Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) (16 page)

I debated going back to Nelda’s to ask whether she’d observed the man in dark clothing or the children going into the woods. But surely that question would have come up in the investigation and testimony and, even more surely, I would not get a welcome reception by interrupting her one more time. We headed back to the car.

“So, where to next?” Ron said as we pulled away from the curb. We had already discussed whether it would be worth waiting around for the new owners of the Donovan place but decided that the people who’d bought the house—if they would agree to speak with us—wouldn’t be able to provide any information. And they might be even less receptive than Nelda. Curiosity seekers and reporters could have made their lives miserable. We discarded the idea of becoming just one more pain in their necks.

“I wonder if anyone has informed Chet’s old colleagues about his accident,” I said. “We could check in and see if there were other officers who worked the case with him.”

I had come across other names in the file, the team of officers who worked the case at the time. But five years had passed. Men like Chet had retired, others were on to new cases. Still, we might get something. I remembered the precinct description and mentioned it to Ron. He queried it on the GPS and soon came up with precise directions.

The police station reminded me very much of the one in Albuquerque—a solid, utilitarian building decked out with a few garlands and bows to remind people of the holiday season. A public relations coordinator listened to our request and called a couple of detectives who had worked with Chet Flowers into the conference room where she’d parked us. Both men were in their forties, reasonably fit and dressed in standard plain-clothes business suits. Blondell was the short, dark-haired one and Cunningham had reddish hair and a black smudge on his white shirt. They greeted us and soberly received the news of Chet’s death.

“Sorry to hear it,” Blondell said.

“We understand both of you worked with Chet on the Tali Donovan case a few years ago,” Ron said.

We spent a few minutes explaining our interest in it and the fact that we’d been working with Chet just prior to his death.

“I wish I’d had the time to help him with it recently,” Cunningham said. “But our caseload is always out of control. We barely have time to work the current ones, let alone dig up an old one that’s been tried.”

It was pretty much the answer I expected.

“Had Chet been in touch with either of you?” Ron asked. “Since he started looking into it again?”

“He came into O’Sullivan’s a couple weeks ago,” Blondell said. “A cop hangout where we have a drink now and then. He had a beer with me and told me a little about it. The ex-husband wants to bring a civil suit, maybe?”

“Something like that,” I said. “Mainly, he wants to find out what really happened to his kids. To find them if they are alive, to bury them properly if that’s what it comes down to.”

They both wagged their heads sadly. “That’s the rough part about that kind of case,” Cunningham said. “Hard to watch the families who just don’t get any answers. I wish it was always tied up nice and neat like on TV.”

 
I tossed out some names—Nelda Richards and a couple of her neighbors, some of the jurors, including Anna Vine—but neither man had spoken to any of the parties since the end of the trial. Ron asked a couple of specific questions but I could tell that the detectives were anxious to get back to their work.

We thanked them and left, empty-handed and more than a little discouraged.

Chapter 17

Street lights were coming on as we drove back downtown. I realized the sun was setting, although it was more a dimming and fading of the light than actually being able to observe the round globe of it hit the horizon. We found a good seafood restaurant and stopped there. I managed to go into a joyful overload of all the shrimp and scallops I could handle, since I never get the chance to do that at home. Sitting at a table where we watched ferries traverse the Sound, and basking in the warmth from the fireplace nearby, I thought of the dinner and ambiance as compensation for the bleak weather outside.

We got back to Chet’s apartment and made coffee to go with the desserts we’d brought back, spent a few minutes reviewing what we were taking home with us, and set an alarm for six in the morning. Around eight, I left Ron to peruse the offerings on the big TV and I fell into the newly made-up bed and was asleep in minutes.

I knew I hadn’t been asleep long when I wakened to the sounds of a squabble. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was and become alert enough to realize that a woman’s voice was shrieking and it was Ron’s voice responding. I pulled on my jeans and sweater and dashed out to the living room.

A woman about my age stood with her back to the door, facing Ron, pointing a two-foot long black nightstick at him. Her blond hair spilled out of the clip that was supposed to be holding it, and her blue eyes were wide with shock.

“Who
are
you people!” she gasped when she saw me.

“Shayna?” How I pulled the name out of the air at that moment, I’ll never know. “We knew your dad.”

She lowered the baton a tad.

I held my hands up. Ron wrapped his blanket around his waist and reached down to gather his clothes. I gave her our names.

“We’re from Albuquerque. We were working with your father on an old case—the Tali Donovan case. He’d been out to New Mexico to see us when the accident happened.”

“Accident?”

Oh boy. She didn’t know. I took a deep breath and suggested she sit down. But she wasn’t quite ready for that, seeing as how Ron was standing there wearing not much besides that blanket. She held her ground and repeated, “
What
accident?”

