Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) (12 page)

Since she seemed to have forgotten that I’d asked for her final thoughts for the article, I used the space of silence to thank her and get myself out of there.

Chapter 12

I pondered the information I’d gotten from Babe Freizel as I drove back to Albuquerque. Basically, nothing concrete about Tali, although I found it interesting that the mother and older sister apparently had broken ranks with the troubled younger one. I would have to pass that along to Chet Flowers. Under pressure, in the event that more charges were brought someday against Tali, these two might turn out to be the cracks in the foundation, the ones who could burst the family solidarity wide open.

On the other hand, most of Babe’s story could be pure hokum. These people had dealt with the media in droves and they might be experts at pulling the chain of any reporter who showed up. She might be on the phone with Scout right now, warning her. I could only hope that she’d not realized that my story was pure hokum too.

As I approached Albuquerque I took the Bernalillo exit toward the little suburb town of Rio Rancho and made my way in the general direction Babe had described. At a mall, I pulled into the parking lot and consulted my map.

Scout’s house should be about ten minutes away. Would she be home this time of day? Only one way to find out without tipping her off in advance.

I parked in front of the house, a modest ranch with white siding and black shutters that was surrounded by spiky, winter-bare deciduous trees. No car in the drive, no response to the bell. The cul-de-sac wasn’t exactly a place to spy from and if her sister had indeed warned her about my arrival, Scout Stiles could easily outwait me. I made the loop and pulled to the curb on the connecting street where I could see her house and hope to go unnoticed when she came back. My dashboard clock reminded me that it was after eleven. Why hadn’t I thought to grab lunch first? I could be sitting here eating a burger.

Even a yummy bag of potato chips would be better than nothing. I searched the glove box and the little compartment on the console. Two minutes had passed. In desperation I twisted around to the back seat and rummaged for anything that might have been left over. A foolish mission. The dog often rode back there and any edible scrap had long since been polished off by her sharp little incisors. Another minute had passed.

I debated leaving and coming back. Where had I seen the nearest food places? Back near the mall. I really didn’t want to be gone a half hour, but what if Scout worked until five, or even later? A girl could starve to death.

I drummed my nails on the steering wheel. I hate surveillance and this is why I always weasel out and make Ron do it. My mind began to play various scenarios. What if I left and Scout came home, got her car into the garage and I sat out here until the middle of the night, freezing to death and not realizing she was within arm’s length?

Geez, Charlie, get a grip.
I knew it was the hunger talking. My high-sugar breakfast this morning had long ago digested and now my head felt fuzzy.

“Just go get some food and come back, dummy,” I said to myself in the empty Jeep.

My alter-self answered with a practical plan and I decided to follow it. There was some kind of flyer lying in the gutter a few feet ahead of me. I picked it up and walked up to the Stiles house again. Rolling the page as if it were fresh and new, I stuck it between the doorknob and jamb. If anyone came home while I was gone they would remove the flyer. When I got back I would know. Ta-da.

Just to be on the safe side, I didn’t drive all the way back to the cluster of fast food places by the mall. A convenience store closer by provided me with a whole bag of trouble—three flavors of chips, two packets of cookies and a couple of those pastries that have so much fake stuff in them that they leave a waxy sheen on the roof of your mouth. And to feel virtuous about all of that, I picked up a ham sandwich with a current date on it and two bottles of juice. If this didn’t get me through until my quarry came home, I would just have to repeat the whole scenario tomorrow. That thought alone renewed my determination.

Back in the neighborhood I parked in a somewhat different spot, in case someone had seen me before. Who was I kidding? It was suspicious behavior no matter how I did it, and if the police showed up I couldn’t be terribly shocked.

Luckily, Scout came before the police did.

A red Honda driven by a female with short brown hair pulled into her driveway and the garage door rose. In went the Honda and down went the door. She must have entered the house through a connecting door. So much for my plan with the flyer. I set my half-eaten sandwich aside and rinsed my mouth with juice, then chewed up a breath mint while I pulled into the cul-de-sac and stopped smack in front of her house. At the door I wadded up the flyer and tossed it into her flowerbed.

“Yes?” she said when she answered the door.

“Scout Stiles?”

“What are you selling?”

Okay, all the Freizel women were suspicious of sales people, but at least Babe hadn’t given her the heads-up about my visit. I went into the freelance journalist bit.

