Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (15 page)

The next morning, Paavo drove Angie to Jackpot’s medical clinic, only to learn that Maritza had been moved to the nearest hospital in Blythe, California. Knowing Paavo was going to pay a visit to Merry Belle, Angie excused herself to walk around town.

She was probably going shopping, he thought, and frankly, he couldn’t blame her. This whole trip had been no kind of vacation for her.

He continued on toward the sheriff’s station with Hal’s computer snugly strapped to the backseat of the SUV. Merry Belle should have access to someone who could crack the password, and something on the computer might give a clue as to why Hal left five years earlier, and maybe even a last will and testament.

The night before, after the gun had been knocked from Junior’s hand, Paavo grabbed it. Junior ran off saying Lionel would hear about their break-in, but Lionel never showed up.

Paavo then removed the computer from Hal’s office. Back in San Francisco, he would have
needed a judicial search warrant and permission. Here, he was quite certain Merry Belle paid no attention to such legal niceties. In fact, he had to admit to rather liking the way she did things. Some things, anyway.

Despite that, he decided against telling her about his visit to Father Armand until he had a better idea of what Teresa was doing there, and what she meant by saying the deaths were her fault. Her confessions might have been only the ramblings of a distraught woman who’d put up with more loss than she could handle, and he didn’t want Sheriff Hermann to go off half-cocked because of Teresa’s “guilt” sentiment.

Now, as he neared the station, he saw something that made him quickly turn the corner. He locked up the SUV, then, staying close to the buildings, edged along the street.

As he reached the parked pickup truck, he bent low and inched his way to the driver’s door. Once there, he yanked it open.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he said.

Joey Edwards was leaving the Flores house as Angie approached. She ducked behind a telephone pole. Her conjecture about Joey being the reason a couple of Teresa’s dresses were left at Hal’s was looking ever more correct.

She needn’t have worried about Joey noticing her. He seemed preoccupied and barely glanced at the street as he drove off in the opposite direction.

The whole scenario suddenly became quite clear to her.

Somehow, Ned found out that Joey and Teresa
were having an affair and were using Hal’s house for their tryst. He saw movement in the house, broke in, and attacked someone he thought was Joey. Instead, it was Hal.

He killed Hal and brought him out to the caves. Why Ned would want to do that, she didn’t know—yet.

After Hal’s body was found, for some reason, Ned waited a couple of weeks, then went back to the caves to make sure he hadn’t left any evidence. But Joey, who realized what had happened, followed Ned and killed him.

The note that someone had left in Paavo’s jacket pocket confirmed her theory.

Everything about it made sense—except that she couldn’t see either Ned or Joey as a murderer. But then again, if killers were obvious, Paavo wouldn’t have a job.

Now that she had everything figured out, Angie decided it was time to resolve these murders—for Doc, for Paavo, and even for herself and her vacation.

She was going to confront Teresa—woman to woman—and convince Teresa to admit to Paavo all that had been going on between her and Joey.

With firm determination, she marched up to the house and jabbed the doorbell hard.

Drapes at a nearby window fluttered, as if someone was peeking out. A moment later, Teresa pulled the door open. “This is a surprise,” she said. She seemed nervous. “Are you here to see my mother? She’s at the hospital.”

“I’m here to see you,” Angie replied. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Teresa invited her in. They went into the kitchen and Teresa got them both some iced tea.

“I saw Joey leaving,” Angie said.

“Yes. He’s an old friend.” Teresa’s voice and expression remained glum. “Angie, please tell Paavo I’m sorry about last night. I never should have gone through the church archives without permission. I thought it could help, could end all this quickly, but it turned out I was wrong. Everything I believed was wrong. And I was ashamed. Too ashamed to face Father Armand.”

That wasn’t exactly what Angie had expected to hear. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. It means nothing now.”

Angie’s irritation skyrocketed. She needed an explanation now! So many of these people wouldn’t open up, wouldn’t tell everything they knew, that it was absolutely frustrating. She wanted answers. “No, Teresa. It means a lot.” She told Teresa about the clothes she’d found in Hal’s home. “They look like they’re your size, your style.”

Teresa sat back in the chair without speaking for a long moment, then gazed at Angie. “Yes,” she said, her expression at once resigned yet almost relieved. “They’re mine. I suppose you’re wondering how they got there.”

Not at all,
Angie thought. “I know how they got there. Your affair with Joey.”

“Joey?” Teresa nearly laughed. “Of course not! It was Hal.”

“Hal?” Angie couldn’t quite imagine what Teresa was saying.

Teresa sighed. “I wanted to tell, but my mother
said no one would believe me—that they’d say I was just doing it for the inheritance, and I needed proof.” She chuckled sadly. “But I can’t find any.”

“Proof of what?” Angie was beside herself with these riddles.

Instead of answering, Teresa looked lost. “I often think my own family didn’t believe me, either. Who knows? It turns out they shouldn’t have. I feel like such a fool saying this”—Teresa drew in her breath—“but I truly believed Hal and I were married.”

At the sound of Paavo’s voice, one of the “fishermen” automatically reached for the gun under his vest.

“No need for guns,” Paavo said. “Let’s talk. You can start by telling me who you are.”

The two men had been parked a half block from the sheriff’s station and watched it so intently they didn’t notice Paavo sneak up from behind.

“Mackenzie,” the older man said.

“Cragin,” replied the younger. “FBI, Tucson.” They showed their badges.

“Any good at cracking computer passwords?” Paavo asked as he looked over the IDs.

“I’ve been known to, Inspector Smith,” Cragin replied, even before Paavo introduced himself. “Whose computer is it?”

“Hal Edwards’s.”

“I’ll definitely do it.”

