Harmful Intent: A Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels/Dawson Hughes Novel (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

South Abilene

Day Thirteen, Afternoon

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

I reached out both hands and touched Trudy as she lay in her casket. My wedding band seemed to wink at me and the hand snapped back, almost of its own accord, tucking itself under my opposite armpit. I shuddered and focused on Trudy.

That worn-out platitude I'd often heard wasn't true. Not a chance she looked even remotely lifelike. The white coffin with its pink velvet interior embroidered with delicate white roses did nothing to obscure the horrifying reason we were here.

The smell of
funeral parlor
choked me. Flowers, perhaps a cleaning solution, or the chemicals they used to embalm. Whatever it was, I wanted to run out, get in my bug of a car, and race as far away as I could. Instead of making a mad dash for the door, I pivoted and walked to a seat toward the back in such a ladylike manner I would've made my mother proud. I couldn't be there for Mark at his viewing, but I could be here for Trudy.

What a stupid thought! I could've been there if I'd insisted, but that most likely would've become histrionic. Not something I would have liked to endure. At any rate, Mark had Cassidy there and she was the woman he'd wanted.

Dawson Hughes walked in with a man in a dark suit. I recognized him as the rookie Abilene PD detective who was lead on Mark's case. My focus zeroed in on them, interrupting my stream of maudlin thoughts. Hughes wore his uniform and neither man signed the guest book, so I supposed they were here officially.

He spotted me, waved, and walked over, the detective his constant companion. "I'm sure no introductions are necessary."

I stood. "Of course, I clearly recall sitting at a desk in the Abilene police station opposite Detective Farber."

As we shook hands, the detective's brown eyes narrowed. "Mrs. Ingels, I'm surprised to see you here. How did you know Trudy Bobkirk?"

I slid my hand out of his grasp and clasped the strap of my shoulder bag. "After my husband's death, his membership at the spa reverted to me. I took advantage of the amenities they offered and naturally met Trudy at the front desk."

His eyes remained mere slits. "You felt you knew the receptionist at the spa you just joined well enough to come to her memorial service?"

I met his gaze straight on. "Like you, I'm working. I think Trudy's murder is related to my husband's. But to answer your question, yes, I do feel I knew her well enough."

Hughes cleared his throat and motioned for me to move two seats further down. "Let's not get testy, boys and girls."

I rolled my eyes, took two quick side-steps, and plopped onto a seat. Hughes sat next to me and Farber took the seat on the aisle.

A balding man with a professional demeanor, wearing a conservative black suit, entered the viewing room. A teary woman clung to his arm. He ushered her to a mauve settee in the front row… probably the funeral director seating one of Trudy's relatives. The family hailed from Oklahoma. The obit in the paper stated a memorial service had been planned here in Abilene. Then the body would be flown to the family's hometown for burial.

Farber snapped his head toward Hughes with such force I thought I might hear his vertebrate crack. He held his hand low and flicked out his index finger, pointing at the entrance of the viewing room. "Ava Chandler's here. When I interviewed her she came off like she thought she sat on a throne, or somethin'."

I smirked. "The Empress Ava has arrived."

Hughes ignored me and addressed Farber. "It takes a few interviews, a little experience and you'll be cuttin' them down to size."

The Chandler woman strode in as if she were the guest of honor at a board of supervisors' dinner. She didn't approach the casket, but instead took a seat three rows from the front, near the door. She pushed her lush auburn locks over one shoulder and straightened the collar of her black silk pants suit.

Marjean and Nellie were the next to arrive. Nellie alternately twisted a piece of tissue and then dabbed at her bulging, red eyes. They chose the row behind Ava Chandler.

A young man sporting a black western shirt with white embroidery on the yoke, and collar length sun-kissed brown hair, entered the viewing room. With halting steps, he made his way directly to the casket, and fell to his knees on its kneeler. Hunching forward, as if all the air had been let out of him, he reached into the casket, and seemed to be patting Trudy's hand. He mumbled, but in the silence of the room, his words carried. "I won't rest until I find who did this to you."

Hughes leaned toward me. "That's Jimmy Logan, Trudy's new boyfriend."

