Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery (16 page)

“Clarissa told me about the annulment, so she thought it was legitimate as well,” Angie said. “And I can’t believe an old priest would have lied to you. Also, Doc said there’d been a break-in at the church last week.”

Teresa was stunned. “I hadn’t heard. What was taken?”

“Father Armand didn’t know.”

Teresa made no comment; her mind seemed to be whirring.

Angie had to ask, “Did Ned know about the marriage?”

Teresa’s mouth tightened. “Three months ago, when Hal returned, he asked me to forgive him, to go back to him.” She twisted her hands. “I didn’t know what to do, because of Ned. Ned confused me. He loved me. He made me realize the way a marriage should be, but mine never was.”

Finally, Angie thought, Teresa was making some sense about marriage. Yet, one thing confused her. “You told me once that you didn’t love Ned.”

“I don’t … I don’t know.” Teresa’s green eyes met hers, pleading for understanding. “I was an abandoned wife, stuck here helping my mother make ends meet at the restaurant. Ned and I had an affair, I’ll admit that. And then, Hal came back.” Her face was stricken. “I had to choose, Angie. I had to choose between two men who meant very much to me. And I chose the man I believed was my husband.”

“Oh, Teresa,” was all Angie could say. She couldn’t imagine being in such a situation.

“I told Ned,” Teresa said quietly, “and I was going to return to the hacienda, when Hal … suddenly, Hal wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe he’d run off, not after the things he’d said to me, the promises he’d made. But everyone said he had. I’d hated that once again, I’d been so stupid as to believe him.”

Angie took a deep breath. “What did Ned do?”

“What could he do?” Teresa stood and walked to the edge of the pergola, looking out at a succulent garden. Angie didn’t allow herself to say a word or make a sound. She only listened.

“Hal only returned long enough to turn my life upside down,” Teresa said. “Soon after he left, though, strange things began, as if someone was trying to kill me. God, I feel like Hal saying that! But Ned believed me. Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped—until Hal’s body was discovered. Suddenly, it all started once more. My truck breaking down out in the desert. Losing its brakes. Fires.
Once, I even thought I heard a gunshot. Ned was furious. He began searching, asking questions. I begged him to stop. It was too dangerous. Someone is crazy here.

“My mother believes Clarissa and Joey are behind it—that they found out about the marriage and want to stop me from inheriting Hal’s money. That was why I went to Yuma to get my marriage certificate, to openly claim what was mine and to end the fear my mother had. But there was nothing.

“I told Ned I was going away. He wouldn’t stop investigating; wouldn’t listen.” Her tears began to fall. Angie realized what was coming next, and despite herself, she felt her own eyes well up.

“We fought,” Teresa said, “and then, before I had a chance to right the situation, before I had the chance to make amends, or make it up to him, or do anything at all to save him … he, too, was dead.”

Angie could scarcely believe it when she saw Paavo and Merry Belle head to head and side by side in the sheriff’s office. That the two fishermen were with them, on the other hand, didn’t surprise her at all. Even she knew their spotless L.L. Bean and Patagonia gear was just a cover. All were pouring over Hal’s computer and the sheets of papers spitting out of the printer attached to it.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” she said to Paavo. “But I’d like to return to the guest ranch. Can I take the car?”

“If you need wheels,” Merry Belle quickly interjected to Paavo, “you can use Buster’s Jeep.”

“Thanks,” Paavo said, and handed Angie the SUV’s keys.

Before leaving, Angie quickly told everyone about Teresa’s admission of marriage to Hal. Her face filled with smug satisfaction at being the one to spring this important bit of information on the professional investigators.

She then returned to the ranch. She had made
out the list of supplies for Lionel and thought she’d double-check it before giving it to him. She’d come up with a few substitutes for her more exotic ingredients. Such as if no fennel, then leeks; if no leeks, then white onions. Somehow, she’d make this work.

