stretch this way and that, then touch my toes. I thought I'd like ta die."

"Well, just take it easy. Take it slow."

"How about I sit here in one of these chairs for a little snooze while you take the class?"

"Oh, no you don't. This is my first time at a spa too. I'm a little nervous and need your support."

Her eyes opened wide. "Really? I thought you city slickers would be into this kind of thing."

"Not this city slicker." I took her by the hand and led her to one of the changing rooms. Then I slipped into the other.

Marjean led us through what they called a
Build a Routine and Balance
class, the lowest level of exertion, plus routines designed to deter accidents and falls. Bertha huffed and puffed through the entire thing. At one point, I thought she would storm out of the room, but then she smiled sweetly at Marjean, kept on going, and murmured, "Why, bless your ever lovin' heart."

Nellie showed us back to the dressing room and gave us each plastic tumblers with cool fruited-water to keep us hydrated. She handed us voluminous white, terrycloth bathrobes and flip-flops. "Take off everything and wrap yourselves in these."

Bertha swallowed. "Get butt nekked?"

Nellie nodded. "Don't worry. These robes cover everything."

We did as instructed and Nellie led us to an extremely large sauna. She had us lay down on the bottom wooden shelf. She placed cucumber slices on our closed eyes and then covered our faces with a lavender scented damp cloth.

"Ronnie, this gotta be costin' you a mint. I'd be glad to pay you back little by little. I had no idea this place was so fancy." Bertha spoke through the cloth.

"There's no need. I charged this to Mark's account. I'm going to come into a bunch of money Mark squirreled away in a local bank. I really don't want it, so I might as well spend it on people here who have been good to me."

"That's real nice of you, honey."

I pulled the cloth and cucumber slices from my face, and raised myself up on one elbow." Besides, I wanted to see this place. I was hoping to find out something that would help me make sense of this horror show Mark got me into."

"Have you learned anythin' so far?" She removed her face coverings.

"Well, it was totally obvious Trudy, Marjean, and Nellie had no idea he had a wife."

"Yeah, I caught that too. Hon, I'm so sorry you have to go through this. If that man were alive, I'd whup his butt and kick it from one side of Taylor County to the other."

I couldn't suppress a chuckle. "I think I would've liked to see you do that."

"I reckon that
would
be a sight to see." Bertha let out a low rumbling laugh.

I turned my head away, as a lump formed in my throat. Why did Mark have to get killed? Why did he cheat on me and ruin everything?

Marjean came back and took away the cloths and the cucumber slices. She gave us more fruited water and led us to a manicure room decorated in rosy desert tones. We sat in raised leatherette upholstered chairs in a cinnabar hue with our feet in whirlpool baths. They showed us how to use the controls so the chairs would give us a massage.

"Oh, Ronnie, my back feels Jim-dandy."

After a good soak, Marjean gave Bertha a pedicure and Nellie prettied my feet.

I smiled at Nellie. "Did you know my husband well?"

She blushed. "No, ma'am. I'm truly sorry for your loss."

A heavy silence followed. To break it, I decided I'd best take the bull by the horns, so to speak... since I was in Texas. I turned my gaze on Marjean. "Did Cassidy Renault come here often with my... with Mark?"

She returned my gaze with a tiny smile. "They came together some."

"Did they get the couples' package?"

She nodded, then ducked her head and continued working on Bertha's feet.

I decided to switch gears, to relieve the tension. "The color you picked is terrific."

"Ronnie, it's called Cancun Fiesta. I'm gonna have to wear open toed shoes tonight so Hoot can take a gander." Bertha giggled like a schoolgirl.

I chose something called Coney Island Cotton Candy because it made me think of home. It was a lighter pink than the name suggested. "Marjean, did Cassidy come in for the BFF Package with Ava Chandler?"

Marjean glanced up from Bertha's feet. "No, I don't think she ever did."

They helped us down from the chairs and began working on our hands.

Nellie stroked a layer of the pink onto my nails and jerked her head up, eyes wide, like she'd just thought of something I might be interested in. "Cassidy was gettin' friendly with the yoga instructor. I saw them, one time, havin' lunch in the mall."

Marjean cleared her throat.

Nellie ducked her head and continued working on my hands.

When the manicures were complete, they led us to a row of small electric nail dryers for our hands and feet. Nellie positioned my feet under the bottom dryer and my hands on top. Marjean did likewise for Bertha.

The small machines blew a soft whisper of air.

"Yoga class."

"I'm sorry, honey, what did you say?" Bertha slanted her head toward me.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about a yoga class." I glanced at her hopefully.

She shook her head violently. "Oh, no. Count me out. I ain't doin' nothin' requirin' me to twist myself into a pretzel."

I went for an innocent tone. "I'm sure they have a beginner's class."

"Ronnie, now don't you try sweet talkin' me there, missy."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that."

"Well, you better not..."

"Certainly not."

"I mean it, now."

"Never crossed my mind." I tried to contain my smile. We were going to take a yoga class.