Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (14 page)

“I can’t do it,” Joey cried, his voice loud as his frustration grew at not being able to get into Hal’s computer.

“And maybe I can’t help you turn the Halmart stores around?” Clarissa jeered.

“For all your talk, you haven’t been much of a help to me so far!” Joey’s tone was beyond indignant.

“Not much help? You wouldn’t even have the stores if it weren’t for me! Now, get busy with that computer.”

“Stop ordering me around!” Joey cried.

“Don’t you dare use that tone with me!”

“I can’t take it any more!” Joey yelled.

And right then, Angie sneezed.

“What are you doing here?” Teresa stood as she saw Paavo enter the rectory’s living room. She spun toward Father Armand. “You said I’d be left alone. You lied!”

“You can stay, Teresa,” Father Armand said quietly, “but you refused to talk to me. You’ve got to speak with someone about what you’re doing. What you’ve been saying.”

She looked about wildly as if trying to decide if she should run. “I haven’t been saying anything.”

“Yes, Teresa, you have.” The padre’s tone was firm.

“What were you looking for?” Paavo asked her.

She turned away, and he looked to the priest for an answer.

Father Armand shook his head. He didn’t know. “I allowed her to continue to search the records. In the end, though, she came away with nothing.”

Her eyes darted from one to the other, and slowly, her face became hard and stony, devoid of all emotion.

“What’s this about, Teresa?” Paavo asked.

“It’s about … nothing. Everything was a lie. All that’s happened—” She stopped speaking and covered her mouth with a shaky hand.

Father Armand took a chair and gestured toward the sofa. “Teresa, sit down, please. You need to tell us what’s troubling you. How can we help if we don’t know?”

“You can’t help!” Even as she said the words, she sat dejected on the edge of the sofa. “I’m beyond help!”

“Never—”

“It’s true!” Silent tears fell. “Please, leave me alone.”

“Doc thought you should talk to me,” Paavo said, pulling up a chair to face her. “Why is that?”

“I have no idea!” she said, trying to stanch her tears.

“Yes, you do. Doc knows something or he wouldn’t have told me to come.”

“If he knew, he’d hate me …”

“Tell us, Teresa,” Father Armand urged. “Tell us together, or me alone. Whatever you’d like.”

She stared at him a long moment, then whispered, “It’s my fault, Father. It’s all my fault.”

“What is?” he asked.

“Everything.” Her voice was grating and desperate. “Hal’s death, Ned’s, the attack on my grandmother. It’s all because of me.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why do you think that?”

“I know it! I should be the one who’s dead, not Ned! And my grandma, if she dies too …”

A sob fell from her as she ran out of the rectory.
It was as if all she’d kept bottled up inside had finally broken her.

Paavo saw her stop at the edge of the desert and look up at the starry night. He knew he would somehow manage to get her home, but first, he had a question for the priest.

“Did she say anything to you that you’re able to pass along?” he asked.

The padre shook his head. “She refused to say anything at all, refused even to make a confession. She said she doesn’t deserve absolution. That if she died now, she’d be damned. And that she deserved it.”

Clarissa froze. The sneeze echoed through the old house. Hal was always sneezing and coughing and complaining of how tired and sick he felt. She couldn’t help but look around guiltily, almost expecting him to walk through the door, accusing and angry. “Did you hear that?” Clarissa whispered.

“I think so,” Joey said, his voice small.

Clarissa yelled, “Who’s in here?”

“It s-sounded like a sneeze,” Joey stammered.

Anger—anger at Joey for his weakness, at Hal for all he’d put her through, even at herself for her mistakes—caused her to sneer. “That’s so astute, Joseph. Now, why don’t you find out who it is?”

“Okay … I’m going to look around.”

Duh,
she mouthed, much like young people on TV. Like her own grandchildren would be doing, if she had any. “Move it, Joseph! You couldn’t catch a statue!”

Slowly, she followed him down the stairs. How
she hated being inside this house. It held too many memories, especially with Hal dead …

She wished she could think back to at least one time when she’d been happy here. Hal tried, she had to give him that. But he didn’t hold her heart. Someone else did. She hadn’t thought about him in years, not until she talked to that young woman, that Angie, so happily in love. Her hand slid along the smooth railing as regret filled her. And strangely, the regret was about Hal, of how she’d taken advantage of him, how she’d never even given him a chance to make her happy. How differently would her life had been if she’d opened her heart to him, just a little bit?

