An Arm and a Leg (21 page)

“Good day, Miss O’Neil. I’m Aaron Blinquet. I’m an investigator with the Violent Crimes Division of the Albuquerque Police Department.”

Frankie’s eyebrows arched. “Violent Crimes? You’re not here about the fire?”

“Not so much about the fire, no.” Blinquet bent his knees slightly and wiggled his ass in a motion Frankie had seen heavy men do to dislodge wedgied underwear. His face turning bright crimson as he realized what he’d just done in the company of two women, he emitted a couple of harrumphs and resumed his seat.

Nice.
Tim’s voice sounded in Frankie’s ear. She smiled before she could catch herself.

“Did I say something amusing?” Blinquet said.

“No…I’m sorry, it’s just—this has all been such a shock...” Frankie’s voice trailed off.

Blinquet’s lips puffed out, and his eyelids lowered to slits. “A shock, yes, I’m sure.”

Lola politely cleared her throat. “Can I get anyone some coffee or tea? I have filtered water, if you’d prefer.”

When neither of the other two accepted the offer, Lola positioned herself next to Frankie on the sofa.

“What’s this all about?” Frankie said.

Like a pinpoint of light focused through the lens of a magnifying glass, Blinquet fixed his eyes on Frankie. “Can you explain how partial human remains came to be in your freezer?”

Frankie gasped as if every atom of air had been sucked out of the room. “What?”

“I said partial human remains were found in your freezer. Not the whole person, you understand, just the leg. The pathologist says someone with medical knowledge sawed it off just below the knee and right above the foot.” Blinquet scooted forward in his chair, as if preparing to lunge at the women. “Evidently, the foot removal took place a year or so ago. But the leg removal took place just prior to death. Do you know anything about that?”

Frankie shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m blown away by what you’re saying. I have no idea how a leg ended up in my freezer.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Frankie flashed on Tim standing in her living room, asking off-handedly if he could keep something in her freezer for a few days.

A well-read man, Uncle Mike often said Frankie had a babbling countenance. Judging by Blinquet’s hardening stare, there must have been something to that. Her face reddened as the man quietly waited for her to revise her earlier statement.

“In your freezer, yes,” he prodded.

Frankie took a deep breath. “My freezer is filled with the fruits and vegetables I put up every fall. I’m sure I would have noticed a human leg.”

Blinquet pursed his lips again. “I see.” He squinted at the two women. With a sound like a whale clearing its blowhole, the rotund little man stood. The heaviness of his girth flopped over his belt, and his shoe leather creaked as if under intense pressure. “Is this where you’ll be staying?”

“Lola kindly offered me a room for the night, but I don’t know how long I’ll stay.”

The investigator pulled the requisite business card from his pocket and handed it to Frankie.

“If you remember anything, give me a call.” Blinquet turned to go, stopped, and looked back. “It’s only a request, you understand, but please let me know if you decide to leave town.”

Lola followed Blinquet to the door and closed it firmly behind him.

She returned to sit next to Frankie. “I don’t like the tone that man took with you. He treated you like you’d done something wrong.”

“I can understand his thinking,” Frankie’s face twisted in a wry smile. “Here I am, claiming someone set fire to my house and then warned me to get out. That’s pretty unbelievable. Not to mention my having a human body part nestled among my frozen veggies.”

Lola made a dismissive movement with her hand as she walked toward the kitchen. “I’m sure the police will sort it all out. But my dear, it’s well after noon. Are you hungry?”

“My stomach feels a little upset right now.” Frankie patted her abdomen. “I don’t think I can eat. But a cup of hot tea sounds wonderful.”

Lola disappeared into the kitchen. She returned in a few minutes with a saucer upon which rested a china cup, steam curling up from its contents. Beside the cup she’d placed two slices of lemon. She handed the saucer and a paper napkin to Frankie and sat down next to her.

“My dear, I wonder if you’ve gotten caught up in something difficult.”

Frankie opened her mouth to speak, but Lola silenced her with an uplifted hand. “You don’t have to tell me. But if you ever need anything, you must not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you. And thanks for allowing me to spend the night here, but I can’t stay. I believe someone set fire to my house to keep me from doing any more digging into Tim’s death. If I stay here, you might be in danger as well.”

