Hallowed Ground (29 page)

“What do you think? Anyway, they recommended I mind my own business. Suggested I drop this case. Flat out told me I’m embarrassing myself and my father, yada, yada, yada.”

Martinez just stared at me.

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you run off at the mouth like that.”

Embarrassment stained my cheeks. “Well, we haven’t exactly had much time to socialize.”

“Would you like us to socialize, blondie?”

My non-response was more telling than all the denials in the world.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re not done with this story?” He’d reclined, beer in one hand, muscled arm propped on the booth behind me.

“Because I saved the best for last. Figured with the way my luck was going, I oughta be up in Deadwood.”

He actually cringed. “You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. Paid a visit to Trader Pete’s. My bad luck continued because I’d been enjoying my free beer for about half an hour before our pal Reggie dragged me upstairs. Seemed Big Joe wanted a word with me.”

Martinez became deadly still. “About?”

And there was the lethal look that curled my innards. Mouth parched as the Badlands, I slurped the last of my beer.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. The Carluccis claim Rondelle stole 150K from them. That’s why they’ve been looking for her.”

“They have proof?”

I shook my head. “Remember the disk I told you about? The one Rondelle stole because it showed Little Joe ...”

His black eyes pierced my soul, but I breezed on, “Evidently that’s the same disk. But they claim she took it because the security feed showed her grabbing the cash from the safe.”

Martinez made no move to refill my beer. Nor did he whip out the lighter when I snagged a Marlboro Light from the half-empty pack. Jaw tight, he stared into space, digesting the possibilities, none of which I needed to point out to him.

Rondelle had lied more than she’d told the truth.

If she’d stolen a big pile of money and disappeared, it gave credibility to why the Carluccis had been so anxious to track her down.

But I’d seen her face. Her shame and fear had been real. No way in hell had she faked it. No way did she take that disk for any other reason than Little Joe Carlucci needed to pay for what he’d done to her.

Question was: Had they tracked her down and made
her
pay the ultimate price for attempting to cross them?

Dread turned the contents of my stomach sour.

One other angle I hadn’t considered. Could Bud Linderman have been involved? With the rumors surrounding the Carlucci’s ties to organized crime, they would be high on the cops’ list of suspects for killing Rondelle.

Bud probably hadn’t been aware Rondelle was under suspicion for ripping off the Carluccis. But he’d wanted the disk and Rondelle had double-crossed him. Was it enough to get her executed?

And conveniently point the finger at the Carluccis?

And where the hell was the disk anyway? Had the murderer gotten a hold of it after killing everyone in the cabin?

Christ. My head could pop off my shoulders and fly around the room with all the crazy theories spinning in my brain.

Martinez reached for the pitcher, absentmindedly replenishing our glasses. “What else?”

“
Else
? This is majorly fucked up. But know the one thing I don’t get?”

He swigged his beer and made an on-with-it gesture.

“Where’s Chloe? We’ve uncovered all this bullshit that no one wanted to know and I still haven’t found one five-year old girl. How can the people who are taking care of her
not
know Donovan was shot?”

“If she’s on Pine Ridge, she might be staying with someone who doesn’t have access to—”

“TV, radio, or newspapers? Wrong. Try again.”

“Am I supposed to be playing your partner’s role as devil’s advocate?”

My gaze homed in on him. I couldn’t tell if his tone was condescending. “You pissing with me, Martinez?”

“No. Not used to you bringing me in the loop. Don’t want you giving away trade secrets.”

“No secrets. I’d like to think I’ll find Chloe through good old-fashioned detective work.”

Those dark, thoughtful eyes examined me over the beer mug. “Does that mean you can track down the person who murdered Rondelle?”

I’d been afraid this would come up. “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t. That fun job belongs to the law enforcement agencies.” I recited, “‘A PI can’t investigate homicide, or work on a current case while the PD is pursuing it.’ Period. I imagine the Feds are involved because the sheriff doesn’t have the expertise or the resources to handle a case like this.” When he frowned I rushed to assure him, “Not that they’re inept, but multiple murders do not happen in Bear Butte County.”

“Give me your best educated guess. Who do you think killed Rondelle?”

