Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (6 page)

Chapter Nine

Arroyo

Day Six, Early Morning

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

The aroma of fresh baked cornbread aroused me. Bertha's baking could sure sabotage a gal's diet. Then again the lynchpin of my diet plan was if it smells good eat it. I kicked off the sheet, lurched to my feet, yawned, and did twenty squats to get the blood circulating.

After throwing my super lightweight travel bathrobe over the companion shorty-pajamas I'd slept in, I made a beeline for the bathroom. When ablutions were completed, I slipped on a pair of biker's shorts, a tank top, running shoes, then trotted down the stairs.

I breathed in deeply. The oven door squeaked open, followed by a blast of aroma that had to be apple pie. There was also another delectable smell I couldn't quite identify.

I headed for the back door, stopped and took another deep sniff, then called over my shoulder. "Bertha, you've outdone yourself this morning. I identified the apple, but something else smells really great too. What is it?"

"Strawberry rhubarb pie. I'm leavin' it in just a tad longer so the lattice-work crust turns golden. Hoot likes it served warm with vanilla ice cream. I think I'll cut him a slice for his breakfast this mornin'." The oven door opened again and a pan grated against the rack.

"I'm gonna run a couple miles. When I get back, I'll eat," I yelled to her.

"Eat us outta house and home is more like it." Her voice rang out, clear and cheery.

I had removed the clip from my banker's special .22 and put away the gun in its holster along with the ammo in a secure place in my room. Didn't want to run with that thing on my ankle. Hoot had cautioned me never to go out back without a weapon.

Snakes and all manner of varmint, he'd warned… and I'm not particularly fond of snakes.

So, I holstered my Glock behind my back and headed for the dirt lane that ran behind the Chuck Wagon for several miles into a kind of no-man's land.

About a sixteenth of a mile down the lane, I did a slow warm up, bending and stretching my hams and quads.

I followed the rutted dirt road until it forked at a dry creek bed circling the town. I took the right fork onto the poor excuse for a road following the nonexistent creek.

My breathing came in an easy rhythm the next half-mile, until a sheriff's cruiser pulled alongside me, lights flashing.

"What now?" Was I violating some local environmental edict? I spun around.

The cruiser's passenger window lowered and Hughes leaned across the front seat. "You're goin' below the speed limit. Pick it up there, girl."

I thrust my head back and my ponytail whipped from side to side. "So, you think you can do better?"

"Yep."

Pure stupidity wouldn't let me stop myself while I was on a roll. "Oh, really?"

"Tell you what, little lady. You pick the challenge, runnin', shootin', arm wrestlin'."

"Shooting."

He winked. "You're on."

The cruiser pulled away.

As I approached the Chuck Wagon on my return, I spotted Hoot riding his tan mule, Henry, with Rascal loping at the side of the mixed-breed equine. Hoot dismounted and led Henry into the paddock next to the one-stall stable behind the restaurant. Everyone was finishing up their morning routines.

I raced up the back stairs, took a quick shower, and made it onto the floor of the restaurant in time to seat the first customer of the day.

"Morning, Doug." I took the savings bank manager's order and filled his cup with coffee.

Five minutes later, Hoot hit the bell. "Over easy with bacon and white toast, up."

Balancing a large plate with eggs over easy, bacon, and home fries in the crook of my arm and a smaller plate with buttered toast in the palm of my hand, I fell into that kind of rushing walk I'd picked up waiting tables years ago. It had stayed with me.

Knees bent and taking long strides, I arrived at Doug's table, with the aroma of bacon tantalizing me. Coffee carafe in my other hand, I refilled Doug's cup, spun, and made my way to the counter where I refilled the cups of my three regulars at the counter… a trio of old-timers. Then I hustled to the back table where I topped off Bertha's cup. "Did Hoot enjoy his pie?"

"Yep. He ate it standin' over the stove as usual."

"Bertha, can I ask you something without you thinking I'm totally crazy?"

"I know you're not nuts. You're... how do they say it... outside the box. Shucks, girl, you liven the place up. I haven't had this much fun in a long time." Her eyes danced with mischief.

"Well, see... um, I was thinking we could visit Cassidy's bridal salon and kinda look at a few gowns. I'd have to buy a wig somewhere, so my so-called former best friend won't recognize me."

Bertha raised an eyebrow. "You sure like livin' dangerously don't you?"

"Maybe we can look for gowns for you."

"I don't know. Hoot hasn't asked me proper yet."

I could've kicked myself. "Sorry, I understand. You don't want to jinx it."

She shook her head vehemently. "Oh, honey, I don't believe in any old jinx. It's just I want to give Hoot all the respect he deserves and not jump the gun."

