Bad Penny (18 page)

Cat went willingly, glad to be out of the line of fire, if only for a short time. She followed Dorothy down the hall, then into a small storage room below the stairs.

“I put this up after my youngest started school. Told Carter I wasn’t having any more babies and he’d better get used to it.”

Cat grinned. She could readily understand why Dorothy had called a halt. They’d raised a houseful and then some. Then she saw what Dorothy was uncovering and gasped.

“Oh, Dorothy…”

Dorothy tossed back the old quilt that had been covering an old wooden rocking chair, then stepped back so Cat could get a better view.

“My father made it for me when I was pregnant with Wilson. I’ve rocked every one of my babies in this. None of the other kids wanted it. They either wanted something with cushions or claimed it didn’t fit their decor. But since you like Grandpa and Grandma’s house, I guessed you might like this, as well.”

Cat immediately sat down, then ran her fingers along the arms and the seat, feeling the patina born of years and years of wear. She pushed off with the toe of her shoe, and as she began to rock, she was hit with a sudden sense of sadness. It wasn’t often that she thought of her parents with such despair, but she could only imagine the delight they would be feeling, too, knowing they were about to become grandparents.

Suddenly overwhelmed, she looked down at her lap to hide her tears, but Dorothy somehow understood. She put a hand on Cat’s head, gently

soothing her.

“Your momma would be proud of you, honey.” Cat looked up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she said.

Dorothy smiled. “You’re welcome, and just so you know, we’re all so proud you’ve joined the family. Wilson is my oldest, and I think I worried more about him than all the others, because he never seemed able to settle down. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Cat tried to laugh. “There were plenty of days when he would have argued that with you.”

Dorothy giggled. “Well, shoot, honey. That’s what we women have to do to keep them guessing. Now, we’d better get back before they come looking for us. There’s a houseful of hungry people here.”

Cat nodded, but when she got up, she covered the old rocker protectively with the quilt again before following Dorothy.

“Hey, where did you two go?” Wilson asked, as she came back into the living room.

“We just got our first baby gift,” Cat said.

His eyes widened, and a look of delight spread across his face.

“What was it?”

“Your mother’s rocking chair.”

“Oh, man,” Wilson said softly. “That’s great. Grandpa made it for her when she was pregnant with me. We’ve all heard the story a hundred times.”

“She said none of the other kids wanted it.” “But you do?”

Cat nodded. “It has character…just like our house.” “I love you,” Wilson whispered.

“Love you, too,” Cat said.

“Hey, you two! Can the cuddling until after we eat, would you? I’m starved,” Charlie yelled. “Besides, Mom says dinner is ready.”

“We’re coming. We’re coming,” Wilson said, then took Cat by the hand. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m starved, too.”

Wilson laughed. “So, morning sickness is fading?”

“It’s not morning,” Cat pointed out. “And those ribs smell fabulous.”

“Then let’s eat,” he said, and they headed for the dining room to join the rest of the family.

Wilson was carrying a tray of dirty glasses into the kitchen when his cell phone began vibrating. The house was still full of family and friends, and Cat was lost somewhere in the living room in the middle of the melee. He’d promised to rescue her, but first things first. He set down the tray and, because of the noise level, headed for the back porch to answer.

The old tomcat wrapped himself around Wilson’s legs as he sat down on the porch swing to talk. He scratched the cat’s head as he answered.

“Hello.”

“Wilson, it’s me.”

“Hey, LaQueen. What’s up?”

“When you and Cat were here the other day, did you happen to hear about the robbery and murder at Lowry’s Gas and Guzzle on the west side?”

“Yes, we did. We were watching the video at her apartment after the wedding. We both knew Debi, the woman who got killed. It was pretty gruesome. Why?”

“It was Jimmy Franks.” Wilson’s heart dropped. “No.” “Yes. And that’s not the worst of it.” Wilson took a slow breath, bracing himself. “Talk to me.”

“In addition to the robbery and murder, he also stole the clerk’s car. They found it abandoned on the side of a highway in Austin.”

Wilson felt as if he’d just been sucker punched. “Shit,” he whispered. “Is that it?”

“Isn’t that enough?” LaQueen muttered.

“He knows where I am, doesn’t he? That tornado footage told him right where we are.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

He sighed. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll give the Austin police a call and tell them what’s going on, and hope they find him before he gets this far.”

“I’m sorry,” LaQueen said.

“It’s not your fault. Thanks for the heads up.” “Wilson…wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

“Absolutely,” he said, and hung up.

A cow lowed somewhere out in the pasture, calling her calf. A jet plane flying overhead was leaving a contrail to mark its passing.

Wilson noted it absently, but his head was spinning. This changed a lot of things. He needed to talk to Cat and fill her in. And, while he was at it, he needed some luck, a gun and a pair of handcuffs.

The squeak of the hinges on the screen door behind him alerted him that he was no longer alone. He turned.

“Hey. I wondered where you’d gone,” Cat said, and slid onto the seat beside him.

Wilson took her hands as he looked straight into her eyes. There was no hesitation in his decision to tell her. She was his equal in every way, and now that they were married, what affected him affected her. She had to

be told.

“I just got a call from LaQueen.”

Cat frowned. The tone of his voice was telling. “What’s wrong?”

“Remember when we were in Dallas, how we saw that film clip of the robbery at Lowry’s Gas and Guzzle?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It was Jimmy Franks.”

A chill of foreboding swept through her. And she could tell by the look on his face that that wasn’t all.

“And?”

“And they found the car he stole abandoned on the side of the highway in Austin.”

