A DEAD RED MIRACLE: #5 in the Dead Red Mystery Series (5 page)

Ian's head shot up. "Are you saying…?"

Pearlie answered with a snort.

"We knew he had some questionable parts to his otherwise sterling character," I said, "but stealing clients from our partnership has left us pretty much in the lurch."

"If he weren't already dead," Pearlie said, "I'd sure have motive to kill him."

Ian shook his head. "I can see you would have cause. I've sent Damian to my sister and told him to stay put, but I don't have to tell you that this man may also think you know who he is."

I felt a shock run under my skin. We'd been so distracted by our recent discovery of Ron's double-dealing, we'd overlooked our own vulnerability.

Ian got up to see us out to our car. "You two keep a low profile now, won't you?"

Pearlie winked to show Ian she wasn't worried and patted the zippered compartment on her purse. "We'll be careful. Besides, I've got my Pearlie special and Lalla has Caleb Stone. I think we'll be just fine."

In the rear-view mirror I saw him watch us leave, arms crossed; a man ready for whatever came his way. I wish I felt so confident.

"So what's the sheriff's story?" Pearlie asked.

"He's a good man. Caleb certainly respects him. Other than that, I know he was a homicide detective in Chicago before he and his wife moved back to Arizona and he joined the sheriff's office. Caleb said his wife died of cancer a few years back."

"We still have an appointment with Detective Hutton," Pearlie said. "I'm taking one of Ron's beaters, which I may or may not fill up before I bring it back."

I laughed. "You can pay for the gas or not, but I don't think it makes any difference to Ron, he's already dead."

.

Chapter Seven:

I left the police station after my interview with Detective Hutton, feeling secure in the knowledge that the detective had nothing on me. I wasn't so sure about Pearlie. The detective might be looking to put something on her, but first he'd have to buy her dinner.

On the way home, I stopped by my dad's place. He was gone, but his Mexican workers were there. When I got out of the car, they all stopped what they were doing and watched. I greeted the crew boss and asked if he knew when Mr. Bains would be back.

He tilted his ball cap back and smiled innocently. "
Lo siento, señora. No hablo inglés
."

"Oh, sure you do, Rafael. My dad said you went to high school in Douglas."

Grinning, he dusted off his hands and got to his feet. "Busted. I promised your dad if another real estate lady showed up, I'd pretend I couldn't speak English. Say hi to my cousins, will you? Otherwise, they'll think you're
la migra
."

I smiled and waved. Immigration can be so annoying, especially when you don’t have a green card. They politely nodded and smiled. "Did my dad say when he was coming back?"

"He said he was going to pick up some lumber."

"Lumber? For what?"

Rafe shrugged. "It's not for this job, we're just cleaning up."

"Okay," I said. My dad had been talking about getting wood to shore up the old beams in the mine so maybe that's what it was for. "Did he say when the truck would pour the concrete for the patio?"

"Mañana?"

Remembering that the Spanish word for tomorrow was
mañana
, I smiled and left. When a Mexican says
mañana
, what they really mean is,
who knows?

<><><><><>

Caleb wasn't home yet, and since the afternoon temperature was still hovering around eighty degrees Fahrenheit, I took a beer outside and flopped down onto a padded lounge chair in the shade and admired the water feature we just put up in our garden.

The first thing I did after moving here was put in pretty plants, only to come out in the morning and see that javelina had torn them all out, including the beautiful blue agave chosen especially for its lovely color. The javelina didn't care about any part of the agave but the tender roots. Deer ate the flowers off the rose bushes and gophers devoured the rest. After that, we put in plants resistant to javelina, deer, and gopher. Lavender, geraniums, jasmine, and lantanas did well, especially after we added a five foot adobe wall to enclose the garden. The jasmine soon outgrew its trellis and climbed aboard the pergola to lend a sensuous fragrance to our summer evenings. We added garden lights, an automatic drip system for the plants and the world's biggest grill for the times we entertained.

During the daylight hours, the garden is always full of birds and butterflies, hummingbirds, cooing doves, noisy Mexican jays, colorful blue buntings, golden orioles and scarlet red cardinals.

I took a sip of my beer and watched a roadrunner hop up onto the adobe wall, eyeball the water feature set up for the birds and determining the yard safe, settle onto one of the strategically placed boulders and proceed to groom its feathers.

To me, roadrunners always appeared awkward with their skinny bodies, long narrow beaks. That is until I saw a lovely yellow butterfly pass too close and in a blink of an eye disappear down the gullet of the bird.

Looking at my watch, I checked on the chicken cacciatore I'd started this morning and decided there would be enough if Pearlie and my dad wanted to stay for supper. Dad because he was avoiding his landlady and Pearlie because she hadn't met anyone she wanted to date in the last few months. Of all the people I would imagine going through a dry spell for company, it sure wouldn't be my cousin. Pearlie attracted men of all ages, shapes and sizes. She bussed the weathered cheeks of old men, teased the young ones until they blushed and accepted dates from men whose long-distance careers guaranteed nothing other than the occasional date.

Thinking I must have missed seeing my dad cut through our property on his way to the mine, I left a note for Caleb and added that he could eat if he was hungry. It was more than likely he'd shower, have a beer and wait for me to return with Dad.

Unlocking the doors to the barn, I moved the quad out and dodging cow patties along with gopher holes and prickly mesquite, left for his mine. Though the mine was officially part of my wedding gift from my great-aunt Mae, I figured if the mine kept my dad happy and busy, it was his to keep.

My dad's Jeep and trailer were parked next to the tunnel entrance. I ducked my head into the cool, damp interior of the mine, thumbed on my flashlight and helloed into the cool, dark interior.

