Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) (23 page)

Chapter 25

Jerry stared right at me.

“How much did you hear?” I asked.

“Enough.”

Felina and Scout had gone quiet. I peered around the edge of the doorjamb just in time to dodge a flying lamp. It shattered against the heavy wood frame and shards stabbed at my face and arms.

“Felina! Stop it,” Jerry demanded. But it was too late.

Scout had taken up the battle and each time I showed my face they threw something else, seemingly intent on ridding the elegant room of every breakable object.

Felina’s eyes were wild, her hair flying like a mane around her shoulders.

“Jerry, call the police,” I said as I dodged yet another missile.

“I can’t believe it, you bitch!” Felina screamed. “You had to interfere. Things were going just
fine
. I had a
plan
.”

“I know about that,” I said, as calmly as one can when a crystal rabbit is flying across the room. “Your plan to get rid of the kids.”

Jerry had dialed 911 but he forgot to speak when he heard that part.

“Just like your plan five years ago when you succeeded at it. When you killed two innocents.”

Jerry’s face had gone white and I seriously worried that he might faint dead away. I felt sure that the 911 recording would contain only a babble of incomprehensible nonsense, punctuated by shattering glass.

“The Talavera Mansion!” I screamed, not daring to turn my back on the living room. “Jerry, tell them your address—we need help here!”

For the moment we had them cornered but I didn’t have a weapon of any sort and Jerry, I could tell, was so stunned he would be useless in a physical fight. I could only think to keep them talking long enough for the police to get here.

“You killed Chet Flowers, Scout. You’ll be up for murder once the police find where you have that Ford hidden.”

“
If
they find it,” she smirked. “And even then, it was an accident. I’ll say I had a little too much to drink and didn’t even realize I hit him. No one can prove otherwise.”

“Maybe not, but what about when they prove that you helped your sister get rid of the bodies of her own children? You never went to trial for that. Double jeopardy doesn’t apply to you.”

Both women paused and looked at each other, and I knew I’d struck a nerve with my guess. That’s the thing that had been nagging at me as I read through all the interviews in the Donovan case. Tali, the dependent one, needed someone more cunning than herself to pull off that crime. So she’d taken the bodies of the kids, stopped by her sister’s house and begged for help. Scout had probably worked out the timeline and the cover story. She might have even helped dig the grave.

Chapter 26

Sitting in a police interrogation room for hours isn’t exactly fun, no matter how comfortable they attempt to make it for you. Tali Donovan aka Felina Brewster and her sister Scout had been cuffed and taken from the house in squad cars. Jerry Brewster and I followed in our own vehicles, at the request of the two officers who had arrived at the mansion about the time the supply of glass projectiles was about to run out.

After thirty minutes or so of trying to explain that this was not simply a little domestic dispute, I placed a call to my brother and requested that Kent Taylor from homicide join us. Kent, fortunately, believed my assertion that this was a case of murder and child endangerment and probably a whole lot more, and he was happy to tell the detective who was grilling me that I had a history of getting mixed up in such things.

“At least she’s trying to stay on the right side of the law as she does this stuff,” he said to the officer. He sent me a wink as he left the room.

Ron showed up, presented his license and gave the background on how we’d been hired by Chet Flowers to assist on his investigation. Finally, nearly two hours into the mess, they began to believe me and we got on with the business of piecing together the events. Hours later I signed a statement and drove home, tired beyond even caring that I’d never eaten any dinner.

Drake patiently cleaned the scratches on my face and arms. “One of these could probably use a couple of stitches,” he said. “I’m putting a little butterfly thing on it now, but you might want to see the doc in the morning.”

 
I thanked him for the nursing care and the fact that he was not lecturing me for taking his truck without asking. We fell into bed and snuggled into a cozy little nest of comfort.

The phone began ringing before daybreak.

“What’s this in the
Journal
?” Linda Casper demanded. “How badly were you hurt?”

I didn’t remember being hurt at all until I scraped one of my tiny cuts against the receiver. I assured her I was fine.

“Tell her about the one that needs stitches,” Drake mumbled from his side of the bed.

“It’s nothing.” He kicked me under the covers. “Okay, Drake says one of these stupid little things needs a stitch or two.”

“Get into my office this morning,” Linda said. “I’ll take care of it
and
I want to hear the rest of this story.”

“Did our newspaper come?” I asked as I stepped out of the shower awhile later to find Drake up and dressed, looking as if he’d already been out to walk the dog.

“It’s on the kitchen table.” He leered at me and pulled my towel off and we both kind of forgot about everything else for awhile.

