Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

South Abilene

Day Six, Late Afternoon

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

My first stop was the post office nearest to Mark's villa. There hadn't been much of a line, and filling out the change of address forms had been a breeze. What took much longer was the clerk's enquiry as to how my day was going. Although I'd been in Texas nearly a week, these conversational exchanges with service workers always took me by surprise. In Brooklyn I was used to a grunt and if not a hostile glare, a disinterested tone from my server.

After that, my GPS took me to the Armadillo Flintlock Paradise in ten minutes flat.

I didn't know what I expected to find behind those gray granite walls, but it sure wasn't like the shooting ranges back home. First off, there wasn't a single individual covered in tattoos and nobody sported heavy silver chains around their neck... and we're talking the men.

Bertha thought this establishment was snazzy.

I gave the place a once over. A framed oil painting of a stagecoach with a cowboy riding shotgun dominated one wall. Beneath that, three dark brown leather upholstered chairs surrounded a rectangular coffee table displaying copies of
RifleShooter
magazine
, Guns and Ammo
, and
Field & Stream
. The front showroom displayed every kind of gun or rifle that might be desired. The shooting gallery was probably in the back. No telltale signs of gunfire, but all these places were sound proofed.

A sandy haired fellow greeted me, filling out his fringed leather vest rather nicely. He leaned on the gleaming glass counter and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. "Can I help you?"

I showed him the receipt for the Desert Eagle, my identification, my license to carry, and Mark's death certificate.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

"Do you want to try her out to see how she shoots, or'd you rather I box 'er up?"

"Wrap it and I'll take a box of ammo for it too."

"Yes, ma'am." He took the gun into the room behind the counter.

The front door opened and a familiar voice called out, a chuckle in his tone. "It must be my lucky day. Imagine finding New York's premier lady PI gettin' herself another weapon."

I pivoted. "Hughes. How'd you know I was here?"

"Deputy Hicks saw that green bug you drive and radioed me."

"Oh, so now the Taylor County Sheriff's Department is tailing me?"

The gun shop guy came out carrying a large plain brown bag and threw a suspicious look at me. "Dawson, is there a problem?"

"No, not at the moment, Todd, but this here's Mrs. Mark Ingels and trouble seems to dog her tracks. I'm just here to protect and serve." Hughes tipped his Stetson and grinned.

Todd's eyes lit up. He glanced at me and then at Hughes. I wasn't sure I liked his grin. "Well, since you put it that-a way."

Hughes motioned with a quick tilt of his head. "Ronnie, I'd like you to meet Todd Peterson, an old Army buddy of mine. We served together in Iraq."

I extended a hand and we shook. "Nice to meet you Todd."

Hughes leaned against the counter. "Todd, the other day this lady challenged me to a shootin' match."

Todd gave a deep chuckle. "Did she, now?"

Hughes nodded. "I think I'd like to see what kinda stuff she's made of."

"That's doable. I'll take you two to the shootin' range." Todd walked from behind the gun cases with an easy gait, across the showroom, and turned down a short hallway.

We followed, and on the way, I handed the brown paper bag to Hughes. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'm going to make a pit stop in the ladies room."

I entered through a door displaying the silhouette of a stiletto heeled damsel, in a short tight dress, wielding a small purse sized pistol. On the door next to it a man's image in a duster with a fedora low on his brow pointed a Glock-type automatic.

As the women's room door closed behind me, I walked across the entryway on gray granite tiles with a dash of sparkle in them. Gray enveloped me. Wall-to-wall-to-ceiling gray ceramic tiles. A gray metallic stall-door opened and Ava Chandler strode out. She stopped and stared at me. No chic suit this time. She sported a bright blue shirt tucked into pressed jeans. Her tapping foot was shod in a chestnut boot, a shade lighter than her hair.

We both stared at each other for a moment. I finally broke the silence. "We meet again." Not very original, but the best I could come up with. I was thankful I hadn't stammered.

She ran those tapered fingers of hers through her lush, auburn tresses. This time a silver horseshoe ring inlaid with turquoise blazoned her right ring-finger. "You're not half as clever as you think you are."

"Excuse me?"

She turned her back on me, quickly washed and dried her hands, then stormed out.