She was still a few feet from the cookhouse when she heard voices coming from it.

Quietly, she approached. Peering in the door, she saw Clarissa and Dolores in deep disagreement over what Dolores would be cooking on Saturday.

Angie backed away. That was one fight she didn’t want to get involved in.

“You’re doing the smart thing,” Lionel said behind her.

She jumped and turned around.

He smirked. “I wouldn’t get in the middle of that, either. There are too many cleavers and butcher knives close at hand.”

“You’ve got a point,” Angie said. She took a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Here’s the list of supplies I need. Do the best you can, and let me know soon if you can’t find some ingredient.”

“Will do.” Lionel stuck it in his shirt pocket. “Say, did you ever go treasure hunting?” He looked ready to laugh at her.

“You think I’d wander the desert talking to myself like some old withered prospector?” Angie asked.

“That depends on how interested you are in finding something from the missing stagecoach.”

“Oh. Well, I am interested, but I haven’t found the time.”

“No time like the present. I’ll take you.”

That surprised her. “Really?” She couldn’t imagine Lionel wanting to do anything more than absolutely necessary.

“We should take horses,” Lionel said.

Angie’s memories of her last riding experience—the horse going backward, sideways, and in figure eights—struck. Without Paavo and Joaquin Oldwater’s help, she didn’t know if she could manage. “How about a truck?”

He chuckled and agreed.

She changed into boots and jeans, and soon, they were off.

Brimming with excitement over her good luck at finding Lionel in such an agreeable mood, she couldn’t wait to see the place where some of the belongings from the missing stagecoach had turned up.

The chance that Chef van Beerstraeden’s journal might still be lost out there was remote, but possible. After all, how many treasure hunters would care about a book filled with recipes? They’d probably toss it away.

She remembered how her sisters and her friend Connie had laughed when she told them she was going to vacation with Paavo in a little desert town in Arizona. Words like “tenderfoot” and “greenhorn” were mirthfully thrown at her.

Well, if her idea worked out, she’d get the last laugh, that was for sure.

And even more so if she brought them out here to her destination wedding site. She was like Mustang Sally compared to them. And she wasn’t talking about Mustang cars.

Or—considering that she was riding in a black GMC truck rather than a ranch horse—maybe she was.

At a bullet-ridden saguaro, Lionel turned off the road and onto a dirt path that was no more than a couple of ruts in the desert sand. Doc had been right when he’d warned that driving over that land was a lot worse than horseback riding. Angie feared the fillings in her teeth would rattle loose before they ever got there. She had no idea the desert was so bumpy.

In the distance, she spotted three flat rocks. The one on the bottom was the largest, the middle was in-between size, and the top was smallest. Her breath caught. The way they were stacked made them look like layers on a …

Could it be?

Small rocks covered the ground. Little whitish ones about the size of candy-coated Jordan almonds so often used as favors at a …

Yes!

The creek wasn’t far, and near it she saw a willow with small, shimmering leaves covering branches that bowed low, sweeping the ground much like a bride’s …

Perfect!

A stand of saguaro looked like a reception line; a small distant hill was shaped like a church organ; a barrel cactus looked like a ring bearer’s pillow.

Her heart filled. Even Mother Nature wanted her wedding to be held here.

“I haven’t quite figured out where you could
find things from the stagecoach,” Lionel said, “but everyone thinks those people used the caves for shelter. That’d be a place to start.”

His words broke her reverie. “You aren’t talking about the cave where Hal was found, are you?” she asked.

“I sure am.” He gave her a toothy grin.

Joyful wedding thoughts fizzled completely. “No way! There’s nothing there and it’s spooky.”

Lionel, however, didn’t turn back. Going across Hal’s property to reach the caves, she discovered they were much closer to the hacienda than she’d thought.

The atmosphere around the caves felt even creepier than the first time she was there. “I’m not so sure about this,” she said as she got out of the truck on the flatland and looked up the incline to the narrow cave entrance.

