Fool's Puzzle (14 page)

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do. Let me keep this for now.”

“Thank you,” she said with a sigh. “You can have it. I don’t ever want to see it again.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow at the festival. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this. Maybe it’s just a feed salesman or something.”

She gave a small laugh. “Thanks, Benni. I knew you’d know what to do. Gosh, I miss you out at the ranch.”

“Go enjoy the exhibit.” I squeezed her arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As I watched her move toward the food table, I mentally kicked myself for what I’d so blithely offered to do. I stared at the napkin, my heart sinking, knowing good and well why no one was answering the phone. The only question was, just exactly what Wade was doing with Marla’s phone number in his jacket pocket.

I STOOD AT the window with my back to the crowd and searched for answers in the dark parking lot. It never ceased to amaze me how I managed to tangle myself up in other people’s problems. There were times when I wished I could move away to a place where no one knew me, where no one would walk up to me with those magic words—“Do you think you could ... ?”

“Ms. Harper,” a low, masculine voice said about a foot from my ear. “I hardly recognized you in your grownup clothes.”

“Think up your own lines, Ortiz.” I turned around and confronted his smiling face. Inspecting his perfectly tailored navy suit, I wondered where a gun could be concealed. Did police chiefs even carry guns or was that something they left to the peons in uniform?

“Something going on out there I should know about?” He leaned over and peered out the window.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Just supporting the local arts.”

“Right.” I looked back out the window.

He leaned against the adobe wall, watching me with his suspicious cop look. “What’s got you bugged?”

“What makes you think anything is bugging me?”

“You have the face of a monkey, Ms. Harper.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughed, white teeth brilliant against his dark face. “What I mean is, you show your emotions on your face. I hope you never bet your life savings on a bad poker hand.”

“I happen to be very good at poker,” I said stiffly. No need to mention Dove always swore I could have been a pro if I could play with a paper bag over my head. “Do you have any new leads on Marla’s murder?”

“Nothing I’m going to tell you,” he said, still smiling.

“Well, I guess that pretty much wraps up our cocktail chatter. Hope you brought your checkbook. Have a nice evening.” I started to move away, when he grabbed my elbow.

“Who was the lady you were talking to?”

“I’ve talked to lots of ladies tonight.”

“You know who I mean. The lady who was so upset. The lady who gave you that napkin you were studying with such interest.”

“She was my sister-in-law, and what we were talking about was personal so therefore none of your business.” I pulled my elbow out of his grasp.

“Anything I suspect has to do with this murder is my business.” It took two seconds for his smile to turn into a frown. He reached for the napkin; I twisted around and held it behind me.

“Believe me, this had nothing to do with Marla’s murder.”

“I’m a cop. I don’t believe anybody.”

“What television show did you steal that line from?”

He tried for the napkin again, and without thinking, I stuck it in a place I didn’t think even he’d attempt to follow.

He glanced quickly at my chest; a dull red flush turned his dark skin a cinnamon color.

“That wouldn’t stop me if we were alone,” he snapped.

“How fortunate for me we aren’t,” I said coolly and folded my arms across my chest. His scowl deepened.

“You’re being childish,” he said.

“I know.” I also knew making him angry was not in my long-term interest, but until I confronted Wade, I wasn’t about to show that napkin to Ortiz. “Look, this honestly doesn’t have anything to do with Marla’s murder but I do have something to show you.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes skeptically.

“It’s probably nothing, but I’ll let you decide. I’ll show it to you after the auction.”

“Now.”

“No. This time you’re just going to have to do things on my time schedule.”

I held up my hand when he started to speak. “Save your breath. I’m not saying one more thing until after the auction.”

He whipped around and walked away, his lips so narrowed in anger they almost disappeared behind his mustache.

“Relax,” I called after him, glad he’d have a few hours to cool off before I showed him the bag of money. “Have some champagne.”

“What’s his problem?” Elvia walked up, looking like a Vogue cover in a black and white linen dress that somehow didn’t have a wrinkle on it. She scanned me critically, then gave a satisfied smile. “I knew that dress would be perfect on you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll give you the name of my personal shopper. Her specialty is impossible missions.”

She laughed and fingered a strand of smooth black hair, pulled to one side with a mother-of-pearl hairclip in the shape of a sea horse. “What did you do to make our new police chief angry this time? You really must quit provoking the public servants. Especially the ones that can make life miserable for one of my brothers.”

“It’s not me. He gets some perverse pleasure out of baiting me.”

“Hmm,” she said and took a sip of champagne. “So, what gives?”

Glancing down at the small beaded purse hung over her shoulder, I reached down the front of my dress and pulled out the napkin. “Could you keep this for me until tomorrow?”

“Sure.” She took the napkin and slipped it into her purse. “May I inquire as to why you have a cocktail napkin stuffed in your bra? You haven’t needed help in that area since you were fourteen.”

“Very funny. Can I fill you in tomorrow? I don’t even know the whole story yet.”

“What have you got yourself into this time,
mi amiga?”
She tapped long, icy nails on her plastic champagne glass. “And the real question is, will it earn you another private tour of our city’s penal accommodations?”

I gave her a rueful look. “You heard about that.”

“It was quite the talk of the station, according to Miguel.”

“That’s so embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing to actually have to stay there.”

“True, but that’s not going to happen. I hope.”

“Those last two words worry me.”

“They worry me more. Just keep your checkbook handy, okay?”

She shook her head slowly and gave a low chuckle. “You’ve had more excitement in the last four days than you’ve had in fifteen years.”

“This kind of excitement I can do without. Now, help me start herding these people toward the studios so we can commence with the real purpose of this party.”