I paused.

“Yeah,” Harvey’s raspy voice drifted from the booth behind us, surprising a girlish yelp from me. “Tell me which one of those fuckers murdered my little sister.”

I swallowed to dislodge my heart from where he’d scared it into my throat.

Martinez leaned over the booth ledge and growled, “Jesus Christ, you been laying there the whole time?”

“What’s it to you?”

Belligerence instead of deference? From Harvey?

“Get up.”

A head popped up. Whoa. Scarier than usual appearance for Harvey.

His waist-length black hair was in snarls. Stubble dotted his chin and it looked like he was trying to grow a porcupine on the shaved portion of his head. His skin had a sallow yellowish tinge, a sign he’d spent the night drinking, throwing up, and drinking some more. He could’ve packed a dime bag in the folds of flesh hanging beneath his bloodshot eyes.

When my gaze snagged his, my guts tightened into knots rivaling those in his hair. If I’d imagined his eyes were cold and flat before, they were downright full of love and compassion compared to what I witnessed in those same eyes now.

Not a flicker of humanity remained.

My mother and Ben’s deaths had devastated me, but that hollow nothingness had never stared back at me in the mirror, not even on my worst days.

Harvey reached for the pitcher of beer, threw his head back and poured a stream into his open mouth. Swallowed noisily. Wouldn’t have shocked me if he’d have gargled, then spewed like a fountain.

Tipping his face toward us, liquid dribbled down his chin leaving wet splotches on his FREE

LEONARD PELTIER T-shirt.

Martinez uttered not one word.

No doubt about it; Harvey had gone completely round the bend.

This was not good. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, afraid what would happen next.

He belched. “That uppity little sniff mean you ain’t gonna tell me, don’t it?”

“Tell you what, Harvey? Who might have done it? We all know who’s on that list because Martinez has told you everything. But I’m not going to sentence any one of those persons to a certain death at your hands just because they
might
have a reason for wanting Rondelle dead.”

My breath sawed in and out of my lungs in an effort to stay calm.

“I will find who did this, with or without your help.” He smiled pure meanness mixed with insanity. “Don’t pretend
, blondie
,” he snickered in self-satisfaction at using Martinez’s nickname, “that you wouldn’t do the exact same thing if you ever find out who sliced and diced your brother.”

“Shut up,” Martinez said. “You aren’t making any sense.” He screwed up his nose. “Jesus. You reek. Go take a shower. We’ll talk about this later.”

My eyes stayed locked with Harvey’s. In that instant, he recognized the black smudge on my soul. The infected part I’d kept hidden, the mark of my own inhumanity that would destroy—without remorse—the person who’d taken Ben’s life.

For that brief moment, we connected on a hellish level no one should descend to.

“Find Chloe,” Harvey whispered. “She’s all I’ve got left.”

I blinked.

He was gone.

Martinez sighed. “See what I mean?”

“He’s right, though. I can’t do anything for Rondelle, but I can find Chloe. I should go.”

The small of my back stuck to the Naugahyde as I slid from the booth.

I tugged my shirt back in place, aware of Martinez’s hot gaze searing my skin. “I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office tomorrow. See if he can tell me anything. I’ll try to get in to see Donovan. Maybe he’s got family members holding vigil and they can offer some suggestions.”

“Need any help?”

He hadn’t moved, but I sensed renewed tension as he waited for my answer.

“I don’t know.”

Evidently it was the right one because the breath-catching smile I hadn’t seen in days lit his face.

He grabbed my cell phone and started punching buttons.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Giving you my private cell number. About ten people have it. I’d appreciate it if—”

“If I didn’t write the number and ‘For a good time call Tony’ on the bathroom stall?”

His calloused knuckles abraded the bared skin of my belly, sending a shiver through me as he clipped the phone to my waistband. “You are such a smart ass.”

“Uh-huh. I prefer to call it my ‘redneck charm’.”

Much easier to toss out quips than to admit Martinez’s sudden trust scared me to the bone.

“Keep me in the loop.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I know anything.”

I MADE GOOD ON MY PROMISE TO KEVIN AND CALLED Jimmer. He was more interested in the news reports and rumors surrounding the bodies discovered in Bear Butte County than in Lilly’s demise.