I caught the door with my toe before it closed. Nobody waited for her. She hurried across the showroom and left. Odd. I hadn't figured her as one who would shoot alone. Could she have been shooting with Todd?

After I finished up in the washroom, I rejoined Hughes and his buddy in a state of the art shooting range with ten shooting lanes.

A businessman stood in the last lane. He'd removed his jacket, shooting in a long sleeved white shirt and tie and ear protection. I wondered if he had been Ava Chandler's shooting partner.

Todd turned to me. "How difficult should I set the course?"

"Don't make it easy." I took my Glock out of my conceal and carry handbag.

Todd glanced at the brown paper bag now sitting on an aluminum bench. "You don't want to try the Desert Eagle?"

I pivoted toward Hughes. "Mark bought the gun. I'm going to give it to Hoot as a thank you gift when I leave."

Hughes smiled. "A Desert Eagle. He'll appreciate that."

Turning my focus back to Todd, I nodded. "I'm going to show the deputy a thing or two, and I'll use my own weapon."

"Yes, ma'am." He chuckled, stepped into the lane, and arranged a course of tactical targets on the range.

We tossed a coin, determining Hughes would go first, which suited me fine. I wanted to watch him before I had to navigate the course. I didn't have a holster at my waist. So Hughes removed his and we agreed to start with our weapons in our right hand and at our side, pointed at the floor.

"I'm goin' to borrow one of Todd's personal handguns that I've shot before. Don't want to have to account for my service weapon bein' fired."

When Todd returned, he handed over a Kimber 1911 and a set of gun-range ear muffs. "May the best shooter win."

Hughes got into the lane, toes at the line. Two cardboard bad-guy targets were staggered along the left wall at five and seven yards. Straight down the middle, there was one at fifteen yards and on the left wall, two together at ten. Hughes put on the ear muffs.

The buzzer sounded.

Hughes raised his gun, and started firing. He hit both targets along the left wall and the bad-guy in the middle at twenty yards. Then in one fluid motion took out the two cardboard thugs together on the right wall. Beautiful.

Todd glanced at the clock and gave his friend an admiring grin. He handed me a pair of muffs. "Okay, little lady, let's see what you can do."

I took a steadying breath, strangely calmed by the smell of gunpowder.

The buzzer sounded.

As Hughes had, I easily hit both bad-guys along the left wall and the target in the middle. Then I stepped forward… hit the first of the two standing together and double tapped the last one.

"Whoa, now, little lady, that's what I call shootin'." Todd raised a fist in the air.

I reloaded my Glock and put it away in my purse. "So, who won?"

Todd raised and lowered one shoulder. "Well, I'll tell you the truth, Hughes' time beat yours by a hair, but that double tap you did on the last target was real nice shootin'. It wouldn't bother me at all if you had my back."

*****

South Abilene

Day Six, Moments Later

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

I accompanied the lady to her Smart Car and held the driver's door a moment. "Can I interest you in seein' one of Abilene's spots of interest?"

"Only if it includes eating. I'm so hungry I could..."

"I know... eat a bear, and where I'm goin' to take you that could be a possibility."

"Are you going to take me someplace up in the hills and leave me stranded there at the mercy of large and ferocious game?"

I shook my head and affected my best sad puppy-dog look. "It pains me you'd think that of an officer of the law."

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "That's real cute, but as a PI, I've been hired a few times too many after the cops have royally screwed up. And some of them haven't been the sweetest guys in the world either."

I raised an eyebrow. "You'll just have to trust me this once, though I hope you're not scared of wild animals." She got in and I slammed her door shut.

Her driver's window came down and she leaned her head out. "So you are taking me into the hills."

I grinned. "Just follow my cruiser. Think you can handle that?"

She fired up that little green hornet she drove. "You couldn't lose me if you tried."

I laughed, got into the cruiser, and pulled out of the gun club's lot. She wasn't easy to figure out... a challenge. Not your typical woman, to say the least.

She stayed right behind my car until I pulled into the parking lot of the Abilene Zoo... more of a kiddie zoo, but a real nice place to while away a few hours.

After the divorce, I'd find myself here sometimes… wandering around. Little tykes squealing with delight, reaching up to feed the giraffes, or screeching in horror in the Creepy Crawler Center made me smile and pressure seemed to slough off my shoulders.