The woman rose from the settee and walked with stately grace over to Logan. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said something to him. He stood and awkwardly squared his bolo tie, held closed by a silver steer's head. They both walked to the settee and sat down next to each other.

A wiry man with thinning salt and pepper hair entered wearing pressed jeans and a white shirt. He walked to the casket, stood there a moment, and nodded. He turned, approached Jimmy Logan, shook his hand, and said something to the woman.

"That's Floyd, the barman at the Broken Spur Saloon on Route 83. That's where Trudy met Jimmy Logan," Hughes whispered.

A few more people I didn't recognize entered, milled about, and found seats. Apparently, neither Hughes nor Farber knew who they were. Or, if they did, they chose to keep it to themselves.

When I glanced back at the door, Dorothy Chandler jolted forward in a pair of sling-backed high-heeled pumps she seemed unsure of. A black beret covered most of her hair and she held a black clutch to her waist. Prior to this, I'd never seen anything on her feet except Birkenstocks. She advanced toward her cousin's wife and spoke softly, "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not." Ava Chandler rose, and moved over a seat, looking greatly put out.

Nellie swiveled in her seat and spoke to Marjean
sotto voche
. She rose and walked out of the room.

I tapped Hughes on the shoulder as I stepped past him. "I think I'd better get a bit of air in the lobby."

I followed Nellie out of the viewing room. She spoke for a moment to a woman in a black suit with a tightly wound bun at the top of her head. The woman pointed toward the rear of the building and Nellie hurried in that direction.

I held back so it wouldn't appear as if I were stalking her, and caught a glimpse of pink hair. Uma Kantrel had arrived with Reece Morgan. After the pair entered the viewing room, I headed for where I'd last seen Nellie.

I picked up my pace and passed another viewing room, decorated just as Trudy's was in soft mauve tones. A grouping of easy chairs with azalea patterned damask upholstery hugged a cherry wood coffee table. Just beyond that, I came upon the women's room and pushed through the door. Whoever decorated this place sure had cornered the market on mauve.

When Nellie came out of the stall and saw me, her face registered surprise.

I pivoted toward the sink keeping an eye on her in the mirror and turned on the faucet. "I got a bit claustrophobic in there. Just need to splash some water on my face."

She sighed and leaned against the mauve tiled wall. "I've been all nerves for so long. I had to get out of there."

"It's terrible what happened to Trudy. Just awful."

Tears streamed down Nellie's cheeks. "Trudy was probably the sweetest person who worked at the spa."

Times like this I felt like a heel, egging a woman on in her grief. But that didn't stop me. "I noticed Trudy always wore the cutest butterfly or heart earrings."

That engendered a water works, followed by huge gulps for air. "She was the last person who should've wound up like this."

"Why do you think it happened to her?"

Nellie bit her knuckle, and then thrust her hand down at her side, balled into a fist. "I don't know. She wasn't the type to pry."

"Were there secrets at the spa?"

She nodded vigorously and a few strands of her wheat blond hair fell out of the black velvet ribbon tied at the nape of her neck.

"Did you ever see a dangerous looking Hispanic man at the spa, perhaps the man who works at the bridal shop for Cassidy Renault?"

She took a step away from me and hugged herself. I didn't, but Marjean has. It's not who you think. The dude doesn't work for Cassidy. But Cassidy has been calling Reece from New York several times a day."

"She has?" That was info I'd have to pass on to Hughes -- right away.

I reached out, but stopped short of touching her. "Do you know why Cassidy is phoning?"

"No and neither does Marjean."

I lowered my voice, hoping I'd hit a soothing note. "This scary man, who is he?"

Tears flowed again. She was going to have to do a major makeup repair job. She grabbed a tissue from the dispenser on a console table against the wall, dabbed her eyes, and wailed, "I don't know. He comes at night and Reece is a total nut job the next day, barking at everyone."

The door opened and Ava Chandler waltzed in.

Nellie opened her handbag and removed her makeup case. She shook her head as if making repairs would be useless, returned the case, and snapped the purse closed. "I better go." She rushed out.

A long look at my face in the mirror told me a swipe of lipstick across my lips would do me a lot of good. I rummaged in the bottom of my bag until I found a peach tube of lip lacquer, whipped out its magic wand and ran it around my lips, while stealing a peek at Ava Chandler.

