CRIME OF RETRIBUTION: A Gripping Crime Mystery Full of Twists Page 2

  The bartender jerked her head toward the entrance as she set the drinks in front of him. “Here’s Stacy now.”

  The singer had the kind of good looks that stopped conversation. Thick hair which flowed in waves to her shoulders, smoldering dark eyes under pencil-thin brows, and full lips painted crimson red. She moved fluidly across the floor, stopping at one or two tables to say hello.

  “Stacy exudes the grandeur of the golden eras,” Ingrid said, echoing his own thoughts. “Not just in sound and style, but in persona as well. She’s garnered a substantial fan base with her glamorous vintage look and her sultry voice.”

  After moving the bench closer to the keyboard, the performer gave a small wave in Dan’s direction. He tipped his hat while chiding himself for his elevated pulse rate.

  As her soothing voice filled the room, his earlier tension melted away.

  “Ready for another, Dan?” Ingrid asked moments later.

  “One more and I’ll sleep like a baby. And send a drink to Stacy with my compliments on her singing.”

  The bartender shook her head. “Nice gesture but she doesn’t drink.”

  He looked surprised. “Singers at the honky-tonk bars I frequented in Texas welcomed liquid refreshment.”

  “Stacy’s got a kid. She hates to go home after her gig smelling of alcohol.”

  “I admire her for that.”

  “She has no choice. After her divorce, her ex-husband tried to get custody of the boy. He claimed being an entertainer makes her an unsuitable mother with the hours she works and all. It’s ironic since he was the one who got her into singing. The court took her side, but she’s careful not to give him grounds to revisit the issue.”

  “I don’t blame her. I know from experience how stressful divorce can be when a child is involved.”

  Thoughts of his daughter made him decide against staying longer to avoid any temptation to get romantically entangled. He had more important things to do, such as strengthening his relationship with Ashley and establishing himself as a viable contributor at the detective agency.

  He should also figure out if he was actually shot at or merely the victim of an overactive imagination.

  • • •

  During his walk back to the Dixie Cruiser, he received a call from Lea Austin.

  “Will we see you at the office tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Bright and early,” he assured her.

  “Good. Dad and I look forward to seeing you. How was your outing with Ashley?”

  “Great. She's finally got her head screwed on right, although it took her getting arrested and nearly killed in order for that to happen.”

  “Most parents struggle with a child’s transition to adulthood. Don’t fret about the process. The end result is what matters.”

  “Spoken by a mother whose teenage son is perfect?”

  She laughed. “If Jon hits a rough patch, I may eat my words. In the meantime, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

  He hesitated, uncertain whether to mention the earlier incident. But as his partner, she had a right to know. “Are you sure the natives are receptive to outsiders?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I think someone took a shot at me tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?” Her shocked response made him regret telling her.

  “Most likely firecrackers in a delayed celebration of New Year’s,” he quickly added.

  “That’s easy enough to check. I’ll call Tom tomorrow to find out if the police department received complaints.”

  “Don’t bother your brother-in-law. As head of the major crimes unit, he doesn't waste time with illegal firework violations.”

  “No, but he might be interested to hear that someone is trying to kill you. If that’s the case, he could have a homicide on his hands.”

  He laughed to diffuse her concern. “Who would want me dead? I haven’t lived here long enough to make enemies.”

  “Knowing you, I imagine it’s only a matter of time before you do,” she replied bluntly.

  “Forget I told you,” he snapped back. “I was probably mistaken.”

  “Let me know if there’s another incident.”

  “I promise, if I’m alive to tell.”

  “Cut that out.”

  “Just kidding. Relax and stop worrying. You know I can take care of myself.”

  “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  “This doesn’t mean we’re off to a poor start, does it?”

  “Need I remind you that our job is solving crimes, not causing them?”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  “And don’t call me boss. I’m not your employer. We’re on equal footing at the agency as long as you handle your share of cases.”

  “You bet. Partners in crime. Or should I say, partners solving crime?”

  “I’ll see you at the office. Unless, of course, you get shot in the meantime.”

  He chuckled. “Short of being dead, I won’t let that stop me. I’ll be there, eager and raring to go.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Warren Conley observed early morning activity in the harbor as he sat on the balcony of his condominium drinking coffee.

  Rays of sunlight poked holes in the cloud cover. Fishermen readied their vessels for trips to sea for their daily catch. Sounds of squawking seagulls mixed with boaters’ greetings to each other.

  Warren stared at the ever-present line of customers at the Dockside Diner. “Wouldn’t mind one of their homemade pastries myself,” he murmured aloud.

  Barbara placed a plate of cinnamon rolls on the table in front of him. “Your wish is granted.”

  His eyes lit up. “My favorite. What’s the occasion?”

  “I turn to comfort foods this time of year,” his wife replied.

  He snickered. “You claim we have seasons but temperatures hardly vary from one month to the next.”

  “I still retrieve my sweaters from storage, even if only to use them at night.” Watching him lick frosting from his fingers, she clucked in disapproval. “I wish you would get over that habit. At this stage of the game, I’ve given up hope.”

