Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery (8 page)

"Have you been representing this agency?"

I thought of the few business cards I'd
handed out. "I won't do it any more," I assured him.

"Charlie, Charlie." He took on that
older-and-wiser older brother look. "I know you can't seem to
resist somebody in trouble. You were always the kid who picked up
wounded birds, too. But nowadays things are different. You can get
yourself hurt, maybe even killed, maybe even get this agency sued."
Now that really would be the worst.

"I get the feeling Stacy is afraid of Brad,"
I told him. "You should have seen her when she thought Brad was
going to find out her watch was lost. Can you imagine what he'd do
if he found out about this other man? Especially if Stacy is
implicated in a murder? Ron, I'm really afraid for her safety."

"What have you done so far?" he sighed.

I filled him in on the interviews with the
family and the list of names I'd found and so brilliantly
deciphered.

"You're withholding evidence." His voice was
flat, like nothing I did anymore would surprise him.

"Wait a minute! The wallet was on the victim
when the police found him. The list was in the wallet. If they'd
thought it important, they would have taken it."

He pressed his lips together. He didn't agree
with my logic, I could tell, but he couldn't find a way to argue
with it either.

"I can't authorize you to work on this," he
said.

"Will you do it then?"

"Charlie, I have umpteen million things
waiting here. The price of being gone a week."

"Then I'm going out to ask a few more
unauthorized questions."

"You wouldn't consider letting the police
work on their own case, I guess."

"Ron, I'm sure they're working on it, and I'm
sure they're doing a fine job." I walked out before he could add
anything.

Traffic on the freeway was heavy, moving at a
frustrating speed-up, slow-down pace. The sun had topped Sandia
Peak already, but thin streaky gray clouds filtered out any warming
effect. March is such an ugly month. The charm of winter has long
since worn off, and the beauty of spring won't be here for another
six weeks or more. Spring winds usually blow for most of March and
April, leaving spirits whipped and nerves raw. This is about the
only time of year I envy Paul and Lorraine's living in Phoenix.

I took the San Mateo exit toward Academy Road
once again. This was beginning to feel like familiar territory.
Traffic all seemed to be heading the opposite direction, making me
feel like the only person in town who hadn't heard the air raid
sirens. Lowering my sun visor against the glare, I continued my
easterly course. The same toothless guard from the other day
protected the Tanoan gate and he waved me through like an
old-timer.

Now that I was here, I couldn't decide
whether to continue checking the names on my list or pay another
visit to Stacy. The steady stream of outbound traffic warned me
that I might not have much luck either way. Before I stirred up any
more uninvolved parties it might be better to find out if there had
been any new developments over the weekend. I pulled into Stacy's
circular drive and rang her multi-chimed doorbell.

A dark shape wavered behind the beveled glass
for a moment. The next thing I knew, I stood face-to-face with the
man I'd once thought I would marry.

Chapter 8

Brad North had put on a lot of weight. That
was my first impression. He'd once been tall and thin. He still had
the height, but everything had rounded out, giving him indistinct
outlines. The soft jogging suit he wore accentuated the effect. His
hair was still wavy brown, his eyes blue. At the moment his mouth
hung slack. He was obviously dumbfounded to find me standing
here.

"Hello, Brad."

His mouth worked a couple of times, settling
finally into a tentative smile. "Charlie! What a surprise."

"Is Stacy home?" My mind groped for a
reasonable explanation for my appearance.

Stacy showed up behind Brad's shoulder just
then, questioning. When she saw me, her face went white.

"Stacy, now don't tell me you've forgotten
that we'd planned to go out for breakfast." I noticed that she was
still in her robe. "You did, didn't you?"

Luckily she picked up my cue. "Oh, Charlie,
God, yes, I did forget." She glanced nervously at Brad, whose mouth
had formed a straight line. "Brad, you remember my telling you that
I ran into Charlie recently? I completely forgot that we were going
out to breakfast today."

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say
anything.