She glared at me. "It's pathetic the way y'all hang on to Dawson Hughes. Bein' a New Yorker, I guess we have to cut you some slack in the decorum department."

A short, terse laugh burst out of my mouth. "Sorry, I guess when I get back I'll have to sign up for charm school so I can be courteous, like you."

"My husband is right. You're way too smart for your own good."

I turned my coldest stare on her. "Is that a threat?"

She didn't flinch. "Take it however you want."

"Speaking of the deputy, I think I'll mention this conversation to him."

She tossed her head so her hair flipped over her shoulder. "Every time I turn around Dawson Hughes is there and my husband doesn't like it one bit."

"I'm sure he's just doing his job."

"The Three Stooges is what y'all look like sittin' in there. A bunch of clowns, no closer to catchin' this killer." She turned on her heel and left without using the facilities.

"Wow," I murmured under my breath. "Someone's seriously PMSing."

As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. We hadn't zeroed in on a primary suspect in these killings. Had no concrete proof the shootings were related, only a gut feeling. And a very dangerous mystery man was out there who stalked the spa by night.

Chapter Twenty-Four

South Abilene

Day Thirteen, Moments Later

Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI

I'd no sooner returned to my seat than the funeral director carried a podium to the front and set it before the casket, stopping me from relating what had happened in the women's room.

After craning his neck, he cleared his throat, twice, and straightened his tie. "In keepin' with her faith, Mrs. Marcia Bobkirk DeMarco has asked for a religious service for her sister Trudy. So, I'd like to welcome someone south Abilene knows well, Senior Pastor Nathan Standal, from the Church of the Byways."

A reed-thin man in a gray suit and a clerical collar stepped up and placed his burgundy leather-bound Bible on the podium. He looked down at the pair sitting on the settee and offered a small smile. "Although I didn't know Trudy Bobkirk, I have had the pleasure of getting' to know her sister Marcia and have been deeply touched by her love of her younger sister as well as her quiet walk with the Lord. The family's pastor in Oklahoma phoned me and shared stories of the family's dedication to their little church on the plains. He told me how shy Trudy was as a young girl, how she hid in her mother's skirts as the family walked down the aisle to find their seats on Sunday mornin's. A despicable act has robbed a family of a beloved daughter and they are in distress and intensely grievin'."

A lump formed in my throat. I could imagine Trudy as a little sprite of a girl. This senseless brutal act was so wrong. Then again, it probably made a lot of sense to the very selfish and vicious individual who had pulled the trigger. The mystery man hanging around the spa fit that description. I'd like to believe Cassidy fit the profile, though it's possible that could be chalked up to a lack of generosity on my part. Ava Chandler was biting and egotistical, but was she a murderer?

When the pastor walked to the side of the podium reading from his Bible, I came back from my private musing.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferin's of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. This passage is from Second Corinthians, chapter one. It is my sincerest desire that it may offer some consolation to you all."

I squirmed in my seat, not sure I knew what all that meant… except maybe that God could do a whole lot of comforting. Well, He had a big job to do here.

The pastor closed the book, tucked it under his arm and walked to Trudy's sister who sat huddled over, crying. He stooped and took her hand. "I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anythin' I can do for you while you're here, don't hesitate to phone me. The funeral director has my number."

Her body trembled. The pastor stooped and patted her shoulder. Jimmy Logan wrapped an arm around her.

What a conundrum. The service I'd just sat through had accommodated the sister's wishes. Though knowing Trudy, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She'd want her sister to feel consoled, although it seemed the service had hardly accomplished that. But Trudy's beliefs were eclectic, embracing a New Age philosophy. How many families had to work through this situation while in the depths of despair? Probably quite a few.

He turned to the young man. "Jimmy, I'm so sorry we're meetin' again under these circumstances. It's obvious you have suffered a great loss as well. Stop by the church if you need to talk, son. Don't be a stranger."

Pastor Standal shook the hand of the funeral director at the doorway. "Mr. Edwards, good day. Give my regards to Mrs. Edwards."

As the pastor left, Mr. Edwards tugged at his starched white cuffs. "This concludes the memorial service for Trudy Bobkirk. You all have my deepest sympathy. Please drive carefully as you leave."