Ronnie clicked the key fob to lock her car and I escorted her to the admissions booth and purchased two tickets.

I guided her by the elbow. "This is the greatest little place, and it's got a terrific snack bar called the Waterin' Hole, if you're hungry."

"Famished. I could eat a..."

"Bear... I know."

After we ate, we took the zoo train and then walked over the bridge to feed and pet the giraffes. One of the long tongued beasts licked my face leaving a stream of slobber. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped it off. "Tall ladies have always been partial to me."

She giggled and pointed. "You missed a tiny bit, up above your cheekbone."

"Thanks." I swiped the entire side of my face.

"Listen, I have to tell you something serious... about the case, maybe. I ran into Ava Chandler in the ladies' room at the gun club."

I folded my handkerchief carefully, giving myself a little time. "That is interestin'."

"I figure she's not the type to shoot alone. So, either she had a shooting date with that businessman, or one with Todd."

I slid the handkerchief into my pocket, still processing this bit of information. "I'll ask Todd if Mrs. Chandler shot with that fella and if so, I'll get his particulars."

"And if not?"

"Then I'll ask Todd what type of relationship he has with Winslow Chandler's wife." This had to be one of the aspects of my job I liked least. Law enforcement officers routinely uncovered the deep-dark secrets of private citizens, which ended up being meaningless as far as the investigation was concerned. Still every rock had to be overturned. I just didn't like having to be the one to do it.

Chapter Twelve

South Abilene

Day Seven, Morning

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

My comfortability quotient rapidly tanked. But I was used to not feeling feminine enough, cultured enough. So, I simply soldiered on. I sat cross-legged on the floor of the yoga exercise room at the spa, as I had no idea how to twist my legs into a lotus position.

The young woman with the pink pixie haircut turned out to be the yoga instructor. She gazed directly at Bertha and me. "Let me introduce myself, since we have a couple of new members. My name is Uma Kantrel." She extended her vowels in a kind of North-Pacific manner.

She had us breathe in through our noses and out through our mouths in a long, rhythmic fashion. This only served to make the eucalyptus scent permeating the room tickle my sinuses.

Bertha rocked from side to side, stretched a leg out, and leaned toward me, softly moaning, and said, "I've got a mean cramp in my calf."

Uma gave Bertha a forced smile. "Ladies, if you'd get your bodies comfortable and then tip on over to the right side. That's it. Now place your right arm down on the mat so your elbow bends. Arch at your waist and circle your left arm
ah-ll
the way over so the fingertips of your left hand touch the fingertips of your right." She drew out the word
all
in a singsong lilt.

The class did as instructed while, in the far corner, a three-foot high ceramic tipping jar fountain gently gurgled. It was just like the one in the lobby.

As the saying went, it indeed was a small world. The seamstress from Cassidy's store sat in a perfect lotus position in the row ahead of us, her body arched to the side.

Uma smiled benevolently. "Very good ladies. Now straighten your bodies and breathe out slowly."

Cassidy's employee made a graceful sweeping motion with her arm and straightened up, seemingly without effort.

"Ronnie, I can't get up." The words hissed and wheezed out of Bertha's mouth.

I slid over to her. "Give me your hand."

She did and I pulled her to a sitting position.

Pink Hair stared at us, her eyes radiating contempt.

The rest of the session went much like this, but somehow we managed to make it through.

Uma thanked the class for their effort, placed her palms together in a praying position before her chest and bowed to us. When we finally picked up our yoga mats, Bertha's face was at least four shades brighter than the instructor's hair.

The room emptied. Cassidy's seamstress was one of the first to leave, taking rapid, tiny steps on tiptoe. I wanted to talk to her and hoped we'd catch her in the changing room.

Perhaps noticing my approach, Uma made a beeline for the door.

I picked up my pace and stepped in front of her. "It's because Cassidy Renault thinks so highly of your class that we decided to give it a try."

Technically, that was only a tiny stretch. Nellie had blurted out how Cassidy was friendly with the yoga instructor.

"You don't say?" Uma's tone sounded incredulous.

"Oh, absolutely, we figured any class Cassidy likes has to be terrific." I gave her my most sincere smile, the one I'd honed over the years in my profession, the one suggesting an offer of friendship.

