CRIME OF RETRIBUTION: A Gripping Crime Mystery Full of Twists
CRIME OF RETRIBUTION
AUSTIN & ARCHER MYSTERIES
BOOK ONE
RAYNA MORGAN
Copyright © 2021 by Rayna Morgan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the people who do the backbreaking work that puts food on our table and to those fighting to end their exploitation.
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Afterword
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From the Author
PROLOGUE
The young Latino massaged his shoulders as he waited impatiently in the grove of lemon trees. A girl ambled down the path, moving as gracefully as a tree swaying in the breeze.
Pedro was tired from working in the fields, but the minute he saw his girlfriend he forgot his aching muscles. He broke into a grin as she approached. “Adriana, you came.”
“I can’t stay long. I told my mother I needed some air after spending the day in the blazing sun.”
He stroked her face. “You’re so pretty.”
Drawing back, she ran her hands through stringy hair before hiding them behind her. “I don’t feel pretty. The sun has dried my hair, my fingers are stained from picking berries, and my nails are broken.”
“It doesn't matter. To me, you’re the prettiest girl on the ranch.”
She tilted her head and pretended to pout.
He hastened to amend his statement. “The prettiest girl in the state. In fact, you’re the prettiest girl in the whole country.”
She continued to tease. “Only to you and what do you know? A poor migrant worker from Mexico.”
“Not for long. Already, I’ve worked my way up to running machinery. I plan to know everything there is to learn about farming by becoming the manager’s assistant. Then one day, you and I will have a place of our own as my parents do.”
She laughed mockingly. “Why would I want a farm like your parents? They barely scratch out a living from one year to the next.”
He shook his head. “That’s because farmers back home in Mexico can’t compete with cheap corn imported from the states. But we’ll do things differently. Our farm will be here in California. And we will grow organic produce, the big trend now.”
“You’re a dreamer, Pedro.”
He lowered his head and spoke in a whisper. “Don’t make fun of my dreams. They are what keep me going.”
She took his hand. “I don’t mean to discourage you. I know you intend to make things better.”
His voice grew stronger. “I tolerate the way we are treated because I hope for a better future. My beliefs are not the same as the uncle I live with who has spent his entire life picking crops. He takes pride in what he does, always bragging of what an important job we have to feed the people of this great country by processing the food that goes on their table. You and I both know the truth. We’re only doing the work no one else is willing to do.”
“Don’t be bitter, Pedro. You’re tired and discouraged. Things will look better tomorrow.”
He spread his jacket on the ground and pulled her down to sit beside him. “Yes, I suppose.”
She took his hand. “Many of the workers think you are brave for speaking up on our behalf.”
“I don’t know if I’m brave or stupid,” he muttered. “So far, I’ve accomplished little except to rouse the suspicion of the guards. But what do we have to look forward to if things stay as they are? Working endless hours for minimal pay. Sharing crowded quarters with other people. What will happen when we’re ready to start a family of our own? How can I be sure we’ll be able to take care of our children?”
Adriana lowered her eyes in anguish. “I know a woman who miscarried because of pesticide exposure during her pregnancy. Another woman whose unborn child was exposed to toxic chemicals has trouble breathing and is underweight.”
“How do we dare bring babies into an environment which puts their health at risk?” Pedro raged.
She tried to calm him. “I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t want to crush your dreams or pull you down.”
“You could never hurt me, Adriana. You are the reason I fight for change. I’ll give you a better life, I promise. But nothing will improve unless—”
“Quiet.” She clamped her fingers over his mouth. “I hear voices.”
He removed her hand and looked over his shoulder.
“Over there,” she said, pointing toward the barn. “I recognize the voice of the man who guards us in the field.”
“What are they doing this time of night?” Pedro wondered as he moved to a crouching position. “I want to see.”
“Are you crazy?” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down. “We can’t let them know we’re here.”
“You go home. I'm going to look in the window.”
“It’s too dangerous. What if they catch you? We aren’t supposed to roam the premises at night.”
“Don’t worry, I won't be caught. I’ll leave the minute I find out what they’re doing.”
She thrust out her chin. “Then I’m going with you.”
“If you insist, but be quiet.”
Hunkering close to the ground, they moved close to the building. Adriana dropped to her knees while Pedro peered inside.