How differently would things have turned out for Hal as well as for her?

Clarissa stepped out the back door to find Joseph on the veranda. “Why are you still here?”

“I don’t know where he’s gone. He was fast.”

Clarissa stared into the darkness, then snorted. “He?
She
is more like it. Look.” Just then, the ostrich with the cowlick ambled toward them. “You idiot! You were chasing an ostrich!”

“I wasn’t! Anyway, ostriches don’t sneeze.”

“How do you know?” she demanded. “It was probably standing at the door. You left it open, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Stop.” Sudden weariness overwhelmed her. “As things stand now, you should inherit everything, but to be absolutely safe, we’re going to return tomorrow and type up a will. You have all night to figure out how to do it. Once we’ve got it,
the sheriff will declare it official. We’ll be fine as long as that homicide detective doesn’t get involved.”

“How can you be so sure the sheriff will go along?”

“She has to.” Just the thought of Merry Belle—what an outrageous name!—made the words curdle on her tongue. “For years I’ve been a heavy, unofficial contributor to her campaign and, no doubt, retirement funds.”

“You aren’t saying, Mother, that you took money from the business to buy yourself a sheriff?”

“Some expenses were necessary—such as giving her that Hummer she’s so proud of.” Clarissa frowned. “The problem is the homicide inspector. It’s no coincidence he chose this spot for his vacation. I’ll have to make sure the sheriff doesn’t allow him to interfere any more than he already has.”

Angie didn’t believe she was fast enough to run all the way across the plaza without being seen, so, spotting some bushes to the left of the hacienda, she ran to them and dived inside.

As she crawled for cover, all the scary things she’d heard about desert creatures came back to her. She couldn’t help but wonder where live rattlesnakes slept. Dead ones were bad enough!

She stopped, laid low, and listened to Clarissa’s continuous berating of her son. No wonder the man was such a basket case.

Eventually, Clarissa must have grown tired of being a harridan because she abruptly said good night and left for her cabin. Joey slinked off to his.
Angie decided to wait a short while to be sure they’d retired for the night. She didn’t want them to catch her.

Unfortunately, in the silence following Clarissa and Joey’s departure, Angie became aware of strange noises and scurrying in the undergrowth. Hadn’t someone mentioned that there were wild boars in the area? Surely they didn’t come this close to the hacienda, she told herself. That had to be true.

Except that, somewhere in the brush behind her, she heard the sound of stirring, breaking branches, and distinctly unfriendly snorting. Something was crashing over the terrain, gaining speed. The snorts were urgent and insistent as a horn on a feral train. Angie began to scramble through the brush.
This must be what Miss Piggy’s like after a bad review.

She reached the clearing and stood, listening, scarcely noticing the twigs and stickers that had attached themselves to her hair and clothes. All was quiet for a moment, but then, suddenly, the noise began again.

As if she were setting a record for the hundred-yard dash, she crossed the plaza to her bungalow. The window was open. She didn’t bother with the door, but dived in, head first.

Cowering behind the window, she peered out to see the deadly fiend that pursued her.

It was a pig, all right. But not a wild one.

It was a young pig, probably one that had somehow broken out of the pig sty. Her monstrous wild boar turned out to be about the size of a chubby cocker spaniel.

“What’s Teresa up to?” Angie asked. Although half asleep when Paavo returned, she became fully awake and alert after hearing how Teresa blamed herself for Hal and Ned’s deaths and Maritza’s injuries. “How could she blame herself unless she had a part in the deaths?”

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Paavo said.

“But why else would she be so guilty?”

Apparently, that was Paavo’s question as well. He put it aside to listen with interest to Angie’s story of eavesdropping on Clarissa and Joey. She left out the part about the piglet, however.

“I guess it’s about time I saw where Hal Edwards lived,” he said. “It sounds as if everyone else has. Want to join me?”

“Aside from being worried about you,” she said with a grin, “why else do you think I stayed up so late?”

“Lead the way.”

Quietly, they crept across the plaza.

The back door had been left unlocked.

Once inside, Paavo turned on the small penlight he usually carried, but soon found a larger flashlight nearby—perhaps the one Joey had used—and switched to it. They followed Angie’s earlier path to the stairs, and she walked partway up. “This is where I stood.”

They hurried up the stairs to Hal’s bedroom.

Feminine toiletries had been pushed to one side on the dresser. Angie stared, surprised to see them. She wondered what Clarissa had made of them. In the closet was a jumble of strewn clothing, as if someone had taken everything off the hangers, and then tossed them in there.

