Give First Place to Murder (23 page)

Irma gasped and Susannah, looking not much less stricken, was by her side. Neil, grim faced, watched them both before he spoke to Dan. "Irma’s in no shape to drive home."

"Right." Dan got to his feet. "Home is where we all need to be, and it’ll be midnight before any of us get there. Irma, give me your keys. Which one is the car key?" Dan fumbled with the ring Irma obediently handed him, extracted one, and handed the ring back to her.

"You kids take her home. I'll make arrangements to get her car back tomorrow. Get going. Ellie and I will be right behind you. Or would you rather go with them?" He touched me on the arm. "It'll be another few minutes before I start, and you look pretty beat."

"I'll go with you." I didn't think he looked so great himself, and there was no way I was letting him make the drive home alone. Besides, I had some questions I wanted to ask Police Chief Dan Dunham. Where better than in a nice closed car with no interruptions.

We were finally headed north. We had made a quick detour through McDonald’s and neither of us had spoken while we devoured Big Macs and fries. Now I stuffed the last greasy paper into the sack and began.

"OK. So Chovalo went to the bathroom. People do. Wasn't there someone in there, someone who saw him come in? Or leave?"

I snapped back the lip on the plastic lid of Dan's coffee and watched the steam rise. "You can't drink this yet. How do you suppose they get this stuff so hot?"

"They boil it. At least it tastes that way. Stick it in that tray thing until it cools."

"About Chovalo." I deposited both coffees and turned as much toward him as my seat belt would allow.

"He says no one was in there, that he was only in there a couple of minutes and never went near the shower room door, which was closed."

"He could be telling the truth."

"He could. On the other hand, the chain around Bryce's neck was the twin of the one in that--what do they call it?--the room where they get the horses fixed up."

"The grooming room."

"Yeah.,” Dan yawned. “Anyway, there should have been two chains in there, but there wasn't. And another thing--."

I groaned and let my head drop back against the seat.

"Well, if you don't want to hear."

"Of course I want to hear.” I sat up again. “I don't expect to like it, but I want to hear."

"We found a plastic bag of meth. The late Mr. Ellis had about a half ounce, unopened, which is quite a lot.” He glanced over at me, I guessed to see my reaction. Somehow I wasn’t surprised. “From the way he'd been acting, his tantrum in front of Moss, his paranoia about how everyone was out to get him, his hyper-activity, he probably needed it bad. The shower fits. Nice and private."

"What else?" I knew there was more and was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like it.

"I told you we think meth is being pipelined somehow through these horse shows. Most likely theory is that Chovalo’s an important part of that pipeline and agreed to sell to Bryce because he was afraid of pretty boy’s mouth. Got him in the shower and either lost his temper, or because of the chain, had already decided it was time for the unlamented Mr. Ellis to leave, permanently."

"Why didn't he take back the drugs?"

"Good question. Maybe he heard someone coming."

"All this is theory, right? Can't you test for fingerprints or something?"

"Every lab test known to man and the Santa Barbara police department is currently being done, never fear."

Dan yawned again. I handed him his coffee.

"Yipes." He handed it right back. "This stuff is still too hot. We'll be home before it cools off."

"It woke you up."

"And left blisters."

I tested my own which, for some reason, was perfect and handed it to him. "Here. Dan, something strange happened."

"The whole damn day was strange. Ellie, do you mind if I take the pass? It'll cut off a half hour at least."

I did. The San Marcos pass was famous for accidents. At least during the day you could see who was running into you. I gulped a little and said, "Of course not."

I waited until we had started up the first steep grade before I continued.

"Dan, I saw the pirate again."

"What pirate? Look at that idiot. Wouldn't you think he could turn his brights off?"

"Dan, listen. The pirate from the fair. The one who was snooping around Irma's barn. Remember?"

"I remember." He gripped the wheel, staring intently into the darkness. "Can you take this?" he asked, handing me his empty cup.

"Sure. Dan, the pirate was there today. Hanging around the barn again. I saw him."

"I didn't, and he'd be hard to miss."

"He didn't have his pirate stuff on.” I told him, trying not to be miffed. “Remember the blond man talking to Bryce in the stands this morning? That was him. He was also the man talking to Chovalo, remember? They walked off together, right before you dragged me off to lunch. And listen to this. He was there when the police arrived!"

"Where?"

"Right by the Men's. Well, standing, watching the bathroom."

"So were several hundred others. What else was he doing?"

"Watching Wes leave."

"Did you see him go into the bathroom? Or into any of the stalls? Or into the--what did you call it?--grooming room?" Dan took his eyes off the road to look at me.

"No, but..."

"Ellie, you saw a man who was doing the same thing everyone else on the grounds was doing. Looking at horses, talking to trainers, and gawking at the police."

"It was the pirate. Listen, Dan. There’s more” I took a deep breath. I didn’t think Dan was going to like the fact I had been doing a little investigating on my own, but he needed to know about the pirate, and he needed to know now. “I talked to Becky Monahan. She’s on the fair board.”

“
I know that.” Dan’s tone was guarded.

“
She says the pirate wasn’t hired by the fair. They don’t know anything about him, where he came from, who he is, nothing. Coupled with the fact he was hanging around Irma’s barn all day today, don’t you think that means something?”

"Why didn't you recognize him this morning? And, if it really was the same guy, where was his mustache? That was quite a mustache." Dan ran his finger over his short, tidy one.

"Oh." .

"Oh, what?"

"The mustache. It was gone."

"Yeah A mustache like that takes a long time," Dan said thoughtfully and with maybe a touch of envy. "You know, Ellie, I don't think he was your pirate. I know you don't want to cast Chovalo as a murderer, but I don't think this guy is going to make it as a substitute."