Scout gave me a sharp stare. She wasn’t going to be as trusting or as easily flattered as her sister. I dug into the side pocket of my purse and handed her one of the cards I’d made up. Since it had nothing but my formal name, my cell number and “Freelance Writer” on it, I was amazed she asked no further questions.

“An article about Tali’s case?” she asked.

“For the fifth anniversary of her being found innocent.” That seemed to be better wording than what I was really after. “I’ve already interviewed your sister Babe, and just wanted to fill in a few details. May I come in?”

She wasn’t a hundred percent keen on it, but did step aside for me to enter. Her taste in décor was considerably more refined than her sister’s and I commented on how nice her home was. She warmed a tad.

I started with soft questions that weren’t really phrased as such. “I feel lucky that I caught you at home today. My deadline for the piece is day after tomorrow.”

She let go with, “My boss gave us a long weekend. Real estate is slow around the holidays.”

 
“You’re a Realtor, then?”

“Administrative assistant. I fill out forms and keep the listing files organized.”

I nodded, as if that meant something to me. Then I proceeded with the same basic questions I’d posed to Babe. In case they compared notes about my visits.

“So, for the article,” I said as things began winding down. “Do you suppose there’s any way Tali would speak with me? I know it’s a big favor, but it would make the whole piece feel so much more complete.”

She gave me a look that said she knew this was what I’d come for all along. “My younger sister doesn’t grant interviews. She has a new life now and she wants nothing to do with all the painful business of that time.”

“Has she remarried?” I asked.

No response.

“You know, I don’t blame her a bit for hiding out. This whole thing must have been incredibly difficult. Losing her kids, then her husband, having to move from her home . . .”

With each thing I listed, I watched for some sign on Scout’s face that I’d guessed the key ingredient, but she remained impassive.

“You do stay in touch with her, don’t you? Babe seemed to think so.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” she said, finally.

I had struck a chord with that part. She knew exactly where Tali was. She just wasn’t going to tell me. I thanked her as graciously as I could and reminded her that she had my card. She could call me if she thought of anything to add. She walked me to the door, a little forcefully, I have to say.

“You should talk to Boyd Donovan,” she said as we stood with the door between us. “He left us all where we are now.
He
’s the one who left Tali.
He
stopped paying her attorney fees and left Mother with a huge bill. It’s why she and Babe live in that
shack
. She hasn’t even paid off all the bills
yet
. His
goons
scared Tali off. She was so afraid after that, she moved away where she couldn’t be found. Don’t go blaming
any
of this on Tali or our family. Boyd’s the one who set up this whole situation.”

Her voice had risen with each statement.

“The
whole
situation?” I said quietly. “Do you mean to tell me that he had something to do with the children’s disappearance?”

She backed down. “He abandoned my sister when she needed him most.”

It seemed to me that he’d stuck with her extraordinarily well, considering. But I didn’t say it. I might need more information from Scout at some point. I made a few sympathetic noises and walked out to my Jeep. I would have given anything to be a mouse in the corner of that house right now because I would take bets that she called Tali the second she closed the door behind me.

By the time I got down to my part of town I was feeling twitchy. I dropped off my notes and recorder at the office, sending a quick email out to Chet Flowers to let him know that I’d spoken with both sisters but had not yet located Tali, then I headed home.

Freckles whimpered in her crate and I felt a stab of guilt that she’d been in there so many hours. But once she had my attention she seemed perfectly happy to zip around the house a couple of times. When I picked up her leash and said “Park” she led me to the front door. We both restrained ourselves on the trip. She would have been thrilled to race all the way to the park and I could have used a good jog myself, but I knew we’d better start concentrating on some leash skills before we had a full-grown dog that we couldn’t control. I tightened my grip and was pleased that she stayed by my side and responded to my commands. We would have to show off for Drake when he got home.

Inside the walled park I let Freckles off the leash and she roared back and forth, her ears flopping and tongue lolling. She seemed so happy it made me want to do the same. I heard a laugh and looked across the way to see that Katie Brewster had come from the other entrance. I waved at her and started walking toward her.

“Hey, where’s the pink?” I asked when I got close enough to really get a look at her. The hair was now a much more sedate shade of burgundy.

She scuffed a toe against the brown grass. “My dad said I could come to work with him if I, you know, toned down the hair and stuff.”

Now I saw that all the eyebrow rings were gone.

“Hey, I like the new look,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure he’ll go for the red either. He hasn’t seen it yet.”