"Can you give me a minute to get dressed?"
she asked me. Turning to Brad again, she hesitantly met his stare.
"Is it okay, Brad? I won't be gone long."

There was a moment's pause as Brad apparently
wrestled between saying what he really felt and preserving his
image before an outsider. "Sure. It's fine." Stacy dashed for the
staircase.

I stood awkwardly on the porch, wondering
just what was going on here. Did she really need permission to see
an old friend?

"Well, come on in, Charlie. We're letting all
the cold air in." Brad closed the door behind me. "Let me show you
around while Stacy gets dressed."

I had no idea how much Stacy'd told him, but
didn't think it would be wise to admit I'd already had the grand
tour. His version was a bit different from Stacy's anyway. He took
particular pride in pointing out the art objects and paintings.
With each came an explanation of where it had come from and either
a) how much it cost, or b) how much it was worth, or c) what a
fantastic deal he'd negotiated in buying it. I began keeping a
surreptitious count on my fingers and was amazed to find by the end
of the tour that Brad had supposedly visited forty-three different
countries. Either that or he was a tremendous bullshitter.

Stacy found us in the study, where Brad was
going into an explanation of each of the famous person photos,
making sure I was fully informed about how well he knew each of
them. I looked in her direction and faked a tiny yawn. She almost
smiled.

"Well, Brad, it's been just fascinating," I
interrupted. "We'll be going now. You must be totally exhausted
after taking me through all your travels."

He trailed us to the front door, missing my
sarcasm as he raved about the wonderful brunch at the club. We
really should try it. We couldn't go wrong if we had the Eggs
Benedict. I ignored this blatant fishing for an invitation and
waved an impersonal little salute his direction as Stacy and I got
into my Jeep.

Stacy was quiet in the car and I had to
restrain myself from asking whether Brad was always such a
braggart, or if that little show was entirely for my benefit. After
all, look at everything I'd missed out on.

"I'm glad you picked up on my clue about
breakfast back there," I commented.

She smiled tightly. "Charlie, this is very
risky. Why did you show up unannounced?"

"Because taking people off guard is usually
the best way to get straight answers." Geez, what was the big deal?
"Okay, sorry. I hope this doesn't cause any trouble at home. I
honestly thought Brad would have left for work by now."

"He's going over some papers at home this
morning," she said sullenly.

"Obviously. Look, I was just going to ask a
quick question or two. I didn't mean to take up much time. The
breakfast thing was the only idea I could come up with on such
short notice. We can skip it if you want."

"Oh, no. I mean, that would just take more
explanations. Let's find someplace to eat. It'll be okay as long as
I'm not gone too long."

I wanted to point out to her that she was a
grown woman, allowed to eat out with a friend without offering a
dissertation on her reasons why. But I let it drop. I pulled into
the parking lot of a coffee shop I'd seen on the way up.

"Is this okay?"

She must have caught the edge in my voice
because she smiled and relaxed for the first time. "It's fine,
Charlie. And thanks." She squeezed my hand. "I did need to get out
of the house."

I let that pass, too.

We were seated right away and decided to
treat ourselves to huevos rancheros, juice, and coffee, and to top
it off with a danish. The important stuff out of the way, I got
down to the questions.

"No, I haven't heard a word from the police,"
she replied. "I'm a nervous wreck every time the doorbell rings.
Brad has hung around the house like a watchdog. I can tell he's
suspicious".

No wonder. She was as jumpy as an escaped
convict.

"There was a small article about Gary in the
newspaper, but I never got a chance to read it. I was afraid Brad
would catch me and wonder why I was following the case."

"Stacy, he doesn't actually read over your
shoulder, does he? How would he know what you're reading?" It was
like talking to a five-year-old.

"I know." She sighed and drummed her fingers
nervously on the table until our food arrived.

I gave myself over to the pleasure of eating.
The combination of flavors—tortilla, eggs, beans, cheese, and green
chile—filled me with satisfaction. Stacy picked at hers, taking a
tiny forkful at a time. She'd lost weight in the last week.