His eyes focused on two ranch guards seated at a table against the far wall. He watched in fascination as one man scooped powder from a container and measured it on a scale. After adjusting the amount until he was satisfied, the guard tipped the contents into a plastic bag which he seal
ed and threw on top of a stack of similar looking bags. After several minutes, he barked an order to a third person out of Pedro’s line of sight.
“Get the truck. We’re ready to load.”
As the first man rose from his place at the table, he glanced toward the window. “What the—”
Pedro fell to the dirt beside his girlfriend.
The second guard leaped to his feet. “What’s the matter?”
“I thought I saw someone peering through the glass.”
His associate walked to the window and looked out. “You’re jumpier than a jumping bean. There’s no one out there.”
“But—”
“It's your imagination. Guarding workers the entire day in the heat makes you lightheaded. Now, get a move on.”
Pedro rose to a crouched position, barely breathing. As soon as the voices receded, he helped Adriana to her feet.
“What did you see?” Her voice was shaky.
“Something which gives me ammunition to force the owners to meet my demands.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “You’ve tried talking to the people in charge for weeks. Nothing has changed except that you’ve put yourself in a dangerous position with them.”
“This time they’ll have no choice but to listen.”
He grabbed her hand and they ran as fast as they could without looking back.
• • •
An hour later, the ranch manager was in heated conversation with one of the uniformed guards when his phone rang.
“I need your help,” the caller said.
“Sorry, I'm busy,” he replied gruffly. “I’m dealing with a more urgent matter than providing girls for your escort service.”
“What’s happened?”
“Per your instructions, we're in the middle of winding down the drug operation. The guards were preparing a shipment tonight when one of them saw someone peeking through the window.”
“Did the guard identify the person?”
“It was too dark, but it had to be a farm worker.”
“How can that be? The workers are restricted to the housing compound at night. They aren’t allowed to be near the warehouse.”
“I assume the intruder was our resident troublemaker. He’s used to not following the rules.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a chilling response. “Perhaps it's time to get rid of him once and for all.”
“How do you propose we do that?” the manager grumbled.
Ignoring the question, the caller continued. “You haven’t asked what I called about.”
“I’m listening, but I hope you aren’t adding to my problems.”
“I’m afraid I am. A client got rambunctious with one of the girls tonight.”
“How bad is it?”
“Unfortunately, there’s a dead body for you to dispose of.”
“Hold on! I never expected anything like this. I want no part of it.”
“You’re in as deep as me. There can be no backing out for either of us. Besides, you know I depend on you.”
“I’ve never let you down, but this is more than I bargained for. I have enough on my plate taking care of things here.”
“Don’t you see? This may be a way to deal with both our problems.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“If the girl is discovered here, the police have reason to investigate the club. She must be found at the ranch, her initial place of employment.”
“How will dumping a dead body at the ranch solve my dilemma?”
“By making certain Pedro is blamed for her death.”
He chuckled and voiced agreement. “Consider it done.”
“By the way, when you come to collect the victim, bring a few girls. One of my corporate clients is chartering a boat for a private party. They want escorts to entertain their guests.”
CHAPTER ONE
Year-end festivities were over. The small beach-front community was returning to normal. Residents bid farewell to visiting friends and relatives. Children went back to school and their parents resumed their positions in the workplace.
Merchants unwound after catering to cold-climate refugees. Locals once again found empty parking spaces downtown and at the beach. Boaters and fishermen enjoyed the ocean without colliding with tourists on rented jet skis.
Dan had taken advantage of the holidays to move from Texas to Buena Viaje. He spent the last day of the break cruising to the islands with his twenty-year-old daughter.
It had been a great excursion, the kind to create lasting memories and make up for occasions missed when Ashley was growing up.
A month ago, Dan wouldn’t have invited his ex-wife and her spouse to share the day. But after surviving a harrowing experience with their daughter, he and Jessica had formed a bond which overcame previous resentment over the dissolution of their marriage.
They spent the day on the Dixie Cruiser, the boat used for family outings before the divorce. As part of the settlement, Dan deeded the boat to Jessica, knowing he'd have neither the time nor the inclination once boating was no longer a family affair.