"I'm back here," he called. "But be careful where you walk."

Detouring around a pile of lumber, I turned on my flashlight and followed the beam of light to where he sat on a rock. He had a pick in one hand and a large rock in the other. An overhead battery operated lantern hung from a hook on a beam, but it was enough for him to work by.

"I think I got me some good looking rough. Here," he said, shoving a piece of quartz into my hand, "shine your flashlight on this baby. Turn it around. That's it."

I did as he said and was rewarded with a dull chunk of yellow. "Wow."

"Yeah. I didn't think I'd actually see real gold so close to the surface. After the last sample I sent off to the assayer's office, I thought we were played out."

"I'm glad to see you kept at it. This looks promising," I said, admiring the gold in the quartz.

"That's the story your great-aunt Eula Mae told everyone when she boarded up this mine all those years ago. It's also the one I've been telling anyone who asks."

"That should keep out poachers."

"Coupled with warnings of possible cave-ins, I guess most folks have forgotten it's here."

"Was there any truth to the cave-ins?"

"Nothing that I can see. But just in case, I brought back some six-by-sixes. Now that I'm sure there's a vein to follow, I'm going to shore up the overhead beams and start digging again."

I looked up at the beams and the sweaty rock over our heads. Water, as everyone knows, is a great mover of rocks and dirt, but it could spell trouble as well.

"Don't you think you'd better hire someone to help with this, Dad? It's a bit much for one person."

"And have someone snooping in here when I'm not around? No thanks."

"You could put a door and a lock on the entrance."

"Locks can be sawed off and a strong axe can take down a door."

"How about a steel door?"

"'I'm not having some darn stranger out here asking questions about my gold mine. A secret like this wouldn't last one day in Wishbone."

"I suppose you're right, but what about the new patio? Aren't you supposed to be overseeing your workers?"

"Rafael and his cousins are all but finished and with no forecasted rain, the contractor will start pouring the concrete tomorrow. So you see, I have nothing else to do with my time."

"I thought you enjoyed the company of your landlady."

"She wants me to become a vegetarian."

"Sounds like a good idea. You
are
a heart patient, you know."

"I'm a second hand vegetarian. Cows eat grass, I eat the cows, and I’m going to continue to enjoy eating that way till I die, thank you very much."

Which reminded me to ask, "Mentioning eating, how was lunch with Coco Lucero?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Sure," he said. "Her enchiladas are as tasty as anything our Juanita ever made." Using the pick he took a manly swing at the rock wall, sending dirt cascading down onto his head. Embarrassed, he coughed and waved away the dust.

Obviously, Rafael's doe-eyed aunt had made an impression. "But does she have references," I asked. "You know, as a housekeeper?"

"I know what you mean, but Juanita worked for us for almost forty years and she didn't have any references."

Somehow the comparison didn't quite fit. Juanita had been with us for forty years because my mother said that if anything happened to her we should keep Juanita, no matter what. My mother was right. We would've starved without Juanita.

I came back to the present when I heard a popping sound. The ceiling above us trembled and there was the distinct sound of wood breaking.

"What was that?" I whispered.

"Probably just the ground settling."

There was another popping sound and the light from the hanging lantern swayed up the walls and back.

When a cold breeze drifted across my neck, my throat seized up. "Caleb should be home by now," I said, swallowing hard. "I have crock-pot chicken cacciatore for dinner. Want to join us?"

"Sounds good to me," Dad said, pulling the lantern off the overhead beam. "I'll start shoring up those beams tomorrow."

I aimed my flashlight for the exit, now anxious to be out in the hot sun again.

With my dad following, I felt silly that I was so easily scared out of the mine. Yes, it was dark, cold and damp, but we weren't that far from the entrance.

"I thought you would have had enough of mines," I said over my shoulder. "Especially after falling into that mine pit and finding a dead body."

"Not the same thing. There was no way out of that pit except up and my rope busted, so there I stayed," he said. "Me and a dead guy. I would've been dead too, if you and that nice Karen Paquette and her dog hadn't found me when you did."

I heard another pop and this time, the side posts behind us folded onto their knees.

My dad shoved me toward the light and cried out, "The roof's coming down! Run, Lalla!"

I didn't need another warning and aiming the sickly beam of my flashlight toward the end of the tunnel, did as I was told. Stumbling over rocks in my path, waving my hands in front of my face, I coughed and sputtered and came to a stop. "The light's gone. Where-where's the exit?"

I struggled to find the opening, but he held onto my arm. "Wait!"

"No, Dad. We're almost out."

"We can't. The cave-in has stopped. It's over."

I jerked out of his grasp. "Then let's get out of here!"

He took the flashlight out of my hand and waved it around the walls and ceiling.

"It's holding," he said.

"What do you mean? What's holding?"

He moved the light from the ceiling down another rock wall. "Look for yourself."

All I could see was a wall of rock. I turned around in a circle looking for the way out. "Did we make a wrong turn?"

"There're no side tunnels. Just the one. The ceiling has collapsed in front and behind us. We're stuck in the middle until someone comes and digs us out."

I stuttered with fear. "How-how far away are we from getting out of here?"

"I'm not sure, maybe thirty more feet?"

I sighed in relief. "That's not far. I left Caleb a note that I was coming here. He'll have us out in no time."

"That's thirty feet of rock and wet dirt to move, Lalla. It may take a while longer than that."

What he wasn't saying was that we were walled into a pocket with limited air space. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place! In the dull glow of my flashlight, the bony ridge of my father's forehead and cheeks glowed and his eyes were shadowed so deeply that the image appeared to morph into a bone white skull.

"Turn off the flashlight," the white skull said. "We may be here for a while."