Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery (6 page)

"Mrs. Burke?" I asked.

She gave me a blank look.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Larry Burke. Is
this his residence?" The smell of frying onions wafted out around
her.

"He ain't home." More gum action.

"When will he be back?"

Her eyes narrowed as she checked me out head
to toe. "Who wants to know?" Oh, please. She couldn't honestly
believe I was after him for personal reasons.

"I'm looking into Gary Detweiller's death," I
explained. "Larry was his best friend, wasn't he?"

"I don't know when he'll be home," she said.
"He don't answer to me." She closed the door in my face.

Some help that was. No answers, and I was
getting hungrier by the minute. My nine dollar salad at lunch sure
wasn't sticking with me. There was a McDonald's about three blocks
away, so I set my course in that direction. The driveup window
yielded a Big Mac, Coke, and fries, which I sampled on my way back
to Larry Burke's house. That floozy didn't honestly think she'd get
rid of me that easily, did she?

I parked two houses south of theirs and
proceeded with my little picnic. By the time I'd licked the last of
the special sauce from my fingers the temperature had begun to
drop. My ankles were really feeling it. Wearing a dress, pantyhose,
and heels is not my usual style. I kicked off the shoes and tucked
my legs up under me, wrapping the wool coat securely around
myself.

Lights came on in the surrounding houses, and
one by one cars pulled into driveways. A streetlight glowed almost
a block away. I snuggled deeper into my coat. I thought about
Rusty, waiting at the office, which would now be dark. What was I
doing here anyway?

I had just decided I was being foolish and
had reached for my shoes when a car pulled into Burke's drive. It
was a sports car of some kind, flashier than anything I'd seen so
far in the neighborhood. The brakes gave a little squeal as he
stopped about six inches from the garage door. I came out of my car
before he had a chance to disappear.

"Mr. Burke? Could I talk to you a second?" I
was almost breathless from dashing the length of two houses. He
stopped in his driveway and looked at me curiously.

Larry Burke was about five foot six, slender,
wearing a pair of dark slacks and plaid polyester sports coat. His
blond hair looked like it had been molded from polystyrene. When he
moved, it stayed in place. He had straight capped teeth, which
showed through a well-practiced grin. I was reminded of a TV
evangelist or a cookware salesman. In the time it took me to cross
his driveway, he had checked me over twice.

"Hey, babe, what can I do for you?" The voice
was like thick grease.

I do not take well to being called babe,
honey, sweetie, or dear by someone I do not know intimately. My
teeth clenched and my smile became a straight line.

"Charlie Parker, RJP Investigations," I said
as officiously as I could manage. "I've been asked to look into the
death of Gary Detweiller."

Burke shifted his weight from one foot to the
other, backing away from me a couple of feet.

"Yeah, that was a shame about ol' Gare."

"You were his best friend, I understand."

"We hung around, yeah." He implied nothing as
sentimental as real friendship, I noted.

"When did you see him last?"

"Prob'ly just before it happened. We'd gone
to Vegas for a coupla days, got back Wednesday night, and he
dropped me off here. Guess it was right after that somebody got
him."

"What were you doing in Vegas?"

"Just fun stuff. Gary'd come into some money,
so we celebrated. Went to the races, ate in some good restaurants,
partied with a couple of babes." He glanced toward the front door
as he revealed this last part.

"Where'd he get the money?" I asked,
wondering just how far he'd let me go with these questions before
he closed up.

"Said he managed a big score. I don't know, I
wasn't his mother. Gary and me was like that. We shared the wealth.
When one of us got lucky, we took the other one along."

"So, who'd want to kill him?"

"Hell, I don't know. Gary was a good guy, you
know, liked to have some fun. He didn't mean nobody no harm,
though. I mean, you know, he'd get involved with some chick from
time to time. For him it was just fun, somethin' to do with
somebody new. I guess sometimes they got a little pissed when he
didn't stick around."

Or when he ripped them off.

He kept glancing toward the front door,
probably wondering how long until the redhead came sailing out with
claws extended. No doubt she'd heard his car arrive.