That was it. The service was over and I didn't understand any better than I had before why Trudy Bobkirk had to die.

Reece Morgan was the first to stand. Ava Chandler rose from her seat immediately after. Their eyes locked and Morgan walked toward the woman of great stature, at least in her own mind.

A fractious pout overtook Uma Kantrel's face and she hurried after Morgan and linked her arm through his, plastering herself to his side. He gave a fierce shrug, loosening her grip on him and kept walking.

I grasped the chair in front of me as if my fingers were a vice and pulled myself up. The air seemed thick and warm, even though the air conditioning in the room had been frigid. It was as if a seismic wave struck me. I struggled for air as a shadowy image surfaced from the distant past. I seemed to be looking down a misty tunnel where in some far away time, a man with his back to me thrust away a wisp of a young woman, no older than Trudy. She wrapped her blouse around her exposed breasts and raced frantically down the hallway of our house. I shook it off and inhaled deeply, twice. That must have been the time Mom found a pink padded bra and made like it was nothing.

Hughes placed a hand at my back. "Are you all right?"

I nodded as I pulled myself back to the present, shoving all emotion way down. Tossing my ponytail like a horse would to rid itself of a bloodsucking fly, I slouched, putting on my best tomboy look. The one that was sexless and protective.

Farber was already in the aisle, making a beeline for the lobby. He rocked from side to side as the soles of his shoes pounded the carpet. In spite of my shortness of breath, I giggled. Gumshoe on the case.

Hughes took my elbow and guided me after him, but at a much slower pace.

Marjean assisted Nellie out of her seat, and Hughes stopped to allow them to leave their row as gracefully as possible. Nellie tripped over his foot and mumbled, "I'm sorry, so sorry."

After assuring her there was no harm done, he took a quick side step right into the elbow of Reece Morgan and blocked the path to the door.

The light in Morgan's pale blue orbs flared then went flat. "If you'll excuse me, Deputy, I have to go to the airport and pick up Cassidy Renault."

For the second time, Uma Kantrel pouted like a green-eyed school girl.

Hughes nodded and stepped aside. "So nice of you to act as her chauffeur."

Morgan took a step past Hughes and paused. "It's the gentlemanly thing to do."

By now, jealousy had completely overtaken the pink haired one's demeanor. On spindly stilettos she matched her escort's stride, clinging to him as they proceeded into the lobby.

They nearly collided with the funeral director as he rushed over to assist Jimmy Logan. The two men steadied the wilted form of Marcia Bobkirk DeMarco as she struggled into the aisle. They helped her toward the casket as the matron with the bun atop her head rushed in with a bottle of smelling salts.

There was so much pain in this room… so much devastation. Rage against the killer overtook me. Then a thought I'd had before surfaced, exploding inside my head. We could be investigating a conspiracy spanning from Texas to the Hamptons, an organized group of drug dealing killers. Working in concert, they'd committed two murders that we knew of.

Farber stood near the front door. He did that thing again, his finger pointing down low. "Ava Chandler and that other woman walked out together."

Hughes kneaded the muscles of his neck with one hand. "That woman is Dorothy Chandler, the nutritionist at the spa, and Winslow Chandler's cousin."

I shifted my gaze out the door and to the small portico beyond the entrance. "It's raining Chandlers all over the place."

Farber clambered out of the funeral parlor and we followed. "Forget the Chandler women. I'm going to tail Reece Morgan. I wanna see where he takes that Renault babe, though I suspect he'll drop her home as he's got his jealous gal-pal with him. You can follow me if you want."

We followed Farber to the airport. He stayed three-then four-then three cars behind the BMW. Hughes stayed two to three cars back from the unmarked sedan with me tucking the Smart Car neatly behind the Ram.

It was just as the detective figured. Morgan picked up Cassidy and her four pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage at the arrivals terminal with Uma Kantrel making quite a display. Green and pink do not always go well together.

The BMW let Cassidy out at the front entrance to her building in the Cimarron Arms luxury apartment complex. The car stayed in front until the doorman removed her bags from the trunk and opened the door for her. Neither Reece nor Uma saw Cassidy in.