The bidding at the auction was vigorous and competitive, spurred by a generous holiday spirit or perhaps spirits of the liquid persuasion. One especially keen bidding war was waged by Carl and his father for a Texas Star quilt. At four hundred dollars, a good-natured J.D. gave in to his younger son, and Carl carried it triumphantly away.

“Thanks for the show,” I teased Carl as people made their way out to their cars. “You and J.D. bid like it was a prize bull on the block.”

He smiled and patted the quilt he had slung over his shoulder like a serape. “I love beating out the old man. Even for a blanket. Of course, I’m going to have to borrow the money from him to pay for it.”

“Why does he put up with you? And, if you realized how much work went into it, you wouldn’t be so blase. That’s probably the most expensive blanket you’ll ever sleep under.” I poked him on his free shoulder. “Or is it a present for some special lady?”

“Sure is.” He pulled it off his shoulder. “Here.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I’m not wrapping it for you. I haven’t even finished my own wrapping yet.”

“I don’t want you to wrap it, Benni,” he said, his face serious. “I want you to have it.”

“Me?”

“Just take it.” He turned a soft pink under his tan.

“I can’t. It cost you four hundred dollars. There must be someone you want to give it to.”

“There is. Now take it or else Ashley sleeps with it.” Ashley was his Airedale terrier.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Jack was my best friend. I know this Christmas is going to be hard for you. Think of it as sort of a present from him too.” He shoved it at me and looked down at the ground.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “You’re a good friend, Carl Freedman.”

“Yeah, well, sorry I barked at you earlier.”

I hugged the quilt to my cheek and looked intently into his glassy eyes. “It’s all right. Are you okay to drive? I lost one guy already. I don’t want to lose another.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “You worry too much. Come by the paper and I’ll take you to lunch.”

“I will, real soon.”

After he left, I set the quilt down on the counter and turned to go through the museum to the studios to lock up.

“What was it you had to show me?” Ortiz stepped suddenly from around the corner, causing me to jump at the sound of his voice.

“Someone should put a bell around your neck,” I said, my stomach instantly tightening with anxiety. I glanced around at the caterers still cleaning up. They and Ortiz were the only people left. Safety in numbers, I told myself. He couldn’t pistol-whip me with witnesses around.

“It’s up here,” I said, sighing. As we started up the stairs, the man in charge of the catering staff asked me a question about the equipment.

“The first room on the right,” I told Ortiz. “Look in the last drawer in the old oak dresser. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I was in the middle of haggling with the catering supervisor about two damaged chairs when Ortiz came barreling down the stairs, a look on his face vicious enough to fell a herd of elephants.

“Are you out of your mind?” he said in a voice as close to a snarl as I’d ever heard.

“What?” I looked up, surprised at his overreaction.

“I’ve had it with you,” he said. “I’ll find something to charge you with if I have to sit up all night with the D.A. myself.”

He pushed past me into the lobby, punched some numbers into the phone and started snapping orders in a low voice. Slamming down the receiver, he turned to me and said in a barely controlled voice:

“Explain.”

“What are you so upset about? I found it when I was looking for some picture frames this afternoon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I knew you’d ruin the auction and we’d worked so hard on it.”

“You knew about it this whole time?” His mouth literally dropped open. “You’re nuts. You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s the big deal, Ortiz? It could have been there for months. We don’t know for certain it has to do with Marla’s murder.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The money. What are you talking about?”

His fingers dug into my upper arm like giant crab pincers as he practically dragged me up the wooden stairs. He opened the door to the room where I’d found the money and shoved me in.

Lying in the middle of the small room, his head in a pool of what looked like dark red ink, lay Eric.

“I ... I ...” Pushing my way past Ortiz, I stumbled down the stairs with him in close pursuit.

“Well?” he asked.

I collapsed in the chair behind the counter in the lobby. “I feel sick.”

“You can get sick later. I want an explanation.”

“You can’t really believe I knew about this.” I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

“What am I suppose to believe? You sent me up there.”

“To find a plastic baggie of money. I didn’t know he was up there.” The edges around my eyes started to go black; I bent over and tried to keep from fainting.

“Look at me,” he said, pulling me back up. “What money?”

“You’re a creep, you know that?” I pulled my shoulder out of his grasp. “I feel awful.”

“Not as awful as your friend upstairs. What money?”

“I found a plastic baggie full of money. I think it was a gallon size, although it could have been a quart. I didn’t really measure it. It looked ...” I heard myself start to babble but couldn’t stop.

“That’s it?” he said.

“Yes, that’s it. What did you think? That I walked around all night knowing that Eric was lying up there? What kind of person do you think I am?” Anger started to overcome shock. My stomach stopped rolling but my head started to hurt.

“That is a question that has kept me up nights. What time did you find the money?”

“About five o‘clock or maybe a little before. I didn’t exactly look at the clock.” I pressed on my left temple. It was pounding so bad I would have sold my hair for three aspirin.

He ran a hand over his face in frustration. He was standing there, glaring in my general direction, when four uniformed officers burst into the lobby.

He pointed a finger at me. “Stay put.” Then he turned and started giving orders in a sharp voice.

I grabbed the quilt Carl gave me off the counter, cradled it in my lap and rested my head on it. Inhaling deeply, I willed myself not to throw up. I closed my eyes, saw Eric’s head in the dark puddle, and opened them again. In a half hour, the museum was a clone of four days before with technicians and uniforms everywhere. Ortiz seemed to have forgotten about me as he supervised the crime scene. My luck ran out when he walked back over.

“Go home,” he said in a voice cold enough to freeze ice cream. “I don’t have time for you tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” I protested. “I have to lock up.”

“Give me your keys. I’ll lock up.”

“And how will I get in tomorrow?” I don’t know why I was fighting him, leaving was exactly what I wanted to do. Just being contrary is what Dove would say. What I would say was I was sick and tired of being ordered around by this guy.