Rollover (11 page)

His cell vibrated against his chest from the inner pocket of his jacket. Elaine. She had said she'd call before she left Roswell. But it wasn't Elaine's number.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Mahoney? This is Penny…Gertrude Kennedy's daughter. I need to talk with you.”

“Okay. Now's a good time.” He was on the road but hadn't seen a car in ten minutes.

“I don't mean over the phone. Could we meet? I'm on my way to the bank. I'll meet you out in front in ten minutes.” Click.

She seemed to know that he'd agree. He could only hope that there wasn't a problem, and that Gertrude was okay. He was rather fond of the old girl.

He pulled up across from the bank and almost missed Penny, only recognizing her after she'd gotten out of the vintage Jag. Now that was worth a pretty penny—not to play on words or anything. But it wasn't just the car, the Penny in front of him looked different. Once again she was dressed in a no-nonsense, cuffs at the wrist and lace at the neckline, shirtwaist. But her head was uncovered and her hair had been straightened. He wasn't sure how that was done, but now the unruly curls were soft waves that framed her face and just touched her shoulders. And the sunglasses? Straight out of Hollywood. Still the Jag didn't quite fit. But why did it bother him? Because he hated to be wrong and he'd have bet his life on her driving something Asian and cheap…a KIA maybe? Nothing with the sleek, eye-catching dark green lines of the car that had pulled to a stop in front of him. But she was headed his way and he leaned over to open the Cherokee's passenger-side door.

“Thanks so much for meeting with me.” She climbed in, turned toward him and plopped an oversized bag onto her lap. “I see you like my car.” She slipped off the oversized, tortoiseshell sunglasses.

He hadn't realized he was still giving the Jag the once-over. “Yes. A true classic.” But then he gave Penny the once-over, too. Those eyes…was that makeup? She looked pretty good to just be going to the bank.

“My father's pride and joy. I think he loved that car more than my mother.…Um, that's a family joke.” She colored slightly which made him think that maybe it wasn't a joke. Then, suddenly she just looked flustered.

“I don't know where to begin.” She fumbled with the clasp on the bag. “I suppose I should just get it over with and answer questions later.”

She certainly had his undivided attention. She rummaged for a moment in the bottom of the bag before pulling out a drawstring purse or maybe it was just another smaller bag, Dan wasn't sure.

“I owe you such an apology. I never saw this coming but everything is our fault—” Penny was struggling with the knot, picking at it with short blunt nails. Finally it gave way and she reached inside slowly drawing out her hand.

Dan didn't need to be told that he was looking at the real thing. The diamonds and sapphires caught the sunlight and sent prisms of light dancing across the dash.

“Where…?”

“Under the mattress in the guest room. Mother sometimes would put it there if she had it out when someone came to the door. It was only ever a quick fix—never permanent. I was putting the flannel sheets on the bed for winter when I found it.”

“The pictures don't do it justice.”

“No, they don't.”

Dan waited and watched Penny struggle with what she wanted to say next.

“Your mother—”

“Mr. Mahoney, Mother doesn't know I've found the necklace. She's…she's beginning to have problems, forgetting things, confusing names and dates.”

“All signs of being eighty-five, I'd imagine.”

“I'm afraid it's a little more. The doctor called me after her checkup last spring and wanted me to take her for testing. He told me he suspected the beginnings of Alzheimer's. Of course, she'd have none of it.”

“Pride and the elderly can be a tough combination.”

“More than that. I think the dementia is becoming dangerous…just yesterday she left eggs to boil, went out in the yard to weed, and forgot them. Took us hours to air out the house.”

“What will you do now?”

“With the necklace? I've already talked with Mr. Woods. He's willing to look the other way…say the necklace was misplaced, put back in another box after the robbery. Then it will be ‘found' and Mother contacted. Mother doesn't need to ever know what she did. That, of course, depends upon you and the insurance company.” Penny's left eye involuntarily twitched.

“Sounds like a plan.” And he meant it. The last thing he wanted to do was cause additional worry for the two women.