Cat stood abruptly. The anger in her eyes was instantaneous. “He’s coming after you, isn’t he? He said he would. We have to—” He grabbed her hands, then tugged her down onto his lap. “Stop it. We don’t have to do anything but pay attention.”

“Someone needs to go after him. I could—” “What did we talk about yesterday?”

She knew what he was talking about, but it still didn’t set well with her. She couldn’t just stand by and let a killer waltz back into their lives without doing something.

Wilson could see the thoughts going through her mind. “You are not hunting a killer with a baby in your belly, do you hear me?”

Her eyes narrowed angrily. “I know that. I wouldn’t put the baby in danger, but you aren’t going, either. So what do you suggest?”

He sighed. “We have to tell Mom and Dad. This puts them in danger, too. Damn it. I hate this. I never meant for my job to put my family in danger.”

“You’re not at fault. The world is full of losers. He’s one of them.” “I’ll wait until the others leave before I bring this up with Mom and Dad.”

Cat nodded. But even after they’d joined the rest of the crowd, her thoughts were flying, trying to figure out how to take down Jimmy Franks. She knew she was going to have to have some faith in the Austin police department, but if that sorry little bastard came looking for them, she would have no qualms about putting him under six feet of Texas dirt.

Luis Montoya was not having a good day. Although he was no longer worried about his wife’s whereabouts, he was now concerned because she still wasn’t returning any of his calls. He’d put off going to the Nuevo Laredo police department until well after ten in the morning, but he could delay no longer.

He’d had no trouble finding it, and after introducing himself, he was now following an officer who was taking him to one of the policemen who’d participated in the arrest of Mark Presley. He needed to find out what they knew, if anything, about his murder victim.

As they passed the booking area, he saw a prostitute trying to talk her way out of an arrest, while a junkie in need of a fix was crying and apologizing for killing his best friend. He kept saying that all he’d wanted was the dope his friend had scored. If he’d shared, his friend would still be alive.

Luis frowned, then looked away. Drugs were at the core of more than half the crimes committed in his country. He hated them and everything they represented.

Finally the officer stopped, then knocked on a door before opening it.

A short, stocky man with a bald head and a neatly trimmed goatee looked up.

“Yes?”

“Detective Mesa, this is Detective Luis Montoya from Chihuahua Homicide. He needs to talk to you about a case you worked.”

Mesa stood up and waved toward a chair on the other side of his desk. “I am Alejandro Mesa. Please sit.”

Luis sat while taking in the neat stacks of paper on the detective’s desk, as well as a family picture hanging on the wall. He wondered if this man’s wife was as unhappy as his, then noted the four children in the picture and decided she wasn’t.

“How can I help you?” Mesa asked.

Luis pulled a photo out of the folder he was carrying and laid it on the desk.

“Have you ever seen this man?”

Mesa frowned. “No, and believe me, if I had, I would have remembered him. What is his name?”

“Solomon Tutuola. Does it sound familiar?”

Mesa shook his head. “Again, I am sorry, but no. You know, this information could have been ascertained by phone or fax. Why do you come so far?”

“The man was murdered in our city. Judging from his rap sheet, he was a very bad man. But still, murder is against the law, and someone pumped a lot of lead into him before setting him and his house on fire.”

Mesa whistled softly below his breath. “That is an ugly way to die.”

“Dead is dead, no matter how one comes to be there,” Montoya said.

Mesa shrugged. “This is true. But why do you think we would have knowledge of this man?”

“A few months ago an American came through Nuevo Laredo, then was tracked to an abandoned house outside this very city. His name was Mark Presley.”

Mesa’s eyes widened, then he began to nod. “Yes, yes. I remember it well. It was actually a tricky situation. As you know, bounty hunting is not legal in our country, and yet this Presley was trailed south through Texas and then over the border by two American bounty hunters. Murder charges had not yet been filed against him, nor had he been brought to court, so there was no bounty to claim. Yet he was on the run. One of the bounty hunters was a woman. She is the one who came for him. As I remember, she believed him guilty of murdering her best friend, who was pregnant with his child. As it turns out, she was right. And since there was no price on his head and he hadn’t jumped bail, technically, they weren’t hunting bounty, you see.”

“This woman…what was your impression of her?” Montoya asked.

Mesa arched an eyebrow, then smiled. “She was the kind of woman you dream about taking to bed…until you look into her eyes. She was a very beautiful woman, but I think if you were her enemy…she would be a very dangerous one. And there was a terrible scar across her throat.” Then he asked a question of his own. “If you are looking for this man’s killer, why are you asking about Mark Presley? He’s in a Texas prison.”

“We found his business card with the belongings of my murder victim,” Montoya said. “I’ve been trying to piece together the last few weeks of Tutuola’s life, and I was thinking that maybe, at one time, the two men had been together.”

Mesa was leaning back in his chair, fiddling with the end of his pen, clicking it in and out, in and out, as he thought. Then he suddenly sat up.

“There is a thing about Presley’s capture that I just remembered.” “What is that?” Montoya asked.

“The bounty hunters claimed that Mark Presley wasn’t alone when they found him. That there was another man with whom they exchanged gunfire, but they said he died when the house caught on fire and then exploded, although when we checked a day later, we found no body.”

Once again, Montoya remembered the Realtor Chouie Garza’s description of the man he’d sold the estate to and the raw wounds that looked like newly healing burns. “To your knowledge,” he asked the other detective, “did either of the bounty hunters come back into Mexico afterwards?”

Mesa shrugged. “I did not see them, but that means nothing.” “Do you remember the bounty hunters’ names?”