“I bet he’ll be impressed.” I held up the ball I’d brought along for Freckles. “You want to throw this for her?”

I watched Katie give it a pretty good throw and Freckles return it within a minute. Katie laughed and threw it again. The transformation from Goth to teen girl was amazing once you took away the shock-value getup. With any luck, Jerry’s little girl would settle down and become a young woman who would find her way just fine. She raced the dog to the end of the park and back, arriving at my side panting. Katie, not the dog.

“So, how’s your little brother doing?” I asked while she sat on one of the swings and got her breath back.

“Oh, fine. He’s, like, running all over the place again and doesn’t act like it hurts him much.”

“Good.” She met my gaze. “And you? Christmas Eve was a little rough. You doing better now?”

“Yeah.” One shoulder came up as she said it, faking a casualness that I sensed wasn’t really there. Then she grinned. “Especially since my dad said he’d give me a job.”

That was the whole thing, right there. She just needed that connection with her father, the thing she feared was missing with Felina and the new baby in the picture.

Freckles pawed at me and I glanced at my watch. “It’s her dinner time,” I told Katie. “I better get home and finish some chores too. Glad to hear about the job.”

She jumped off the swing to give Freckles a hug. Then she ran off in the direction from which she’d come.

Drake’s pickup truck was in the driveway when I arrived home. He’d plugged in the Christmas lights and started the gas logs in the fireplace and was standing in front of the refrigerator contemplating the contents.

“Hey you,” I said, snaking an arm around his waist.

“More turkey dinner okay with you?” he asked.

I envisioned little heaps of all the trimmings, dabbed onto dinner plates and reheated in the microwave, but he pulled out a skillet and some other things. By the time I’d hung up my jacket, fed the dog and taken a deep breath he had come up with something elegant involving puff pastry and a fabulous looking saucy mixture that smelled wonderful. How lucky can a girl get?

We ate at the dining table, enjoying the fire and the lights and the companionship. I tried to put the day’s work behind me but the interviews with Scout and Babe kept running through my head. Tali Donovan was somewhere in New Mexico. I could feel it.

Chapter 13

Ron showed up at the office wearing a new sweater and a rueful grin. “No comments,” he warned.

I actually thought it was kind of cute, a grown man wearing a snowman on his chest, and I said so.

He growled at me before turning to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Joey picked it out. Don’t expect to see it a lot when the boys aren’t staying at our house.”

His ex still had the majority of time with the kids, but since Ron had moved into Victoria’s house, which was a dream in comparison to the dumpy apartment he’d been in since the divorce, he found that the kids actually enjoyed staying with him. I suspected it was partly because Vic was willing to make them pancakes every day of the week. However, since their school was halfway across town from their dad’s new digs, they would go back to mom when Christmas break was over. He’d be reprieved from wearing the snowman sweater until next holiday season—probably.

He carried his coffee upstairs to his office and the next time I passed his door he said he was going back out to the Department of Labor to see what information he could wheedle out of someone, using Tali Donovan’s social security number. The snowman lay neatly folded on the visitor chair across from his desk.

“Don’t you need your little pal there to help woo your way into the hearts of those bureaucrats?” I grinned at him and then had to dodge a ball of paper he aimed my direction.

“Listen, Frosty, don’t blame me!”

The whole thing threatened to disintegrate into the kind of battle we had back when I was six and he was twelve. I ducked into my office and locked the door until I heard him leave. After he’d driven away I took the bright red sweater and draped it over the back of his chair so the snowman faced anyone who walked in. It really was kind of cute.

Okay, back to business. I called Chet Flowers and gave him all the info I’d gotten from the interviews with the Freizel sisters yesterday. None of the facts were new to him but he was interested in my impressions of their lifestyles and demeanor. I told him about Scout’s little rant there at the end.

“She was absolutely serious in placing blame on Boyd Donovan. I think she has repeated this stuff to herself so often over the years that she really believes it.”

“If she’s in touch with Tali it’s probably the two of them, feeding off each other’s anger and resentment.”

That made a lot of sense.

“I’d like to talk to him again. It would be nice if it could be in person. You understand that, being able to see a person’s face when you’re talking to him.”

“Absolutely. We’ll see what we can set up. Look, Charlie, I’ve got a list of the jurors from the trial. I understand one of them has since moved to New Mexico too, and I want to see if we can track down an address. If you can locate her for me I want to come out and conduct an interview.”