"You wouldn't have to try any dresses on. I don't want to bring you bad luck."

She took my hand in hers. "I don't believe in luck neither. I'll go with you, Ronnie, if it means that much to you."

*****

Abilene, TX

Day Six, Morning

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

If I was hog-tied and dragged in, I still wouldn't drink a cup of Starbuck's coffee. I carried my paper-cup from Mad Merv Java into the station house. Now this was coffee. Hand blended Hawaiian Kona roasted in small batches with a splash of half 'n half. Complex flavor, heady aroma, medium-bodied, slightly acidic.

I stopped by the bullpen and spoke to Deputy Dixie Watts, animated strawberry-blond, peaches and cream complexion, now six months pregnant. "How're you doin' with the leadership series roster and registration forms?"

She swiveled her chair to face me and crossed her arms over her belly. "Still workin' on 'em. But I can tell you this, Ava Chandler attended those lectures. According to the roster, she was there Friday evenin', then Saturday for both sessions, as well as the Sunday brunch and session followin' it."

"It gets curiouser and curiouser." I took a slug of coffee. "Keep on it. Go through those papers with a fine-toothed comb. Everything points to that spa."

"Okay, slave driver." She laughed.

"By the way, you're gonna represent us at the community meetin' at the Chimney Rock Senior Center this afternoon."

She rubbed her belly. "Sure. I'll make you proud."

I patted her shoulder. "I know you will." She was my best deputy.

She picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to me. "We haven't heard from the lab yet, but we did get this from the DEA's south central lab in Dallas. They ran a quick gas chromatograph on it to compare it with agent purchases they're receiving and other huge seizures."

"Oh, yeah?" I took the printout from her and read aloud. "Ninety-three percent diacetylmorphine, six percent adulterants, and one percent inert ingredients." My mouth went dry. "This stuff is
flat out kill ya
smack. Absolutely lethal until it's cut." Thank God Ronnie hadn't somehow gotten any on her fingers and inadvertently transferred it to her mouth.

"That'll fetch a pretty penny." She shook her head. "And kill even after it's cut."

I nodded. "I'll take this with me and put it in the murder book."

"You goin' down the hall?"

I rattled the sheet of paper, then tossed a quick glance over my shoulder toward the sheriff's office. "He usually doesn't hound me, but since the city missed the dope in the hotel room, he wants to make sure this department doesn't wind up with egg on its face too."

"Why don't you convince him to send me to the spa for the maternity special? Then I can do a little nosin' around." Her palms connected as if in prayer as her eyes gazed up at me.

The soulful look on her face was precious. Maybe if I whipped my cell phone out, took a shot, and showed her beseeching mug to the sheriff, he'd go for that idea. Then again, maybe not.

"I'm afraid Mrs. Ingels, the PI from New York, has that covered." I jutted my chin toward the boss's office. "I can tell you, he's not too happy about her side investigation."

"From what I see, the wife's the sole financial beneficiary of the victim's estate. Got plenty of bucks to spend gettin' dolled up."

"The estate's in probate and she won't get anything that's ill-gotten gains. She's waiting tables at the Chuck Wagon."

"You don't say? I was thinkin' she's the prime suspect."

"So did the rookie detective. Probably why he missed the dope."

She rested a hand on her stomach. "Maybe the girlfriend thought he'd changed his will, puttin' her in and cuttin' the wife out. There's a motive right there could move that sweetie up a notch or two on the suspect list."

"Yep, it might." I bit back a grin, thinking Ronnie would like that theory.

"Since I can't get a uniform around my girlish figure, I ought to go nosin' around undercover at that bridal shop in civvies... 'cept for my girlish figure isn't exactly bridal." She chuckled.

"In this day and age, your condition doesn't mean a thing as far as brides go. And that's not a bad idea. Keep wearing that rock your husband gave you, but put the band in your wallet. Stop in Cassidy Bridal Couture on your way back from the senior center. Insist on dealing solely with
Miss
Cassidy. Get a take on her demeanor and anything else of note." My stomach approached sour every time I thought of that harridan.

"Okay, boss. I'll put that on my ever increasin' to-do list."

I laughed. "Make sure you look at white dresses."

Then it was down the long corridor to see the sheriff. Time to lay out everything we had, or didn't have. Technically, the Abilene PD's rookie was still lead on the case. Trouble was I had what the rookie probably had... not much.

Chapter Ten

South Abilene

Day Six, Late Morning

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

"Bertha, I'm so glad your girlfriend could cover lunch for you again. I promise to get you back for the dinner shift. And, I'm no moocher, I'll return the favor. I'll do your lunch shift tomorrow."