Since the victims’ names hadn’t been officially released, I had to feign shock, but not my anger.

That was real.

I tried calling Kevin. Big fat zero on all three of his numbers. How long had it been since I’d talked to him?

Man. One day was bleeding into the next in my life.

On impulse, I called Kim and asked her to meet me for supper. Female camaraderie, I needed a dose.

We met at Casa Del Rey, a Mexican restaurant with decent food and even better drinks. With two frosty lime margaritas lined up, I jumped into the conversation head first.

“Kell dumped me.”

Kim crunched a tortilla chip and wiped the salt from her mouth as she chewed and swallowed.

“Well, sugar, you don’t look too busted up about it.”

I frowned. “I’m not. I mean, I knew it’d end at some point, but—”

“But you’re used to ending things on your terms.”

“Yeah. I’m not upset because he beat me to the punch, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I fiddled with the red and white striped straw floating in my glass.

Kim placed her cool hand on mine. Her gold fingernail polish glowed bronze in the candlelight, making her nails creepily talon-like. Suddenly I felt like a cornered mouse with a hungry hawk circling me. “What did he say that’s got you all fidgety and unsure of yourself?”

I squirmed, unobtrusively removed my hand and wished I hadn’t brought it up. Swapping confidences ranked right up there with a bikini wax on my pain threshold.

When I downed my margarita instead of responding, she sighed.

“Should I point out
you
asked
me
here? You shouldn’t hafta get drunk to be able to talk to me, Julie.”

“I know.”

“I
know
you know. Honestly, you can’t tell me anything that’ll make me think you’re some kind of freak.”

The first night Kim and I had hit the bars, after a couple of beers I’d told her what’d happened to my mother and to Ben. Gradually, as we’d spent more time together, other things had tumbled out. But so far, I hadn’t purposely sought her out and blathered on about my problems.

Not surprisingly she’d hit my fears right on the head. Maybe if she learned too much about me, she’d realize I
was
a freak. Conversely, if she accepted my quirks, we’d have a shift in our friendship. Right now those scales were pretty evenly balanced.

“Feeling up for a little truth or dare?” she asked.

Nice segue, Kim
. “Always.”

“You start with truth. Then you can do the same, or challenge me to a dare.” Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. “I’m hoping your dare involves me askin’ that hottie in the corner for his phone number.”

I snuck a glance at the hottie in question. “He’s practically jailbait.”

But Kim wasn’t about to let me get sidetracked.

She leaned forward. “Truth.”

And the words rushed out as if my mouth was anxious to get rid of the toxins.

After I’d finished spewing my confusion about why I’d been eager to change for Kell, she tapped a manicured nail on the edge of the table. She looked skyward, her glass eye rolled like the olive in her martini.

“I’m not surprised. No offense, Jules, but he always did seem a little holier-than-thou.”

“Still, it smarts getting the old heave-ho.”

“True. But he was prettier than you, too. My Aunt Tillie—God rest her soul—claimed a pretty man was the devil in disguise.”

No surprise I thought of Martinez.

“No matter how good he rocked the bed, musicians are always broke,” she added. “A poor man is never a good bet.”

“But a rich man isn’t much better, trust me. I’ll take a dynamo in the sack over a big bank account and a big ego any day.”

She didn’t give me time to regret my statement.

“The mysterious ex you don’t talk about. I take it he had money?”

“Some. He’d made a killing in the stock market before it crashed. Gave him a God complex.”

“You said it’s been, what? Almost four years since your divorce?”

I nodded, increasingly unnerved with the conversation.

She laughed softly.

My face burned. “What’s so goddamned funny?”

“You. For all your trash-talking you aren’t out there hopping from one bed to the next, are you?”

I shook my head. That had been my ex-husband’s flaw, not mine.

“None of the men you’ve been with were anything like him, were they?”

“No.” I made wet rings in the cocktail napkin with the bottom of my glass. Fajita meat sizzled and the scent of onions and green peppers wafted past. “Maybe Kev was right when he said I only hooked up with Kell because he was the exact opposite of Ray.”