  “The frosting is the best part. I hate to let any go to waste.”

  She shook her head resignedly and refilled his cup. “Your new associate starts today. Take some pastries to the office for Dan. Do you think he’ll have problems settling in? California is a big change from Texas.”

  “He’s used to adapting. His father was in the military and Dan traveled frequently himself. First, as a member of Special Forces in the Army. Then, doing undercover work for the police before becoming a Texas Ranger. From what he told me, his absence was the major reason his marriage ended. His wife felt she was alone in raising their daughter.”

  “I can relate. Your years as Chief of Police were especially difficult. The administrative side of policing kept you away more than when you were a street cop.”

  “Those days are behind me.” He wiped his lips. “And with Dan aboard at the agency, more of my time will be freed.”

  “Given his experience, he should be more than capable of handling anything that arises in our sleepy little town.”

  “That’s what Lea and I are hoping, but you never know. Certain individuals are magnets for trouble.”

  “Surely you don’t imagine Dan to be one of those people.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see. One thing is certain. He has a different approach than Lea.”

  She looked at him with curiosity. “Different in what way?”

  “His manner is more in-your-face. A style which can ruffle people’s feathers, especially in a laid back place like Buena Viaje.”

  “Are you saying he’s a trouble maker?”

  “Not at all.” He rubbed his chin. “But as I say, trouble has a way of following some people around.”

  “Do you believe he and Lea will work well together?”

  “I think so, although they’ve had differences of opinion already. I certainly have no i
ntention of being a mediator for those two. I refuse to be caught in the middle.”

  “You were caught in the middle between me and the girls, or between Lea and Maddy, the entire time they were growing up.”

  He chuckled despite himself. “How well I remember. At any rate, I’m confident things will work out with Dan. We haven’t put anything in writing yet. We’re working on a handshake basis for ninety days to see if we’re a good fit.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “It’s the way he and I prefer to do things. If partners can’t trust each other, especially in our line of work, they’ve got nothing. All I need to know of a man is whether he’s as good as his word.”

  A sudden sound of dishware crashing on the floor made them jump.

  “What was that?” Warren exclaimed.

  His wife motioned him to sit still. “I’ll go.”

  She went to the kitchen where she found the cleaning lady on her hands and knees picking up shattered pieces of porcelain.

  “Lo siento, señora. Que es mi culpa.” When she became agitated, Spanish words crept into the worker’s typically flawless English.

  Barbara helped the woman to her feet. “Don’t worry, it's no big loss. That’s an old vase.”

  Placing broken fragments on the counter, the dark-skinned woman's hands trembled. Barbara sensed her cause of upset was more than the cracked ceramic. “What’s wrong, Rosa? You aren’t yourself today.”

  “It’s my nephew, señora. Pedro has been complaining of conditions at the ranch where he works. I warned him if he continues, his employer might send him back to Mexico.” The woman held a tissue to her nose. “My husband called to tell me Pedro is not at work. I don’t know what’s happened to him. I’m afraid he could be in danger.”

  “Maybe your nephew is not feeling well.”

  Rosa looked doubtful. “He’s never been sick a day in his life.”

  Barbara offered encouragement. “I can't imagine he will get in trouble for voicing his opinion.”

  The woman responded under her breath. “You don’t understand how things are, señora.”

  “Tell me why you’re concerned.”

  “Pedro is doing more than voicing his opinion. He’s—” She stopped when Warren entered the room.

  Recognizing his wife’s habit of offering people a shoulder to cry on, he was eager to get away.

  “Sorry I can’t stay.” He picked up his keys. “I’m late for the office.”

  Barbara handed him a bag. “Take some cinnamon rolls. Call me later to let me know how Dan gets along.”

  After her husband left, she poured the flustered woman a cup of coffee. “Sit down, Rosa. I want to hear all about Pedro.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lea was the first to arrive at the Conley and Austin Detective Agency which was located in a Victorian house restored for commercial use close to the center of town. She parked the car and released her two dogs who raced ahead for a hasty inspection of the premises.

  The reception room was comfortably furnished with a leather couch, an antique bookcase, and an old-fashioned rocking chair. Gracie, the border collie, flopped on a rug at the front to be the first to greet arrivals. The white retriever, Spirit, took his usual position under the window where the sun streamed in.

  After instructing the dogs to stay alert for visitors, Lea entered her office, a room decorated with floral chairs, a Persian rug, and a fireplace with a wrought iron screen. Before taking her place at the cherry wood desk, she checked her appearance in a mirror on the back of the door.

  Lea wasn’t vain about her looks, but she never went anywhere without being properly dressed and made up. She was unlike her sister in that regard. Maddy was comfortable in faded jeans and a t-shirt, and was often seen with no makeup and her hair in a ponytail.

  Satisfied with how she looked in a gray pant suit and cream-colored blouse, Lea turned to the files on her desk. She was quickly interrupted by a call from her son.