“I don’t get this at all,” Angie said, looking in horror at the clothes.

“Did they do all this?” Paavo asked.

“It didn’t sound like it.” She went to the closet. “Why would anyone throw around Hal’s things this way?”

The first garment she pulled out was a brown cowboy shirt, then a pair of Wranglers. Beneath them was a brightly patterned teal and yellow material. She lifted it high. A dress.

“Size ten.” She looked at the label—Merona. “I don’t recognize the designer. It’s not expensive.”

“Not Clarissa’s, in other words?” he asked.

“Not a chance. She’s a size two at most.”

There were two other dresses, same size and colorfully patterned, in the pile. A prickle played along Angie’s spine.

“These look like something Teresa would wear,” she murmured.

“Teresa? That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“Doesn’t it? I wonder …” Angie began. They exchanged looks.

Paavo checked the other bedrooms. Two were practically empty, but the third was used as Hal’s office.

Paperwork was scattered everywhere, files opened and riffled, and the computer left on. Angie moved the mouse. Sure enough, a log-on screen appeared. She had no idea how to get past it.

Paavo began sorting through the paperwork quickly, Angie peering over his shoulder. It looked business related, but old. Probably the last time Hal Edwards used any of it was five years ago.

Why had Hal Edwards walked away from a home and business this size? Angie could only imagine that he’d been truly mentally deranged, or truly scared.

As Paavo continued with the papers, she took his penlight to look at the dining room and kitchen—she was a cook, after all.

There were no surprises in the dining room. Silverware, dishes, table linen.

She moved onto the spacious kitchen and went through cabinets and the pantry. At some point, someone had cleared out foodstuffs that could spoil or attract vermin, for which she was grateful.

The refrigerator was not only empty but off. When she had opened the door, however, she realized there was something odd about the way the kitchen was set up.

A large pedestal table and chairs were in the middle of the room, but not centered. In fact, they were so close to the refrigerator, that it was impos
sible to open the door all the way. At the same time, the far wall was empty, yet roomy enough for the kitchen table and chairs to fit into nicely. Mind racing, she pulled the chairs out of the way and shoved the table toward that wall.

Directly under the spot on which the pedestal had stood, a large stain discolored the oak floor. It had a whitish cast, but some darker flecks seemed to have seeped through the old, porous boards.

She drew back. “Paavo!”

As soon as he reached the kitchen, Angie flashed her light on the hardwood. “What do you think happened there? It looks like someone tried to clean it, maybe using bleach.”

He looked at how she’d pushed the table aside. “If blood was there, it’ll show up with Luminol. I’ll get the sheriff to run tests.”

“It makes me wonder”—Angie swallowed hard—“if this is where Hal died.”

A strange voice filled the room. “What the hell’s going on in here?”

“Junior!” Angie turned and stared at the gun in the man’s hand.

“Put the gun down,” Paavo said. “We aren’t dangerous. We’re just curious.”

“Curious enough to break into someone’s house? I think I should call the sheriff.”

“Fine,” Paavo said. “There are things in this house the sheriff needs to see.”

Junior snorted. “Yeah, I heard about you. You’re some kind of expert, they say.”

“Homicide, San Francisco.”

“Homicide?” His eyes darkened. “Nobody
wants you snooping around here. This is none of your damn business. Get out!”

“Who are you trying to protect, Junior?” Paavo asked.

“Nobody.”

“Yourself? Or is it Teresa?”

“Leave Teresa out of this!” Junior yelled.

“Why? Because she’s your daughter?” Angie asked. Now, studying Junior, Angie could see a slight resemblance to Teresa, especially in the eyes. She’d wondered where Teresa had gotten those green eyes, now she knew. Junior’s were always so bloodshot, it had been hard to discern their true color.

“She’s in danger,” Paavo said. “Someone tried to kill her. Two people have already died. We’ve got to find out what’s going on before anyone else is hurt.”

“I don’t believe you,” Junior snarled.

“Believe it.”

He raised the gun.

“Put the gun down, now!”
Paavo repeated in his most forceful tone. “You don’t want the kind of trouble this will bring you.”

Just then, Junior was knocked from behind. The gun flew from his hand across the kitchen. He landed face-first on the floor.

Standing in the doorway, where Junior had been, was the ostrich with the cowlick. Her black eyes gazed adoringly at Paavo, and the edges of her beak seemed to curl into a proud smile.