“Prospectors gotta have a sense of adventure,” Lionel said, beginning the steep walk. “Let’s see what we can find.” Before long, he plunged inside.

She took a deep breath before entering the cave, then stopped near the entrance. It took a moment for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Then, without moving, she scanned the area. The ground was rock hard. Nothing could have escaped anyone’s observation in here.

“Hey!” Lionel was on his hands and knees, deep in the cave. “I see something.” He was brushing aside some dirt on the ground, near a cave wall.

“You do?” She could scarcely believe it. “What is it?” she asked, stepping nearer.

“I don’t know. It’s shiny. Like money—or gold coins!” he cried.

“Gold coins?” She was agape. How lucky was this? Forget the cookbook—maybe they found the treasure!

He picked up the object and sat back on his heels as she squatted beside him. “I was wrong. Sorry about that.” He held out a brass strip curved into a half circle.

“What in the world is that?” she asked.

He stood, and they both walked outside into the sunlight. “It’s just a heel rand. I wonder how in the world it got back there? Maybe this place really is haunted!”

“What’s a heel rand?” she asked, taking it from Lionel before he tossed it away.

“Cowboys sometimes put them on the back of their boots, where the leather meets the heel. It protects the leather. More common is when we put metal caps over the toes of our boots. It’s all the same thing.”

“Oh, my God! I think I know who it belongs to.” She’d seen one of those—only one, in fact, on Joey Edwards’s boots. It was the same brass color, the same curved design.

“You do?” He looked at her skeptically. “I’d keep a lid on it, if that’s the case. It just might belong to Hal’s murderer.”

Her eyes widened. “It looks like something that might belong to Joey Edwards. If so, he probably came here to look at the site where his father was found. I can’t imagine that Joey would kill his own father.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Lionel’s mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “For one thing, they hated each other. For another, all Joey’s money is tied up in
the Halmart stores, and word has it they’re going down. When Hal showed up with all those birds, Joey might have seen the ruin of this guest ranch and everything else Hal built suddenly staring him in the face. Maybe he got tired of waiting; tired of watching his inheritance going down the drain. That’s just my speculation, mind you,” Lionel added.

“Are you saying Hal and Joey met when Hal returned in the winter?”

“They sure did.”

Why had Joey lied? Angie wondered. “Despite that, though, Hal was his father.”

“Yeah, but that only made matters worse. Hell, Hal was twice the man Joey is, especially in the ladies department.”

How much, Angie wondered, did Lionel really know?

“All that aside,” she continued, “if this heel thingy was here since the time of the murder, don’t you think the sheriff would have found it?”

He looked at the brass object a moment. “Ordinarily, I’d be inclined to agree with you. But you’ve met Monster Bum and Ball-less Buster. Hell, Buster wouldn’t want to dirty his slacks looking under dirt like I did!”

“You may be right,” she whispered as elation slowly built. Suddenly, she grabbed him in a bear hug. “We’ve done it, Lionel! I can hardly believe it, but we solved the case!”

“If you’re right,” Lionel said, disentangling himself, “then you’d better get that evidence to your man, pronto.”

An hour later Angie entered the sheriff’s station. Buster greeted her warmly and directed her to Merry Belle’s office.

“All this damn stuff is getting in the way of me doing my regular chores like writing out traffic tickets and such.” Merry Belle was complaining to Paavo, her words muffled by a mouthful of chocolate-glazed doughnut.

“Not to worry,” Angie announced as she waltzed inside. “Help is on the way.” With a big smile, she placed the heel rand on the desk in front of Merry Belle.

“What the hell’s that?” the sheriff asked. “Something for cowboy boots?”

Merry Belle’s eyes narrowed as Angie explained how Lionel had found the heel protector in the caves and that she believed it matched the one Joey Edwards was missing. She also said that Joey had lied, according to Lionel, and that he had met and spoken with his father.