"Look, thanks," I said. I gave him one of my
business cards and asked him to call if he thought of anything
else.

Back in the car, I started the engine and let
the heater warm up. I wondered again how many women Detweiller had
robbed over the years. Was Stacy only the latest, or had he kept
several going at once? I wished I'd asked Burke a few more
questions. Maybe later.

I drove as quickly as I could to the office,
where Rusty greeted me like I'd been gone years. We headed home,
where I rewarded his patience with a bowl of nuggets followed by a
rawhide chew. For myself, my reward was to strip off the pantyhose
and slip into snugly sweats. I made a cup of hot chocolate,
prepared to sink into the sofa cushions and ponder all the new
information I'd gathered today. Until I remembered that I'd have
houseguests sometime around midnight.

I dusted the guest room and put extra towels
in the guest bath. My office required a little more screening.
Everything that might appeal to kids, such as calculator, computer,
and stapler either went into locked file drawers or got covered up.
A box of games and puzzles, which I keep in the closet for such
occasions, came out. I hoped it would provide enough distraction to
keep the little critters out of my own stuff. I checked my supply
of extra blankets and pillows, just in case they forgot to bring
their own sleeping bags. I took one last look around and hoped I
was ready.

Chapter 6

By two a.m. I had dozed off on the couch,
having watched all the TV movies I could handle. The magic hour of
midnight had long passed, leaving me grumpy at this interruption of
my schedule. Going to sleep knowing you could be awakened at any
moment does not exactly make for restful slumber. Three hard raps
at the front door, followed by giggles, snapped me awake. I rubbed
at my grainy eyes and ran my fingers through my hair on the way to
the door.

"Rusty! Rusty!" Two balls of energy bounded
through the door, intent on the object of their affection. The poor
dog tried to take refuge behind my legs and we ended up with a
tangle of bodies that almost sent all of us to the floor.

"Hi, Sis." Paul greeted me with a dry kiss on
the cheek. He carried two suitcases and had two sleeping bags
hanging from his shoulders by straps.

"We got away later than we'd planned,"
Lorraine explained, not sounding nearly apologetic enough for
waking me at two a.m. Her arms loaded with brown grocery sacks, she
pushed her way through the tangle of kids and dog toward the
kitchen. Paul headed to the guest room without stopping, apparently
worried about losing his momentum with the heavy load.

Three minutes later we were all assembled in
the living room.

"Would anyone like hot chocolate?" I offered.
I noticed they were all wearing light cotton clothing. Lorraine was
visibly shivering.

"Yea, chocolate," Annie and Joe shrieked at
once.

"They slept most of the way here," Paul
explained. "I guess they're getting their second wind." No
kidding.

"Why don't you kids check out the games in
your room," I suggested. "I'll call you when the hot chocolate's
ready." I turned to Lorraine. "Is that everything from the car?"
She nodded.

Paul and Lorraine followed me into the
kitchen, with Rusty sticking close to my legs. I found packets of
instant hot chocolate mix in a cupboard and rounded up mugs while
the water heated.

"So, how is Phoenix these days?" I asked.

"Fine, fine. Getting warm already."

I'd never known a time when Phoenix wasn't
warm. The end of February should be no exception.

"How's the job?" I thought I could see a hint
of gray at my brother's temples.

"Fine, fine."

Lorraine piped up. "Paul had a promotion last
month," she said.

The conversation continued in this lively
vein until we'd finished off the hot chocolate and I couldn't keep
my eyes open another minute. We finally got the kids settled into
their sleeping bags, although they didn't look the least bit
sleepy. I went to bed wondering what we'd find to talk about for
the next two days.

I found Paul wandering in the backyard at
eight the next morning. Everyone else was still asleep. He slipped
his arm around my shoulders as we walked among the dried stalks of
last summer's flowers. The earth smelled faintly damp. I noticed
the young green shoots of daffodils and tulips had grown noticeably
taller in the past couple of days.

"Lorraine wants to visit her friend from
college, Betsy Royce, today," Paul said. "Betsy's kids are about
the same age as Annie and Joe. I think they'll have a good time
together."