Dan’s ex-wife moved both their daughter and the boat to California when her second husband received an offer to head the drama department at the community college. To avoid seeing Dan during his weekend trips to visit Ashley, Jessica gave him use of the boat. The cruiser became his home away from home.
In gratitude for his help in straightening out their wayward daughter, Jessica deeded the boat back to him. After agreeing to become a member of the Conley Austin Detective Agency, the Dixie Cruiser became Dan’s permanent residence.
As soon as his guests departed, Dan moved quickly to cover the steering apparatus. He was tired from spending the day on the water and ready for bed.
He leaned over for a last check of ties securing the boat to the dock.
A sharp, cracking noise exploded within inches of his head followed by a soft splash of water. By instinct, he fell to his stomach on the deck where he remained prone until his heart stopped pounding.
Moments later, he crawled to the edge of the boat and peered over the railing.
There was no moon. The sole illumination came from flashing red lights marking the entrance to the harbor. The only sounds were occasional cries from the sea birds nesting on the jetty.
He glanced toward the beach, aware that teenagers who partied there often set off illegal fireworks.
Was it fireworks - or a gunshot? He asked himself the question but from his experience in Special Forces, he knew when a bullet was fired at him.
I wish there was a way to retrieve whatever went in the water.
Adrenaline coursed through his body. He was wide awake now instead of ready for shuteye.
I need a drink and friendly conversation to settle me for sleep.
He walked to the restaurant at the end of the dock which had become his preferred haunt since taking up residence on the Dixie Cruiser. It featured an outdoor deck overlooking the marina and a piano bar with a singer who sang his favorite jazz tunes.
There would be mostly locals this time of night savoring the tranquility following the seasonal visitors' departure. The music would offer the perfect antidote for jangled nerves.
On the way, he stopped to talk to a fisherman securing his boat. The man had a grizzled mustache and beard, and a wagging tongue for gossip.
“Hey, old timer,” Dan called. “Catch anything?”
“Enough to feast for a week. When you gonna try night fishing with me? We can fish off the pier if you want. There’s something magical about being there at night. Now that the tourists are gone, it will be nice and relaxing.”
“Sounds good, Jim. Holler at me next time you go. By the way, did you see anyone shooting off fireworks on the beach tonight?”
“Nope. Things were zipped up and quiet. The young folks created their commotion earlier in the day. Any particular reason for asking?”
Dan knew how the locals liked to g
ossip. The old man would be happy to spread stories about him being shot at.
“No reason at all. Talk to you soon.”
• • •
After climbing two flights of stairs to the entrance, Dan tipped his hat to the hostess and motioned he was going to the bar.
The Whale’s Tail was a waterside restaurant where customers could dock their boats and dine. The main dining room was on the lower level and featured a salad bar in the shape of a rowboat. On the second level, patrons sat on stools at the bar or at tables in the casual seating area. The remaining space was taken up by a raised platform for the entertainer and a small dance floor.
Dan saw several local customers talking to the bartender, a statuesque Swedish blonde whose acquaintance he made after moving to the marina. Ingrid had worked there for years. She knew almost everyone in the area and seemed to be privy to everything that went on.
“Hey, Dan,” she called cheerily from her spot at the center of attention. “Pull up a chair. I welcome fresh blood. I’ve heard every story these guys tell twice over.”
He acknowledged the others with a nod before moving to an empty stool. “I was hoping to be in time to hear a few of my favorite songs.”
“Stacy’s on a break,” he was told. “Don’t worry. She’ll be back shortly to do her last set.”
“Good. She’s easier on the ears than the rock band featured before.”
One of the regulars raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that. Pleasanter to listen to and a whole lot better to look at.”
“Budweiser, Dan?” Ingrid called with her hand on the tap.
“I’ll settle for that unless you make my night by telling me you stocked Lone Star beer.”
She smiled. “Sorry, no joy there. You’re the only one who asks for it.”
He shook his head. “You people don’t know what you’re missing.”
“We make do,” one man responded. He slid the bowl of peanuts down the bar. “So what was our former Texas Ranger up to today? Wrestling any bad guys?”
Dan took the good-natured ribbing in stride. “Give me a break, fellas. I don’t start at the detective agency until tomorrow.”
He stared out at the inky sky and thought of his reason for being there. “Bring me a shot of whiskey with that beer, Ingrid.”