A second shower, together, and then I felt ready to face whatever the day would bring. During the night my mind had run through all the loose ends of the case. I would need to talk with Boyd Donovan and fill him in, just in case the Albuquerque police hadn’t quite gotten that far yet. Chet’s daughter Shayna was another call I should make, but first a final wrap-up with Cunningham in Seattle. It promised to be a long day.

Before I’d tied my shoes I got another call. Ramirez in Santa Fe, letting me know that the paint and the damage on the dark blue Ford in Scout’s storage unit matched. Although I knew it already, it was good to know that she was, at the very least, up for manslaughter in her hit-and-run accident. Once the connections with Chet’s investigation were established, I had little doubt that the police could prove premeditation and make the charges a whole lot more serious. A tiny part of me gloated.

The front page story in the newspaper had gotten the essence of the story, with a few jumbled facts. But then, that’s usually the case with most ‘breaking news’ stories anymore. I spread it out on the table while Drake made us some toast.

The mystery of Tali Donovan, the missing Seattle mom acquitted of the killings of her two young children, is at least partially solved. Donovan had changed her name and appearance and has been living here in Albuquerque for the past four years as Felina Brewster, wife of prominent auto dealer Jerry Brewster.

The piece went on to rehash nearly the whole Donovan case which the nation had heard
ad nauseam
five years ago. Then a whole section was devoted to the history of the Brewster’s successful business endeavors in the city and how their home was a featured showplace on the annual Christmas luminaria tour.

Donovan was arrested yesterday at her home after a prolonged confrontation with local private investigator, Charlotte “Charlie” Parker. Parker sustained several injuries in the assault. Jerry Brewster was also present at the scene and he phoned the police. After her arrest, Mrs. Brewster was positively identified as Tali Donovan by a small birthmark on her back.

Jerry phoned the police after I screamed at him. And I hate how they always get that part wrong about me being the licensed PI in our firm. I sighed and read on.

Felina had said she had to reinvent herself and that’s exactly what happened. The
Journal
had tracked down that clinic in Scottsdale and found a chatty former employee who agreed to speak only under conditions of anonymity—of course. Doctor Carter had done a lot more than a nose job for Tali. Cheek implants, silicone breasts and lip enhancement were among the procedures. I studied the before and after pictures the newspaper had dug up. Once a woman goes through all that, I decided, how hard can it be to shed thirty pounds and bleach your hair?

When the first calls began coming in from reporters—both local and national—who wanted my version of the events, we decided to unplug the phone and escape. I gathered up the case files and drove to the office. But a Channel 4 news van was parked outside and I just kept on driving. I called Ron on my cell and warned him. Drake, at least, could take to the air. I decided to head for Linda Casper’s office. I could think about this while she went at my face with a needle.

“I don’t often get to treat a celebrity here in my little family practice,” Linda joked as she gathered her implements.

I growled. Getting my name in the paper had been the very last thought on my mind.

“Psychology never seemed the right field for me,” Linda said as she spread something on my forehead to numb the area. “But I always found it fascinating. I read a paper once on these types of women. One writer referred to this as the Cinderella Complex—women who believe that prince charming will come along to take care of them and make their lives perfect. It really stems from an insecurity about being independent.”

“When Tali, or Felina, was talking to her sister she went on about how she had envisioned having Jerry all to herself, how the kids always got in the way.”

“Of her dream scenario. It’s an attitude she might have gotten from her mother.” She did something with the needle that tugged at my skin.

I closed my eyes and refused to think about it.

“I’ll admit it, I read the whole story this morning and then went online to find out more of Tali’s background,” Linda said. “Her father was gone from an early age. Her mother had three kids to raise and no man around. Tali probably had idealistic memories of her dad since she was too young to remember any of his possible negative traits. If her mother groused about the displeasing aspects of single motherhood, Tali quite likely concluded that having a prince-charming husband and no children was the ideal life. He would accept her emotional dependence and provide complete financial security.

“On the face of it, this is the way we’re hard-wired. Men have a desire to protect and defend their women. Women, being physically weaker and having the offspring to care for, need a man to fill that defender role.”

“It’s just that some women take it way too far.”

“As do some men. Witness the guy who can’t accept that his woman wants to leave him so he stalks her and will even harm her to keep her belonging to him.”

People can be so messed up. I let Linda do whatever she was doing to my little cuts, reflecting how lucky Drake and I were. Having balance in the relationship—each of us equally dependent and equally independent—was ideal.

And keeping it fair, I really should cook a little more often.