“Don’t you worry about me, kiddo. My daddy taught me to shoot when I was knee high to a grasshopper. I can break down a pistol, clean it, oil it, and put it back together in under five minutes. Got my .45 under my pillow. No one’s going to get the drop on me.” Lola put her hand on Frankie’s arm. “But if you’re in danger, you must tell the police.”

“Tell them what? That I believe someone is trying to kill me? You heard Blinquet. He didn’t actually say so, but he thinks I set the fire to cover up something horrible.”

“But my dear—”

“I’ll be okay. You’ve done a lot for me already.” Frankie patted the old woman’s hand. “And thanks for not asking me questions I don’t want to answer.”

Lola stood. “If you must leave, at least take some clothes. There’s a suitcase in the armoire in your room. You can return everything after you’ve gotten settled somewhere.”

Frankie thanked her neighbor again, returned to Cathy’s room and packed a couple of outfits. She managed to get Collette into the carrier before hauling everything out to her car, where she sat staring out the window. For the first time in her life, she had no place to go.

After several tries and at least thirty minutes later, Frankie found a motel that would accept pets. Grateful for the new credit card she’d applied for and received a couple of days before, she packed up Collette, along with the clothes and toiletry items Lola pressed on her.

At the motel, Frankie agreed to the hefty deposit required for the cat, and the two of them settled into a room on the second floor.

Decorated in the style of countless other motel rooms across the country, the space contained the standard mass-produced furnishings. A large, faux cherry wood desk stood against the wall in the corner of the room. A lamp and telephone rested on its top, along with a cardboard brochure attesting to the room’s broadband capability.

A matching entertainment center stood next to the desk. Frankie opened its two accordion-type doors to reveal a large, flat screen television. Two drawers under the television invited her to unpack her things and make herself at home.

Although fairly pricey, the room did not smell pleasant. She requested a nonsmoking room but the unmistakable smell of old cigarette smoke hung in the air. No matter how motel management tried, they could never completely eradicate the smell of human byproducts left behind by its clientele. She remembered seeing a documentary in which scientists measured the levels of bodily emissions, oozings, drippings and spurtings flung around even high-end motel rooms by countless human bodies. She shuddered.

“Laundering the bedspread regularly and steaming the carpet would be a good start,” she said to Collette. “But we’ll make it ours in no time.” She placed the litter box in the bathroom, glad she’d had the presence of mind to stop at a pet store on the way to the motel and purchase the large reservoir, self-feeding food and water dishes that held enough to make it unnecessary to refill them more than a couple of times a week.

Except for the occasional blink, the cat sat unmoving on her new perch atop the entertainment center.

“I don’t blame you. I’d stay off the bed, too, if I were you.” Frankie picked up her purse and headed for the door. “Try not to disturb the neighbors.”

Collette assumed her meatloaf position. With her unblinking stare, she looked like one of those odious stuffed replicas found in some gift shops.

What kind of brain had come up with the idea of life-sized faux kittens coiled up on plush little mattresses? Cats that never moved, never blinked, never made a sound. Creepy, taxidermy-specimen, marble-eyed things.

“At least they don’t poop or scratch up the furniture.” Frankie rubbed her hand along Collette’s rounded back. The kitty shot a condescending look at her and made a strange sound in the back of her throat.

“More a grumble than a purr, but I’ll take it.” Frankie closed the door behind her and headed for the car. It was time to find Mina. And this time, she’d not take no for an answer to her questions about Tim’s spreadsheet.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Excuse me,” Frankie said to the young man behind the counter of the hospital nurse’s station. “Could you tell me where I might find Mina Landowski?”

The young man raised his head from the computer upon which he’d been furiously typing and mouse-clicking. “Mina no longer works here.”

“What?”

“She left last night before her shift ended.”

“Was she ill?”

“Didn’t seem to be…more like upset. Said she wouldn’t be back.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

The young man spoke over his shoulder to a group of other staff members. When no one answered, he shrugged. “Sorry.”