She didn't bite. In fact, she took a step backward and nearly collided with the tipping jar fountain. "Well, I certainly hope you found it of benefit."

"Oh, I'm sure we did." I stepped toward her and she maneuvered to the side, avoiding Bertha by centimeters.

Bertha smiled from ear to ear and nodded vigorously, but said nothing. The woman simply would not lie.

Uma managed to slip around us, made her escape out the door, and bolted down the hall.

I peered after her. "I can't be sure if mentioning Cassidy made Miss Pink Hair out of sorts or if it was because we ruined her class."

Bertha snort-chuckled. "How about both?"

As we entered the changing room, Cassidy's seamstress snatched up her belongings and launched herself toward the door.

"Hello, didn't we see you in the yoga class?" I quickly approached her.

She ducked her head and hurried past us. "Sorry, I'm in a rush to get back to work."

"Jiminy, makes a gal feel like she's got leprosy or somethin'." Bertha shook her head.

"That one looked determined not to speak to us. Maybe even afraid to."

"She sure didn't want to be givin' us the time of day."

"Bertha, do you recall the telephone message she gave to Cassidy while we were in the store? Makes me wonder if there's something there."

"Oh, yeah, she came out from the back wavin' a pink phone message slip."

"Exactly."

I changed out of the tank top and yoga pants they'd given me. They didn't have yoga-wear in Bertha's size so she had donned the spa's sweat suit. In no time flat, she was out of that and back in street clothes.

"Let's hot-foot-it to the great room and see who's hanging around." I headed out the door and down the hallway.

On the way, we passed a gift shop so heavily incense scented, I nearly choked on the musk billowing out into the hall. We peered through the glass-shelved window display and then walked in. An assortment of desert-themed wind chimes hung from the ceiling, occasionally tinkling as air-conditioning currents moved them. A young woman in a peasant-style blouse and long skirt greeted us with a wide, loopy kind of smile. She stood behind a counter filled with gemstones and silver jewelry. Crystals in all shapes and sizes lined the store's shelves, along with Native American crafts, occult books, and esoteric greeting cards. A display of tipping-jar fountains stood in the back. The three-foot high one we'd seen in the lobby and yoga class sold for three hundred fifty dollars. I laughed aloud thinking over a hundred dollars a foot.

As we walked into the great room, Bertha was still talking about one of the smaller tipping-jar fountains. "Weren't that the sweetest thing?"

That settled the matter. The one she liked so much would be my wedding gift to her and Hoot.

A trim forty-something woman in the spa's sweat suit, with a professional-quality hair net around her short wheat blond hair, set out a buffet. Her nametag displayed:
Dorothy Chandler, nutritionist
.

Possibly a small world out here in west-central Texas. I crossed the great room and walked up to her. "Are you any relation to Ava Chandler?"

"I'm Winslow Chandler's cousin." Her tone was definite and she seemed to stand an inch taller saying that.

"Ava mentioned she was a member here and we can't tell you how much we value her opinion, so we rushed right over to take a yoga class." I hoped that little white lie would prime the pump.

Bertha's exhorting smile lit up the room, but she kept her peace.

The woman's nostrils flared. "Ava takes great pride in her opinions, but actually the yoga classes here are quite good."

"All I can say is, we enjoyed the class immensely and can't thank Ava enough." I'd taken a step closer to her and lowered my voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

She stepped back and her eyes widened. "I see you've joined the Ava Chandler fan club."

Less than a stellar endorsement of her cousin's wife. I nodded, smiled, and glanced toward the table. "Let's see what's on the menu today."

She pointed at the far end. "There's organic chicken salad with cranberries and walnuts on a bed of spring greens, and then there's an avocado salad with crumbled hardboiled egg and tomatoes. Of course, the eggs are free-range and organic.

"My, the salads look yummy." I picked up a plate. My mind fixated on the memory of the tiny portions members served themselves and the hefty charge on my bill for having eaten what they called lunch.

Farther along on the table, a large platter displayed baby carrots, cucumber, and celery slices, and a ranch style dipping sauce. There was a basket of whole-wheat crackers, pitchers of fruited water and iced green tea.

When Dorothy Chandler was out of earshot, I put the plate back down and nudged Bertha. "Let's blow this pop stand and get some real lunch."