Moments after the BMW pulled out from under the building's portico, my cell phone rang. Hughes relayed a query from Farber. The detective had wondered if we were hungry. My retort that there'd be no problem with eating as far as I was concerned elicited a laugh from Hughes.

I felt like a baby elephant trailing behind its parents as I roamed the city behind Farber's unmarked sedan and Hughes' Ram. The trip from Abilene Regional Airport to Cassidy's luxury building hadn't given us any new intel, but we hadn't expected much. Then after a short jaunt up a state road and past a complex of modest garden apartments, I finally pulled the Smart Car into an expansive parking lot behind those two.

A bite to eat after a long day often helped take the edge off. Farber had suggested the Metro Diner, a fifties-style joint he knew of in Abilene proper. The outside was an ample chrome rectangle with large plate glass windows. Its interior sported a black and white checked linoleum floor with bright aqua booths and stools. A colorful fifties style jukebox stood in one corner. It played "Walkin' My Baby Back Home" by Jonnie Ray. That was a bit before my mother's time, certainly a more innocent time.

We all ordered the bacon cheeseburger deluxe platter. Farber wanted a draft. Hughes went for a root beer float, and I decided on a vanilla milk shake with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

When the waitress headed for the kitchen, I related my women's room conversations with Nellie and Ava Chandler.

Farber's eyes briefly scanned the room, then came back to me dripping disparagement. "You girls sure do stir up some drama there."

I couldn't take much more of his attitude. "Yeah, well, I didn't see you getting any information out of them."

The detective gave me a
don't be ridiculous
roll of his eyes. "You didn't expect me to chase them into a women's room for a little girl talk, did you?"

I slid to the edge of my seat, planted my elbows on the table, and leaned across, getting as close to him as I could. "You guys think nothing of questioning some jerk over a public urinal and you don't see me squawking about it. So, how about you lay off with the
I'm the big detective and you're just the girl PI
act? It's getting old."

Hughes wiped the barest hint of a grin from his face and cast a stern look at the detective. Then he turned his head toward me. "Ronnie, every bit of info you and Jack Cooney brought to this case has been useful. Some of it we couldn't have gotten without you. And on my end, it's all been presented to the sheriff and shared with Farber here."

To his credit, Farber appeared to have at least some degree of contrition. "Look, I'll be honest with you. It's not my druthers to be workin' a case with a private cop, especially the wife of the first victim. I have to admit though; you're an asset to the case."

The waitress brought our drinks.

Hughes stuck a straw into his root beer float and took a long pull.

I sat back in my seat and fell into a slump. "It's been my recent experience; we don't always get what we want."

Hughes played with the straw in his tall glass. "Yeah, and that's a fact."

I grabbed the maraschino cherry off the top of my whipped cream, popped it into my mouth, and talked as I chewed. "Hughes, you mentioned Jack Cooney and I think it's about time we gave him a call to find out what he's uncovered about Stanley Fishburn, and where the lovely Cassidy Renault went when she was there."

I flipped open my cell phone, hit speed dial for Jack, and was greeted with that familiar, cranky tone I was so fond of. "Yeah, kid, whaddaya want?"

I put it on speaker phone and adjusted the volume so we could hear, but not so loud others could. "So, what's the scoop on Stanley Fishburn? And did you have a lovely time with your friend at the spa?"

A deep chuckle erupted from the void. "That guy's got this huge pompadour looks like it's held in place with industrial silicone. He could be Buster Poindexter's twin. And yeah, I had quite the time. Thank you for asking."

I placed the phone on the table between us. "How did my BFF Cassidy Renault spend her time in the Big Apple?"

"Shopping at all the finest stores on Fifth Avenue. She must have a platinum American Express card judging from all the store bags she hauled around."

I let out a short, huffy sigh. "As usual, playing the princess. So, what's this spa all about?"

"Well, it's upscale. Caters to the A-list out here. However, my lovely friend tells me Fishburn's wife, the owner, has been on quite the spending spree herself this past year. Expensive tastes."

"Maybe she has money coming in from sources nobody knows about."

Jack gave a hoarse throaty laugh. "Not knowing about it is the point, babe. How you gonna nab them when you know
nadda
?"