Apprehension skipped across the back of Frankie’s neck as she returned to her car. Maybe one of Mina’s resumes had paid off and she’d found employment elsewhere. Maybe she was even now packing her things to move out of town. But to leave before her shift was over?

No, that didn’t make sense. And she’d have bet her last dollar Mina would not blow someone off after promising to call.

She rummaged for the sympathy card she’d received from the nurse and tossed into her tote bag. She looked at the return address, started her car, and headed for the exit.

Just as she was about to pull out of the hospital parking lot and into the street the old Chevy sped past, nearly sideswiping her vehicle. Even though the baby-faced driver was so focused on maneuvering the car into the parking lot he didn’t see her, she recognized him. In fact, the image of his face contorted with rage had begun showing up in her dreams. A mixture of emotions blazed along her spine, none of them pleasant.

Oblivious to other drivers, Baby Face parked his car and got out. He stood for a second, swiveling his head around atop his otherwise motionless body as Frankie lowered herself into her seat. She wondered if she should call the police. And tell them what? No, her credibility had suffered enough. She had to have something solid to take to them.

After Baby Face entered the hospital, Frankie backed her car up. She found a parking spot where she could wait without being seen, and sat.

The young man returned to his car about twenty minutes later. At the same time he started his engine, Frankie started hers. When he pulled out of the lot, she counted to five and followed.

The vehicles made their way through the downtown, the suburbs, and into the industrial area of south Albuquerque. Light traffic made it easy for Frankie to keep the Camaro in sight, but it also made it difficult to stay out of the driver’s range of vision.

The Chevy merged onto Interstate 25 going south and continued out of the city limits. Frankie didn’t relish the idea of following the guy on what was beginning to look like an innocent road trip, but there was no way she was going to let him out of her sight.

Baby Face exited onto a gravel county road and drove down a wide, gated drive. In peeling black letters on a once-white background, a warped metal sign announced the entrance to Bellamy’s Fresh Egg and Poultry Farm.

Wary of tipping the young man off to her presence, Frankie kept driving for about one hundred yards, made a U-turn and pulled over next to a group of huge, old cottonwood trees. She turned off the ignition. While waiting, she tore the aluminum wrapping from a granola bar and munched her lunch.

Over the next hour, a parade of vehicles entered and exited the farm. Most bore the logos of local landscaping nurseries and eating establishments. All came and went within a matter of minutes. But Baby Face didn’t reappear.

A white panel truck slowed and turned into the farm entrance. Acting again on impulse, Frankie started her car and followed it into the compound. When the truck parked in front of a small green building with a sign over the door that read
Farm Store
, Frankie pulled in next to it.

The driver’s door opened. Kinky red hair exploded from under the young driver’s baseball cap. Bombardier-style headphones encased his ears, and his screen-printed tee shirt screamed that mean people suck. Moving his head in time to whatever music spewed directly into his ear canals, the young man walked around to the rear of the vehicle. He pushed up the truck’s scroll-type rear gate and pulled out a hand truck, which he rolled into the store. In a short while he returned loaded with cardboard boxes, the stenciling on the sides of which proclaimed them to contain Bellamy’s farm fresh eggs. The driver deposited the boxes in the back of the truck and went back for another load.

When Frankie got out of her car, a smell unlike any she’d ever before experienced assailed her. With no breeze to move it, the stench hung in the air like a fog.

The farm appeared to be a fairly small concern. Besides the long confinement buildings where the chickens lived, a large barn, a bunkhouse, and several small outbuildings stood in an apparently random pattern.

The sight of the Camaro sitting in front of the bunkhouse shot adrenaline through Frankie’s body. Trying to be inconspicuous, she sauntered toward the building. Busy making purchases or delivering supplies, no one even glanced her way.

She peered through the grime coated, curtain-less bunkhouse windows. Baby Face sat at a card table, a cup of something in front of him. He took a sip from the cup before replacing it on the table. A thoughtful look on his face, he inserted his right index finger into his nose. After some fairly vigorous digging, he withdrew the finger, peered at it, wiped it on his pant leg, and took another sip from the cup. Frankie’s lip twitched and her stomach did a pirouette.