"You going too?"

"Would you mind? Jack Royce and I were pretty
good friends."

"No, I don't mind. You guys make your plans.
I've got things to do. Want to meet back here for dinner?"

"Pedro's?"

"You got it." Pedro's is a little Mexican
food place, just far enough away from the tourist traffic that it
hasn't lost its charm. I eat there a couple of times a week. Pedro
and his wife, Concha, make the best sour cream chicken enchiladas
in the state, and their margaritas are fantastic.

I puttered in the kitchen, pondering where
I'd go next with the Detweiller case, wondering if I was going to
be in a ton of trouble for pursuing it on my own. I'd have to bring
Ron up to date on it the minute he got back to town. The thought
occurred to me that I might have better luck reaching some of those
names on Gary's list on a Saturday. After feeding my guests a
hearty breakfast of cold cereal and seeing them out the door, I
pulled out the list once again.

About half the names came from the same part
of town where Detweiller had lived. Probably neighbors, co-workers,
guys he'd met in neighborhood bars. The other half of the list
contained a variety, a surprising number located in well-off parts
of town. I wasn't sure where I'd get the most information, from the
average working-guy types or from the successful ones who might
have gotten tricked into the association with Gary, much as Stacy
had.

I stopped at the first gas station to fill
up. This might end up being a long day. The Jeep took fourteen
gallons, which I put on the credit card we use for company
expenses. I'd decided to try the upper-crust neighborhood first.
Two of the addresses were in Tanoan, so I headed out I-25 to the
San Mateo exit, then up Academy Road. The guard today was a
different one, and I hadn't really thought about what my approach
would be. I doubted they routinely let in investigators who want to
question their residents. Especially when the investigator was
really an accountant. My only choice would be to fake it. I told
the guard I was going to Stacy North's house, hoping all the while
that he wouldn't call her to verify it.

He didn't. He waved me through like his main
concern in the world was what time he'd get off work. I drove
straight to one of the houses where I'd gotten no answer yesterday.
The place still looked closed up tight. A newspaper rested on the
front step. I rang the doorbell without much hope, and was startled
when a sleepy-looking man in silk pajamas opened it.

The man looked almost as startled at seeing
me. His curly blond hair stuck out at angles and his pajama top was
skewed off to one side. He blinked at the sunlight, trying to focus
on my face.

"Charles Tompkins?"

"Who are you?" If I'd been an attacker, he
would have been an extremely easy mark.

"My name's Charlie Parker. Do you know a Gary
Detweiller?"

"Who?"

"Gary Detweiller. Your bookie."

He suddenly stood very still. His eyes had no
trouble focusing directly on mine now. A white rim showed around
the edges of his thin lips.

"I don't know who you are, or who you're
looking for, lady, but you got the wrong address." His hand had
moved to the edge of the door.

"Fine. Detweiller's dead, and I imagine the
next ones to come knocking at your door will be the police." I
turned away. "Have a nice day," I said sweetly.

"Uh . . . wait. What did you say your name
was?" He had removed his hand from the door. I noticed a sheen on
his forehead.

"Charlie Parker. RJP Investigations. Someone
else with, shall we say, a not exactly legitimate connection to
Detweiller has asked me to look into his death. This person is
another Tanoan resident. With the information I've found so far, I
suspect Detweiller had targeted you folks, figuring he'd found a
gold mine."

"Look," he glanced behind me nervously, "why
don't you come inside a minute."

I stepped into a cool white hall, from which
I could see a white living room on one side and a white dining room
on the other. The chrome and glass furnishings didn't add any
color. Only brief dashes of black accent pieces kept me aware that
I hadn't fallen into a snowbank.

"Excuse me a minute," Tompkins said, walking
up a staircase to my right. He returned two minutes later, slipping
his arms into a paisley silk robe. He hadn't combed his curls.

We took seats in the chilly living room.
Tompkins reclined in a puffy down-cushioned chair. He couldn't
maintain the pose, though. He fidgeted, crossing and re-crossing
his legs, scooting to the edge of his seat.