I didn't say any more, but I knew the man was my pirate and he fit somewhere. Only I was afraid I knew where. He’d been talking to Chovalo, they’d walked off together, and I'd be willing to bet they hadn't gone to lunch. He'd been talking to Bryce, too. My theory about the pirate being some kind of contact was starting to make even more sense. But if I convinced Dan, it would only look worse for Chovalo. Unless, of course, the pirate had killed Bryce.

This was one maze I wasn't going to work my way out of tonight. I was too tired, but there was one more question I had to ask.

"What about Stephanie?"

"What about her?"

"What did she say? I've never seen anyone look like she did when Bryce walked off and left her. I don't think Stephanie takes kindly to rejection or humiliation. Why isn't she a suspect?"

Dan glanced over at me. "There's no evidence. Plenty of motive, but no one saw her anywhere near the Men’s bathroom. And that is something you would notice."

"Then the Santa Barbara police did ask?"

"They’re probably still asking.” He sighed, a deep exhausted, frustrated sigh. “Right now everything points to Chovalo, and nothing away from him."

We were both quiet the rest of the way. I was asleep when we pulled up in front of my house.

“
Wake up, Ellie. We’re here.”

The porch light was on, so were the lights in the front room, but there was no sign of Neil's truck.

"Don't let Susannah go to the barn tomorrow." Dan’s voice was quiet as he looked at the lighted windows. "I think she's stretched loyalty to its limits." He reached for me and gently, but definitely, kissed me. I was just getting into kissing him back when he let me go, reached over and opened my door, and gave me a small shove.

“
Aren’t you coming in?” I had mixed emotions about that. Being held would be nice, but sleep was imperative.

"No.” He smiled faintly. “You're beat and so am I. I'll call you tomorrow."

I watched his car until it turned the corner, then headed for the front door, thinking you should only have mixed emotions when you weren’t too tired to untangle them.

Susannah stood in the kitchen, freshly showered, in my best long nightgown, a mug of tea in her hand. “You look beat.” She waved her mug toward me, "Want some?"

I looked at the nightgown, started to say something, thought about the old tee shirts she usually slept in, decided this was something symbolic that was way over my exhausted head, and nodded yes.

"Tea sounds wonderful. Only I'm adding a little something." I headed for the cupboard where I kept the bottles I rarely used..

She trailed along behind me, watched as I added brandy to my mug, looked down at her own and sighed.

"I don’t suppose…" She sighed.

I looked at her and did a little sighing of my own. I motioned towards her mug, she held it out and I poured.

Somewhere around three o’clock I turned over, pushed Jake off my legs and woke up just enough to realize I had thoughts. I sat straight up in bed. Someone had said something. Who? What? I couldn’t remember. But some time yesterday, during all that horrible ordeal, someone said something that didn’t make sense. Or didn’t---what? It was important. I knew that. But whatever it was, it was buried under exhaustion. I flopped back down on my pillow. I’d remember it in the morning, I assured myself. When I was fresh, rested and back to normal.

The clock radio clicked on at seven the next morning, ready to regale me with the latest in national disasters. There are plenty of local ones, I thought, I don’t need more. I turned it off, thought about pulling the covers back over my head, sighed and climbed out of bed. I had a nine o’clock appointment and hoped I’d be awake enough to listen to my clients.

Susannah informed me, as she sat on the closed toilet seat watching me struggle with eye makeup, that she had already called Irma.

"Irma says don’t bother to come. The office phone is on answering machine and Palo will feed and clean along with the rest of her guys. She's not gong near the barn. Instead, she’s going to stay in bed with a large brandy and a headache. Actually, she's waiting to hear from the attorney Dan called.” She paused and blinked a few times. I could see a tear in the corner of one eye. “I heard Maria Rosa's voice in the background. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.” She pushed herself up and stood behind me. “Brush the tips more lightly. You’re going to get them gooey.” She moved beside me and rummaged through my make up drawer. “You don’t have much—try this.” She handed me the blush I was just about to apply, then started piling her own hair up on her head before letting it fall.

"What are you planning to do?" I watched her in the mirror. The thought of Susannah on the loose all day in this restless mood was, to say the least, unsettling.

"Iron."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing, which caused me to apply a large swatch of green eye shadow exactly where it was not supposed to go.

"Damn. Look what you made me do," I reached for the Q. tips.

"You shouldn't laugh. I might, you know."

When pigs fly, I thought, but said instead, "There's plenty in the basket. Any other thoughts?"

"Maybe I'll go visit Aunt Mary. Or go see Dr. Bennington. See what that job is all about."

I heaved a sigh of relief, but silently of course, and hurried off to work, leaving Susannah thumbing thoughtfully through cookbooks. I had just enough time to hope she wouldn't try anything too elaborate, actually that she wouldn't try anything at all, before I was plunged into the usual Monday chaos.

The day passed quickly with only brief breaks. My young couple’s offer had been accepted, and I had inspections to order, escrow to open, and the lender to talk with. There was an offer on another of my listings sitting on my desk, my client lived out of town, and I had a terrible time tracking him down to present it. Between phone calls I wondered if Chovalo had made bail, if Stephanie was still maintaining that frightening composure and if the police were continuing to question her. While I stood in line for a takeout salad I wondered if Wes had started his cross country run on time, if Linda had pulled the financial information for purchasing the business off her miraculous computer, and if Irma was in any shape to care. I spent valuable minutes I should have used preparing for a listing appointment wondering if I should call Becky about that blasted pirate, as well as trying to remember whatever it was I thought I forgot last night. Maybe it wasn’t important after all. The phone did not stay silent, but it answered none of my questions.