“I could do the interview if you’d like.” After all, Charlotte Langston, girl reporter for
Cosmo,
was having a pretty good run so far.

“Let me think about that part of it.”

I felt a little testy for a minute but I understood. He’d worked the case for a very long time. He wanted and needed to be in on the hunt and to be there for the resolution of this thing.

Chet gave me the name of the female juror he wanted us to track down and I put the note on Ron’s desk in a spot where I hoped it wouldn’t become lost in the perpetual clutter.

Meanwhile, I still had my real job to do around here. People who haven’t done accounting work don’t ever realize there are at least a thousand things to be done at the end of the tax year. December thirty-first isn’t just New Year’s Eve to us. Ron calls me obsessive.

Lost in my little world of accounts receivable and payable, trying to extract money from clients who’d let their bills fall behind, I didn’t realize that nearly three hours had passed when Ron showed up again. His heavy footfalls on the stairs were followed by an exclamation and sputter when he spotted his snowman sweater draped over his chair.

“Cute, Charlie. Real cute.” But at least he didn’t sound as if he was going to hit me.

He appeared in front of my desk a minute later.

“If Tali Donovan is working in this state, she’s not doing it under her own name or social security number,” he said. “I’ve searched it every which way, including her maiden name.”

“So, either she’s unemployed . . .”

“And has been since she got here.”

“Or she has a new identity?”

“Which isn’t all that easy to do secretly. A person can have her name legally changed, but it involves publicly posting the intention and having it approved by the court. I didn’t find that. And even if she did, her social security number would follow her, only with the new name on it. Most people don’t want to lose their accrued benefits so they make sure to keep that sort of paperwork in order.”

I drummed my pen against the desk. “Maybe she did it back in Washington state?”

“Possible. I’ll ask Chet if he’s already checked. I would imagine he has, or one of those reporters who were after her so relentlessly would have come up with that and made it public.”

“What if she did it in another state? Before she ever came here?”

He sighed. “We might be able to find out, but it’ll take a lot more legwork. Let’s try looking for the simplest answers first.”

Since that fit precisely with my philosophy I concurred wholeheartedly and then shooed him out so I could finish my computer entries. Across the hall I could hear Ron’s voice as he made a series of phone calls. Since this is the normal office routine ninety percent of the time, I usually tune out most of it. When my intercom buzzed I practically jumped out of my chair. Ron almost never uses it.

“Get on line one,” he said. “It’s Chet Flowers. He wants to see if we can go to California.”

I picked up, really hoping he meant next week.

“Ron and I have been talking,” Chet began as soon as I said hello. “I think meeting Boyd Donovan face to face would be good. Let him see the whole investigation team in action, pass along your findings to him. I can get you seats on the four o’clock, which puts you into San Diego before five. Times zones work in your favor. I’ll be flying in from Seattle and meet you at the airport.”

I so badly wanted to plead any excuse I could think of—I was busy, I didn’t want to travel right now . . . Then Scout Stiles’s words ran through my head.
Ask Boyd Donovan. The whole thing is his fault.
I needed to know. And the best way to read his answers would be face to face. I looked down at my stack of invoices, which really had shrunk. Plus, there was that teddy-bear quality in Chet’s voice.

“Okay. We’ll be there.”

“I’ll email you the flight confirmation.”

It came through a few minutes later, while Ron and I discussed logistics. Chet had told him he would book a return flight the next morning, which meant hotel rooms and a little overnight gear.

“This last minute planning must be costing a fortune,” I said.

He shrugged. “They’re willing to pay it, I guess.”

I couldn’t figure out why this had suddenly become such a priority for Boyd Donovan, but maybe the interview would answer that. Meanwhile, Ron and I decided to head our separate ways, pack a little bag and meet up at the airport.

A toothbrush and clean undies don’t take up a whole lot of space. I ended up with an oversized purse to manage my needs, while Ron seemed to have brought the chunkiest bag legally considered a carry-on. The flight was short and uneventful, the best kind, and we emerged from the jet way to see Chet Flowers waiting in the crowd. We joined the flow toward the exit and he said he had a rental car already reserved.

Chet drove the streets with familiarity and I actually enjoyed riding along in the back seat and letting him deal with the traffic.