Chapter 27

The end of January came around, a time when I was thankful to have a quiet spell—no murders, no drama. We were getting along by having Sally and little Ross Junior working at the office a couple hours a day. It helped that she could handle the filing and most of Ron’s correspondence while the baby slept at her side. I was spending some of that time with Drake, logging flight time so I could qualify to go along with him this summer to Alaska.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, near closing time, when I looked up from Sally’s desk to see a dark-haired young woman come in the front door.

“You must be Charlie,” she said. “I’m Rosa Flores.”

We did quick little acknowledgements and I buzzed Ron to come downstairs.

“I just wanted to stop by and thank both of you,” Rosa said. “I don’t know what I would have done if Ivana had—had passed . . . without seeing her first.”

“I’m sorry the circumstances were so sad,” I said.

Ron inquired about Mel.

“He’s doing okay, I guess. We’ve talked. I can’t see myself ever going back to live in California. I’ve got a promotion at work and a great bunch of friends here. But he and I will stay in touch.” Her face held the sadness of her recent loss, and I knew it would be awhile before it began to fade.

Ron and I both gave her hugs and told her to call if she needed anything, but I doubted we would hear from her. She seemed content and independent.

Almost four months went by before I saw Jerry Brewster again. I spotted him with his children at the playground equipment in the park one afternoon in late April. Katie called out to Freckles and the dog went dashing toward her.

“She’s grown
so
much!” Katie exclaimed.

Funny how you never see that when you and your little one are together all the time. Sally was already noticing that about her infant son, cherishing both of her children all the more as the horrific story of Tali Donovan’s crimes re-emerged in the media.

Adam Brewster’s eyes had lost some of the haunted look. He ran through the sand now, shrieking and begging for Katie to push him on the swings. When the two had lost themselves in the rhythm of the swing set, I turned to Jerry.

“I’m so sorry about your business,” I said. I’d read in the news that one of the dealerships was facing bankruptcy—a dramatic loss of sales after all the publicity of Felina’s arrest and extradition to Washington as Tali Donovan.

He shrugged. “It’s hard to see it happen, but I’ve got more time to spend with the kids as the business downsizes. I can’t believe I didn’t see what was going on. Both of them had nightmares for the longest time and I just didn’t see why.”

He sounded so much like Boyd Donovan when he talked about his kids. I’d spoken with Boyd a few times as we wrapped up our work for him. He’d buried his children and felt better now that he had granite markers to visit, a place to sit with them and leave little toys on their graves. Boyd seemed happy that the prosecutor in Washington had found other charges to bring against Tali and Scout—child endangerment and burying human remains on public land, to start with. Scout, in a misguided attempt to lessen her own sentence, had admitted to helping Tali on the day of the killings, although she swore that Tali murdered them. Ethan had been smothered with a plastic bag and when Deni came to check on him Tali panicked and pushed her daughter down the stairs.

Scout helped Tali come up with a plan to bury the bodies, then concoct the story about how they were taken by a stranger. She frankly seemed surprised when Tali was acquitted. When the tide of public opinion turned so strongly against Tali, Scout had convinced Dave to move back to New Mexico, and then she’d accompanied Tali to Scottsdale for her surgery and had helped her come up with new identity documents. She swore Dave to secrecy about her sister’s identity change.

“They did DNA tests,” Jerry was saying. “She really was that Tali Donovan person.”

He paused a moment, staring toward the trees in the distance. “I can’t believe how she fooled me. I feel so stupid.”

“Jerry, don’t. You were in a happy marriage before. You didn’t have any reason to think that the new woman in your life wouldn’t be every bit as wonderful a person as Kathie Jo. Focus on her and believe that most of us are not rotten.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Thanks for everything.”

Katie shouted out to her dad and Jerry walked toward the swings. I gave in to Freckles’s whimpers and began tossing a ball for her. When she finally tired of chasing it, I turned to see that the Brewsters had left the park.

I clipped the puppy to her leash and reflected on the situation as we headed home. Both women would get a number of years in prison. Part of the payback for Tali/Felina would surely be the lack of pretty clothes, the awful food and the fact that there were no men on whom she could focus her attentions.

I hoped that Tali would get psychological help for her dependency and, if not, that another good-hearted guy like Boyd Donovan or Jerry Brewster wouldn’t fall into her clutches if she ever got out.

Too bad we can’t wear tags listing our psychological hang-ups, warning those who come in contact that we all have secrets, some of them buried very deeply indeed.

I gave Freckles a good, long hug then headed home to light the grill and make Drake’s favorite dinner.