As the sheriff listened, her face blazed a deep
crimson. Paavo shook his head. The FBI agents looked disgusted.

“What’s wrong?” Angie asked.

Paavo explained. “By removing the metal from the crime scene, there’s no chain of evidence. We can’t use it to connect Joey—or anyone else—to the location with Hal’s body.”

“Oh,” was Angie’s chastened reaction.

Merry Belle put down her half-eaten doughnut, stood up, glared at them, then stomped over to the window. Her back was to them and they could see her shoulders start to quiver.
“Arrrrgh!”
A visceral, jungle cry erupted from her.

The window glass in front of her seemed to shake and bow. The room quaked as if from a sonic boom. Angie could swear that somewhere in the far distance, a dog howled. She, Paavo, and the FBI agents sat in utter silence, gaping at the sheriff.

“I can’t stand it!”
Merry Belle sounded angry and on the verge of tears at the same time. “I just want to go back to taking care of my sweet little town, but everyone’s against me!”

There was the pounding of footsteps, then a fearful-faced Buster stood in the entry. “Is something wrong, Aunt Merry Belle?”

His words hung suspended in the air as Merry Belle slowly faced him. “GET-THE-HELL-OUT!”

Buster beat a hasty retreat.

Merry Belle’s attention turned to her stunned audience. She was breathing in great gulps of air, then she stiffened, closed her eyes, and inhaled slowly. Opening her eyes, she marched back to the
desk and seated herself as she stared at the four gawking onlookers.

“What else is wrong?” she whispered with a mixture of hope and despair.

No one said a word.

“You tell me,” Merry Belle roared.

“Your name?” Angie said meekly.

It took the three men all they had to keep the sheriff from flying across her desk at Angie.

Teresa hung up her cell phone. She used the excuse that the connection was becoming weaker as she drove. The truth was, she didn’t want to hear anything more from Joey.

He was upset that the sheriff had come by to inspect his father’s home. There was a stain on the floor that Merry Belle wanted to run tests on. And then she took his boots. She made it clear she wanted to tie him to the caves, to his father’s and Ned’s murders, and acted as if he should simply confess and get it over with. He swore he had nothing to confess.

He called to insist he hadn’t killed anyone. Not Hal, not Ned.

Teresa knew that. Joey was a dear friend. No one took the trouble to understand him; they expected him to be like his father, and when he didn’t live up, they dismissed him as weak and inconsequential. She felt he could be more than that, and for that reason, they’d become close. Joey was no killer.

Once, the thought had crossed her mind that a jealous Ned could have done Hal harm. But that
wasn’t true either. Ned’s only mistake was that he loved her and tried to find out who wanted to hurt her. She still couldn’t believe he was gone, that she’d never again see his deep blue eyes, the way his sandy blond hair rippled in the breeze on the lake, his strong hands, his arms reaching out for her …

Tears shimmered. She had loved him, but not enough.

It was the same with Hal. He’d offered her hope. Hope to be free of life in Jackpot, of the boring sameness of it. Once, he’d accused her of using him, of marrying him for his money. She’d denied it, but if she were being honest with herself, she’d say he was right. She’d been selfish. She’d loved him in her way, but in her heart she knew she hadn’t ever truly and completely loved anyone. Not the kind of love she saw in Angie’s eyes whenever she talked about, or looked at, her fiancé.

She turned onto Doc’s driveway. Her mother was remaining at the hospital and didn’t want Teresa home alone. Her thoughts turned to Doc and her mother, and how happy they were simply being in each other’s company.

Teresa wondered if she’d ever find that with anyone. That’s what was wrong—the curse of her life, the thing she’d have to learn how to change if she was ever going to be happy. Her problem wasn’t Jackpot, not its people, not even the loneliness of life in the desert. Her problem was her inability … no, her
fear
… of trusting enough to open her heart to another human being. Her problem was simple: she was afraid to love.