Penny's sigh of relief was audible as she grabbed his hands and just held on, “You'll never know how much this means. Mother's failing is so very difficult.”

“I can only imagine.”

“And now you can leave. Take that wonderful Ms. Linden on a trip to Ireland after all.” Penny sat back and fairly beamed at him.

Everyone liked a little romance…boy gets girl, girl gets trip to Ireland. But there was something vaguely bothering him…yes, he now had no reason to prolong his stay in Wagon Mound; certainly, he wouldn't be on the UL&C payroll after his report. But there was something…something that rankled, flew in the face of right versus wrong. A man lost his life and his own had been threatened. No, it wasn't what it seemed, but unavenged death…was old Chet counting on him?

“Mr. Mahoney?” Dan jerked back to the present. “That's right isn't it? You really don't have a reason to stay. I can't believe that Mother's dementia came so close to taking your life. I know she'd never forgive herself if she knew. And the fact that she was standing in the way of Elaine's happiness. Bitsy loved her—Mother and I just know she's a wonderful person. The right person.” This delivered with hands clasped to chest and a wink.

“I'm sure Elaine would appreciate the vote of confidence and you're right. A day or two to wrap things up and I'm gone.” But, then again, maybe not. Taking away his reason to be in Wagon Mound still left questions. Lots of them.

“Well, again, my apologies. Better get going. Just holding this thing gives me the jeebies.” A quick smile, an awkward, moist handshake, the oversized glasses perched once again on her nose, and Penny was out of the Cherokee and across the street. He watched until she was safely inside the bank. And then he just sat there.
What the hell?
was about the only coherent thought to drift to the surface. Just plain what the hell? Then he put the Cherokee in gear and turned toward I-25. A visit with Jeeter Ferris was long overdue. Now that he had a clear conscience about working on company time. Company time had just been erased.

The trip to Las Vegas took an hour and allowed some time to reflect. He wasn't going to lead the witness but he wanted access to any paper trail.

What had been done to the truck, and when. He figured he was owed that much. A quick check in the phone book when he gassed up at the edge of town put the chop shop about four blocks from the center of downtown. He wasn't going to call first. This was a workday; somebody would be there. Better to not give anyone a reason to overthink what Dan might want.

He had to park on the street and walk back to the chain-link entrance. Didn't look like the brothers were lacking in business. The array of half torn down bikes and cars filled the side yard and extended around the back.

The office seemed to be the top floor of the two-story metal-sided barn-like structure in the front corner of the lot—if he could trust the word “office” above the arrow pointing up the outside stairs. The door above him opened before he could reach the bottom step.

“Help yuh?” Complete with red-and-white bandana rakishly pulled low touching bushy eyebrows that matched a handlebar mustache that brushed his chest, the mountain of a man towered above him—and it wasn't just one story's worth of stairs with Dan being at the bottom looking up. This guy was big.

“Looking for Jeeter Ferris.”

“Found him. Should I know you?”

“Probably not. Dan Mahoney. I was Chet Echols' passenger when he rolled his truck. I think you put that truck together for him.”

“Yeah. Been expecting you actually. Some ol' coot try to take
me
out, I'd be hot—wanna know the where's and why's of that one, fer sure.”

“Are you saying you can help me?”

“Well, maybe I wouldn't go so far, but come on up. I'll tell you what I know.”

Dan followed Jeeter up the narrow wooden stairs and settled in a folding chair facing a huge, pockmarked wooden desk with carved initials under a skull and crossbones on the corner nearest him.

“I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Not a problem.” Jeeter rummaged in the desk's file drawer before drawing out a grease-stained folder. “This should help.” He opened it and spread a stack of receipts across the desk. “And this.” He handed an envelope to Dan.

“What—?”

“Initial contract.”