“I called ahead to tell Boyd we were coming,” he said. “I figured we chat a bit, grab some dinner, check into our hotel. If anyone thinks of any new questions we have a little time in the morning to meet with him again if we need to.”

We pulled up in front of an apartment building that combined modern urban professional with a few touches of the Mexican influences so common in San Diego. Red tile mini-roofs over each balcony, Saltillo flooring in the lobby. Chet punched the elevator button to take us to the fourth floor.

The only images I had in my head of Boyd Donovan were from the era of the trial. When he answered the door in jeans and a faded rock-band T-shirt, I saw that time had not been kind to the man. There was a slump to his shoulders that had not been there before, and creases had begun to form along the sides of his mouth. A few strands of gray touched his brown hair. Mainly, his grief showed in his heavy-lidded eyes. I got the sense that he never fully brightened up anymore.

He ushered us into a bachelor apartment. He’d made a hasty effort to clean up before we came; blank circles showed in the dust on the coffee table where he must have picked up cups or cans and plates. The place had the odor of old pizza.

“Sorry, the maid comes on Monday,” he said. I didn’t think he meant it as a joke.

“It’s okay,” said Chet. The retired cop seemed to have a knack for setting the mood, making his subject comfortable when that was called for. I could well imagine that he could make an interviewee rather uncomfortable when that suited his purposes.

“We wanted to bring you up to speed, give you the chance to meet Ron and Charlie of RJP Investigations. As I mentioned on the phone they’re handling the leads we’ve gotten in New Mexico.”

“We talked on the phone,” I said, stepping forward to shake his hand.

Boyd seemed a little at a loss for the social niceties of entertaining guests.

“Why don’t we talk over an early dinner?” I suggested.

“Good idea,” Boyd said, clearly relieved at not having to entertain us at home.

We all rode the elevator back down.

“There’s a little place where the food is pretty good, a sports bar a few blocks away. Is everyone up for the walk?”

Ron looked a little glum but then he always looks that way whenever exercise is the subject. I sent him a visual warning and he fell into step.

Padres baseball insignia in blue and white plastered the innards of the little mission-style establishment. We’d hit the off-season, with spring training still more than a month away, so the fans were missing. At the moment the crowd consisted of a few tables of retirees who were clearly there for the happy hour specials on drinks and the free nibbles.

“The burgers are great,” Boyd said. “Sandwiches are good and the Mexican food is real tasty.”

One thing you learn, coming from New Mexico, is not to count too heavily on Mexican food anywhere else. Some of it isn’t bad, some is downright awful. None of it is like home. I ordered a chicken sandwich and noticed that Ron got the Big-Padre Burger which featured bacon, cheese and grilled onions, in addition to everything I would normally think of to put on a burger. He would never do this if Victoria was with him. I mouthed “I’m telling” in my best little-sister sass. Before he could kick me under the table I turned toward the others.

Our drinks arrived but no one offered a toast. It didn’t seem that happy an occasion.

“We’ve contacted Tali’s family,” Chet said, “in hopes that we can find out where she is.” He explained his strategy.

“Scout, in particular, seems very bitter toward you,” I told Boyd. “She feels that you left them stuck with a lot of the legal bills.”

“Well, that would only be right, wouldn’t it? Their statements helped clear her. They let her get away with murder. Shouldn’t they pay?”

He downed his beer and signaled for another. “Funny, Scout used to be very friendly toward me. We socialized with them all the time. Maybe that was the problem. Tali grew closer to her sister and farther from
our
family.”

The second beer arrived and he put about a third of it away. I caught Chet’s glance.

“You know, when Tali and I first started dating she was so attentive, so happy. We used to go to this park. Thick woods all around, lots of private places and we’d take a blanket and well . . . things got hot. She used to joke that this one statue thing, kind of an obelisk, reminded her of me in a certain way.”

I think I blushed a little, even though Boyd didn’t.

“Even after we got married we were so happy. Deni was born and that little girl took our hearts away. We could hardly wait to have Ethan because the two kids made our family complete.” His lip started to tremble and his eyes filled with moisture.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is really difficult for you.”

He swallowed hard and blinked. His face went rigid. “I never had a clue that she felt any differently. Those kids were my world. I believed they were her world too. I kept believing it until I saw her in court. That bitch deserved a whole lot worse than she got.”

I felt the air go out of the room. His hatred was palpable and in that moment I wondered if Tali’s sisters could be right. Maybe they really didn’t know where she was because Boyd had done away with her.