"Aw, honey, you don't have to work for me. I'm glad to help you out."

I pulled the driver's visor down, flipped the mirror open, and checked my look. The brown wig flipped under at my shoulders into a pageboy. I hoped I could keep it straight on my head. It wasn't a perfect fit. I'd used an eyebrow pencil to draw a mole over my left upper-lip large enough to be seen half a mile away. In addition, I'd picked up a gaudy sapphire ring surrounded by fake diamond chips and donned a pair of glitzy rhinestone, oversized-framed sunglasses. Multicolored crystal earrings dangled practically to my shoulders. The store had called them candy-toned jewels.

I slid out of the car and tugged on the hem of the indigo kimono top I took everywhere, in case I needed a more put-together look. "Ready?"

"Honey, she might wonder what in the world is walkin' into her store, but she'll never guess it's you behind that getup."

"You don't think she'll be jealous of my totally tasteful look?" I twirled in the parking lot.

"I'm not real sure about the jealous part." Bertha giggled.

I gave the wig a few tiny pats, as glamour girls do, and it slipped to one side. I quickly righted it. "Okay, let's do this."

Inside the store, I flitted from one display to the next, rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet, not knowing what to do with my hands. And who could've guessed there were so many shades of white?

Thankfully, Cassidy was distracted, helping a pregnant customer attach a voluminous wedding headdress with a veil to her strawberry blond hair.

Bertha came up beside me, took a gown off the rack and held it up in front of us, then lowered her voice and jutted her head toward the pregnant, prospective bride. "Bless her heart. Looks like west Texas is catchin' up with this day 'n age. She's gonna wear white. It wasn't long ago in Arroyo, they hurried up the weddin' before the gal showed. If she was big, like that, they'd have the ceremony real quiet-like, in the pastor's office."

I glared at Cassidy. "If big hair's the indicator, I'd say some are still back in the nineties on a pageant runway."

"Be nice, hon. You're better than that."

I folded my arms across my chest and pouted. "No, Bertha,
you're
better than that."

A seamstress with a pincushion fastened to her wrist as a corsage would be and a cloth tape measure around her neck, careened around the back counter. She waved a telephone message slip. "Cassidy, Stanley Fishburn wants you to call..." She slowed to a walk and pushed a mass of coppery curls off her face. "Oh, didn't realize you had customers." She turned on her spiked heel and retreated into the back.

When the pregnant customer turned around and lifted the veil off her face, Bertha pulled me down to a squatting position behind the rack of gowns. "That ain't no bride. That's Deputy Dixie Watts... works for Dawson Hughes... lives in Arroyo too, just like him."

Keeping low, I did a modified sideways crab-walk toward the prom dresses displayed in the front of the store. "She's not in a deputy's uniform," I whispered.

"Where you gonna find a uniform for a belly like that? They say she's havin' twins," Bertha whispered back.

Deputy Watts took the veil off, thanked Cassidy and walked toward the front door. When the deputy got to the prom dresses, Bertha bent and examined the hem of one of them with her back turned. Watts nodded to me.

I stood tall and threw her my most confident smile. The only thing is I could swear the wig changed position on my head.

The deputy left and I tried to set the wig straight.

Cassidy approached us. "May I help you?"

Bertha nearly leapt in front of me. "I want to look at weddin' dresses."

"Cassidy glanced at the rack. You're in prom dresses. You're not going to wear white?"

"Well, it's my second weddin'. I'm not gonna wear a prom dress, but I was lookin' at colors, is all."

"I see." Cassidy stared at me for a moment, then motioned toward a display of mother-of-the-bride dresses. "We have a few
reprise
weddin' gowns over here."

We followed her and she showed us a scoop neck, ankle-length, white-satin gown with tulip sleeves. It was A-line with a pink sash circling the waist and there were tiny pink flowers at the hem. I couldn't keep from gasping. It was perfect for Bertha.

Bertha hesitated and then gently touched the fabric as if it had been spun by fairies. "Do you have it in my size?"

Cassidy bestowed a benevolent smile. "Of course. We'd order it custom, just for you."

"Can you get it with a yeller sash and teeny yeller flowers?"

"I'd have to phone the manufacturer, but in all probability we can."

"I think Hoot will be tickled pink... um, I mean tickled yeller, by this dress."

Cassidy stepped closer and peered intently at me. "Can I show you something? Perhaps a matron of honor dress?"

I shook my head vehemently in the negative while turning the wedding ring on my finger round and round. My left shoulder jerked involuntarily and I immediately smoothed my hair to make sure the wig hadn't fallen to the side again.