I told her as succinctly as possible and offered our sympathies.

“Don’t move,” she said, fishing a phone from her pocket and pressing buttons left-handed while keeping a steady hand on her weapon.

Whoever she called apparently didn’t know anything and she tried another number. She asked for Detective Cunningham and he confirmed the news. All the spark went out of her. She clicked off the call with tears in her eyes.

“I’m really sorry you had to learn this way. The New Mexico state police were trying to locate you.”

Shayna pressed a switch that caused the baton to collapse into itself, and she set the eight-inch rod of metal beside her leg as she sank into the recliner chair. Ron grabbed his clothing with one arm and headed toward the bathroom.

“I can’t believe it. Dad.” She scrubbed at her face with hands that were a little on the grubby side and had broken nails. “I should have come sooner. I hadn’t seen him in over a year.”

The tears welled again.

“Can I get you something? We made some coffee earlier. Maybe some water?”

She shook her head. “You still didn’t say exactly how you got in here.”

I held out Chet’s key ring. “His personal effects. I’m sorry we didn’t know about you sooner. I only found your picture when I got the case files from his desk this afternoon.”

“We weren’t close,” she said with genuine regret. “I grew up resenting police work because of the amount of time it took away from the family. My mother probably fostered that attitude in me. A lot. She left him when I was pretty little, and then she died. I went a little wild in my teens—my shrink said I was trying to get his attention by being arrested. I did that a few times and then I just split. I’ve been living in Portland.”

I glanced over at the key she’d dropped near the door.

“The super gave it to me. Guess he didn’t know you were in here.”

“We’ll go to a hotel,” I said. “You should have the apartment to yourself tonight.”

“No, it’s all right. You’re settled. I’m staying at a friend’s house. We got to having a few glasses of wine this evening and she’s the one who convinced me to come over and make things right with my dad. Man. This is the shits.”

She stood up and picked up her baton and a purse that lay with the contents strewn near the door.

“Will you be okay?” I asked. “Ron can drive you back to your friend’s place.”

She gave a rueful chuff. “No, I think I’m pretty well sober
now
.”

Ron came out of the bathroom, fully dressed, and reiterated the offer to drive her. Shayna just shook her head and walked out.

“Wow. Poor girl,” he said after she’d gone.

I knew the feeling. When our parents died in a plane crash I hadn’t exactly been on my best behavior either. There’d been no chance to make amends or say goodbye. It took years to work out some of those issues.

I retreated to the bedroom but with all hope of sleep gone I found myself sitting on the floor in front of my open suitcase. There was no sense hauling all this paperwork home with us, and now that we knew Chet had a daughter, by all rights she should get his personal stuff. I sorted until two a.m. and put a lot of it back in the file drawer. The folders related to the Donovan case would come with us. When the alarm went off at six, I was not at all ready to face a new day.

The rental car return guy was nearly as grumpy as I was, then the kiosk check-in refused my credit card and the TSA pulled me aside and scanned me every which way. By the time I found Starbucks and set the suitcase full of paper aside I was in a mood. Ron breezed through all of this with his usual imperturbable composure, which made me want to snap at him all the more. I sipped at my coffee and indulged in a big cinnamon roll; I gave myself a little pep talk and pretty soon I felt as if I could face the world again.

Then we got the announcement that our flight was delayed, weather in Salt Lake City had messed up a bunch of connecting flights. Ron gave me a look that said,
Don’t start with me
. I didn’t. It was just one more topper to an already messy day. Half the people in the gate area picked up phones to inform someone back home. We were no exception.

I got Drake right away and he wished me luck, reminding me that we’d told the Brewsters we would be at their party tonight. I groaned inwardly and told him I would keep him posted. I still hadn’t resolved the question about what to wear to this deal but knew that I better figure out something quick.

Ron was getting a little gushy with Victoria and I jabbed him in the ribs.

“Let me talk to her,” I said.

He apologized to her in advance for whatever I might say or do.

“Vic, help,” I said. “I need ideas for something to wear to this fancy dress party at the Brewsters. You’ve seen their house. Well, it’s even more elegant inside than out, and I just know the guest list will include every important person in Albuquerque and half the politicians from Santa Fe. Tell me what to do.”

First, she told me to calm down. We could think of something.

“There are some shops here in the airport,” I said.

“Charlie, you can’t show up in something that says I Heart Seattle or has a picture of the Space Needle, no matter how much glitter they tacked on. I would venture to say that Felina Brewster’s bling is going to be the real thing. What time will your flight get here?”

“They
say
the new arrival time is three o’clock. But what if we’re delayed again?”

“Let’s take it one thing at a time. The stores won’t close until six. There’s time.”