  “Remember how you offered to help with my homework but I turned you down?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry. I got over my petty feelings of not being needed.”

  “As it turns out, I was wrong about the completion date for my essay.”

  “When is the assignment due?”

  “Tomorrow. I need your help after all.”

  She sighed. His request couldn’t have come at a less convenient time.

  “We’ll work on it tonight after dinner,” she promised.

  After finishing with Jon, she listened to a voice message from her sister.

  Don’t forget we’re meeting at the Italian place for lunch. See you there.

  She scanned her calendar.

  Sure enough. There was the notation to meet Maddy at twelve o'clock. Right above a one o’clock appointment with the veterinarian.

  She rolled her eyes. “How can I get any work done with all this personal stuff to do?”

  Her thoughts were interrupted by excited barking announcing Dan's arrival. She chided herself for the queasiness in her stomach, as though she was the one starting a new job. Although their roles should be reversed, she felt in some way she needed to prove herself to him.

  It was the same apprehension she experienced during her previous life in the corporate world. A constant desire for acceptance by male counterparts. The struggle to show herself worthy of their good opinion. A nagging feeling she didn’t quite fit in.

  She believed she left behind any need to impress people when she abandoned that environment. Her sudden sense of anxiety indicated otherwise.

  After greeting Dan, she led him to the kitchen where she filled a mug and handed it to him. “There's cream in the refrigerator and sugar on the counter.”

  “Black is fine,” he said, reaching for the cup.

  After pouring coffee in a mug personalized with her name, she escorted him to an office across from hers and similarly furnished.

  “Come see me when you’re settled. I’ll give you a rundown on our current cases.”

  Once she was out of sight, he dropped his hat over the statuette on the fireplace. Next, he exchanged the floral desk chair with a straight-backed wooden one from the kitchen. Then he grabbed a legal pad and a pen and pushed the rest of the meticulously arranged supplies into a drawer.

  Feeling more at home, he proceeded to her office.

  He found her simultaneously typing on her computer, talking into the speaker phone, and rubbing her stockinged foot along Gracie’s back.

  She read the disapproval in his eyes.

  “It’s called multi-tasking,” she said peevishly after ending her call.

  He sat gingerly on an antique chair. “I prefer to do one thing at a time and do it well.”

  “Are you suggesting—?”

  “I'd never criticize your work habits. Let’s get to the matters at hand.”

  She straightened the files on her desk. “First, any further thoughts regarding your incident?”

  “Nope.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “I’ve wasted no more gray cells thinking about it. Nor should you.”

  “Do you think we ought to tell my father?”

  “Not at this early stage of the game.”

  “Are you referring to the early stage of your employment or to initial attempts to kill you?”

  “Let’s not make a big deal of this. It may have been a flare set off accidentally by another boat.”

  “And you still feel there’s no need to tell Tom?”

  “I haven’t seen your brother-in-law since he helped us solve the crime on campus. He’s asked me to get together for a beer. I’ll mention it when we meet. Does that satisfy you?”

  “I suppose it will have to.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Barbara knew little about the woman sitting across from her except that she and her husband were from Mexico.

  “How did you and Roberto come to California, Rosa?”

  “I migrated to this country three times,” she explained, foldi
ng her hands in her lap. “I came first when I was young. The small amount my father earned was not enough to pay our family’s needs. Leaving my parents and siblings was painful, but I needed to find a way to help provide for them.

  “In pursuit of the American dream, I rode the train from my tiny village to the northern border of Mexico. Once I arrived in this country, I traveled to Washington where I found work picking apples, peaches, and cherries. I worked hard, even during the winter. Sometimes I went hungry because I did not have enough money for food, much less to send to my family back home. Because I was undocumented, I could not ask for help and I was always hiding. The working conditions were bad and the wages were low, but I had no choice because I did not have papers.”

  Barbara commiserated. “How difficult for you.”

  The woman nodded and continued. “The second time, I worked at a restaurant in Arizona. In order to get to my destination, I had to cross the desert. I walked for ten days. My group started with forty-five people, fifteen who were women. Only seventeen of us made it to the end.”

  “What happened to the rest?”

  “Some gave up and returned to Mexico. Others got sick and couldn’t continue. They stayed at places along the way.”

  “I can’t imagine walking across the desert.”

  Rosa’s eyes clouded. “Because of the heat, we walked at night and rested during the day. We often had nothing to drink. The water we brought with us was boiling hot. We ran out of food and didn’t eat for days. My legs ached and my feet had wounds. When we had to crawl under fences, my clothes were full of thorns and my hands were cut and bleeding.

  “Once we reached our destination, I found a job at a convenience store working from noon until after midnight.”

  “Your last journey must have been the one that brought you here.”

  Rosa sipped her coffee and then patted her mouth with the napkin. “By that time, I was married. When our small farm in Mexico could no longer support our family, my husband and I came to the central valley of California which we heard was one of the world’s biggest agricultural regions. The hardest thing was leaving our children with my parents.”

  “Was the work terribly strenuous?”