“Good,” Paavo said, adding, “and, since you know me and why I’m here, how about giving me some information? What’s your interest in all this?”

“Border security,” Mackenzie said. “Nothing more.”

“Since when does the FBI back up Border Patrol?” Paavo asked. “And aren’t you a little too far north for that?” Even as he chided them, he remembered his conversation with the snake oil salesman who said he’d seen illegals on Edwards’s property last winter.

“Not necessarily,” Cragin answered.

Paavo really hated dealing with the Feds. They wanted all the answers and gave none. “What brought you here?” he asked, trying again.

Cragin looked at Mackenzie and waited. Mackenzie nodded.

“This.” He took a small, carved obsidian stone from his pocket. “Have you seen one before?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Why don’t you tell me what it means first,” Paavo replied.

“It’s a coyote. It’s the name and symbol of the people illegals pay to help them cross the border and hide in safe spots as they work their way deep into the U.S.,” Cragin began. “They turned up in this area last winter and caught our interest, along with Hal Edwards, a once prominent man in this state. He disappeared; the illegals took a different route, and we left.”

Mackenzie picked up the story. “Then we learned Edwards’s body had been found, and it seemed he’d been murdered. We wanted to see if his death was linked to the human smuggling. Maybe someone else in this town was also involved. The way the sheriff was bungling things,
though, we thought we’d have to work the cases ourselves. Good thing you’re here, Inspector.”

“Glad to be of service,” Paavo said sarcastically.

“That computer you were talking about might help both of us,” Cragin added. “Let’s take a look at it. And anyway, I’ve been wanting to see if Sheriff Hermann is as bad in person as she seems from afar.”

Angie nearly fell off her chair at Teresa’s pronouncement. “You thought you were
married
to Hal Edwards? But he was old!” Good grief, she’d been a bit off in her theory, hadn’t she?

Teresa smiled, misunderstanding Angie’s mortification. “Yes, he was. But you need to understand, Hal was very special in this town, not only because he gave people jobs in his stores and donated lots of money, but he’d help people he hardly knew. He saved my grandmother’s business, and helped my mother when she was having terrible problems with my father. He was always very kind to me, and I grew up practically worshipping Hal Edwards. When he asked me to marry him in secret, how could I refuse? I felt safe around him. Does that make any sense at all?”

It did, Angie realized, because this was the only world Teresa knew, and Hal Edwards was king here. “It makes sense,” she admitted. “But why did he want the marriage to be a secret?”

“I can only tell you what he said—that he was afraid Clarissa would badger him over Joey’s inheritance if she knew he’d remarried, that he was private and increasingly paranoid about everything legal and involving his estate, that he
wanted to look after me and see that my future was secure. And I believe that part of him was embarrassed to have such a young wife. He didn’t want to deal with the behind-the-back snickers and taunts. And also, something had made him afraid. He denied it, but I could tell. I’ll admit I’d hoped that after the wedding he’d see that those reasons were thin, and we could let our marriage be known. Instead, his fear grew. He honestly believed he was in danger, blaming everyone, even me. After only a month of being married to me, he left without a word.”

Angie shook her head. She couldn’t imagine anyone getting married and not being able to tell the world about it. In fact, she was trying to figure a way to get one of those big nuptial write-ups in the Sunday
New York Times
. Hal’s attitude didn’t make sense. “That’s hard to believe, Teresa. In this small town, where everyone knows everything, how is it nobody figured out about the marriage? They must have suspected something.”

“Some did. But remember, I’d been working for him since I was eighteen. People knew we were close, but saw it as a father-daughter relationship, nothing more. If anything, they suspected something between Joey and me. Joey isn’t all that interested in women, however—not men, either. He’s simply a loner. And lonely. Sometimes, I think I’m the closest thing to a friend he’s ever had. And that’s all we are—friends. Anyway, Hal and I kept separate quarters on the ranch, though, obviously, a few of my things ended up in his room. It wasn’t”—her face reddened—“a very physical relationship.”

Angie’s head still couldn’t get around this young woman and Hal Edwards as husband and wife, secret or otherwise. “There are public records and announcements of marriage. Hal Edwards was well known. How could he hide it?”

“There’s also something called a ’confidential’ marriage,” Teresa explained. “Certain criteria need to be met, and Hal told me his friends in Yuma would arrange a marriage that was sealed from the public. They were most often used when people lived together and told everyone they were married, and then decided to make it quietly legitimate. I was young and foolish enough to think the idea was romantic.”

A secret marriage. Something like that would certainly help Angie with her wedding plans! Maybe there was some merit to the idea.

Go off to Yuma; don’t tell a soul. No special destination locale to find. No reception to plan. No wedding planner hectoring her. No caterers demanding decisions. No music that had to please three generations of listeners.

But also, no beautiful wedding dress … no special jewelry … no memories of Paavo waiting for her at the altar while she walked down the aisle on her proud father’s arm …

Teresa’s next, bitter words pulled Angie from her daydream. “I never even got a marriage certificate.”

“But you can get one now,” Angie insisted.

Teresa shook her head. “I tried, but the record, it seems, was lost. And Yuma hasn’t gotten around to computerizing ’oddball’ records as they called it. Or—and I have to accept this as a possibility—
there never was a real marriage. Hal might have paid someone off. He was capable of doing just about anything.”

The thought of a sham marriage had Angie horrified. Beyond horrified. “That’s absolutely despicable! Why would he do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, except that he knew how strictly I follow my religion, and I’d never marry a divorced man. He told me he’d had his original marriage annulled, but that might have been a lie, too. We went to Father Benedict to have the marriage blessed, and last night, I learned there’s no blessing record either.” She shut her eyes a moment. “I can’t imagine Father Benedict would have been a party to a lie, but I don’t know what else to think. It’s a nightmare.”