She used a soothing voice, which is probably the only reason I didn’t flip out. I hung up, actually feeling a little reassured. About what, I don’t know.

“She’s a peach,” I told Ron. “You better be good to her.”

I downed the last of my coffee and left Ron in charge of the bags while I went to walk off some energy by marching up and down the crowded corridors. I actually picked up a T-shirt with the F-word written in elegant script and lined with rhinestones. Well, it
is
bling, I told myself.

I put it back. Victoria was right about the occasion. I’d better behave myself.

The next four hours crawled but finally we were belted into seats and actually leaving the ground. A cheer went up throughout the cabin. The sun was low in the west by the time the jet lumbered at a record slow pace down the long taxiway and up to the gate in Albuquerque. I looked at my watch about every ten seconds. I was never going to make it before the stores closed.

My phone rang as I was waiting for twelve rows of incredibly slow people to gather up their thousand items of carry-on and get the hell moving.

“Charlie? It’s Vic. I’m at the mall.”

“What? I thought you were picking us up at the airport.

“Drake’s doing that,” Victoria said. “Look, I’m at Macy’s. Your shoe size is seven and a half, right?”

“Uh, yeah. It is. What are you doing?”

“I just had this feeling about your flight getting in late . . . and well, there’s this gorgeous dress and it’s on sale.”

Did I really want her choosing my clothes? At this moment in time, the answer to that question would be a big yes.

She gave a quick description of the dress. “I can check out now and be at your house in thirty minutes.”

“Vic, you are saving my life, you know.”

She laughed. “Probably nothing quite that dramatic. See you pretty soon.”

Drake and I arrived home to be thoroughly greeted with doggy kisses from Freckles. I parked the bag full of Chet’s paperwork in a corner. All work was coming to a halt in favor of a night out with my husband; I found that I was actually getting excited about the party. I left Drake and Ron to find themselves something to drink and to wait for Victoria. A nice hot shower was calling my name.

An hour later I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, staring at a stranger in a floor-length dress with a V-fitted bodice featuring softly draping pleats that tapered into the A-line skirt and a pair of strappy shoes that looked made-to-match.

“I just knew the copper sheen in the fabric would be absolutely perfect with the highlights in your hair,” Victoria said. She stood behind me and pulled a handful of tresses up off my shoulders. “See? We could get this up off your neck, do a little fancy up-thing.”

The shimmery fabric glinted in the lamplight and I, the girl who’d rarely put on a dress, felt like Cinderella.

“You look
gorgeous
,” she said. “And the thing about this dress is that it doesn’t just scream ‘Christmas.’ You could wear it for a lot of other occasions too.”

I couldn’t admit to her that I’d never once in my life had a need for anything remotely this glamorous. My eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror.

Victoria was digging around in her bag. “I had these little clips . . .” she said, pulling out a handful of tiny objects. In about three minutes she’d gathered up strands of my hair and clipped them in some mysterious manner that made me look ready to walk the red carpet in Hollywood.

My eyes felt a little moist as I turned to her. “Thank you so much,” I whispered as I reached out to give her a hug. “You are the best sister-in-law ever.”

“Almost . . .” She said with a grin. “By this time next year . . .”

“What are you and Ron waiting for anyway?” I teased.

She brushed off the question and turned back to the bag of magic tricks, where she pulled out a tube of some kind of lotion. Rubbing it between her palms she smoothed it over my bare arms and my winter-dry skin shone with a hint of color. “Now. Slip on this robe while you do your makeup so there aren’t any mishaps. I’ve got to get home. We’re taking the boys out for pizza and then they are spending the night at my place.”

Drake tapped at the bedroom door just then and Victoria edged out when he came in. While he showered I sat at my mother’s antique dresser trying to figure out what to do with the array of bronze-toned eye shadows Vic had left for me. Sheesh. My normal makeup routine consists of rubbing on some sunscreen and applying a smear of lipstick on days when I’m looking a little wan.

I’d once stumbled across an infomercial on TV where some expert was doing the whole makeover routine to a rather plain woman, and since that situation seemed to apply to me now, I made a few swipes of the eye shadow and was wielding the mascara wand a little too close to my eye when Drake emerged from the bathroom. I shrieked and dropped it, leaving a nasty black smudge on my robe. Thank goodness for Vic’s sound advice about putting it on over my new dress. I licked at a tissue and wiped away the little mark on my cheek and started over.

By the time Drake needed the mirror to get his tie just right, I decided to call the makeup finished so I moved out of his way. When I shed the robe and he caught sight of the finished ‘me’ his eyes widened.

“Wow.”

“Thank you, sir.” I gave him a flirty grin. “Mainly, thank Victoria. She found this amazing dress and I have no clue how she knew it would look this good on me.”