"Stace, you gotta eat," I reminded her
gently. "Worrying about this isn't going to change anything. Look
at it this way, if the police haven't made the connection yet,
chances are they won't. Gary Detweiller had a lot of people in his
life, a lot of them with stronger reasons to hate him than you
did."

She perked up. "You have an idea who did it?"
she asked eagerly.

"Well, no. But I'll keep working on it.
Promise. And you can help me. Just keep trying to think of anything
Detweiller might have said to you, even in the most casual way.
Anyone who might have been angry with him, anyone he might have
shafted."

"I've been trying," she assured me, "but
nothing comes to mind. It's just so hard, trying to act normal
around Brad, while this thing is weighing on me."

She fidgeted with her food some more. She
wouldn't be any help on the case, I could see that now. I'd have to
think of some other avenues. When I dropped her off at home a
little while later, Brad met her at the door. I waved from the car
and drove off. We'd been gone exactly an hour.

Three blocks away, on another of Tanoan's
winding little side streets, I found Ben Reed at home. He, too,
wore a jogging suit and top-brand running shoes. His once-red hair
was interspersed with so much gray that it appeared pale apricot.
His face and hands were covered with freckles. He greeted me with
an easy smile, but didn't invite me in.

"Gary Detweiller? Name doesn't ring a bell,"
he said. He took the fuzzy newspaper photo from me and stared at
it. "The face I do know." He handed the photo back. "Guy hung
around the club, sucking up to the members. I knew from the first
time I saw him that he didn't belong. But he managed to get invited
somehow. I don't even know who he came with. I saw him around, oh,
probably a half-dozen times."

"Did you ever speak to him?"

"Let's say
he
spoke to me. Tried to
hit me up to finance some business deal he was getting into."

"What did you tell him?"

"Not only no, but hell, no," he chuckled.

"Did you know he had your name and phone
number on a coded list in his wallet?"

Reed looked puzzled. "Why would he? We never
did any business."

"Maybe it was his prospect list."

"That's kind of spooky," he said. "Like he
watched us all, and targeted those he thought he could work
on."

"What about the women? Did you notice him
targeting them?"

He thought about it for a minute. "Now that
you mention it, I did. He was a good-looking guy, you know. I don't
think he had to try too hard with the women. I noticed some
flirting going on at a couple of the Friday night dinner
dances."

"Anyone in particular?"

"Nah, he seemed to spread the charm pretty
equally everywhere."

I hoped that was the impression everyone else
got, too. I thanked Ben Reed for his information and left. It was
nearing noon, but I wasn't the least bit hungry after the huge
breakfast with Stacy. I headed back to the office.

Sally met me in the kitchen to let me know
that Ron would be at the county courthouse all afternoon. She would
be leaving at one, and the phones had really been busy all morning
with people trying to reach Ron after his week-long absence. Would
I be around to take the calls?

I said I would, although I couldn't see that
it made much difference whether they left a message with me or on
the answering machine. She then proceeded to hand me a list of
Ron's replies. Tell this one such and such. Tell that one something
else. Apparently he had anticipated the deluge of calls, and
planned well for it. Why hadn't he put off his day at the
courthouse until tomorrow?

Sally must have heard these thoughts run
through my head because she looked at me sympathetically.

"Do you want some lunch before I go?" she
asked.

I explained why I didn't and we spent the
next thirty minutes going over some pending correspondence. By the
time she left, my head was full of other things and it took me
awhile to get back on track with the Detweiller case.

My yellow sheet of names and addresses was
pretty rumpled by now, but I smoothed it out and looked at it. I'd
checked off around half the names without making any serious
inroads with anybody. I stared at them, trying to find a common
thread, some pattern to the odd mix. I jotted a few notes from each
of the conversations, hoping a killer's name would jump out at me.
Again, the obvious differences I'd noticed before. The group was
pretty evenly divided between the haves and the have-nots. Neither
group had been particularly informative. Maybe I'd try backtracking
to each group's common ground, their hangouts.