"You don't have to tell me twice, hon."

I hadn't even gotten the little green bug out of Abilene, when Bertha motioned for me to pull over at some coffee shop. Mad Merv Java.

We stood in line and Bertha peered at a blackboard hanging on the back wall. The menu was written in several bright chalk colors. She nudged me with her elbow. "I hear they make a great grilled cheese sandwich."

"Oh, yeah? Who told you that?"

"Deputy Hughes."

Uneasiness fell upon me, and I quickly surveyed the small dining room. He wasn't there, which was good because I didn't want him thinking I was stalking him.

A middle-aged man with frizzy red hair placed a sandwich in a bag for the customer ahead of us. He wore a black tee shirt with a freaked-out image of himself on the front and beckoned to a college-age clerk. "Jessie, help these ladies."

"Oh, sure, Merv." She smiled at us. "What can I get you?"

Bertha asked for the grilled cheese special with a cup of chicken noodle soup and fresh brewed, iced sweet tea. I also went for the special but wanted broccoli-cheddar soup and a Coke.

The five small tables in the dining room were topped with burnt orange Formica that nearly matched Merv's hair. Only one was vacant, so we took it.

Bertha bit into her sandwich with obvious relish. "Oh, hon, this is good."

I checked my watch. It was almost 12:30, and would be an hour earlier in New York. I pulled my cell phone out of my shoulder bag and pressed the digit that speed-dialed Jack.

"Jack Cooney Investigations." The voice, cranky as ever.

"Jack, I need you to go to my apartment and see if you can get into Mark's iMac computer. I'm going to text you the password I have." Just as he hadn't changed his will, he might not have changed his password.

"He didn't take his laptop with him?"

"You know how he is, compulsive about traveling light. Takes his iPad, but keeps the desktop at home to create uber-professional audio-visuals for his… his lec--ectures." I caught myself speaking of Mark in the present tense, as if he were still alive.

"Okay, yeah, but before we get into this, would you give your mother a call. It's been a week."

"I know, and I will. I just don't know what to tell her. You know how she is about this issue."

"This is murder, Ronnie, not just infidelity. Call her. I think she can handle more than you give her credit for."

"Alright, I promise."

He cleared his throat. "What am I looking for?"

I took a long breath. "Look for any reference to a Stanley Fishburn. When we were undercover at Cassidy's Bridal Couture, one of the employees ran out with a message from this Fishburn guy for Cassidy."

"You went undercover out there?"

"Yeah, brown wig, big rhinestone framed glasses. The works. And truth be told, Cassidy didn't look too happy to be getting that message in front of prospective customers."

"Oh, brother. Maybe she made you?"

"I don't think she knew it was me. Still, today when I was at the spa Mark belonged to, I saw that same employee and she hurried away from me."

"Baby, I don't like the sound of this. They don't want you nosing around."

There he went calling me
baby
again. "I'm okay. Just see what you can find on Stanley Fishburn."

"Will do, but you keep an eye out. You might be ruffling some feathers."

*****

Abilene

Day Seven, Afternoon

Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes

I strode through the front door of Mad Merv Java, needing another cup of coffee -- bad.

Merv met me at the counter. "Howdy, Deputy. What can I get you?"

"I'll have a large cup of your Hawaiian Kona. And while I'm at it, might as well get lunch. Your grilled cheese special is always good. I'll have the broccoli-cheddar soup with that."

I took my tray to the fixings counter and added a splash of half 'n half to my coffee. There weren't any tables available, so I figured I'd eat my lunch standing. That's when I saw Bertha waving to me. Ronnie sat beside her, looking as if she didn't know if she should smile at me or run.

"Yoo-hoo, Deputy Hughes, why don't you come sit with us?"

I brought my tray to their table. "What brings you ladies to Abilene?"

Bertha grimaced. "Ronnie talked me into takin' a yoga class at the spa. I'll never do that again, I tell you."

Ronnie's gaze swung my way as a jolt of defiance flashed dazzling-blue in her eyes.

I eyeballed her straight on. "You're still nosin' around at that spa? That could land you in a world of trouble, but it's not like I haven't already told you that."

She blinked. "I wouldn't call it nosing, exactly. I'm simply curious."