Bertha managed to drag herself away from the dress, finally. And when we were safely back in the Smart Car, she sighed. "Too good to be true. I could never buy that gown from that woman, even though I love it. Not after what she done to you, Ronnie."

I grinned. "Not to worry. You're in the company of an ace private eye. I memorized the manufacturer's name on the tags. Shangri La Bridal Gowns. There has to be another bridal store in Abilene, and if there isn't, we'll go to Fort Worth.

"Hon, Hoot hasn't even proposed to me yet and here we are fixin' to get a weddin' gown."

"Well, what's taking that man so long?" I made a hard left out of the parking lot.

"Ronnie, we've only been on but one date."

"Yeah, but you know he's gonna pop the question. Right?"

She blushed crimson. "When I saw he'd all but took off his shaggy beard, I knew in my heart he was fixin' to marry me."

*****

Abilene, TX

Day Six, Afternoon

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

My office décor could easily be termed
retro law enforcement
. Most likely, the desk had been recycled and the file cabinets definitely had seen better days. I leaned back in my swivel chair and it squeaked.

Phone to my ear, I gazed out my office window as the Abilene rookie detective's faltering voice half justified, half apologized for messing up.

"Listen, everyone has his first case as lead detective. All that counts in the end is you catch the killer." I meant every word.

"I had the victim's New York City PI wife as my main suspect, but I've backed off that. Only problem is now I have nothin'."

"I hear you. We haven't come up with anythin' either. If we had, we would've passed the info on to you."

"Well, deputy, I appreciate that."

Deputy Watts leaned through my open door. "Sorry, Hughes, I'll come back in five."

I motioned for her to enter and sit. Then I got off the phone. "So, what did you find out at the bridal shop?"

"Not much. The seamstress came flyin' out from the back with a message for Cassidy Renault to call some guy named Stanley Fishburn. Who he is or what it's about, I don't know."

"Give this bit of info to the lead dick at the Abilene PD. They've got a court order for the victim's phone records. Maybe he can figure out who this Fishburn is."

She nodded. "Oh, there was somethin' curious."

"What's that?"

"Hoot's lunch 'n dinner-shift waitress, Bertha, was in there with some rhinestone diva. Seemed like they were hidin' behind the prom dresses. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why."

"This rhinestone queen... what'd she look like?"

"Average height, trim figure. Looks like maybe she runs or works out. Wore a wig she couldn't keep straight on her head and a pair of huge rhinestone-framed sunglasses."

"Veronica Ingels." I sat up straight in my chair.

"The victim's wife... the PI?"

"The very one." I didn't know whether to burst out laughing or to head for Arroyo and hand the meddling female's head to her.

*****

Arroyo

Day Six, Late Afternoon

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

A manila envelope from real estate agent Kayla Anderson and a piece of junk mail awaited me at the Chuck Wagon's register. I tossed the envelope offering a great deal on a credit card and ripped open the larger one.

Bertha adjusted the ties of the apron around her waist. "Hon, what ya got there?"

I pulled a small white envelope out of the larger manila one. "It's from Armadillo Flintlock Paradise." I held the letter-size envelope at arm's length. "What on earth is that?"

"It's a small, but kinda swanky gun club in south Abilene."

"It's addressed to Mark at the new house." My hand trembled. Mark had never been a gun enthusiast. Not the Mark I knew. Then again, had I really known him?

Bertha waved her hand in a hurry-up motion. "Open it, Ronnie."

I did and pulled out a slip of paper, which was a notice of a special order. "Someone wrote on top that they've been trying to reach him by phone."

"Of course he didn't answer, hon, we know that. What did he order?"

"A Desert Eagle .50 AE in brushed chrome with Hogue grim reaper engraved grips in black aluminum." I crushed the order receipt to my chest. "Pretty sexy."

Pete placed his check on the counter along with a twenty-dollar bill and let out a low whistle. "Cost a pretty penny too. That one'd have to be at least two thousand dollars if it's a dime."

"Close, but not quite." I read the receipt again. "It also has a gold base."

Pete shook his head. "That'd add a little color and a little more to the bill, but don’t help ya shoot any better."

The Mark Ingels I knew couldn't shoot at all.

Bertha rang up his check and handed Pete his change. She scowled and a quizzical look crossed her eyes. "That's what you get when a city feller decides to play cowboy."

"Nice to have that kinda money." He shook his head, and walked out.

The questioning look returned and Bertha knit her eyebrows. "Are you responsible to pay for it?"

I showed her the slip of paper. "It's paid for. I'm going to go pick it up."

"You are?" A frown spread across her face and her eyes narrowed.

"You bet. Maybe somebody there will remember something significant about the day Mark ordered it."