The letter was on regular paper—could have come out of a copy machine—no letterhead or other identifying marks. No marks on the envelope and past the time when there'd be any viable fingerprints. It was short and to the point. A movie producer by the name of Martin St. Martin would be sending one Chet Echols Jeeter's way by the end of the week. This Mr. Echols would map out what he would be needing in the way of a pickup to be used in various stunts on the set of the movie
Cowboys and Werewolves
, currently being filmed outside Roy, New Mexico. Mr. Echols had been instructed to begin with a budget of ten thousand. More would follow as needed. Receipts would be turned over to Mr. Echols every thirty days.

“And I take it Chet showed up that week?”

“As promised.”

“What kinds of things did he ask for?

“Well, it wasn't our usual job. That's fer sure.”

The door to the office opened a foot and the man who stuck his head in looked startled that Jeeter had company.

“Sorry, catch ya later.” He ducked back and the door quickly closed. Dan barely registered another red-checked bandana and handlebar mustache.

“Let's see where was I?”Jeeter paused then opened the middle drawer of the desk. “Here's a list of parts we ordered. Suppose I should have handed these off.”

“Can I make a copy?”

“You can have the original. No good to me.”

Dan glanced at such objects as bumpers, right fender, left headlight rim, doors…“You know the door didn't fit—didn't line up with the hinges on the passenger side.”

“Told me to leave the door that way…said he'd need to wire it shut anyway.”

“And you didn't ask why?” Dan stared hard at Jeeter, then turned away. “Sorry, but I'm just trying to figure out why a whole bunch of red flags didn't fly up.”

“Mostly 'cause I don't know my ass from my elbow when it comes to stunt autos. He coulda told me he wanted chrome duel exhaust pipes mounted on the hood vertical and I'd done it.”

“Yeah, I'd be the same way. But didn't he talk about the stunt? Say exactly how he'd use the truck?”

“He was talkative all right but mostly about past movies—past stunts. Can't say that he offered anything about the current one.”

“Did you ever talk to the producer?”

“Yeah. Twice. He called to set things up, said to expect a letter.” Jeeter pointed to the sheet of paper in Dan's hands. “Then later on he called to ream my ass about spending money on a tailgate.”

“Odd. Sounds like he was the one pulling the strings. At least Chet kept him informed. Where were the calls placed?”

“LA prefix—I know that 'cause I used to live out there.”

“Same number both times?”

“Yeah. Gave it to the cops but apparently it traced to a pay phone.”

“And this Martin St. Martin? Did the cops question him?”

“Got me there. 'Fraid this is the end of my knowledge.”

Dan stood. “Thanks again for your time. Would you mind if I had a copy of this? I'm assuming you want the original?” Dan handed him the letter.

“Yeah, better hang onto that. Give me a minute or two.”

“Not a problem.”

***

Dan sat, fingers lightly drumming on the steering wheel, before starting the SUV. Where to now? Jeeter wasn't as much help as he'd hoped but he could always question the producer himself. In fact, that sounded like a pretty good idea now that he was basically on his own time. The fact that nothing was stolen was eating away at him. It'd been a very expensive wasted trip…if he'd wanted to have a near-death experience, he probably wouldn't have chosen Wagon Mound, New Mexico, to have it. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled into traffic.

If he started now, he could get to Roy before dark. It looked like rain but he'd take a chance that the movie crew would still be there. He guessed it was called “on location” and he remembered reading that the movie wouldn't “wrap” until the end of the month. If this Martin guy was around, maybe he'd feel like chatting. And he'd just bet that Simon would like to take a ride. No fun being cooped up in one room all day, pig's-ear chew or not.

***

After stopping for directions, Dan drove the length of Roy's Main Street and headed out of town. The set was hard to miss—cars, trailers, a crane, several facades of old-time buildings propped up to form a street from a time long past. Dan pulled in beside a chain-link gate manned by a woman in a baseball cap, yellow slicker, and holding a clipboard. She didn't let him get out of the car but came running forward and leaned down when Dan lowered the window.

“You the replacement for Harry?” She was staring at him in a slightly disapproving manner but backed up two steps when Simon stuck his head out.

Dan had no idea if he was supposed to be an actor or just the guy delivering supplies. “No, I'm here to see the producer.”